Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2024-02-08 11:57 am
rionaleonhart) wrote2024-02-08 11:57 am
Fanfiction: The Fourth Temper (Severance, Mark S/Helly R)
Riona: How am I supposed to take advantage of the fact that this workplace canonically makes its employees have anonymised ritualistic cult sex if I CAN'T WRITE SEX?
RD: That is a really unfortunate Catch-22.
Here's another Severance fic.
Title: The Fourth Temper
Fandom: Severance
Rating: 15
Pairing: Mark S/Helly R
Wordcount: 2,200
Summary: Sex with your colleagues can be awkward. Realising halfway through sex that it's your colleague in a mask? That goes a little beyond 'awkward'.
Warnings: Consent issues, but not overly dark or explicit.
“Helly R,” Ms Cobel says. “I’d like to present you with the opportunity to earn back some goodwill in the office.”
“I’m not really interested in that,” Helly says, “but thanks.”
“You may be interested in this. It’s a role that’s rather sought after.” Ms Cobel places her hands on the desk in front of her. “However, it’s a role that requires the outie’s permission to stay after hours, which limits our options in this case.”
“You’re telling me people fight for the chance to do overtime?”
Actually, if that means she’ll be in the office when the supervisors have gone home, it might not be so bad. It’s not real freedom, but it’s closer than she’d usually get, at least.
“You haven’t had a waffle party before, have you?” Ms Cobel asks.
Helly shakes her head.
“Has anyone told you what they entail?”
“I kind of assumed it was waffles,” Helly says.
“There’s a... performance aspect to the event,” Ms Cobel says. “One of our usual performers is unwell. We’ll need a fourth dancer for a waffle party this evening.”
Helly raises her eyebrows as high as they’ll go. “Mark’s having the party this evening, right?”
Ms Cobel winces. “It’d really be better if you didn’t know who was being honoured. I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“You want me to dance in front of the boss?”
“You’ll be in costume,” Ms Cobel says. “He won’t know who you are.” A brief pause. “To be clear: it is crucial that he does not know who you are. You are not to remove your mask or speak.”
“I can’t dance,” Helly says. “I mean, I don’t know if I can dance. I feel like I probably can’t dance.”
“The dancing is a very small part of the event,” Ms Cobel says. “Your main role is to fulfil the sexual needs of the employee being honoured.”
Helly stares.
Ms Cobel links her fingers together. “In this case, the employee in question is easy to please. He’s never registered a complaint about the quality of his Tempers before; it’s a simple assignment. There may be some minor flogging involved, but nothing that would leave a mark.”
Helly stares.
“Your outie was good enough to give permission at short notice,” Ms Cobel says. “Do you accept this role?”
Permission to stay late, Helly guesses. Their outies can’t know what they’re actually signing up for, right?
This isn’t normal, right?
He’s never registered a complaint. Mark’s done this before?
“Do you accept this role?” Ms Cobel repeats.
Sex with the boss. Jesus.
Sex with the boss and three other anonymous strangers, apparently. Possibly also getting flogged. She can’t forget those aspects; she needs to know what she’s considering.
Helly tips her head back and closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath.
Well, it sounds like more fun than staring at numbers until she wants to claw her own skin off. She’d sacrifice a baby just to do something different sometimes, and she guesses this qualifies, at least.
-
Mark’s learned to keep his eyes shut after the waffles. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy what comes next, obviously; it’s just—
Well, it’s kind of overwhelming. Kind of creepy, with all the masks. It’s easier if he just keeps his eyes closed and lets the Tempers take the lead.
Which he’s probably not supposed to do, come to think of it. The ritual is supposed to reflect Kier taming the Four Tempers, and he’s not going to tame anyone like that. But he hasn’t been disciplined for it yet.
Mark’s had a waffle party twice before, and he got the sense that the Tempers were the same both times. But he thinks there might be someone new in the bed this time. This is the first one of these he’s had since Dylan joined the team, so he guesses it’s been a while.
