Work Text:
Gumpa’s Garage is the best place in town, partially because it’s the only affordable one—especially with Sean’s employee discount—and mostly because all the employees are hot. That’s not Sean’s vanity. He comes in on his day off, and the staff’s still great; he’s never been the closest with Gram and Yok, but they smile at him anyway. Yok’s watering the plants pots lining the storefront and Gram’s sweeping off the sidewalk, and they both pause what they’re doing to ask how it’s going, even though he and Yok had a big fight on his last shift and for a while Gram thought Sean was dating his crush. They smooth it all out and chat like they’re family, all brothers. They’re not even his favourites. His number one favourite is inside, visible through the clear glass door. Sean’s got one hand on the knob, poised to go as soon as the conversation hits a natural end. He has to wait for that, because if he’s rude to the two baristas outside, the one inside will pout at him. Which he can’t have. Even though White’s so cute when he pouts. Then some random asshole in a fancy black suit beelines past Sean, elbowing him right out of the way, and gets through the door first.
That kills the conversation. Yok snorts and Gram shakes his head at the receding back. Sean catches the door before it swings closed again, quickly following inside, even though the man’s already reached the counter and there’s nothing Sean can do about it in front of White.
White stands behind the register with his sleek turquoise apron flat over an argyle cardigan, his soft hair neatly brushed and his bangs curling over the tops of his huge glasses. He looks as adorable as ever, so beautiful, enough to make Sean’s heart constrict, even though the man making drinks looks exactly the same and does nothing for him. Sean’s reached the point where he can tell the twins apart in a heartbeat—he always knows his White—but it’s especially obvious when they’re working side by side. Black’s not wearing glasses, his apron’s wrinkled over his sleeveless hoodie, and those heart-shaped lips that are so gorgeous on White look nasty on Black, because they’re always twisted in a frown. For once, Black doesn’t scowl over at Sean, probably because he’s busy scowling at the first customer.
White’s just finished greeting, “Hi, Todd. What can I get you?”
So ‘Todd’ must be a regular that Sean never sees—or has just never paid attention to—or else he’s told White his name upfront, which is weird and suspicious. Todd gets weirder when he leans over the counter, folding both his arms on the polished surface, coming perilously close to White to purr, “Coffee, all black.” Sean takes a step out of line, to the side, so he can glare at Todd’s face, and he’s not surprised to find Todd smirking up at White like a predator on the prowl. White looks like such an easy target. He’s small and sweet and so pretty it hurts.
He’s also surprisingly strong, resilient, and getting better at recognizing bull shit by the day. He punches in the order without batting an eyelash at Todd’s slick grin. The total rings up, and before White can even read it out, Todd’s got a wad of cash in his hand. He wipes his thumb on his tongue before forking out the right price, and then he stuffs the rest in the tip jar, instantly filling it up. It fills Sean’s temper too. White deserves good tips, but the delivery irks Sean to his core. He means to say something about it, but White chirps first, simple and courteous without sounding over-impressed, “Thanks, Todd.”
Todd winks and drawls, “Of course. How could I not tip such a cutie?”
Sean’s hand balls into a fist at his side. He’s glaring daggers that Todd doesn’t seem to see, although he does glance the other way, and Sean follows suit, realizing that Black’s glaring bullets. It’s the one and only thing Sean and Black have in common: White’s their precious cinnamon bun that no one gets to fuck with.
Todd pays Black’s snarl as little attention as Sean’s, and he turns right back to ask, “If I tip extra, will you write your number on the cup?”
The line’s officially crossed. Sean somehow manages to stop himself from knocking Todd right out, but he does growl, “Hey—!”
