Three Dozen Daises | Pinto | PG-13
Title: Three Dozen Daisies
Beta: rainbowstrlght ;whose hilarious commentary I wish I could have inserted with this fic.
Series: AU Pinto
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2,150
Warnings: Um... excessive fluff?
Summary: The AU where Chris is a florist and Zach celebrates every holiday in existence, so he can come and buy flowers from him.
A/N: Thank you, you two ridiculously hot florists who I saw in town recently. You radiated manliness and sex appeal, even as you played with flowers.
Zach had run out of reasons to buy flowers.
Birthdays, Weddings, Anniversaries - Christenings, New Baby - Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Hanukkah, New Year’s, Easter, Fourth of July - Bar Mitzvahs, Bat Mitzvahs -Apologies, Thank-Yous - even his second cousin’s (once removed) graduation. For the love of God, he’d even bought flowers for his cat Harold; under the guise that he was a real person.
Why?
Because of Chris the Florist.
Shit, he didn’t even know the guy’s last name.
But he didn’t need to. Zach already knew everything that was important, from their brief banter along the course of the year that he’d been... well, stalking Chris. (Yeah, he was essentially a stalker -there was no going around that.)
For instance, Chris memorised poetry: “A lot of guys come in here hoping to express their emotions in a way that they’re totally incapable of. It’s handy to have a couple lines of prose filed away for every occasion. But yeah, I could probably woo you with some badass poetry, if you wanted me to.”
And Chris had a sister: “Yeah, there’s no way in hell she’ll take over the family business. Flowers are about as far from her personal interests as they can get. And I... well, it passes the time, doesn’t it? What about you -do you have siblings?”
Chris was also educated: “Hey, I happen to like these Birkenstocks! They hail from my days at Berkley. They’re clearly of sentimental value. Unless you plan on taking me shoe shopping, these are staying on my feet.”
He even happened to be very thoughtful: “You mentioned last month that your mom’s birthday was coming up, didn’t you? Some really gorgeous fuchsia roses came in, and I set them aside for you -would you like a look?”
Oh, and Chris appreciated his fashion, where most people just didn’t get it: “That cardigan really suits you. You should show me where you got it, sometime.”
And Chris was funny, and clever, and he looked so edible in a white shirt -
Okay. Anyway: Zach had run out of reasons to buy flowers. He’d known he was at the end of his tether when he’d begun Googling extraneous holidays.
This was just becoming ridiculous, and something had to be done.
Zach swallowed the knot in his throat, and crossed the threshold into the shop. Cheerful bells announced his arrival, and subsequently jangled his nerves.
The heady sent of luxuriant blooms and musky earth enveloped him immediately. It was a pleasant, comforting aroma he now associated with a pair of electric eyes, which had a hundred-watt smile to match.
Zach had a brief moment to admire Chris’ handsome profile -the flushed cheeks, and long, lush eyelashes; before Chris looked up and offered a welcoming smile of recognition. He was elbow-deep in flowers; and had a small pair of shears in one hand, and a long-stemmed iris in the other. Assorted blooms were amassed across the workspace, as he constructed some sort of centrepiece.
“Zach -hey. It’s good to see you again. How’s our best costumer doing?”
“Okay - yeah, I’ve been fine.” Eloquent, Zach -very nice. He dragged his damp palms down his thighs. “You?”
“Can’t complain,” Chris replied cheerfully; as his gaze dropped to his work. “What can I help you with today? Another birthday -or is it finally a date, this time?” Zach could hear the tease in his airy tenor; even as the majority of his attention remained on the strategic placement of a frizz of baby’s breath.
“A date,” Zach croaked. “Yeah.”
This time, Chris’ gaze swept up; with one expressive brow flicked in interest. Zach imagined that a corner of his mouth twitched down, before the slow smile made light of his features.
“Oh, really -first date?”
“You could say that,” Zach admitted. He took a few tentative steps toward Chris’ worktable, and made a show of perusing the blossoms. “What’s your favourite flower?”
