Work Text:
Baz
Dev and Niall have set me up on a blind date. It was almost like they were apologizing for rubbing their love in my face. It was sickening. (You could tell they truly loved each other, it was adorable- sickening. Adorably sickening.)
Now, I’m sitting in a pub with a bloke named Lamb at seven in the evening on a Friday. Who names their child ‘Lamb’ anyway? Well, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch isn’t much better, is it?
Lamb is a stocky sort of bloke, about five inches shorter than me. He has silky brown hair and round, blue eyes. He was rather attractive, yes, but his personality isn’t. He’s very opinionated--which isn’t always a bad thing--and arrogant. He’s older than me, and acts like he knows more about everything. Obnoxious arrogance is one of my main turn-offs. He’s horrid, really.
And he won’t shut up .
I wish to message my group text with Dev and Niall and ask, “Where did you fucking find this guy?” But I decide against it. They could take it positively, like, “Where did you fucking find this guy? He’s perfect.” Which is most definitely not the case. I would think of a better way to phrase my inquiry, but I’m preoccupied with pretending to listen to Lamb's blathering.
However, the night is not a complete waste. The bartender is rather hot. Describing him as merely ‘hot’ doesn’t do him any justice though, he’s bloody beautiful. And I know (hope to death) that he isn’t straight, we’ve been making eyes at each other all evening. I hope he doesn’t have a significant other. Would he eyefuck me like that if he did? What if I’m just imagining it?
I’ve been smiling and nodding in the right places of Lamb’s tirade for about twenty minutes, when he stands suddenly and says, “Sorry, I’ve got to run to the loo.”
I want to say, ‘Oh don’t be sorry, I should be thanking you. Take your time.’ But I just smile and nod. After Lamb turns round and begins walking, I sag in relief.
“Bad date?” I hear from my left, ears perking up. I turn to face Mr. Bartender, really getting a good look at him.
He’s gorgeous, really. He’s got curly, bronze hair and more freckles and moles than I can count in one sitting. His eyes are an ordinary blue, but they’re extraordinarily bright.
I sigh and lean forward, placing my chin in my hand. “Horrible date, actually,” I say. The bartender’s eyebrows raise, he leans forward too.
“What’s your name?” he asks quietly, just audible over the sounds of the pub and its patrons.
“Baz,” I said shortly. (I hate my name, it’s too dramatic. Even for me.) “Yours?”
“Simon,” the bartender grins lazily. I think that that’s a nice, regular name. I take a sip of my bloody mary cocktail. I’m not nearly drunk enough to deal with Lamb when he comes back and I sigh. “If I were to say . . . get rid of him, what’s in it for me?” Simon asks, gazing at me from beneath his eyelashes.
Oh, I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud. Maybe I’m a tad more tipsy than I thought. I take another sip. “We could meet in the alley when your shift ends and get out of here,” I shrug casually. Not feeling casual at all. God, I’m flirting with a random, gorgeous stranger at a pub I don't want to be in and on a date I don't want to be on. Alcoholic beverages always give me a bit of a flush so I hope Simon doesn’t take that as me being flustered.
Simon grins again and I notice the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. I almost swoon. His teeth are white and a bit crooked, but what are you to expect of British men?
I wonder how many times he’s done this. How many times has Simon been out to the back alley to snog some woman or some bloke? I’m already feeling possessive and we’ve yet to touch.
“I’ll take you up on that, Baz.” He straightens up to resume tending the bar like he’s supposed to. I stay in the same position, staring at him lustfully. He looks quite dashing in that dress shirt, the muscles in his forearms shifting as he prepares drinks.
I watch Simon work for a couple minutes before he whispers into his co-worker’s ear. Her eyes light up delightedly and she smiles at me. I just quirk my eyebrows in response. She’s almost a foot shorter than Simon and has bright pink hair.
