FIC: The Fitzier of It, Episode Nine
(artwork by the brilliant @vandrawsingā, check out her amazing work on here and on Twitter for the NSFW stuff https://mobile.twitter.com/vdrawsing!!)
A Fitzier The Thick of It AU in several parts. Previous Episodes: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven and Eight.
With sincere thanks to the official artist of The Fitzier of It (!)@vandrawsing for her endless patience, helpful philosophical discussions, motivating continuing interest in the story, wise insights, pornspiration (tm),and continuous exquisite artwork that makes me vibrate with joy.
To everyone still reading; I love you all, your patience is much appreciated, and I love the kind asks and comments with all my shark heart.
In this instalment: That awkward feeling when you are mean to a guy for years and heās mean to you too and then you suddenly realise that you have a massive crush on him, only you work for him now and youāve just made him come out as bisexual to the press. That old chestnut.
Warnings for Very Bad Language, offensive language, one instance of non-specific sexually violent language, NSFW/18+ themes and content, the severe second-hand embarrassment caused by Jamesā crush levels being up on legendary, still endlessly snacking Le Vesconte, Blanky being really annoyed at one point, media insensitivity to LGBTQ+ issues, and some satirical discussion of serious political issues.
Contact me via incredibly obscure old-school memes (or another more convenient method) to be tagged/untagged, or just to say hello. xXx.
Episode 9
On some level, James knew as he lay in bed chewing his lip and eviscerating himself on the morning following the suit fitting, he must be being punished.
The first time he had ever laid eyes on Francis Crozier, he had thought to himself, rather meanly, 'What an unfortunate-looking human being.'
And perhaps that was it. Perhaps that in itself was enough to warrant this absurd partiality he seemed to have developed.
Of course, then, the second, third, and fourth times he had bumped into Francis Crozier in the flesh, he had generally thought some version of this first petty assessment, in between being cleverly insulted and frantically hurling insults in return.
He's just so irritating and self-righteous and articulate and cynical and sarcastic and radical andā¦ and... Pink, James had thought.
The fifth time he had encountered Francis Crozier, heād thought something like 'What a pity those eyes have to be surrounded by a face like that.' They had been engaged in a vicious shouting match from opposite ends of a corridor at the time, so it had been a bit of a non-sequitur, but he'd let it slide.
By the twelfth time they verbally sparred with each other, James had begun to develop a somewhat Pavlovian reaction to glimpses of ginger hair and freckles. His heart sped up and his stomach tensed ā to better prepare him to do battle with his fiercest adversary, of course. No other reason.
After that, he had stopped keeping track, as their verbal tussles were becoming too frequent to count, and James needed to keep all his attention focussed on not stumbling over the harsh words he would rush to excitedly spit at the other man.
Now, a little older, and marginally wiser, James let his head flop heavily down into his expensive lumbar support pillow and groaned.
Shit. Can I really have been this much of an idiot?
Looking back, and thinking of what Dundy had said to him, about him being... about him beingā¦ wellā¦ obsessed...
It made James want to fold in on himself. It made him feel seen. It made him want to hide himself under his duvet for the rest of the day.
James Fitzjames kept his work life and his (increasingly non-existent) personal life separate, thank you very muchā¦
And anyway, James Fitzjames happened to like trimĀ men, men who took good care of themselves. Men who had exquisiteĀ taste, men he met in bars with an exclusive clientele and an expensive drinks list. Men who worshipped him, men who would shag his brains out on sheets with a high thread count and never ever ask about what he did for a livingā¦
James Fitzjames did notĀ fancy MPās. And even if he did, he certainly wouldnāt fancy one who looked like a homeless media studies teacher whoād accidentally wandered into the house of commons... (And he certainlyĀ wouldnāt fancy one who thought he was an annoying posh twatā¦)
He reiterated this mantra to himself firmly as he finally forced himself out of bed, stuck the kettle on, and then masturbated furiously in the shower while studiously notĀ thinking about a certain sturdy pair of thighs clad in ill-fitting jeans.