Chris’ brows shot up. “Mine?” He shrugged, and mulled it over as he plucked a white flower Zach didn’t recognise, and began to prune off the lower leaves. “Gerbera daisies, I guess.” His lips curved wanly. “They’re kind of stupid, actually -kid’s flowers, if anything. Common and commercial.” He didn’t meet Zach’s eyes as he nestled another bloom into the vase. “But I think they suit me.”
Zach bit back a laugh. “’Common and commercial’ suit you-seriously? Your self-image is incredibly askew.”
“Okay, they’re sanguine and colourful,” Chris relented. He carefully set down his shears, with a crooked grin. “Does that work for you?”
“Yeah.” Zach experienced a not entirely discomforting lurch in his stomach. “Yeah, it does.”
“I aim to please,” Chris added dryly. He folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels. “So, what’s your big date like? The flower has to suit the lady.”
Zach jerked his thumb towards a display of vibrant, vari-coloured Gerber daisies. “I’ll just take the entirety of these, if that’s all right.”
Chris blinked. “All of them -three dozen daisies?”
“That is generally what ‘entirety’ encompasses,” Zach replied with a smirk.
“My comprehension of the English language does, in fact, span that far,” Chris quipped. He rounded the worktable, and closed the distance between him and Zach.
Oh Lord, he was wearing that apron.
The Apron, to be precise. That dark forest green, with the top half folded down; so the cloth was slung low around those swaggering hips. Zach had never found kitchen-wear -not ware- to be so ridiculously sexy.
Zach forced himself not to take a nervous step in retreat, as Chris brushed past him and began to dislodge the bright, cheerful blooms from their dinky plastic bucket.
“Must be a very special date,” Chris noted, as he carted his armful of rainbow daises to a free workspace. He was right, though -they did suit his general demeanour.
“Absolutely. A very important date -an all or nothing deal.”
Chris grunted a noncommittal noise, and busied himself with wrapping the daises in paper. He was unnaturally subdued, and Zach had to stop himself from grinning like a fool. He wanted to assume that luscious pout wasn’t entirely unrelated to his announcement of a date.
“So...” Zach’s hands found shelter in his snug pockets. “Do you always consign a person to a flower -like with yourself?”
“Guess so,” Chris conceded with a coy smirk. “It’s inevitable, working here. Kinda like a barista might associate a customer with their favourite drink.”
“You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.” Zach’s eyes settled on Chris’ nimble, calloused fingers, as they treated every daisy with care. His thoughts skirted how those same fingers might treat Zach’s skin.
“I did my time while in college,” Chris explained, as he worked at enveloping the stems in crisp, white paper. “Thanks to that, I now have the caffeine threshold of a three-hundred pound man. I need a triple-shot just to get me through the morning without going kamikaze.”
Zach stifled a laugh, pleased to feel his own nerves dwindling with the ease of conversation. “A man after my own heart. I can’t go a day without espresso,” he found himself saying.
Blue eyes jerked up to lock on Zach. Chris offered a crooked smile and a sharp laugh, before returning his attention to cutting a long strand of pink, shimmering ribbon.
With the aforementioned heart hula-hooping in his chest, Zach scrambled for a life-raft that would carry them out of the awkward silence that threatened to flood the room. “Ah, so - what flower am I, then?”
What flower am I? Oh my god!
If Chris was even an ounce as horrified as Zach was, he didn’t express it. He merely tied a bow around the cone of flowers with a flourish and a smile. He swept up the bouquet, and cradled it in the crook of his arm.
“Easy. You’re an iris.” Chris jerked his head towards the incomplete vase. Bursting forth from the centre were the tall, elegant blooms; they displayed their curvaceous petals in an array of dark, bruised purples, and flecks of sunny yellow.
Zach edged closer to the worktop, and dubiously inspected the flowers without touching. “I can’t say I see the likeness.”
He caught Chris staring pointedly at this purple hoodie, and Zach felt heat rush towards his cheeks. But before he could comment, Chris was coming around the table and handing off the bouquet.
