b/ored to d/eath - 1.7k words (M)

spa/mtenna 3.2k words (M)

another spa/mtenna 680 words (M)

interesting business facts for business ladies. sherry's been sniffling her way through a blocked nose and false starts all morning and jo has a solution... let's hope the office closet walls aren't too thin

for context if you're still clicking this while not knowing the show, these two have a strange co-dependent, antagonistic, "thing 1 and thing 2" type of relationship where the first thing out of tom's mouth to greg is "would you kiss me" in order to intimidate him and establish dominance. and if the dialogue is bizarre, it's the nature of the show, the insults in this show are hilarious and difficult to emulate... i gave it my best

“You wear contacts or something?” The small aside made Greg squeeze his eyes smaller than they were just a second ago. He quirked his head, in an owlish manner with the way he was hunched over. “No?” “Because you’re squinting.” Tom folded his hands on top of each other, leaning back in his seat to take a critical look at the man beside him who was trying to take up the least amount of space as they shared a computer screen. “Why is that a question, you can’t even tell if you wear contacts? Were you dropped on your head as a Greglet?" “I… No, I mean, I don’t know why you’d ask me that.” Greg rubbed at his nose in an upwards motion, a tiny crease forming at the tip of his bridge from the hundredth time he touched his face that day. “Uh… do I look like someone who’s in possession of contacts?” “No, but with a pair of spectacles, you’d look right at home with the basement dweller IT nerds. Which you should have gone to and gotten your own laptop.” At this, Tom shifted his weight in his office chair, knocking into Greg’s and pushing the other man further into a corner, wedged between the wall and Tom.

The two were sharing a screen, shoved in Tom’s office and huddled around his mahogany desk, attending a shareholder Zoom meeting on behalf of Gerri. Boring, banal, useless, coma-inducing, Tom’s brain ran through any adjective he could use to describe it. Irritating, with the addition of a squirmy Greg at his side. Tom had to dole out his admonishments carefully when muting their audio, between pretending to take in every droning word emanating from the laptop speakers. At this point, he was nagging Greg just to keep himself from falling asleep.

Struggling to pay attention to stock market analysts and various number guys was a task made a bit harder on account of Greg practically needing to sit in Tom’s lap to be able to see the screen and follow along the Word document being shared right now, by some tech-illiterate geezer who didn’t know what the zoom in button was. Or volume control, as his voice was small enough that the laptop’s volume was jacked all the way up. 

“Would you quit rubbing your nose already, Greg.” “But it really itches,” came the response, a petulant whine tacked on. Tom smacked at Greg’s wrist, which was traveling halfway to his face to abuse his pinkening nose. “And you’re jostling me every time you do it. We don’t have much real estate space here,” he snipped.

Greg’s sigh was louder than it had any need be, but Tom kept his hands to himself for all of four consecutive minutes as their attentions were dragged back to the laptop screen, with Gerri taking the mic and going on about… something. 

It was wrapping up, which meant Tom had to be on standby for Gerri to hand it over to him, so the head of ATN could make his voice heard, and pretend the last hour wasn’t dedicated to playing some sort of slow-mo chicken with his executive assistant.

The next distraction came in the form of Greg’s foot gaining a nervous tic, bouncing his leg at a staccato pace that did more than simply irritate Tom, it made their chairs audibly clack together with each beat. 

“Greg, if you don’t calm your ten foot tall tits this instant I’ll fucking truss you up and-” “Tom?” came Gerri’s voice, tinny through the laptop’s speakers, yet exasperated all the same. His muscles stilled, anger now settled under a blanket of shame. A nervous clear of his throat, and a polite and affable “Yes?” was met with silence for only a split second, but it was enough for Tom to wince at himself. Greg had stopped moving all together. Tom had half a mind to kick himself or pinch Greg’s thigh under the table.

“I was just saying that the shareholders would like to hear any closing statements from you?” Gerri was addressing him the way one would address a toddler, and Tom wiped his hands on his suit and smoothed his hair down before he realized the camera was off anyways. “Ah – Yes, yes, and thank you again to, uh, Gerri… For such a wonderful talk. On.” “Percentage drops in tech industry shares,” Greg whispered.

“On percentage drops in tech industry shares, very compelling, compelling uh… stuff. Now…”

When it was safe to hit the Leave Call button without further worsening his social standing with Gerri, Tom let out a growl of a breath. Greg had slunk out in the midst of his face-saving speech, ignoring Tom’s failed grab at his blazer hem, and Tom was left to manage an entire Zoom call wrap up on his own. He survived the harrowing ordeal, on the grace of Gerri not being one to stick her nose into Tom’s business and the meeting not being attended by anyone else Tom gave a shit about, but it was still embarrassing. 

Tom had half a mind to find the gangly motherfucker and give him that pinch he’s been raring to inflict on him, just to hear him whine and let off some steam. The office chair squealed as he rose from it, his movements loud on purpose, and he strode into the hallway with a renewed irritation. 

