Work Text:
Charlie
I hate this shit.
Christmas parties alone are bad enough, what with all the forced merriment, organised fun and embarrassing antics. Then you add work into the mix? We already spend, on average, about 90,217 hours of our lives working. Why the fuck would I want to add more to that, just to spend time with Barbara from fucking accounts payable? She’s fifty-four and never shuts up about her husband’s woodworking hobby. I don’t care, Barb. I’m here to get fucked up on the free Tesco Brut, not listen to you waffle on about the importance of a good corner bracket.
“Charlie!”
Oh God, and here’s Tessa, the new girl in systems who had absolutely no time for me until she found out I’m gay. Cue the gushing and the over the top attempts to manufacture inside jokes. This isn’t The Devil Wears Prada and if it was, and I was on Stanley Tucci’s wage, I’d maybe feel like I was paid enough to crack a smile.
“Have some cake!”
She waves a piece of red velvet in my face and I want to punch her. That’s another thing I hate about Christmas. Everyone, everywhere, just automatically assumes you love eating food.
“No thanks, I ate too much cake before.”
She pouts at me with her cherry red lips. “Is there such a thing as too much cake?”
I know she means well, but I really need her to just fuck the fuck off.
“Alright everyone, it’s time!”
I take another giant gulp of this cheap-arse booze the business ever so kindly splashed out on for us and pray for this to be over. This year I got some bloke from IT as my Secret Santa, who I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to in my life outside of that one time I needed him to reset my password. He’s a straight white cis man with a beard, so I just assume he loves craft beer. I got him a couple of cans of the fancy-looking Beavertown stuff. Well, I got him exactly two. They’re £8 a pop you know.
I swear I’m not actually Scrooge reincarnated, I just don’t really see the point in buying a piece of crappy tat for a complete stranger under the guise of festive fun. Why can’t everyone here pool that money instead, so we can go out and put a tab behind a bar rather than hanging about in the office after hours like the world’s saddest staff meeting?
“We’ve got something a bit different for you this year,” Viv, our CEO, tries to explain through her very obvious uncontrollable glee. It could also be the red wine talking, to be fair. She giggles and waves her glass around, and I tip my head back and drain the last of the brut, wondering if it would be rude to go and pour myself another glass mid-speech.
“This year, Santa himself is going to deliver your presents!”
I almost choke on my own saliva. What?
“Yeah, that’s right,” Viv continues while everyone murmurs and chuckles. “Everyone, please give it up for our very own…Saint Nick!”
Oh, you have got to be kidding me. It’s Nick fucking Nelson.
“Oh my God,” Tessa whispers, next to me. “Oh…wow.”
Nick emerges from one of the smaller meeting rooms, fully kitted out in the red, fluffy suit, the boots and the hat. His face is half-obscured by a plastic-looking moustache-beard combo, and he’s got an actual sack full of our Secret Santa presents slung over his shoulder. He puts his palm on his pillow-cushioned belly and calls out, with the type of genuine joyful abandon that could only come from someone like Nick:
“Ho ho ho! Meeerry Christmas!"
And, yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but the realisation hits me like a reindeer hoof to the face: Nick Nelson is dressed as Santa Claus and I’m incredibly fucking into it.
“Nick, mate, what have they done to you?!” Johnny from finance cackles over the loud Christmas music playing in the background. “Are you doing this for the bonus or what?”
Nick shrugs and puts the bag of presents on the floor. “I just love bringing joy to the world, mate.”
He catches my eye then, his own twinkling with mirth and merriment, and my stomach erupts into a horny gymnastics routine. Is it the beard? I am weak for a hairy man. Or maybe it’s the belly. Dad bods have been creeping into my algorithm lately, for very good reason. Or perhaps it’s Santa’s incredible work ethic. I mean, come on. We all love a man who’s his own boss, right?
Nick straightens up and then holds out his arms with a cheeky, rosy smile. “Alright, who wants to sit on Santa’s lap?”
One of the girls from HR immediately chokes, inhales a bunch of bubbly and then spurts it out of her nose.
“No!”
Janet, the HR Director, practically bellows the word while the rest of her team appear suitably panic stricken. Um, excuse me, Janet. Don’t speak for me. I’m a big boy and I can decide for myself if I want to sit on daddy - um, father Christmas’s lap. Those juicy thighs look like they’re made for sitting on, after all.
I wonder if he’d let me sit on anything else. Like his face.