“Did you know the fleur-de-lis is a modified iris?” Their hands brushed, as Chris’ rough fingertips met the tender skin at Zach’s wrist. “Regal and strong, but delicate; they can represent courage and passion.”
Zach stared wordlessly at Chris’ retreating span of shoulders, as the florist sauntered toward the register. He dumbly clenched the flowers in his vaguely trembling hands, before his mind caught up like a snap of a rubber band. Zach scurried towards the opposite side of the register, and swallowed quietly as he found himself scrambling for reply.
“That’s -that’s one hell of a compliment. Thanks.”
Chris smiled blandly, jabbing at the register keys. “That’ll be thirty bucks.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Zach awkwardly settled the flowers in one arm, while he fumbled for his wallet and paid with his card. The transaction was peppered with Zach’s brief upward glances; but hell, he was attempting to gauge the expressions of a guy he’d only managed to see on special celebrations -or, you know, elaborately contrived occasions, too. Either way, Zach wasn’t having any luck puzzling out his florist’s inscrutable expression.
As soon as Zach’s receipt had been pocketed, Chris was offering a thin-lipped smile of farewell. “Well, good luck. I hope your date is the person you’re looking for.”
Zach took a shallow breath, and ran his free hand through his hair. “I think he might be.”
With that, Zach artlessly thrust the bouquet over the dividing countertop with an undue amount of force; landing the cheerful gerberas directly beneath Chris’ chin.
Chris stumbled back a step, with bright eyes blinking in befuddlement. “Sorry - what? Are you trying to give these back? Because you know we have a strict no return pol -”
“I’m trying to give them to you,” Zach elaborated; still stubbornly holding out the daisies. He’d already gone this far; he had to see it to the end. He was making an utter fool of himself, but damn if he wouldn’t try. Zach couldn’t fathom going another year pining for his fucking florist, of all people. “I mean - if you’ll take them. I heard somewhere that they’re your favourite.”
Chris gawked - with hands fluttering briefly, as if to nip at the flowers -before they neatly fell back to his thighs. “Are you shitting me?”
Zach balked. “No - of course not! Why would you think that?”
Chris bit the inside of his cheek, as his fingers twisted around each other; like cat’s cradle without the string. “I just didn’t think you were interested. I mean, I figured you had an entire year to notice the signs -”
“An entire year?” Zach boggled.
“That is generally what ‘entire’ encompasses,” Chris teased. “I’ve dropped so many hints that it would probably take you two years to pick them all up. You really think I’m that attentive to everybody?”
“I -er- well, I’m slow, okay?” Zach murmured, feeling a familiar burn creep up his neck. He waggled the flowers once more. His arm was straining under the surprisingly heavy bouquet -who knew flowers could be so heavy? “So, do you want these, or not? Or am I going to have to take up a new religion, so I have a reason to celebrate extra holidays with flowers, and come to see you?”
Chris’ gaze darted between Zach’s face, and the daises before him. His tongue flicked at the corner of his mouth; a sure sign of nerves. Zach held his breath, and hoped his face didn’t turn as purple as the irises.
“I don’t even know what the fuck I’m debating,” Chris admitted on a hasty rush of words. In one lithe movement, he was on the counter - the daisies crushed between their chests - as Chris cupped the back of Zach’s neck, and urged him forward.
Their lips clumsily collided with the anticipation of a year. Hot, insistent tongues eagerly sampled and savoured each other’s flavour, then dove deeper for more. The perfume of three dozen daisies rose between the infrequent gasps of breath, and mingled with the musky scent of Chris’ skin.
“So,” Zach whispered against Chris’ swollen lips, when he could tear himself away. “I have to ask. What’s your last name?”
“Pine,” Chris said softly. His hands caressed Zach’s jaw; with the flowers wedged between their straining torsos all but forgotten.
Zach laughed breathlessly. “Figures. Very appropriate. You know, because you work with plants and -“
“Shut up and kiss me, Zachary.”
