Work Text:
Stensland fluffed the throw pillows on the Casual Comfort Collection sofa then checked his watch. Only ten more minutes left before the end of his shift.
“So what will you be wearing to the party tonight?” His manager Mitaka asked.
“Em, thinking of just going as a serial killer,” he answered.
“Which one?” Mitaka asked, intrigued.
“Well, it could be anyone, couldn’t it?” Stensland answered.
Mitaka sighed, realizing Stensland wasn’t going to wear a costume at all. “Aw, come on, Stens. Have some fun. I still think you should go as that general from Star Wars. You’d look almost exactly like him if you’d slick your hair back!”
“I don’t see it. Besides, where could I even get a costume like that on such short notice? Tell you what, I’ll put in some fangs and sparkles and say I’m a vampire. How’s that?” He conceded.
“I have a Star Wars officer uniform you can borrow,” Mitaka replied. “You’ll have to wear your own pants and boots though. Mine wouldn’t fit but the jacket and hat should do. Do you have black boots?”
“Why do you have a Star Wars officer's uniform?” Stens asked.
“Because I went as one with my ex a couple of Halloweens ago. He dressed as Kylo Ren and I dressed as that one officer he Force-choked in the first film. I didn’t realize it would be a prophetic costume choice,” Mitaka said sadly.
“Oof, sorry to hear that,” Stens replied. “Sounds like the costume might be bad luck though. Best not to risk it. Besides, I’ve always related more to the droids,” he added.
Mitaka gave him a sad look and sniffled.
“Oh, alright,” Stens said. “Just don’t look at me like that anymore. I’m a Pisces, I’m very empathic. And don’t tell anyone how soft I am or else they’ll be manipulating me all over the place.”
“You won’t regret this!” Mitaka said.
“Wow,” Mitaka said when Stensland walked out of the bathroom. He patted his slicked-back hair, stiff with gel and hairspray.
“Like it?” Stens asked. “I clean up nice sometimes if I do say so myself!” Maybe I’ll meet someone special tonight, he added silently.
“Not sure about the boots, though,” Mitaka said, looking down.
The only boots Stensland owned were a pair of tan Uggs which clashed sharply with his fitted black uniform.
“They’re so comfy though!” Stensland replied. If it weren’t for the dress code at Soft Solutions he would wear Uggs half of the year and flip-flops the other half. He managed to find a second-hand pair of purple Doc Martens that weren’t too uncomfortable to wear at work but he always kicked them off as soon as he got home.
“I’ve got an idea!” Mitaka said. He ran to the junk drawer in his kitchen and came back with a tub of black shoe polish and a brush.
“Oh, no!” Stens said, shaking his head in fear. “You’ll ruin them!”
“Oh, come on,” Mitaka replied. “It’s for the aesthetic!”
“No,” Stensland insisted. “Besides, Peter Cushing wore carpet slippers in all his Grand Moff Tarkin scenes because his boots were too uncomfortable, they just never panned the camera down so the audience didn’t know. Who’s to say this General didn’t wear a more comfy shoe once in a while?” He reasoned.
“I suppose,” Mitaka conceded. “We’ll just not take any full-length pictures.”
A half-hour later they drove up to the Duck Tape Bar and Grill.
“This is the place,” Mitaka said, voice modulated behind his Kylo Ren voice-changer mask as he parked.
“Great. Now, don’t let me drink too much,” Stensland said. He’d already smoked a bowl before he left and, even though he wasn’t driving, he didn’t want to do anything he would regret in the morning.
“Your lack of party spirit disturbs me,” Mitaka answered, leaving the car.
“Look, I know that outfit probably makes you feel very powerful about now but if you try to choke me I will unleash the power of these legs. I know I don’t look very strong but I can kick,” he added, kicking an Ugg-shod leg forcefully out of his car door.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mitaka answered. He flung his cape back dramatically, hitting Stensland in the face with it, and stalked toward the entrance.
They walked into the bar, filled with Soft Solutions employees from Boone County for the annual company party. A menacing Darth Vader walked toward them.
“Oh no, he’s probably coming to complain about the sequels,” Mitaka said, grabbing Stensland by the elbow and walking toward the bar. “Move, move!”
