Work Text:
It’s just turned midday when Toby arrives to work, yawning loudly as he pushes open the club’s door. He’s exhausted, to be perfectly honest, having worked until three that morning at the very same place, and it was such a struggle waking up today that he’s maybe a few minutes late. He furiously rubs at his eyes as he steps onto the premises, hoping if he kneads hard enough he might somehow pass some life into his brain, stopping only at the sound of a pointed cough.
He removes his hands from his eyes and opens them properly to take in the scene before him. In a huddle facing towards him are the rest of his colleagues, all staring at him in wide-eyed terror. The reason for that fear stands directly in front of them, side-on between the group and Toby, eyeing him with barely concealed contempt.
“Sorry I’m late, boss,” Toby apologises meekly, quickly shucking his jacket and rushing to join his colleagues, hoping that maybe somehow he’ll fade into the group if he’s fast enough. “Won’t happen again.”
Brendan – his utterly terrifying boss – turns his body back to face the ensemble as a whole once more. He growls, low, under his breath, narrowing his eyes at Toby for a second before shaking his head, mercifully choosing to move on rather than linger on Toby’s – first time ever, Toby might add – tardiness.
“As I was saying,” Brendan continues, addressing his employees. “We’ve a private hen party booked this afternoon, they’ll be staying into the evening when we open up as normal. Treat ‘em nice, keep ‘em happy, but for the love of God, if any of you over-serve them and I see even a speck of vomit on my floors, I’ll make ye pay.”
With money, with their lives? Toby can’t be sure. Nonetheless, the group murmurs their understanding. Brendan nods.
“Good. Glad we’re all on the same page. Now, I want Alex and Charlotte on table service. Toby, Angelica, behind the bar. The rest of ye, I want you floating between and wherever needs you. Any questions?”
They’ve all learnt quickly enough that, despite the offer, questions are not exactly welcomed by their boss, so everyone keeps their mouth shut. Just as Brendan’s about to give them the usual nod, giving them the go ahead to get on with their work, the club door opens once again.
“Brendan Brady!” comes a voice, sharp and agitated, Mancunian accent so prominent that the last syllable elongates into a grating eh sound.
Toby watches as Brendan spins on his heel, turning towards where the source of the sound marches through the door, features indignant and stride purposeful.
“Steven,” Brendan greets happily, and Toby can hear the wry smile on his lips even if he can’t fully see it. “To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Steven – Ste, as Toby knows he actually likes to be called – rolls his eyes and comes to a stop just in front of Brendan, arms crossed over his puffed out chest. Toby – and the rest of the staff, most likely – are familiar with Ste. Hell, he’s around often enough. Since Brendan bought and began managing the club six months ago, Ste has become a regular presence.
The first time Toby met Ste was his first shift with Brendan in charge, coinciding with Brendan’s third day. It was early in the afternoon, quiet, with Toby alone behind the bar polishing glassware and Brendan holed up in his office. Toby hadn’t been sure what his impression of Brendan was at that point. There was something about Brendan that was just sort of… off. He had an air of intimidation about him, dressed in his sleek, expensive suits, the way he barely spoke and when he did it was curt, never saying more words than he had to get his point across before he could go back to brooding silence again. Toby had felt worry gnawing at his chest at the prospect of working for someone so unreadable and, honestly, potentially legitimately dangerous.
As he stood, glass and rag in hand, lost in his thoughts, he had been brought back to reality by someone rapping their knuckles on the bar.
“Hiya,” the man in front of him said, a thick Manchester accent and a tracksuit adorning his slim build. He’d extended his hand towards Toby to shake. “I’m Ste, nice to meet ya.”
“I’m, uh,” Toby had stuttered, gingerly accepting the guy’s handshake. “I’m Toby.” He’d cast his eyes up and down Ste’s figure, taking in his clothing, acutely aware of their no sportswear dress code and the fact that Brendan had nastily thrown someone out earlier that day for simply wearing a vintage football shirt. “Mate, sorry, but I can’t serve you. You’ll have to go.”
Ste had scrunched his face up, affronted. “What you tryna say?”
Toby had gone to speak, to apologetically explain the dress code he didn’t particularly care to enforce, but he was interrupted before he could.
“He’s fine,” Brendan had commanded, emerging from his office, hands in his trouser pockets as he ambled towards where they stood. “He’s with me.”
Brendan had settled leaning up against the bar, almost pressed against Ste’s side. They’d shared a conspiratorial smile, a smile Toby hadn’t understood at that moment in time.
