Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dear everyone in the office,

Heavy breathing, weakening knees. Hands sliding up my shirt, fingers brushing my stomach, shivers.

This is just an e-mail to remind everyone of a couple office rules. Nothing major, all we want is to make sure this stuff is followed.

Eyes squeezed shut, gasps, lips mouthing at my neck, more, more, whispered encouragements. Darkness covering sweat-glazed foreheads, fists clenched in sheets, heat.

First off, no food deliveries directly to the office. Any orders must be sent to the building lobby and then picked up.

Muscles tensed, groans, kisses trailed sloppily from collarbone to hips, kicking off pants, passion. Not enough, not enough.

Second, a request must be made to take equipment out of the building for non-Smosh related purposes. This is for the safety of the very expensive equipment.

Muffled moans, giggles, teeth biting down on bottom lip, you, me, us, thighs sliding together, ankles locked behind back.

Third, if you don’t want your food stolen from the fridge, it must be labelled with your name. House rules say all unclaimed food is free game. We will not be taking any more complaints about this.

So warm, so good, so much, the warmth, the stars, hair tousled and necks bruised, slow, fast, hands intertwining and voices calling in unison.

All of this is clearly stated in the office rules. Come on, guys. Be on time, no scents, no co-worker relationships. It’s all pretty standard.

Thanks,

Joe Bereta

Fuck.

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand. Did they find out?”
I shook my head. “Matt wouldn’t have called us out like that. It would have been a private meeting.”
Shayne shook his head, pushing himself out of his office chair. With slow, preoccupied strides, he walked to the window and stared out, silent. My fingers kneaded into the beanbag chair, nervously. I dared to breach the topic and interrupt the workings of his mind.
“What do we do?”
His knuckles rapped on the window, rhythmically, as though trying to pound a solution out of the smudged glass. “I don’t know.”
I hated this. The feeling of leaning over a precipice, simply waiting for a gentle gust to tip you over the ledge. Teetering, teetering. I remembered him asking me out originally, humbly, clearly happy when I said yes. Dinner dates evolved to long hikes, paralleling the continuous climb of my emotions every time I saw him, a hummingbird in my chest that I hoped would never go away. A vase of flowers on my kitchen counter reminded me of his spontaneous bouts of stereotypical romance, as few as they were, for he was all about actions over clichés, trips to the canyons and sand castle building. He rubbed his thumb along the windowpane, causing phantom touches to breeze down my wrist.
“We could tell them,” I suggested, uncomfortable with his uncharacteristic stillness. “I don’t know, they might make an exception.”
“I don’t think so.” He gestured to nothing with one hand, a usual conversation accent with him. “They’re obviously trying to crack down on us a little, it wouldn’t go over well.”
He was right, of course he was. Our minds worked in almost the same way, and I’d reached that conclusion myself. It was different, though, to see it pass his thin lips, accompanied by a furrow brow over intent blue eyes.
I didn’t want to say what would naturally follow, didn’t want to suggest the possibility, but by the way his back kept tensing and relaxing, as though preparing for a blow, he was thinking it himself.
“So, I guess I’ll call a rain check on dinner tonight,” I said lightly, hoping the hint of humour would break down this brick wall Shayne before me now.
I’d always admired that about him; the layers you could peel back, and how you’d always find an interesting tidbit or sliver of previously hidden character. His ability to chameleon from boisterous funny man to intent critique, so akin to my own viewpoint of the world, gave our relationship levels to work on. I hadn’t had that before.
But it seemed we were stuck on the bottom floor right now.
He didn’t pick up the bait, letting the joke fall flat into a belly flop, the smack almost resounding around the empty room. Most people had gone home already, teasing Keith on the way out, because he was 100% the culprit of all the stolen food complaints.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, quietly, eyes following the slow progression of traffic outside.
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “There’s not that many options.”
We were dancing around it.
Finally, he turned away from the huge window, and stood there, looking at me, arms dangling loosely by his sides. Reluctant.
“I guess we let it be?”
He phrased it like a question. I pondered for a moment, considering how blocked in we were from every angle, and nodded. His eyes were locked on mine. A breathy laugh escaped me.
“Good thing we weren’t going long.”
Three months. In comparison to the rest of time, not even a drop in the bucket. But those months held me fast; it felt like I could remember each individual day, and how he’d managed to make me sink deeper on each one.
Don’t think about his stupid steely blue eyes, don’t do it, I swear to God.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “This could have gotten really messy.” He ran a hand through his hair, and started to edge towards the door. “I’ll, uh, see you around?”
I smiled. “The next shoot,” I promised. “I’ll be there.”
There. Back to basics. Easy.