“’Kay.”
Beta: rainbowstrlght ;whose hilarious commentary I wish I could have inserted with this fic.
Series: AU Pinto
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2,150
Warnings: Um... excessive fluff?
Summary: The AU where Chris is a florist and Zach celebrates every holiday in existence, so he can come and buy flowers from him.
A/N: Thank you, you two ridiculously hot florists who I saw in town recently. You radiated manliness and sex appeal, even as you played with flowers.
Zach had run out of reasons to buy flowers.
Birthdays, Weddings, Anniversaries - Christenings, New Baby - Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Hanukkah, New Year’s, Easter, Fourth of July - Bar Mitzvahs, Bat Mitzvahs -Apologies, Thank-Yous - even his second cousin’s (once removed) graduation. For the love of God, he’d even bought flowers for his cat Harold; under the guise that he was a real person.
Why?
Because of Chris the Florist.
Shit, he didn’t even know the guy’s last name.
But he didn’t need to. Zach already knew everything that was important, from their brief banter along the course of the year that he’d been... well, stalking Chris. (Yeah, he was essentially a stalker -there was no going around that.)
For instance, Chris memorised poetry: “A lot of guys come in here hoping to express their emotions in a way that they’re totally incapable of. It’s handy to have a couple lines of prose filed away for every occasion. But yeah, I could probably woo you with some badass poetry, if you wanted me to.”
And Chris had a sister: “Yeah, there’s no way in hell she’ll take over the family business. Flowers are about as far from her personal interests as they can get. And I... well, it passes the time, doesn’t it? What about you -do you have siblings?”
Chris was also educated: “Hey, I happen to like these Birkenstocks! They hail from my days at Berkley. They’re clearly of sentimental value. Unless you plan on taking me shoe shopping, these are staying on my feet.”
He even happened to be very thoughtful: “You mentioned last month that your mom’s birthday was coming up, didn’t you? Some really gorgeous fuchsia roses came in, and I set them aside for you -would you like a look?”
Oh, and Chris appreciated his fashion, where most people just didn’t get it: “That cardigan really suits you. You should show me where you got it, sometime.”
And Chris was funny, and clever, and he looked so edible in a white shirt -
Okay. Anyway: Zach had run out of reasons to buy flowers. He’d known he was at the end of his tether when he’d begun Googling extraneous holidays.
This was just becoming ridiculous, and something had to be done.
Zach swallowed the knot in his throat, and crossed the threshold into the shop. Cheerful bells announced his arrival, and subsequently jangled his nerves.
The heady sent of luxuriant blooms and musky earth enveloped him immediately. It was a pleasant, comforting aroma he now associated with a pair of electric eyes, which had a hundred-watt smile to match.
Zach had a brief moment to admire Chris’ handsome profile -the flushed cheeks, and long, lush eyelashes; before Chris looked up and offered a welcoming smile of recognition. He was elbow-deep in flowers; and had a small pair of shears in one hand, and a long-stemmed iris in the other. Assorted blooms were amassed across the workspace, as he constructed some sort of centrepiece.
“Zach -hey. It’s good to see you again. How’s our best costumer doing?”
“Okay - yeah, I’ve been fine.” Eloquent, Zach -very nice. He dragged his damp palms down his thighs. “You?”
“Can’t complain,” Chris replied cheerfully; as his gaze dropped to his work. “What can I help you with today? Another birthday -or is it finally a date, this time?” Zach could hear the tease in his airy tenor; even as the majority of his attention remained on the strategic placement of a frizz of baby’s breath.
“A date,” Zach croaked. “Yeah.”
This time, Chris’ gaze swept up; with one expressive brow flicked in interest. Zach imagined that a corner of his mouth twitched down, before the slow smile made light of his features.
“Oh, really -first date?”
“You could say that,” Zach admitted. He took a few tentative steps toward Chris’ worktable, and made a show of perusing the blossoms. “What’s your favourite flower?”