It’s one of the women. She’s more—
She’s more vocal than the others. It never really occurred to Mark before, but the Tempers don’t usually gasp. They’re experienced, he guesses; they’ve been trained not to make a sound.
This one makes noises. It’s disconcerting; it makes this feel less like a ritual and more like he’s just—
Well, that he’s having sex with someone. A person; a fellow employee, he guesses. The sounds strip away the masks and the trappings, they make this feel too human, and it’s starting to freak Mark out.
They’re not allowed to have sex; that’s not what this is, not really. He doesn’t know what his outie’s situation is, he doesn’t know if this would be considered infidelity—
He opens his eyes. To see the masks: to remind himself that this is a ritual, a reenactment, and that anything happening here is only in the context of that.
The Temper is Woe. She has long red hair; it’s visible around her mask. It’s instantly familiar, and suddenly her voice falls into place, even if he’s never heard it making those sounds before.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Oh, fuck. Oh, God. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that it might be someone from his department. Does he stop; does he say something?
He can’t say anything. He’s not supposed to know, and there are three other employees here who might report it. He can’t get Helly into trouble. But he—
He can’t be here, inside Helly, knowing it’s her. It’s all suddenly way too human, way too real.
He’s frozen up, but she’s still moving, and it draws a noise out of Mark’s throat that sounds alien to his own ears, something between a gasp and a whimper and a sob.
It terrifies him, suddenly. He can’t make sounds; she might realise it’s him. Does she know it’s him? God, she knew he was having a waffle party this evening; of course she knows it’s him.
Did she want to be here; did she request this? Or was she forced?
Honestly, either option is terrifying.
He raises his hand; he’s not sure what he’s trying to do, not sure if he wants to push her away. But his hand finds hers, and he catches hold of it, grips it tightly. Trying to take comfort from it, maybe, or trying to offer some to her. He doesn’t know; he can’t think clearly.
He doesn’t know what the right thing to do is, here, for either of them. All he can do is close his eyes again and try to forget what he knows.
It’s the first time he’s really grasped it, why someone might choose to be severed.
-
“How was your waffle party?” Dylan asks.
Mark can’t meet his eyes. “It was fine.”
“It was fine?” Dylan echoes. “If you can’t be more enthusiastic about it, I am seriously going to resent you for getting it over me.”
“Uh, I can withdraw my name from waffle party eligibility.” Mark scrubs a hand through his hair. “Irving’s already opted out. The waffle parties can all be yours.”
“What?” Dylan asks. “No. I’m not asking for your pity. I am going to win the next waffle party from you in righteous combat.”
“Mm.” He’s not really listening. Thinking about whether he can risk opting out. Ms Cobel will probably ask whether his last waffle party was unsatisfactory somehow, and that’s a question he really doesn’t want to answer.
“Besides, it’s not like there’d be no competition,” Dylan says. “You’re forgetting about Helly.”
Mark almost physically jolts in his chair. Trying not to think about Helly last night, or about Helly at a waffle party where she’s the one being honoured, the centre of attention. Trying not to think about whether he would be one of the Tempers for her.
Shit, he can hear heels. It’s time.
Mark stands quickly from his desk when Helly appears in the department’s entrance. They both look at each other for a moment.
“Hey, boss,” Helly says.
Mark swallows. His throat feels dry. “Good morning.”
He doesn’t know why he stood up. Now they’re both just... awkwardly standing.
“How was your waffle party?” Helly asks, after a brief pause.
Why would she ask that? Why is she asking that; what does she want to hear? Does she know that he recognised her?
“Fine, apparently,” Dylan says, rescuing him. “This guy doesn’t know how to enjoy anything.”
Helly doesn’t look away from Mark, even when Dylan speaks. It’s just the two of them trapped in this endless, agonising moment of eye contact.
“You guys okay?” Dylan asks.
Helly breaks her gaze from Mark’s at last and heads over to her desk. Sits down.
