Fic: "The Epoch of Incredulity," New Girl, Schmidt/Nick, PG
Title: The Epoch of Incredulity
Author: alizarin_nyc
Fandom: NEW GIRL
Rating: PG
Beta by: the fabulous innie_darling
Written for: strifechaos for last year's Yuletide prompt.
Prompt: Schmidt/Nick, pretend boyfriends
Summary: Nick is going to lose his job unless something dramatic is done. The roommates are totally up to the task.
Notes: Pre-Nick/Jess.
Everyone gets a text at the same time: Urge, come now drop ev bar state!
“Who is this?” Winston asked Jess, showing her the text.
“Ummmm, weird. I got the same text. Look.” Jess was up to her elbows in flour, thinking that chocolate cake was the only way to go on a winter’s day (winter in Los Angeles being dubious at best), but pressed a floury thumb to her phone.
Urge, come now drop ev bar state!
“I have no idea who this is, but the words 'urge' and 'bar' suggest it’s Nick,” Winston said, perusing the cake recipe and trying to keep his cravings from showing.
“Schmidt will know. SCHMIDT!”
“That’s my ear,” Winston winced.
“Who is this?” Schmidt asked, emerging from his man cave for the first time that day. He hated winter. “Who would ask me to ‘come now’ besides Cece?”
“Ugh! Stop! Just no!” Jess said. “Is it Nick?”
“Nick doesn’t use his… oh wait,” Schmidt began. “Yes, this is his number, Chicago area code, see?”
“But what does it mean?” Jess asked.
“Urge, come now drop ev bar state!”
“Yes, we can read, Winston,” Schmidt said, staring at his phone. “Hold on. Nick: if he’s texting he won’t use his thumbs because everyone else does and it looks stupid; Nick: wouldn’t text unless it was something…”
“URGENT!” They all shouted at once. “Drop everything! Bar! Stat!”
“That was weird and kind of amazing,” Winston said.
There was a mad scramble for suitable clothing, coats, scarves and hats because winter, and a quick but ineffective flour cleanup. Outside Dave was on Jess’s car again, but it was too late; they had no time to argue about cars.
“Get off, Outside Dave,” Jess said. “It’s URGE!”
“We have somewhere to be,” Winston screeched. “STATE!”
“We have to come now!” Schmidt shouted. At that, Outside Dave was up off the car and out into the street like a shot. Jess made a note of it for next time.
Minutes later they stumbled into the bar, shedding coats, scarves, and hats because LA, and hot.
“Hello everyone,” said a silver-tongued voice from behind the bar. “How may I be of asthithtanthe?”
“Did he say assist-- what did he say?” Winston asked. “Is that a listhp? Oh look, now I’m doing it.”
“Shut up, Winston,” Schmidt said. “This is stherioth. Where’th Nick?”
The diminutive man-boy behind the bar cocked his head. “If you mean the former bartender of my new bar, then he’s over there.”
“YOUR bar?”
“I’ve just acquired it. I’ll be remodeling, obviously. But hey. What’s your name?”
“Is he talking to me?” Jess asked.
“Uh, no. He’s talking to me, obviously,” Schmidt said.
“Sorry, honey, I’m talking to him.” He pointed at Winston. “Come and give momma a kiss.”
“Mommy!” Winston screamed. “I’m scared, Jess hold me.” He clung to Jess, who pushed him onto Schmidt, who fumbled.
“Guys, look. Nick. Two o’clock.” Jess pointed.
“Pretty sure it’s nearly three,” Schmidt said.
“No, he’s over there. Slumped in the booth.”
Sure enough, Nick was sitting with his head propped on one hand, his nose dangerously near to dipping down into his whisky glass. Which was empty. He was muttering some words that sounded like “appletini,” “cosmo,” and “elderflower bellini.”
“What in the name of all that is sacred is going on?” Schmidt demanded.
Nick moaned and lifted his head. “Bar. Dead. Gone.”
“You’re not texting now, you can speak in full sentences,” Jess said helpfully.
“Right. Oh, right. Thanks for coming guys. I appreciate it. So much.” Nick looked a little misty and that was freaky. “It’s the bar. New owner. Again. This time he’s serious though. Doug and his financial backers are going to remodel it and turn it into a gay bar. I’m fired because obviously I cater to a certain clientele and said clientele is hot, female, and young.”
“What about all the old smelly drunks that drop a lot of hard cold cash in here?” Schmidt demanded. “What about that clientele?”
“What about roommate freeloaders?” Winston asked. “What about that clientele?”
