Anon fails! This is why I should stop writing these things when I don't have the request in front of me. Cause I have a tendency to not follow prompts. I just... loved the idea of Al teasing Matt using his own music.
OTZ x infinity, OP.
**
“Come oooon,” Al whined, spinning around in his chair in front of Matthew’s desk.
Matt, hunched over another piece of paper as he transferred it from the large stack on his left to another large, although less so, pile on his right, felt the beginnings of a headache start to throb in his temple.
“I’m doing work. You do know what work is, right?” Matt grated out, scratching his signature on the paper and then stamping his seal beside it before putting it in the ‘done’ pile.
“But it’s boring,” Al stated as if he had uncovered some great philosophical truth. “You’re becoming a little too much like Arthur.”
The throb took on a sharp pinch like an ice pick was being dug into his brain.
“I’m writing this because of your mistake,” Matt growled. “And since people tend to lump us together, I thought I should make sure that everyone knows that I had nothing to do with it.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Al protested.
Matt sighed, massaging his eyebrows. “Actually, it was. I wish you would stop making things so complicated.”
“I see the way you’re acti–”
“No,” Matthew said, lowly and dangerously, pointing his pen at Al like a weapon. “I will take your continuance of that as a declaration of war.”
“Pfft. You’re like a bird, you’ll only fly away,” Al teased, standing up from the chair. Matt rolled his eyes and tried to concentrate on the task at hand.
Sign, stamp. Sign, stamp. SiiIIII–!!
“Al!” Matt exclaimed, clapping a hand to the ear that had recently been the target of Al’s tongue as a blush ignited his features.
“What?” Al smiled, his hands already tugging Matt’s shirt out of his belted slacks as he sat on Matt’s desk, heedless of everything else already on it.
Matt attempted to swat him away and moved his papers out from underneath Al’s ass. “I’m working here. Will you quit it?”
“No,” Al laughed, sliding his hand up Matt’s shirt and watching as the flush moved from Matt’s cheeks to his cheekbones, causing a few of the freckles not faded by his insistence to stay cooped up in his office to pop. “I’m never going to quit. Ain’t nothing wrong with it. Just actin’ like we’re animals.”
Matt sighed again, the ice pick in his skull having upgraded to the jackhammer from hell. “Why does our music suck so much?” he asked forlornly to no one in particular. He attempted to ignore Al, just as he was ignoring the fact that he knew his face was bright red.
Someone else please write this too! D: [1/2]
OTZ x infinity, OP.
**
“Come oooon,” Al whined, spinning around in his chair in front of Matthew’s desk.
Matt, hunched over another piece of paper as he transferred it from the large stack on his left to another large, although less so, pile on his right, felt the beginnings of a headache start to throb in his temple.
“I’m doing work. You do know what work is, right?” Matt grated out, scratching his signature on the paper and then stamping his seal beside it before putting it in the ‘done’ pile.
“But it’s boring,” Al stated as if he had uncovered some great philosophical truth. “You’re becoming a little too much like Arthur.”
The throb took on a sharp pinch like an ice pick was being dug into his brain.
“I’m writing this because of your mistake,” Matt growled. “And since people tend to lump us together, I thought I should make sure that everyone knows that I had nothing to do with it.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Al protested.
Matt sighed, massaging his eyebrows. “Actually, it was. I wish you would stop making things so complicated.”
“I see the way you’re acti–”
“No,” Matthew said, lowly and dangerously, pointing his pen at Al like a weapon. “I will take your continuance of that as a declaration of war.”
“Pfft. You’re like a bird, you’ll only fly away,” Al teased, standing up from the chair. Matt rolled his eyes and tried to concentrate on the task at hand.
Sign, stamp. Sign, stamp. SiiIIII–!!
“Al!” Matt exclaimed, clapping a hand to the ear that had recently been the target of Al’s tongue as a blush ignited his features.
“What?” Al smiled, his hands already tugging Matt’s shirt out of his belted slacks as he sat on Matt’s desk, heedless of everything else already on it.
Matt attempted to swat him away and moved his papers out from underneath Al’s ass. “I’m working here. Will you quit it?”
“No,” Al laughed, sliding his hand up Matt’s shirt and watching as the flush moved from Matt’s cheeks to his cheekbones, causing a few of the freckles not faded by his insistence to stay cooped up in his office to pop. “I’m never going to quit. Ain’t nothing wrong with it. Just actin’ like we’re animals.”
Matt sighed again, the ice pick in his skull having upgraded to the jackhammer from hell. “Why does our music suck so much?” he asked forlornly to no one in particular. He attempted to ignore Al, just as he was ignoring the fact that he knew his face was bright red.