*****
Having a copy of Francisās measurements jotted down in his notebook was an oddly powerful position to be in, James realised as he loitered restlessly in the menswear section of John Lewis on his way into work. He borrowed a tape measure from a harassed-looking clerk and went wild in the outerwear section. It was oddly relaxing.
He arrived at Baffin House an hour late, sipping on an iced latte, daring the world to do its worst.
Dundy instantly sent a concerned look his way.
āI thought maybe the horror of the tailors yesterday had finally driven you to retire from this life of crime.ā He admitted, as he tore into the chocolate brioche James had brought for him.
āIt wasnāt all that bad actually.ā James responded breezily.
āHmmm...ā Dundy chewed thoughtfully, looking unconvinced.
āWhat time dāyou fucking call this?ā Francis materialised in his office doorway, one hand on his hip, clearly not over the traumatic experience of being measured and coolly assessed by young Samson.
James resolutely ignored the automatic squirming in his abdomen at Francisās sudden appearance.
āI bought you a coat.ā He stated, projecting calm and thinking fake it ātil you make it.
āYouā¦ did what?ā Francis remained in his classic angry teapot posture, albeit now with an entirely baffled expression on his face.
āI bought you a nice coat.ā
ā...You... You canāt just...ā Francis spluttered.
āI kept the receipt, of course. You do get a clothing allowance, you know.ā
āIāve never once used the bloody thing.ā
āOh, trust me, it shows.ā
Francis glared at him. (This may or may not have made an excited ripple travel down Jamesās legs and into his toes).
James held out the John LewisĀ bag towards Francis like a peace offering. āWould you like to try it on?ā
Francis, rapidly taking on a pink hue, glanced furtively around the shared office space, confirming that all eyes were indeed on them.
āGet in here.ā He growled, and retreated into his office.
āAre you OK, Fitz?ā Dundy hissed at him urgently.
James waved him off and marched into Francisās office with his carrier bag, shutting the door firmly behind him.
āJames. Youāre not my stylist, for fuckās sake.ā Francis was magenta by now and gesticulating wildly with his broad, rough hands. āYouāre not my assistant. You donāt have to buy me clothes. Youāve gotā¦ more important things to be getting on withā¦ā
James held up his hand in what he hoped was a soothing manner. āI know that, Francis. I just wanted you to have something nice to wear for when you go and shout at The GuardianĀ later. I imagine youāve already got a fairly good idea of what youāre going to say to them. Of course, weāve still got plenty of time to go through it if you need to...ā
āYou canāt just go round buying me clothesĀ James!ā Francis exploded.
āWhy not? Why did we bother going to the tailors at all, if not to get your measurements taken?ā
āThat was for the new suits I donāt even see the fucking point of! I only agreed to the those against my better judgement! Whatās next, a whole new bloody wardrobe? A spray tan? Hair plugs? Iām not auditioning for the X-factor! Iām notā¦ Iām notā¦ā Francis trailed off, running his hand through his ginger hair frustratedly.
āFrancisā¦ā James placated, seeing how worked-up the other man was getting. āAt the weekend, I yelled at you about all of your other coats and then didnāt leave you with any suitable alternativesā¦ That wasnāt fair of meā¦ Would you just do me a favour and try the damn thing on?ā
Scowling ferociously, Francis at last snatched the carrier bag out of Jamesā hand. He swiftly drew out the thick brown suede coat, looking both surprised and suspicious.
James shrugged. āI remember you said that you liked to be warm and comfortable. This represents something of a compromise while still being smart. Not to mention a marked improvement on the other options...ā
Francis huffed. He made a big, noisy song and dance of shrugging into the coat and fastening it up.
Oh no. What have I done, James thought at once.
āā¦I think itās a bit tight, James...ā Francis grumbled, annoyed yet apologetic, holding himself stiffly and awkwardly, hands hovering around his middle.
James cleared his throat.