“Gone. All gone. No freeloaders, no roommates, no meat market, no red-blooded hunter-gatherer baseball cap dude bros…” Nick trailed off, seemingly losing his train of thought.
“Finally,” Jess said. “New faces, good food, nice drinks… this place is a goldmine and I can’t believe it took this long for someone to jump on it.”
Nick, Winston, and Schmidt turned to look at her, eyes wide. “Traitor,” Nick hissed.
“I don’t see why you’re so worried. You can totally do that, it’s not a big deal. You’re a professional, Nick Miller! Man up!”
“You don’t get it. I’m not gay. They want to offer the position to someone… you know… affirmative action.”
“That’s not what that means,” Winston pointed out.
“But how do they know you’re not gay?” Jess asked. “And it’s illegal to ask, by the way.”
“LOOK AT ME,” Nick said, indicating with two hands the entirety of him.
“He’s got a point,” Schmidt said. “Even if they didn’t ask, they could totally tell.”
“Okay, okay, what are we going to do about it?” Jess asked. “Because one thing’s for certain, we don’t go down without a catfight.”
“That’s right!” Schmidt said. “I have an idea.”
“So do I!” Winston interrupted. “We form a fake mafia. Schmidt will be The Godfather. Once we’ve established that we run this city, we’ll strongarm these guys into hiring you and buying black-market tequila!”
Jess and Nick turned to Schmidt. “So, you were saying?” Jess asked.
~*~
“It was the best of ideas, it was the worst of ideas, it was not an age of wisdom but definitely an age of foolishness,” Nick intoned. He was sitting on the bathroom floor with wax on his legs. He’d been shaved to within an inch of his life. His clothes had been picked out for him and he and Schmidt had looked at each other’s junk in case they were asked to describe it or to increase the illusion of intimacy or something. Nick had long ago lost the plot.
“Now, let’s practice air kissing,” Schmidt said, cocking a hip.
“It was the winter of despair!” Nick moaned. “I’ve seen your Schmidt-stick!”
“Okay Downer Dickens, get a grip,” Jess said. “This will be so easy, you have no idea. Remember when you wore a woman’s coat? It will be just like that.”
“The thing to remember is, don’t overdo it,” Winston said. Everyone else turned to look at him. “What?”
“The master of overdoing it is not to give advice!” Schmidt admonished, wagging a finger in the air. “Straighten up, son.”
“Maybe I should put on a woman’s coat,” Nick suggested, twisting his hands together. “I’d feel really pretty.”
“No!” Jess shouted. “I mean, no,” she said, softer. “Just pretend like you’re in a woman’s coat. And don’t forget that you shouldn’t overdo it.”
“This is going to be a disaster on a Dickensian scale,” Nick said.
~*~
Walking into the bar was easy; the hardest part was not moon-walking out. Nick felt the press of Schmidt’s fingertips against his shoulder blades and though it wasn’t comforting, it was at least enough to remind him that his friends had his back.
“You got this,” Schmidt whispered, directly into Nick’s ear.
The blast of music that hit them in the face knocked all the thoughts from Nick’s mind, including the urge to run. He stood like a deer in headlights as every eye swiveled to the door. The bar had changed in the few days that Nick had been gone. The lighting was dimmer, but spotlights hit the dance floor - now that there was one - and lit up the green and blue liqueur bottles that had replaced a shelf of Amstels and Heinekens. The booths had been ripped out and replaced with bright orange sectionals. Even the stools were gone, along with some of Nick’s favorite drunk guys (Sid had obviously been whisked off like some kind of prop.) The stools had been replaced with some cast-iron numbers that would have looked right at home in an Amish barn.
“For the love of all that is good and holy,” Nick whispered. “What have they done to you, baby?”
“Easy there, Nick,” Schmidt said. “Confidence and apathy, confidence and apathy.” Nick tried to school his face into indifference and a strong sense of self, but it wasn’t working. Every man in the bar was eyeing him up and no doubt coming to the same conclusion: straight straight straight, kill kill kill!
“I’m going to die tonight, aren’t I?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, honey,” Schmidt said. “You look great.” He ran a finger down Nick’s chest. “Remember what’s at stake. Doug’s at the bar, let’s go.”
Nick sighed, letting Schmidt pet him for a bit. It was nice. “Okay, you’re right. I’m a sexy, sexy homosexual.” He turned, and strode up to the bar, letting Doug get an eyeful of Nick Miller, Gay Man. Tight pegged jeans, loafers, green striped socks, a mint sweater, a little bit of sculptured scruff and gelled hair. He was feeling good, it had to be said.
