Second chance christmas, p.1
Second Chance Christmas, page 1
Second Chance Christmas
Octavia Jensen
Published by CeliKetch Publishing, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SECOND CHANCE CHRISTMAS
First edition. November 7, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 Octavia Jensen.
Written by Octavia Jensen.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One: Fucking Christmas Miracles
Chapter Two: The Terrible End of Dean Winchester
Chapter Three: Something About Soup
Chapter Four: Professionally Unprofessional
Chapter Five: Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Chapter Six: Skulls and Pelts and Bear Rugs, Oh My
Chapter Seven: Spiraling
Chapter Eight: Who Invented Cookies, Anyway?
Chapter Nine: Because You’re Mine
Chapter Ten: I Walk The Line
Chapter Eleven: The Things We Do To Scrooge
Chapter Twelve: The Edge
Chapter Thirteen: Office Secrets
Chapter Fourteen: Secret’s Out
Also By Octavia Jensen
About the Author
This is an explicit second chance m/m standalone with light BDSM themes, a boss/employee relationship, forced proximity, and a handful of kinks including light spanking, rough oral, sexting, office sex, and anal play. There is also one brief scene where one of them holds the other's cock while he pees. You wouldn't believe how long I Googled trying to find a name for that. I'm convinced there isn't one.
Chapter One:
Fucking Christmas Miracles
Christmas is the worst time of the year.
There, I said it.
Stockings and bright lights, snowstorms and rosy cheeks, tinsel that takes forever to put on the tree and only ends up breaking your vacuum cleaner come December 26th... no thank you.
I’m taking a hard pass on all things X-Mas this year, and that includes the mistletoe strung in every doorway at work. For a place that frowns upon coworkers dating as much as this one does, they sure like to tempt people.
“Ayla,” I hiss, sliding into my seat and ducking around the corner of my cubicle to see into hers. “Why is it so bright in here? It looks like that talking snowman orgasmed all over the customer service floor.”
She giggles. “I love the way you describe things. You’re not wrong at all though, this shit is next-level. Did you see the fuckton of cookies in the break room?”
“Yeah, I sure did. Someone had a lot of time on their hands,” I mutter. “Show-offs.”
“Definitely. I did eat one though, and they’re so good I only hated whoever baked them more. I haven’t even put up my damn tree.” Our V.P. enters the office and looks around at us all, then smiles up at the mistletoe like some Christmas miracle might happen where someone will actually want to kiss him. Ayla only snorts. “Keep dreaming, pal. How much longer do we have to see that asshole’s creepy smile?”
“They’re supposed to announce his successor in the next day or so. Guess his parting gift to us was shoving Christmas down our throats even though he’s making half of us work it.” I turn my computer on and log in using the phone on my desk, glad I’ll be working early that day so I can go home and wallow in peace. “Have you heard any rumors about who it’s going to be?”
She shrugs, tapping her nails on the desk as she thinks that over, but the second she opens her mouth to respond, our supervisor Matthew Ellis enters the room and renders her speechless. He glares up at the mistletoe that tickles the top of his beautiful head, rips it down in one swift movement and tosses it into the nearest garbage bin, then sets his sights on his office. “Yeah, definitely hope it’s him.”
I, on the other hand, don’t. I’d rather see anyone else in this building get it.
Anyone.
At all.
“The guy sucks. I know that’s an unpopular opinion, but he does.”
“Oh shit, Tommy. I forgot. I take it back, fuck that guy. I mean, who kisses someone and then tells them it can’t happen again? Fucking assholes, that’s who.”
I can tell she’s trying hard to save it, but saying it out loud like that just makes it worse.
I don’t want to think about Matthew Ellis and his giant body, strong muscles and soft hands. I don’t want to remember the way it felt for him to finally kiss me after months of flirting here at work and weeks of texting in secret. Don’t want to focus on the way my chest practically cracked in half when he told me I wasn’t worth the risk, seconds after that very first kiss gave me a boner.
No... Matthew Ellis and his bullshit can fuck off for Christmas.
“Anyway,” I mumble, sliding my headset over my head. “If it is him, he’ll just get an even bigger office and an even bigger paycheck to go with his even bigger ego. And before you say it, I know it doesn’t make sense. Eat me.”
“You won’t let me eat you,” she teases. “Told you to switch sides. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about him and all his bigger... everything.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Honey, if being gay were a choice, no one would do it. Not in this economy.”
“Sigh. Fine, since we’re working late, we’re going to hang out tonight and talk about all the bullshit without all these nosey ears.”
“I heard that,” Barb mutters from her cubicle, making Ayla flip her off through the wall.
Suddenly, I want to flick the shit out of her. If anyone else heard her spill the beans about Matt, I’m fucked, he’s fucked, and neither of us will be happy about it.
It’s a good reminder that I should learn to keep my mouth shut and my business to myself, but I’m not over it yet. Seeing him still hurts, still makes me want to lock him in a room until he tells me which parts exactly weren’t good enough for him, and then I want him to take it all back.
Yeah, right.