Oh dear, I need another drink. I quickly excuse myself and run to the drinks table, keen to get a bit of a cool breeze on my ruddy cheeks. I can’t help but shoot a quick glance in Nick’s direction again, and the sight of him bending over to retrieve the sack gives me the urge to make the Yuletide very fucking gay indeed. Yep, the red suit and the beard is definitely doing it for me. Santa baby, I want you to slip me something under the tree tonight, and it’s sure as shit not whatever the fuck a Sable is.
In case it’s not already blindingly obvious, I have a confession to make.
Nick Nelson is the only thing I like about working here.
Nick
Charlie’s looking at me with those eyes again. He hasn’t looked at anyone else since I walked in dressed up like a fucking prat, but I think it might be…a good thing? Honestly, with him I never know if he’s giving me the don’t talk to me look or the let’s take a coffee break and go fuck in your car look.
We’ve never had sex, to be clear. We’ve never done anything except flirted a bit. Well, he flirts. I stand there, dumbstruck, my brain flopping about like a wet fish and contributing precisely nothing to the conversation. I do not know why that man pays me the slightest lick of attention, and I definitely don’t know why he’s staring at me right now like he wants to smother me in brandy cream and lick me clean.
So, a bit of context: Charlie and I are…friends. Pals. Bros. Really good mates, shall we say. He talks to me more than anyone else in this office because I’m his favourite. Yeah, that’s right, that prickly, standoffish, beautiful man likes me best, and if that turns me on a slightly embarrassing amount, that’s no one’s business but my people-pleasing self.
Unfortunately we’re also both very much of the opinion that it’s a terrible idea to shit where you eat. You don’t get involved with a co-worker unless you want the whole workforce gossiping about you and Janet breathing down your neck. I can tell Charlie doesn’t appreciate being the centre of attention. Well, unless it’s coming from me. Then I think he doesn’t mind.
So we’ve never crossed that line, although I desperately want to and I think he does too. The attraction has always been an unspoken thing between us, ever since I was showing Charlie all the fire exits and taking his photo for his ID card. I don’t think I managed to articulate a single coherent sentence that day. But we respectfully kept our distance and chose to spend the next couple of years eye-fucking each other instead, because what could possibly go wrong?
I tear my gaze away from his ridiculous cheekbones and piercing eyes and try to remember what it is I’m actually here for. Oh, yeah. To make a tit out of myself in the hopes I might get that pay rise in April.
“Ho ho ho! First present!”
“We’re not doing the guessing game this year,” Viv cuts in before I can hand Jeremy from sales his intricately wrapped gift.
“What? Why?” Jeremy asks, seemingly genuinely devastated by this information. Alright Jeremy, don’t get your tinsel in a tangle. She’s doing you a favour. I already know the new marketing intern picked you out of the hat, and I bet you don’t even know his name. Also, I’m 99% sure you’re getting socks.
I think about the gift in this sack, all wrapped up from me. I hope I made the right decision.
“When the time’s right, you can approach each other and reveal yourselves as the gifters.” She looks around the room. “Only if you want to, of course.”
I try not to glance Charlie’s way while I hand out more presents, but it’s impossible. I know we try to keep our flirting to a minimum but he’s got a look in his eyes tonight that’s not normally there. I think it’s probably the alcohol starting to kick in, and I’m feeling a bit merry myself from the three shots I had when I was psyching myself up to get in character, but it’s still new.
I hope things do change between us tonight. I could make him so happy.
My God, I want to please him so fucking badly and he’s looking at me like he might actually let me. For one insane moment I start to suspect he might honestly be into the whole Santa thing, but that’s obviously ridiculous so I immediately rule it out. Who, in their right mind, would want to break off a piece of the big jolly man?
Charlie
Call me Mrs Claus, because I’m down to be Santa’s little ho ho ho tonight. It’s not just my stocking I want stuffed, if you catch my drift. I want to ride his sleigh and jingle his bells. I want to wrap myself up in shiny paper and ribbon just so Nick can tear it all off me. With his teeth, preferably.
Wow, I think I’m a bit drunk. Eh, whatever. ‘Tis the season to get shitfaced.
I think Nick might be a bit tipsy too, although I can’t really see much of his face right now. He’s getting far too into it, putting on the stupid voice and everything. God, why do I fancy him so much? He’s such a loser. It’s adorable and hot and sexy, and…ugh.
I can’t really remember a time when I didn’t have a massive work crush on Nick. He’s our facilities manager, so he was the one who gave me the tour and got me set up on my first day. He’s so lovely and kind, and safe. I trusted him immediately, which is very unlike me, just so you know.
