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Jon hates Christmas.
That fact always brings friends and acquaintances joy, delight that their grumpy, easily irritated friend is as much the ‘grinch’ as he’d seem. Thankfully most take it in stride with only a few passing jokes and gag gifts, the worst being those who tried to help him find his holiday spirit. They quickly gave up.
Well, not Georgie, who tricked him into Hanukkah with interesting stories and traditions and good food. His grandmother is (was, he reminds himself, was) Catholic but they rarely celebrated, only a few times when Jon was younger and hadn’t yet worn his grandmother down by telling the other children Santa didn’t exist and battering her with incessant, unimpressed questions. By the time he was a teen she tended to go somewhere warm for the holidays, taking him when she could afford it and leaving him with the dreadfully dull couple next door when she couldn’t.
The point being he thinks he may have ended up celebrating Hanukkah with Georgie more than he ever celebrated Christmas. If they were still on speaking terms he might have even gone to see her during, gotten her a gift, smiled privately at her easy warmth and horrible sweaters. They aren’t on speaking terms though, and instead he’s left with the Institute’s holiday party.
Jon’s only been working there for all of a month, fresh out of uni and too nervous with his inexperience to excuse his way out of the party. He’s already not the most popular researcher and apparently the annoying lot of them are very intent about their holiday traditions and bonding, heaven forbid.
(And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to be alone either with his cigarettes and the crushing feeling that every year will be the same, every month, every week and day.)
At the very least no one here knows the biggest reason for his disinterest in the holidays. Being a ‘Christmas baby’ is not something he tells anyone willingly, not even Georgie. The attention around birthdays always made him uncomfortable and the fact his is on Christmas Eve of all times only ever led to more cooing for whatever reason. A great joke, that the grumpy, solemn little child was born on such a happy day.
Jon goes over it all morosely in his head as he watches the office party unfold, tucked away and out of sight near some of the coats. There’s eggnog because of course there is, punch with too much rum and a few bottles of wine about. The food is catered from a local deli and there’s a metric ton of baked goods brought in.
Jon did not bake anything, though he did bring a bottle of wine thanks to manners ingrained in him by his grandmother. Never go to a party empty handed, Jon, it’s ungrateful - he can still imagine the crease in her brow. He’s sure she’d disapprove that he stuck to drinking said bottle. He’s fairly certain he drank more than half of it by this point, which may be against the spirit of the gesture.
There’s very little left in his glass and he swirls it, wondering if he’s made enough of an appearance he can go make a few more rounds then leave. A scan of the room tells him people are only just starting to get drunk, an excellent time to escape. One thing he’s noticed about the Institute is how much its workers drink when given the chance. Jon can’t blame them if they’ve seen anything like Leitner and his terrible library. Given most of what he’s researched here so far is utter rubbish he rather imagines they just enjoy an excuse to drink in excess.
As he idly glances over the room again a man catches his eye. Jon’s not sure why he does, he’s like any other older gentleman he’s seen around. Maybe ‘older gentleman’ is a touch unkind but he is faintly greying in his blond hair, hints of wrinkles around the eyes and the demeanor of someone well practiced with the world. Maybe it’s his clothes that caught Jon’s eye, sweater and slacks a little higher grade than most of the researchers, certainly more than Jon’s.
Jon starts when the man suddenly turns his eyes to him, freezing Jon in place with mortification at being caught staring. The man smiles, small and friendly and knowing, as though Jon let him in on a private joke.
Jon turns away quickly, busies himself with finishing the rest of his wine. Yes, now would be a good time to go.
A random man breaking away from the group by the punch seems to have other plans.
“Jon, right?” the man calls as he comes up, all smiles and tinsel stuck in his hair. He has two cups of punch and Jon’s glass is visibly empty, making it difficult to use as an excuse to reject the cup being pushed at him.
“That’s quite-” Jon starts but the man- Tim, he supplies in his own head, another researcher and agonizingly social - is a little tipsy and far too good natured, interrupting him in a way that is somehow, despite all odds, charming.
“Jon Sims, the new guy? So am I, truth be told, only been here for a few months. Tim Stoker,” he introduces as Jon takes the punch, offering his now free hand and laughing when he realizes Jon’s hands are now full.
He takes Jon’s empty wine glass, puts it on a nearby table and grabs Jon’s hand in a firm handshake his grandmother always told him to have. It’s enough to have Jon retreat into a sip of too strong punch, rum warm down his throat.