When Lamb comes back, it takes everything in me to not roll my eyes. “Long queue,” he explains. I nod and smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. As soon as Lamb sits, he drains the rest of his whiskey. I almost gag. He raises two fingers to beckon Simon and pushes the glass toward him, “Refill.”
“Sure thing,” Simon says offhandedly, eyes only on me. I almost melt under his attention but I hold myself together. I’m so weak. (And gay. God, I’m so gay.) I lightly shake myself out of my Simon-induced haze. Now that I think about it, Lamb is rather rude. To Simon, specifically. He didn’t ask for a refill or even say ‘please’.
Rat bastard.
The pink-haired woman makes eye contact with me again, and I know that whatever Simon is planning is going to be glorious.
Simon refills Lamb’s glass. As he’s walking back over to us, he makes eye contact with me and smirks. Fucking Christ. Simon is reaching over the bar to hand Lamb the glass when he seemingly trips. Most likely on thin air.
But I’m not behind the bar, am I?
Simon fucking launches whiskey onto Lamb’s chest, immediately drenching him.
I gasp. God, I wish I could watch this in slow motion. Simon slams the cup onto the bar and cups his hand over his mouth.
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, sir. Trixie, d’you think you could get this man cleaned up for me?”
The people surrounding us glance and snicker. Lamb turns red as a fire engine. If this were a cartoon, smoke would be billowing out his ears.
“Of course,” Trixie nods. “Come on, sir. We’ll get you cleaned up in the back,” she says sweetly, but there’s mischief in her eyes. Lamb stands slowly and glances at me, then Simon, and back to me. I smile encouragingly. Trixie’s already around the bar and gripping Lamb’s elbow.
They retreat into wherever ‘the back’ is, I assume. I down the rest of my bloody mary and make my way towards the side door, into the back alley. I turn to make eye contact with Simon and smirk as I walk through the threshold.
I take a deep breath and lean against the wall beside the door, arms crossed. I should feel bad for ditching Lamb but he’s a dick (so it should cancel out).
The door bangs open and reveals Simon. He’s even more gorgeous when I can see his whole body. He’s fit. Like, really fit. His black top is tucked into a pair of black jeans. He grins at me again and I don’t think I could ever get sick of it. The way his lips quirk and his eyes shine. When he gets closer I realize he’s a bit shorter than me, at least by five centimetres.
He stands directly in front of me. The light of a streetlamp bounces off his curls and reflects in his eyes. He brings his arms up to hook around my neck and I bring my hands to curve around his hips. He huffs a breath when I use my grip to drag him ever closer to me.
Our noses are millimetres apart and we’re still staring into each other’s eyes.
“You’re a shit actor,” I murmur, breaking the silence.
“And you’re a posh bastard aren’t you?”
My eyes widen a fraction. “That I am,” I say mock-indignantly. “Is there a problem?” His eyes flicker down to my lips.
“Yes, actually: I haven’t kissed you yet.” I raise an eyebrow. “Can I?”
I barely breathe out a “yes” before he pushes up on his toes to press his lips to mine, too distracted to correct his grammar. They’re a bit chapped but plump. My eyes flutter closed. Our lips move together as he pushes me backwards, my back meeting the wall.
He pulls away a fraction and I open my eyes because I want to take in as much as I can. His eyes are still closed and his dark eyelashes fan across his freckled cheeks. I want to forever etch this moment into my memory. “Baz?” he whispers.
“Mm?” I tilt my forehead to meet his.
“Baz,” he repeats, “what’s that short for?”
I very nearly roll my eyes. Instead, I lean downwards to connect our lips again. He sighs quietly and tightens his arms around my neck, I do the same with mine around his waist. He does this motion with his chin and deepens the kiss. I actually do melt this time. If I weren’t pressed against a wall, my knees would have given out.
I haven’t kissed many people. Five at the most, but I don’t count three of those because they were either women during spin the bottle or Niall on a dare. So really, I’ve kissed two people and neither of them kissed like Simon.
