Work Text:
Baz
Most people despise their jobs. I count myself lucky that I mostly enjoy it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have it’s... disadvantages. One particular disadvantage actually. And he eats far too many cherry scones.
Mage & Associates is a very recent financial firm. It was started by David Mage (definitely not his real last name) and practically exploded. Now they manage the money of companies across the UK. I feel lucky to work here, despite my mother and father’s personal dislike of Mr. Mage. (Some old feud I really don’t care about.) What I didn’t expect was for Mr. Mage to have a loud, obnoxious, devastatingly handsome son.
I’m sitting at my desk, trying to finish another report, when someone crashes into the chair next to me.
“Hey how’s it going Bazzy?” he says, scone crumbs around his mouth.
“I told you not to call me that,” I mutter.
Simon hangs his head back with a groan, bronze curls falling back over the chair. “God why are you always so serious?”
“One of my last names is Grimm.” I brush some crumbs off my desk. “Why are you bothering me, Salisbury? I actually have work to do. Unlike you.”
“I have work! I’m just taking a cherry scone break. Want some?” Simon rips off a piece of his sour cherry scone and shoves it in my face. I swat his hand away.
“If you did your job with the same enthusiasm shown in your pastry eating, this company’s work would halved.”
He juts out his bottom lip. God why does he have to be so adorable when pouts? It’s maddening. My resolve almost falters. “You’re always so mean, Pitch.”
“‘Still so constant, lord.’”
“Pfft! Only you would insult me with Shakespeare.” I turn to stare at him. “Yes, I know Shakespeare. I went through the same school system as you.”
“You’re just full of surprises, Salisbury, I’ll say that.”
Simon grins. He has a very beautiful smile. I picture it in my head at least twice a day. “Thank you for that sort of compliment, Baz. Now,” he claps a hand over my shoulder (I try to ignore the jolt of sensation that runs through my arm), “I’m going to do your oh so beloved work. See ya later.”
He walks off with a little skip in his step. I lean slightly out of my cubicle, just watching him move, and sigh under my breath. God I’m pathetic. What am I, a bloody teenager? Here I am, 25 years old, with a bloody crush. This is my daily routine. Salisbury comes to my desk, I insult him because I’m too nervous to do anything else, and then I watch him longingly like a pining idiot. It’s my own personal hell.
“You’re so obvious, mate.”
“Gah!” I nearly jump out of my chair. I turn to glare at Niall, who’s leaning his head over my dingy grey cubicle wall.
“For fuck’s sake, Niall,” I huff, “give a man some warning.”
“Sorry for not announcing my presence while you were ogling Mage Jr’s arse.”
I look down, hoping to hide my blush. “I wasn’t ogling his arse...”
“Alright, casually observing his backside. That more appropriate?”
“Oh shut up.”
Niall makes his way to stand at the entrance, leaning against the side. I don’t look over in fear of seeing his definitely judging expression.
“How long have are you gonna keep pining after Salisbury and do absolutely nothing?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Um, it is if I have to keep suffering through your annoying infatuation. Every day I hear you two make jabs at each other, then listen to you whine about how hot he is and how he’s probably straight. C’mon Baz, just ask him out.”
I hunker down at my desk. Of course Niall doesn’t get it. When you spend years in the closet, crushes are hard enough as is. But crushing on your boss’ son? That’s a bloody minefield. What if he rejects me? What if he freaks out and tells his father? What if he just, never talks to me again?
“No,” I say flatly.
Niall just sighs. I can hear the exasperation just in his breath. “Fine, whatever. Just ogle his arse for the rest of your life.”
“I was not ogling!”
Christmas time rolls around very quickly. The office is decorated in horrendously bright reds and greens. Some of my more enthusiastic co-workers are wearing antlers or Santa hats. And we all know who the most enthusiastic man on the planet is.
“Ho ho ho! Happy Christmas one and all!” Simon shouts, bursting into our floor in a red hat.
Everyone claps. Except me. I just keep staring at my monitor instead of him.
“Now I’d like to cordially invite all of you to Mage & Associates’ annual Christmas party. There will be tunes, there will be booze, and there will be holiday cheer!” They erupt in whoops and hollers. (God, sometimes it’s like working in an American frat house.) “This Friday, floor 8, 9:00. Hope to see you all there!”
My overly excited coworkers give a last cheer. I wander up to see Simon bows extravagantly, the little pom-pom of his hat falling forward. I look back at my computer with it’s comforting emotionless numbers.
