Work Text:
“Do you think he’s ever going to figure it out?” Paul looks up, and Charlie tips his chin up at the piano across the room, indicating the man playing, who he’s been watching with far less subtlety than he thinks.
“Nick?” Charlie nods and Paul hums in thought. They’ve had this conversation at least a dozen times, and Paul knows immediately what he’s talking about. “I dunno. It’s been what, eight, nine months?”
“Ten,” Charlie says. Paul bets Charlie would know down to the day if he asked.
“He worked here during Pride and Halloween,” Paul continues. “If he hasn’t figured it out yet, I don’t think he ever will.” He wants to add “and it’s time for you to get over him,” but he’s not about to be mean to the guy who keeps his glass full and lets him work on his novel at the bar. It’s just that everyone knows that Nick is straight, and no matter how much time Charlie spends trying to catch his attention by dressing like the hottest twink around (which Paul will certainly admit he is), the pianist doesn’t ever seem to suddenly become overwhelmed by desire and stalk over to the bar to confess his undying love.
“I just can’t believe anyone would be oblivious enough not to know this is a gay bar. I mean, it’s literally a who’s who of gay stereotypes in here!” Charlie waves a hand, gesturing between his own mesh-clad torso, Paul’s laptop, which is displaying a draft of his most recent gay regency erotica, and Davy, who is sitting just down the bar in a t-shirt with NAVY written across his broad chest in large, white letters.
Paul chortles. “Okay, first, it’s not like this is a club full of coked up bears in pleather harnesses fucking each other in the bathrooms.” The clientele at Chuck’s skews older and more sedate than a lot of gay bars - more Cheers than Queer As Folk. If you weren’t really looking, Paul kind of sees how you might assume it’s just any other bar full of mostly middle-aged men. At least when it isn’t leather night. “Second, I don’t think straight men are as attuned to the queerness of a Navy t-shirt as you seem to think.”
“But …” Charlie says slightly pitifully, hands gesturing once again at his own body, shown off to advantage in tight jeans, with nipple piercings and an array of tattoos on display through the sheer mesh of his top.
Paul reaches out and pats Charlie’s forearm lovingly, though his words are flat and dry. “I don’t think anyone is questioning whether you’re gay, darling.” Charlie harrumphs, arms crossing over his chest.
Davy sidles up next to Paul, empty glass in hand and clearly looking for a refill. He seems to catch the mood, and takes in Charlie’s grouchy look before turning to Paul. “What’s got him all huffy?”
“One guess,” Paul replies. Davy tilts his head pointedly in the direction of the piano, and Paul nods. “He’s obsessing again.”
“I am not!” Charlie huffs.
Paul and Davy give one another a look that says neither of them believe him.
“We’ve all been there, kid,” Davy says in his deep, raspy voice. “Falling for a straight guy always ends in heartbreak though, and you deserve something nice.”
Charlie’s mouth opens like he’s going to protest, but then he snaps it shut and nods, seeming to accept what Davy is saying even if he doesn’t like it.
***
“He must know how many people come in just to flirt with him, right?” Charlie asks a couple of weeks later.
Paul doesn’t look up from his laptop screen. He’s on a roll right now, and he’s not about to let the bar owner’s pining get in the way of meeting his deadline. “You’ve got to get over him, Chuck.”
“Who said anything about me?” Charlie asks with affront. Paul rolls his eyes at his laptop.
“No, you’re right,” he says flatly, “who could possibly think this has anything to do with your feelings?”
“I’m just saying,” Charlie continues, looking slightly put out. “Have you seen the way Tommy flirts with him? And Mark and Preston have told me multiple times about wanting to have a threesome with him.”
“Horny old bastards,” Paul says affectionately. Mark and Preston are a good few older than he is, and they’ve been together for almost 30 years. They’ve lost more friends than Paul has ever had, and they’re always willing to share stories and pass down knowledge to the next generation. If anyone deserves to have a threesome with a smoking hot himbo who’s half their age, it’s them.
“Truly terrible,” Charlie replies with a laugh. “I’ve lost track of the number of times they’ve tried to take me home.” Paul raises an eyebrow at him in question. “I’ve never done it.” The younger man’s tan face pinks with a blush.
“But you haven’t said never, either. Because then they’d stop asking.” Charlie shrugs, clearly embarrassed at the revelation. Paul puts his weight into his forearms where they rest on the bartop and leans forward slightly. “I haven’t said no either,” he says quietly, winking at Charlie as the younger man’s expression turns to one of mild surprise.