“I’m here to discuss the terms of my unemployment,” Nick said.
“Right,” Doug said. “Those terms being I fired you. Go home.”
“Okay,” Nick said, swiveling around.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Schmidt said. He cocked a hip ever so slightly and stared Doug down. “I really think you need to reconsider.”
“What are you, his lawyer?” Doug said. His voice had gone slightly squeaky. Schmidt was a force unto himself, no denying it.
“No. I’m his boyfriend.”
It was amazing how just a little extra attitude could turn Casanova Schmidt into a fierce boyfriend. He was dressed as always - which is to say, very well, but he had a hint of lipgloss on and probably some mascara. Nick made a “rawr” face. It was hot to have someone call him their boyfriend.
“Really,” Doug said, deadpan. “Give me a break. Whatever. He’d be better off with a lawyer.”
“That can be arranged as well,” Schmidt said, cool as Nick’s cucumber-colored shirt. “But if we have to go there, you can look forward to an empty bar. I know how to spread the word that this place is unfriendly.”
“Not sure what you mean,” Doug said.
“What I mean is: I bring the clientele. I’m the hottest party promoter in LA. I’ve had all my private parties here when I fly my friends in from the Hamptons… Nick and I? We were the couple Queer as Folk was based on… I was the hot one. When Neil Patrick Harris wants to celebrate Pride, he calls me… Read The Advocate lately? I’m a silent partner, that’s why it still shows up in your pigeon hole.”
Doug and Nick looked at Schmidt, mouths slightly open. Doug shook his head in disbelief.
“Nick works here because he loves it,” Schmidt continued. “He loves his job, he loves his friends.” Schmidt paused and put an arm around him. “And that’s why I love him.”
“Not buying it,” Doug said. Nick narrowed his eyes. He hated this little man, so much. “Plenty of nice bars in the area, you can work there if you’re so well connected. With the right clientele.” Doug sniffed and turned away.
“Oooh, I hate this little man,” Schmidt whispered in Nick’s ear. He said loudly, “We need a few drinks, then. Just so I know what to tell my friends about your fruity, gluey, corn-syrup addled mocktails when I tell them to STAY AWAY.”
Doug glares at them. Schmidt bristles, “And know this: HE IS MY BOYFRIEND!”
“Okay, Schmidt, okay,” Nick said, pressing a hand to Schmidt’s chest. “You’re totally hulking out. Take it easy. Look, he’s making our drinks - excuse me, can we get a couple of shots with those? - but he’s not buying it, let’s just regroup.”
Regrouping meant drinking five “San Pietros” that had Cazadores Reposado Tequila, Aperol, Lemon, and Peach Agrodolce, and Nick had no idea what any of that was doing in a drink aside from the tequila. Why was there even a drink named San Pietro? Stupid. But they were strong. Plus there were about eight tequila shots apiece. Possibly.
"Didn't you used to work here," asked a man with oversize black-framed glasses. Kind of like Jess', Nick noted. He nodded.
"Night off, huh?" His friend asked. "You guys make such a cute couple by the way."
"Thanks," Schmidt said, putting his arm around Nick. "Buy you gents a round?"
Toward the end of the night, it appeared they'd accidentally made a lot of friends. There were shots. Some had been purchased by others and in addition to the alcohol math, Nick was now trying to add up the number of phone numbers he’d acquired versus the number Schmidt had.
"Three!" he hissed at Schmidt. “And one is an architect, so bonus point!”
“I have eight,” Schmidt said. “Eight. Does that mean I’m more gay than you? Wait, nine! I have to call these guys.”
“Why would you do that? You’re not more gay than me, you’re just putting a lot of sexy out there,” Nick said. He leaned in toward Schmidt as he did so. Schmidt was sexy and he smelled nice. "Plus, you're supposed to be taken."
“Okay, I know I’m not gay but these guys are really cool. This one is going to help me diversify my portfolio.”
“This is the sort of clientele we need to steal from the bar to eventually bring back to the bar!” Nick said. “Wow, that’s such a great idea. Another great idea: dancing. Let’s dance!”
Schmidt waved at Nick above the music. His smile was buoyant and manic, and all the things Nick liked.
At that moment Doug, ever imperious, walked by, knocking Schmidt into Nick. Nick jumped away instinctively.
“Imposters!” Doug declared, smirking as he strode away. A beat too late, Schmidt grabbed Nick in a big, but sort of platonic hug. It was nice. Until Schmidt squeezed too hard.