Mark’s just about to do the same, try to lose himself in the numbers, when Helly says, calmly, her eyes on the screen, “You figured out I was there, didn’t you?”
“There, as in at the waffle party?” Dylan demands. “Like, you’re saying two of us got a waffle party and neither of them was me? This is bullshit.”
Mark clears his throat and says, articulately, “Um.”
“Wait,” Dylan says. “Are you saying you were at the waffle party or at the waffle party?”
“Those – those are both the same question,” Mark says, trying to keep his thoughts straight. “Uh, could we meet on this in private?”
Dylan raises his eyebrows. “So is that, like, a private meeting or a private meeting?”
“Maybe in the storage closet?” Mark suggests, trying to ignore him. There are actual meeting rooms out in the corridors, of course, but he doesn’t want to field questions from Ms Cobel about why he left the department unscheduled.
“Okay,” Dylan says, “I’m pretty sure that answers my question.”
-
Mark has no idea how to open the conversation once they’re inside the closet. Fortunately, Helly gets there first.
“I’m kind of with Dylan on this one,” she says. “Are we here to talk or just to make out?”
Maybe it’s not so fortunate. “We’re here to talk.”
Helly nods. “Okay, so talk.”
Easier said than done.
“I can get us started, if you like,” Helly says, when Mark’s spent about twenty seconds struggling.
Mark’s a little afraid of what she might say, but he gestures for her to go on. “Please.”
Helly folds her arms, leans back against the shelving.
“You didn’t use the flogger at all,” she says. “Honestly, I’d been bracing myself so hard for it that I was kind of disappointed.”
That’s a hell of a mental image. Mark has to swallow hard before he can respond. “I’m not really into flogging people.”
“No?” Helly tips her head to one side. “I think I might be. How do you feel about being flogged?”
Mark opens his mouth and finds absolutely no words in it.
“Sorry,” Helly says, dropping the playful tone. “I get that I freaked you out, being there. I wasn’t trying to do that. I don’t really know how to help.”
That makes it easier, gives Mark more of a foothold in this conversation. If she’s taking this seriously, he can be serious too.
“I never really thought about... the position the dancers were in, before,” Mark admits. “How did you – how did you end up there? Did you want to be...?”
There’s a brief silence between them.
“Ms Cobel asked me,” Helly says at last.
“Asked you or told you?”
“Asked me, actually. I could have said no.” Another pause. “I mean, I think I could have said no. I didn’t say no, so I guess I don’t know what would have happened if I’d tried.”
She didn’t say no. It helps to calm Mark down, a little, and on another level it just unsettles him more.
“Did Ms Cobel come to you specifically for... a reason?” He really isn’t sure how to feel about his boss putting him in that bed with specific people he knows.
“I think I was just convenient,” Helly says. “She didn’t seem thrilled that it was someone from your department.”
Okay. That’s less creepy than Ms Cobel trying to push them together on purpose, at least.
“Sorry,” Mark says. “For...” He waves a hand, vaguely, because he can’t even attempt to finish that sentence.
“I don’t think you’re the one who needs to apologise,” Helly says. “I knew what I was signing up for. You didn’t.”
Mark shrugs. “I mean, I guess technically I never went ‘I opt in for waffle parties, unless there’s someone I know there’.”
“I guess,” Helly says. A pause. “Sorry anyway.”
Mark nods, slowly. “Thanks.”
There’s a rustling, and they both turn sharply to the closet’s entrance as Dylan shows up.
“Came here to see if you’d gotten to the good stuff yet,” Dylan says. “I guess I was wasting my time.”
Helly didn’t say no. And she’s... been flirting, right? Mark hasn’t really been in the right place to respond to it, but she asked if he brought her in here to make out.
He has pretty complicated feelings about the fact that he was halfway through sex with Helly before he realised that was what was happening. But flirting, that’s okay, that’s less intimidating. That makes him feel more like they’re taking the right steps; they’re just a little out of order.
