Chapter Text
BAZ
“And you definitely got a stripper for the bachelor party?” Dev asks me from the back seat of the Jag for what is probably the fifth time today. He is nothing if not insistent—I don’t know how Niall puts up with him.
“Yes, of course,” I glance up at him in the rearview mirror. “What kind of Best Man do you think I am?”
“The modest kind?” He rolls his eyes at me. My cousin is an idiot.
After a beat of silence, he continues talking, “Well, what did you request from the agency?”
“I wasn’t too specific. You said you didn’t care as long as he was good looking and around our age. I asked for a gay or bi man, around twenty to twenty-five, blue eyes—for Niall, épais —and broad shoulders—for you. You’re welcome.”
I pull up to Hôtel Place d'Armes, the hotel in Old Montreal where the Grimm family has a penthouse suite on retainer for hosting events and visiting family. Everything about the room is perfect for our needs: a fully stocked bar, large entertaining room to be used for dancing, and a separate bedroom for when we need to kick Dev and Niall out when they can’t keep their hands off each other.
I am behind the bar now, mixing drinks for Dev and Niall when there is a knock on the door of the suite. Thank God, I hope it’s the stripper. He’s fifteen minutes late, and Dev hasn’t left me alone about it.
Gareth opens the door for me so I can finish with Dev’s drink. When I come out from behind the door to greet the stripper, I stop dead in my tracks.
It can’t be.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Bronze curls. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders.
Tabarnak.
“He’s hot,” I jump at Niall’s voice. He must have snuck up behind me in the middle of my personal crisis.
“No. Well, maybe a little.” I don’t know what to say to this. How did this happen?
“Why are you so jumpy, Baz?”
“The stripper—he’s uhh,” I’m stumbling over my words. Get yourself together, Pitch. I take a drink of my beer, “The stripper is the idiot TA that runs the discussion seminars for my Italian Renaissance class.”
“You mean, the hot TA that you can’t stop talking about and you very obviously want to hook up with?” He smirks at me.
“I mean l'esti de cave who clearly doesn’t know anything about the Renaissance, and whom I have to constantly correct. I don’t even know how he got a TA position.”
“You mean,” he clarifies because he can’t just let things be, “the hot TA that you’re mildly obsessed with, and are now having a crisis because he’s our stripper and you’re about to see everything you’ve been fantasizing about during your classes.”
“Niall, I can’t. He may be an idiot, but he still has influence with the Professor to have me failed. Or possibly even expelled for sexual harassment if he knew what I was thinking about.”
“Well, he can’t use tonight as harassment. I’m sure the University would frown on a TA being a stripper as a side job. So try talking to him, when he’s not flaunting his piece in Dev’s face.”
“Yeah, alright.” I’ve had a few drinks, and just looking at Simon Snow makes me weak. (That’s his name. What kind of surname is Snow, anyway?)
Niall is right, though. I have been obsessed with him all semester. I have an irresistible urge to correct him when he’s wrong (which is all the time) but I can’t deny that he runs a better seminar than Mathieu, the other TA.
I went once to Mathieu’s seminar when I missed Snow’s and he was so insufferably up himself. He lectured us the whole time as if we’d missed Professor Bunce’s lecture the day before. Snow at least fosters effective discussion, even if he can’t answer questions accurately. I go to the lecture to hear a professor speak on a subject they’re an expert in, which Professor Bunce clearly is. The discussion isn’t meant to be a rehash of the lecture by a less-qualified fool, it’s meant to be a place to process ideas and ask questions.
If Mathieu hadn’t been so dreadful, I would never have gone back to Snow’s class again. Unfortunately, it seemed I was doomed to endure his stumbling mistakes. I was more than capable of correcting him when necessary. What was more dangerous was making sure not to leer at him constantly. How could I help myself? He was just my type, with his golden curls and moles and that jawline. (Not to mention his glorious shoulder-to-waist ratio, and his forearms, and all of his other... assets.)
This may be my only chance to really get to talk to Snow outside of a school setting. And do I everwant to talk to him. (And that glorious shoulder-to-waist ratio.)(I should maybe slow down on the drinks.)