Brother? Toby had wondered, but then, no, neither the looks nor the accents matched. They didn’t look much like they’d be friends, either, judging by the stark difference in their appearances, their general demeanours, and, to be honest, the pushing 10 year age difference. But what else could they be?
“Thought I’d come by and see how you’re getting on,” Ste had explained, that same sly smile playing around his mouth. “See if you’re missing me yet.”
“I always miss you, Steven,” Brendan had murmured, and, one, didn’t this guy just say his name was Ste, and, two, what the fuck?
Toby had barely had time to register his shock to those words coming out of his new and, up to now, presumed straight, boss’ mouth before shock number two came crashing down on him as the pair leant in for a surprisingly tender kiss.
“Um,” he’d said dumbly.
They pulled apart after just a second or two, Brendan’s face hardening as he turned away from Ste and towards Toby.
“Toby, this is Steven. Steven, Toby. I expect you’ll be seeing a lot of young Steven here.”
“Oh, um,” Toby had said, stumbling over his words. “Nice to, uh. To meet you, Steven. I mean Ste. I mean, uh.”
“It’s Ste,” Ste had clarified, rolling his eyes at Brendan. “Only person calls me Steven is him.”
“Right,” Toby had mumbled, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Sure. And you’re his, uh. Partner?”
“Toy boy,” Ste had corrected, grinning when Brendan this time rolled his eyes. “Gay lover. Whatever you wanna call it.”
“Ball and chain,” Brendan had suggested, chuckling when Ste smacked him on the chest. Quirking an eyebrow, he’d continued, “You haven’t been acquainted with my new office yet, have ye, Steven?”
“Don’t reckon I have, no,” Ste had agreed, happily trailing behind Brendan. “Nice to meet you, Toby, yeah? Maybe next time don’t try and chuck me out so quick.”
The office door had shut behind them, the turning of the lock an unmistakably clear click, followed shortly by the volume increasing exponentially on the radio in Brendan’s office, blaring some cheesy pop song as what sounded like Ste cackled. He didn’t have to think too hard to guess what they were up to in there. Unfortunately, the radio wasn’t loud enough that he even really had to guess at all.
Toby is shaken from this memory when Ste – the Ste here, now – starts speaking.
“Forget something this morning, did ya?” Ste asks, one eyebrow arched. Brendan pauses for a moment before shrugging his shoulders in defeat. Ste rolls his eyes. “So I spend my evening slaving away on your tea, right, just for you to swan off in the morning and leave it in the fridge to go rotten?”
Brendan winces, looking utterly chastised. Toby stifles a laugh before it can become audible; the menacing Brendan Brady getting a dressing down from a council rat in a tracksuit – the exact words he’s heard Brendan use to describe Ste before.
“My deepest apologies, Steven,” Brendan drawls, words sarcastic but tone blatantly genuine. “An oversight, I promise. Something had me a bit distracted this morning.” He smirks. “Well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t ye?”
Ste’s eyes dart towards where Toby and the rest of the staff stand, witnesses to this whole conversation – whether they like it or not. Ste at least has the good grace to look somewhat guilty, face tinged red at the very obvious implications of Brendan’s words.
“Yeah, well,” Ste starts, reaching into a bag on his shoulder to pull out a Tupperware of, frankly, delicious smelling food. “Don’t let it happen again, right?”
“You have my word, Steven,” Brendan promises as he accepts the tub of food. “Scout’s honour.”
“Like you was ever a boy scout,” Ste scoffs, before leaning around Brendan slightly to wave at the group of staff watching on, Toby included. “Hiya, guys. I won’t keep the big boss much longer.”
“You can keep me as long as you like,” Brendan says, taking a step towards a grinning Ste and curling his free hand around Ste’s waist.
Ste’s eyes glint up at Brendan happily, easily accepting the soft kiss that Brendan presses to his lips. Toby, along with most of the other staff, have the decency to look away, save for some of the newer employees who aren’t quite used to seeing their big, scary boss fawn over this pretty scrawny, very male chav just yet.
“I’ve gotta go pick Lucas up from school for his dentist appointment,” Ste asserts, kissing Brendan once more before dragging himself away from Brendan’s grabbing hands. “I’ll see you later, alright? Don’t come home too late.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Brendan commits tentatively. “If I’m late, I won’t wake ye.”
“Oh, nah,” Ste replies quickly. “Definitely wake me.”
A flash of a heated look passes between the pair, and, Christ, must they be this incessant?