“And here I thought you were celibate!” Charlie says jokingly.
“Ace isn’t the same as celibate, Charlie,” Paul tells him kindly.
“You’re ace? I didn’t know - sorry for the celibate comment,” Charlie says quickly.
“It’s fine, Charlie, I know you were joking,” Paul says, smiling at him. He really doesn’t mind the joke, and he doesn’t want Charlie to feel too bad; he’s a good guy.
“Still,” Charlie says earnestly. “I apologize for making assumptions.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “No pressure, but if you’re open to it, I’d love to talk to you sometime about what it’s like to write erotica as someone on the ace spectrum.”
Paul smiles, pleased by the thoughtful question. “Yeah, we can definitely do that.”
Charlie grins. “Cool.”
As Paul settles back onto his stool, he catches sight of the pianist; he’s heading towards the bathrooms, but his head is turned towards Paul and Charlie, his eyebrows pulled down. The moment he sees Paul looking at him, he turns away, continuing intently onward.
Interesting.
***
Okay, so Paul is becoming increasingly less certain that the pianist is as straight as they thought. He’s not sure why, but for the past few weeks, he’s been watching the guy more closely, and there’s just something …queer about him. Paul can’t quite put his finger on it though. It’s not like Nick really flirts with anyone, regardless of gender; he’s always been personable, chatting with the audience between songs and accepting the affectionate teasing from the regulars, but he never responds in kind to the many attempts people make to flirt with him.
Paul always assumed he was simply oblivious to all the flirting, but even the most obvious come ons - like Dana, who is 6’3” without the 7 inch heels she wears when in drag, squeezing his bicep and proclaiming he could throw her around like a ragdoll - Nick laughs pleasantly and keeps up his easy banter, skirting the advances without ever making anyone feel as if they’ve been rejected. Paul wonders if perhaps Nick simply isn’t interested in anyone, but he might just be projecting his own aceness onto the blond. Maybe the guy has a serious girlfriend back at home and he’s extremely loyal, but somehow Paul doesn’t think so.
“How do we know Nick is straight?” He asks Davy later that night.
Davy looks at him askance. “Not you too,” he says mournfully. “Please, please tell me you don’t have a thing for him.”
“I do not have a thing for Nick,” Paul confirms. “But I’ve just been thinking about Chuck’s obsession with the guy, and I couldn’t remember how we know that Nick is straight.”
Davy wrinkles his nose in thought. “I think he has a girlfriend? Or did? I don’t remember. You know who would though.” Davy jerks his chin towards Charlie, who is mindlessly wiping the same spot on the bar top while watching Nick’s back as he plays some old Billy Joel song.
“Oh no no no,” Paul says decisively. “I’m not going to get him started. He’ll never stop!”
Davy shrugs. “Up to you, man.”
“Well, you’ve been absolutely no help at all,” Paul tells the other man.
“Thank god,” Davy says, “wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation.” The men laugh and Davy tilts his glass towards Paul in a kind of cheers before taking a swig.
***
Unable to stop wondering about the piano player, Paul takes it upon himself to engage in some covert ops. And by that he means he decides to go to the source directly and just talk to Nick to see what he can learn. The next time the pianist is in, Paul waits for an opportune moment and then sidles up to the piano, listening to the end of the song Nick is playing as he tucks a fiver into the tip jar.
“Hey, thanks,” Nick says, smiling at him as he lets the last few notes fade out.
“Doesn’t look like you’re doing too badly tonight,” Paul says, referencing the relatively full jar.
“Yeah, somebody was jukeboxing earlier,” Nick explains, using the term that all the regulars know to mean that someone is treating the musician like a jukebox, tipping him so he’ll play their song requests. Paul wrinkles his nose in distaste and Nick laughs. “At least they were tipping well for it.”
“True,” Paul agrees. Nick is thumbing through some sheet music to find another song, and Paul knows he needs to get on with his espionage. “Anyway. I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he says.
“Oh, y’know,” Nick says. “Surviving. Making music. The usual.”
“Anyone special in your life?” Paul asks, pushing through his feelings of awkwardness.
Nick shakes his head. “Sorry Paul, nothing in my life is going to be much good inspiration for your next book. My last girlfriend and I broke up six months ago, and I’ve only been on one date since.” Paul files that information away.
