Kirsten (kirstenlouise) wrote,
Kirsten
kirstenlouise

#414 - [FIC] Post-Its and the Problem of Thursdays (Cobb/Nash)

Title: Post-Its and the Problem of Thursdays
Word Count: 4,718
Pairing: Cobb/Nash, established relationship
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Office AU, written partly for this prompt on the kink meme: "Cobb's boss asks him to fire Nash, who's in Cobb's department, due to insubordination and general refusal to comply with company policies against leaving passive-aggressive notes all over coworkers' cubicles."
Enticements: cracky overtones, flagrant abuse of the f-bomb, slutty!bottom!Cobb
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Author's Note: Many thanks to koushi who beta'd this madness for me! Follows Where There's a Will. Reading in series is recommended, but all you really need to know is that Cobb has ED and Nash (usually) loves him anyway.

ETA: Once again, my slasherrific partner in crime koushi has podficced this here! Love you, BB. <3



“Do you know why I have called you to my office, Dominick?”

Cobb picked idly at a thumbnail, unable to help his sour expression even for the sake of self preservation. His old man didn’t even call him that. Now Dom, that was fine. Cobb? Great. Mr. Cobb? Even better. ‘Dominick,’ though, always made him feel like he was packing twenty years and forty pounds more than usual.

He didn’t need to hear that from Saito, lounging back in his chair like he owned the place. It wasn’t that far off the mark but, seriously, the guy was sitting on the wrong side of fifty, wearing a plum colored three-piece complete with a lavender silk tie and somehow he was still managing to set Cobb’s hackles rising.

There was something very wrong with that.

“No, sir,” he said, rather belatedly. “I don’t.”

“It has come to my attention that a certain member of your department has been…overstepping his bounds, shall we say?” Saito leveled an intense gaze at him, fingers steepled under his chin. “A Mr. Nash, I believe?”

“Nash, like Nash from claims?” Yeah, fuckface, who else? Shit. Not smooth. Sweat sprung out on his palms. “Has someone filed a complaint?”

Saito offered a thin smile. “Several.”

Oh, shit. Here we go. Cobb swallowed hard. “S-several, sir?”

“The majority of these complaints have a singular source but I have on file half a dozen coworkers whose testimony will serve as corroboration,” Saito said, his tone projecting the regal calm that always pissed Cobb right off.

It wasn’t that he hated his boss. At least, not in the way most people hated their boss for being incompetent or overbearing or just an all-around prick. But the way Saito could cross his legs, give him The Look, and make Cobb feel like a piece of dog shit he’d stepped in? That he hated.

“If things continue as they have been,” Saito continued, “I will have no choice but to contact Human Resources.”

Saito knew, then. Fuck, fuck, and double-fuck. How was it that Saito knew everything when he wasn’t even around half the time? Goddamn it all, this was exactly what he’d told Nash was going to happen. Cobb clenched his jaw against the woeful moan attempting to escape as he mentally bid farewell to life as he knew it. Goodbye promotion, goodbye job, goodbye nice apartment on the upper west side… this time next week he was going to be peddling his ass for cab fare and coffee money.

Or worse—working in the mail room. He shuddered.

“Look, Mr. Saito, about Nash, I, I can explain—”

“No need,” Saito said. He pushed a manila folder across the desk and adjusted his tie. Not that he needed it, the suave bastard. Cobb had an inkling Saito had been a peacock in a previous life, the way he was always preening. “I have been compiling evidence for some time. His transgressions bear no explanation.”

Transgressions? The fuck was this—a primetime special? Cobb took the folder with a little snort, nervous as fuck and not sure he was ready to see the kind of pics Saito had in there. Suddenly his tie was feeling a lot less like Yves St. Laurent and more like a noose. With great trepidation, he peeled back the corner of the folder, hoping to god or anyone who might be listening that there wouldn’t be any from the time they’d had it off in the copy room. If anyone ever found out it was them that’d damaged a $3000 piece of printing equipment, it’d be too soon.

Cobb forced himself to look. Oh. Oh, well that was… that was a post-it. At least, it was a photocopy of something post-it sized bearing the message ‘LEARN TO ALPHABETIZE, SHIT FOR BRAINS.’