“So,” Simon’s voice rings in my ear, “you coming, Baz?” Of course he has to come sit next to my desk. Why does this man insist on torturing me?
I snort. “What do you think?”
He throws his arms on my desk and leans his chin on them. “I think you’re a ginourmous stick in the mud, with an even bigger stick up your arse. So you’ll be skipping it. Like a total Scrooge.”
“I’m not a Scrooge. I’d just prefer to not watch my co-workers drunkenly sing Christmas carols.”
Simon throws his arms up for effect. “But that’s the best part! People having fun, getting into the Christmas spirit.” He knocks my arm with his fist. “C’mon, Grimm-Pitch. Loosen up a bit.”
My eyes flick over to his. His sunshine grin makes my heart stutter. Fuck, I’m weak. I sigh and shake my head.
“Fine, I’ll come to the party.”
He squeals and claps. (It’s adorable.) “Awesome! Make sure to wear something festive.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What counts as festive, Salisbury?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Something green, something red, something red and green? If you own anything that’s not grey or black.”
I glare at him. “Very well. I’ll find something... festive.”
“Awesome!” He stands up, hands on his hips. “Can’t wait to see you there, Baz.”
He walks away again, but I don’t stare. All I can do is replay his words in my head. He can’t wait to see me, he can’t wait to see me . Dear lord, I have to stop over analyzing.
Salisbury is wrong. I do own something “festive”. A simple pine green button down shirt. I think my mother made me buy it because she had the same concern about my penchant for monochrome suits. (I wear colour, just not a lot)
The party decorations are nuts. Tinsel is strung up on every light fixture. Paper Santas are taped to the wall. A giant Christmas tree covered in sparkly ornaments is in the corner. Everyone is dancing and/or drinking. However, I am against a wall, deciding whether to roll my sleeves back up or leave them down. I can’t figure out which looks better.
“Oh my god, stop fidgeting!”
I turn to see Niall, holding two cups of eggnog. He hands one to me. “I’m not fidgeting.”
“Your shirt is fine . You are fine . Now stop picking at your damn shirt and try to have fun.” He raises up his glass. “Happy Christmas, Baz.”
I sigh, and clink (more like clunk) our plastic cups together. “Happy Christmas, Niall.”
We both take big sips and look out into the crowd. People are dancing and jumping to the remixed Christmas carols. Salisbury’s out there somewhere, I think. I haven’t seen him yet though. I know I shouldn’t be nervous (of course he’s going to be here) but my stomach is like a swirling thunderstorm.
“Are you going to dance?” Niall asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I mumble, drinking more eggnog.
Niall chuckles. “Hey, that girl is wearing the same shirt as you.”
I look where he’s pointing, which is seemingly at Penelope Bunce, the purple haired woman in accounting who’s friends with Simon. She’s jumping around happily. We exchange witty banter in the break room constantly.
“Niall, what do you mean ‘that girl’? That’s Bunce. And she’s wearing a dress.”
Niall shakes his head. “No no, not Penelope. The blonde one next to her.”
I tilt my head head, then I see her. She’s dancing just behind Bunce and I have no clue who she is. (Guess she’s someone’s friend or date.) She is very pretty and very blonde, hair long and bouncing with the beat. Niall is right, sadly. We are wearing similar green button downs. Her’s is a woman’s version though. Still, I’m wearing the same shirt as someone else.
“Shit,” I groan. “Someone call the bloody fashion police to arrest me.”
“Oh stop it, it’s not that bad. C’mon, let’s dance!”
I sigh. “You go. I’ll join later.”
“Fine. Stand here, being a stiff. Simon will love that.”
I give Niall one long glare as he goes to the makeshift dance floor. He’s right though. I’m a total stiff who doesn’t know how to have fun. What the hell would Simon see in me?
“Baz! You came!”
Speak of the Devil, Simon comes rushing towards me. He’s wearing a ridiculously ugly bright red Christmas sweater. (Rudolph with a sparkly pom pom nose? My god.) The flush in his cheeks tells me he’s had more than one cup of eggnog. He swings an arm around my shoulders, making me tense up more than I’d like.
“Well I said I would, didn’t I?” I say as calmly as I can.
He rolls his eyes lazily. “Well yeaaaaah. But I wasn’t sure you were gonna show up. But you did! Which I’m very happy about.”
My cheeks almost flush as red as his. “Happy to be here, Salisbury.”