Wouldn’t that be a fucking Christmas miracle.
When ten o’clock hits, the floor empties out except for me, Ayla and a couple of people who sit across the room from us. We’ve got two hours now until we can close up shop and go home, and hardly anyone calls to deal with their bills or troubleshoot their security system this late at night. For months now, this has been our gossip time, and I can tell by the look in her eyes that tonight won’t be any different.
“I have nothing new to say,” I remind her. “He hasn’t spoken to me since it happened.”
She sets a fresh cup of coffee down in front of me and groans. “What a dick. Seriously, why even kiss you? I don’t get it. Plus, the texting. How was he in the texts? Like a completely different person?”
Apparently she’s forgotten English, but since she’s the only person on the planet that knows it happened, I can’t really help myself. I have to bitch to someone. “Yes! He was sweet and flirty and fun and... hot. Like really hot.”
“The worst combination for our self-respect. Maybe he wants you to take control? I don’t get the vibe he likes being told what to do, but you never know. Just waltz up to him and tell him what you want.”
I sip that coffee like it’s alcohol. “I did that once. He kissed me and told me I wasn’t worth the risk because this place is so strict about workplace romances, then had the nerve to look sad because he thought we were on the same page.”
“Did he not even try to sleep with you? Like when you were flirting?” Ayla holds up her finger when her phone rings and switches to her professional voice in seconds.
Every text he’s ever sent me is still on my phone, but I don’t need to look back to refresh my memory. He never did, not once. He never asked for pictures or went beyond flirty banter. I read way too far into it and got burned, and that’s no one’s fault but my own.
Maybe the real Christmas miracle will be me finally getting over it, but... probably not.
Chapter Two:
The Terrible End of Dean Winchester
“On behalf of all of us here at Warden Security Services, I’m pleased to announce that Matthew Ellis will be taking over the role of Vice President of customer service. He brings with him...”
A fuckton of bullshit, that’s what.
I stare at the email with my arms crossed and my brow furrowed. The sound of people clapping for him starts slowly and then steadily grows, and I hate all of them. People who clap at emails are worse than people who clap when planes land or when movies end.
Just stop.
Yet, this seems like an opportunity for personal growth, so I log out for a break and drop my headset on my desk, then walk with my head held high straight to Matt’s soon-to-be former office.
“Knock, knock,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “I’m surprised you’re not surrounded by admirers already.”
He sits up straighter in his seat and glances to see if anyone else is with me before he responds. “I’m not?” One eyebrow shoots up playfully, and I have to fight the urge to squirm. Every time those hazel-green eyes meet mine, it’s like a current of electricity travels straight to the tip of my dick, and I find myself hating him once again.
“I’m seven inches shorter and probably eighty pounds lighter than you. I don’t think I could surround you if I tried, but you’re funny.” I lean against the frame, determined not to run away. “I’d say congratulations, but I don’t think anyone found this surprising. Did you even have to work for it or did it fall in your lap like everything else?”
That playful glint is gone, replaced with a frown and the most annoying scoff I’ve ever heard in my life. “So you... what? Came in here this morning to make me feel like shit for getting a promotion I worked my ass off for? A promotion I—” he pauses and takes a deep breath, his strong, annoyingly-sexy jaw flexing before he continues “—Nothing falls into my lap, Thomas.”
My stomach flips so violently it makes me twitch. I hate that he has this effect on me, but no one else calls me by my full name. No one. “No, honestly. I came in here to make myself feel better and I failed, so here we are. I heard there are consolation cookies in the break room unless Tansy ate them all, which is a good possibility.” I pause, finally looking away. “I didn’t mean it, by the way. I know better than anyone exactly how much you care about this job, so congratulations. Bad joke. Have a good one, Sir. Merry Christmas.”
I pivot quickly and nearly run into someone as I rush back to my cubicle to hide, but it’s too late. I already said the dumb things then caved and apologized for being rightfully angry, which just makes me angrier.
Fucking hell, why does that guy get under my skin so bad?
“Are you okay?” my only ally in the office whispers. “I saw where you went.”
“I’m fine, Ayla. I’m a giant idiot who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, but I’m fine. At least I ruined his day, too,” I say, but when I glance up, I’m immediately proved wrong. He’s shaking hands with that group of admirers I tried to avoid and smiling like he just won the lottery. “Or not. Well, fifty percent is only bad if you’re a glass-half full kind of person, and I’m not.”
“No, he’s not happy. That’s his fake boss-smile that all managers have, the one that doesn’t reach their eyes. I know you’ve seen his real one. Be proud you ruined his day too. We’ll celebrate tonight with hot cocoa and those leftover stale cookies.”
I don’t want leftover stale cookies and hot chocolate, I want... fuck. What do I want? I’d have thought I’d know by now, but I keep coming back to the same damn thing: him.
I want him.
The light on my phone blinks to remind me my break is over, so I throw myself into answering repetitive questions and counting down the minutes until 5 pm when Matt leaves for the day.