I approach him, reminding myself that this is my party I’m hosting and he’s the one who showed up to strip. He has no room to judge me for that. I’m struck, suddenly, by the thought that Snow must be gay or bi. I did specify that when I contacted the agency. Something shifts in me. Snow isn’t just some beautiful idiot boy. He’s a beautiful idiot boy who likes men.
He was chatting with Gareth while waiting for me to come greet him. Not me, in particular. But the host, the one who would be paying him and who he would need to have an NDA or whatever kind of protection contracts a stripper might need to have signed. He is smiling brightly as he talks, and my insides twist just a little. He’s so beautiful like this.
“Snow,” I greet him. His face slackens and I could swear the colour from his face drains away. Is it because of how I know him, or does he really hate me that much? I know I’m rude to him in class when he tries to help other students and mucks up the facts.
“Uh, h— hullo, Baz,” he’s stuttering over his words, not much different than how I was stumbling over mine a few minutes ago. I try not to let it bother me.
“I take it you’re the dancer the agency sent over for us.”
“I– I didn’t know the uhh–”
Crisse, he blusters beautifully. I shouldn’t find it as attractive as I do. But his inability to form a complete thought, mixed with the beautiful blush that is creeping up his cheeks and ears is doing something to my insides.
“I certainly hope you’re better at this job than you are at being a TA.”
Snow grunts and juts out his jaw. “I am. And I usually enjoy this job more.” He looks like he wants to punch me. The thought of Snow punching me and enjoying being a stripper should not be nearly as enticing as it is.
“Well, come on.” I start walking away talking without checking to make sure he’s following. There is no way I’m going to show an ounce of what I’m feeling right now. That I really want nothing more than to watch him strip out of the ridiculous outfit he has on right now.
I lead him to the center of the main entertaining room, where the boys have already set up a horseshoe of chairs around the two head chairs where Dev and Niall are seated.
Snow sets his bag down near the wall, taking out his speakers to set up. After a few minutes he has his phone synced to the stereo system and begins his dance routine.
He’s dressed in black trousers that hug his curves in the most appealing way and a tight white button down, with a purple tuxedo vest and purple bowtie. I wonder how much of this ensemble is tearaway.
The first song queued up is “Pony”. I can’t believe how incredibly cliche this whole thing is. I didn’t realise we were getting a live showing of Magic Mike.
He starts the dance on the opposite end of the circle from Dev and Niall. Dev is grinning like an idiot. The way Snow is capable of moving his entire body is captivating, I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away even if I wanted to. He has a way of drawing the entire room in.
By the time he has crossed half the distance of the floor, his shirt has been torn away leaving only the vest and tie on his upper body. I always knew he was extremely attractive, but seeing him like this leaves me thunderstruck.
I turn back to the bar to get myself another beer. (I stocked up on Le Grimoire, and am thankful for my foresight.) There is no way I’m going to survive this night without a little extra courage.
I glance back over to the show to the sight of Snow tearing off his trousers a foot from the boys, revealing his glorious strong thighs and ass. Nothing is left to the imagination, with nothing more than shimmering purple trunks covering his shapely assets.
Câlisse de sacrament!
With his next move, Snow is performing some sort of full body roll straddled over Dev, his hands braced against the back of Dev’s chair. Dev’s hands find their way to Snow’s waist before he’s twisting away, fluidly transitioning to straddle Niall with his ass inches from Niall’s face.
Snow looks up and meets my eyes where I’m standing and smiles.
I can’t hold his gaze. Those plain blue eyes are too much in this lighting. I can’t just watch him do things like that. I have to leave.
I turn back to the bar, grab another Desérables (my favorite beer, it tastes like maple taffy) and make my way out to the terrasse for some air. And space. Thankfully there are heat lamps up here. Otherwise, I would never be outdoors in March.
The view of the city and across the river is unparalleled.
