Ryden Oneshots

Paper Jam

.:. Rating : NC-17 .:.

Summary: This is the one where Ryan’s an accountant and Brendon’s a copy boy.

"Ross!" I wince slightly as the source of that harsh and hurried tone approaches me. I straighten out my face just in time to look up from my desk and see my supervisor's supervisor frowning at me.

"Yes, Mr. Wentz?" I say with fake cheerfulness in my voice. Unlike my direct supervisor, Patrick, who is more like a friend than a boss, Mr. Wentz had deemed it too casual to go by first names.

"Where's your write-up of the annual report that you were supposed to look over? We need your analysis by the end of the day!" He gestures wildly at me, and I have to use all my willpower to refrain from rolling my eyes at him.

I give him what I think is a placating smile and say, “It’s done. I just have to run off a few copies before I turn them into Patrick.”

It seems to have worked since his frown has become a lot less noticeable, but I guess he doesn’t want to let me off the hook so easily because he responds, “Well, what are you doing here then? Go do it!” Mr. Wentz then turns on his heel and stalks off to his office.

I let out the sigh and eye-roll that I’d been keeping in and gather my papers to head down the hall to the copy machine. When I get there, my face falls when I see a sign on it that reads “Out of Order”.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath.

“Whoa there, Ryan.”

I turn my head and see my boss smiling jovially at me. “Hey, Patrick. Sorry, Wentz came by my desk and was freaking out about getting these in,” I say as I gesture to the papers in my hand.

He claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, man,” Patrick says. “You can go down to the copy room on the third floor. It’s mainly for making a ton of copies, but I’m sure they’ll let you use the copiers there if ours is broken.”

I sigh, relieved. “Thanks so much, Patrick. I’ll go down there right now.”

I make my way to the elevator and down two floors. After asking a hassled looking assistant to point the way, I head down to the copy room. I pull the door open, and I raise my eyebrows at the sight in front of me.

An ass is waving at me as its owner leans next to a copier, audibly grunting as he reaches for something. I stand quietly, just staring with my mouth hanging slightly open.

“Ah-ha, gotcha!” the man says as he pulls out a piece of paper. He whips around, and I have to shake my head to break my stare. I close my mouth, and the guy tilts his head and smirks at me. “Can I help you?” he asks.

I clear my throat, making sure to keep my voice low with a bored tone because he may be hot but so are a lot of people. “Yeah, um, I kind of need to make a few copies of these.”

He approaches me and leans over to look at the documents in my hand. “Don’t you accountants have a copy machine on the fifth floor?” He’s got this tone in his voice. It’s confident, bordering on arrogant, and it causes me to roll my eyes. What the fuck does he have to be arrogant about? He’s a fucking copy boy. He spends his days worrying about toner levels and un-jamming paper jams.

I give him a slightly annoyed look. “It’s broken. I need thirty copies of these, collated and stapled. Can you help me or not?” I know I sound like a jerk, but I just can’t catch a break today.

The guy just rolls his eyes at me, letting my bitchy tone roll off his back. “Gimme,” he says as he snatches them from my hand.

I lean against the wall as he feeds the papers into the machine that he subsequently leans on. He’s facing me and that smirk is still there, and it’s annoying the crap out of me. It makes me want to grab those dumb black-rimmed glasses he has on and snap them in half. “Are all you accountants so uptight?”