“Ow,” Nick said. "Shit. Ow. Damnit. Stupid Doug. This would be the greatest place to work now!" He glared at Doug's retreating back. "How fun is it here?"
“Super fun!” Schmidt said, giggling, releasing Nick from the awkward octopus hug. “But he’s onto us, he knows we’re not the real deal. We should have gone with Winston’s mafia ruse.”
Schmidt looked so dejected that Nick grabbed him and said, "whatever!" and made some moves he was sure were pure Gaga. “We’re not the real deal!” he shouted and grabbed Schmidt, kissing him on the lips.
“We’re so fake we’re faux-mo-sexual!” Schmidt said, and he grabbed Nick’s face in turn and kissed him. With tongue.
“We’re so not gay we’re straight no-chaser!” Nick said, pushing his face into Schmidt’s again and being rewarded with Schmidt’s lush lips curving into a smile. “Mmm, that felt really nice, man!”
“We’re so straight it doesn’t even matter if we kiss!” Schmidt reeled Nick in this time, planted a firmer, slower kiss on him and their new friends started shouting and jumping around in time to the music. “This is great!”
“This is so great,” Nick said, meeting Schmidt’s eyes. He coughed, suddenly shy. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”
“People will think we’re…” Schmidt said, stopping himself. He grinned. “Let’s go.”
“At least they haven’t changed the bathrooms,” Nick commented. “Still just as disgusting as ever, yep, smellin’ like a bar toilet in here.”
“Shush. We’re here to not be gay,” Schmidt said and pressed Nick against the door. God, he was a good kisser. All slick lips and undulating tongue and pressure in the right spots. His hands were pinning Nick while his fingers were digging into sensitive hips. Nick was getting hard, that was crazy.
“What are we even DOING?” Nick said, smiling and laughing and then only sort-of-smiling. He could feel his forehead skin piling up on his head and okay, his tongue felt weird. “This will be weird later, right?”
“No, Schmidt said. “No, bro, we’re just having fun. None of this ever happened. Unless it has to, you know. We could double date with the architect and the hedge-fund manager.”
“I see where this is going,” Nick said. “What if it’s not so fun later? I’m on to you! You’ve always wanted me under your thumb, Schmidt. Always. Now I’ll never get away, it will be Tinfinity times ten. You are a womanizer with a thing for ME.”
There was an awkward pause for a very long time.
“Don’t do that Nick. Don’t push me away.”
“I’m not, I’m not. Okay, I am a little bit. I’m really enjoying this, all of it, but it’s too complicated!”
“Ok, look. It’s not that complicated.” Schmidt kissed Nick. “See? Easy. Fun. No problem. We’ve always wanted to do this anyway.”
“We have?”
“Okay, I have. What, I have! I love you, you know that,” Schmidt said. “You’ve always known how I feel and you don’t hold it against me. I love you for that as well.”
“I know, I know, you got me cookie I got you cookie,” Nick murmured, wondering how long the beard burn was going to last and whether or not it would make a difference if they stopped kissing now or kept on going until morning. And whether or not he actually cared.
“Exactly. I’ll always get you a cookie. No matter what.”
The sound of clapping burst from the corner cubicle and Nick wondered if someone was really that proud of their poo.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Doug burst from the cubicle, tears in his eyes. “I have never, ever been more moved by anyone. The two of you are meant for each other! I want this energy in my bar!”
“Nick, will you please, please, honor me by accepting my offer of a job at The BJ, with a raise and full benefits?”
“Um. You’re calling the bar ?The BJ?”
“Terrific!” Doug patted them on the shoulders and exited. “Leaving you to it!”
“Um.”
“Benefits, Nick, benefits,” Schmidt said. “Bennies. You can do this.”
“Right. Sure. But sacrifices will have to be made. You’ll have to peck me on the lips every time you come in. Jess will have to keep a low profile and if asked, she’s our fag-hag and we dislike her, but tolerate her.”
“Well, that’s easy,” Schmidt said.
“Winston will have to put on a ring and we’ll say his husband travels a lot.”
“Not too much on Winston, you know how he gets carried away.”
“Right.”
“Anything else?”
“Free drinks for your boyfriend?”
“Absolutely,” Nick agreed. He realized that he and Schmidt were still holding each other like a couple of lovestruck teenagers and he was stroking the back of Schmidt’s neck. It was soft. “Occasional makeout sessions in the bathroom? They’re going to remodel it so it’ll be clean and well-designed and stuff.”
“Magic words,” Schmidt said. “The part about makeout sessions, I meant.”