“Oh, babe,” Paul coos, “your hetero love wouldn't have been much help to me anyway; I only write about gay relationships.”
Nick hums noncommittaly, and his eyes briefly flash over towards the bar. Paul watches as a slight flush creeps up his neck.
Oh! he thinks. Now isn’t this a fun turn of events.
“Unless …” Paul trails off meaningfully, eyeing the blond man. Nick looks a little terrified, and Paul doesn’t push. He’s not here to make the guy uncomfortable. Besides, he’s already gotten more than he was hoping for.
***
Paul holds on carefully to the information, not revealing any of what he has surmised. It’s not his place to share information that Nick hasn’t made public. But that doesn’t mean he’s totally silent on the topic of the pianist; the next time Charlie starts pining, Paul takes a new approach.
“Maybe you should try just talking to the guy,” he suggests.
Charlie blinks at him, seeming unsure of what he heard. “What?”
Paul shrugs, trying to be casual and not give anything away. “It just seems like we keep having this same conversation, so I’m suggesting that maybe you should stop talking to me about it and try talking to Nick.”
“No,” Charlie says quickly before mumbling out a string of half-formed excuses. “There’s no reason for me … definitely not interested … he’s straight …”
“Charlie,” Paul says, “remember how you didn’t know I was ace?”
Charlie looks confused by the change of subject, his eyebrows pinching together in thought. “Yes, and I’m still sorry that I assumed—”
“Charlie,” Paul says again, laughing a little as he cuts off the younger man’s apologetic rambling. “I didn’t bring it up to make you feel bad. I was just thinking that maybe we’ve all been making some assumptions.” Charlie still looks confused, and Paul realizes he’s going to have to be a little more direct. “Have you ever asked Nick if he’s interested?”
“What? No, of course not.” Paul raises an eyebrow and waits. “He’s straight … he has a girlfriend …”
“Had a girlfriend.”
“I don’t—” Charlie cuts himself off, and Paul can almost see his brain short circuiting as he begins to question everything he thought he knew. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything,” Paul tells him honestly, “except that we all make assumptions, and maybe it’s good to question them sometimes.”
Someone approaches the bar then, and Charlie turns away to serve them, but for the rest of the night he looks dazed, eyes full of questions as they wander repeatedly over to the piano.
***
It’s days before anything happens, and as much as the anticipation is killing him, Paul is ultimately thrilled that he’s there when Charlie finally gets up the nerve to directly question the assumptions that have been plaguing him for nearly a year.
Paul is settled in his usual spot working on his novel when Nick arrives to prepare for his evening set. The bar is still quiet, but it will pick up over the next couple hours, as it always does on Friday night.
“Hey Nick,” Paul calls when he sees the blond man. Nick pauses on his way towards the back of the bar, changing course to make his way over to Paul. He doesn’t sit, but he rests his bag on a stool and leans against the bar, taking a load off without settling in.
“Hey Paul,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“Good, good!” Paul tells him. “I’m finally finishing up the first draft of the new book. And just in time too - my editor is going to have my head if I don’t have it done by my deadline next week.”
Nick chuckles and claps him companionably on the shoulder. “Glad to hear it’s going well, man.”
Paul catches sight of Charlie then, emerging from the back rooms with a bin in hand, bottles of various heights poking out the top. Charlie’s steps slow briefly when he sees Nick, but then he squares his shoulders and continues forward.
“Hi,” Charlie says as he stops just across the bar from Paul and Nick. He busies his hands with restocking the rail, but he doesn’t move away.
“Hey,” Nick replies. They both seem nervous, and Paul isn’t sure whether he should try to keep conversation flowing or slip away to leave the two of them alone. “Nice shirt.”
Charlie looks down at his chest, seemingly to check what he’s wearing. He looks a little surprised to find that it’s a muscle tee featuring a print of a man in full leather with another man kneeling beside him and embracing his leg, clearly in a position of submission. “Thanks,” Charlie says, sounding uncertain. “It’s Tom of Finland.”
“I know,” Nick tells him with a smile. “I feel like I’d be pretty remiss not to at least know Tom of Finland after working here for nearly a year.”
“What?” Charlie asks dazedly. “You know that everyone here is gay?”
Nick’s face contorts into a look of deep confusion. “Well, not everyone. But I mean, this is a gay bar.”