It slipped out before he could help it. “Is this a joke?”

“This is extremely serious,” Saito said, lips pursed in a frown. He looked distinctly unamused—not good. Cobb had seen that look once before, and it had come with a hefty fine. “I do not take harassment lightly and I hope for your sake that you do not either. You look confused, Mr. Cobb. Surely you are aware of the notes Mr. Nash has been leaving his coworkers?”

“I know Nash can be a little abrasive, but he does the work. He’s rarely late and he never calls in sick.”

He also gave great head, but that was kind of on a need-to-know basis.

Saito leaned forward in his chair, hands folded on top of the desk. “Would you like to know what I think, Dominick?”

So they were back to that again. At least he wasn’t getting raked over the coals for fucking a colleague. There was something to be said for that.

“Much obliged, sir.”

“Cut your losses and fire him.”

“I can’t fire him! We’re f—” Cobb’s jaw clicked shut on instinct.

“Friends?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That. Nash is… you know, Nash is one of the best analysts we’ve got right now. I can’t afford to lose him.” Not true, strictly speaking, but close enough. Fuck. He had to think of something else and fast. Something to use as leverage. “He makes great coffee.”

Saito’s gaze turned skeptical. “Coffee.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cobb said, nodding his head for emphasis. God, this was stupid. He was a moron. “This place would be a zoo without caffeine. I mean, just last week I thought Yusuf was going to shank someone after his mug got knocked over.”

For a long while, Saito did nothing but stare at him. Finally, though, he sighed and put away the manila folder filled, he assumed, with more of Nash’s charming little notes. The time of judgment was nigh, the honorable Judge Saito presiding. At this point, Cobb was just thankful Saito’s penetrating gaze was more or less an empty threat. It’d be his ass on the line if any of what he was thinking ever came out in conversation.

Privately, he thought Saito might be picking up on it a little anyway.

“If I receive one more report concerning Mr. Nash’s behavior in any light other than a positive one, I will fire him myself,” Saito said at last. “Is that clear?”

“Absolutely. Thank you, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

On his way out, Cobb did a mental fist-pump.

- - - - -


It was a Thursday and Nash was in a shit mood. He hated Thursdays. By then, everyone was over the excitement of hitting the middle of the work week and anxious for Friday to have come and gone because as of Thursday, you were sure to have gotten yourself into one of two equally hellish positions. Either you’d have two dozen claims you’d procrastinated on and be hauling ass to get them finished, sorted, and approved, or you’d be done with all but a couple and have to explain to Arthur why you were sitting glassy-eyed in your cubicle, doodling on office memo pads and building castles out of sugar cubes.

As far as Nash was concerned, Thursdays could suck a dick.

He was just putting the finishing touches on his latest sugar cube project when someone bumped his elbow and sent the whole thing crumbling. Nash swiveled in his chair. It was Arthur. Of course it was Arthur. It was always Arthur.

“Get back to work, Nash. Playtime is over.”

“Get fucked, four-eyes.”

“I’m reporting you for that,” Arthur said, prissy little princess that he was. “You can’t talk to your superiors this way.”

He adjusted the black frames balanced on his nose and frowned. Even if he did manage to look pretty doing it, Nash wasn’t about to give a free pass to the world’s most infuriating micromanager. Anything sent to Arthur for approval came back soaked in red ink and vitriol.

Nash snorted. “Then it’s a damn good thing I don’t see any of ’em hanging around.”

“You—”

“Yeah, me. Get the fuck out of my face, Arthur. I don’t got time for your shit today, pulling rank on me. This ain’t the military, honey. We’re all grunts here, even you.” Nash flashed him a grin. “Maybe you especially.”

It was too easy, really, getting a rise out of Arthur, but it never stopped being fun. Arthur’s fists were balled up at his sides, but Nash knew he was much too straight-laced to take a swing at him, military training or not. According to Yusuf, Arthur had been a low-level clerk anyway; nothing special.

“Saito’s going to hear about this,” Arthur said, voice low and menacing.

