#my very good friend Mr. Chesterfield Cobblepot

[thegreenfairy13]

Salacious Start Part 1/2

A Gobblepot Fanfic. AU. Edward Nygma leaves Oswald Cobblepot for Mrs. Kringle. Heartbroken, Oswald tries returning the goods he bought for a very special night with his boyfriend. At the sex shop, he runs into sales assistant Jim Gordon and develops a massive crush. Read it on Ao3 here. 

Her name is Kirsten, or Kristine, or Kristen. Oswald doesn’t know, doesn’t care. All he knows is that her name, whatever that might be, numbs him, makes him feel weak to the core. Red hair, wherever he spots it, feels like being engulfed in fire; he’s sick of red hair, and frumpy glasses, and pencil-skirts. Heels make him want to gag.

Kirstine Krankle. That’s her name, probably, maybe, could be, doesn’t matter. Before that bigoted witch entered his life, everything had been fine. Deep down he knows it’s not her fault, but the wound is still too fresh, his love for Ed still too deep for him to think clearly. Only days ago, they had been in love, almost ready to go public, to tell the world that the entrepreneur Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot and his bookkeeper, Edward Nygma, are a couple. Of course, that was before Ed found Kirsten - and back to God, whatever that might mean.

“You know, Oz,” he said, holding his hand too tightly for it to be comfortable, sweating profusely while doing so, “I’m not really gay.”

The table had been set for a romantic dinner. Olga, his housekeeper, had placed flowers on the dining-room table, candles had been lit, silver cutlery and crystal-glasses sparkled in the pale light. A metal clamp grasped Oswald’s heart and squeezed it tightly.

“I’ve never been,” Ed carried on, and honestly, it would have been more merciful if he had just shot him into the guts. “You’ll understand, in my line of work, it wouldn’t look good if I was with a man.”

Oswald’s ears are ringing. Not really gay? What's that even supposed to mean?! What line of work? He’s a bookkeeper, for fuck’s sake! Not that he’d ever say ‘fuck’ out loud, he’s way too dignified for that, but in his own head, he can swear all he wants.

“I won’t deny it, I’ve been infatuated with you, but you’ll have to admit, we’re not suited for the long run,” Ed said, looking expectantly at the man who had only seconds ago been ready to spend his entire life with him. “It was a misstep, and I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said gazing intently into his eyes. “But we can remain friends,” he suggested and Oswald wanted to vomit.

“I understand,” he said instead, forcing a broad smile onto his face.

And that was basically the story of how Edward Nygma walked out of his life.

Well, almost.

There was still this little, discreet, white plastic bag in the corner of his bedroom. It should have been a surprise for Ed.

Oswald knows Ed likes it rough. He himself isn’t particularly fond of pain but who is he to deny Ed his pleasure? So one fine day he set out and bought shackles with pink plush covering the metal, a whip, and a blindfold. He wanted to give Ed a special experience, an unforgettable night. Now, those items just make him want to cry.

Entering the sex-shop once more, even weeks later, isn’t any easier than it had been the first time. His heart is beating too fast, his hands are shaking, and not even his sunglasses grant him any sort of privacy. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, hoping nobody he knows will recognize him here; despite the fact that those people would be shopping here too.

He rushes through the aisles, hoping to find a salesperson soon. Oswald just has to return the items before they drive him crazy.

He bumps into a man built like a locker: broad shoulders, heavy biceps, perfect abs, gorgeous blue eyes, hair like the color of the sun.

Swallowing heavily, Oswald reads the name tag: ‘Hi, I’m Jim,” it reads and there’s another button right next to it: ‘Don’t be shy, I’m bi.’

Oswald feels the blood rising up his cheeks as he takes the information in. His throat runs dry when the other man arches his eyebrow at him, staring him sternly down. All of a sudden, he can see the appeal of whips, shackles, and blindfolds with absolute clarity. And good graces, he does feel shy.

“Can I help you?” the man asks and if Oswald ever heard thunder, well, it’s not half as intimidating as this deep voice. It’s a low rumble, the sound of molten lava on its way to destroy entire villages. It's only purpose is to wipe out each and every resistance. Oswald’s knees go weak.

“Yes,” he squeaks, having never felt smaller in his entire life. The man talking to him is a Roman god come to life, he’s Apollo, he’s Ares, he’s gorgeous, perfect, beyond words.

And he?

He’s Oswald: too scrawny, too pale, too black-haired, and he’s got a disability. Ever since that damn car-accident, he limps, his knee is turned sideways at the weirdest angle and he can’t even outrun a snail.

‘Hi Jim, I’m bi,” could probably outrun a sports-car if he wanted.

