Work Text:
It was half-past nine. Thomas Jopson’s shift had technically ended at five, but his rule of thumb had always been to leave when Mr. Crozier left.
Mr. Crozier had been working increasingly long hours, now that he was sober.
Thomas paused in typing, letting his hands linger in the air over the keys, and enjoyed the feeling of warmth that suffused through his chest when he remembered how strong Crozier had been to recover like that. How strong he still was, months later, resisting every temptation to drink after nearly forty years of the habit.
That resilience, that hard-earned strength of his was just one of the many reasons why his personal assistant, one Thomas Jopson, was head over heels in love with him.
Of course, Thomas had never let on that he was interested. He was a professional— and besides, he had spent years in Crozier’s company, and was now among his closest companions. Why should he ask for more? And from a straight man at that.
Thomas sighed gently through his nose, allowing only a flicker of disappointment to pass over his features. He resumed typing.
On his best days, he forgot entirely that all the relationships he had ever known Crozier to have were wholly heterosexual, and so was guilt-free able to fantasize that he and Mr. Crozier were…
…what? A couple? Able to become a couple?
No, Thomas considered as he finished up the email, CC’ing Crozier dutifully. It was more that he was able to enjoy his own feelings of affection and bask in the secretly held dream that Crozier thought of him in similar respects. Whenever he remembered his boss’ sexuality, that dream was shattered. So, Thomas preferred to not dwell on Crozier’s real-life heterosexuality, and instead ignored it completely during the day, while imagining a very different sexuality for him at night.
Once— and only once during all their years of working together— did Thomas ever get a glimpse of Francis Crozier under his normal rumpled suit and occasional cable-knit.
It had been at a company Christmas party, years ago, when Mr. Blanky from IT had been poking at Crozier inappropriately with a stick of mistletoe, teasing him over his apparent dry spell. Both of the men had been properly sloshed by that point, and Thomas (though he didn’t indulge often) had been just sober enough to remember every detail as he had lingered unobtrusively around a corner of the office hallway.
“C’mooon,” Blanky had laughed, attempting to prod between Crozier’s legs with the mistletoe branch as the other man batted him away, “Little fellow needs some help.”
Crozier’s face had been cherry pink, Thomas remembered. He had a lovely pale complexion, with faded scars on his cheeks like the craters of the moon. His blue eyes had been red with whiskey-soaked merriment, though when Blanky’s mistletoe caught on his belt buckle, his gaze resumed his piercing sharp quality.
He was not fast enough to stop the event though. (Thomas thanked his lucky stars for it at the time, and then later cursed his perversion.)
The rather heavy mistletoe branch caught onto Francis Crozier’s belt, already loosened from dinner, and pulled his trousers down nearly to his knees before he was able to get them back up.
There had been a flash of dark green underwear— a flimsy pair, nearly feminine— and a very small bulge that was seared into Thomas’ brain forever from that moment on.
“Jopson? What are you still doing here?”
Thomas startled slightly in his seat. He glanced up with a trained smile at his boss, who was fully clothed in his doorway, frowning.
“Ah, just finishing up some emails, Mr. Crozier.” He coughed. “Is there something you need?”
He tried with all his will to forget about the sweet little bulge he saw years ago, and the subsequent dozens of masturbatory sessions about said bulge. He focused on Crozier’s face, there, in the moment.
Lord, but he was handsome.
Backlit from the office, his once-gingered hair appeared more corn-silk silver than anything. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, leaning against the doorframe as if unsteady. Likely due to lack of sleep. Thomas made a mental note to move his meetings earlier tomorrow, so that he would hopefully leave the office before nightfall.
Crozier sucked in his lips and gave Thomas an abashed smile. He had a gap in his teeth. It tortured Thomas every night.
“Well, I hate that I’ve kept you this long…,” he began.
“You haven’t, sir, I stay because I want to,” Thomas interjected pleasantly, as if his words carried no weight at all.