I turn us around so that his back hits the wall and I trail my hands down from his waist to his thighs, squeezing gently. I pull back slightly, pressing our heads together again. We’re both out of breath and smiling, mouths not far apart. “May I?” I ask, lips ghosting across his.
He huffs a breath but hikes a leg around my hip and I take that as all the permission I need. I kiss him again as I lift him from his thighs, wrapping them around my torso. His hands slide through my hair, lightly scratching my scalp. Each sensation combined feels better than anything I’ve ever felt before. I squeeze my fingers tightly around his thighs as if to ensure he isn’t going anywhere, but I know he isn’t. I readjust my stance and Simon moans into my mouth. It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever felt or heard. “You drive here?” he asks between kisses.
“Mhm,” I hum.
One hand stays in my hair and the other finds its way to my jaw, cradling it gently. He presses his thumb against my chin to pull away. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathes. I place a peck on his lips. “My flat, it’s- it’s not far from here. We can continue this or we can watch a film or anything you’d like.” He’s so sweet.
I’m not ready for this night to be over.
“A film sounds great,” we both grin at each other. He cups my jaw and pulls my face toward him, we kiss enthusiastically until he pulls away again.
“Can you let me down?” he asks gently. “I need to get my things from the back.” He unwraps his thighs from around me and lands softly on the ground. I tug him by his belt loops and press a kiss to his lips again. He laughs brightly and disappears through the door.
I shove my hands into my pockets and sigh. Christ, I’m acting like a lovesick teenager. It’s just … he’s quite literally the man of my dreams. I can’t believe he’s invited me to his flat, nonetheless that he even returned my stares. I vow to text Dev and Niall when I next get the chance and thank them for forcing me on that awful blind date with Lamb.
Oh.
Lamb.
I’ve just remembered he was the reason I’m here. I wonder what he’s doing? Poor sod. He’s soaked in whiskey and abandoned by his date while I get to follow Simon the Bartender home. I smile giddily when my thoughts return to Simon.
I hope he doesn’t want this as a one-night thing. Fuck, I should have asked. I hope he wants me as much as I want him. He’s perfect. Albeit, we’ve barely talked. But, he’s a phenomenal kisser and seems to have a good sense of humor.
Simon comes back with a smile on his face and my lips quirk up. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled as much as I have tonight. He has a grey hoodie on and a black backpack strapped to his back.
He grabs my hand and laces our fingers together before he begins leading me to his flat. What if he’s a serial killer? Isn’t this how Ted Bundy claimed his victims? Well, it’s a good way to die.
“I’m not a serial killer, you know,” Simon says as if he’s read my mind.
“How could I possibly know that?” I argue. "Besides, you're not worried about me being one?"
“Not at all," he smiles. I know I'm not a serial killer, but how could he be so sure? "Also, I don’t think serial killers ask their victims that. I suppose we’ll just have to find out, though, won’t we?” He squeezes my hand.
“I suppose we will,” I squeeze back.
.o.O.o.
When we reach his door, he releases my hand to fish for his keys in his pocket. I wonder if he has a flatmate?
He unlocks it and we both step inside. It's rather small but we can’t all have trust funds, can we? The walls are a boring beige but there are shelves filled with books and plants and little trinkets that surround a window. You can tell it’s very well-loved and lived in. My eyes hone in on a photo of Simon and two women. He’s in the centre with his arms around them as they both place a kiss on each cheek. The one on the left has brown skin and bright purple hair. The one on the right is fair-skinned with light blonde hair. They all look extremely happy under the bright sun. Who are they, his flatmates? Best friends? And why am I jealous?
Simon offers to take my suit jacket and hangs it up on a coat rack after I shrug it off. He cups my jaw again and kisses me lightly. I grin into the kiss and wrap my arms around him. He pulls away a fraction and looks me in the eyes. He’s gorgeous , I think. “Film?” he asks simply.
