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rionaleonhart) wrote2025-01-21 07:41 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2025-01-21 07:41 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Practical Research (Severance, Mark S/Dylan G)
I keep trying and failing to write Macrodata Refinement OT4 fanfiction for Severance. My first attempt ended up being a Mark/Helly fic; this one ended up being a Mark/Dylan fic. Can't wait to accidentally write a Mark/Irving fic on my next attempt.
This is set in the first season; there are no spoilers for the second in here!
Title: Practical Research
Fandom: Severance
Rating: 14
Pairing: Mark S/Dylan G
Wordcount: 1,200
Summary: Mark’s straight, apparently. Or his outie said he’s straight, at least, and he guesses his outie would know.
“You wanted to see me, Ms Cobel?” Mark asks.
“In your new role as department chief, you may require certain information about the department,” Ms Cobel says. She gestures to a small stack of papers on her desk. “These files may not leave this room, but I’d advise you to read them and familiarise yourself with the contents.”
Mark nods, sits down and picks up the papers. It’s slightly intimidating to read them under Ms Cobel’s gaze, but there’s no helping that.
Most of it is more or less what he’d expected. Statistics on absences, late arrivals, late departures. Productivity reports: Dylan consistently high, Irving occasionally variable, Helly currently an unknown. He has to wince at the line Mark is a solid and reliable worker but has never entirely lived up to the promise he showed on Allentown.
One page makes him pause. There’s very little text on it; it really didn’t need an entire sheet of A4 to itself. It’s headed Waffle Party Preferences.
Irving B.: has opted out of Waffle Party Perk (soft)
Dylan G.: butter, maple syrup. Tempers: M, F
Helly R.: has opted out of Waffle Party Perk (hard)
Mark S.: chocolate syrup, strawberries if available. Tempers: F only
Petey must have had access to the team’s waffle party preferences, too. Did he ever look through them? The thought makes Mark a little uncomfortable.
“What does ‘soft’ and ‘hard’ mean?” Mark asks, looking up.
“A soft opt-out was requested by the innie,” Ms Cobel says. “A hard opt-out was requested by the outie and cannot be overruled.”
Mark looks at the F only next to his name again. “How do you decide on the Tempers?”
“New employees are asked to fill out a diversity questionnaire,” Ms Cobel says. “One of the questions relates to sexuality. It’s optional, of course.”
Mark’s wondered, occasionally, about his own sexuality. It’s not really relevant in here, of course. But it’s crossed his mind.
He’s straight, apparently. Or his outie said he’s straight, at least, and he guesses his outie would know.
-
Mark tries to focus on work when he’s back at his desk. The numbers blur together, they refuse to tell him where they belong, and he finds himself watching Dylan.
Tempers: M, F. Why is this bothering him so much?
When Dylan gets up from his chair, Mark follows him over to the water cooler.
“Hey,” Mark says, as Dylan fills a cup. “Can I ask you something?”
Dylan tosses the water back in one gulp. “Think you just did, dude.”
Mark leans his shoulder against the wall, trying to pull his thoughts together. “Uh, does it... feel right, when you have waffle parties?”
“It feels awesome,” Dylan says. “What do you mean, does it feel right?”
“I saw some of the personnel files,” Mark admits. “Apparently you have both male and female Tempers.”
“What, you don’t? I assumed we all got the same people.”
Mark hesitates. “My outie says I’m straight, apparently.”
Dylan nods, solemnly. “And you’re asking me about this ’cause you think he’s wrong.”
“I don’t know,” Mark says. “He’s probably right. It’s not like there’s any real point in knowing.”
“Hey,” Dylan says. “It is totally normal to feel this way.” He sweeps a hand down his own chest. “You don’t spend this long working with the tastiest egg on the bar and come away thinking you’re exclusively into the ladies.”
“Uh,” Mark says, disconcerted.
“Anyway,” Dylan says, with a shrug, “if you want to figure this out, can’t you just ask them to put a guy in with your Tempers next time you have a waffle party?”
“I...” Mark hesitates. “I guess that could—”
“Actually, no,” Dylan says. “I’m not giving you a reason to pick yourself as refiner of the quarter instead of me. Let’s just make out in the storage closet.”
“Uh, wait.” This conversation has gone in a direction Mark absolutely does not have a map for. “I’m just saying I don’t know if I can totally rule out being into guys. I don’t think I said anything about you specifically.”
“Yeah, but, come on, how many guys do you actually know?” Dylan asks. “There’s me, there’s Irving, there’s Petey, there’s Milchick. One of us has to be the reason you’re asking this question, so that’s a solid twenty-five percent chance you’re hot for me. I guess there’s Graner, if you’re into having the shit scared out of you.”
Mark’s mind flashes to Helly. It’s not impossible that he is, in fact, into having the shit scared out of him. But he doesn’t think he feels that way about Graner.