***

The next shoot ended up being a week later, somehow, due to terrible scheduling conflicts that made Matt tug on his beard and eventually blame Joven for everything. Shayne and I hadn’t spoken too much, mostly trying to reign in what had started to grow, and continuing to put on the front for our friends.
Which wasn’t much different from before anyhow.
It was late summer, muggy August weather sweeping in and flattening everyone to the ground with one giant brutal hand. Olivia was fanning herself with a script, leaning heavily on the hood of a rented sports car. Courtney was sprawled on the grass. Mari was chugging water as if it was an Olympic sport. I was squatting behind a tree, trying to cram myself into the pitiful amount of shade it cast. All four of us sported matching bikinis, having been cast as the squad of hot girls in this particular skit. All we had to do was surround Shayne during his lines, and pretend to swoon over him.
Speak of the devil.
And devil indeed, seeing as his costume involved a snugly fitting black tank top, which was sinfully hot. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. He’s just a co-worker now, you can’t think of him in that way.
I opened my eyes to find his gaze locked squarely on my chest.
He immediately sensed I was watching, and flushed deeply, turning 90o and walking stiffly away. One part of me wanted to laugh, to poke fun at him and tease him lightly; one part of me wanted to cry, suddenly struck with the awkward tango we’d found ourselves in; the last part of me wanted to drag him into the bedroom, lock the door, and ensure he forgot all about the rules.
“Come on,” Ryan called, “move your asses, I want to go home.”
Mari groaned, dropping her water bottle to the ground. “It’s too hot to smile. I don’t want to be a pretty girl.”
We crowded around Shayne, practicing his typical asshole jock face. I placed myself behind him, letting Olivia and Mari stand on either side. A little bit of distance would do us some good, hopefully, so I was counting every centimetre.
“Action!”
I twirled my hair, batted my eyelashes, allowing the words to float over my head. My eyes stayed firmly on his shoulder, narrowing down to a tiny black square of fabric, forgetting who it was on. Just another shoot. No big deal, nothing tragic or life changing had happened merely a week ago.
My trance broke when a hand snaked around my waist, and pulled me forwards. I lurched into Shayne’s side. In my surprise, I stared right into the camera – that hadn’t been planned.
Ryan called a stop. He leaned out from behind the screen, looking confused. “Uh, Shayne? Why didn’t you grab Olivia? Or Mari?”
Out of the corner of my eye, his face went blank, then embarrassed, then nonchalant. But there was nothing casual about the speed at which his hand dropped from my waist. I pressed my lips together, determinedly not looking at him.
“I, uh, just messed up. I’m sorry, I always make it way too complicated,” he said. “Let’s go again.”
I stepped back into place neatly, adjusting my top’s strap to keep me from thinking about his palm on my bare side.