Stensland followed. He could use a drink if anything just to have something to do with his hands.
“Good evening, fellas,” The bartender said, nodding to them. “What can I get you?”
“Whatever good IPA you have on tap,” Mitaka said.
“Alright. And for you?” The bartender said, placing a coaster in front of Stensland.
Stensland stared in silence. His jaw dropped to the floor as time stood still. Right in front of him stood the most warm-eyed, luscious-haired, tall, dark, and handsome man he had ever seen. As his soulmate towered over him, looking at him expectantly, he wanted to crawl over the bar and climb him like a sequoia. Mitaka elbowed him sharply, waking him from his reverie.
“Pina Colada?” Stensland answered. The bartender nodded and walked away, Stensland's eyes followed him hungrily.
“Oh God,” Mitaka said, voice still modulated. “I can’t believe you. Stop staring, everyone knows Clyde is self-conscious about his hand.” He said.
“What? Why?” Stensland asked, confused. He hadn’t even thought to look at his hands yet.
“He lost it in Iraq,” Mitaka explained. “He’s really nice, he just looks scary. Be nice.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Stensland said, turning to Mitaka. “This isn’t a judging stare. This is an ‘Oh my God, I’ve just seen my soulmate,’ stare.”
Clyde arrived with their drinks just in time to hear the last part. He blushed slightly, placing the pina colada, complete with a little umbrella, in front of the somewhat intimidating redhead.
“Thanks,” Mitaka said, taking his drink. “I’m only having the one tonight so I’ll pay for this round,” Mitaka said, reaching in the folds of his robes.
“No, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Stensland said, holding his hand out to stop him. “Start a tab, please,” he said to the bartender, handing him his credit card.
“Yes, sir,” he answered, turning to place it by the cash register.
“I’m going to go mingle,” Mitaka said.
“I’m going to pursue my destiny,” Stensland replied, gesturing to Clyde.
“May the Force be with you,” Mitaka nodded.
“And with your spirit,” Stensland answered. Mitaka tilted his head in confusion.
“I thought it was ‘And also with you?’” He said.
“No, it’s ‘And with your spirit’ now,” Stensland replied. Mitaka shrugged and turned to go. Looks like someone hasn’t been to church for a while, Stensland thought.
Stensland drank his drink quickly, both to get Clyde to notice him again and to get some more liquid courage.
“Another?” Clyde asked.
“Sure,” he answered.
He watched as Clyde made his drink, noticing his arm this time. It was a very nice robotic prosthetic that honestly only added to his rugged appeal.
“So,” Stensland said after receiving his drink. “Do you like pina coladas?”
“More of a bourbon man myself,” Clyde answered, shrugging.
“Getting caught in the rain?” Stensland continued.
Clyde laughed. “Depends,” he answered.
“On what? Who you’re caught with?” Stensland asked.
“Maybe,” he answered, then left to help another customer.
Damn, Stens, you need to think of some better lines. No one remembers that song. He slurped down the rest of his drink and surveyed the party. Tables had been pushed aside to make a dance floor and an old-timey jukebox provided the music. Yes, Stensland thought, never underestimate the importance of body language.
He sauntered over to the jukebox and shuffled through the records until he found the perfect track.
“This is the way,” he murmured, putting his coins in. The upbeat strains of Billy Ocean’s “Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car,” began to play. Stensland stalked onto the dance floor and busted out his best moves. Fly, you big, beautiful condor. Spread your wings of seduction and fly! He told himself.
A small circle formed around him, partly to watch the show and partly to protect themselves from his long, flailing limbs. Mitaka and Darth Vader paused their heated discussion to watch.
“Oh, no,” Mitaka said. How much had Stensland had?
“Oh, yes!” Darth said, laughing heartily through his mask.
Clyde watched the redhead - Stensland, his card said. One name, like Cher - dance from behind the bar. When he first served him he thought he was some kind of sophisticated, pretty, intimidating business-type with that tailored suit and slicked-back hair but seeing him dance with such abandon, throwing off his hat and smiling wide, carefree as a summer day, he realized he had him all wrong. From his bright red hair, escaping from its gel encasement with every move, to his inappropriate footwear, Stensland was a real free spirit. He wasn’t exactly sure at first if the dancing was genuine or some kind of performance art piece but from the open look on his face, he guessed this was just how he danced. He caught his eye toward the end of the song and smiled.