Tim makes small talk and, worst of all, seems either too good natured or too deep into his drinking to bat an eye when Jon answers shortly back. He attracts a crowd, people happy to come chat and commiserate over the troubles of starting at the Institute, to share their names and likely forget his in turn. They’re well meaning and Jon feels irrationally overwhelmed with annoyance at that fact. A few drinks from the punch at least helps settle the feeling.
A particularly rowdy story from Tim has one of the people next to Jon launching an elbow accidentally into his side, sloshing his drink over his fingers. Jon waves away the apologies and uses the chance to escape, claiming a need of napkins and maybe a refill. When he’s far enough away he routes out the door.
“Rowdy, aren’t they?” A voice sounds from his side, and Jon turns to find the blond man from before smiling at him in that small, knowing way. Jon grips his cup tightly, flooded with the groundless embarrassment that this man somehow heard all his thoughts from before. It’s that smile, Jon thinks, like the blond is laughing at a private joke between them- or laughing at him, most likely.
“Tis the season,” Jon answers dryly, shoulders stiff as man settles in beside him. That promises another conversation Jon doesn’t particularly want to have, not when he’s so close to an escape. “I was hoping to make me way through the drunken throngs and leave them to it.”
“Building up your courage for the journey?” The man asks with a glance to Jon’s punch, all quick wit and gracefully ignoring Jon’s unpleasant tone. Jon isn’t sure if he hates that or is impressed, however mildly.
“Hardly, if you don’t look suitably cheery enough at a party the first thing everyone does is try to ply you with alcohol.” There’s that unpleasant tone alright, and though Jon knows he needs to be more lovely in a work setting he can’t seem to stop, just loose lipped enough for disaster. “Loosen up the problem element unless he’s the one driving you home.”
“Military tactics to social gatherings,” the man muses, and Jon huffs a breath far too close to a laugh.
“‘If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him’ - they certainly manage the latter.”
“And that would make you of choleric temper?”
Jon looks over in surprise, uncertain if he’s being picked on. The blond is smiling but that means nothing, maybe he’s laughing at Jon, maybe with. Irritation prickles at the back of Jon’s throat as he looks away stiffly. “In these situations, yes.”
“Then allow me to help you escape such dire straits,” the blond offers, still all smiles Jon can’t quite read. “A good deed for the day.”
“And a way to get out of the conversation,” Jon answers, trying for lightly but too accusing. The man is still smiling with a crinkle around the eyes and Jon is certain he’s being laughed at. “What’s your name?”
“Elias Bouchard. I’m was research as well, though I now work in the library,” Elias greets, offering his hand. Another firm shake, not unlike Tim’s but neater somehow. “And it would only be an escape if I wasn’t planning on leaving as well.”
“Jonathan Sims,” greets Jon back, almost impulse ingrained from his grandmother’s attempts to make him a proper, polite young man. “Irritated by the party then?”
“In search of something better,” Elias replies.
They start through the crowd, Elias’ hand finding the small of his back to steer him when it gets difficult to navigate. The touch is light but not light enough to keep his back from ringing with the unfamiliar sensation of being handled at all. He tries not to think of how much he misses Georgie’s casual touches, how she curled up around or against him. How little anyone touched him anymore, a situation of his own, prickly making.
When they reach the door Elias stops touching him and Jon eases, ignoring the flip of his stomach. Their glasses are deposited to the side, coats rescued though Elias takes Jon’s and holds it out for him to slip into. Jon squints at him, distrustful, and he swears a flare of genuine pleasure lights up Elias’ eyes as he stares placidly back.
With a sigh he shoves his arms into the coat, and by the time he turns around Elias is already pulling his own on.
Outside the air is crisply cold, a sting on the nose and lungs, blessedly free of the smell of eggnog. Jon relaxes further, glances over to see Elias watching him. “Would you consider coming to get a drink with me? Somewhere quieter, less harsh on your choleric temperament.”
It strikes Jon then, a fluttering of his eyelashes to accompany the revelation. “You’re flirting with me. Aren’t you?”
He’s hit hard with uncertainty the moment the words leave his mouth but Elias smiles without mocking. “Is it working?”
“I don’t flirt.”
“That works well for us, as I’m the one doing the flirting.”
Jon can’t help an exhale too close to a laugh at that, realizes with dawning horror he finds this man charming. It must be the punch, he reasons, eyes narrowing as Elias looks as placid as ever yet still pleased with himself somehow.