“The Princess Bride?” I try. His face lights up.
“Fuck yeah!” I breathe a sigh of relief. He kicks his shoes off and I follow his lead toward the sofa. He picks up a remote and clicks the telly on. “D’you want popcorn?” I nod. “All right, you can find it and I’ll make popcorn, yeah?” I nod again, I’m still somewhat in shock.
He walks off but I hear him knock on a door. I assume his flatmate’s in there.
SIMON
“Come in!” I hear Penny’s voice faintly. I open the door and quickly slide in, closing the door behind me.
“Holy shit , Penny,” I whisper.
“What is it, Si?” she asks worriedly.
“Er, okay. There’s a guy in the sitting room,” I explain.
“Is he not supposed to be there?” she asks sarcastically.
“No- I mean, yeah. But- his name’s Baz, I met him at the pub.” Penny nods, urging me to go on. “He’s so fucking hot, Pen.”
“How hot?” She seems interested now, leaning forward.
“Like hot hot,” I emphasize, “he looks like a vampire. His eyes are grey and he has this dark, long hair and it’s so soft.” I sigh dreamily just thinking about his caramel skin and wavy locks.
“Why do you already know what his hair feels like?” she asks suspiciously.
“Well, um. We snogged in the alley.” Her eyes widen. “Anyway, we’re about to watch The Princess Bride. He chose it, isn’t he great?” She rolls her eyes. “You can come out, obviously, but please don’t interrogate him,” I plead.
“Fine,” she sighs.
“Thanks, Pen.”
BAZ
Simon’s off making popcorn so I find this the perfect time to text Dev and Niall. I’ve already queued the movie up and it’s paused on the title sequence.
Baz: Thank you.
Niall: date that good?
Baz: No, Lamb is a dick.
Niall: shit, sorry dude
Dev: then why r u thanking us??
Baz: The bartender is hot. He managed to get rid of Lamb by spilling whiskey on him. We snogged in the alley and now we’re watching The Princess Bride at his flat.
Dev: BRO FR????????
Niall: ASKFGHAFJIAFBAKFJC
Baz: I know!
Dev: r u good? u never use exclamation points
Niall: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Baz: Am I not allowed to be excited? Rude.
Niall: omg send us a pic
Baz: I don’t have any. But I’ll get his instagram. I’ve got to go, he’s back.
Dev: YES
Niall: GET THAT DICK KING
I snort and put my phone down.
Simon and I get situated on the sofa and settle down. We sit directly next to each other, bodies connecting from shoulder to knee. After the initial introduction and the grandpa stops narrating, I tentatively begin to lay my head on Simon’s shoulder. I’m so nervous I’m practically sweating. When I finally make contact with his shoulder, I sigh. He’s so bloody warm, it should be illegal. He tilts his head down to rest it against mine. He smells delicious. Like cinnamon and breakfast.
We both make comments throughout the film. Eventually, I get up to use the loo. “Down the hall, to your left.”
In the toilet, I steel myself against the counter. I’m in a very hot man’s apartment watching a film. We’ve already snogged; where do we go from here? How do I begin the discussion of obtaining his number and Instagram username? It’ll be so awkward, I’m awkward. And he’s so… confident. I wonder if it’s a facade or he’s done this before.
When I get back, I refrain from resting my head on Simon’s shoulder. He keeps looking at me from the corner of his eye when he thinks I’m not looking. However, I do the same; but I think he’s a bit more oblivious.
During the middle of the film, I feel Simon tense up then sigh, releasing all tension.
“You okay?” I ask.
He turns and meets my eyes. “Yeah, I’m just-”
Then he kisses me. It’s unlike the kisses at the pub, those were fervent and mostly lust. This one is… calmer, somehow. It’s slow and soft.
I move the popcorn bowl to the floor before placing my hands on his shoulders, nudging him backwards onto the sofa. I end up straddling his lap and his arms squeeze around my waist. I move my hands from his shoulders to his jaw.