***

Courtney grabbed my hand, grinning wide. “I love that dress! You look great.”
I twirled in place, letting the flowy sundress flair around me. She clapped enthusiastically. Seeing the rest of the group wander ahead, we scurried to catch up, giggling amongst ourselves.
We were heading out to film a Smosh Pit video in a nearby park. A local dance club was offering free dance lessons to anyone who showed up, and Sarah had been convinced this would make for a good video. Lasercorn, clearly not as thrilled, stomped by, muttering about public embarrassment. Tommy, Courtney, Noah and I couldn’t keep the smiles off our faces. Free dance lessons? Don’t mind if I do.
“You’ll notice that Sarah didn’t show up for the video that she pitched,” Tommy whispered, sending a cascade of giggles through us. Damn those managers, getting out of all the really good stuff.
I could see Shayne’s broad shoulders ahead, walking in step with a camera man. He laughed, head tossed back in that free, joyful way he always does, giving in fully to the mirth. You knew something was important to Shayne when he dedicated himself to it, when he no longer cared what anyone else thought; I remembered him arriving late at work, a coffee in his hand (how strange it was not to smell his early gray tea), walking straight to my desk and smiling when I realized it was my order – exactly my order. I felt something in my throat: like the heat and warmth draining from my breath, leaving my smile cold and wavering.
Shayne waved back to a woman standing in the park next to some speakers and a few hesitant passersby. She herded us all together, enthused by the numbers we brought, and quickly matched us up into partners. I bowed deeply to Noah, snorting in laughter when he oh-so daintily picked up my hand.
We began learning an old-fashioned partner dance, something between a waltz and square dance, where everyone moved in a circle, switching partners occasionally. Noah kept stepping with the wrong foot, leading us to stumble around, laughing wildly. The cameramen bobbed and weaved, capturing our fumbles and rambunctious laughter. A steady breeze kept my skirt flowing, wiped the heat off our faces, sending it drifting into the wind and back into my throat, and I felt the sun in my voice. I spun neatly into Tommy’s waiting arms. He was a much better dance partner, and I pretended to swoon as he dipped me elegantly. My feet twirled and tapped and I couldn’t stop howling when Lasercorn and Courtney toppled over completely, watching my friends make absolute fools of ourselves, spinning, spinning, spinning, stop.
I knew that hand on my waist, the ghost of a few days ago.
The sun set, dripping down to the bottom of my lungs, making my gentle gasp emerge as steam when I was, yet again, tugged into Shayne’s arms. He looked at me intently, and I didn’t like how he’d become so serious around me. My hand found its place on his shoulder, and I said quietly, “Come on, let’s just have fun.”
His expression never changed – damn him, I could never win easily – as he tightened his hold on my waist, and I felt his unwillingness to let go. I’d worn this dress on our second date, a simple yet perfect brunch, when he admitted at the end of the meal that there had been chocolate smudges on the corners of my lips the whole time, and I’d thwacked his arm in retaliation, blushing until he said it had been cute. He rarely called me cute, voice settling lowly on beautiful or amazing in those special romantic moments. The word dumb was usually what emerged, but it made me feel just as treasured, just like the way he’d say my name so effortlessly, as though I was born to rest in the curves of his tongue. I couldn’t just forget the way it fit.
I broke away from his eyes when Noah jeered at Lasercorn for his old man moves, only for the two to rotate into being partners, and start insulting each other back and forth. Shayne chuckled, losing his footing for a moment. We stuttered in our rhythm, seeming to forget all the moves, and then it was all easy again, all time spent in the clouds and that goddamn crooked smile and those stupidly bright eyes.
The song ended soon after. We applauded, curtseying and bowing, before beginning the trek back to the office.
“That was way more fun than I was expecting,” Shayne admitted.
I nodded. “Who knew everyone had such good moves?”
“Except for Lasercorn,” Shayne replied, raising his voice so the man in question could hear. “Real dad dancing back there!”
We laughed at the fist shaking we earned, until I felt a hand brush mine. I looked down to see Shayne gently holding my fingers. His breath hit the shell of my ear.
“Storage hallway,” he said softly. “Second closet on the right at 2:00.”
I blinked, processing, and he was gone, jogging ahead to talk with Tommy. When Courtney drifted back to chat, I hurriedly pressed my fingers to my cheeks in an effort to dispel the deep red there.

***

2:03.
My back hit the wall, thudding throughout the dark room, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hips pressing into mine. My skirt pushed up around my waist, nothing felt better than the warmth of his hold on my thighs. I ran my hands through his hair, instinctively knowing where to grab, feel, hold, even in the pitch black, insistent lips trailing over my jaw.
“You know,” Shayne muttered, hands sliding to my ass to support me better, “we might be able to take advantage of our fairly oblivious friends.”
I giggled at that exciting thought, until he ensured there was nothing so coherent leaving my lips.