Chapter Text
Well, fuck.
Patrick can’t believe his first kiss with a man, his first kiss that has felt like anything let alone this—like it should be accompanied by the swell of orchestral music or set to a backdrop of fireworks exploding over his shoulder—was just interrupted by some other guy hitting on the person he was kissing.
Santa looks at him intently for a moment until his attention is drawn towards Jake, the new receptionist Patrick has heard a lot about but never actually met. He can’t fathom how anyone can be so brazen as to walk up to a person whose lips are thoroughly occupied with another’s and then invite that person for a hookup the second he comes up for air. Being open-minded is one thing, but this…this was something else entirely.
“Um,” Santa casts a quick glance back in Patrick’s direction before returning Jake’s eye contact. “Uh yeah but no. Nope, I don’t think so.” He takes a tiny step closer toward Patrick but keeps looking at Jake.
Jake shrugs. “You do you,” he says, seeming to be completely unperturbed by the knock-back. He heads back toward what’s left of the party.
“So…” Santa starts. His hands are on one of Patrick’s shoulders and he’s kind of lightly pawing along the length of his bicep. “You were saying—”
“That I was gonna get you the money.” Patrick wonders if it’s a flash of sadness that he sees in the other man’s eyes as he turns and resumes their journey to Ray’s office. But Patrick has already second- and third-thought what he was going to say. So better to just keep that information to himself.
He’s searching the credenza for the checkbook when he hears it. Santa clearing his throat, readying himself to speak. Patrick turns to face him.
“Um. So. I’m sorry about that.” On “that,” he’s gesturing; his hand palm-open and facing out is making large circles in the direction of the door. Clearly encompassing the Jake of it all.
“What? No, it’s fine. You’re Sexy Santa.” He enunciates the words slowly and mimics the body roll from earlier that evening. “It’s one of the perks of the job, I’m sure.”
Santa nods and hums. In affirmation? Denial?
Patrick doesn’t want to let himself think too much about it, so he turns away and resumes his search of the credenza.
—
“Oh. So. That’s it?” David asks as he folds the check in half and slips it… fuck…where does he put this thing? Does he tuck it into the waistline of his shorts? That seems suggestive. Ten minutes ago, he probably would have done just that. Instead, he leans down and tucks it into his sock.
“Yeah, I think that’s it.”
“Okay.” He turns to leave but whirls back around almost immediately. “The thing is, Patrick, I don’t want that to be it.”
“You don’t?” Patrick is looking up at him through his eyelashes again. Those things need to come with warning labels. David heaves a breath and swallows what’s left of his tattered pride.
“Not if more kissing is on the table?” He takes a step towards Patrick. “Not if the back seat of my car is still an option?” He cocks an eyebrow and takes another step forward.
Patrick moistens his lips and David can’t look away. He takes another step forward and Patrick meets him halfway. This time his lips crash into David’s. His arms wrap around David’s waist, pulling their bodies close. David’s hands reach for Patrick’s face, his fingers scratching against the hair at the nape of his neck. Patrick’s lips part slightly, and David’s upper lip falls into the space between them. As if they were contoured precisely to fit like this, lips together, taking their time, languid and perfect. David is lost to the moment. His focus lies solely on the feel of Patrick’s mouth moving against his own.
Too soon, David’s lungs are shouting at him, telling him to breathe. He takes an involuntary gasping breath and Patrick seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding into David’s open mouth. David has never (never!) been this utterly wrecked by a kiss before. His stomach is full of butterflies and fireworks and a deep want that is clawing to get out. He is completely lost to the sensation of Patrick’s tongue dancing alongside his own, teasing and insistent. Confident. He feels Patrick’s arms loosen from around his waist, his hands migrating to his hips, as he walks David backwards, until his legs hit something and he falls gracelessly into a sitting position on a couch. Patrick follows him down, straddling him. His lips never leave David’s.
—
Patrick is happy. So very happy. He’s also turned on. So completely turned on.