āItās not too tight, Francis, it just fits you properlyĀ by the looks of it. Could you turn around, please?ā
Francis made a grumbling sound in the back of his throat, but complied.
James blinked.
Fuck, I am almost too powerful.
The coat fit Francisās sturdy body like a glove, and was exactly the right length. It emphasised the broadness of Francisās shoulders and chest, and the unexpectedly elegant curve of his back as it swept down to the narrowest part of his waist. It was masculine and vital, showing off a forthright man in his prime who looked smart, but had no time for nonsense. And the contrasting sheepskin collar was just right too, giving a nod to Francisās rough-and-ready charm whilst complimenting his warm colouration.
He had outdone himself. And possibly done himself in.
āIt looks lovely on you.ā James said honestly, remembering a time not so long ago when he would rather have eaten his own liver than call Francis ālovelyāĀ out loud.
Francis blushed even more fiercely. āWell, I still say it feels a bit tight round the middleā¦ I feel like a sausage about to burst out of its skin...ā
āWell, you... you donāt look like one...ā James said, feeling stupid, his hands twitching large and ungainly at his sides. āBut donāt take my word for it, Francis, letās ask the others, shall we?ā
āDonāt you dare!ā Hissed Francis, but James was already moving to open the office door.
āCome and have a look at this for a minute, men.ā James beckoned the Red Terrors loudly, meeting Blankyās bright eyes across the room instantly.
Francis muttered a string of virulent curses, possibly some of which were in Gaelic. James thought he might also have caught the words āleggy giraffeā at some point during the tirade.
The Red Terrors assembled in the office at lightning speed, Blanky in the lead of course, with a curious Dundy hot on their coattails.
The Yorkshireman wolf-whistled at an extreme volume.
āWell, if it isnāt the ginger Indiana Jones! Arenāt you gorgeous, duck?!ā He exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
āOh fuck off you knob.ā Glowered Francis, fumbling to unbutton the coat as fast as he could.
āOh! You look very handsome in that, Francis.ā Jopson beamed encouragingly.
āCareful Thomas. Youāre supposed to be on my side here, remember?ā Francis snarled, flushing pink all over again, his ears positively glowing.
āDoes this mean no more green anorak?ā Ed enquired, deadly earnest, as though a great weight was about to be lifted from his burly shoulders.
āThat looks good, Francis.ā Agreed Dundy, on his best behaviour.
James smiled magnanimously. āIt seems like weāre all in agreement then, Francis.ā
Francis finally managed to get his new coat off and threw it sulkily over a nearby chair. āI no longer get any say at all in what I wear then?ā He fumed.
āNo.ā Blanky, Ed and James stated firmly in unison.
Ed snorted convulsively, then immediately sobered and threw Francis an apologetic look.
Dundy made an uncharacteristically polite little back-of-the-throat noise and tried to change the subject.
āAll set for, uh, coming out to The Guardian later then, Francis? Need any help with preparing?ā
Francis looked as if he still very much wanted to rage about the coat for a while longer. He managed to bring his focus around to Dundy after a moment.
āItās all in hand, thank you, Henry. Iām going to spend a while going through all the talking points this morning. With James.ā
James had not actually realised that this was the plan, but still he nodded along rather swiftly. Plans could be altered, after all.
āOh aye.ā Said Blanky, raising a suggestive eyebrow at Francis then at James in turn.
āPiss off, you pint-sized menace.ā Francis growled at his best mate tiredly.
James said nothing, but internally bemoaned the fact that Blanky seemingly possessed the power to make him turn red with just a few nonsensical words.
Blanky grinned like a shark that had just eaten a wolf. āAlright then kids. Letās leave mummy and daddy to talk.ā He shepherded Ed and Dundy from the office.
Jopson beamed approvingly at James as he was leaving. āThe coat really does look lovely James, good job.ā
āOh, get out you scampā¦ā Francis grumbled, with all the ferocity of someone telling off a kitten for tangling a ball of wool.