“…but since you’re here, would you mind helping me with my computer? The tabs, they…” Crozier shook his head ruefully, and did not finish the thought. He didn’t have to. He had been hopeless with technology since the iPhone 5 first premiered. Thomas had a knack for finding what was wrong, even when Crozier couldn’t put it into words.
“Of course, sir. Do you have it with you?”
Crozier did. He handed over the MacBook, and stood behind Thomas as he watched the assistant type in his password— the same one for over fifteen years. Thomas clicked his tongue, and tried not to think about how Crozier smelled like Spearmint and woodsmoke.
“Ah, here’s your problem, sir. Safari— the search engine— can’t load new activity because you’re out of storage.”
He looked back to see Crozier squinting at him. Thomas tried again.
“You need to delete some things to be able to load new activity, sir.”
Crozier hummed, his face growing blotchy in a blush. Thomas had learned long ago his boss did not like to be ignorant of things. He moved on quickly to save Crozier any embarrassment.
“Not to worry, sir,” he moved through Settings, identifying several unused apps and a heart attack’s worth of photos taking up space, “You can simply upload some of your files to the cloud. They won’t be lost.”
“Right, right,” Crozier said, and turned briefly away to fiddle with the calendar Thomas had placed on his wall. It was easier sometimes to pencil in the schedule than change it constantly online, and Thomas knew Crozier appreciated the return to traditional modes. He watched Crozier fondly for only half a second, before moving onto his work.
He opened the photos app on the Mac, quickly going to the videos, as those tended to use more data.
It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Crozier would have personals on that computer. It hadn’t even occurred to him.
So when the thumbnail of the first video was Mr. Francis Crozier spread-eagle on a bed, wearing nothing but dark green lingerie and intimately fondling a bright pink phallus, it rather caught Thomas off-guard.
Thomas blinked. He blinked again.
As if done by another person entirely, his finger clicked play. The sound was off, but it made little difference. It was scaldingly erotic, even on mute.
In the video, Crozier’s blush went down to his chest, and could be seen even under the light furring of silvery chest hair. It could even be seen where the flesh disappeared under the lace of the lingerie bra-straps. The lingerie itself was nearly sheer— Thomas could clearly see each of Crozier’s nipples poking through the fabric, as well as the small tent he made between his legs.
Crozier made no move to touch himself in the video, however. His hips ground uselessly upwards as he brought the hot pink dildo to his lips. A flash of tongue. He began to suck, shallow, and his unmistakable blue eyes rolled back into his head, as if the act alone could finish him off. Thomas could practically see the patch of precum start to soak through Crozier’s lacy underthings.
The man’s large frame was perfectly cupped in the underwear. Soft, fleshy thighs wobbling, the gentle rise and fall of his stomach as it pouched over the elastic band. He had stretch marks. Thomas felt faint.
“Jopson, have y—”
Quicker than lightning, Thomas X’ed out of the video, and kept his eyes glued to the screen, heart battering at his ribs.
Unfortunately for Thomas’ pretense of normalcy, nearly every other video in the camera roll was similarly fashioned.
There, Crozier was on his knees in a skirt, shifting forward and red-faced with effort, as though trying to keep something inside. There was Crozier’s cock, nearly swallowed up in the man’s massive hand as his tongue laved at the base of another, lager dildo. Red this time. There was Crozier again, legs in the air with high heels on, head thrown back in pleasure as he pleasured himself with a toy the size of—
Thomas slammed the laptop closed. His eyes snapped to his boss, the same man from the videos, who was looking at the laptop with startled horror.
“I…,” Crozier said, after a long minute of silence, “…Thought I took those with my phone.”
Another, longer minute.
“Your phone automatically uploads photos on shared devices,” Thomas said, mechanically. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if his dirtiest wet dreams come to life weren’t playing on loop in his memory. “Sir, I apologize. I sh—”
“No, no, it’s my fault,” Crozier interrupted. He moved to take back the laptop, carefully avoiding Thomas’ hands as he did so. “You— You were just doing your job. Didn’t know I— was— such a— You didn’t sign up to see that.”