“Please, you should call me Simon. We’re all friends here!’
My heart tightens, nearly breaking. Of course we’re just friends. What else should I have expected? I shift uncomfortably and look down. “Yeah of course. We’re all, friends...”
“Let’s go dance!” He tugs roughly on my sleeve. Maybe I’m finally feeling confident, or maybe it’s the look on Simon’s face, or maybe it’s the eggnog. But despite my better judgement, I go with him.
Whoever picked this music (probably Simon) has terrible taste. Dubstep jingle bells? I move slightly to the beat. Salisbury jumps up and down, pumping his fist in the air. The multicoloured lights catch in his hair. God, how can it sparkle like that?
He reaches forward to lazily drape an arm across my shoulder, pulling us closer together. My heart threatens to beat out of my chest. Tolerating his presence so close to mine during work is hard enough. Now there’s less than half a foot between us. I can see his every beautiful mole, every glint in his blue eyes, every flash of that gorgeous grin. It’s almost more than I can stand, but like hell if I’m going to waste this opportunity.
I cautiously place my hands on his hips. Just lightly touching the material of his stupid jumper. He doesn’t shove me away. Instead, Salisbury lets his other arm fall on me. He smiles at me lazily, then pulls himself forward until I can feel his hot alcohol laced breath on my ear.
“You having fun Baz?” He whispers, making me shudder.
“Yeah,” I reply shakily under my breath.
“Good.”
He moves his hips back and forth under my grip. We’re so close I can feel every shift. I’m surprised my brain hasn’t exploded yet. Simon Salisbury is dancing with me. He’s almost dancing on me. Our bodies are so close together. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s intoxicating.
It’s too much.
I pull away. Simon looks at me confused.
“I’m uh, thirsty,” I say weakly. “I’m gonna get more eggnog. Want some?”
He smiles drunkenly. “Sure.”
I power walk away, trying to catch my breath. God what was that? I haven’t danced like that since my club cruising phase in first year uni. And I’m not a bloody teenager anymore! I shouldn’t be doing this, especially with a co-worker, especially with my boss’ son. But... it felt so damn good. I finally had Simon so close to me, the way I’ve wanted for months. Sadly, I’m a stupid coward, who is scared of his own feelings.
I put my hands on he eggnog table and hang my head. I’m such an idiot. I just threw away my chance. Maybe that was Simon’s way of telling me he has feelings too. And maybe I can fix it.
I pour two red cups full of eggnog, and turn to look for him. My eyes catch on an annoyingly red sweater wobbling around. With my nerves steeled, I walk towards him.
I’m a only few feet away when I see it. Simon, under that damned mistletoe, snogging the blonde woman I saw earlier.
I almost drop the cups. If my heart nearly broke before, it’s certainly breaking now. I fucked it up, like I fuck everything up. I ran away and he found someone better. A normal person would scream or cry or something idiotic like that. But I’m Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, dammit. So I just calmly turn around and walk away.
“Hey man,” Niall says as I pass him, “where are you going?”
“Home,” I reply coldly.
“Really? Why?”
“Because I want to alright?!” I snarl at him. He looks very taken aback. It’s not fair to him. I sigh and look down. “Sorry. Just, something happened and I really want to go back to my flat and be miserable, alright?”
Niall’s eyes soften. I think he knows it’s something to do with Salisbury, but he’s not going to say anything. (Good man.) He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Alright, mate. Have a good night.”
“You too.”
I grab my coat and make my way out of the building. I try not to think about everything, but my self destructive mind keeps pulling me back. How could I be so stupid? Of course Simon doesn’t feel the same. I’m a cold, mean, asshole coward who’s too scared to talk to him without sarcastic insults. The dancing meant nothing. He was drunk off his ass. He probably didn’t even realise what he was doing.
The second I get home, I’m going to open a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and feel sorry for myself for exactly one hour. Then I’ll move on. Hopefully.
I try to avoid my desk all of Monday. I do my work in the kitchen, or the lounge, or anywhere else that isn’t my cubicle. If Salisbury can’t find me, I don’t have to talk to him. Yes, I have adopted the logic of a toddler trying to avoid bedtime, but I have few other options.
I’m sitting in the breakroom for lunch, which I never do. Luckily no one else does either. There are far too many much nicer cafe for them to go to. Which leaves me alone with just my thoughts and chicken sandwich. A whole weekend later and I’m still thinking about that party. Dancing with my crush, then watching him kiss a girl under the mistletoe. Maybe that was his girlfriend. I know she doesn’t work here. That’d make sense. But then why was he dancing with me earlier? To mess with my head?