“Whatever you say, boss,” Brendan quips, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
That earns Brendan a cheeky smile from Ste, before he’s off, back out the door he came in. Brendan takes a second, gazing after the man who just left, before he spins back around to face his employees.
“I didn’t realise I was paying you lot to stand around fecklessly,” Brendan announces, clapping his hands together, making half the staff jump. The only reason Toby doesn’t is because, six months in, he’s used to this. “Come on, chop chop, the hens’ll be arriving soon, and if I hear even one minor complaint from them about today, you best believe I’ll be letting ye know about it."
The group quickly disperse, taking up their expected positions in anticipation of the party’s arrival. Toby chances a look back to Brendan just before he reaches the bar, catches him staring after the door Ste left through with what can only be described as a fond expression on his face.
A riddle wrapped up in an enigma, Toby thinks.
“It’s not just me, right?” Angelica, Toby’s co-worker, blurts out.
It’s seemingly out of nowhere. They’ve been standing in silence folding napkins for the past 15 minutes, the hen party giggling away happily nearby. Toby’s mind had been wandering, thinking about seeing his girlfriend that night, what they might get up to tomorrow on his day off, so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed Angelica stopped folding several minutes ago.
He glances over at Angelica. “What’s not just you?”
“Brendan and that guy. Ste?” She’s newer than Toby, only about two weeks in, so she looks to him for confirmation that she’s got the name right. Toby nods for her to carry on. “Yeah, them. It’s weird, isn’t it?”
Yes, Toby thinks, but asks, “Weird how?”
“I dunno, it’s just. They’re so different, aren’t they? And that Ste, he’s so much younger than Brendan, practically our age, but it seems like they’ve been together so long. And – and Brendan, he’s just so. So different with him.”
Toby shrugs. “You get used to it.”
“You don’t think,” Angelica starts, and she sounds nervous, chewing on her bottom lip. “You don’t think we need to do something?”
“Do something?” Toby repeats, confused.
“Yeah, like. Check that Ste guy is okay? Brendan’s so, I don’t know. Scary. And then the age difference. What if Ste’s in trouble?”
Toby snorts. “Did he seem like he’s in trouble?”
“Well, no, but –“
“Exactly,” Toby interrupts. “I know Brendan’s scary with us, but you’ve seen how he is with Ste. He’s, well. For want of a better word – he’s whipped for him. You should’ve seen them a couple of months back, right, when it was the school Easter holidays or something like that. They both brought their kids in and it was just so – so bizarre. But, like, in a good way. I don’t think they’re their kids together. It’s like some weird, blended family. But they were so happy, all six of them. Mucking about, cracking jokes. And Brendan and Ste, they just, oh fuck I’m gonna sound so soppy saying this. But they both look at the other one as if he hung the moon.”
Toby feels himself flush, unsure where all that sentimentality came from. He thinks briefly of his girlfriend, wonders if maybe that’s what he looks like when he looks at her.
"Hmm." Angelica's unconvinced.
"Look," Toby continues. "You said it yourself. Brendan's different with him."
Angelica still looks worried. "But that's in front of us. What about behind closed doors?"
"Oh, I've heard them behind closed doors, Angelica," Toby mutters, shuddering the memories away. "He's more than fine there, too."
Angelica just continues frowning. “I just. I don’t get it,” she argues weakly.
“None of us do.” Toby shrugs again. “Not really our business to get.”
“I guess not,” Angelica agrees, somewhat reluctantly.
“Angelica,” comes a booming Irish voice, making her jump as they see Brendan round the corner of the bar and into their line of sight. “Them wages I pay ye, they on account of you chatting away with Tobias here?”
“It’s just Toby, actually,” Toby tries. Brendan flashes him a look, a slightly cocked head. Toby thinks about how Brendan’s own boyfriend doesn’t win that battle of names, and backs down. “Never mind.”
“Sorry, Brendan,” Angelica repents. “Won’t happen again. Nearly done with these anyway and then we’ll be onto the next round of Prosecco.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Brendan says, smiling sharkishly at her. “Now, don’t make me come over here again, understood?”
“Of course not, boss.” Angelica breathes a sigh of relief as Brendan stalks away. “You don’t think he heard us, do you?”
“I think we’d know if he did,” Toby assures her.
“Yeah,” Angelica agrees. “Yeah, you must be right.”
The sound of a cork popping, followed by multiple glasses shattering, pulls them both from their anxiety and into the reality of a shrieking hen party demanding their attention.