“It’ll probably be a while before we get to that,” Mark says, cautiously light. Looking over at Helly to check her reaction.
Helly laughs at that, the seriousness clearing from her expression. “Yeah, I guess we’ll see.”
RD: That is a really unfortunate Catch-22.
Here's another Severance fic.
Title: The Fourth Temper
Fandom: Severance
Rating: 15
Pairing: Mark S/Helly R
Wordcount: 2,200
Summary: Sex with your colleagues can be awkward. Realising halfway through sex that it's your colleague in a mask? That goes a little beyond 'awkward'.
Warnings: Consent issues, but not overly dark or explicit.
“Helly R,” Ms Cobel says. “I’d like to present you with the opportunity to earn back some goodwill in the office.”
“I’m not really interested in that,” Helly says, “but thanks.”
“You may be interested in this. It’s a role that’s rather sought after.” Ms Cobel places her hands on the desk in front of her. “However, it’s a role that requires the outie’s permission to stay after hours, which limits our options in this case.”
“You’re telling me people fight for the chance to do overtime?”
Actually, if that means she’ll be in the office when the supervisors have gone home, it might not be so bad. It’s not real freedom, but it’s closer than she’d usually get, at least.
“You haven’t had a waffle party before, have you?” Ms Cobel asks.
Helly shakes her head.
“Has anyone told you what they entail?”
“I kind of assumed it was waffles,” Helly says.
“There’s a... performance aspect to the event,” Ms Cobel says. “One of our usual performers is unwell. We’ll need a fourth dancer for a waffle party this evening.”
Helly raises her eyebrows as high as they’ll go. “Mark’s having the party this evening, right?”
Ms Cobel winces. “It’d really be better if you didn’t know who was being honoured. I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“You want me to dance in front of the boss?”
“You’ll be in costume,” Ms Cobel says. “He won’t know who you are.” A brief pause. “To be clear: it is crucial that he does not know who you are. You are not to remove your mask or speak.”
“I can’t dance,” Helly says. “I mean, I don’t know if I can dance. I feel like I probably can’t dance.”
“The dancing is a very small part of the event,” Ms Cobel says. “Your main role is to fulfil the sexual needs of the employee being honoured.”
Helly stares.
Ms Cobel links her fingers together. “In this case, the employee in question is easy to please. He’s never registered a complaint about the quality of his Tempers before; it’s a simple assignment. There may be some minor flogging involved, but nothing that would leave a mark.”
Helly stares.
“Your outie was good enough to give permission at short notice,” Ms Cobel says. “Do you accept this role?”
Permission to stay late, Helly guesses. Their outies can’t know what they’re actually signing up for, right?
This isn’t normal, right?
He’s never registered a complaint. Mark’s done this before?
“Do you accept this role?” Ms Cobel repeats.
Sex with the boss. Jesus.
Sex with the boss and three other anonymous strangers, apparently. Possibly also getting flogged. She can’t forget those aspects; she needs to know what she’s considering.
Helly tips her head back and closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath.
Well, it sounds like more fun than staring at numbers until she wants to claw her own skin off. She’d sacrifice a baby just to do something different sometimes, and she guesses this qualifies, at least.
Mark’s learned to keep his eyes shut after the waffles. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy what comes next, obviously; it’s just—
Well, it’s kind of overwhelming. Kind of creepy, with all the masks. It’s easier if he just keeps his eyes closed and lets the Tempers take the lead.
Which he’s probably not supposed to do, come to think of it. The ritual is supposed to reflect Kier taming the Four Tempers, and he’s not going to tame anyone like that. But he hasn’t been disciplined for it yet.
Mark’s had a waffle party twice before, and he got the sense that the Tempers were the same both times. But he thinks there might be someone new in the bed this time. This is the first one of these he’s had since Dylan joined the team, so he guesses it’s been a while.
It’s one of the women. She’s more—
She’s more vocal than the others. It never really occurred to Mark before, but the Tempers don’t usually gasp. They’re experienced, he guesses; they’ve been trained not to make a sound.