The Biosphere is impossible not to look at from here, but I feel as if it’s mocking me. What little I can see of it is glowing purple and gaudy on the water, meaning to remind us of hope for the future, but all I can think of is Simon Snow’s perfect round ass in the same sparkling shade. If I get a little turned on by the stupid fucking glass sphere, I blame Simon Snow’s stupid fucking bubble butt in purple fucking trunks. Câlisse.
My thoughts are scattered by the sound of the sliding door opening. Simon Snow himself, the man of the hour, steps out clad only in his trunks and an embroidered dark robe. I didn’t think strippers were supposed to put clothes back on, but I guess he must be taking a break. (And, to be fair, it is below freezing, despite the heat lamps.) All he has with him is his water bottle and he’s covered in sweat. How does he still smell so good?
I can’t find words to say to him yet, so I offer a sneer and turn back to the view.
He doesn’t leave though. He sidles up beside me, leaning his forearms (his fucking gorgeous forearms) on the railing and turns his head toward me. I’m already looking back at him. Because I’m weak. And drunk. Also because of his aforementioned gorgeous forearms.
“What is it, Snow?” In my drunken state, the question comes out more curious than threatening.
He smiles. The idiot smilesat me.
“The view from here is beautiful.” It’s a generic comment, really. The view of the St. Lawrence is spectacular. It’s such a clear and calm night, it almost feels magical. But something about the way his eyes meet mine, I almost want to believe he means more than just the scenery beyond this balcony.
“Indeed.” I take another swig of my beer. What do I say to this man, who I’ve been lusting after for months despite knowing there was no way I could ever be more than another pain in his ass.
“So, this is awkward,” he says. I laugh, I can’t help it. (I’m sure the amount of beer I’ve consumed isn’t helping either.) “Tell me, Baz. Is it because of who I am or what I’m doing?”
I think he wants to know if I’m going to be one of those assholes that demeans what he is choosing to do to earn a living.
“A little to do with who you are,” I admit. He’s my TA, calvaire! “I just don’t understand. Why do you do this when you already have a job for the University?”
“The TA job is a requirement for my scholarship. I needed to participate in a University work-study program, and Professor Bunce happened to have an opening that I barely qualified for.”
“If you barely qualified, how did you get the position at all?” I don’t want to sound like I’m judging him, I’m glad he was given a position if he needed it to keep his scholarship.
He shrugs, with those wide beautiful shoulders of his. I can’t tell if I’ve always been weak for every part of his body or if the beer is chipping away at my sensibilities. “My best friend Penny— Penelope Bunce—”
Oh. Bunce. His best friend must be Professor Bunce’s daughter. I’d gripe about nepotism, but with a last name like Grimm-Pitch I tend to slide through life without many problems thanks to my family.
“— her mother has really stepped up to help me be able to stay in uni. But even with the TA position, I still need to afford my regular living expenses.”
“But why this job? Wouldn’t it be easier to work retail part-time somewhere?”
“This job,” he says with plenty of weight behind his words, “pays more than double in a couple of hours than what I would make on a whole eight-hour shift working retail. Besides, I’m good at this and I enjoy it.”
“Well, you aregood at it,” I agree before thinking it through. I silently wince at my boldness.
“Better at this than being a TA,” he says in a call-back to our conversation when he had first arrived.
“You’re not the worst TA,” I offer. “At least you’re not a know-it-all, like Mathieu, who talks down to everybody rather than trying to lead a successful discussion.”
“It would help if I could stop stuttering through seminars. I uhh. I have expressive language disorder. I understand the material but trying to talk about it? The words get all jumbled in my head before they make their way out of my mouth.”
“Everyone has their struggles, Snow.” I know his break must be coming to a close. Crisse, I’m the one paying him. I really could keep him out here talking to me as long as I want. But Dev is probably growing impatient, and that abuse of power doesn’t seem fair to Snow. I shift subjects, because I have one more thing I’d love to know but will never be able to bring up again after tonight. “How did you even get started with this job? I would never have imagined this is what you did in your free time.”
