Work Text:
You had been working at Smiling Friends for three months now and you completely hated Allan Red. Maybe hate is a strong word to use for a colleague, but you don’t know what else to call it. It’s not like all your colleagues were bad people. Pim is an optimist and probably the nicest person at the office. Charlie was also nice enough. You didn’t really know what Glep did but he was also fine, as he mainly keeps to himself. Mr. Boss is quite a character when it comes to how he interacts with the others, but he is civil to you, nothing more than the average supervisor should be. Then there was Allan. Allan fucking Red.
At first, you didn’t know what his problem was. When you had first joined the staff he had given you a cold hello and went on with his day. He didn’t interact with you unless it was necessary. But Charlie had told you that Allan was just like that. And Charlie was right. Allan is a straightforward and socially awkward person. How he speaks makes him sound sarcastic even if he’s not. But it had soon become very obvious to you that it was not just Allan’s personality. As more time went on you realised that the small, but inconvenient mistakes that you apparently made around the office were conveniently fixed by Allan within the same day. You also realised that he could change his tone and even get along with Charlie and Pim. But never with you. His voice would remain condescending and sarcastic. He would even make small comments when you did something wrong.
It also became obvious to you that he probably felt threatened by you working at Smiling Friends. You were hired because of the overflowing amounts of paperwork and other menial tasks that never seemed to be finished around the office. Pim had told you Mr. Boss might have considered hiring another person after they had all slacked off when a robot, who they called Friend-Bot, completed all their work for them, yet it only ended in chaos. Although, you suspect that it had more to do with the dysfunctional nature of the men around you. Whilst Charlie and Pim were good at making people smile when they went on missions, they were also occasionally eager to blow off work and do other things whilst it was within office hours. Mr. Boss always seemed caught up in something, too. Glep, who didn’t really do anything and who couldn’t be made to do anything, would just sit on a device and leave at five. That left Allan to handle almost everything else. Paperwork, meetings, emails, maintenance, cleaning; almost everything. If they all tried to chip in a bit more, then maybe you wouldn’t even have this job. But they were happy and you are being paid. But Allan probably didn’t like that your position was pretty much the same as his. He probably had some erratic fear that he would lose his job because you were that good at yours.
“Hey, Pim, would you like a coffee?” you ask the others, as you all take a break in the staff room. “Charlie? Glep?”
“Sure thing,” Pim smiles at you.
Charlie blinks and looks up from his phone. “Um, yeah, me too.”
Glep mutters something and doesn’t look up from his own screen. You take his answer as a no. It’s not like you had ever seen him drink coffee before, either.
You open the cupboard, then stare in confusion at the layout of it all. A few weeks ago you had put everything under specific labels and into certain areas. You placed the fruit together. You placed the grains together. Coffee and energy drinks went at the bottom of the cupboard, as it was accessible and most sought after by everyone at Smiling Friends. So it was to your horror to not only see the coffee at the highest shelf, absolutely out of reach for you and possibly for Charlie and Pim, but also that everything that you had been arranged had been placed elsewhere.
“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, before Pim catches onto your unease and approaches you.
“Is there something wrong?” Pim asks, then also frowns at how the contents of the cupboard are placed. “Oh, the coffee’s just really high up.”
“Yeah,” you confirm, sighing.
“Hey, Charlie, can you come get the coffee down?” Pim turns back.
“Sorry, man, I’m in the middle of a game,” Charlie mutters, frowning as he looks half away from his screen.
“That’s cool,” Pim nods, then turns back to you. “We could just ask Allan to get it down.”
“Wait, Pim—” you start, then cut yourself off. You didn’t need Pim to know about your disdain for another colleague.
He gives you a confused look, but then continues. “Hey, Allan!”
“Yes?” Allan answers, appearing in the doorway.
You lean against the bench and narrow your eyes at him, somehow knowing that it was him who put the coffee on the highest shelf, most likely to purely frustrate you. You don’t even bother trying to hide your glare from the red critter who walks into the staff room, holding a stack of papers.
“The coffee’s on the highest shelf,” Pim explains. “Could you get it down, please?”
“Sure,” Allan agrees and approaches the kitchen area, but his eyes remain squinting at yours.
What the fuck was that for? He is just squinting at you, like you had personally done something to him, like he always was. But of course he never told you if something was wrong. He would just stare. Just answer curtly. Just answer sarcastically. Never actually communicating. You were so lost in your hatred for him that you didn’t even register that he was quickly approaching. Before you could say anything or even move out of the way, Allan was reaching over you for the coffee.
