Work Text:
Jerry was a collector. It was something that he prided himself on being, something he put his whole livelihood into—being the embodiment of a junk drawer, and all. Hence, he had some justification for taking things around the house, small treasures he knew no one would preserve or appreciate as much as he would. Including… your things.
Now usually, you would be the one to give Jerry things. Useless items you tossed into his drawer, specifically, and he would dutifully stash it away with promises to organize it in the depths of his collection later, which he so rarely fulfilled. Sometimes, however, Jerry took initiative to steal stuff for himself. But “steal” was such a strong word, and Jerry didn’t like it. He preferred “borrowing-without-permission-and-without-intent-to-give-it-back”, which sounded much nicer in his head.
That, at least, was the reasoning he used to steal your old toothbrush before Cam could claim it for his own. Or a clump of your hair after your last impromptu middle-of-the-night haircut session (which you freestyled until you regretted it and had to see an actual hairdresser the next day). And now this.
This was much more… self-indulgent than those other things Jerry kept for himself. He held a pair of your underwear in front of him, inspecting it. He’d managed to snag it from Dirk just in the nick of time before you unloaded your dirty laundry into Washford. Dirk, who had been too busy fighting with Harper again, hadn’t noticed. And now Jerry had them all to himself.
His face flushed at the realization of what he held in his hands, how perverted and selfish it was for him to take these… But, no. He was a collector, he told himself, and he would take care of them, and if you knew how much he treasured them, surely you’d be okay with it. Maybe you’d even thank him for giving your underwear new purpose instead of succumbing it to the endless cycle of wearing and then washing, again and again.
Now it could be an exhibit, but not a public one, of course. One that Jerry kept for only his eyes… and his other senses. A fire ignited in the pit of his stomach as he gently traced over the fabric. He couldn’t help but imagine you wearing them, how the underwear would sculpt your body, and just the thought of you exposing so much skin drove him insane with lust.
He knew how quickly he was getting riled up as he felt his blood flow downwards. Jerry bit his lip. It wasn’t long before he was unbuttoning his pants and shoving them halfway down his thighs, still clutching your precious underwear with his other hand. He balled it up with his fist as he examined his own underwear, weakly attempting to restrain his growing bulge. He yanked those down too and sucked in a breath as his cock was freed.
The head bobbed, blushing pink as he wrapped his hand around his dick and gave it a few experimental pumps. He groaned, a bit too loudly. He suddenly became self-conscious that, somehow, one of the others in the office could hear him, and without much thought, he clamped his teeth around on your underwear like a makeshift gag.
Jerry continued pleasuring himself, thoughts of your body encouraging him to go on while he moaned softly around your underwear. A bit of drool escaped the corners of his mouth, seeping into the fabric and he squeezed his eyes shut. He gathered the precum budding from his tip and smeared it around his length until it was slick, then he quickened his pace.
With every flick of his wrist, Jerry became a little more far-gone, eliciting new fantasies in his head. First, gentle ones of getting to hold your naked form and worshiping you in a way no one else but a curator could. And you would be his, all his, to appreciate and admire and have… all for himself. The thought alone had him thrust his hips into his fist, squeezing himself, slowly losing himself to his depravity.
“Sweet Mother of Mary-” Jerry whined as he removed your underwear from his mouth.
There were the smallest of indents in the fabric from where he’d been biting down and spit being absorbed by the cloth, and he blushed at the sight. A thought entered his head just then, and when he didn’t immediately swat it away with disgust, he accepted himself for the monster he’d become. He was no longer an archivist, taking things for preservation’s sake. He was ruining your underwear and it felt great.
Jerry lifted the underwear to his nose, pressing the crotch to his nostrils, and took a whiff. They still smelled like you, even after days spent in Harper’s hamper, and more importantly, like your sex, a sweet but strong smell from being unwashed after wearing. Jerry bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, struggling to keep quiet as moans and whimpers threatened to fall out of him, straining to stay in his throat. He concentrated on the scent of your sweat and other juices that he was sniffing as he pumped his cock.
A shameful cry left him as his efforts to silence himself were becoming more and more in vain. His mind quickly turned to the thought of you catching himself in a moment like this, your stolen underwear in his hand as he got himself off with an embarrassed smile. Maybe you’d call him perverted as you watched him, unable to stop as he continued his ministrations. Maybe you’d even like it.
Jerry moaned, imagining you tease him for how dirty he was. ‘Innocent, kind Jerry is actually a no-good, dirty pervert,’ you’d taunt, but the way you looked at him told him you enjoyed it. Jerry would shake his head and beg for your forgiveness, his red face with humiliation, but still you’d call him names as he worked himself faster with his hand. When he felt ready to lose it, you’d stop him, forcing his orgasm to subside as he huffed in mild annoyance.
'But dirty boys don’t get to come when they want to,' you’d say with a devilish grin. Jerry would be inclined to agree, whining like a puppy until you start pumping him, cooing at how adorable he looked. Jerry could feel his ears burning red as the scenario played out in his head. He moaned your name repeatedly, and he took your underwear and wrapped it around his length.
He thrust his hips, fucking himself into the fabric as his noises steadily increased in volume. Broken groans and incoherent pleas tumbled out of him, along with some half-finished phrases.
“Oh geez… please- O-oh, my… F-Fiddlesticks!”
He rammed his angry red tip against the cloth.
“Fudge…!”
He imagined your judgmental gaze on him as you called him naughty, filthy, yours….
“F-F-Fuck!”
Jerry nearly finished, but jumped when he heard the sound of your voice, too clear to be coming from his imagination again.
“Jerry?” you called as you had just entered the drawer.
Jerry came and it took all his strength to not unleash any sounds, eyes glazing over. Thankfully, he was hidden in the recesses of his clutter, cramped between piles of junk he deemed his exhibits, and he had enough time to ride out his high and collect himself before you could find him. He stuffed your underwear in one of his many pockets and zipped himself up just as you turned the corner and saw him.
“Jerry! There you are. I was looking everywhere for you,” you said, then paused when you saw his red, sweaty face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes-!” His voice cracked and he winced. “Yes. I- I’m just feeling a tad under the weather, that’s all.”
You examined his face a second more as he silently prayed you’d believe his lie. Finally, you smiled sympathetically.
“I didn’t know desk drawers could get sick,” you joked and then patted his shoulder. “I’ll go see if Farya has any medicine for you. Be right back.”
You winked and turned to leave the drawer and Jerry sighed with relief.
“Thanks,” Jerry replied sheepishly, waving to you as you left.
As soon as you were gone, he took out your underwear from his pocket, now made even dirtier with stains of his cum. Jerry blushed, a myriad of lewd thoughts running through his head as he held the underwear to his chest possessively. He was keeping these for sure, he decided. His prized possession, for him and him alone.