“I’ll grab the dustpan.”
It’s only one in the morning, earlier than usual, by the time they’ve finished up, hens and other club goers sent on their merry way, bar cleaned and ready for another day of it all tomorrow. Toby’s the last staff member left as he fires off a text to his girlfriend letting her know he’ll be over to hers in 30 minutes, shrugging his jacket on as he gets excited about seeing her, when he hears his name being called from the office.
He closes his eyes, steeling himself for whatever bollocking he’s going to get today as he enters Brendan’s office. Brendan is leaning back in his chair, feet on his desk in his fancy, presumably insanely expensive, dress shoes, hands clasped over his stomach as he scrutinises Toby standing uncomfortably in the doorway.
“Good shift?” Brendan asks.
Toby wonders if it’s a trick. “Er, yeah. Was alright. Those hens didn’t end up getting as messy as we expected, so.” Brendan hums his agreement but doesn’t say anymore. “Do you need something, boss?"
“No, no. I, uh.” Brendan pauses, removing one hand from his stomach to scratch at his cheek. He looks – dare Toby think it – awkward? “I just wanted to say thank ye, is all.”
Toby balks. Those are the last words he expected from Brendan’s mouth.
“For what?” he asks, almost dazed.
“For sticking up for us,” Brendan explains.
“Us?” Toby queries.
“I heard you, earlier. You and Angelica. Talking about Steven and me.”
“Oh,” Toby breathes, unsure what else to say.
“Yeah,” Brendan says simply, and, yep, he is definitely being awkward, who knew that was even possible? “So, thank you.”
“Uh.” Toby matches Brendan’s awkwardness tenfold. “No worries, boss.”
Brendan pauses, then barks out an almost startled laugh. Begins talking, mostly to himself.
“Jesus, if you’d told me ten years ago that I’d be thanking an employee for calling me whipped, whipped for my boyfriend.” He shakes his head. “Well, I’d never have believed ye, would I?”
“Yeah,” Toby says lamely, mind and body still mostly in shock over this entire conversation. Worried that Brendan may be planning on directing any anger he has at the situation to Angelica, he continues, “Angelica doesn’t know what she’s talking about, she's new. She didn’t mean it, not really.”
Brendan waves Toby’s concerns away with a casual hand. “She’s not the first person to worry about Steven and me. I’m sure she won’t be last.”
Toby wonders what the backstory is there. Knows better than to ask.
“Right,” Toby says, eyes darting around uncomfortably. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, no. You get yourself home, lad.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Brendan smiles at him, a warm, genuine smile. Toby feels certain not many people in this world have been on the receiving end of that. That sister Brendan’s talked about, his kids. Ste, obviously. It humanises him. Probably why he’s not keen to dish it out too often.
Toby gives him a final nod and takes his leave, shuffling back to the bar area to grab his belongings. He stops just short of the exit, hearing a rustle from Brendan’s office, the faint noise of a dialling tone, the abrupt end as someone picks up on the other side.
“Hey, Steven,” he hears Brendan murmur, soft and intimate.
Toby knows he shouldn’t be listening in on this, yet he can’t tear himself away, curiosity well and truly killing the cat. It’s just so odd, hearing what Brendan must be like when he thinks no one is around. Toby strains to listen, only able to make out Brendan’s side of the conversation, as Brendan continues.
“Did I wake ye? Sorry, sweetheart.”
Toby’s eyebrows are in his hairline. Sweetheart!
“Just packing up to leave now. I’ll be home soon.” A pause. “Yes, Steven, I did speak to him. Yes, Steven, I did say thank ye. No, Steven, I did not do it scarily, Jesus.” Toby sniggers, wondering how aware all three of them are of how absolutely untrue that last part is. “Good kid, that one.”
Toby finds himself bristling with pride at the compliment. He hears Brendan laugh.
“Ye ever gonna get over that jealous streak, Steven? Contrary to your belief, it’s not actually my life’s plan to fuck every barman that ever works for me.”
Toby scrunches his nose up. An odd part of him feels somewhat offended that Brendan doesn’t want to fuck him. Another odd part of him feels happy he’s attractive enough in the first place for Ste to get jealous over.
“As well ye know, Steven, I was happy to stop after one particular barman. You know the one. No sense of style. Horrible accent. Mouthy little git. Oh, but what a mouth it is.” Brendan’s tone has turned husky. “Am I allowed to speed home tonight if it means I can be fucking you in less than fifteen minutes?”
Toby takes that as his cue to leave.