“Come here, Big Guy,” Nick said. “Let’s practice.”
Author: alizarin_nyc
Fandom: NEW GIRL
Rating: PG
Beta by: the fabulous innie_darling
Written for: strifechaos for last year's Yuletide prompt.
Prompt: Schmidt/Nick, pretend boyfriends
Summary: Nick is going to lose his job unless something dramatic is done. The roommates are totally up to the task.
Notes: Pre-Nick/Jess.
Everyone gets a text at the same time: Urge, come now drop ev bar state!
“Who is this?” Winston asked Jess, showing her the text.
“Ummmm, weird. I got the same text. Look.” Jess was up to her elbows in flour, thinking that chocolate cake was the only way to go on a winter’s day (winter in Los Angeles being dubious at best), but pressed a floury thumb to her phone.
Urge, come now drop ev bar state!
“I have no idea who this is, but the words 'urge' and 'bar' suggest it’s Nick,” Winston said, perusing the cake recipe and trying to keep his cravings from showing.
“Schmidt will know. SCHMIDT!”
“That’s my ear,” Winston winced.
“Who is this?” Schmidt asked, emerging from his man cave for the first time that day. He hated winter. “Who would ask me to ‘come now’ besides Cece?”
“Ugh! Stop! Just no!” Jess said. “Is it Nick?”
“Nick doesn’t use his… oh wait,” Schmidt began. “Yes, this is his number, Chicago area code, see?”
“But what does it mean?” Jess asked.
“Urge, come now drop ev bar state!”
“Yes, we can read, Winston,” Schmidt said, staring at his phone. “Hold on. Nick: if he’s texting he won’t use his thumbs because everyone else does and it looks stupid; Nick: wouldn’t text unless it was something…”
“URGENT!” They all shouted at once. “Drop everything! Bar! Stat!”
“That was weird and kind of amazing,” Winston said.
There was a mad scramble for suitable clothing, coats, scarves and hats because winter, and a quick but ineffective flour cleanup. Outside Dave was on Jess’s car again, but it was too late; they had no time to argue about cars.
“Get off, Outside Dave,” Jess said. “It’s URGE!”
“We have somewhere to be,” Winston screeched. “STATE!”
“We have to come now!” Schmidt shouted. At that, Outside Dave was up off the car and out into the street like a shot. Jess made a note of it for next time.
Minutes later they stumbled into the bar, shedding coats, scarves, and hats because LA, and hot.
“Hello everyone,” said a silver-tongued voice from behind the bar. “How may I be of asthithtanthe?”
“Did he say assist-- what did he say?” Winston asked. “Is that a listhp? Oh look, now I’m doing it.”
“Shut up, Winston,” Schmidt said. “This is stherioth. Where’th Nick?”
The diminutive man-boy behind the bar cocked his head. “If you mean the former bartender of my new bar, then he’s over there.”
“YOUR bar?”
“I’ve just acquired it. I’ll be remodeling, obviously. But hey. What’s your name?”
“Is he talking to me?” Jess asked.
“Uh, no. He’s talking to me, obviously,” Schmidt said.
“Sorry, honey, I’m talking to him.” He pointed at Winston. “Come and give momma a kiss.”
“Mommy!” Winston screamed. “I’m scared, Jess hold me.” He clung to Jess, who pushed him onto Schmidt, who fumbled.
“Guys, look. Nick. Two o’clock.” Jess pointed.
“Pretty sure it’s nearly three,” Schmidt said.
“No, he’s over there. Slumped in the booth.”
Sure enough, Nick was sitting with his head propped on one hand, his nose dangerously near to dipping down into his whisky glass. Which was empty. He was muttering some words that sounded like “appletini,” “cosmo,” and “elderflower bellini.”
“What in the name of all that is sacred is going on?” Schmidt demanded.
Nick moaned and lifted his head. “Bar. Dead. Gone.”
“You’re not texting now, you can speak in full sentences,” Jess said helpfully.
“Right. Oh, right. Thanks for coming guys. I appreciate it. So much.” Nick looked a little misty and that was freaky. “It’s the bar. New owner. Again. This time he’s serious though. Doug and his financial backers are going to remodel it and turn it into a gay bar. I’m fired because obviously I cater to a certain clientele and said clientele is hot, female, and young.”
“What about all the old smelly drunks that drop a lot of hard cold cash in here?” Schmidt demanded. “What about that clientele?”
“What about roommate freeloaders?” Winston asked. “What about that clientele?”