“Fuck, now I’m really scared. You got me, Arthur.” Nash laughed and chucked a sugar cube at him. Fucker probably got off on this shit. He asked for it enough. “Run along and tell daddy the big kids are being mean to you, why don’t you?”

Arthur shook his head. “One of these days, someone’s going to beat the shit out of you for that mouth.”

“Yeah, well, today ain’t the day, sweet pea.”

And it wouldn’t be Arthur that did it, even if it was that day. With that, Arthur stomped off and Nash went about setting his sugar cubes to rights. A familiar face peeked into his cubicle.

“If it’s any consolation, it looked almost nothing like the Taj Mahal anyway,” Yusuf said. “Sugar cubes or not, the ceilings were all wrong.”

“Get bent, man. Seriously.”

Yusuf held up his hands in surrender. “All right. I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll just leave you to your misanthropic architecture.”

Yusuf wasn’t a bad guy, really. Most of the time, they got along okay. He was one of the few people from the office he’d seen socially and Nash had to hand it to him—the guy mixed a killer drink. Good-looking, too, if you were into that sort of thing. Nash would’ve pulled him into bed (or an empty bathroom stall, whatever) a long time ago if he wasn’t so sure Yusuf would turn out to be the slow-sex-and-cuddle type.

There was always the chance that if Nash got him drunk enough, he’d be able to convince Yusuf to pull his hair or smack his ass or something. The only problem was—

A hand came down on his shoulder, startling him.

“For fuck’s sake, Arthur, haven’t you had—” Nash cut off as he came face to face with Cobb. “Hey, boss. What’s up? How’s it hanging?”

“Real funny, Nash.”

Served him right. This was the first time Nash had seen him all week. “You need something? Because I gotta tell you, I’m real busy. And it’s almost lunch, so—”

“My office. Now.”

That tone could only mean one thing. Nash was going to get reamed, in a very unpleasant, professional kind of way. He winced as Cobb slammed the door behind them. Definitely no desk sex on today’s menu. Nash slumped down in his chair. Fucking Thursdays. Who needed them?

“If this is about Arthur, he deserved it.” Nash crossed his arms over his chest. “And don’t even think about asking me to apologize, because I ain’t fucking sorry.”

And he wasn’t. Okay, maybe a little but only because he probably wouldn’t have been too happy about having his cubicle wallpapered with yellow, 3x3 stickies covered in dick doodles and flip-book pages of Arthur getting fucked by a grizzly bear, either. So his mind was permanently stuck in adolescence. Guilty as charged.

Still, Arthur was a dick.

Cobb ignored him and yanked off his tie, already loose around his neck. “Saito called me in this morning. You know what he said?”

“Blow me and I’ll give you a raise?” Nash ventured.

“For someone whose neck I just pulled off the chopping block, you’ve got a lot of nerve,” Cobb said, squint of disapproval firmly fixed in place. “Saito thinks I should fire you and right now? I’m not so sure I shouldn’t.”

“So fire me,” Nash retorted. “See if I ever suck your dick again.”

“What the fuck is your problem? Come on, Nash, you can’t leave notes telling people they have shit for brains or pencil dicks or whatever it is that has you—are you laughing?” He shook his head. “You’re the most ungrateful sonofabitch I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, boss.” Nash picked at his sleeve, irritated. “Did you want me to wipe my chin and say thank you?”

“What I want,” he Cobb said, looking like he was ready to lose his cool any second, “is for you to act like an adult. If you’re having problems with people in the office, you come to me.”

Nash snorted. “Only you’d think tattling was less childish than handling shit on my own.”

That did it. That was the last straw. Cobb’s face purpled with rage. “That’s it, Nash. We’re done. Get the fuck out of my office and go cool your head somewhere.”

“Are you firing me?”

“You’re suspended until further notice. I don’t want to see you around here until you’ve got your shit together. Now go before I change my mind.”

Fuck that. He didn’t need Cobb to offer it to him like a handout, like it was some concession letting him keep his job when all he’d done was leave a few notes. Nash wasn’t going to let him have the last word on this.

He walked around to the other side of Cobb’s desk and leaned up against the edge. “You know, I don’t think I will go. The fuck is the matter with you that you think it’s cool to ignore me all week and then call me in to try and tear me a new asshole?”