“Allan?” you can’t help but mutter his name out, surprised by the sudden proximity.
He took his time collecting the coffee from the highest shelf. Way too much time for you to become aware of how tall he really was. Way too much time for you to realise how close his chest was, being any closer and he would be pressed up against you. Way too much time for someone who you hate.
“What?” he asks, his eyes still on yours, as he shifts around the top shelf.
“You could have told me to move out of the way,” you mutter under your breath, not wanting anyone else to overhear what you thought might turn into an argument.
“Well,” Allan remarks, as he finally grasps the coffee and then leans down, pushing it into your hand and kind of pausing to face you. “You could have moved out of the way by yourself. But you didn’t, did you? You’re just slow.”
Before you can even react, Allan turns away and crosses to the other side of the room. He starts to engage in some bullshit small talk with Glep about what he’s watching on TV, only to turn the volume up way higher, so that you don’t even get the chance to make a comment about what he just said to you. What a prick.
Knowing that you want to keep your job, you decide to also turn away from him and that entire exchange. You try to distract yourself to engage in whatever chipper conversation that Pim was coming up with, whilst also making coffee for most of the people in the break room.
“I think all colours of the rainbow are my favourite,” Pim decides, as you hand him a mug of coffee.
“There’s just so many,” you murmur in agreement.
“Oh, come on,” Pim insists. “Everyone has a favourite colour.”
You stare across the room at Allan. You watch as he tries to avoid you by acting engrossed in the boring conversation he made with Glep, who was more interested in the screen in front of him than he was with Allan.
“I don’t have a favourite colour,” you answer, then raise your voice a little. “But I do have a colour that I just really hate.”
“That you really hate?” Pim repeats and you can hear the frown in his voice. Although a little baffled by your negativity, he’s polite enough to inquire more. “And what colour do you dislike?”
“Red,” you say and continue to stare at Allan. “I hate the colour red.”
That was enough to get Allan’s attention. All of a sudden he could hear you. All of a sudden he could notice you. At first it was the tension in his shoulders. How his posture had straightened. Then he stared back at you from over his shoulder, his eyes wide with what looked like offence, before narrowing into that familiar glare he always gave you. Once again, you don’t bother with not glaring back.
“Hey, uh, Charlie,” Pim approaches his friend, who was still deep into his video game. “What was that assignment that Mr. Boss gave us?”
“Look, Pim, I’m in the middle of—” Charlie begins, then looks up from his phone. He glances between you and Allan, before switching off his phone and abandoning the game. He gets up and takes Pim by the arm. “Right, we have to go and make someone smile.”
Only as Pim and Charlie rush out of the room, you pick up on the tension that you had caused. You sigh and turn back to the kitchen area, not even saying goodbye to Pim and Charlie as they left. You pick up the coffee and place it deliberately on the lower shelf, not caring that it would inconvenience Allan and his neatness.
“The coffee is meant to go on the highest shelf,” Allan remarks, folding his arms.
You glance at Glep. He was still in the break room. He never left the break room. He didn’t need to see you argue with Allan. You had already made your distaste for him kind of known. You didn’t want to re-establish it. But you would also love to argue with Allan for once. Maybe knock him down a peg or two. Tell him that he doesn’t have to be that much of a neat freak. But, again, you didn’t feel like losing your job for causing disharmony at Smiling Friends.
“Is it?” you ask innocently, despite shutting the cupboard door with more force than necessary.
Allan glares harder at you and opens his mouth to say something, but then he cuts himself off. Glep mutters something in another language and Allan’s posture straightens again and he suddenly cannot meet your eyes. You frown in confusion, but you decide to leave the breakroom and go back to your own desk. Pim had told you that Glep speaks another language called Wingon. It wasn’t something that you understood, but maybe it was a language that some critters spoke, as Allan looked like he made perfect sense of it. A part of you wondered what Glep said, but you were more grateful that Glep had given you a chance to escape.
You sit down at your desk and decide to go over some of the paperwork that Mr. Boss had assigned you. There were some reviews that people had posted about Smiling Friends and you had to collect the best ones for a local newspaper to publish an article about. You had accepted the task immediately, as Allan had been in the same room when Mr. Boss had asked. You knew that it had bruised his ego and you needed him to know that you were the better worker out of the two of you.