“Gone. All gone. No freeloaders, no roommates, no meat market, no red-blooded hunter-gatherer baseball cap dude bros…” Nick trailed off, seemingly losing his train of thought.
“Finally,” Jess said. “New faces, good food, nice drinks… this place is a goldmine and I can’t believe it took this long for someone to jump on it.”
Nick, Winston, and Schmidt turned to look at her, eyes wide. “Traitor,” Nick hissed.
“I don’t see why you’re so worried. You can totally do that, it’s not a big deal. You’re a professional, Nick Miller! Man up!”
“You don’t get it. I’m not gay. They want to offer the position to someone… you know… affirmative action.”
“That’s not what that means,” Winston pointed out.
“But how do they know you’re not gay?” Jess asked. “And it’s illegal to ask, by the way.”
“LOOK AT ME,” Nick said, indicating with two hands the entirety of him.
“He’s got a point,” Schmidt said. “Even if they didn’t ask, they could totally tell.”
“Okay, okay, what are we going to do about it?” Jess asked. “Because one thing’s for certain, we don’t go down without a catfight.”
“That’s right!” Schmidt said. “I have an idea.”
“So do I!” Winston interrupted. “We form a fake mafia. Schmidt will be The Godfather. Once we’ve established that we run this city, we’ll strongarm these guys into hiring you and buying black-market tequila!”
Jess and Nick turned to Schmidt. “So, you were saying?” Jess asked.
~*~
“It was the best of ideas, it was the worst of ideas, it was not an age of wisdom but definitely an age of foolishness,” Nick intoned. He was sitting on the bathroom floor with wax on his legs. He’d been shaved to within an inch of his life. His clothes had been picked out for him and he and Schmidt had looked at each other’s junk in case they were asked to describe it or to increase the illusion of intimacy or something. Nick had long ago lost the plot.
“Now, let’s practice air kissing,” Schmidt said, cocking a hip.
“It was the winter of despair!” Nick moaned. “I’ve seen your Schmidt-stick!”
“Okay Downer Dickens, get a grip,” Jess said. “This will be so easy, you have no idea. Remember when you wore a woman’s coat? It will be just like that.”
“The thing to remember is, don’t overdo it,” Winston said. Everyone else turned to look at him. “What?”
“The master of overdoing it is not to give advice!” Schmidt admonished, wagging a finger in the air. “Straighten up, son.”
“Maybe I should put on a woman’s coat,” Nick suggested, twisting his hands together. “I’d feel really pretty.”
“No!” Jess shouted. “I mean, no,” she said, softer. “Just pretend like you’re in a woman’s coat. And don’t forget that you shouldn’t overdo it.”
“This is going to be a disaster on a Dickensian scale,” Nick said.
~*~
Walking into the bar was easy; the hardest part was not moon-walking out. Nick felt the press of Schmidt’s fingertips against his shoulder blades and though it wasn’t comforting, it was at least enough to remind him that his friends had his back.
“You got this,” Schmidt whispered, directly into Nick’s ear.
The blast of music that hit them in the face knocked all the thoughts from Nick’s mind, including the urge to run. He stood like a deer in headlights as every eye swiveled to the door. The bar had changed in the few days that Nick had been gone. The lighting was dimmer, but spotlights hit the dance floor - now that there was one - and lit up the green and blue liqueur bottles that had replaced a shelf of Amstels and Heinekens. The booths had been ripped out and replaced with bright orange sectionals. Even the stools were gone, along with some of Nick’s favorite drunk guys (Sid had obviously been whisked off like some kind of prop.) The stools had been replaced with some cast-iron numbers that would have looked right at home in an Amish barn.
“For the love of all that is good and holy,” Nick whispered. “What have they done to you, baby?”
“Easy there, Nick,” Schmidt said. “Confidence and apathy, confidence and apathy.” Nick tried to school his face into indifference and a strong sense of self, but it wasn’t working. Every man in the bar was eyeing him up and no doubt coming to the same conclusion: straight straight straight, kill kill kill!
“I’m going to die tonight, aren’t I?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, honey,” Schmidt said. “You look great.” He ran a finger down Nick’s chest. “Remember what’s at stake. Doug’s at the bar, let’s go.”
Nick sighed, letting Schmidt pet him for a bit. It was nice. “Okay, you’re right. I’m a sexy, sexy homosexual.” He turned, and strode up to the bar, letting Doug get an eyeful of Nick Miller, Gay Man. Tight pegged jeans, loafers, green striped socks, a mint sweater, a little bit of sculptured scruff and gelled hair. He was feeling good, it had to be said.