“Penny and her boyfriend, Shep, had talked me into going out to a club with them in our second year. There was a flyer there. It was a bad night for me, you know? My girlfriend had just broken up with me, and the semester was coming to a close. Which meant I was about to lose housing and had nowhere set up to live for the summer.” He fidgets between everything he does. Playing with the sleeves of his robe, taking sips of water. It’s strange reconciling Snow, the horrible TA and Snow, the hot stripper. Here and now, with him talking in stops and starts, but wearing almost nothing, is a strange collision of the two.
“You saw a flyer?” I push.
“Yeah,” he continues, “I noticed a flyer on the board over the bar till that night advertising for ‘Exotic Dancers Wanted~ Excellent Pay’. I had never tried anything like that before, but I was a pretty decent dancer in general and I had nothing to lose.” Snow shrugs and takes a few more sips of water.
I don’t break my stare, but he won’t really meet my eyes. Is he embarrassed? Either way, he continues after a moment of silence.
“The agency was... well, they were pretty great.” He pauses for another moment. “Very welcoming, you know? And willing to work with me to teach me techniques and routines.” One hand goes to his hair as he glances back at me. I bring my beer to my lips and finish it off but say nothing in response. I think he’s flushed. Is he cold or is it me? I hope it’s me. Maudit, I’m drunk.
“So I take it you liked it?”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “I do like it. I may not be great at talking with my mouth, but speaking with my body is easy.” He turns to look back out toward the Biosphere. “I can just act and react, I don’t need to think about it.”
I hum at him. He looks miraculous, lit softly by the glow of the city around us.
“I’ve learned a lot about myself this way, what I like and how to tell what others like.” He glances back at me again and there’s something else in his eyes. Some intention. He’s trying to read me, I think.
“It’s how I came to terms with the fact that I’m attracted to men as well as women.” He shifts his weight to brace himself on one arm, turning fully back toward me.
Why is he telling me this? Is he saying he’s attracted to me? He’s certainly looking at me. I don’t break his stare. I don’t think I could if I tried. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of him all night. It’s why I came out here in the first place. Then he had the audacity to invade my solace. (Not that I’m disappointed.)
He recaps his water bottle and turns his back to me, stepping toward the doorway. He stops and looks over his shoulder, his hand on the door.
“Well, I better get back inside. I have my routine down to a science, and I should’ve already gone back in for this song. Don’t tell the host, I hear he’s hard to please.” He winksat me.
As he’s heading in, he calls over his shoulder, “You should come join the guys. I don’t bite, I promise. You might actually enjoy yourself.”
I’m left there holding my now empty beer (when did I even finish it?), wondering what just happened. The things Simon Snow just said to me may be the most deeply honest things anybody has ever told me.
“Basilton!” Dev calling my name is what brings me back inside. “Grab me and Niall another beer, would ya? Simon’s going to teach me how to seduce Niall with a lap dance!”
Bon dieu. I don’t know if I’ll be able to endure the rest of this night.
“You don’t need to seduce me, niaiseux.” Niall is nothing less than a saint, committing to be tied to Devereaux Grimm for the rest of his life. “You can have me anytime you want.”
“I’m going to do it anyway!”
I hand Niall his beer but hold on to Dev’s while Snow takes him through a few basic moves. I settle in the vacant seat that Dev has been saving for me next to his (now empty) seat.
I’m watching helplessly, as Snow is working his magic over Dev’s pal, Jean-François. All the while Dev tries to mirror Snow’s moves on Niall.
The remainder of Snow’s scheduled time goes much like this—moving between the other guys and occasionally returning to dance for Dev and Niall (that is the reason I hired him, after all).
At the end of the song, Niall grabs Snow by the wrist, dragging him down to tell him something.
He nods.
They both look over at me.
Snow smiles at me, setting my insides on fire. He saunters over my way as the song is winding down.
He leans over me—close, so close—bracing his body weight with a hand against the back of my seat. “Niall asked me if I would dance for you, for just one song before the end of the night.” After tonight, I’m going to kill Niall. His tomb is going to read: Here lies Niall Laforest-Grimm, he couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“You can’t be serious.” I raise an eyebrow at him, before glancing over to Niall and leveling him with a cool look.
