A gay story: The twink at the cafe This was not happening. The twink who took my order at the café did not brush their fingers along my hand as they handed me my coffee and scone. I must be imagining it.
I think I must be imagining this because I come to this café often, mostly to look at him, not just because the WIFI is good, I like their mochas, and it gets me away from my boyfriend for a while so I can work. And it’s not like I’ve never fucked my boyfriend while I was thinking about this young man.
I shake my head as I pretend to edit a slide — my boyfriend looks nothing like the barista — yet I often sit here and glance up from my laptop to see the twink helping out a fellow barista or serving a customer…
Serving — god, even in my own head I need to be careful. The idea of this boi on their knees looking up at me as my cock – Stop I tell myself, Stop. Work, boyfriend, to-do list. Breathe.
I put my head down and was able to concentrate on the work. After some group discussion on the slides, I made some last edits and saved them. Fully expecting that I would finish my mocha and then depart, I went to take a sip and discovered the mocha was now an iced mocha.
I sighed as I glanced at my Apple watch, somewhat surprised at how much time had passed. I was aware but not entirely conscious of someone standing next to me and it took me a second to process.
Yes, it was that barista, standing closer than they had any right to, holding a steaming cup in one hand and putting the other one on my shoulder in an ‘excuse me’ way.
“I thought yours might have gone cold,” he said. “You looked like you were pretty deep in thought.”
I smiled a hopefully winning smile at them and slid my seat further under the table in hopes they would not see how hard I was.
Their hand lingered and I looked around the café. There were only a few other patrons and no one was paying us any particular attention. I thanked them and said how good it was. They gave me a smirk that went through my spine.
“It’s my lunch break and I think you were about to get going, right? Continue getting ready to go and I’ll meet you in the bookstore across the street in five.”
I find them, in longer than five minutes, in the manga section. They look up as I walk down the aisle and smile at me. I am tongue-tied looking at all of them. The ripped jeans were tight on their ass, the black tank top showed off a surprising amount of development in the shoulders and arms, the boots.
They put the book back on the shelf, something about BL, and walk to the back of the store. Leading me out through a door I didn’t know existed. I exit and they quickly turn on me. Startled, I lean back into the wall, the cool concrete sending a shiver up my spine yet again today.
They don’t say anything as they step between my legs and kiss me. It’s not a shy, barely touching kiss. No, their tongue slides into my mouth like they owned it. I find my hands are on their hips and I can feel bare skin between the jeans and tank. More worryingly, I like it.
My fingers are making circles on their hips, on their waist as they keep kissing me. They are saying something to me, but I can’t understand at first.
“Mths want, butter,” is what it sounded like to my brain. Then they stopped kissing me and said “Is that what you’ve wanted all this time? Am I better than he is?” There is that smirk again.
As I started to say something, they held up their hand for me to stop talking. They said they were done with the shift at five and I should meet them in the same aisle of the bookstore, ready to take them out for dinner.
As they left, they ran their fingers over my cock and acted impressed, gave me one last kiss, and walked back through that door.
I stared into space for a few minutes, willing for my cock to subside. I failed at that, miserably. I looked at my watch and realized I needed to do a few things for work and change before I got back to the bookstore.