Cobb gaped at him. “You’re going to turn this into a talk about our relationship? That’s…goddamn, Nash. That’s unbelievable.”

“Considering all the times we’ve fucked in here, I thought it was fair game. Already on the table, so to speak.”

Cobb looked at him, opened his mouth like he was about to say something, and closed it again like he’d thought better of it. Nash looked at him, not sorry at all. He hadn’t said anything that wasn’t absolutely true.

“Well?”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Cobb said at last. “You don’t have a clue. You’re so intent on playing the victim, you can’t even see what you’ve done wrong. It’s always about you, isn’t it, Nash? Everyone’s an asshole or a dick or a paper-pushing-fuckwad, but you? You’re an innocent, isn’t that right? Wake the fuck up, Nash, before I really do have to fire you.”

The tirade hit him like a ton of bricks. So that was what Cobb really thought of him, then? Probably what everyone thought of him, if he was going to go ahead and call a spade a spade. Nash knew enough to know when he wasn’t wanted. He didn’t have to stand for this shit.

“I’ll save you the trouble. I fucking quit.”

- - - - -


A few hours later, the thrill of victory had worn off. Somewhere around the second pitcher of beer—hey, it was five o’clock two time zones over—Nash had realized that he might have won the argument, but he’d lost the war…something like that, anyway. He wouldn’t have to deal with Arthur or any of the other fuckups in his department, but it was cold comfort considering he’d come away without a job or a boyfriend. He needed the money.

And he was drunk enough to admit the possibility that he might need Cobb a little, too. It wasn’t that Cobb was one of the only people who hadn’t dismissed him as a slimy rat-bastard, though that helped. It was definitely a factor, but more than that Nash was starting to feel too unsteady on his own. He’d gotten away with it in his twenties, but the same shit that had been cute then made him look like a loser now.

Cobb wasn’t exactly the picture of stability, but being a loser was hard enough without being single, which was why Nash was there at half past four, drunkenly reeling on the guy’s doorstep.

He punched the doorbell into one continuous stream of sound until a furious Cobb answered. Surprised by the suddenness of it, he lost his balance and fell over the threshold, the two of them crashing to the floor in a heap.

“The fuck, Nash. Are you drunk?

“Sure am, baby,” Nash mumbled into his throat. “Missed you, came to apologize. I’m even drunker than sorry—I mean, I’m sorry, more sorry—”

“Yeah, I get it. Can you get off me now?” Cobb shoved at him. “Jesus, you’re heavy. Where the hell are you hiding it?”

“Bones like lead,” he said, cheerfully, as Cobb hauled him to his feet.

“No wonder you’re so fucking dumb. All that heavy metal poisoning.”

Nash laughed. “Probably, baby. Probably.” He slung his arms around Cobb’s neck and crushed them against the wall, covering Cobb’s mouth with sloppy, wet kisses. “Please don’t fire me anymore.”

“You quit,” Cobb reminded him, wiping saliva from his face.

“So don’t lemme quit anymore.”

“I seem to remember you dumping me, too.”

Nash thought about it for a second. “Wanna fuck and make-up?”

“When you don’t smell like vomit? Sure.”

“Deal,” Nash agreed and promptly passed out.

- - - - -


The first thing Nash hazily focused in on when he came to was the TV, going quietly in the background. One glance, half-drunk or not, was enough to tell it was a rom com.

“Oh, Christ. I’ve been fucking a total sap.”

Cobb jumped. “You’re awake.”

“Maybe I’m just talking in my sleep.”

“In that case, shut the fuck up.”

“Now that’s more like it. There’s the man I know and love.” Nash settled back with his head on Cobb’s thigh. “How long’ve I been out?”

“Couple of hours.”

“How’d you manage to drag me in here?”

There was a pause. “You don’t want to know.”

Fair enough. Nash closed his eyes. “Sorry I fell on you. For everything, really. I don’t know why I say shit like that sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” Cobb said after a while. “You really need to knock it off, though. I can’t have you raising hell at the office. You don’t have to be nice, but don’t go out of your way to be a dick.”

“No more passive-aggressive post-its?”