Greg was getting sloppy as of late, as he spent the majority of yesterday yawning and dozing off. Most of today found Greg lounging on Tom’s office couch, whining about this and fucking that on the humidity levels of the room or bright lights, or whatever his delicate stoner sensibilities were affronted by. With a slew of terse words laying heavily on the tip of his tongue, Tom shoved Greg’s basement office door open, only to be met with an empty room. 

It was fine, after he collected himself from the very real disappointment that coursed through him for a moment. Tom wandered into the office, roughly handling the toys and knick knacks that adorned Greg’s desk, having the urge to shove his files to the ground. He flicked the head of an obnoxious bird toy, a long necked colorful thing with a top hat, and it bobbed up and down to sip at its plastic cup. Annoying. Goofy. Just like Greg.

As if on cue, the cartoon fuck in question made his grand entrance, his gangly limbs creeping behind the door like a spider. Tom placed his hands in his pockets and squared his shoulders amicably to face him, tilting his head up at Greg’s bewildered expression. You could almost hear Greg's blinks, little piano plinks when his lashes brushed across his pink cheeks, as his big stupid doughy face looked at him with an openness that made Tom’s jaw clench.

“Tom! Did - did it go okay?”

“Did it go okay.” Tom’s nod while he spoke was incongruent with his tone, dipping low into the familiar sarcasm-slash-derangement level it got when he was pissed. “Did what go okay, Gregory, when you fucking sabotaged me in front of all the shareholders?”

“Okay, sabotage isn’t really… applicable there.” “It went as fine as it could go, fuck you very much.” Tom was blocking Greg’s seat, flicking at the bird toy over and over as Greg pressed himself up against a filing cabinet, waiting for an opening. Tom wanted to grab him by the tie and yank it, bob Greg’s head up and down like the stupid toy, just to shake off the nervous aborted movements that were overcoming Greg. “I’m just dying to know, what is your major malfunction today?” “Hm?”

“What?” Tom barked back. “The fidgeting and squirming is getting to be a bit much. Adrenaline? Need to punch it out like big boys?” The lack of immediate response from Greg made pursuing that avenue of thought halt for a moment. Greg looked more like a gross little pillbug than usual, with not much acknowledgement to Tom’s riffing, his limbs folding into his torso. There was a sheen to his eyes that Tom couldn’t immediately gauge, which alerted something deep inside him enough to warp into slight worry.

“Shall I take you out for a walk?” Tom offered, changing tracks. A final smack upon the toy made it topple from the desk. Tom watched Greg’s eyes follow its trajectory to the floor where it clattered, with a miniscule pout emerging on Greg’s face. “We can get lunch,” Tom continued, “take you around the block and properly shake these zoomies out. Mondale gets the same way.”

Greg sheepishly scratched at his neck and tried to match Tom’s smile with a weak one of his own, his other hand curling up to his chest floppily. “Oh, um, thanks. I guess I’m hungry, but I’m not, like, hungry-hungry. It’s more like, nauseous-hungry?” “Greg? Not hungry?” Tom approached him, his voice tilting up an octave, and he pawed at Greg’s uselessly hanging elbow. “Something’s definitely up, what is it? You look peaky. Bad cart? Don’t pretend I don’t know you don’t smoke in the bathrooms. Everyone knows. I read emails. The vents connect to the mail office’s break room by the way, you hotbox them every morning. You nefarious little hippie you.”

“Why… do you still read emails,” was Greg’s only response to the barrage of information, his attention straddled between trying to massage his nose furiously with his palm, and Tom getting all up in his space. He jerked his head to the side when Tom got closer, attempting to barricade him or something into the filing cabinets that were now digging into his back. “Because I can, and I’m the bossman. Now listen to your boss and grab your coat Gregory, we’re going to get some bruschetta in that stomach.” At that, he patted Greg right on his tummy too.

Instead of moving out of the way to let Greg complete the requested task, Tom continued to hover in front of his face, his eyebrows perched high as Greg squirmed under his gaze. The fidgeting was getting more frequent upon scrutiny. It was like watching a worm on the sidewalk, Greg shifting on one foot then the other like he was trying to get a breath in.

“I uh, thank you Tom, for the offer, I just-uh, don’t wanna right now,” he said from the corner of his mouth, his shoulders scrunched up against his ears.

“What are you twisting your face up for?” “Because.” With a spectacular shudder that crawled up his entire body and settled somewhere in the middle of his face, Greg wrenched to the side and let out a harsh sneeze, directing the sudden deluge of spray away from him. 

"HUESCH'hhhhooo!"

“Because,” he attempted to continue, and with a horse-like shake of his head that made his bangs flop over his face, he sneezed again, folding into himself like a question mark. 

"HUURRSHSHhchhh!"