You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when your hard work would get the Smiling Friends published in a local newspaper. Not him. You. You wanted his smirk to change into a deep frown. You wanted to see his brow furrowed. You wanted to see him upset and then slowly realise that you are a good worker. That your approach and work ethic isn’t bad. Maybe it would stop him from being so hostile all the time. Maybe he wouldn’t constantly redo your work. Maybe for once he would speak to you like an equal. In the way you do with Pim and Charlie. Maybe he would shake your hand. Maybe he would smile at you for once.
You frown at your thoughts drifting to him of all people. What were you even thinking? You didn’t need Allan’s approval. He was Allan. Just Allan Red. Just that frustrating colleague you had to work with. It’s not like you thought about him all the time. It’s not like your heart broke a little every time he glared at you. He certainly didn’t feel anything for you. He certainly didn’t think of you all the time.
You glance down at the reviews you had collected and annotated. You had pretty much done enough for today and it was close to 5 PM, so you had enough time to go and clear your head with some water and then present your work to Mr. Boss. You leave your work on your desk and go to the breakroom.
-
“I’m sorry, Mr. Boss, I have no idea where the paperwork could have gone,” you mutter, frowning and clasping your hands before Mr. Boss’s desk. “Really, I am sorry.”
You knew exactly where they had gone. You knew that it was Allan’s fault. He had probably hidden the papers or destroyed them, simply because he didn’t want you to be successful. You could tell from the fake look of concern on his face. As you had both walked into Mr. Boss’s office he had smiled at you in a knowing way, which absolutely meant that he was guilty. Whilst you couldn’t accuse him here, you had a lot to say to him the second you were out of your employer’s sight.
“It’s suppose it’s okay,” Mr. Boss sighs and slouches in his seat, meaning that it really wasn’t okay. The reviews were needed tomorrow. “These things happen. You’ll just have to come up with something else.”
“Mr. Boss, I’m sure I can come up with the paperwork within a few hours,” Allan suggests, still trying to seem concerned. “As I know just how important it is for the Smiling Friends to be published in the local newspaper, because more people need to appreciate how hard we work.”
You felt like strangling him. He might have a monotone voice most of the time, but you just knew that last sentence was directed at you. But you continue to look forward and even force a smile as Mr. Boss seems to think it’s a great idea for you and Allan to work together. “Why don’t you and Allan work together?” Mr. Boss suggests, brightening at the possibility that the work could be done within a night. “You’re both such good employees, I’m sure you could get it done twice as fast if it’s a group effort.”
“Of course,” you lie straight through your teeth. “I would love to work with Allan.”
“That’s such a good way to spend my night,” Allan says, sounding as forced as you do.
Mr. Boss stands and claps his hands, happy to see that the issue has been solved so quickly. He rambles on about how good this solution was and how he would be so happy to see an article about his company in the local newspaper. But you don’t catch any of it, as all you feel is Allan’s eyes on you. For once, during this entire conversation with your employer, he was looking directly at you. He didn’t even try to hide it, either. His narrowed eyes just stared. Maybe examining your face, how you presented yourself or even further down. Maybe he was thinking about how much of a bad employee you were. How he was better than you. How all he felt for you was hate.
-
Half an hour later you were stuck in the break room with Allan, trying your best to keep yourself composed. But he was constantly speaking over you. He was not going with any of the ideas that you had suggested in the first place. He wouldn’t let you annotate anything. He would mutter things under his breath, which you knew were directed at you. Considering that you were alone in the break room together and knowing that everyone else had gone home, you felt very tempted to tell Allan exactly how you felt about all of the bullshit he had pulled today.
“What if we just—” you try to suggest.
“No,” Allan cuts you off, not even looking at you.
“Well, uh, what if—” you try again.
“No.”
“I could—”
“Still no.”
“What the actual fuck is your problem?” you stare at Allan, unable to take it anymore.
Allan finally glances down at you, his eyes narrowed more than usual. He straightens the papers in his hands and then turns to you. You simply glare back. You weren’t going to pretend that you tolerated him anymore. Fuck him and whatever human resources claims he could come up with. He was the one who was creating a hostile work environment in the first place.
“I’m doing nothing wrong,” Allan presses a spare hand to his chest, then gives you a condescending smile. “It’s not my fault that you’re bad at your job.”
“What the hell do you mean?” you ask, losing your composure. “I am very good at my job. This is the first time that something has even gone wrong in the office since I was hired.”
“Yeah and he had to come and enlist my help for a task that only one person should have to complete,” Allan remarks.