“Absolutely not.”

Nash turned his face into Cobb’s thigh and grumbled, “Fine.”

“You’ll come to me if you have a problem?”

“Sure, whatever.”

He was running out of things to write, anyway. There were only so many ways he could tell Arthur to take the log out of his ass and try dick for a change. Nash was pretty sure the world would be a happier place if Arthur was getting laid every now and again. It couldn’t be healthy to have your asshole clenched that tight all the time.

Nash nuzzled down into Cobb’s lap, met with the clean scent of detergent that clung to his navy slacks. He smiled at the feel of Cobb’s fingers running through his hair, massaging his scalp and the back of his neck, just like Nash liked it. It felt good, enough to keep his mind off how close he’d come to fucking all of this up.

Nash trailed little kisses over Cobb’s fly, the outline of his cock plain even when he wasn’t sporting a hard-on. Guy was hung, seriously. Cobb’s hand squeezed reflexively as Nash mouthed at him through the fabric.

“I thought you weren’t sucking my dick anymore?”

Nash walked his fingers along the inside of Cobb’s thigh. “Well, if you don’t wanna accept my apology…”

“No,” Cobb said hastily. “I mean, yes, I want the apology.”

“Then shut up and let me work here.”

He smoothed his hands over Cobb’s thighs to tug down his pants, continuing to kiss and suck at him over his briefs. It tasted like you’d expect a mouthful of fabric to taste, but Cobb was liking it. Cobb had his head tipped back against the couch, jaw slack as Nash nuzzled the patch of skin peeking out between his shirt and his briefs, obscenely tented and soaked through with saliva.

Nash went to take him out but Cobb pushed him off.

“No, let me.” Cobb rubbed the nape of his neck. “Could you get, first—”

“On my knees? No problem.”

Really, it was the least he could do. Nash switched it up and watched Cobb take out his dick, half-hard but already so thick it made his jaw ache just to look at it all wrapped up in Cobb’s fist, slick headed and red.

Nash looked up at him and licked his lips. “Gonna steady it for me, baby?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I just held it there for you to suck,” Cobb said, fist sliding base to tip and back again.

“Sounds great. You know what’d be even better?

“Yeah?”

“If you’d just fucking do it already. I’m getting old down here. Jesus.”

“You’re such a shit,” Cobb said, accusingly. “I thought you liked that kind of thing.”

Nash shrugged. “Yeah, well, I been living the fantasy all week. ‘Scuse me for wanting the real deal. You know how to shut me up if you really want to.”

“You don’t even deserve it any more. I should just send you packing.”

“And do what? Jerk off to pay-per-view? Come on, big boy,” Nash said, grinning up at him, “I know you ain’t all talk. Give it to me and you can say anything you want.”

That certainly did the trick.

Cobb gripped the back of Nash’s neck and fed his cock in, inch by inch, until Nash could rest his forehead against his stomach and feel the heat coming off of him. They stayed like that for a moment, Cobb letting him relax and even out his breathing so he didn’t end up panting himself into a blackout; definitely not one of his prouder moments.

Fingers combed through his hair, the sound of Cobb’s breathing harsh and heavy in his ears. Nash tried to swallow, working his throat around Cobb to make sure he was ready. The hard tug on his hair went straight to his dick. Other than that, Cobb kept still. He was good for things like this—pushy, but not so much that he crossed the border between hot and just plain stupid.

Nash liked that, liked kneeling there for him and listening to the noises that came out before things really started, nose nestled in the dark thatch of hair between Cobb’s legs. It was kind of soothing, really. Not in a way that’d put him to sleep, but in a Zen kind of way, like everything else just stopped or slowed down.

“Fuck,” Cobb moaned suddenly. “You look so fucking hot sucking my dick.”

So much for Zen.

“I could watch you like this forever. So fucking hot, Nash. Jesus Christ, can—” His hips jerked. “Can I—?”

Nash gave his leg a squeeze to let him know it was okay. He’d earned it, played his cards right and kept his shit together. It wasn’t like he had much of a gag reflex anyway and thank god for that because otherwise he’d be choking. Cobb kept his thrusts slow and short, fucking down his throat while his thighs strained under Nash’s hands.

