Addicted (1/16)
Chapter rating: NC-17
Pairing: Onew-centric, eventual Onew/Minho.
Chapter word count: 3764
Genre: Angst, later romance.
Summary: "Jinki has a pathological need to have someone, or multiple people between his legs, and generally inside of him." Fill for this prompt in the OnHo fic meme.
Warnings: Language, dub-con and just general fucked-up-ness.
It's a constant itch under his skin. He can't sit still, can't focus on the task in front of him, can barely even breathe. All he knows is he needs to get out now.
But he can't. His boss hasn't made the rounds yet, his daily 4:13 PM (for Jinki, anyway) check to make sure that people are still contributing to the company's profits even though it's less than an hour until they get off from work. He checks the clock. Still five more minutes. He wants to scream. Five minutes is such an awful span of time; too long to wait, too short to actually do anything. He rolls his chair to the edge of his cubicle and sticks his head out. Empty. Just the way he feels. His hand falls from the armrest and into his lap, inching towards his belt. Five—now four—minutes is enough, he tries to convince himself. Just one, all I need is one—
"Jinki-ssi!" a boisterous voice calls from behind him right before a hand slams solidly onto his shoulder. Jinki screams and falls out of his chair, half on his boss's feet.
"Sa-sa-sajang-nim." Jinki quickly stands up and brushes himself off, trying to straighten out the permanent wrinkles in his dark blue suit.
Jinki's boss raises an eyebrow. "Alright?" he asks, omnipresent, incorrigible grin lighting up his face. Jinki feels a shudder wrack his body and he wants to scream. No, not his boss, why, it can't be his boss, if he gets fired again—
"Yes, thank you, sajang-nim," he says stiffly, bowing at a perfect 90-degree angle and ignoring the growing, empty feeling that calls out for the man in front of him.
"Working hard?"
"Of course, sajang-nim."
The shorter man gives him an odd look and Jinki berates himself for behaving in such a cold manner towards the CEO's son. "My apologies. I'm feeling a bit under the weather."
The man claps him on the shoulder again and now Jinki's in the danger zone, sweat breaking out along his forehead and under his armpits. His fingers flex, digging into the sides of his thighs instead of reaching for buttons and zippers the way they so desperately want to, in order to distract himself from the inappropriate thoughts racing through his head. You can't get fired again, if you get fired again, Taemin will—
"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" Except Jinki also hears "Why don't you take your clothes off?" and he knows he's really lost.
He bows, backing away from the touch of his superior and quickly packs his things. "Thank you, sir, I think I will." He grabs his briefcase and races out the door.
Inside the safety of his car, he allows himself to finally get at least a bit of the relief he was looking for. He sucks on the fingers of one hand as he undoes his zipper, slides off his pants, briefs, and slips one, two, three inside, working them back and forth urgently until he finally releases. It's not enough, it's never enough, but it'll hold him off for now.
He reaches into the backseat for a towel and the clothes he keeps for when he's feeling this way and changes into them before driving vaguely in the direction of the red-light district of Itaewon. He plays his music extra loud, trying to convince himself he's taking the scenic route home from work, he meant to turn left instead of right because he's going to stop and visit a friend.
The sight of Homo Hill rises before him and he slumps into his steering wheel, but the tiny, degenerate corner of his mind rejoices in victory, urging him to get up and go.