He’s sitting in Santa’s lap and his body is alive, experiencing intense desire for the first time ever. He finally tears his lips away and runs them along this sexy man’s stubbled jawline. Santa tips his head back, allowing room for Patrick to explore. And he does. He does what he didn’t do the first time he sat tentatively on this man’s lap. He lets his thumb traverse his cheekbones, feeling the contrast between the soft and rough. He kisses him there. The right side of his lips pressed firm against the impossibly soft skin while his left side feels the gentle scratch of flesh pressed against stubble. He runs his lips against the grain of the coarse hair. He thrills at all the foreign sensations.
Eventually, Patrick’s lips find their way back to Sexy Santa’s lips. He wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer, increasing the pressure. Much like his cheeks, this man’s kisses are both soft and rough. They are sensual and sweet then forceful and firm. Alternating in quick succession. Patrick pulls away, barely a whisper between them, making Santa chase his lips. Making him arch up and crash back into Patrick. It is a lot. It is the best. It is something he never wants to stop.
For his part, Santa also explores. He slips his hands underneath Patrick’s ugly sweater and runs his fingers over the skin of his lower back. And then higher, his hands caressing Patrick’s shoulder blades, his fingernails trailing lightly down the length of Patrick’s back. Patrick’s senses are in overdrive, with his whole body feeling new things. Santa scratches at the small of his back and Patrick feels himself arching into it. A move that presses his very attentive cock against the other man’s. He moans at the sensation. Patrick grinds into him purposefully this time. And this time it’s Santa who moans.
In one move, Patrick pushes off Santa’s hat, sinks his fingers into his hair and angles his face where it wants it, swallowing the moan, kissing with a desperation that wasn’t there before. He introduces his teeth to their kissing repertoire, drawing Santa’s bottom lip between them. If the way he bucks up against Patrick is any indication, the man in red approves of this addition.
—
“Knock, knock!”
The door opens before Ray’s chipper voice has finished speaking. David and Patrick startle, breaking apart at the sudden intrusion. His hands hurriedly retreat from where they had been exploring the taut muscles underneath that horrible sweater. A noticeable flush has taken over Patrick’s neck as he positions himself on the couch next to David, grabbing a cushion to sit on his lap in an attempt to hide the firmness David had felt rub against him. David smirks, finding himself a little more smitten than he was just a few moments before.
Ray stands in the doorway to his office and smiles at them both. Just keeps on smiling. And smiling. David shifts uncomfortably. Just when the awkwardness of the silence is about to break David, Ray speaks. “Oh, good. Santa! You’re still here. I didn’t get to thank you earlier for a job well done. Everyone is raving about your performance. And I got some great photos. I see a personalized Christmas-themed mouse pad with your face on it in your future. How do we feel about that?”
“Um, thank you?” He hears Patrick swallow a snicker beside him.
“I will say, I was a little shocked by your costume choice. It seemed a little risqué for a traditional Christmas party, but you clearly had a concept which you executed brilliantly. A scantily clad Santa! Visionary!” Ray makes a sweeping motion with his hands as he says the last word, parting them above his head and making a downward arch as if revealing a flashing sign above his head.
Hang on. What?!
“What?! I didn’t choose this outfit. You did. You chose the outfit.” David’s voice rises. His hands also rise as he gesticulates wildly. “It said Sexy Santa on the order form.” He looks from Ray to Patrick then back again.
“Did it?” Ray steps into the room and riffles through some pages in the in-tray on the corner of his desk. “Oh,” he chuckles. “Would you look at that! I must have checked the wrong box.”
“Oh. My. God. Ohmygod!” David hisses, a sharp exhale of breath pushing through his gritted teeth. “You mean this was all just a mistake?”
Patrick places a hand on David’s arm. It instantly works to calm him. The grin he’s working hard to suppress is less calming, though.
“Ray. Did you need something?” Patrick asks.
“Oh. Of course. I’d forget my head if it wasn’t permanently attached.” He laughs at his joke and seems unconcerned that neither David nor Patrick join in.
Ray explains the crisis to Patrick. Something about invoicing and being put on stop-supply if they don’t get the missing invoices paid before Christmas or whatever. David isn’t really sure because he’s not really listening. What it amounts to is that Patrick needs to leave. Patrick needs to leave and go help Ken with business stuff. He tells Ray he needs a minute and will be right out.