Sometimes, when my pen runs out, he’ll bring me a new one without me even having to ask. He shuffles things around so I get the best meeting rooms. He replaced my laptop before anyone else’s and put me at the top of the list for the new work iPhones. His blatant favouritism gets me so hot and tingly under the collar. Nick Nelson, fittest employee in the whole building, has a soft spot for me. It’s enough to make my knees buckle.
Oh shit, he’s coming over. I realise I’ve just been staring at him like I want him to baste my turkey, so I straighten my spine and try to rearrange my face so I look a bit less slack-jawed and a bit more cool and aloof.
Our fingers brush when he hands me my present. My breath catches in the back of my throat at the contact.
Nick leans in a bit and drops his voice so only I can hear.
“Merry Christmas, Charlie.”
He smiles that killer smile that goes all the way up to his beautiful brown eyes and I want to grab him by the fake beard and smash our mouths together. I don’t, because I’m not that drunk. But my God, what I’d give to let him roast my chestnuts. What? I didn’t say anything.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper back, my heart all aflutter like the inside of a snow globe. Can you be a simp for Santa? Apparently you can.
Nick goes back to delivering presents, but he still keeps throwing these shy little glances my way, catching my eye a frankly inappropriate number of times. I try not to blush and turn my attention to the gift in my hands. It’s a simple box wrapped in plain brown paper. I tear off the wrapping and remove the lid, and when I see what’s inside I make a surprised little squeak in the back of my throat.
It’s a sprig of mistletoe.
Oh my God, what the fuck? I snap my head up to find Nick still looking at me. His cheeks are pink and shiny and I just know his smile is all lopsided and cute under that beard. I swallow and it feels like my tongue is made of cotton wool. Holy shit. Did Nick get me as his Secret Santa?
Nick
I think Charlie’s always known how I feel, but I’m sick of keeping my mouth shut about it. I like you, Charlie. I want to take you on a date. I want to fuck you. Right now I really want to fuck you, actually. How many eggnogs have I had?
There’s a spark, something undeniably electric between us. He’s by the drinks station right now letting Jeremy talk his ear off about something or other, probably KPIs, but his gaze keeps sliding over to me. There’s fire behind it. Determination. I think he wants me just as much as I want him and I think he wants it now.
What we’re waiting for is an opportunity.
I make myself scarce, slipping out into the main hallway where the toilets are and tugging off this ridiculous scratchy beard. There’s no one here so I rest against the wall and try to steady my heartbeat. I’m nervous. I have an idea in my head of what I’m going to say but I have a horrible feeling reality is not going to match my expectations.
The door swings open and Charlie comes out. I breathe a shaky sigh of relief.
“Hi, Charlie I -”
He doesn’t even let me finish. He pushes me backwards into one of the loos and locks the door behind us, his gaze ablaze with hunger.
“You’re fucking crazy, Nick.”
I laugh because I’m shit scared and don't want to say anything to mess this up. “Yeah, I - oh.” I stop when I’m pushed into a seated position on the closed toilet. “Oh, fuck,” I gasp when Charlie climbs into my lap.
“Santa, huh?” he breathes against my parted lips. His eyes twinkle with lusty affection. Is that even a thing? Apparently anything can be a thing when alcohol is involved.
“I - I know it’s stupid.”
The edges of Charlie’s mouth curl upwards. “Depends.” He wraps one arm around my neck and uses the other to pluck the hat from my head. He places it over his curls, where it flops adorably into his face, and gives me a cheeky, dimpled smile. “Are you gonna make the most of it?”
Once again my brain misfires because Charlie Spring is in my fucking lap talking some sort of suggestive foreign language to me.
“What?”
Charlie rolls his eyes. “Nicholas.” He smirks again, his eyes lighting up, and leans in close. “Saint Nicholas.”
Ohh, wait. Is this, like, a role play thing?
“Y-yes?” I squeak out, trying not to think about how wonderful the friction of his jeans feels against my -
“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I want for Christmas?”
Shit, okay. What the fuck? This is equal parts hot and terrifying. Does he not know it’ll be a Christmas fucking miracle if I make it all the way through this magical horny fantasy without completely humiliating myself?
“I…”
Jesus, I need to get it together because I refuse to fumble this incredible man after I’ve waited literal years to be in this position. Well, maybe not this exact position, but still. I’m not complaining.
I drop my voice an octave and whip out my best gravelly impression of what I assume is a moderately sexy Santa.
“What do you want for Christmas?”