“Look, I’ve danced for everyone but you tonight. I’ve tried to leave you alone, but Niall has been asking me since I came back in. He’s... very persistent.”
The next song begins. I don’t immediately recognise the opening riff.
I roll my eyes at him and noncommittally shake my head. “I don’t know...” I say. I like watching him, but it just makes me want to touch him. That’s a dangerous road to go down.
“Come on, Baz,” he says, “Niall will just keep badgering us both if I don’t.”
He’s right. And I want to say yes. So I nod. Fuck the consequences.
Snow grins, and then he’s dancing for me, moving his body in the most seductive way. Was he like this all night? I don’t think he was looking at anyone else with fire in his eyes like this.
That’s when I realise what song he’s dancing to—for me.
I’m n luv with a stripper
She poppin she rolling she rolling
She climbing that pole and
I’m n luv with a stripper
She tripping she playing she playing
I’m not going nowhere girl I’m staying
He positioned himself facing away from me so I have a perfect view of his shapely ass. His hips hovering over my groin, nearly sitting in my lap. If only he had just a little less muscle control in those powerful legs of his.
My hands twitch by my side. I want to reach out and touch him, but am I allowed to do that? Can I allow myself that?
I don’t know how he does it, but it’s as if he can sense my nerves and wants to ease them. He skillfully turns his body to face me.
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. I don’t think he can possibly hear me over the music.
“Is it okay if I touch you?” I don’t remember seeing him ask anybody else that tonight. But I think he genuinely cares about my comfort with this.
I nod my head, not sure if I trust my voice to try to answer.
He takes both of my hands in his and gently moves them to his hips. My eyes drift to where he’s placed my hands, and see a mole on his left hip that I hadn’t noticed yet tonight.
I imagine pushing him to the floor and taking that mole in my mouth. Sucking it, leaving a trail of kisses across the smattering of moles and freckles covering his entire body.
“It’s okay to touch me, if you want.” I shudder at his words, as his hands release mine. I don’t let go. “Live a little.”
I do want to touch him. I want to touch every part of this gorgeous man before me, I have since the first time I saw him. And right now, he wants me to touch him too.
My hands are slowly moving up his sculpted, sweat-dampened abs. (How does he have both delicious curves and sculpted abs?) I should find the way his body glistens disgusting, knowing that I’m dragging my hands through his sweat, but it’s oddly intoxicating.
I want to lick up every drop from his body, the thought comes unbidden. I lick my lips instead.
What is wrong with me?
My hands sweep across his broad, smooth chest and down his sides. I slide them down slowly until my fingertips rest on his back dimples. (I can feel his back dimples). I don’t stop there, though, caressing over the soft fabric of his trunks. My heart is beating so fast I can almost feel the pulse in my ears.
His own hand braces on my chest for just a moment before he’s moving again, my hands falling from his body.
The rest of the song goes like this, his body moving slow and smooth just inches from making contact. Every time I get used to the rhythm of his movements, he changes. Sometimes he’s on his knees between my legs, crawling up my body. Other times he’s grinding into me, bringing every deliciously provocative thought to the forefront of my mind.
My hands don’t stop roaming his skin, my mind short circuiting. The only thoughts available to me are how hot his skin feels under my cool palms and how slick and smooth he is as I explore the planes of his body. Somewhere in the back of my mind there is a voice screaming at me that this is wrong. He’s my TA. I’m taking advantage of him as a professional.
I look into his eyes, and that voice is silenced. If this is all I’m ever allowed to have, I’m going to enjoy it like he told me to. I also may be too drunk to stop myself.
As the song comes to an end, he slowly backs away from me with a grin.
“Last song, boys,” he announces. Dev looks disappointed, but relaxes back into his seat letting Simon alternate his dance between him and Niall.
Halfway through the song I realise I can’t sit here any longer. My shirt is clinging to me and my pants are too tight. Has it been this hot in here the whole night? It’s getting hard to breathe, surrounded by the guys.
My heart is still frantic. I grab another beer from the bar, trying to distract myself. I pick up my phone, check my messages. Tumblr. Whatsapp. Discord. Anything to try and avoid thinking about Simon fucking Snow.