“I’m here to discuss the terms of my unemployment,” Nick said.
“Right,” Doug said. “Those terms being I fired you. Go home.”
“Okay,” Nick said, swiveling around.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Schmidt said. He cocked a hip ever so slightly and stared Doug down. “I really think you need to reconsider.”
“What are you, his lawyer?” Doug said. His voice had gone slightly squeaky. Schmidt was a force unto himself, no denying it.
“No. I’m his boyfriend.”
It was amazing how just a little extra attitude could turn Casanova Schmidt into a fierce boyfriend. He was dressed as always - which is to say, very well, but he had a hint of lipgloss on and probably some mascara. Nick made a “rawr” face. It was hot to have someone call him their boyfriend.
“Really,” Doug said, deadpan. “Give me a break. Whatever. He’d be better off with a lawyer.”
“That can be arranged as well,” Schmidt said, cool as Nick’s cucumber-colored shirt. “But if we have to go there, you can look forward to an empty bar. I know how to spread the word that this place is unfriendly.”
“Not sure what you mean,” Doug said.
“What I mean is: I bring the clientele. I’m the hottest party promoter in LA. I’ve had all my private parties here when I fly my friends in from the Hamptons… Nick and I? We were the couple Queer as Folk was based on… I was the hot one. When Neil Patrick Harris wants to celebrate Pride, he calls me… Read The Advocate lately? I’m a silent partner, that’s why it still shows up in your pigeon hole.”
Doug and Nick looked at Schmidt, mouths slightly open. Doug shook his head in disbelief.
“Nick works here because he loves it,” Schmidt continued. “He loves his job, he loves his friends.” Schmidt paused and put an arm around him. “And that’s why I love him.”
“Not buying it,” Doug said. Nick narrowed his eyes. He hated this little man, so much. “Plenty of nice bars in the area, you can work there if you’re so well connected. With the right clientele.” Doug sniffed and turned away.
“Oooh, I hate this little man,” Schmidt whispered in Nick’s ear. He said loudly, “We need a few drinks, then. Just so I know what to tell my friends about your fruity, gluey, corn-syrup addled mocktails when I tell them to STAY AWAY.”
Doug glares at them. Schmidt bristles, “And know this: HE IS MY BOYFRIEND!”
“Okay, Schmidt, okay,” Nick said, pressing a hand to Schmidt’s chest. “You’re totally hulking out. Take it easy. Look, he’s making our drinks - excuse me, can we get a couple of shots with those? - but he’s not buying it, let’s just regroup.”
Regrouping meant drinking five “San Pietros” that had Cazadores Reposado Tequila, Aperol, Lemon, and Peach Agrodolce, and Nick had no idea what any of that was doing in a drink aside from the tequila. Why was there even a drink named San Pietro? Stupid. But they were strong. Plus there were about eight tequila shots apiece. Possibly.
"Didn't you used to work here," asked a man with oversize black-framed glasses. Kind of like Jess', Nick noted. He nodded.
"Night off, huh?" His friend asked. "You guys make such a cute couple by the way."
"Thanks," Schmidt said, putting his arm around Nick. "Buy you gents a round?"
Toward the end of the night, it appeared they'd accidentally made a lot of friends. There were shots. Some had been purchased by others and in addition to the alcohol math, Nick was now trying to add up the number of phone numbers he’d acquired versus the number Schmidt had.
"Three!" he hissed at Schmidt. “And one is an architect, so bonus point!”
“I have eight,” Schmidt said. “Eight. Does that mean I’m more gay than you? Wait, nine! I have to call these guys.”
“Why would you do that? You’re not more gay than me, you’re just putting a lot of sexy out there,” Nick said. He leaned in toward Schmidt as he did so. Schmidt was sexy and he smelled nice. "Plus, you're supposed to be taken."
“Okay, I know I’m not gay but these guys are really cool. This one is going to help me diversify my portfolio.”
“This is the sort of clientele we need to steal from the bar to eventually bring back to the bar!” Nick said. “Wow, that’s such a great idea. Another great idea: dancing. Let’s dance!”
Schmidt waved at Nick above the music. His smile was buoyant and manic, and all the things Nick liked.
At that moment Doug, ever imperious, walked by, knocking Schmidt into Nick. Nick jumped away instinctively.
“Imposters!” Doug declared, smirking as he strode away. A beat too late, Schmidt grabbed Nick in a big, but sort of platonic hug. It was nice. Until Schmidt squeezed too hard.