The song ended and the small crowd around him clapped. Stensland bowed while a Frankenstein handed him his hat. He went back to the bar, feeling pretty good about himself. Clyde had given him a little smirk that may not have been completely mocking.
“Nice moves,” Clyde said after he sat back down. “On the house,” he added, placing another pina colada in front of him.
“Never had a lesson,” Stensland said, placing the little umbrella behind his ear.
“The name’s Clyde,” he added, holding out his right hand.
“Stensland,” he replied, shaking his hand. “Just Stensland.”
Clyde nodded. “So, something tells me you’re not from around here,” Clyde said.
“What gave it away?” Stensland replied, laughing.
“Well, the accent for one,” he said.
“What accent? I don’t have an accent. You’re the one with the accent,” he replied.
“I guess so, from a certain point of view,” Clyde said.
“I just moved here from Seattle,” Stensland said. “It’s getting too expensive over there so I transferred down here. Starting over and all that.” He didn’t need to mention his disastrous love life and ruined reputation in most of the neighborhood bars just yet.
“Ah yes, Seattle. That’s where the accent is from,” Clyde said.
“It’s a long story,” Stensland said. “But I’d be glad to tell you over dinner sometime.” He then hit himself lightly on the side of the head. “Oh, bollocks, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you while you’re at work and are almost forced to be nice to me. Look, if you tell me to fuck off I promise I won’t make a complaint,” he said.
Clyde laughed. “I own the place so you’d just be complaining to me anyway,” he said. “And I’d like that. Dinner, that is,” he said.
Stensland smiled and Clyde’s heart did a little flip. He grabbed a napkin and wrote his number down, sliding it across the bar. Stensland pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and put the number in his contacts. He then sent Clyde a string of heart-eyes emojis. The Billy Ocean and tropical drinks were really getting to him.
Clyde took his phone out from his back pocket, smiled when he saw the text and saved Stensland’s number.
They stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds until someone down the bar called for Clyde and Mitaka tapped Stensland on the shoulder.
“We have to go. Or I do, anyway,” Mitaka said.
“What? Oh, sure. My work here is done. Let me just take care of the tab,” he signaled Clyde, who shortly after gave him his card back.
“Where’s the slip? I need to sign for it,” Stensland asked.
“On the house,” Clyde answered, waving him off.
“No, I insist!” Stensland protested.
“You can pay for dinner,” he answered.
Stensland smiled, relieved. “Get ready for the night of your life, then,” he said. Mitaka began to pull him away by the sleeve. “Bye, Clyde!” He called as he left.
“Bye,” Clyde said with a little wave.
“I love you,” Stensland whispered. Too soon, too soon. But he just knew it. It was probably a past life thing.
Back in the car, Mitaka took off his mask. “Ugh, no wonder he barely wore this thing after the first movie,” he said, sighing, his hair plastered to his face.
“How did his hair look so good though?” Stensland wondered.
“Wah!” Mitaka shouted at a knock on his window. It was Darth Vader. Without the mask, he was a skinny, somewhat snobby-looking young blonde.
“What is it now?” Mitaka asked peevishly as he rolled down the window.
“I just wanted to give you this,” he said, pushing a business card at him before walking away. It said “Thanisson” and had a phone number. On the back, it said, “Call me” circled with a heart.
“Whoo-hoo! Looks like I’m not the only one with a hot date coming up!” Stensland said, holding his hand up for a high-five.
“As if!” Mitaka retorted. He put the card in his wallet all the same. “That guy was a jerk,” he muttered.
“Oh, he was just pulling your pig-tails, you know,” Stensland said.
Mitaka looked at him, considering. “Good point,” he said. He took out the card and pushed in the cigarette lighter. When it popped out he applied it to the card and set it on fire, placing it in the cupholder when it became too hot to hold.
“Ah! Careful!” Stensland exclaimed, dousing the small fire with a water bottle he found rolling on the floorboard.
“Self-care,” Mitaka answered.