“Gesundheit.” Tom blinked. He’d reflexively pulled back when he realized it was coming on, but made no other move to step back, even when the second sneeze dusted the front of his coat a bit. His hands were still at Greg’s elbows, and the shivers that wracked the other man traveled down his own arms like a lightning rod.

With a vague sense that wasn’t strong enough to scold him for it, Tom watched Greg’s fist reach up to wipe at the dampness along the bottom of his nose childishly. It was pathetic, pitiful even, and it clicked in Tom’s mind why Greg was adamant in rubbing at his nose hard enough to cause a crease earlier. He clicked his tongue as pity made his eyebrows knit together.

“You should have told me you’re sick, Gregory. Why’d you come into work sick?”

“Um. I don’t know. I didn’t feel bad earlier.” Greg seemed to not notice, or care, that Tom was effectively holding his arms, answering him absentmindedly as his focus was between making his mouth run, and making his nose not run. His eyes were half-lidded as he continued disjointedly, swaying in Tom’s half-embrace. 

“It got worse around the Zoom meeting, actually? Like all up here.” His hand made a clawing motion at the general area of his sinuses. Another sniffle and nose wipe. “And I really needed to step out, because like. I couldn’t hold it…” His sentence ended breathlessly, and now he reflexively pulled his dress shirt’s collar up against his face to shield Tom from the spray of another sneeze, which was wetter this time. 

“Hhh…. hhHH'GTCHNxxtt – Guh. And like, ondce I start, it’s so. Ugh.” 

Tom held his retort in his mouth, choosing to instead follow Greg’s current face journey. His nose scrunched up once, pulling his lips along with it with a flash of teeth and reminding Tom suddenly of his mother’s old pet rabbit, wriggling its nose this way and that. Greg’s eyes had been wrenched shut in anticipation of the sneeze that was clearly building, eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks, shaky little wavers of his head and cut off inhales illustrating how badly he was on the precipice.

Like a buoy wavering on lulls of the ocean right before a wave came crashing in.

Tom pinched his fingers on Greg’s nose.

“Whuh?”

Tom decidedly held off on following up with a cheeky little ‘got your nose!’, and addressed Greg firmly, with his fingers still held tight on the damp appendage. “Let me speak.” A blocked off grunt was all Greg offered, his eyes crossed and his mouth agape like the world's stupidest trout.

“You’re going to get your coat, accompany me for lunch, and go home for the day.” “Buh-”

“No buts!” Tom released his nose, wiping his hand on Greg’s blazer shoulder as the other attended to his abused nostrils with his sleeve, fingers scrubbing at the itchy appendage like he could press the cold out of it. 

“The longer you spend here the more you’re going to spread your nasty little plague along to the underlings. And I don’t need you percolating in your illness at the office, and I don’t have time to scrape your comatose body off the floor. We’ll eat, and I’ll send you home.” 

He paused when Greg made a face at that, which led Tom to follow up with a surprisingly gentle question. ”Unless you really meant it? Are you nauseous, buddy? Your stomach?” Greg shivered under the sympathetic arm rub Tom was giving him. The whiplash of how he was acting just a minute ago was still catching up in his foggy head. Lunch with Tom sounded nice. Probably. But going home, now? Greg shook his head, the vague discomforted expression still present in the way his eyebrows caused a little fold in his forehead. “I’m supposed to, uh, Kendall is… doing shit at my place later. As per usual.” Now, a rarer expression was laid out lavishly for Tom to witness, the bitter draw of his eyelids as Greg relayed Kendall’s party antics, the beginnings of a scowl across his top lip. 

“So I don’t want to be home? Around all that. Patrying, and such. I’m not keen on having to sleep in a room where his cohorts are doing blow off my nightstand.” His congested sentence was punctuated with a stifle of a sneeze, palm pressing hard into his face. 

“Hhgh… hhN'xXTCHshh– Ooh…"

Tom gave a huff and turned to the side, spotting what he was looking for. He waggled the tissue box in front of Greg. “I don’t know how you have more sneezes left in you, but you better wring them out of your mile long windpipe here now, because you’re staying the night in my guest room apparently.”

“Guest room… Tom.” A more productive sneeze burst out of him the moment he got a fist full of tissues, this time being accompanied by a harsh cough. “I don’t want to.” He swallowed roughly, and when he next spoke he kept his eyes closed, his voice nasal and laden with snot. “I just wadda go hobe, stay in bed for ligke, five years.”

Tom nodded and placed the box into Greg’s arms, who fumbled it and let it drop to the floor. “Your brain is effectively cooked, you fucking idiot. Why’d you let it get that bad?” His voice betrayed the insult, all soft and worried. He made a big show of collecting Greg’s overcoat and scarf where they hung on the rack, huffing and muttering like a mother hen as Greg continued to sway in his spot with his little wavering cornstalk act.