“Yeah?” you mutter back, feeling your face grow warm. “Well, apparently, if the inventory stocking and paperwork around here only takes one person—then why did he need to hire me? Because it’s been made quite clear to me that my position is similar to yours, yet he needed a second worker. Maybe it’s just that you’re bad at your job, not me.”
“That is clearly not true,” Allan quickly responds, losing his smile. “I am better than you at this job. Mr. Boss just needed another employee because he thought I was working too hard.”
“Oh, what bullshit,” you stare at Allan, then laugh. “You’re just trying to make yourself feel better about the fact that you needed extra support around here. In fact, you’re probably just being so terrible towards me, because not only am I good at inventory and admin work, but I can fill in for assignments where people need to smile. Because at least I am actually capable of making people smile.”
“I can make people smile,” Allan scoffs at you. “I am on good terms with Charlie, Pim and Glep. They like me. They think I’m a good worker. The only reason that I’m not your friend is that you don’t deserve it. I’ll be civil with you when I need to be, but I won’t go out of my way to make you happy or to see you smile.”
“So you are singling me out?” you exclaim, speaking before you think.
You stare at Allan, the accusation hanging between you. Your brow was furrowed and your fists were clenched at your sides. You were close to him. His gaze studied you and your features, up and down, painfully slow, enough to make you question your appearance, before he turned from upset to cool and condescending again. You had let your insecurity slip and now Allan knew how you felt.
“I’m not singling you out,” Allan smiles again at you, his tone frustratingly calm. “It’s quite obvious that you’re just victimising yourself. I’d treat the others the exact same way if they were bad at their jobs. And before you try to accuse me of anything else, I’ll explain it for you. You constantly rearrange everything even though it was fine how it was before. It’s incredibly hard to function in this office when you don’t know where something is. You also just make everything worse here.”
“How is that second thing even a reason? I ‘just make everything worse?’” you say in confusion. You go from feeling insecure under his gaze, to feeling more angry at his stupid excuses. “Also, I need to rearrange everything to make it more accessible… like the coffee.”
“Oh, please,” Allan laughs at you now. “You’re still hung up on that?”
“I’ve had enough of you,” you scowl at Allan, then snatch the papers from his grasp. “I just know that you hid the paperwork I did earlier, so that you could make me look bad.”
“I did not,” Allan protests, but you turn away and walk off.
You walk into the storage room, figuring that if Allan had hidden your paperwork anywhere, then it had to be in here. This was where he kept all of the important files and extra inventory. Staples. Pens. Paper. You name it and Allan has it here, safely tucked away in a cupboard with a laminated label. But you undo all of his hard work, tearing open the draws and stifling through the files. You don’t care about the pens that drop onto the floor. You don’t care about the staples that threaten to spill. You are going to find those papers and you are going to prove Allan wrong.
“I did not hide your paperwork,” Allan repeats, then follows after you. He closes the door behind himself, before his eyes widen as you eliminate any sense of organisation that once existed in his beloved storage room. “What are you doing?”
“Finding my paperwork,” you say, not even bothering with facing him. “I know that you’re keeping it somewhere in here.”
“Would you stop that?” Allan mutters, stumbling around the storage room to avoid stepping on a staple, all whilst trying to clean up as you caused more of a mess. “No, don’t—that’s not—don’t take that out!”
You continue to ignore him. You go through another lot of files. This time they included some older statements that people had said on social media about Smiling Friends. This seemed close enough to reviews that people had left, just more recent and not through Google Reviews or Yelp. You thought that you were onto something, because even if Allan could try to hide something he would probably do it in an organised way—your thoughts are quickly cut off when Allan steps on a pen and curses with a small groan under his breath.
“Just stop,” Allan takes a hold of a nearby shelf, half leaning against it to support himself as he tries to regain his breath. “I did not take your paperwork. You lost it because you’re bad at your job. Just admit your inability to keep an eye on a few papers so we can just move on.”
“Maybe you should just admit that the way you organise things around here is awful,” you turn to Allan, then point a finger in his face. “I wouldn't have to search like this—if firstly you didn’t hide it—and secondly, if you would just admit that you took my paperwork!”
“Why would I even want to take your paperwork?” Allan grits out, glaring up at you as he begins to recover. “I want the best for Smiling Friends, which means I would want your stupid paperwork handed in at the earliest date. I also wouldn’t want to prolong this day any longer, as that means I would have to spend more time with you.”
