Office Troubles

Title: Office Problems, or From Satisfactory to Unsatisfactory in One Day
Pairings: Stark/Ichigo
Raiting: PG-15
Warnings: my weird way of thinking and horrible punctuation, duh, crack
Words: 1,321
A/N: I started this a couple of month ago, but never got to finishing it until now, cause today is Ichi's birthday, and I felt I needed to write something.

For the second time in his entire life Grimmjow had been satisfied, completely so. The first time was, of coarse, when he lost his virginity. Not that it mattered now as he wasn't a fourteen-year old boy and sex wasn't that special, not with how many times a week he had it. But back to the point, he had been satisfied. After all the years – that is, four, but Grimmjow considered it to be too long – he'd been suffering in that packed up stuffy room of cubicles, which looked more like stalls in a public bathroom (all the noise and stupidity that the room provided was suffocating), getting a new job in the top ranks of Benihime, a well know company producing cosmetics, was amazing.

So, Grimmjow had been satisfied. Up until he met his new colleagues, his boss and his working place. Not that they were bad or anything, he was just confused. Confused about a lot of things, but above all he couldn't understand why all of the main people of this company were complete weirdos. There was also the fact that the heads of the company's departments, that was four men and a woman, were working in one room. It was situated on the top floor of the twelve-story building the company occupied and had only two doors, one of which led to the director's office. The other one led to the hallway where you could find the elevator doors and a door to the kitchen. May be it was just strange- or maybe it was Grimmjow's ego talking – but why, phunking why, didn't they have their own offices? Now, he felt a bit stupid for not asking about his working place at the interview. And that feeling had cut out a piece of sweet cake that was Grimmjow's satisfaction.

But, back to the weirdos, there were not so many of them, but they surounded him during the day and it was annoying. Well, maybe the female of the group, Hallibel, could be considered normal – she was just a really quite person – but the lack of clothing on her was disturbing, to say the least.

Then, there were two, err, guys, who spent a great part of the day gossiping like chicks in a beauty parlor. The one closer to him, Renji, had waist-leangth red hair, pulled into a high spiky pony-tail, which made his head look like a pineapple. He had tattoos all over his body, even his eyebrows. And, honestly, he was kind off dumb. Slow, anyway. The other one, Nnoitra, was tall and thin like a freaking bamboo. He had shoulder-length ebony hair, and his creepy grin reminded him of his landlord – same rows of white piano keys. And he had a platinum spoon statuette right beside his computer, adding to his creepiness.

There was also a man, called Stark. The lazy bastard's desk was the closest to the boss' office, and the guy dared to sleep during working hours. He would come every day on time, and Stark was already sleeping in his chair, with his legs spread and his mouth partially open. Snoring. Awesome. How the hell did this company survive for so many years.

Well, Grimmjow guessed, it was probably all thanks to the boss' personal assistant, who did most of the job for their boss. The young-looking man appeared to be the most normal person on this floor. But still, it unnerved Grimmjow how the orange-haired assistant could look so innocent – with his slightly long orange hair, pink pouty lips, big brown eye due to his red-rimmed glassed, and the name Ichigo – and use foul language at the same time. It sounded like a five-year old talking about porn. Right, hard to believe.

And to add a cherry on the top of this dessert, the boss, Urahara Kisuke, was the King of creepiness. Of course, the green color that dominated in his choice of clothing suited his blond hair well, but the traditional Japanese cloths, that Grimmlow still couldn't get used to, were in such an odd mix, plus the green and white stripped hat and annoyingly clanking geta sandals, and voila, a walking nightmare that made Grommjow wince every time he saw the blond.

Suddenly, Renji's and Nnoitra's chirping stopped, and Grimmjow turned in time to see the door to Urahara's office open, revealing the boss himself and his assistant. They headed to the hallway, talking about the tasks Kurosaki was to perform while the boss was away.

"Yeah, yeah, I know better than you do, what's better for this company, and you know it. So, go already, cause Yoruichi-san said, quote: gonna cut his dick off, if he's not on time, end of quote," the orangette said, clutching a clipboard to his chest.

"Aw, Ichigo, you now she's not serious, she loves it too much."

Ew, Grimmjow thought, watching the two disappear into the hallway, I really didn't need to know that.

"Uh-oh, let the initiation begin," drawled Renji, taking his phone out.

"Morons," Grimmjow heard Hallibel murmur.

There was a ding of elevator doors opening, "Happy birthday again, Ichigo."

A moment later Kurosaki entered the room, rubbing a hand over his left cheek, a scowl marring his face. He was about to go inside the boss's office when he stopped abruptly, checking the time on his watch. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he slipped his hand to the back pocket of his pants to fetch a small square object.

"Stark," he called the sleeping man, expertly throwing the object in lazy man's direction.

Surprisingly, Stark woke up instantly, catching the flying thing between his fingers and following the orange-haired assistant into the other room.

If shock wasn't enough for Grimmjow's poor ego, he nearly fell out of his chair, when not a minute later he heard moans spilling through the closed door of the office.

The idiot beside him laughing like hyenas, but Grimmjow wasn't paying them little attention, only shooting a dark glare at, "Oh fuck, did you see the look on his face?" and "Yeah, I got it on camera!"
Really, what the fuck?

He stayed rooted in his chair in the same position, gripping the desk with his hands, as the noises became more dirty, with occasional banging sounds of furniture being moved.

At last, he came out of his stupor and went to make himself some coffee, spending nearly an hour in the kitchen. He came back hoping the two rabbits were finished, so he could get back to checking the design on page ten of the new catalog, only to find that the noises hadn't-

"Oh, Stark, that spot... feels so good."

Grimmjow felt a vein on his forehead start to throb as he made his way to that damned office, nearly crushing the cup in his hand. What the fuck were those two trying to do, make a baby?

Without knocking, a bit light-headed from anger, he jerked the door open, looking like a bull ready to jump the toreador. The cup almost met its fate the second time that day because of what Grimmjow saw.
The orange-haired assistant was lying on the couch, looking like melted ice-cream, while Stark was sitting at the other end of the couch, giving his lover... a foot massage?

Well, damn, he couldn't accuse them of anything if they weren't fucking anymore.

The orange-haired man turned his head to gaze at the intruder with a confused expression on his face.

"Huh? Grimmjow, what's wrong?" he asked assessing the man's appearance. "Did we run out of coffee?"

"N-nothing," Grimmjow grumbled, exiting the office and slamming the door shut behind himself.

He walked back to his place, grunting curses under his breath, and slumped into his seat.

"Ya should 've gone there earlier~"

"Shut up."