Chris’ brows shot up. “Mine?” He shrugged, and mulled it over as he plucked a white flower Zach didn’t recognise, and began to prune off the lower leaves. “Gerbera daisies, I guess.” His lips curved wanly. “They’re kind of stupid, actually -kid’s flowers, if anything. Common and commercial.” He didn’t meet Zach’s eyes as he nestled another bloom into the vase. “But I think they suit me.”
Zach bit back a laugh. “’Common and commercial’ suit you-seriously? Your self-image is incredibly askew.”
“Okay, they’re sanguine and colourful,” Chris relented. He carefully set down his shears, with a crooked grin. “Does that work for you?”
“Yeah.” Zach experienced a not entirely discomforting lurch in his stomach. “Yeah, it does.”
“I aim to please,” Chris added dryly. He folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels. “So, what’s your big date like? The flower has to suit the lady.”
Zach jerked his thumb towards a display of vibrant, vari-coloured Gerber daisies. “I’ll just take the entirety of these, if that’s all right.”
Chris blinked. “All of them -three dozen daisies?”
“That is generally what ‘entirety’ encompasses,” Zach replied with a smirk.
“My comprehension of the English language does, in fact, span that far,” Chris quipped. He rounded the worktable, and closed the distance between him and Zach.
Oh Lord, he was wearing that apron.
The Apron, to be precise. That dark forest green, with the top half folded down; so the cloth was slung low around those swaggering hips. Zach had never found kitchen-wear -not ware- to be so ridiculously sexy.
Zach forced himself not to take a nervous step in retreat, as Chris brushed past him and began to dislodge the bright, cheerful blooms from their dinky plastic bucket.
“Must be a very special date,” Chris noted, as he carted his armful of rainbow daises to a free workspace. He was right, though -they did suit his general demeanour.
“Absolutely. A very important date -an all or nothing deal.”
Chris grunted a noncommittal noise, and busied himself with wrapping the daises in paper. He was unnaturally subdued, and Zach had to stop himself from grinning like a fool. He wanted to assume that luscious pout wasn’t entirely unrelated to his announcement of a date.
“So...” Zach’s hands found shelter in his snug pockets. “Do you always consign a person to a flower -like with yourself?”
“Guess so,” Chris conceded with a coy smirk. “It’s inevitable, working here. Kinda like a barista might associate a customer with their favourite drink.”
“You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.” Zach’s eyes settled on Chris’ nimble, calloused fingers, as they treated every daisy with care. His thoughts skirted how those same fingers might treat Zach’s skin.
“I did my time while in college,” Chris explained, as he worked at enveloping the stems in crisp, white paper. “Thanks to that, I now have the caffeine threshold of a three-hundred pound man. I need a triple-shot just to get me through the morning without going kamikaze.”
Zach stifled a laugh, pleased to feel his own nerves dwindling with the ease of conversation. “A man after my own heart. I can’t go a day without espresso,” he found himself saying.
Blue eyes jerked up to lock on Zach. Chris offered a crooked smile and a sharp laugh, before returning his attention to cutting a long strand of pink, shimmering ribbon.
With the aforementioned heart hula-hooping in his chest, Zach scrambled for a life-raft that would carry them out of the awkward silence that threatened to flood the room. “Ah, so - what flower am I, then?”
What flower am I? Oh my god!
If Chris was even an ounce as horrified as Zach was, he didn’t express it. He merely tied a bow around the cone of flowers with a flourish and a smile. He swept up the bouquet, and cradled it in the crook of his arm.
“Easy. You’re an iris.” Chris jerked his head towards the incomplete vase. Bursting forth from the centre were the tall, elegant blooms; they displayed their curvaceous petals in an array of dark, bruised purples, and flecks of sunny yellow.
Zach edged closer to the worktop, and dubiously inspected the flowers without touching. “I can’t say I see the likeness.”
He caught Chris staring pointedly at this purple hoodie, and Zach felt heat rush towards his cheeks. But before he could comment, Chris was coming around the table and handing off the bouquet.