Jopson closed the door softly on his way out.
James and Francis stared at each other in awkward silence for a long moment.
Then finally, Francis rummaged in his trouser pocket and produced his bisexual pride pin badge, which he set carefully down on the surface of his desk.
āAlright then.ā He sighed, and gestured to a chair. āTake a seat and letās go through the talking points.ā
*****
The next morning, for some reason, saw the Red Terrors and even Francis himself all gathered around James and Dundyās shared desk.
Perhaps this was due to its convenient location right outside Francisās office.
Ed had been the first one to sit himself down, with his laptop open, opposite James and Dundy (without so much as a by-your-leave), and the other Terrors had seemed to naturally gravitate around him as he undertook his normal morning routine of scouring through social media and news feeds.
āYouāve finally succeeded in breaking the tabloids, Francis.ā He reported in a gentle voice.
āIf I had known it would be that easy to break them, I would have come out sooner.ā Francis responded archly, holding himself upright with a faint nervous energy that made James long to clasp his shoulder.
āThe Daily Heil doesnāt seem to understand what bisexuality actually is.ā Ed continued his round-up, āThe paper we donāt name is being predictably lurid. Murdochās other rags appear to be interpreting this as an admission of promiscuity. Theyāve reprinted quite a few old drunk pictures for good measure ā sorry Francis...ā
Francis shrugged and gave a wry little smile.
āFuck the lot of ignorant bastards with a bag of rusty nails.ā Muttered Blanky, without a hint of his usual mischievous gleam. He was reading over Edās shoulder, then uncharacteristically turning away to pace up and down stormily every few minutes.
Jopson, who had apparently allocated himself tea-duty this morning, handed Francis a large, steaming mug and smiled at him encouragingly.
āThe other broadsheets have been pretty good, though, Francis. The Guardian too, even after you tore that guy a new one yesterday.ā
āWell, that was actually a cunning media strategy devised by one James Fitzjames, to allow me to shout at a journalist as much as I wanted.ā Francis smiled briefly at James.
James stayed quiet, feeling both overwhelmed by and acutely responsible for all of this necessary chaos.
Francis began to skim read through the coverage of his dropped bombshell in the selection of morning papers that Blanky had brought in for him. He had been projecting a certain world weary good-nature ever since the interview yesterday.
James wondered if Francis was actually relieved. If it was a relief to be out to the press.
Dundy was being extremely generous with his stash drawer this morning, passing around a bumper packet of chocolate peanuts as a healthy group breakfast.
āThe Twitter-istas are loving this, of course.ā Ed stated helpfully, in a tone which was glowingly positive for him.
āWhat are they saying, lad?ā Blanky came back from one of his moody stomps to look over Edās shoulder again.
āMostly theyāre being pretty supportive. A lot of love coming from the LGBTQ+ community for all the points that Francis made in the interview. Praise for his accurate statistics. Praise for his ballsiness in calling out the journoā¦ People pointing out his consistent stance on issues of diversity, equality and inclusion. Some supporters are pretty excited about potential future policiesā¦ā
āThatās great!ā Dundy said genuinely, while stretching his arm out precariously over the desk to offer Blanky the peanuts. āHopefully we can ride this wave of positivity all the way to the Brighton conference.ā
āWe should post some links.ā James spoke up suddenly. āOn Francisās twitter. To the likes of Stonewall, the Trevor Project, Kaleidoscope, Mermaids, as many as possibleā¦ā
Ed gave him a very long look over the rim of his battered laptop. āAlready done.ā He stated blandly. āDonation links. Articles. Receipts for the research behind Francisās statistics. All posted first thing this morning.ā
James stared at Ed for a long time. He felt off-kilter this morning as it was, and now he was having the uncomfortable realisation that he had drastically under-estimated Ed Little.
Possibly even the whole team.
Ed was even wearing a pride flag tie today. Which was somewhat incongruous with his general dourness. But then again, James thought, he wouldnāt exactly be surprised to learn that Ed was queer.