“Just a drink?” Jon ventures, uncertain of if he shouldn’t run right now. Too many nasty classmates playing nice just to turn it into a joke, not to mention flirting with a coworker is always a bad idea. At least he’s fairly certain Elias wasn't lying about no longer being in research, and they’re both far too old for bullying.
Elias leans in a little, conspiratorial and sharp eyed. The steam of his breath clouds between them. “Just a drink. I’ll even pay for your cab home so you can retreat without fear.”
Jon eyes him a moment longer and thinks well, just one drink couldn’t hurt.
-
“You said one drink,” Jon accuses into Elias’ neck not two hours later.
They’re in the coat room of the bar, because the bar has a coat room which is far too rich for Jon’s blood. The place itself wasn’t terribly overpriced but it’s a far cry from the few, hole in the wall places Georgie would bring him to during Uni. There’s no one to man the coat room so it’s at least not that posh, which is good for them given Elias has him pressed up against the ugly wallpaper.
It was more than one drink but not enough Jon feels unsteady, just a flush of warmth over his skin, making him sweat despite the slight chill of the room. The wall is cold against his back and Elias’ skin is warm where his palms grasp at Jon’s waist, where his lips and teeth find the skin of Jon’s neck. He nips through Jon’s sweater to answer that accusation and Jon likes the dull pressure, the way he knows Elias must be smiling that smug little smile.
“I said one drink,” Elias agrees against his jaw. “You ordered the second round.”
“You should have stopped me.”
“Should I stop you now?” Elias asks, teeth finding bare skin this time and Jon shudders. Georgie never used teeth so it’s been a bit of a learning experience with how much he damn well likes it.
Worse still, the reason he’s necking with a coworking in a bar close to Christmas, is how Elias breaths out and says, “Very good, Jon.”
The little praises have been needling under his skin all night, their conversation littered with sudden small approvals and- and lord above, Jon hates how weak he is to it. He absolutely does not want to examine what it says about him that having an older man toss him a few bones, as it were, is enough to get him this flustered and pliable.
He should leave, but the part of him that latches itself so intently to bad ideas thinks just a little farther, to see where this goes.
When Elias kisses him he tastes like whiskey, faint smoke and sting. He bites in this too, Jon’s lower lip between his teeth yet somehow contained, composed, irritatingly so. Jon reaches up and runs a hand through his hair just to push it out of place. Elias’ leg slides up between his, the surprise making Jon grip at Elias’ hair.
He starts to apologize against Elias’ lips but Elias breaths in with the tug, bright eyed and sharpened with delight. “Very good,” Elias repeats.
Footsteps sound down the hall and Jon tense, straining to hear more through the muffled music and conversation of the bar. “Elias-” he starts but Elias places a finger to his lips, shifting so his thumb runs over Jon’s bottom lip.
“Best be quiet, hm?” is all Elias says before gracefully settling to his knees.
Jon gapes down at him, glancing quickly to the door- the door he can’t actually see through the coats. They’re fully surrounded by peacoats and puffy jackets, settled into the corner of what would be a decent sized walk-in closet in a house but is overstuffed with stray boxes and people’s outerwear at a busy bar. He can’t hear footsteps but his heart is beating so loudly he isn’t sure the thump thump thump isn’t covering other sounds, up until he hears the clatter of his belt and looks down to find Elias unzipping his pants.
Even on his knees Elias looks composed, dreadfully graceful with another man’s dick in his hands. With the praise Jon’s at least starting to fill, a fact that Elias seems quite smug about with his lowered lashes and quirked lips. When said lips brush against his head Jon shudders and swallows and knows he needs to stop this now for so many reasons. Elias looks up at him though, pale eyed and pleased, and Jon bites his lip instead.
No one’s ever gone down on him before so he doesn’t really know what to expect, though he’s fairly certain the way Elias just opens his mouth obscenely wide and takes him in one long go is showing off at best. It’s all warm, wet heat, the slick, muffled sound of Elias’ groan buzzing around his dick. Elias only closes his eyes a moment before they’re back on Jon, lips wet and wrapped around him, close to taking all of him. Jon can’t tear his eyes away.
It’s difficult to keep quiet, every movement of Elias’ mouth and tongue plucking chords that ring all up Jon’s throat, get caught on his own tongue and trapped behind his teeth where he clenches them. He ends up covering his mouth with a palm, whining in a pitiful way when the head of his cock reaches the tight walls of Elias’ throat. Elias doesn’t gag, barely makes a sound even as his wet eyes dampen his eyelashes, a strained tear falling from the corner as he remains fixated on Jon.