Thomas nodded, eyes still shut.
By God. That night the Christmas party… those underwear… had they been—?
“I’ll just…” Crozier looked as though he wanted to melt through the floor. “…finish storaging the rest of the computer myself.”
“No, no,” Thomas heard himself say, “I can do it.”
Crozier hesitated. He looked about as humiliated as a man could be, biting his lip and shrinking into himself in a way that Thomas had never seen him do before. It lit a strange fire in Thomas. To have that kind of power over the man he loved. To be able to care for him. Be the one he needs.
“I can do it,” Thomas said again, stronger this time, and plucked the laptop out of Crozier’s hands. “Really, sir, it’s no problem. Just have to delete some older files, then your Safari will be in tip-top shape in no time.”
Crozier let go of the laptop with an anguished look. His face was bright, bright red. He appeared to be sweating now. He cleared his throat, and shifted his weight before nodding. “Ah. Alright. …Carry on, then.”
Thomas opened the MacBook, typed in the password, and exited out of Photos as if he had seen nothing at all. He went to Finder, and mindlessly began deleting old documents he had saved on his own computer. He clicked and typed in silence. He could hear Crozier’s breath behind him, slowly steadying, though still quicker than usual. His mind was stilling running over the newfound information, half in shock.
Crozier liked to be buggered. He liked to wear women’s underwear and pleasure sex toys fashioned after male genitalia. He RECORDED himself doing it.
The barrier of Francis Crozier’s staunch heterosexuality was looking flimsier by the minute. Thomas felt something like hope beating alongside his heart.
On a leap of faith, Thomas broke the silence. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen.
“I’ve never tried lingerie myself, sir. Is it… nice?”
Crozier sighed, but it was shakier than it ought to be. “Please, Thomas.” His voice was hoarse. Quiet.
Thomas hummed soft in his throat. “You know, I had a boyfriend once who enjoyed cross-dressing. Never asked him how it felt, though.”
He was lying through his teeth. Thomas could count on one hand the number of relationships serious enough for the label “boyfriend,” and none of them had shared any of his interests in kink. He hoped, though, the white lie would help Crozier feel less alone. Thomas knew of men who enjoyed such things, after all. Before meeting Crozier, he had often sought them out online with a box of tissues.
Crozier was silent again for a good twenty seconds.
Then he spoke, faltering, “…It …can be nice. To wear something… pretty— Look can we please forget this ever happened?”
Deep in his chest, Thomas’ hope quavered low as a candle. He nodded, and bit his lip “Of course, sir.” Now or never. “…I thought you looked very pretty, sir.”
Behind him there was an intake of breath. Thomas’ heart sparked again.
He kept his eyes forward, afraid that even a glance behind him would leave him to wake up with his alarm in an instant, that this was all a fantastic dream. It was a dream he couldn’t risk waking up from. Not when he’d waited so many years.
“I thought… you were pretty, sir, not just because of the lingerie.” Finally, he looked over his shoulder. “I’ve thought so for a very long time.”
Crozier’s face was such naked hope that for a second, Thomas swore time stopped around them. He looked as earnest as a schoolboy, as vulnerable as a lamb. All his wrinkles and pock-marks gentled his features, his bottom lip slightly open in shock.
He whispered, “Thomas… truly, you…?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling like he was on fire as he stepped forward and took Crozier’s face into his hands. “Yes, I do.”
Crozier’s lips tasted like Spearmint and stale coffee. His tongue tasted like it even more.
He kissed Thomas urgently, hands coming to rest on either of the assistant’s shoulders, gripping him as if Crozier were afraid he would disappear. Thomas, for his part, kept ahold of Crozier’s face. He gently stroked his cheek, running his fingertips over the stubble. Crozier moaned into his mouth and melted into the touch. Thomas wondered with a pang how long it had been since this wonderful, beautiful, damnably sweet man had been kissed silly.
Thomas broke away only to smile at Crozier, and see him smile back before kissing him again.