“Baz?”
That voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I look away and will my face from turning beet red.
“Hello, Salisbury,” I mutter.
Simon walks over to me and sits across. I regrettably look up slightly, only to see him in that grey suit he always looks stunning in. Fuck me, I’m screwed.
“What are you doing here? I’ve never seen you eat in the breakroom before.”
“I don’t usually.” Keeping my words brief almost keeps my blush from appearing.
He pulls out one of those blasted scones and munches loudly. “I, uh,” he says with mouth still full, “went to your desk this morning. You weren’t there.”
“You must’ve missed me.”
“Oh. I just uh, haven’t seen you since the party. You kinda disappeared.”
I scoff slightly, and say something despite my better judgement. “Didn’t really enjoy watching you snog your girlfriend. PDA is disgusting.”
His brow furrows, but in confusion rather than anger. “Girlfriend? What the hell are you talking about?”
What the hell is he talking about?! My blood is almost boiling. He can at least own up to it like a decent person. “That blonde girl you were kissing under the mistletoe. Who else?”
Simon hangs his head with a loud groan. “Ugh you saw that? Fuck.” He looks up with an apologetic expression. “That was Agatha. She’s not my girlfriend. I mean, we dated when we were 15, but of course that was a long time ago. Really, we’re just old friends. Her, Penny and me all went to school together. She lives in California now and we barely see each other. But she’s back in town for Christmas so I invited her to the party. For old time's sake.”
“Is that why you kissed her? For old time's sake?” Crap, I hope I don’t sound too defensive.
"No! Of course not..." He starts picking at his nails (a nervous habit I've noticed.) “Well, um, you see, this is embarrassing, but I can’t hold my liquor very well. And I saw her under the mistletoe and my drunken brain thought she was... someone else.” He turns bright red this time. Shit, Simon has a his own stupid crush. Guess we’re not that different after all.
I scoff again. It keeps me from totally losing my cool. “What, thought she was some other blonde? You must have a type.” I can’t avoid the nervous timbre of my voice near the end.
He shakes his head vigorously and looks away. “No, uh actually... I saw the green shirt, and for a second, I thought she was... you...”
I blink rapidly. My mind goes completely blank, and my heart just stops. I’m a hurricane of thoughts and emotions, trying to process his words. He thought it was me? Does that mean he wanted to kiss me? Me? As I’m going through this crisis, I don’t realise I’m staring blankly at a very confused Simon.
“Um, Baz?” he says, waving a hand.
With a head shake, I come back to reality. “Sorry. Did you just say, you thought it was me under the mistletoe?”
Simon keeps picking at his nails. “I, uh, yeah... look Baz, I know I should've said something before. I’ve been meaning to ask you out. But, you’re just so cool and stuff and I’m not! I-I can’t bloody think around you, let alone ask you on a date. I took a shot with the dance at the party, which seemed to go great. So when I saw the mistletoe I was like ‘hey, why not?’ But then Agatha pushed me off and you were gone. I realised I'd really lost my chance.” He starts running a hand through his curls, pulling at them nervously. “I’m really sorry for dumping this all on you. You don’t have to like me back. I’d understand. I mean, who’d want to go out with someone as weird as me?”
I can’t believe it. He’s just as nervous, shy, and awkward as me. Maybe even more so. He’s a fucking tragedy. He couldn’t be a bigger mess. We match.
I bring my chair around so we’re sitting side by side. I take his shaking hand in mine. He turns to me with wide blue eyes.
“So,” I say, “if you had kissed me, how would you have done it?”
Simon’s mouth falls open slightly. It’s his turn to stare blankly at me. “What?”
“If it really had been me under the mistletoe, how would you have kissed me?”
“I-I, uh... I’m not good with words.”
I reach out and cup his cheek. “Then why don’t you just show me?”
After a brief stare, he grabs my collar and smashes his mouth against mine. It’s a total mess (my teeth nearly cut his lips) but I really don’t care. He’s soft and warm, just like I always thought. I grab the other side of his face, bringing us closer. He grips my shirt like he never wants to let go. We move together fervently at first, all heat and passion. Our tongues and lips battle like two over eager teenagers. But bit by bit, it slows into long, languid kisses. My head is swimming. This is all I’ve ever wanted, and all I want from now on.