“So, I need to get going.” I turn around to find Snow changed into street clothes. Tight jeans that hug those beautiful hips, a v-neck tee with a short sleeved flannel left completely unbuttoned.
“Yeah, okay. Hold up just a minute.” I slide my phone back in my pocket and walk over to the guys to make an announcement. Snow follows close behind, “Hé, les gars! Last call for tips before Simon leaves!”
Dev scrambles up. I had told him that I would cover tipping for him and Niall, since it’s their bachelor party. But Dev clearly has other plans at the moment.
He pulls out several bills and slides them into Snow’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “Thanks man, for the lesson tonight. I know that’s probably not what you’re used to. But I… I have plans.”
The other guys all crowd around, thrusting more bills into Snow’s hands. I have no clue how much they tucked into his trunks throughout the night, but I feel like he probably did okay for a night’s work.
Once the guys give us a bit more space I fish my own tip out of my wallet and press it into his palm.
He gapes at me when he sees how much I’ve given him. “I— Baz, I’m not that great of a dancer. You don’t need to tip me this much.”
“Please take the money, Snow. It... It’s not just for the dance.” It’s the truth. It isn’t just about the dance. Although he’s wrong about his skills. He’s exceptional. This isn’t even about how attracted I am to him. I’m not trying to buy his affections.
He reminded me tonight that not everybody is like me, a trust fund kid that doesn’t have to work my way through university. I’d like to see him be able to do more than worry about working as a TA in a class he’s not even comfortable with just to be able to keep his scholarship, and then dancing half naked for groups of drunk men at night just to afford to keep a roof over his head and food in his stomach. He deserves more than that.
“Yeah, okay.” He scrubs at the back of his neck. It’s like now that he has clothes back on and he’s no longer performing, he’s transitioned into somebody else. “Listen, I’m not ashamed of what I do. But could you maybe not mention this to any of your other friends around campus? There isn’t an explicit contract keeping me from this job while working for the University, but I don’t want to jeopardise my work-study options.”
“No worries, Snow.” I try to keep my voice casual. I don’t want him to see how much I really care about him. Or how angry I am that he could lose his position because a bigoted staff member decides they don’t agree with how he has chosen to earn extra income.
“Okay, cool. Well, if you ever want to uhh,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. “If you’d maybe want to grab a coffee or something. Outside of school. Text me, yeah?” He presses the card into my hand, his fingers trailing over my palm a heartbeat longer than necessary.
I just nod, looking at the card. It’s his business card (professionally designed so it doesn’t look like an advert for an exotic dancer) with his personal coordinates handwritten on the back.
“Goodnight, Baz. See you in class on Tuesday.” He picks up his bag and heads for the door.
I stare after him, trying to figure out how I’m going to finish this semester pining after my idiot TA now that I’ve experienced him grinding into my lap mostly naked.
“Well, that was an interesting show.” Niall catches me off guard, raising an eyebrow at me.
“He was decent enough.”
“Come on, Baz. You were eye-fucking him all night long. And then I thought we were going to have to mop you off the floor while he was giving you that lapdance.” The idiot is laughing at my expense, and I can’t say I’m entirely pleased with him.
“YOU,” I point at him, my finger right in his face, “asked him to dance for me even though I was perfectly content watching the rest of you all make fools of yourselves.”
“You know you wanted him to, and I know you never would have asked him yourself. I let you go the whole night before I finally stepped in.”
“Va chier. I didn’t need you to step in.”
“Clearly. You’re right, I should just let you thirst away for the rest of your life. Simon was the first person I’ve ever seen you look at like that.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Like you were interested in them. And I don’t just mean you looked at him like you wanted to find out what he was working with under those trunks. I saw you two talking out on the terrasse during his break. You don’t like talking to people, Baz. But you looked like you wanted to share the meaning of life with him.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter Niall. He’s my TA and I can’t let anything I feel get in the way of his job.”
“He won’t be your TA forever. Semester is almost over, man. Just think about getting in touch with him later. It’d be good for you.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”