I donāt know them well enough, he acknowledged, any of them.
āWell done, Ed, you were quicker off the mark than me there.ā James told the stoic young man warmly. Then he stuffed his mouth full of chocolate peanuts and chewed quietly to keep himself occupied.
Francis finally finished the autopsy he had been doing on the morning papers. He folded the last tabloid and threw it down on an adjacent desk with a soft sigh.
āWell.ā He said evenly, and all eyes went to him instantly. āIt could have been worse. A lot worse. Itās done now. And thatās good.ā
Blanky clapped him hard on the shoulder in a fashion that appeared both aggressive and loving.
āThat mean you anā me arenāt going hunting tabloid editors for sport, eh Frank?ā
āNot today Tom.ā
āShame that.ā Grinned Blanky, his twinkle seeming to return as he vigorously ruffled Francisās already mussed hair.
āFuck off you pint-pot werewolf.ā Laughed Francis, trying unsuccessfully to tame his hair back down.
Blanky laughed raucously at this insult, and then turned to Ed with a certain glint back in his eye.
āāEy lad, what about the juicy comments?ā
āYou what?ā Ed responded intelligently.
āWhat are you on about you mad bastard?!ā Added Francis.
āAre yer seriously going to tell me that there arenāt at least 500 ātweetsā on that machine saying the equivalent of āWell Iād do the tasty adaptable hunkā?ā
Francis spluttered wildly into his tea.
āYou know he canāt cope with that sort of thing.ā Responded Ed, jerking his head towards Francis.
āDonāt you dare talk about me as if Iām not here, Edward!ā Francis shouted, a bit performatively.
āCome on lad. Heās had a rough few days, has our Frank. Letās give him a bit of an ego boost.ā
āI donāt think he works like thatā¦ā Ed replied.
āI am once again reminding you that I am right here!ā Yelled Francis, one indignant hand on his hip.
A laugh that just wouldnāt be stopped suddenly shuddered out from somewhere deep inside Jamesā chest, somewhere that made his ribs ache. They were all just so ridiculousā¦ He desperately tried to stop. He looked over at Dundy, whoād just started on a bag ofĀ Skittles while avidly watching this little Red Terror drama unfold. That just made him laugh harder.
James looked down at his very serious Ministry Of Defence notes, but still couldnāt manage to stop.
When he looked up again the incredulous faces of Francis and his Red Terrors were all staring at him.
He stopped laughing.
āMaybe there are some gentlyĀ juicy comments, Ed?ā Suggested Jopson innocently.
Ed made an aggrieved noise.
āGently juicyā¦ Bloody hell. OKā¦ Thereās this one woman who saysā¦ She says: āWho cares if he likes men or women or both. Francis Crozier looks like he could do the school run with a toddler in one arm and a bacon sandwich in the other. He gets my vote.āā
Jopson laughed delightedly. Blanky boomed.
āWhat did I tell you, eh Frank? Youāve got mum-appeal!!ā
Francis groaned loudly. James could tell that he was exaggerating his reaction slightly to amuse the gang, and it made his stomach twist into a series of intricate knots.
āAny more gooduns, Edward-lad?ā
āWell thereās thisā¦ā Ed snorted before he was able to continue. āThereās this oneā¦ but I donāt know if I can read it out, itās kind of embarrassingā¦ā
āLet me see!ā Blanky grabbed for the laptop immediately, read the offending tweet, and cackled with glee.
James wasnāt really aware of standing up from his seat, but suddenly there he and Dundy both were, stood with the others, reading the cringily thirsty tweet on Edās laptop screen.
Francis had his arms crossed sulkily over his chest, standing slightly off to the side. There was still a faint glimmer about him that suggested he was secretly enjoying being the source of levity for the moment. He point-blank refused to read the thirst-tweet until Blanky manhandled him so that his face was directly in front of the screen, and then he blinked at it in confusion for a while.