We pull away only when we’re out of breath. Simon is flushed all the way down to his neck. I move to hold his shoulders, but he doesn’t release my shirt.
“So,” he sighs, “this silly crush I have isn’t so one sided?”
I chuckle under my breath. “No. Hasn’t been for months.”
He lightly slaps my shoulder. “Thanks for telling me, prick.”
“Well you were the one who kissed your ex in front of me!”
“That was an accident!”
We fall into fits of laughter. His forehead falls against my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him. Slowly we calm down. But I keep holding him, revelling in the feeling of us being so close. He smells wonderful, like cinnamon and sour cherry scones.
“Are we boyfriends now?” He says into my shirt.
I giggle, stroking his hair. “I think we should go on a proper date first, Salisbury.”
He pulls back with one eyebrow raised. “You know, if we’re gonna date, you should probably call me by my first name.”
I frown childishly. “But that feels weird. I’ve always called you Salisbury.”
Simon shakes his head with a smile. “Fine, you big baby.” He plays with the lapel of my suit jacket absentmindedly (I love it). “Well, as a compromise, you could always use my middle name. Though it’s absolutely ridiculous.”
“Oh now you have to tell me!” (I’m far too excited about something so trivial.)
He chews his lips, then sighs. “It’s Snow. Simon Snow Salisbury.”
I bark out a loud laugh, making him frown. He looks down at the floor.
“Oh shut up,” he mutters. “Blame my Mum. She chose it.”
“No no no,” I say, tilting his chin up so we’re eye to eye. “It’s a fine middle name, love. It’s absolutely great.” He still looks upset, gorgeous face all pinched together. “Alright, just so we’re even, I’ll tell you my first name.” Now he looks interested (I’m going to regret this.) “My full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”
Snow erupts in giggles. I’d be pissed if he didn’t look so damn beautiful when he laughs. He crushes his face into my shoulder, letting me feel every laugh induced sob. “Oh my god,” he sputters, “and I thought my parents hated me!”
“It’s a Pitch family name, so Mother desperately wanted it. But Father and I both hate it. Hence why I’m called Baz and not bloody Tyrannus.”
He moves back, wiping laughing tears away from his eyes. “Well then, I promise only to call you Tyrannus when I’m royally pissed off at you. That way you’ll know.” He flashes me a cheeky smile.
I run my fingers up and down his neck. “And I’ll only call you Simon when it’s just the two of us. So it’ll be special.”
God, he’s beautiful when he blushes. Simon leans up to kiss me again. Just a soft, sweet peck. It sends a warmth through my body I could get used to. We pull back and lean our foreheads against each other.
“This isn’t workplace appropriate behaviour, you know,” I whisper.
“Very true,” he sighs, “my father would have a fit if he saw us snogging in the breakroom.”
I pull back very quickly, hands clasped on his shoulders. “Oh my god that’s right. What if your father doesn’t approve? I cannot lose this job, Snow!”
Snow chuckles and pats my hand. “Don’t worry, love. If my father tries to fire you, he’ll have to deal with me .” My heart races at the protective look in his eye. “And just because we shouldn’t kiss here, doesn’t mean we can’t kiss somewhere else. Say, at a restaurant tonight after work?”
I grab his hand and squeeze it. “I would love that. But I'll only go if you’re still wearing this stunning grey suit.”
“Deal.”
I hear the faint sound of people entering the floor. I look at the clock. “I think our lunch is over. We should probably get back to work.”
Snow sighs heavily. “Fine. Let’s be responsible adults and all.” He gives me one last fleeting peck and stands up. “Meet at your cubicle at 6?”
My pulse races so wildly it’s insane. “Can’t wait.”
He flashes me a smile and walks off. I watch him like always, but it doesn’t feel shameful anymore. I think I’m allowed to do this. The idea of watching Simon Snow Salisbury only fills me with joy now, not also fear.
Once Snow is surely gone, I make my way to my own workspace. I have a very hard time focusing on the numbers with all the nervous anticipation stirring in my gut. My foot is literally bouncing, knocking against my deck.
“Hey what’s got you so jittery?” Niall asks from his usual spot hovering over the wall.
I turn to him with a wide smile “I promise to tell you all about it later out of the office.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’ve very strange, Baz Grimm-Pitch.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever."
However strange I may seem, I don't care. I'm too happy. I’ve got a date with the man of my dreams, who cares for me just as much as I care for him.
I’m certainly living a charmed life.