This one makes noises. It’s disconcerting; it makes this feel less like a ritual and more like he’s just—
Well, that he’s having sex with someone. A person; a fellow employee, he guesses. The sounds strip away the masks and the trappings, they make this feel too human, and it’s starting to freak Mark out.
They’re not allowed to have sex; that’s not what this is, not really. He doesn’t know what his outie’s situation is, he doesn’t know if this would be considered infidelity—
He opens his eyes. To see the masks: to remind himself that this is a ritual, a reenactment, and that anything happening here is only in the context of that.
The Temper is Woe. She has long red hair; it’s visible around her mask. It’s instantly familiar, and suddenly her voice falls into place, even if he’s never heard it making those sounds before.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Oh, fuck. Oh, God. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that it might be someone from his department. Does he stop; does he say something?
He can’t say anything. He’s not supposed to know, and there are three other employees here who might report it. He can’t get Helly into trouble. But he—
He can’t be here, inside Helly, knowing it’s her. It’s all suddenly way too human, way too real.
He’s frozen up, but she’s still moving, and it draws a noise out of Mark’s throat that sounds alien to his own ears, something between a gasp and a whimper and a sob.
It terrifies him, suddenly. He can’t make sounds; she might realise it’s him. Does she know it’s him? God, she knew he was having a waffle party this evening; of course she knows it’s him.
Did she want to be here; did she request this? Or was she forced?
Honestly, either option is terrifying.
He raises his hand; he’s not sure what he’s trying to do, not sure if he wants to push her away. But his hand finds hers, and he catches hold of it, grips it tightly. Trying to take comfort from it, maybe, or trying to offer some to her. He doesn’t know; he can’t think clearly.
He doesn’t know what the right thing to do is, here, for either of them. All he can do is close his eyes again and try to forget what he knows.
It’s the first time he’s really grasped it, why someone might choose to be severed.
“How was your waffle party?” Dylan asks.
Mark can’t meet his eyes. “It was fine.”
“It was fine?” Dylan echoes. “If you can’t be more enthusiastic about it, I am seriously going to resent you for getting it over me.”
“Uh, I can withdraw my name from waffle party eligibility.” Mark scrubs a hand through his hair. “Irving’s already opted out. The waffle parties can all be yours.”
“What?” Dylan asks. “No. I’m not asking for your pity. I am going to win the next waffle party from you in righteous combat.”
“Mm.” He’s not really listening. Thinking about whether he can risk opting out. Ms Cobel will probably ask whether his last waffle party was unsatisfactory somehow, and that’s a question he really doesn’t want to answer.
“Besides, it’s not like there’d be no competition,” Dylan says. “You’re forgetting about Helly.”
Mark almost physically jolts in his chair. Trying not to think about Helly last night, or about Helly at a waffle party where she’s the one being honoured, the centre of attention. Trying not to think about whether he would be one of the Tempers for her.
Shit, he can hear heels. It’s time.
Mark stands quickly from his desk when Helly appears in the department’s entrance. They both look at each other for a moment.
“Hey, boss,” Helly says.
Mark swallows. His throat feels dry. “Good morning.”
He doesn’t know why he stood up. Now they’re both just... awkwardly standing.
“How was your waffle party?” Helly asks, after a brief pause.
Why would she ask that? Why is she asking that; what does she want to hear? Does she know that he recognised her?
“Fine, apparently,” Dylan says, rescuing him. “This guy doesn’t know how to enjoy anything.”
Helly doesn’t look away from Mark, even when Dylan speaks. It’s just the two of them trapped in this endless, agonising moment of eye contact.
“You guys okay?” Dylan asks.
Helly breaks her gaze from Mark’s at last and heads over to her desk. Sits down.
Mark’s just about to do the same, try to lose himself in the numbers, when Helly says, calmly, her eyes on the screen, “You figured out I was there, didn’t you?”