“Nash, fuck, Nash. Yeah, suck me, baby. Come on, come on—motherfucker,” he swore loudly as Nash’s throat went tight around him. “Fuck, Nash, I’m gonna…”

He collapsed back against the couch with a pitiful whine. Nash gave it a minute before pulling off and wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. Judging by Cobb’s forlorn expression, he’d lost it again. Fuck, and just when things were on their way to being all patched up between them.

“So,” Nash began, “you got any ideas?” Cobb just groaned and sunk down in his seat. “I guess that’s a ‘no.’ All right, well, I don’t think we’re gonna get anywhere with that tonight.”

Nash patted his thigh and did his best to look on the bright side. It had been good while it lasted and with his hair falling in his face and his shirt riding up over his stomach, Cobb did look pretty fuck—Nash snapped his fingers.

“All right, baby. All right, I got it. You just sit back and I’m gonna take care of this.” He sucked two fingers wet before working them between Cobb’s thighs, rubbing down between his cheeks. “This cool with you? Cobb?”

“Wait. Wait, I’ve got…” Cobb fumbled around in the couch cushions and came out with a bottle of lube. “Here.”

Now, Nash wasn’t really big on judging, but Cobb deserved the side-eye for that one. “You hide lube in the couch. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I beat off out here sometimes.” He shifted, discomfited. “Whatever, you’re not fucking me dry so take it or forget about it.”

Nash snatched the bottle out of his hand. “Just for that, I’m not gonna be nice to you. In fact, I think I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your name.”

Even if he was rolling his eyes, Nash could tell by the way he flushed and kind of wriggled around that Cobb was into it. Amnesia-by-fucking it was, then. Nash was pleasantly surprised to find that Cobb took two fingers easy. Even the third wasn’t met with much resistance. Some guys were just like that—all they needed to be ready was to drop their pants, which was fine by him. Nash thought he’d go off like a loose cannon if he had to wait any longer. Lubed up and lined up, he braced his hand on Cobb’s hip before sliding home. The response was immediate. Cobb went all tight around him and moaned.

He paused. “Why d’you think we’ve never done this before?”

“No idea,” Cobb panted, “but if you don’t move I’m going to re-fire you and strangle you, capisce?”

Nash didn’t need telling twice. He set a pace as quick and hard as he thought Cobb could handle. The guy was far from delicate, but it wasn’t like he’d been getting it regularly, and Nash really wanted to walk into work the next morning with everything still attached and in the same order.

He was beginning to think he’d misjudged things, though. Cobb was matching his every thrust, hips slamming upward like he was desperate for it, couldn’t handle it if Nash didn’t fuck him harder, faster, deeper.

“Damn, Cobb,” he laughed. “Who would’ve guessed you were in such need of a fucking?”

Cobb arched and threw his head back. “Fuck, Nash, that’s—fuck, come on. Don’t fuck around, I want—want it.”

“That’s it,” Nash crooned, nestling his face into the join of Cobb’s neck and shoulder. He left little open-mouthed, biting kisses, sucking up salt and sweat as they fucked. “That’s it, baby. I got you, don’t worry. This is where you belong, all fucked open and moaning for it like a bitch in heat.” Nash nipped at his collar. “You’re my little bitch now, Cobb.”

“You, you,” Cobb bit out, “are so f-fucking stupid.”

“Fuck you, you love it.”

It was obvious from the way Cobb kept rocking up for him, all slutty and needy. Nash hitched him up a little higher and picked up the pace. He was getting close, the tension in his spine coiled up so tight it hurt. But he kept at it, riding Cobb for all he was worth and drinking in the sight of him, skin flushed and sweat-slick, mouth open to whine and whimper.

That did it. Nash gave a moan and spilled, balls deep in a still-squirming Cobb. His legs gave out and he fell forward, both of them tangled up on the couch, Nash’s face buried in Cobb’s shoulder as he felt himself soften and slip out.

“We should do this again sometime,” Cobb said after a while.

At least they agreed on something. “Definitely, baby.”

“Think you can go again in ten, or is that too soon?”

Ten? Forget that. “Give me five.”
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