Dylan starts counting on his fingers. “Petey’s not here. Irving’s gonna report you if you start hitting on him. If you try something on with Milchick or Graner, you’re basically reporting yourself. The way I see it, if you want to test out doing anything with a guy, your options are basically me or the break room.”
“Or just... not doing anything,” Mark points out.
“I mean,” Dylan says, “if you want to be boring about it, sure.”
-
“Am I doing it right?” Mark asks. Breaking their kiss, awkward, selfconscious.
“Like... kissing?” Dylan asks. “Why are you asking me?”
“I mean—” Mark hesitates. “I mean, you’re more experienced, right? You’ve had more – more waffle parties, that kind of thing.”
“I’m not kissing the Tempers, dude,” Dylan says. “You remember the masks, right?”
Okay. So this is new to Dylan, too. That’s some kind of reassurance, at least; if Mark is getting this wrong, at least no one has to know. “Well, does it – does it feel good?”
There’s something kind of embarrassed in Dylan’s laugh, and that’s reassuring too. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” Mark says. “Can we... keep going? I don’t – I don’t mind if, uh – I don’t mind if you touch me.”
Dylan snorts with laughter. “Yeah, you see? Knew you were into me.”
Mark throws himself back into the kiss with marginally increased confidence.
His breath hitches when Dylan’s hands find their way under his belt. They’re not even touching anything that sensitive yet, they’re pretty much just on his hips, but – he’s not used to being touched on his bare skin like this. He’s had handshakes before, he guesses, but this – this is totally alien to him, and it’s hard to keep his breathing under control.
Does this mean he’s into guys? Does it mean he’s into Dylan? Or maybe it’s just that he’s never had anyone else’s hands on him like this before; maybe he’d react like this with anyone.
Whatever it is, he doesn’t want this to stop.
The door creaks open, and Mark’s attitude changes with impressive speed: he wants this to stop immediately.
He tries to jerk away, but Dylan’s hands are still in his pants, and it turns out that’s not great for anyone’s balance. They both have to do a lot of frantic flailing in order to stay upright, grabbing onto shelves, grabbing onto each other. It is probably not, Mark reluctantly has to accept, very subtle.
Irving tuts extremely loudly. “Oh, really. Do you think Kier would approve?”
Mark, flushed and panting and clinging helplessly onto Dylan’s shoulder, straightens his own tie with his free hand, in the desperate hope that it will somehow make him look more professional.
“I think Kier’s watching this with a huge boner,” Dylan says.
Irving leans past them, grabs a stack of notecards and leaves with a disapproving shake of his head.
This is set in the first season; there are no spoilers for the second in here!
Title: Practical Research
Fandom: Severance
Rating: 14
Pairing: Mark S/Dylan G
Wordcount: 1,200
Summary: Mark’s straight, apparently. Or his outie said he’s straight, at least, and he guesses his outie would know.
“You wanted to see me, Ms Cobel?” Mark asks.
“In your new role as department chief, you may require certain information about the department,” Ms Cobel says. She gestures to a small stack of papers on her desk. “These files may not leave this room, but I’d advise you to read them and familiarise yourself with the contents.”
Mark nods, sits down and picks up the papers. It’s slightly intimidating to read them under Ms Cobel’s gaze, but there’s no helping that.
Most of it is more or less what he’d expected. Statistics on absences, late arrivals, late departures. Productivity reports: Dylan consistently high, Irving occasionally variable, Helly currently an unknown. He has to wince at the line Mark is a solid and reliable worker but has never entirely lived up to the promise he showed on Allentown.
One page makes him pause. There’s very little text on it; it really didn’t need an entire sheet of A4 to itself. It’s headed Waffle Party Preferences.
Irving B.: has opted out of Waffle Party Perk (soft)
Dylan G.: butter, maple syrup. Tempers: M, F
Helly R.: has opted out of Waffle Party Perk (hard)
Mark S.: chocolate syrup, strawberries if available. Tempers: F only
Petey must have had access to the team’s waffle party preferences, too. Did he ever look through them? The thought makes Mark a little uncomfortable.
“What does ‘soft’ and ‘hard’ mean?” Mark asks, looking up.
“A soft opt-out was requested by the innie,” Ms Cobel says. “A hard opt-out was requested by the outie and cannot be overruled.”
Mark looks at the F only next to his name again. “How do you decide on the Tempers?”
“New employees are asked to fill out a diversity questionnaire,” Ms Cobel says. “One of the questions relates to sexuality. It’s optional, of course.”
Mark’s wondered, occasionally, about his own sexuality. It’s not really relevant in here, of course. But it’s crossed his mind.
He’s straight, apparently. Or his outie said he’s straight, at least, and he guesses his outie would know.
Mark tries to focus on work when he’s back at his desk. The numbers blur together, they refuse to tell him where they belong, and he finds himself watching Dylan.
Tempers: M, F. Why is this bothering him so much?
When Dylan gets up from his chair, Mark follows him over to the water cooler.