“So what if I rearrange things?” you stare at him, then lean in and jab Allan’s chest. “I only do that when something isn’t accessible, or when you haven’t gotten around to doing something—which is understandable because the work tends to pile up here. But really, I just do what Mr. Boss tells me to do. I have tried to be civil towards you. I have tried to not come off as someone who’s trying to replace you, even if our roles are similar. But I will not try to be civil with you when you’re anything but to me. You’re cold with me. You’re short with me. And don’t be a prick and try to blame it on your voice or your nature—because I know that you smile at everyone else—but never at me.”
As you finished your rant, you realised that you were now the one trying to compose yourself. Allan was no longer trying to catch his breath. He had stood back up to his full height, no longer grasping the shelf for support and glaring at you with contempt. Allan was now staring down at you, his eyes sharp, flickering between you and your finger that was pressing close to his sternum. You scowl, more at yourself and attempt to pull your hand away, only to feel Allan’s fingers intertwine over your own, keeping your hand fixed to his chest.
“I was right about you being jealous,” Allan remarks, his eyes on yours once more.
“Let go of me, Allan,” you mutter out, your eyes shifting between his and your hands.
“You want me to smile at you,” Allan continues, his hand only tightening over yours.
“That’s—that’s bullshit,” you answer, not really trying to pull away.
“No, that’s what it’s all about,” Allan smiles down at you, but it’s condensing and it makes your heart beat fast. “You only went on a tangent about me being apparently bad at my job, because I don’t smile at the others and not you.”
“Shut up, Allan,” you manage, losing your resolve. “It’s about being civil.”
“No, it’s not,” Allan shakes his head. “You just told me how you feel.”
“Well, then,I don’t even care about you,” you frown at him, trying to save any dignity that you had left. “I just know that I’m better than you at this job.”
“Take that back,” Allan’s eyes widened, losing his condescending tone.
“No,” you glare at him, then jab his shoulder with the hand he was not holding.
“I told you to take it back,” he remarks, his eyes narrowed as you jab him a second time.
“I don’t care, Allan,” you seethe, then give his shoulder another shove. “You’re just fucking miserable. All you do is try to make my life miserable. Maybe if you just didn’t come to work I wouldn’t have to look at your stupid face. You shouldn’t even be a smiling friend. You don’t even know how to make me happy—”
“I could make you so fucking happy,” Allan says, cutting you short as he grabs your other hand and pulls you close, eliminating any space that had been between the two of you.
“What the fuck—” you try to mutter out, but Allan presses his mouth to yours.
Allan had silenced you with a single kiss. He was actually kissing you. You stare into his narrowed and determined eyes. His brow was furrowed and creased in anger, then it grew into a familiar condescension that he held for you. It was a mocking way of him saying I told you so as he could see your eyes widen with sexual confusion and panic. You had told yourself that you were above this. Whatever these pathetic thoughts and emotions that you felt for Allan were. But right now you were slipping and he knew you were. But as wrong as this was—that you were kissing Allan of all people—it felt so fucking good. You give up your last piece of pride and engage in your shared struggle, working around his hands on yours and grasp his tie, pulling him closer into the kiss he began. You allow yourself to fall from grace for a moment. You allow yourself to close your eyes. You allow yourself to move your lips against his. To feel his mouth on yours. You begin to deepen the kiss and you feel Allan start to reciprocate, before both of your eyes open and he stares at you—his eyes no longer stern with condescension but rather wide and as confused as yours.
Allan pulls himself away from you, freeing your hands from his grasp. You stare after him, your hand still firmly grasping his blue tie. You breathe heavily, surprised with yourself and him, but also very disappointed that he pulled away so quickly. You must have been frowning, as Allan’s features morph from confusion into anger as well. Anything to help him maintain his own pride after kissing you.
“There—are you happy?” he demands, his voice shaky and no longer monotone.
“What?” you feel yourself frown. “What do you mean!?”
“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Allan comments, glancing between you and your hand on his tie.
“What—yes—no,” you mutter, now giving him a scowl. What the fuck were you admitting too?
“You kissed me back,” Allan stammers, trying to control his tone.
“You kissed me first,” you quickly remark, clenching your free hand.
“Only to shut you up,” Allan argues and scoffs, as if it didn’t really mean anything. “You were rambling on about me being bad about my job, about being lonely and about me being unable to make anyone happy. Also, just so you know, I’m an incredible smiling friend.”
“Yeah?” you answer, unconvinced. “It seemed like you enjoyed it just as much as I did. Maybe even more.”
“I did not,” Allan scowls at you, stepping closer.