“There, as in at the waffle party?” Dylan demands. “Like, you’re saying two of us got a waffle party and neither of them was me? This is bullshit.”
Mark clears his throat and says, articulately, “Um.”
“Wait,” Dylan says. “Are you saying you were at the waffle party or at the waffle party?”
“Those – those are both the same question,” Mark says, trying to keep his thoughts straight. “Uh, could we meet on this in private?”
Dylan raises his eyebrows. “So is that, like, a private meeting or a private meeting?”
“Maybe in the storage closet?” Mark suggests, trying to ignore him. There are actual meeting rooms out in the corridors, of course, but he doesn’t want to field questions from Ms Cobel about why he left the department unscheduled.
“Okay,” Dylan says, “I’m pretty sure that answers my question.”
Mark has no idea how to open the conversation once they’re inside the closet. Fortunately, Helly gets there first.
“I’m kind of with Dylan on this one,” she says. “Are we here to talk or just to make out?”
Maybe it’s not so fortunate. “We’re here to talk.”
Helly nods. “Okay, so talk.”
Easier said than done.
“I can get us started, if you like,” Helly says, when Mark’s spent about twenty seconds struggling.
Mark’s a little afraid of what she might say, but he gestures for her to go on. “Please.”
Helly folds her arms, leans back against the shelving.
“You didn’t use the flogger at all,” she says. “Honestly, I’d been bracing myself so hard for it that I was kind of disappointed.”
That’s a hell of a mental image. Mark has to swallow hard before he can respond. “I’m not really into flogging people.”
“No?” Helly tips her head to one side. “I think I might be. How do you feel about being flogged?”
Mark opens his mouth and finds absolutely no words in it.
“Sorry,” Helly says, dropping the playful tone. “I get that I freaked you out, being there. I wasn’t trying to do that. I don’t really know how to help.”
That makes it easier, gives Mark more of a foothold in this conversation. If she’s taking this seriously, he can be serious too.
“I never really thought about... the position the dancers were in, before,” Mark admits. “How did you – how did you end up there? Did you want to be...?”
There’s a brief silence between them.
“Ms Cobel asked me,” Helly says at last.
“Asked you or told you?”
“Asked me, actually. I could have said no.” Another pause. “I mean, I think I could have said no. I didn’t say no, so I guess I don’t know what would have happened if I’d tried.”
She didn’t say no. It helps to calm Mark down, a little, and on another level it just unsettles him more.
“Did Ms Cobel come to you specifically for... a reason?” He really isn’t sure how to feel about his boss putting him in that bed with specific people he knows.
“I think I was just convenient,” Helly says. “She didn’t seem thrilled that it was someone from your department.”
Okay. That’s less creepy than Ms Cobel trying to push them together on purpose, at least.
“Sorry,” Mark says. “For...” He waves a hand, vaguely, because he can’t even attempt to finish that sentence.
“I don’t think you’re the one who needs to apologise,” Helly says. “I knew what I was signing up for. You didn’t.”
Mark shrugs. “I mean, I guess technically I never went ‘I opt in for waffle parties, unless there’s someone I know there’.”
“I guess,” Helly says. A pause. “Sorry anyway.”
Mark nods, slowly. “Thanks.”
There’s a rustling, and they both turn sharply to the closet’s entrance as Dylan shows up.
“Came here to see if you’d gotten to the good stuff yet,” Dylan says. “I guess I was wasting my time.”
Helly didn’t say no. And she’s... been flirting, right? Mark hasn’t really been in the right place to respond to it, but she asked if he brought her in here to make out.
He has pretty complicated feelings about the fact that he was halfway through sex with Helly before he realised that was what was happening. But flirting, that’s okay, that’s less intimidating. That makes him feel more like they’re taking the right steps; they’re just a little out of order.
“It’ll probably be a while before we get to that,” Mark says, cautiously light. Looking over at Helly to check her reaction.
Helly laughs at that, the seriousness clearing from her expression. “Yeah, I guess we’ll see.”