“Did you know the fleur-de-lis is a modified iris?” Their hands brushed, as Chris’ rough fingertips met the tender skin at Zach’s wrist. “Regal and strong, but delicate; they can represent courage and passion.”
Zach stared wordlessly at Chris’ retreating span of shoulders, as the florist sauntered toward the register. He dumbly clenched the flowers in his vaguely trembling hands, before his mind caught up like a snap of a rubber band. Zach scurried towards the opposite side of the register, and swallowed quietly as he found himself scrambling for reply.
“That’s -that’s one hell of a compliment. Thanks.”
Chris smiled blandly, jabbing at the register keys. “That’ll be thirty bucks.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Zach awkwardly settled the flowers in one arm, while he fumbled for his wallet and paid with his card. The transaction was peppered with Zach’s brief upward glances; but hell, he was attempting to gauge the expressions of a guy he’d only managed to see on special celebrations -or, you know, elaborately contrived occasions, too. Either way, Zach wasn’t having any luck puzzling out his florist’s inscrutable expression.
As soon as Zach’s receipt had been pocketed, Chris was offering a thin-lipped smile of farewell. “Well, good luck. I hope your date is the person you’re looking for.”
Zach took a shallow breath, and ran his free hand through his hair. “I think he might be.”
With that, Zach artlessly thrust the bouquet over the dividing countertop with an undue amount of force; landing the cheerful gerberas directly beneath Chris’ chin.
Chris stumbled back a step, with bright eyes blinking in befuddlement. “Sorry - what? Are you trying to give these back? Because you know we have a strict no return pol -”
“I’m trying to give them to you,” Zach elaborated; still stubbornly holding out the daisies. He’d already gone this far; he had to see it to the end. He was making an utter fool of himself, but damn if he wouldn’t try. Zach couldn’t fathom going another year pining for his fucking florist, of all people. “I mean - if you’ll take them. I heard somewhere that they’re your favourite.”
Chris gawked - with hands fluttering briefly, as if to nip at the flowers -before they neatly fell back to his thighs. “Are you shitting me?”
Zach balked. “No - of course not! Why would you think that?”
Chris bit the inside of his cheek, as his fingers twisted around each other; like cat’s cradle without the string. “I just didn’t think you were interested. I mean, I figured you had an entire year to notice the signs -”
“An entire year?” Zach boggled.
“That is generally what ‘entire’ encompasses,” Chris teased. “I’ve dropped so many hints that it would probably take you two years to pick them all up. You really think I’m that attentive to everybody?”
“I -er- well, I’m slow, okay?” Zach murmured, feeling a familiar burn creep up his neck. He waggled the flowers once more. His arm was straining under the surprisingly heavy bouquet -who knew flowers could be so heavy? “So, do you want these, or not? Or am I going to have to take up a new religion, so I have a reason to celebrate extra holidays with flowers, and come to see you?”
Chris’ gaze darted between Zach’s face, and the daises before him. His tongue flicked at the corner of his mouth; a sure sign of nerves. Zach held his breath, and hoped his face didn’t turn as purple as the irises.
“I don’t even know what the fuck I’m debating,” Chris admitted on a hasty rush of words. In one lithe movement, he was on the counter - the daisies crushed between their chests - as Chris cupped the back of Zach’s neck, and urged him forward.
Their lips clumsily collided with the anticipation of a year. Hot, insistent tongues eagerly sampled and savoured each other’s flavour, then dove deeper for more. The perfume of three dozen daisies rose between the infrequent gasps of breath, and mingled with the musky scent of Chris’ skin.
“So,” Zach whispered against Chris’ swollen lips, when he could tear himself away. “I have to ask. What’s your last name?”
“Pine,” Chris said softly. His hands caressed Zach’s jaw; with the flowers wedged between their straining torsos all but forgotten.
Zach laughed breathlessly. “Figures. Very appropriate. You know, because you work with plants and -“
“Shut up and kiss me, Zachary.”
“’Kay.”