“I’ll prove it to you,” you challenge him, your grasp tightening around his tie.
“Yeah?” Allan mutters, his gaze dropping between your mouth and your eyes. “You’d just be proving yourself wrong.”
“Stop talking,” you hiss at him, then pull him in by his tie.
Allan curses something at you, something mumbled that’s quickly silenced as you kiss him this time. You bring a hand to the side of his face, pressing your nails into his skin and leaving crescent moons. You feel his breath hitch, before he takes you into his arms and you feel your back meet the wall of the storage room. He opens his eyes and stares down at you as he bites your lower lip, earning a gasp from you. He takes advantage of your shock and kisses you harder, his tongue pressing against yours. You welcome it and press a hand against his neck, trying to angle him better. Allan understands and reaches for the side of your face, tilting your head as your kiss continues. You feel your teeth clash against his every now and then as the kiss becomes unceremonious and more desperate.
When Allan breaks the kiss for a second time, he doesn’t really bother with breathing or catching his breath, he pushes your hair aside and kisses your neck. He moves across your skin with a certain talent, knowing where to kiss you and how to kiss you. He’s harsh for the most part, dragging his teeth and biting when you press your nails too hard into his skin. You keep one hand around his neck, guiding and supporting him, your other clenched to the side. You were beyond sexually confused and frustrated with Allan.
How the actual fuck had it come to this? Why was he so experienced? Was he just doing this to get back at you? What if he didn’t really like you? God, it was going to be so fucking award with him in the office on Monday. He drags his mouth to your collarbone, his hands somehow working quickly at your buttoned shirt even as he was busy. You hated to admit it, but he was an attentive lover. He was a good lover. He was great at this. That could only mean that he was experienced and probably had a ton of girlfriends or a few different flings—and you were just someone that he was making out with.
“What’s your problem now?” Allan murmurs into your ear, having moved from your chest and back to your neck. “And don’t deny it, I can see you frowning.”
“Nothing,” you look away and scowl harder. You hated to admit anything to him, but you had already fallen from whatever grace you had so what else could you possibly lose? “You’re just good at this.”
“You’re the most jealous individual I’ve ever met,” Allan scoffs at you, but he somehow sounds soft. He presses a kiss to your ear, then laughs at you. “Of course I’m good at this.”
“What? You just get around often?” you bluntly ask and slightly turn to look at him, not trying to hide your jealousy anymore.
“Don’t be so accusatory,” Allan scoffs again at you, then focuses on your neck instead of you. Probably purposefully. “I haven’t gotten around lately, as you phrase it. I’m not some man-whore.”
“Really?” you remark, trying not to sound so relieved. “I’m not sure about that.”
“What?” Allan pauses and looks up at you, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not explaining anything,” you feel your face burn. You’ve already said enough about your feelings for one night. “I’ve already made my hatred towards you clear enough.”
“Hatred?” Allan repeats, then his voice grows serious. “Do you really hate the colour red?”
“What?” you finally look down at him, now confused.
“Earlier you said that you hated the colour red,” Allan clarifies, trying to remain composed. “That you liked all colours except for the colour red. Do you hate the colour red?”
“Oh,” you mutter, then you scowl at him. “Yeah, I hate the colour red.”
It had been simple to respond with that. You actually had nothing against the colour red. Red was a gorgeous colour. Allan was a gorgeous critter. Allan was attentive. Allan seemed to know how to pleasure you. Allan, for some unfortunate reason, was as good at restocking inventory in the office as he was at pleasing a woman. So of course when he suddenly sounded offended, after mocking you for your jealousy the entire afternoon, you were going to tell him that you did in fact hate the colour red. It suddenly made sense why he had stared at you with so much resentment earlier. His skin was red. His surname is Red. He is Allan Red.
“It is not a bad colour,” Allan states and forces himself to stand up to his full height, albeit uneasily. “I’ll show you.”
“Yeah?” you raise your brow at him. “As far as I’m concerned you’re just a red critter who gets around a lot.”
“That’s because people like me.” Allan scowls and takes you by the shoulders. “You’re the opposite of likeable.”
“Yeah, well, people only like you because you’re attractive by critter standards,” you remark, knowing it was a rather pathetic excuse.
Allan gives you an incredulous look and then his gaze travels down your body. His hands hesitate at the buttons of your shirt, which makes you frown. Did he not want to go any further with you? You weren’t about to not go any further with him after doing all of this. You give him a confused look and silently nod, signalling for him to continue. An actual plea for him to undo your clothes. At that, Allan scoffs at you and works at the button of your shirt.