Charlie laughs softly. Oh God, I’m trying my best, okay?
Then he leans in all the way and nips at my bottom lip with his teeth. I gasp, totally unprepared for what the sensation of his warm, soft lips feel like brushing against mine. He moves further into me and fully bites me, tugging on my lip before letting it go. It sends my brain into a complete tailspin.
“I want,” Charlie whispers into my ear, sultry and coquettish, “to get on your naughty list.”
Oh fuck. Okay. If he’s not careful Santa’s gonna be coming to town a lot sooner than anticipated.
Charlie
I think I just broke Santa.
He’s making these breathless, eager noises while he reaches for me, grabbing me around the waist and crushing our bodies together. Thank fuck he got rid of that pillow earlier, although I am a bit sad there’s no more cushion to his belly. I would’ve enjoyed a nibble of that too.
“Oh God, Charlie, you have no idea how much I want you.”
The longing and desire all mixed up together in his voice makes me dizzy with want.
“Yeah? You’ve been thinking about me like this?”
“All the fucking time,” he groans into my neck. I feel his lips against my skin and then he sucks, hard, his teeth scraping at my throat. My hips move of their own accord, bucking into his.
“Oh fuck -”
“That’s it,” Nick growls, in a voice I’ve never heard before and want to hear every day for the rest of my life. He grabs me and yanks me forward again, into another shallow thrust, and all my common sense goes out the window. I paw at his chest, finding the shiny black buttons with my fingers and popping them open.
Nick moans quietly into my shoulder while I undress him, throwing his stupid coat open but leaving it on. I push myself away from him so I can see what I’m working with, and all the blood immediately rushes to my cock.
“Oh God, Nick…”
He’s so fucking divine. Broad, muscled shoulders, hairy chest, soft, biteable stomach that creases just above his belly button. There’s a noticeable bulge under his velvet trousers too, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a candy cane. He blushes but doesn’t break my gaze when it trails up to meet his. He looks confident, like he knows he’s gorgeous. I rut against his thigh because he’s the fittest thing I’ve ever seen and I would get on my knees and thank him if he came down my chimney.
“You’re so perfect,” I whisper, trailing my fingers over his belly. He shivers and tilts his head back when I lower my mouth to his skin and suck softly.
“Ch - Charlie,” Nick stutters, sounding like he doesn’t know how to properly release the oxygen from his lungs.
“Hmm,” I reply, splaying my fingers over his chest and flicking my tongue out against his hard nipple. He moans and tenses under my fingers and lips. I kiss, lick and bite every inch of exposed skin I can find, utterly addicted to his body and the way it stretches and arches underneath me. When I reach the line of his jaw he digs his fingers into my waist. His thighs are shaking.
“Such a tease,” Nick breathes into the humid air. Oh my God, call me that again, Mr Claus. I’ll be your little tease anytime you want.
I press my lips softly against the hollow of his cheek, trying my best to drive him crazy with the anticipation of it all. He turns his head to meet mine and our lips brush again, but this time he doesn’t let me get away. His fingers wrap around the back of my neck and he captures my mouth with his, swallowing my desperate groan, taking me. The kiss is rough, rougher than I expected from someone like Nick. I open my mouth, submitting to him automatically, and his low growl rattles in the back of my throat when he licks a stripe over my bottom lip.
Fuck me, if this is how he kisses, I wonder how he fucks?
The hat is somewhere on the floor now and his arms are wrapped around me, hugging me close while we explore each other with soft tongues and breathless moans. I can’t believe we haven’t been doing this the whole time. Why the hell didn’t I bring any protection to this fucking party? I guess it didn’t really cross my mind when I was letting Barb bore me to tears that there might be a possibility for a bit of pah-rum pum pum pum in the toilets later.
“Nick, wait,” I gasp, wrenching my mouth from his and swivelling in his lap to assess the room. Thank fuck. There it is - the machine that looks like it came from the eighteenth century, that dispenses condoms and lube. Praise the lord. Happy bloody birthday Jesus, you legend. Thanks for looking out for me.
I throw myself across the room. “Do you have a pound coin?”
Nick catches on immediately and scrambles to his feet. “Normally I wouldn’t, but Janet wanted me to bake some of my famous Christmas cookies for her nephew and she gave me a bit of -”
“Nick, shut up about Janet and give me a pound coin.”
“Yeah, alright.”
It works. Nick and I both breathe a sigh of relief in tandem when the little round plastic container pops out. I turn in his arms and rest against the wall, holding it up with a grin.
