Little shop of horrors

Maladjusted

maladjusted.
orinscrivello

Summary:

orin catches seymour doing something rather vulgar.
Notes:

hi if you want anything nonexplicit i have a bit of other lsoh stuff up. enjoy hoohoo
Work Text:
Orin Scrivello, D.D.S., approached the front desk at Mushnik's Flower Shop. To his dismay, neither his girlfriend or her coworker were up front. Orin curled his lip, impatient, and he slammed the bell sitting beside the cash-register with an open palm. Despite its ringing, nobody arrived to heed its call. Orin disregarded the bell and approached the back, toward a slightly-ajar storage closet door. Though it was seemingly still dark inside, whines and mumbles were going on behind the door. Orin shoved it open. Seymour, lost in his own little world, leaning against stacked empty pots, was jacking off, and did not hear or see Orin come in.

He moaned, breathy, "Oh, Audrey— Audrey, yes—" which really did not help his case as far as Orin was concerned. The dentist stepped closer, leaning down to meet him at eye level.

"You touchin' yourself t'my girlfriend back here, Krelborn?"

Seymour started, gasping and accidentally whimpering. Orin's grin turned sadistic. The botanist hurriedly shoved himself back into his slacks, buttoning the fly with shaky hands.

"Oh— oh gosh— I'm so sorry, I— I—" As Seymour fumbled his words, attempting to both apologize and lessen Orin's anger, the very man leaned closer and stopped him.

"Y'know, I'm g'na tell her."

Seymour nodded. He did know this. He hadn't thought of it until now, but of course her boyfriend would have to tell her about what he'd seen. It was only logical.

"But... I don't have to."

The botanist snapped to attention, eyes wide. Orin continued, flashing his brace-laden pearly whites. "I don't have t'tell Audrey anything, pr'vided you do somethin' for me in return."

Seymour, dizzy, uncertain of himself, panicking, only mustered a desperate response—"Yeah— yeah, I'd do— I'll do anything, what is it?"

Orin's grin turned predatory. "Suck me off."

"What?"

The dentist squared his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. "Unless y'want me t'tell her..."

Seymour's eyes widened even further, and his face flushed. "No—no! No, don't— don't tell her. Don't tell her." Orin eyed him. The botanist swallowed audibly. "I'll— I'll do it."

Orin's expression melted into a sharky grin. "There's a good boy." Seymour reacted to this. Whether it was out of discomfort or not, Orin couldn't tell. He appreciated the reaction either way. Nervous, Seymour reached forward with shaky hands, but didn't have the confidence to actually undo Orin's belt. The dentist sneered. "Relax." He grabbed Seymour by the wrist and forced his hand closer, causing the pad of his hand to brush against the front of Orin's pants. The dentist inhaled sharply. Seymour recoiled. Orin tugged him back. "Hurry up, freak."

Seymour hurried, shifting so he was sitting upright on his knees, and undid Orin's belt, and then his fly. His dick sprang free, and Seymour tensed, looking up at him with clear uncertainty. The dentist's impatience got the best of him, and he forced a hand into the hair on the back of Seymour's head and shoved himself into Seymour's mouth. Out of surprise, the botanist gagged. Orin moaned. Seymour started gently bobbing his head, but clearly it wasn't enough. Orin took it into his own hands, curling a fist around Seymour's hair and controlling his movements himself. With no room to breathe, Seymour's choking got more frequent. At one point, he audibly whined against Orin, which caused him to stop and glance down.

"Into that, are we, dollface?"

Seymour hummed a note of disapproval around Orin's dick, which sent a shiver up the dentist's spine. Despite the rejection, it was clear Seymour was very turned on—the boner he'd had from before had come back full force, and was pressing incredibly noticeably against the front of Seymour's slacks.

Orin found this amusing. "Nice stiffy, Krelborn." Seymour whined again. Orin jutted his hips forward. Seymour took this in stride.

Orin's breathing got more shallow, and he failed to bite back any growls of pleasure. "God— oh, god, Krelborn—"

Seymour's eyes were just as wide as before, and he looked almost focused now, like he was genuinely trying to see this through to the end. His glasses were slipping off his nose. Orin's fingers tightened around Seymour's curls. Each little reaction the botanist had, paired with his perverted little whines against Orin's dick, made the dentist see stars.

"Yeah, yeah— Christ, I—" Seymour attempted to draw his head away from Orin when he came, but Orin held fast, bruising pressure on the back of Seymour's head keeping his mouth exactly where it was. Seymour choked, hard, and pushed himself away, scrambling on his ass backwards. Orin's head lolled for a second, and then he looked down at Seymour through hazy vision. Seymour wiped his swollen mouth with the back of his hand, spitting onto the linoleum floor of the stockroom. "Gross— gross, Orin, that was gross," he muttered, disapprovingly.

Orin tilted his head. "Your dick says otherwise."

Seymour glanced down at his lap, and then up at Orin. "That's crude."

Orin scoffed and redid his fly and his belt, and then crouched in front of Seymour, way too close. His braces caught the light when he grinned.

"Thanks a lot, hotshot." He squeezed Seymour's dick. The younger's breath hitched. Orin stood and fixed his jacket, flashing that train-tracks smile. "Hadda great time. Get back t'work." He spun on the heel of his buckle-laden boots and strode out of the shop, leaving Seymour sitting pathetically on the floor.