“Only by critter standards?” Allan repeats, then eyes you. “Given how desperate you are for me to undress you, I’d say it’s also by human standards.”
“Fuck you,” you scowl at him, feeling called out. “I really am starting to hate the colour red.”
Allan stares at you, then in pure frustration he moves from your shirt to your pants. He doesn’t even bother with undoing the rest of your shirt. You stare back at him, also in frustration, before you attempt to conceal a groan with your hand as Allan skillfully inserts a finger into you.
“Yeah, that’s made you real quiet,” he mutters under his breath, then backs you into the wall again.
You stare up at Allan, feeling the pleasure build in between your legs, not far from his hand. You also feel the shame build in your chest and suddenly you feel like you can’t really look at Allan. He glances down at you, but doesn’t scoff or make any sign of disapproval. Instead, he sighs at himself and presses another kiss to your mouth, this time soft and firm.
“Is this okay?” Allan mutters, looking for your reaction. “At any time you can just tell me to stop.”
“It’s okay,” you quietly answer, then press your hands to his shoulders. “Don’t stop. Continue, please.”
“So you do know how to speak nicely,” Allan mutters, going back to being condescending.
“And there you go, back to being the Allan I know—” you begin, but cover your mouth as you gasp.
Allan had fingered you again. He cursed under his breath as you buck your hips against his hand. You continue, allowing the pleasure to grow and he eventually inserts another finger inside of you. You curse and moan as you press him closer to yourself, riding his hand faster and harder than before.
You had always thought that he had been a weird critter. Maybe ‘weird’ was wrong. Unique might be a better word to describe him with. And as he had called you out on it, you were attracted to him, human or not. There were no beauty standards that you really wanted to be involved in at the moment. Because all you knew about his fingers, of which multiple were inside of you, was that you were thankful that they were so long. You were thankful that he was experienced. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to finger fuck you, how to apply the right pressure to your insides and to your clit. If he kept going like this you were about to unravel on him and against his hand.
But as skilled as he was, Allan was also losing himself. You were no longer bothering with covering your mouth with your hand. You let him hear every shameful gasp and groan. Somehow, it seemed to be affecting him, too. You could hear him mutter small curses under his breath or you could feel him touch you again as he reacted to how you were being pleasured by him. He hits the right angle and you cry out his name.
“Oh—fuck,” Allan mutters and removes himself from you.
You want to curse at him for stopping, as you had grown wet and needed to be pleasured. But then you realise that Allan had turned to his side, cursing to himself… and holding himself. Allan was hard. You didn’t really understand how critter anatomy worked and you didn’t understand all of their social customs. Some of them wore clothes and some of them didn’t. Allan was the latter of the two. He only ever wore a blue tie around the office, maybe a scarf if it was cold. So maybe he would be naked without his tie, instead of being actually naked as he usually was. So you weren’t that surprised when you figured he had some kind of a retractable dick. You didn’t even care at this point, you just needed Allan to fuck you.
“I still hate the colour red,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.
Allan looks at you from over his shoulder, then scowls. “You’re just that fucking eager, aren’t you?”
“Says the one who’s hard,” you scowl back at him.
“You’re wet,” Allan remarks, but approaches and backs you into a desk.
“Really, against a desk?” you squint at him, but sit on the edge of it.
“What? You want me to take you out for dinner and then fuck you in my bed?” Allan says, before pushing you down slowly, supporting the back of your head with his hand.
You feel your face burn again. You look to the side. You look anywhere else. Yeah, you wouldn’t hate it if Allan took you to dinner and then back to his place. Allan pushes some of the stationary away from the desk, then glances down at your expression.
“Oh,” he mutters. “Well, let’s just get on with this.”
You nod and he slowly aligns himself, before inserting himself into you. You hesitantly bring a hand to the side of his face and neck. Allan returns the contact, pressing a hand to the side of your hip, the other to your shoulder. He braces himself over you and begins to move his hips against yours in painfully slow motions. You weren’t going to tell him that he was good or that you thought that he was decently sized, but Allan probably knew as your walls clenched around him. Allan sighs and lowers himself further against the desk, pressing your chest against his. But you would give anything for him to pick up the pace. In fact, a part of you was convinced that he was taking this slowly, purely to pain you.
“I’m still a better smiling friend than you,” you mutter into his ear.
You feel his hands tense around you. “You are not.”
“Yes, I am,” you insist, then dig your nails into his shoulder.
