Work Text:
Dean poked his head out from under the espresso machine when the bell above the door rang. “Be with you in a second!” He called out, sweeping the last of the dust out of the corner. He bumped his head on the counter and bit down a swear. He stood up and dusted off his hands, walking over to the sink to rinse them off.
He made his way over to the counter and froze. The guy standing on the other side was fucking gorgeous. His hair was ruffled and sticking up in all directions, as though he had been running his fingers through it for the past few minutes. There was a hint of stubble on his cheeks, chapped lips that were way too fucking pink to belong to a dude and eyes. Holy fuck. Dean couldn’t look away from him. They were the brightest blue that he had ever seen in his life. They had to be contacts. There was no way that color could be natural.
“You have Chai Tea Latte?”
The gruff voice sent shivers down his spine. Dean snapped out of his already beginning fantasy of the man with glowing eyes and a voice that sounded like he had spent all night on his knees for some lucky bastard. “Y-yeah.” His eyes widened when blue eyes glanced down at his lips. “What size?”
Those blue eyes locked with his again and Dean was suddenly so fucking glad for the counter. Popping a chubby at work wasn’t something he wanted to advertise. Then blue eyes killed him. The corners of his lips turned up in a smirk. He knew! The fucker knew exactly what he was doing to Dean and fuck if that didn’t turn him on even more.
“Large, please.”
Dean choked on his next breath of air. He erupted into a coughing fit and grabbed the cup, pumping chai syrup into it, distracting him from blue eyes. “That’ll be three-fifty seven.”
He watched blue eyes pull out his wallet and busied himself with steaming the milk, his dick making a concentrated effort to burst out of his fucking pants. Christ. He poured it in and stirred, glancing over his shoulders. Blue eyes was still staring right, fucking, at him. Dean felt his cheeks heat and finished the drink, getting a lid and a sleeve on it. He brought it back to the register and put it down between them.
Blue eyes handed him a twenty, still never looking away from his eyes and Dean felt like a teenager, shivering at the sight, his cock pulsing in his jeans. He typed the order into the register and gathered the change for blue eyes, looking up and for the first time, those fucking gorgeous eyes weren’t waiting for him. Instead, blue eyes was looking at the tip jar.
He had the most adorable expression on his face. He looked confused. Dean smiled and pushed the change towards him. “Here you go.” Those blue eyes immediately jumped back up to his face and he shivered as he felt their weight again.
“What does t-i-p mean?”
Dean blinked in confusion at blue eyes, looking down at the sign. It struck him that English was not blue eyes’ first language, and his accent might have been Russian. Or he might have been talking out his ass. Either way, now he was imagining blue eyes swearing in another language as he fucked Dean, laying him out on the bed, spread out like an offering for the (potentially Russian) sex god in front of him. Even if he did like trenchcoats. And fuck, he’d been asked a question!
“Uh, tip? If you, uh, liked the service? You put some of your change in there.” Dean swallowed when that smirk made a reappearance, this time tinged with something much more...feral. He shivered, even though it was the middle of summer.
“A чаевые, yes.”
Dean watched as blue eyes lifted the change he had pushed across the counter into his hand and dumped all of into the glass jar. All without breaking their eye contact. His cock throbbed with every ‘chink’ noise each of the coins made. He was so fucking screwed.
“For...the view.”
Dean sucked in a breath as blue eyes let his eyes trace down every inch of him, lingering decidedly on where the counter blocked the rest of his view before he took his cup and left the shop without a backwards glance. Holy fuck. He’d just...blue eyes had just given him one HELL of a once-over. Holy FUCK.
Dean rushed into the back room and pressed a hand to the front of his pants. Fuck. Fuck, fucking FUCK. He whined and gave himself one good rub and knew he had to stop or he was going to come right then and there, replaying the image of blue eyes looking him up and down, those eyes just as intense as they traced over his body.