“So,” I purr, running a finger down Nick’s bare chest. “What do you say, Santa? Want me to sit on something else?”
Nick
I think it’s supposed to feel a bit cringe-worthy to go on like this but frankly, I feel nothing but blind lust. I’ll say anything to get what I want at this point, even if that means going along with whatever the fuck Charlie is trying to encourage right now.
“Am I on your naughty list yet?” Charlie asks in a low, teasing voice as he reaches for the very obvious erection in my trousers. I can’t believe this is happening.
“N-not yet, I’ve been…I’ve been checking it. Twice.” I wince. I’m not very good at this.
Charlie smiles up at me, all dimples. He’s loving it. “And what happens when I get on it?” He flattens his palm over my cock and I jerk at the contact, hissing softly. “Because I will get on it.”
“You -” I inhale sharply when he starts to stroke me over my clothes, long, confident strokes that ignite my wild imagination and get my mind reeling with possibilities. “I might let you - oh, fuck - you might get a taste of - of little saint Nick.”
Charlie snorts and the moment is instantly shattered. “Little?”
I flush all the way down to my boots, mortified. “You, um…oh, fuck this Charlie, have you met me? You know I can’t do this dirty talking shit to save my life.”
He opens his mouth to say something but I decide there and then that I’ve had enough of his sexy, coy little act. I grab his shoulders and whip him around, pushing him into the wall and reveling in his surprised moan.
“Nick!”
“Give me that,” I huff into his shoulder, taking the condom and lube from between his fingers. “Take your jeans off.” I’m all business now, no longer interested in messing around. We haven’t got all night, after all. Someone might need the loo soon and I don’t think blue balls will complement my colour scheme. If Charlie wants me to dick his halls with my North Pole then we need to giddy up, jingle horse.
Charlie
Oh, I wish it could be Christmas every day. I’ve got my palms against the wall and Nick’s breath against the back of my neck, and I can do nothing but pant out approving noises and pleas for more while he fingers me open. Is there a better way to spend the festive season? I think not.
“I can’t believe…”
“You’re so - Charlie, oh my God…”
“Gonna give you everything you want -”
Nick’s desperate, eager words float in and out of my head. I can feel his hot skin against my lower back where my jumper has ridden up and it’s intoxicating. I’m obviously into the whole Santa thing right now, but if he wants to do this again I’m definitely gonna suggest a lot less clothes.
I hope he wants to do this again.
“Are you ready?” Nick’s mellifluous voice caresses the shell of my ear and I shudder. What a stupid question.
“Yeah, please.”
He’s slow and gentle, because of course he is. I wouldn’t expect anything less of sweet, sugary Nick Nelson. He feels amazing, filling me up, making me gasp out in pleasure. When he’s fully inside me he starts to gyrate his hips, moving in torturous little circles until I’m all tingly and breathless. I look to my left and see our reflection in the large mirror; he looks fucking delectable with his red velvet trousers slung low on his hips and his cock buried inside me, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his floppy hair sticking up all over the place.
I did that to him. I get him off like that. He pulls out only an inch or so and drives back into me, slow and deep, and I have to bite my lip because I already know this is not going to be a silent night.
“Please, no more teasing,” I beg. And then, because I’m feeling bold and slightly feral from the dicknotism, I add, “Santa, baby. Fuck me.”
Nick lets out a ravenous sound and then his resolve snaps. He thrusts into me, hard, our skin slapping together. It’s so long overdue I moan out in ecstasy, reaching back with one hand to grip his hair.
It’s good, but it’s not the best sex I’ve ever had. I don’t blame Nick for that; he’s trying his best and he’s doing a stellar job, all things considered. This position, this location, is not ideal. Still, Nick is dedicated. He fucks me into the wall with blind determination, grunting stubbornly, reaching around me to stroke my cock. I cry out, bending lower and arching my spine so he can find my prostate. The thought alone of getting railed by Santa, who is actually Nick Nelson, my real fantasy, is enough to get me close.
“Nick,” I moan, slapping his hand away. He pauses, his fingers pressing into my hip.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just - sit down, let me take over.”
Holy shit, he looks so fucking good sitting there still half dressed with his legs open, waiting for me. I lick my lips and slide into his lap, watching his eyes roll back. Oh, yeah. This view is also going to help get me over the edge. I put one hand on his shoulder and wrap the other one around the metal bar above the toilet, using it as leverage to bounce on his dick.
“Jesus,” Nick hisses out, the tension in his voice giving away his pleasure.