“Lordy,” Thomas giggled against his cheek, Crozier breaking off to press his lips down his assistant’s neck. “Would this be an appropriate time to ask the color of your underwear, Mr. Crozier?”
Crozier pulled his head up. His pupils were large and black, leaving only a sliver of that beautiful clear blue around them. Like a waxing moon, Thomas thought dreamily, before realizing that Crozier wasn’t simply looking at him, but studying.
His boss huffed, his lips puffy and his face flushed. “Uh,” he said, in wavering, gravelly voice, “The, uh— pink pair.”
Any blood that was not already on a Southward trajectory quickly changed course. Thomas tried to remember to breathe. He shuffled himself forward, pressing his growing desire into Crozier’s pant leg.
“Is that right?” He said, surprised by his own breathiness (he didn’t care a whit). Thomas let one of his hands drop, slowly down past Crozier’s belt. He cupped his thickening cock gently, and languished in the man’s answering groan.
“Well now,” Thomas said, carefully fondling him through the layers of clothes, “I might have to see that particular pair for myself, sir. If you don’t mind.”
Crozier shook his head vehemently, then captured his lips again in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss. This time, it was Crozier who broke away, though he kept his face close enough so that Thomas could feel the warmth of his breath, the tremble in his voice.
“Please,” he murmured, hands wandering down Thomas’ sides, “Please, Thomas. You’ve no idea… how long I’ve wanted this, wanted you…”
“Fuck,” Thomas swore. Unlike him, but these were unprecedented times. He cupped Crozier’s groin in one hand, licking into the other man’s mouth as he moaned. “Sir, I need you to bend over the desk and drop your trousers. Now.”
Crozier nodded frantically, already untucking his shirt and rucking down his work pants. He bent quickly over the desk, so Thomas only had a half-second to see that pretty little cock hard under the lacy pink.
He swore again, and dropped to his knees.
“Christ,” he breathed, as he touched that rounded arse reverently, palm flat. He then gripped harder, and heard a moan from Crozier. Thomas tried to catalogue the sound, every sound, Crozier made as he pulled aside the underwear and sucked at his boss’ hole.
Crozier gasped, and made a muffled sound like a sob as Thomas began licking at him like a man starved, swirling his tongue around that puckered sweetness.
“F-fuck, Thomas,” Crozier whimpered, whimpered, and by God if that tone coming from him set every one of Thomas’ nerves alight. He pushed his tongue inside with little preamble, and delighted in the way Crozier tensed and shook around him.
He felt the older man’s hips begin to move, fucking himself back onto his assistants tongue.
“YesyesyessyesyesssfuckyessThomasthere’sagoodladyesyesssfucckk,” Crozier mumbled, the word slurred with pleasure.
Thomas hummed in acknowledgment. He was rock-hard himself, but he focused on Crozier, always on Crozier. Thomas thrust his tongue in and out, trying to time it with the movement of his hips, even as the underwear he had pushed aside began straining uncomfortably against his cheek. He only thought of how deliciously uncomfortable Crozier’s little prick must be, similarly straining against his secret lingerie, and found it in himself to redouble his efforts.
There was a thump from the desk, as if Crozier had fallen to his elbows. His legs were spread wide, wobbling around Thomas’ head as he pulled the cheeks apart and continued his assault.
“Fuck, fuck me,” Crozier pleaded, his voice higher than his assistant had ever heard, “Jaysus, Thomas, please.”
Thomas kissed his hole, and reached a hand under the front of Crozier’s panties to feel the pulse of his trapped cock. “Hush,” he said, gently teasing his sensitive head as he snapped the underwear back into place. Crozier yelped, then moaned.
Thomas got to his feet shakily, carefully, keeping his hand under Crozier’s waistband fondling him. One-handed, he managed to drop his own trousers and grind forward against the older man, leaning over him and pressing his sizable erection into the soft flesh of Crozier’s arse.