I do my best to not look up at him as he takes his leave, but even my peripheral is drawn to him — as is my nose when I suddenly start smelling his cologne. “Have a good night, Tommy. Gonna go see what else I can get to fall into my lap since you made it all sound so easy. Night, Ayla.”
He winks at me and leaves before I can get my brain to function again, and it takes every ounce of self-control those nuns from grade school taught me not to fling my stapler at the back of his stupid, idiot head.
“That didn’t just happen,” I snap once he’s gone, pushing my chair back. “Did that seriously just fucking happen?”
“It did,” she confirms. “I don’t— who gave him the fucking right?”
Barb returns to her desk to gather her belongings and it’s then I realized how well he timed his petty goodbye. It was just us.
“God, I hate men.”
I drop my head to my desk, bracing myself until I can smell something other than his cologne again, then try to go back to work. My quality assurance scores are probably in the toilet this week, but I never cared much before and I don’t plan on starting now — I always pick the graveyard shifts that no one else wants, anyway.
Still, it’s a relief when ten o’clock rolls around and Ayla comes back with cookies and hot chocolate as promised.
“Now all we need is Bailey’s with our shitty joe and maybe this place will be bearable. Can we turn the Christmas lights off now at least?” I ask.
“The ambiance is kinda nice, but yes. We can turn them off and dim the rest of them... then you need to tell me what you said in his office.”
Any hope I had of her forgetting the question by the time she came back vanishes when I see the look on her face, so I tell her the truth. Every stupid little word.
“That’s it. That’s all I said.”
“Ouch. Once again, he proves he’s just a dick. Whatever charming, flirty act he put on was bullshit.”
I hear her, I do. So why don’t I believe it? Maybe his walls are just taller than mine and built from tougher stuff.
Or maybe he just really didn’t want me.
“Whatever. Can we think about anything else? I’m ready to be done with Matthew fucking Ellis.”
Suddenly, she lights up brighter than those stupid lights. “I saw this thing online that can be fun. Here—” she grabs a pad and a pen “— write down what you want for Christmas. Doesn’t matter how crazy it is.”
I muster my very best bitchface. “This is a joke, right? I hate Christmas. Why exactly would I want to do this?”
“Because I said so?” she says, unsure. “Maybe it’ll help with the whole mood when we can see what we can accomplish before New Year’s.”
Despite how dumb I think it is, I feel bad for putting that wounded-puppy look on her face, so I sigh playfully. “No matter how crazy? Like I can wish for a certain school of witchcraft and wizardry to be real and you won’t be mad?”
“Yes, you can. Just don’t be a Scrooge, okay? Put some things we can really get done too. But yes. Like, my number one is Leonardo DiCaprio and I don’t care, he’ll always be top of my list. Daddy Leo can get it.”
“No truer words ever spoken,” I agree, scribbling Tommy’s Ridiculous Christmas List over the top of the page and staring blankly at it. If I can’t have Daddy Leo and I don’t actually want Hogwarts to be real because I’m scared of ghosts, there’s only one logical thing to put as number one:
- To have our giant VP’s presumably giant cock deep inside me rearranging my guts.
Yeah. That’ll do. Just once, so I can get him out of my system and move on. Just once, so I can prove to myself that he wanted me too and I’m not completely insane. Just once so I can stop fantasizing about it.
But how to follow that up? She said I need legitimate ones too, which sounds boring, but fine. I’ll play along.
- To drink enough eggnog that it sounds good when I sing Christmas carols.
- To say bah-humbug to at least three little kids.
- To eat an entire tub of Ben & Jerry’s and not gain a pound.
- Might as well end world hunger while I’m at it, and maybe bring Dean Winchester to life since we’re aiming so fucking high.
She’s probably going to kill me, but I don’t care. “Done.”
The first one makes her bark a laugh and draw stars around it, but the rest only earn me a chuckle. “Okay, so most of yours are impossible unfortunately, but we can definitely do a couple of them. Here’s mine.”
- Daddy Leo’s spit in my mouth.
- Bake a pie all by myself.
- Put up the fucking tree.
- Call my mom and not get into an argument.
- Make Tommy smile.
“So the first one is a throw away for both of us,” I quip. “I’d call my own mother but she’s too cool for me these days.”
“Apparently the first and last one. I’ll never forgive them for killing Dean, and you haven’t smiled in over a week. What’s a girl gotta do, sneak in some booze?”
“I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt, and I’m... sorry about the other thing. Christmas is just a rougher time for me than I usually let on, but I’m trying.” I flash her the most genuine smile I can, and she softens.
“I know, and I get it. It’s honestly the most depressing time of year, especially when our families suck.” She takes a long sip and grabs a cookie. “Want to help me bake that pie this weekend?”
“If I help you, it doesn’t count. You put you wanna do it by yourself, but I’ll volunteer to drink the eggnog and sing you carols with all the religious words replaced with the phrase ‘balls and wieners.’”
“Please do,” she giggles, taking a huge bite of cookie with a hum. “So... you want your guts rearranged, Tommy?”
She just had to bring it up again. “Yes. Maybe then I’ll finally be able to shut up about it.”