When he pulls off Jon his lips are so red and wet, kissing the underside of Jon’s dick, practically nuzzling it as he tongued at the base. Jon wants to say something, maybe pull him up and kiss him just to see what the no doubt unpleasant taste would be. Voices ring out closer, footsteps down the hall pointedly getting closer, closing in. Jon’s heart thuds painfully hard against his chest, his skin burns hot and his damnable cock twitches.
Elias smiles up at him and sinks right back down on his dick before Jon can try to reason with him that they needed to stop before-
The footsteps are close enough now he can make out a man and woman chatting in drunken, pleasant tones. The sound crawling up his throat is another whine he keeps desperately down, nearly choking on it as Elias sucks and bobs, completely without shame. When the door opens Jon’s heart stops, every muscle tight. Even Elias stops, takes the whole of him and just leaves it there, warming in his mouth.
There’s a rustle of the coats and the couple don’t seem to notice anything amiss, laughing quietly over a shared joke and planning their route home as Jon’s legs shake. The door closes again and Jon finally allows himself a sigh too much like a moan, his entire body tight, so tight, and Elias is looking at him and swallowing and-
He comes in Elias’ mouth, practically down is throat with Elias watching him with sharp eyes and damp lashes. Hell he all but milks the last drop from Jon, smiling as he pulls off with an obscene pop and licks his lips. Polite enough to tuck Jon back in as Jon tries to remember brain function.
“You did beautifully,” he tells Jon with great satisfaction, and Jon practically growls in frustration as he pushes off the wall to kiss him.
The taste is as unpleasant as he imagined it would be but the shuddered surprise on Elias’ face is worth it, as is the large, warm palms at the small of his back. He’s not sure what to do now, he doesn’t know how to do what Elias just did well but he feels a nearly overbearing need to reciprocate.
Elias surprises him again by grabbing his wrist when his hand starts to wander towards the tell-tale bulge of his slacks. “I think we’ve pushed our luck enough for one night, don’t you?”
“You pushed our luck,” Jon tries to accuse but Elias is smiling at him and he feels so… nice, old tensions drained, thoughts wiped and reset. He doesn’t smile back, not entirely, but his mouth does a crooked thing that’s more a smile than it isn’t. “Should I…?
“If you’d like you can come home with me,” Elias offers, pulls the wrist he has grasped up and takes Jon’s hand like a damned suitor from a period piece. Even now he watches Jon closely. “You can stay the night, and you don’t owe me anything other than your company. I’m afraid I must tell you I find you rather charming.”
“Me?” Jon laughs, a startled sound, wavering on his feet. This feels different from the very few flirtations he’s indulged in since Georgie, dangerously close to substance over idle curiosity and awkwardness. He swallows, the briny taste of himself still on the back of his tongue as he says, “Getting involved with a coworker is a terrible idea.”
“Yes, completely dreadful,” Elias agrees.
Jon squints at him, trying to find the teasing edge. “It will be awkward if we see each other again at work.”
“It already will be, given you allowed me such a lovely taste of you in a very public place,” points out Elias, all patience as Jon flushes hot.
“Well… point taken,” he concedes. “So you’re going to argue we may as well make an attempt of enjoying the rest of the evening given we’re already doomed to awkward encounters.”
“Precisely,” Elias agrees with only the faintest hint of amusement.
“And to prove your good intentions further you’re asking only my company.”
“I admit I may have the ulterior motive of attempting to endear myself to you,” Elias admits, leaning in close as he did in the party, conspiratorial. “My actual hope is you may be inspired to allow me to taste the rest of you in a more private setting.”
Jon nearly laughs again, staring at Elias in bafflement. He can practically feel something in him thaw. “Hell… fine, why not. One night couldn’t hurt.” After a pause he admits, “I said the same about one drink, didn’t I?”
“You insinuated as much.”
Jon sighs but Elias kisses his knuckles and he’s just flushed anew as he watches Elias call them a cab.
-
Jon’s genuinely surprised when things don’t get awkward after that. In fact they get familiar, they get regular. Elias invites him to dinner at least once a week and Jon sometimes brings Elias coffee in the early mornings, meeting him in the break room. They talk, the have meals they don’t even flirt much over, they enjoy each other’s company and Jon is consistently baffled when the other shoe doesn’t drop. He’s baffled when he wonders to himself if they’re officially dating or not and finds he might actually care about the answer. He’s disturbingly happy.