Swallowing heavily, Oswald clutches the plastic bag tightly to his chest. And no, he’s definitely not ogling the man, not a bit, no sir! He’s just very tastefully checking him out, that’s all.

Jim rolls his eyes and waits for his tongue-tied customer to speak at last.

“I’m certain you can help me with all kinds of sorts,” Oswald blurts out, mentally kicking himself how that came out. For a second, the employee looks taken aback but he composes himself quickly enough. By that point, Oswald’s cheeks probably resemble a wildfire.

“I simply want to return some goods,” Oswald finally shares, slowly releasing his death-grip on his plastic-bag. In comparison to Mr. Ares, he sounds like a teenage girl talking to one of the Jonas brothers.

“We don’t take anything back unless the sanitary-seal is still intact,” Jim informs him cooly while already holding out his hand to take the bag from Oswald’s trembling fingers. “You’ll understand that in this kind of shop we only resell stuff if…”

“I perfectly understand,” Oswald interrupts. “And I can assure you that my seal is perfectly undamaged, untouched,” he rambles on, fighting the urge to bite his fingernails. “You can totally check if you want,” he adds nervously. “In fact, I’d love you to see…”

Oswald thankfully snaps his mouth shut when observing Jim’s eyebrows slowly creeping up to his hairline. It takes him a moment, but then he finally understands. Slapping a hand over his mouth he just stares at Jim, mortified.

“That,” Oswald stutters. “That,” he soldiers on, stumbling awkwardly through the words, “that wasn’t me trying to tell you I’m a virgin.” “My seal is broken,” he rattles on. “I mean if I had a seal,” he adds, earning himself a bewildered expression from his newfound Roman god.

Shaking his head, Jim takes the bag mutely from Oswald’s hands. “I think I’ll check for myself,” he mutters flatly and the raven-haired man prays for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

One year! One year he had been with Edward, his first boyfriend, his only boyfriend. It just hits Oswald now how easy everything had been with him. Everything had progressed naturally, no awkward flirting on either part had been necessary, and thank god for that! He’s terrible at it!

To Oswald’s endless mortification, Jim tips out his purchases over the counter and checks if the original packing is indeed still undamaged. “You still got the bill?” he asks, not a hint of emotion to his voice.

“I, yes,” the embarrassed entrepreneur rasps out, checking each and every of his pockets and coming up with nothing.

“Sorry,” Jim tells him flatly. “Not taking anything back without the receipt,” he adds with determination and if that attitude doesn’t make Oswald’s blood run hot and cold at once! This man is steadfast, he can tell, and it’s a massive turn on.

But Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot isn’t used to taking orders. Especially not by some sales-assistant. He’s used to getting his will and right now, he wants to get rid of his Ed-memorabilia - right the fuck now.

“I’m sure there could be something arranged,” he whispers conspiratorially once he found his voice again. He doesn’t know it comes off as slightly disconcerting. “I mean,” he continues, dropping his voice an octave in order to sound more persuasive, “it won’t be that hard for you to just issue an invoice for your, eh, services." Oswald’s eyes wander down Jim's chest, reading the name tag once more, and really, somebody should have told him to be more subtle. "The tip I’d leave would be as handsome as you if you know what I mean, Jim,” he adds with a clumsy wink, trying to sound flirtatious.

Jim drops the bag as if it had bitten him. “I’m sorry?” he asks slowly, sending off all sorts of alarm bells in the other man's head. “I think I’ve misheard you,” he says, drawing out the words very slowly, almost angrily. He straightens himself. With his back stiffened and his chest puffed out, Jim looks even taller - and a lot more intimidating.

“I, no?” Oswald asks insecurely, shrinking another two inches.

Shoving the bag back into the pale man’s hands, Jim backs away. Eyes narrowed threateningly, he goes into a lecture the usual sales assistant wouldn’t dare to give a customer. “The button on my chest might say ‘don't be shy’, but that sure as hell doesn’t involve proposing paid sex," he informs him bluntly. "It's just our way of encouraging our customers to ask questions. If you need someone to fulfill your desires,” he adds with a knowing twitch to his lips and simultaneously shoving the bag back into Oswald’s arms, I’d go to another establishment. But I’ll happily answer any question on penis pumps you might have.”

With those words, he turns on his heels, leaving a mortified Oswald behind. Again clutching the bag helplessly, he’s right back where he started with the only difference that he made a complete fool of himself. Cursing under his breath, he tries figuring out how that encounter could have probably gone so terribly wrong. Worrying his lower lip, he considers calling after Jim but the man won’t even look into his direction.

Shoulders slumped, Oswald decides to leave the store and wait until Jim finishes work. Well, in hindsight he really should have given that idea a second thought.