āWell. She doesnāt think allĀ that much of me, clearly. Sheās calling me thick, see? Bloody woman canāt even spell āthickāĀ though, so I donāt know who she is to judge anyone...ā
Blanky barked so loudly that the pencil pot nearest to him on the desk jumped, and Dundy jolted violently.
āSheās not calling you thickĀ as in stupid, Frank, yer daft get!ā The Yorkshireman managed between roars, rocking back and forth on his heels. He got an inspired look about him suddenly; āTell him what she means, James.ā
James, whoād been furtively reading some of the other thirsty comments over Edās shoulder and thinking well this is awkward, froze like a deer in headlights.
They were looking at him again. All of them.
But especially Francis, with his utterly non-plussed and very blue eyes.
And the others, well, they all knew precisely what āthiccāĀ meant. And they were all sort-of laughingĀ at Francis for not knowing...
James frantically rubbed his hand over his face, momentarily squashing his nose. āItāsā¦ Sheāsā¦ Sheās not saying that youāre stupid,Ā Francis. Itās not spelled the same, like you pointed outā¦ Itās likeā¦ Well. Itās like a slang word that young people use forā¦ Uh.ā James chickened out. āAh, how would you describe it, Jopson?ā
Thomas Jopson, a young man with hidden depths, gave James a polite look of withering disappointment.
āItās a compliment, Francis.ā Jopson told him kindly. āSheās saying that you have aā¦ a good body...ā
āOh. Sheās saying Iām fat, then. Is that all...ā Francis said dismissively.
But James made the fatal error of looking at Francis as he said it.
The Irishmanās shoulders hunched ever so slightly, as though he was trying to shrink. As though he was alarmed to realise that people could actually see him.
James had never wanted to slap anyone across the face so badly in all his life.
āNo.ā He insisted sternly. āJopson was telling you the truth. āThiccā is a compliment. That woman means that youāreā¦ Um. Shapelyā¦ Nicely builtā¦ That you have a niceā¦ figureā¦ That she finds you attractive...ā
Absurdly, Jamesā palms were sweating.
Without moving a millimetre from his position intently facing his laptop screen, Ed Little added helpfully in his most monotone voice;
āSheās calling you sexy, Francis. Thatās right, isnāt it, James?ā
Blanky guffawed and clapped Ed on the shoulder.
James thought about all the ways he could kill Ed, with his stupid, emotionally-challenged boulder face and his ridiculous sideburns, and make it look like a photo-copier related accident.
Closing his eyes and internally counting to four, James just about managed to get out; āThatās right, Francis. Sheās calling you sexy.ā
He might have been quite proud of the way his voice only went a little bit raspy over the word āsexyā, if he hadnāt been plotting the murder of everyone in the building.
Francis looked appalled. Scandalised, even. He seemed to shrink in on himself ever further.
āThe daft womanās just making a joke about it, obviously...ā He insisted quickly, his skin going that vibrant lobster shade it seemed to favour. āJesus, Mary and Joseph. People are fucked in the head on these websites. I bet your bloody precious āSirā John never had to put up with people talking about whether or not he was āsexyā!ā
Inevitably, perhaps, James lost it.
āNo of course Sir John didnāt have to put up with people calling him sexy!! Because he wasnāt se-ā
James stopped himself abruptly when he noticed Dundy giving him extremely wide āAbort! Abort!ā eyes.
They were all looking at him once again. Francis with wide, puzzled eyes. Jopson with a small smile. Ed inscrutably from behind his laptop, Blanky through what appeared to be tears.
He decided he had humiliated himself enough for one morning.
āThatās it!ā He announced archly. āWeāre wasting time here. The woman is obviously going to vote for you, Francis. You might care about why, but a vote is good enough for me! Iām going out. I can get more bloody work done at Cafe Nero than I can at this circus...ā
James returned to his side of the desk, grabbed his satchel, his notebook and his suit jacket, and flounced for the lift.
It felt good to make a dramatic exit from time to time.
*****
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