We kiss passionately for a while when I feel him more prominently beneath me. I pull back suddenly and his eyes flash open worriedly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s- I’ve never…” I trail off.
“Oh,” Simon blushes. “That’s fine. We don’t have to,” he shrugs.
I just look at him helplessly. How is he so good? Most blokes would probably start a row.
He kisses me again and studies my face. “You’re okay?”
I nod and rest my head on his chest, smiling. He rubs a hand up and down my back, the other curling around strands of my hair.
.o.O.o.
When the movie is over (we both recited, “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.” in unison) we stay in the position on the sofa, watching the credits roll by. I suddenly remember that I’ve a class tomorrow morning. (At seven. Who teaches class that early?) I’d completely forgotten because I was so wrapped up in Simon.
“Do you know what time it is?”
He slaps around on the sofa arm behind him for his phone. “Half eleven.”
“Fucking hell,” I hiss. I begin extricating myself from him.
“What is it?”
I grumpily tell him about my class and how I have to get home. He gets up and holds my coat out for me to slip my arms into. I rush and pull my shoes on, I’ve got a hand on the doorknob when he says, “Wait.” He hands me his phone with a new contact page already pulled up. I type my digits in and title myself ‘Baz Pitch.’ “You’re still not going to tell me what your name’s short for?”
“Absolutely not,” I reply, not bothering to look up at him. I find his Instagram app and make him follow me. When I look up I see him with his shoes on.
“I’ll walk you back to your car,” he grins and I almost die right there. We hold hands on the way back to the pub.
“You have a fucking Jag?” he asks incredulously.
I shrug, “Gift from my father.” He opens his mouth as if to say something but decides against it. When we stop, I turn to face him. I grab his hands, “Text me?”
“Of course.” He kisses me hard, hands jumping to cradle my face. I curl my hands around his wrists and furrow my eyebrows. He pulls away and whispers, “I had a great time tonight.”
I smile brightly and say, “Me too.” I press a quick peck to his lips and climb into my car.
He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and watches me pull off.
After arriving at my flat, changing into my pajamas, brushing my teeth, and doing my skincare routine, I lie in bed and find myself missing him already.
I decide to text Dev and Niall.
Baz: I’m back at home.
Niall: DID U GET HIS INSTA????
Baz: Yes. @simonsnowscones
Dev: bro he’s hot,,, noah fence niall
Niall: none taken, he’s- wow
Baz: Isn’t he?
Baz: He’s such a gentleman, he walked me back to my car when I left.
Niall: omg he saw the jag???
Dev: what did he say about the jag lmao
Baz: He said, “You have a fucking Jag?” and I told him it was a gift from my father
Niall: he knows ur rich now asjkgdja
Baz: Goodnight, boys.
Dev: gn. he better text u tmw!!
Niall: if he doesn’t text you ill hunt him down and murder him
Unknown Number: hey Baz!!
Baz: Hello. Is this Simon?
Unknown Number: u text like ur writing an essay lol
Unknown Number: yes
Baz: Is it wrong to enjoy writing with proper grammar?
Simon <33: no, it’s cute
Simon <33: goodnight, Basilton
Baz: MOTHERFUCKER
Simon: u forgot ur exclamation point
Baz: I hate you.
Baz: Goodnight, Simon.
Simon <33: goodnight Baz x
I go to sleep with a smile on my face after stalking his Instagram. I find out that the purple-haired woman is his best friend and flatmate, Penelope, and that the blonde woman is his ex-girlfriend, Agatha. She’s very pretty, I wonder why they didn’t work out? I mean, clearly, they had an amicable break-up, as she is still in a photo in his flat and he didn’t delete their old pictures from his page. I also find that the man who took the flat photo is his flatmate’s boyfriend, Shepard, who happens to be American. They seem to be an interesting little group.