“Ow,” Nick said. "Shit. Ow. Damnit. Stupid Doug. This would be the greatest place to work now!" He glared at Doug's retreating back. "How fun is it here?"
“Super fun!” Schmidt said, giggling, releasing Nick from the awkward octopus hug. “But he’s onto us, he knows we’re not the real deal. We should have gone with Winston’s mafia ruse.”
Schmidt looked so dejected that Nick grabbed him and said, "whatever!" and made some moves he was sure were pure Gaga. “We’re not the real deal!” he shouted and grabbed Schmidt, kissing him on the lips.
“We’re so fake we’re faux-mo-sexual!” Schmidt said, and he grabbed Nick’s face in turn and kissed him. With tongue.
“We’re so not gay we’re straight no-chaser!” Nick said, pushing his face into Schmidt’s again and being rewarded with Schmidt’s lush lips curving into a smile. “Mmm, that felt really nice, man!”
“We’re so straight it doesn’t even matter if we kiss!” Schmidt reeled Nick in this time, planted a firmer, slower kiss on him and their new friends started shouting and jumping around in time to the music. “This is great!”
“This is so great,” Nick said, meeting Schmidt’s eyes. He coughed, suddenly shy. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”
“People will think we’re…” Schmidt said, stopping himself. He grinned. “Let’s go.”
“At least they haven’t changed the bathrooms,” Nick commented. “Still just as disgusting as ever, yep, smellin’ like a bar toilet in here.”
“Shush. We’re here to not be gay,” Schmidt said and pressed Nick against the door. God, he was a good kisser. All slick lips and undulating tongue and pressure in the right spots. His hands were pinning Nick while his fingers were digging into sensitive hips. Nick was getting hard, that was crazy.
“What are we even DOING?” Nick said, smiling and laughing and then only sort-of-smiling. He could feel his forehead skin piling up on his head and okay, his tongue felt weird. “This will be weird later, right?”
“No, Schmidt said. “No, bro, we’re just having fun. None of this ever happened. Unless it has to, you know. We could double date with the architect and the hedge-fund manager.”
“I see where this is going,” Nick said. “What if it’s not so fun later? I’m on to you! You’ve always wanted me under your thumb, Schmidt. Always. Now I’ll never get away, it will be Tinfinity times ten. You are a womanizer with a thing for ME.”
There was an awkward pause for a very long time.
“Don’t do that Nick. Don’t push me away.”
“I’m not, I’m not. Okay, I am a little bit. I’m really enjoying this, all of it, but it’s too complicated!”
“Ok, look. It’s not that complicated.” Schmidt kissed Nick. “See? Easy. Fun. No problem. We’ve always wanted to do this anyway.”
“We have?”
“Okay, I have. What, I have! I love you, you know that,” Schmidt said. “You’ve always known how I feel and you don’t hold it against me. I love you for that as well.”
“I know, I know, you got me cookie I got you cookie,” Nick murmured, wondering how long the beard burn was going to last and whether or not it would make a difference if they stopped kissing now or kept on going until morning. And whether or not he actually cared.
“Exactly. I’ll always get you a cookie. No matter what.”
The sound of clapping burst from the corner cubicle and Nick wondered if someone was really that proud of their poo.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Doug burst from the cubicle, tears in his eyes. “I have never, ever been more moved by anyone. The two of you are meant for each other! I want this energy in my bar!”
“Nick, will you please, please, honor me by accepting my offer of a job at The BJ, with a raise and full benefits?”
“Um. You’re calling the bar ?The BJ?”
“Terrific!” Doug patted them on the shoulders and exited. “Leaving you to it!”
“Um.”
“Benefits, Nick, benefits,” Schmidt said. “Bennies. You can do this.”
“Right. Sure. But sacrifices will have to be made. You’ll have to peck me on the lips every time you come in. Jess will have to keep a low profile and if asked, she’s our fag-hag and we dislike her, but tolerate her.”
“Well, that’s easy,” Schmidt said.
“Winston will have to put on a ring and we’ll say his husband travels a lot.”
“Not too much on Winston, you know how he gets carried away.”
“Right.”
“Anything else?”
“Free drinks for your boyfriend?”
“Absolutely,” Nick agreed. He realized that he and Schmidt were still holding each other like a couple of lovestruck teenagers and he was stroking the back of Schmidt’s neck. It was soft. “Occasional makeout sessions in the bathroom? They’re going to remodel it so it’ll be clean and well-designed and stuff.”
“Magic words,” Schmidt said. “The part about makeout sessions, I meant.”
“Come here, Big Guy,” Nick said. “Let’s practice.”