“See how pretty you are, sir?” He asked, feeling lightheaded as his cock dragged across bare skin and Crozier’s let out a pathetic dribble of precum. “Such a pretty girl for me. Such a good girl.”
Crozier whimpered again, and thrust blindly into Thomas’ hand. He babbled, breathless, “Feels so good, so good, wanna be good for you, Thomas, wanna be your good girl take your cock, fuck, fuck ‘m close…”
Thomas’ heart was beating double-time and arousal was tightening in his lower stomach. He kissed the nape Crozier’s neck. Biting back a moan, he ground himself against him again, rubbing his cock dangerous close to Crozier’s already slicked and gaping hole.
“Oh yeah?” He said, breathlessly, “Cum for me then, sir. Mess your pretty panties for me.”
Crozier’s head was turned at such an angle that Thomas could see the moment where his eyes rolled back, went tense and slack-jawed, and shook before coating Thomas’ teasing fingers in cum.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Thomas gasped, and pulled himself off in a half dozen strokes. He came in spurts across Crozier’s exposed arse, dripping down the lace of his lingerie as he collapsed forward atop his now exhausted boss.
Crozier grunted below him, but made no move to extract himself.
For a few dazzling minutes they laid there in the afterglow, only half-undressed from the waist down. Then Thomas moved his left hand, and it made a loud, goopy sound. Crozier let out a wheezy chuckle.
“For fuck’s sake, lad… Oughh. I think you fucked the soul out of me. Haven’t.. haven’t cum that hard in… years.”
Thomas let himself laugh too, out of breath as he was. He rolled off of Crozier and threw him a loopy grin— the kind he would never show to anyone else. “Same for me, sir.” He paused in taking his hand out of Crozier’s underwear. Slowly, he brought the soiled hand up to his face and licked experimentally.
Crozier, if possible, turned redder. “Jaysus.”
“Mm. Salty,” Thomas remarked, before efficiently sucking the rest off his fingers one by one. Afterwards, he looked over at Crozier’s own mess, and felt torn between a desire to clean him and a twitching lust for seeing him dirtied. “…Those might need a wash, sir. If you don’t mind my saying.”
Crozier glanced lazily down, moving his thighs back and forth. They made a faint sticking noise. Thomas another tingle of arousal, though he was long since spent. Crozier, though, made no move to clean himself. His shoulders lifted in a lethargic shrug.
“Ah, it’s alright. I’ll clean them went I get home.” He grinned. “Let them stain a bit, so I know in the morning this wasn’t a dirty old man’s dream.”
Thomas grinned back, though more hesitantly now. Very aware of his softening cock, he pulled back on his pants and cleared his throat perfunctorily.
“I… would be happy, in the morning, to… remind you, sir. Of this. Tomorrow.”
Crozier seemed to have taken his cue and was now pulling back on his own trousers over his ruined underwear. He paused in tightening his belt, raising an eyebrow at his assistant. His expression was fragile, as if braced for disappointment.
“You… wish to speak of this tomorrow, then?”
Thomas nodded. He brushed his hair aside nervously. “Yes. Over… dinner, if you would like, sir.”
Both of Francis Crozier’s eyebrows had raised now, and his eyes themselves were wide as saucers. “Like…,” he said, only slightly choked, “Like a date?”
Thomas felt himself brace now as well, as if he had not just tongue-fucked the man over a desk. Oh no. What if Crozier only wanted sex from him? What if he didn’t feel the same tomorrow as he did—
“Yes,” Francis said, cutting into Thomas’ spiraling thoughts. “Yes, I… would like that. To… go on a date with you.”
Thomas felt his chest swell. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face if he tried. He stepped forward, and kissed Francis again, sweetly, savoring the way he relaxed into the touch. He kissed him as long and as gently as a promise.
“Perfect,” Thomas said, when he finally got another chance to breathe, “I’ll clear your calendar.”
The gap-toothed smile he was rewarded with was brighter than any future Thomas Jopson had ever imagined for himself. The love of his life just agreed to a date. What could he do, but kiss him again?