“Hey,” Patrick says, turning to David once Ray has left. He places his hands on his biceps, squeezing them gently. “Can you stay? Wait for a bit? I won’t be long and then we can pick this up where we left off. Maybe we can even go somewhere and get an actual drink?”
“Mmhmm. Yup,” David nods, “I’d like that very much.” He tucks a fond smile into the side of his mouth. Who even is he right now?
“I’ll be back,” Patrick says, leaning forward and dropping a quick kiss to his cheek.
Much like the birthday clown who disappeared in the night, Patrick does not come back. Or at least he doesn’t in the 30 minutes that David sits alone in Ray’s office dressed like a stripper and listening to Patrick’s laughter float in through the open door.
Eventually, he decides to leave, feeling foolish for sitting there for so long. He follows the distant voices down the corridor and pauses when he sees Patrick, sharing a desk with Mr. Adorable himself. Ken, presumably. Well this makes more sense. Ken is the type of guy someone like Patrick ends up with. Unlike David who shows up at a professional office in a ridiculously inappropriate costume, who is only good for a shag in the backseat of his car. He watches as Ken flirts with Patrick and turns to leave when Patrick tips his head to laugh at something David is sure he wouldn’t find funny.
Merry fucking Christmas.
—
Sexy Santa is gone by the time Patrick gets back to Ray’s office. He checks to make sure he’s not somewhere in the building and then he checks the parking lot. Now that the party has wound down, the lot is empty and Patrick is full of regrets. He doesn’t even know his name. He rubs the back of his neck in frustration and curses himself. He should have come back, told him about the invoice emergency and said a proper goodbye. He made out with a man tonight. For the first time ever. But more than that, he felt a connection, a spark, for the first time ever. How could he not have thought to ask for a name? To exchange numbers? To immediately invite him on a date? Instead, he’d thoughtlessly left this gorgeous guy hanging at the end of a long night. What an idiot he is.
Patrick looks down at the Christmas World invoice and Sexy Santa order form he’d grabbed off Ray’s desk. Come on, Brewer. It’s not over yet. He folds the invoice and puts in his pocket then calls an Uber. He’ll call first thing in the morning.
Except when he calls the next day from his own office, he’s told in no uncertain terms by a snippy teenager that they cannot give out the personal information of their employees. When he calls back a few hours later to place an order for an appearance by Sexy Santa a couple of days after Christmas, he gets a disembodied voice telling him the number is no longer in service. When he Googles it, he sees the Christmas World store in Schitt’s Creek has gone out of business.
Merry fucking Christmas.
Patrick sits at his desk feeling hopeless. His mystery man could be anyone, could be anywhere. If the only local Christmas World is now gone, he might have left the area entirely. The website says the next closest store is three hours away.
Patrick’s phone rings, it’s Darleen in reception.
“Your next appointment is here. B13.”
“Thanks, Darleen. Send them back.”
Patrick pulls out a file with the necessary paperwork. He flips through it. Someone applying for incorporation. For the Christmas World location. Interesting. And ironic. It doesn’t say the nature of the new business but Patrick figures he’ll learn all that from this Mr. Rose.
The door opens and a man enters. He’s wearing a stylish black crewneck sweater with thin horizontal white stripes down a middle column along with some kind of black skirted pants. His hair and eyebrows are unmistakable. He may have completely hidden that killer body under those loose dark fabrics, but no matter. He’s truly the sexiest thing Patrick has ever seen in his life.
“Oh,” says the man, his expression unreadable. “It’s you.”
“Patrick,” he says, extending his hand and holding his breath.
“David,” he replies, a tentative grin spreading across his face. He shakes Patrick’s hand and then doesn’t let it go.
Patrick smiles at the name, thinking David. Finally. David. It’s David. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop saying that name now. David. David Rose. David Rose of Schitt’s Creek.
“David Rose. You wanna have a seat?” David drops Patrick’s hand and sits across from him. “I should tell you, before we get started, I do have one question for you, David, and it’s kind of a big deal.”
“Is it?” He eyes him warily.
“Yeah. Yeah, David. It’s pretty big.” he pauses, saying a silent thank you for whatever holiday miracle made this moment happen. “I need to ask you. David Rose….What are you doing New Year’s Eve?”
David smiles.
“I don’t know, Patrick, what are we doing?”