“Like I said earlier,” Allan scowls down at you, then pulls out. “You’re just that eager.”
“I am not—” you mutter, then let out a sound of disappointment.
Allan scoffs at you, as if he was testing some theory, before he pushes himself into you again and starts to fuck you hard. Fast enough to leave you breathless and unable to complain about him pulling out before. Your chest begins to heave as Allan continues, but grasps both of your hips and angles himself deeper. Underneath him, you become undone. You grasp at his shoulders. You dig your nails into the sides of his face. You buck against him. You curse his name. You cry his name. You may as well be praying to him. As the pleasure begins to grow between the two of you, Allan moves his hand from your shoulder and down to your chest. He fondles your left breast, even as you’re still wearing a bra and half your shirt is still buttoned up. You had just been that desperate to be fucked by him that you took off the least amount of clothing to do it. You just knew that Allan would have something to say about it after you were done.
Allan moves away from your chest and instead presses both of his hands to your hips. He increases his pace, even faster than before. You press a leg around his waist, angling yourself even further as he fucks you deeper. You stare up and meet his gaze. His eyes were half shut, but deeply fixed on you. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving and lips parted. You never thought that you would get to see him like this. Sure, he wasn’t smiling down at you. But he was being vulnerable. There would have to be some level of trust or meaning to this if he was willing to have hate sex with you. Maybe he didn’t really hate you after all. Maybe there was some misunderstanding between you two. Maybe you could be something after all of this.
“I don’t hate the colour red,” you gasp out, your breath ragged.
Allan’s eyes quickly widen and he stares down at you, something mixed between softness and relief—before he doubles over you and curses, finally coming right inside of you. Your own eyes widened, surprised that he came just as you admitted that to him. But you press your arms around his back, supporting him as he slowly rides out the last ropes of pleasure against you.
He sighs against you and slowly pulls out. But he doesn’t remove himself from you. Instead, he gathers you into his arms and lays with you on the desk. You weren’t sure what you could have expected from Allan, but there was something very intimate about him choosing to remain with you, especially when he often didn’t really seem to like your presence.
“Are you okay?” he quietly asks.
“Yeah,” you confirm, then press your face against his chest.
After a prolonged silence you speak up again. “I think I lost my papers. We can just use what you came up with.”
“Only because it’s late,” Allan agrees.
“I suppose that we’re here now and that we’ve done this we could say a few things,” you mutter, deciding it was just better to get it all out of the way. “You’re not a bad smiling friend. You can make people smile. You can make people happy. You were right, I was just jealous and I could use things more equally around here.”
“Mm, could you?” Allan glances down at you, but when you frown at him, he sighs and stares up at the ceiling. “I suppose I could, too.”
“Is it going to be weird in the office on Monday?” you mutter, then feel Allan’s hand press against your waist.
“I don’t think I can promise anything about how things will be on Monday,” Allan says, then looks back down at you. “But they won’t be bad.”
“Do you still hate me?” you tense in his arms. “Did you hate me before?”
“What?” Allan squints down at you, then frowns. “No and no. I don’t hate you… I just found you frustrating.”
“Then why were you so cold towards me?” you question him.
Allan brings a hand to the side of your face, before considering his answer. He looks down at your expectant eyes and tense body language. He had no choice but to come clean about what had been happening for the last few months.
“I thought you were my landlord,” Allan quietly admits.
“Your landlord?” you repeat, confused.
“Yes,” Allan sighs, then explains. “My landlord has been trying to hang out with me for months now. The first time he sent me on an adventure just so I would smoke weed with him and play Burnout Revenge on the PS2. A little before you were hired I went on a date with who I thought was a beautiful woman… it was actually my landlord dressed as a woman. So when you got a position here I was worried that you were my landlord. But, uh, well I know you’re not my landlord now.”
“Well, then that means…” you mutter, then cut yourself off. It meant that Allan thought that you were attractive enough for his landlord to pose as. Whilst it wasn’t the way you expected Allan to admit that he was attracted to you, it still meant something. You would still accept it.
“Yeah, it does,” Allan reluctantly admits, then leans in to kiss you.
You accept his kiss. It was soft and brief, not nearly as intense as what you had both been doing before. Maybe it was a way for him to apologise. Whatever it was and whatever your relationship had turned into, you were going to see how things would go in the future.
“Now that you know I’m not your landlord, how does coffee sound?” you quietly ask.
“I think dinner sounds better,” Allan remarks, smiling down at you.