The other shoe does drop, though not in the way Jon expects.
Elias agreed they should keep work talk to a minimum, a separation of home and work as it were. It helped Jon feel more comfortable about the whole affair, the niggling idea he may be being unprofessional, perish the thought. Jon always took pride in his work and the Institute’s been a long term goal for him for a great many years now. The idea of mucking it up with a romance of all things is repugnant.
Not always an easy conversational limit, given Jon lived and breathed his work, but maybe that made Elias good for him, making him take time to read or listen to new music or indulge in movies and productions. It also meant Jon’s never been entirely sure Elias’ day to day in the Institute. He knows at least Elias works in the library, separate enough to put Jon at ease- up until he’s chatting with Tim.
“Glad they finally pinned down a replacement for Wright,” Tim says over lunch. Jon isn’t sure he’d call them friends just yet but despite being a handful Tim’s rather easy to deal with and a good worker besides. They have lunch on occasion, both preferring to bring their own meals rather than going out to the overpriced Chelsea joints around. “It’s been up in the air for a couple of months now.”
“Did they? I don’t understand why it took so long,” Jon says over his tea cup.
“Red tape of bureaucracy I guess. Wasn’t expecting Bouchard of all people to step up, no matter how much he’s changed lately.”
Jon’s entire body tenses, fingers tight around the handle of his cup. “Elias Bouchard?”
“Yeah, works in the library? He used to be a bit of a bumbling mess but he’s really stepped up the last two months.”
“How long has he been head?” Jon asks, sharp enough Tim’s brow raises.
“They just announced it this morning to the folks upstairs as far as I know. You don’t look thrilled over the news, you have a problem with him?”
“Not at all,” Jon manages calmly. When he texts Elias later asking if he can come to see him tonight Elias’ answer is a quick affirmative.
-
One problem with Elias is his poker face. Maybe not a problem for Elias himself but Jon’s found it to be uniquely irritating when he has a bone to pick, and this bone is very large indeed. “Head of the Institute.”
“Are we stating facts or is this your way of congratulating me?” Elias asks. He’s seated on his too expensive couch, a glass of whiskey in hand and as placid as the day they met. Jon hates that he still wants to kiss him, even now.
“How long did you know you were getting this position? Because really Elias, you don’t see a problem with- with falling into bed with a recent hiree?”
“I wasn’t told until a few days ago,” Elias answers levelly, and Jon glowers from where he’s pacing.
“But you knew it was a possibility.”
“Yes.” Elias leans forward to put his glass down, and at the very least he no longer seems faintly amused by Jon’s ire. “I assure you Jon, potential promotions were the farthest thing from my mind when I first took you to bed.”
Jon goes red, wills some of his irritation away because he knows snapping at Elias over it is unfair. In truth the source of his agitation is the fact they can’t keep this up now, he can’t sleep with his boss, and the idea of breaking off is a surprisingly unpleasant one.
“We can’t keep doing this, it’s- unethical, for one, unmanageable, dangerous to your position and mine.”
“Or we could,” Elias answers smoothly, making Jon glance over to him in surprise. “Really Jon, did you think I was above this? You’ll find I very much believe in having my cake and eating it too, as it were.”
“You could be fired.”
“I won’t be,” is Elias’ irritating dismissal. “No one needs to know, no one has found out so far. We’re both private men and no one will suspect a thing if we continue as we are. The real problem here is you think you need to take a moral stance, is it not?”
“There’s reasons it’s unethical, you realize. You have too much power over me,” Jon tries, moving closer to Elias despite his unease.
“I’d be happy to snap a few damning pictures of us together so you may use it if I ever try to fire you. I trust you not to abuse that power just as I imagine you’ll trust me not to abuse mine.”
Jon scoffs but Elias holds his hand out and Jon takes it, sinking onto Elias’ lap with an irate huff. “You’re so incredibly sure of yourself, it’s wildly annoying.”
“Is it?” Elias smirks, tugging at Jon’s collar to nip at the fading bruise his teeth and sucking left only a few days before. “I believe you enjoy having someone to bounce your fears and insecurities off of who can strike them all down. I’m always happy to ease your mind, Jon.”
“The psychoanalyzing is also annoying,” Jon mutters. More so for how on point it tended to be.
Elias exhales, amusement in the warmth of his breath on Jon’s skin. “I think I’m owed a celebration for my recent promotion, if you’ll be so kind.”
This is a bad idea, Jon thinks even as he tilts Elias’ head back to kiss the smug curve of his lips.