“Hey,” Mark says, as Dylan fills a cup. “Can I ask you something?”
Dylan tosses the water back in one gulp. “Think you just did, dude.”
Mark leans his shoulder against the wall, trying to pull his thoughts together. “Uh, does it... feel right, when you have waffle parties?”
“It feels awesome,” Dylan says. “What do you mean, does it feel right?”
“I saw some of the personnel files,” Mark admits. “Apparently you have both male and female Tempers.”
“What, you don’t? I assumed we all got the same people.”
Mark hesitates. “My outie says I’m straight, apparently.”
Dylan nods, solemnly. “And you’re asking me about this ’cause you think he’s wrong.”
“I don’t know,” Mark says. “He’s probably right. It’s not like there’s any real point in knowing.”
“Hey,” Dylan says. “It is totally normal to feel this way.” He sweeps a hand down his own chest. “You don’t spend this long working with the tastiest egg on the bar and come away thinking you’re exclusively into the ladies.”
“Uh,” Mark says, disconcerted.
“Anyway,” Dylan says, with a shrug, “if you want to figure this out, can’t you just ask them to put a guy in with your Tempers next time you have a waffle party?”
“I...” Mark hesitates. “I guess that could—”
“Actually, no,” Dylan says. “I’m not giving you a reason to pick yourself as refiner of the quarter instead of me. Let’s just make out in the storage closet.”
“Uh, wait.” This conversation has gone in a direction Mark absolutely does not have a map for. “I’m just saying I don’t know if I can totally rule out being into guys. I don’t think I said anything about you specifically.”
“Yeah, but, come on, how many guys do you actually know?” Dylan asks. “There’s me, there’s Irving, there’s Petey, there’s Milchick. One of us has to be the reason you’re asking this question, so that’s a solid twenty-five percent chance you’re hot for me. I guess there’s Graner, if you’re into having the shit scared out of you.”
Mark’s mind flashes to Helly. It’s not impossible that he is, in fact, into having the shit scared out of him. But he doesn’t think he feels that way about Graner.
Dylan starts counting on his fingers. “Petey’s not here. Irving’s gonna report you if you start hitting on him. If you try something on with Milchick or Graner, you’re basically reporting yourself. The way I see it, if you want to test out doing anything with a guy, your options are basically me or the break room.”
“Or just... not doing anything,” Mark points out.
“I mean,” Dylan says, “if you want to be boring about it, sure.”
“Am I doing it right?” Mark asks. Breaking their kiss, awkward, selfconscious.
“Like... kissing?” Dylan asks. “Why are you asking me?”
“I mean—” Mark hesitates. “I mean, you’re more experienced, right? You’ve had more – more waffle parties, that kind of thing.”
“I’m not kissing the Tempers, dude,” Dylan says. “You remember the masks, right?”
Okay. So this is new to Dylan, too. That’s some kind of reassurance, at least; if Mark is getting this wrong, at least no one has to know. “Well, does it – does it feel good?”
There’s something kind of embarrassed in Dylan’s laugh, and that’s reassuring too. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” Mark says. “Can we... keep going? I don’t – I don’t mind if, uh – I don’t mind if you touch me.”
Dylan snorts with laughter. “Yeah, you see? Knew you were into me.”
Mark throws himself back into the kiss with marginally increased confidence.
His breath hitches when Dylan’s hands find their way under his belt. They’re not even touching anything that sensitive yet, they’re pretty much just on his hips, but – he’s not used to being touched on his bare skin like this. He’s had handshakes before, he guesses, but this – this is totally alien to him, and it’s hard to keep his breathing under control.
Does this mean he’s into guys? Does it mean he’s into Dylan? Or maybe it’s just that he’s never had anyone else’s hands on him like this before; maybe he’d react like this with anyone.
Whatever it is, he doesn’t want this to stop.
The door creaks open, and Mark’s attitude changes with impressive speed: he wants this to stop immediately.
He tries to jerk away, but Dylan’s hands are still in his pants, and it turns out that’s not great for anyone’s balance. They both have to do a lot of frantic flailing in order to stay upright, grabbing onto shelves, grabbing onto each other. It is probably not, Mark reluctantly has to accept, very subtle.
Irving tuts extremely loudly. “Oh, really. Do you think Kier would approve?”
Mark, flushed and panting and clinging helplessly onto Dylan’s shoulder, straightens his own tie with his free hand, in the desperate hope that it will somehow make him look more professional.
“I think Kier’s watching this with a huge boner,” Dylan says.
Irving leans past them, grabs a stack of notecards and leaves with a disapproving shake of his head.
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Amazing, I did this horrid little goblin giggle at this
“I think Kier’s watching this with a huge boner,” Dylan says.
*snigger*
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Irving is such a challenge. He's obsessed with the rules right up to the point where he's obsessed with someone who is not part of the OT4; how do you get him into the OT4? Everyone consoles him with a sad foursome after Burt leaves, maybe.