Work Text:
To say Jean’s flat was small was to do the word small an injustice. It was one open room. The kitchen consisted of the stove, sink, a refrigerator from the 1960s, a chipped table, two rickety chairs, a small counter, and two cabinets in one corner. His bed and wardrobe sat against the opposite wall and there was a cubicle for the shower and toilet. The bed doubled as his couch and he had a tiny grainy TV with a rabbit ears antenna. He had one window with a ratty screen.
All of his friends said it was shitty. His mother thought it was shitty, although she would never say, just bought a plant that he always forgot to water. His father just rolled his eyes and said every young man’s first flat was shitty. It was shitty, but it was his (and all he could afford. He really needed a better job). He loved it anyway.
He was fresh from his shower, barefoot and bare-chested. He heard the knock, ran the towel over his head vigorously one more time, and tossed it in a corner. Then he grabbed the cleanest T-shirt he had from his pile of clothes. He really needed to find time to run over to Mum and Dad’s to do his laundry and maybe stick around for a meal.
In a few quick movements, he pulled the shirt over his head, flung the door open, and grinned at Armand, an Armand wearing one of his high school football jerseys. They both knew how much he liked seeing Armand in his shirts. “Morning.”
Armand held a small tray with two paper cups and a small white paper bag. He took a moment to look Jean over, from the hair sticking up everywhere, to the t shirt sticking to his chest and tight jeans, and down to his feet. He smiled. “Morning. I come bearing coffee and those jelly doughnuts you like so much.”
Jean laughed and stepped to the side. “You’re my savior. I’ve got nothing in. I finished the last of the corn flakes yesterday.”
Armand pressed the bag into Jean’s chest as he passed. “You know that you should live on more than just pizza and take out, right?”
Jean peeked into the bag and grinned like a kid getting his favorite candy. “At least I don’t forget to eat.”
Armand just rolled his eyes and gave Jean one of the cups. He went into the kitchen and bent over to stick his head in the fridge. “Do you have any milk?”
Jean followed, enjoying the view. He smirked. “Finished it along with the corn flakes. What about at your guys’ place?”
Armand closed the refrigerator door. He smirked right back at Jean and hopped up on the counter. He pulled the lid off his cup and took a drink. “Ax got the last of it. Oh well, I can drink it black and sweet. I have to run to the store today anyway. It’s my turn to do the shopping. You should come with me.”
Jean settled into one of the chairs. He wrinkled his nose. “I can’t afford to shop at your market. I’ve seen what you pay for coffee.”
“And my coffee is very good.”
Jean shrugged. He pulled a doughnut and napkin from the bag. He took a big bite to get as much jelly as possible. His mouth was half full as he answered, “Coffee is coffee.”
Armand chuckled. “It really isn’t. Your regular is grainy, sludgy, and way too bitter. You shouldn’t be allowed to own a coffeemaker if that is what you put in it.”
“It’s not that bad,” Jean tried to protest until he sipped from his own cup. The coffee was mellow, light, and flavorful. There was no bitterness or any of the burned aftertaste. His eyes slipped closed. He moaned and downed half the cup before he realized it. He stopped suddenly and cradled the cup as if it was something precious.
Armand laughed out loud. “You were saying?”
Jean let out a long satisfied sigh. He slowly opened his eyes. He deliberately set the cup and doughnut down and wiped his mouth and fingers. Then he slid out of the chair to kneel on the floor a few feet from Armand. He extended his arms out and bowed to the floor in homage. “I bow to your wisdom, coffee god.”
Armand arched an eyebrow. “Coffee god? Does this mean you want to be one of my worshipers?”
Jean looked up. The heat in his eyes was unmistakable. “I would love to worship at your altar.”
Armand blushed but he didn’t look away. “You may approach me.”
Jean crawled the rest of the way. He sat back on his knees. He licked his lips and looked as if he wanted to devour Armand.
Armand’s breath hitched. “You may stand.”
Jean did so. He stood as close as possible without touching. His voice came out as a rough rasp. “May I touch you?”
Armand pulled Jean to stand between his legs. “Yes,” he whispered.
Jean buried a hand in Armand’s curls, tilted his head up, and kissed him. His free hand rested on Armand’s thigh. He pressed as close as the counter would allow.
The kisses started off gentle and reverent, but soon picked up in heat and passion. Armand broke the kiss with a gasp, only to have Jean’s mouth attack his throat. Jean’s fingers were tight in his hair. He wrapped his arms around Jean’s neck. “Jean.”
Hearing his name called in that breathy moan flipped a primal switch in Jean’s brain. He lifted Armand off the counter and carried him to the bed. He dropped Armand on the mattress and pounced on him, all thoughts of coffee and doughnuts forgotten.