“Shit, sorry.” Charlie fumbles as he tries to regain his composure. “I know you’re not … I didn’t mean to imply …”
Now Nick looks confused, and Paul has absolutely no idea what to do with either of them. “What I think Charlie means,” he jumps in, trying to help his friend, “is that we try not to make assumptions about people’s sexualities, so we’re not assuming that, just because you play here, that means you’re gay.”
“Oh!” Nick says, expression clearing. “I mean, I’m not gay, which you probably know because you know I was dating Imogen.” Paul sees the way Charlie’s face drops even though he tries to hide it.
“I did guess that was likely the case,” Paul says, “but everyone has their own journey. Who someone dated in the past doesn’t necessarily mean anything about how they identify now.”
Nick’s eyes flick over to Charlie, who is determinedly wiping down the handles on the beer taps. He turns back to Paul with a nod, expression a bit downcast. “Yeah. That’s, um … that’s true.”
Paul feels like he’s watching a train wreck in slow motion. He can see Nick and Charlie both somehow getting even farther from figuring out that they like each other, and he wants to shake them both and scream in their faces that they just need to talk. Instead, he tries one more time. “Also, there are plenty of sexualities besides gay and straight. Ace people exist.” He gestures to himself. “Bi and pan people exist. There are so many ways people can identify!”
Nick perks up at that. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m still kind of figuring things out, but I think I’m bi.” Charlie’s head snaps up, and Paul sees in his peripheral vision that the bartender is staring wide-eyed at the side of Nick’s head.
Paul keeps his focus on the blond though, smiling warmly at him. “That’s cool. Figuring it out can be hard.”
“Yeah,” Nick says again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I always just assumed I was straight, but …” he shrugs a little awkwardly and his eyes slide over towards Charlie again.
“But sometimes things change,” Paul says kindly. Nick bobs his head in agreement.
“Um, anyway,” Nick says, dropping his hand from his neck as he steps back. “I should go get ready. Thanks for the chat.” He glances briefly between Paul and Charlie and then takes another step backwards.
Paul is just opening his mouth to reply in kind, but he’s cut off by Charlie's sudden cry of “wait!” Nick stops, body turned away but neck craned back to look at Charlie with something Paul thinks might be hope. Charlie’s fingers are twisted anxiously into the cloth he was using, and he looks mildly terrified as he tries to figure out what to say now that Nick is waiting for him to say something. His voice is a little shaky when he finally speaks again. “I don’t know what or, um, who made you realize you might not be straight. And maybe you’re only interested in whoever they are. But if not …” he pauses to take a tremulous breath, “would you like to go out with me sometime?”
Paul stifles the urge to smack Charlie gently upside the head and tell him what a numpty he is.
Nick is smiling as he turns to face Charlie more fully. “I um, I am definitely only interested in that person right now.” Charlie’s face drops, but only for the briefest of moments because then Nick is speaking again. “So yes, I’d love to go out with you.”
“What?” Charlie says dumbly.
“Charlie,” Nick laughs gently as he says the bar owner’s name, and he strides forward until he’s right up at the bar. “Charlie,” he says again, more softly this time. “You are the one who made me realize.”
“I … what?” Charlie repeats. It doesn’t seem to be sinking in. Paul thinks he’s maybe spent so long dreaming about something like this that he doesn’t believe it’s really happening. “You … like me?”
“Wasn’t it obvious?” Nick is looking at Charlie with the most tender smile Paul has ever seen, while Charlie continues to gawp at him like a stunned fish. Paul silently thanks whatever gods are out there that Nick doesn’t seem deterred by the sheer idiocy that Charlie is showcasing at the moment.
After a long moment of silence, Paul reaches out and prods his friend’s arm. “Hey, Chuck. Would you just ask to kiss the guy already?”
That seems to do it, and suddenly Charlie is moving swiftly to the end of the bar and lifting the panel that acts as a barrier to keep patrons out of his space. Nick moves down the bar, meeting him as he lowers the gate back into place. Paul can’t hear them anymore, but he sees Charlie say something, and Nick nods once in response before the two of them are kissing. Their hands travel across arms and faces and waists, pulling them closer together until Charlie is fully pressed against the edge of the bar, trapped by Nick’s larger frame.
Paul shakes his head with a laugh and turns back to his laptop. Without stopping to think about it, he deletes the last few lines of text. Immediately, his fingers are flying across the keys to replace the old words with something new; he has a much better ending now.