“You like that?” I gasp, lost in Nick’s dilated pupils. “D’you like it when I ride you like a one horse open sleigh?”
Nick snorts out a laugh and closes his eyes for a moment. “Charlie, don’t do that.”
“What?” I grin wickedly, mighty pleased with myself.
“Don’t ruin the mood.”
Fine, spoilsport. I lean in and kiss him instead, and he melts instantly, wrapping me up in his arms. One hand slides up into my hair and he tugs at the curls at the back of my head while he moves against me. I shiver into his open mouth, feeling my orgasm approaching. This is way better than what we were doing against the wall. It’s intimate. It warms me up from the inside out, like mulled wine and spices. I grind down onto him harder and we both moan in unison, before Nick pulls back to spit into his palm and then wrap his fist around my cock.
“Oh fuck,” I keen, my head rolling back. “Yes, Nick. Keep going.”
It takes me thirty more seconds of heavy breathing and whiny utterances of Nick’s name and then I’m gone, slumping against his chest and shuddering while he thrusts up into me with a broken sound. I look down at the mess I’ve made all over his lovely tummy. Oh, wow, there’s a lot of it. Looks like it’s gonna be a white Christmas after all.
Nick
Charlie sighs happily into my neck as I stroke his back and kiss the little bit of exposed shoulder I can get to where his jumper has slipped. God, I’d love to know what it’s like to writhe around fully naked with him. I’d love to know a lot of things about Charlie, truthfully.
Oh shit, I haven’t actually told him. I got too distracted by all the fucking.
“Charlie,” I murmur, pulling him away by the back of his jumper. “That was amazing.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, that pretty smile back on his face. “Thanks for taking a break from all the gift-delivering to give me what I really wanted this Christmas.”
“You’re on my naughty list now,” I say, grinning up at him. “So expect a big bag of coal.”
“I’ll accept that,” Charlie sighs dramatically. “Maybe I could come and work for you, to earn my place back on the nice list? Do you have any jobs going? Chief bauble fondler, perhaps?”
I burst out laughing. What a little minx. “I’d settle for a date?”
Charlie tilts his head. “With Santa, or you?”
“With me.”
His smile goes all the way up to his blue eyes. “Good. I like you more anyway.”
The relief hits me like a snowball to the chest. I let my trapped breath rattle out of me and finally, actually say it out loud. “I really like you, Charlie. God, I’ve fancied you for ages actually.”
Charlie laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, I know. The mistletoe kind of gave it away.”
I frown, confused. Mistletoe?
“What? What mistletoe?”
Charlie rolls his eyes. “My Secret Santa present?”
“I…” I have no idea what he’s talking about. “I didn’t get you a Secret Santa present. I had Barb this year.”
For a moment neither of us speak.
“What?” Charlie blurts out, rearing back a bit. We both wince when we hear the squelch of our bodies.
“I - I picked Barb out of the hat. I got her a B&Q voucher and a book on woodworking called Whittle Me This.” In all honesty I have no idea what she likes outside of her husband and his hobbies. That’s why I was so nervous. I hope she’s not offended.
Charlie is still opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “You didn’t…Nick, you didn’t get me anything?”
“Uh, no. Sorry? Should I have?”
He just stares at me. “Well if it wasn’t you, then…who was it?”
Jeremy
I’m drowning my sorrows in my fourth glass of salted caramel Baileys on ice when the door opens and I see Nick and Charlie emerging from the outside hallway. They’ve definitely just fucked. Nick is all sweaty and rumpled, and Charlie looks like all his Christmases have come at once. No pun intended. Janet has gone white as a sheet, bless her. I don’t envy her job.
Well, I’m extremely glad I didn’t reveal myself now. That would’ve been a hell of a rejection. It’s very clear to me now how into Nick Charlie is, not me. How did I not see this coming? Again, no pun intended.
Nope, don’t dwell on it, Jez. Pick yourself up and get back out there. The world’s your oyster. You’re a salesman, after all, and what do we say in Sales? Turn that ‘no’ into dough! Results, not excuses! Hustle, grind, repeat!
Oh Christ, Nick is actually helping Charlie put his coat on. Who even does that anymore? I think they’re leaving. Oh my God, are they going home together to fuck again? This is unbelievable. I can’t believe I didn’t close the deal. I always close the deal. What was it that sealed my fate? All that talk about KPIs?
Now they’re holding hands. Okay, well…fine. You know what? Fuck you Santa, and fuck you Charlie. Keep your fucking mistletoe. Bah fucking-humbug. I’m never doing Secret Santa again.