Todd glances back at Sean and gives him a quick, uninterested once-over. Sean’s fully ready to punch the overused gel right out of his hair, but White cuts in, “It’s fine, Sean. He’s a childhood friend.” Which is maybe supposed to calm Sean down. But it just makes his back rise more, because he had no idea White had such shit friends. He doesn’t really know any of White’s friends outside of the Garage. Later, he’ll probably feel bad; he clearly needs to make more of an effort to learn White’s outside life. In the moment, he just wants to cut Todd out of the picture. White chides, “Sean,” and Sean’s hackles lower just a fraction. “Seriously, it’s fine. He’s just teasing Black.” Except Black’s over at the other counter, and Todd’s teasing White, which is Sean’s twin.
Todd chimes in, “True. I actually already have White’s number.” Then he turns from Sean and winks pointedly at White, like he’s confident that he’s the number one contact in White’s phone and they covertly talk all the time. It’s a good thing the rest of the shop is uncharacteristically empty, because Sean’s ready to throw a table.
Before he can, he hears a wet squelching noise from the bar, and he glances over in time to see Black spit a huge wad of saliva right into Todd’s cup. Then he slams it onto the counter, splashing dark coffee everywhere. He doesn’t announce the order. He doesn’t have to. It’s obviously Todd’s. And Black’s glaring a hole right through Todd’s skull.
Todd saunters over to lift the cup, letting a slick trail drizzle off the rim and down his hand. He languidly licks it off, taking his time and making a show of it, even knowing what’s mixed into that coffee. His eyes are locked on Black’s the whole time, electric fire between them, and the whole scene is sick but also mesmerizing; Sean’s rooted to the spot. In his peripherals, White’s staring too. It’s like watching two starving tigers face each other down, circling for the kill. Then Todd slowly sets the cup back down, slides it gracefully across the counter, and purrs, “I changed my mind. I want cream.”
Black grunts, “Sure,” snatches it back up, and loudly spits in it again. It’s grotesque, but the way he stares at Todd while he does it adds a whole extra layer, and Sean gets the distinct impression that both their tongues have been in far worse places. He half expects Black to throw the coffee in Todd’s face, then leap over the counter and rip Todd’s sodden clothes off. But he just sets the cup down.
Todd picks it up, swirls it around the paper cup like fine wine, and then takes a long, indulgent sip, like he’s savouring the taste of Black’s saliva. And he swallows it down like he can’t get enough. He even licks his lips off afterwards, concluding, “Delicious.”
Black doesn’t answer with anything, but he’s breathing hard. Watching Todd drink his sabotaged coffee clearly did things to him. He’s never looked fiercer. Todd looks like he’s in the same boat. He takes another sip, smirks, and turns on his heel, strutting for the door. It seems like a miracle that Black stays where he is and doesn’t hunt Todd down.
The little bell above the door rings with Todd’s departure. Black better hope Gram and Yok weren’t looking, because if any of them report Black’s actions, Gumpa will kill him. And maybe kill Sean too for not stopping it. He just stood there and watched. So did White.
White quietly asks, “Um... do you want a latte?”
It breaks the spell. Sean manages to look back at his boyfriend, the sane one. He nods over his usual order and fishes out the change, feeling weirdly compelled to add, “Can you make sure he doesn’t spit in it?”
White snorts and nods, splitting into a tension-breaking smile. He’s the total opposite of Black, all sunshine and beauty. His smile is everything.
It seduces Sean enough for him to blurt, “You can if you want, though.” He winces as soon as it’s out of his mouth, because he knows how gross that is, and it shouldn’t be freakishly hot but also kind of is. White laughs and blessedly doesn’t seem to judge him for it.
White just leans over the counter, waving Sean in—Sean leans forward to, so White can lightly peck him on the lips. That’s all they dare do at work; Sean still has the scars from Black catching him railing White on the couch in the break room. The peck’s more than enough, because Sean knows it’s only a small taste of what’s to come when White’s shift is over. They stay bent over the counter, close enough to kiss more, as White hums, “How about we stick to that kind of spit swapping?”
“I dunno,” Sean teases, “I didn’t get a lot of spit out of that. I think I need a few more.”
White chuckles and rubs their noses together, only for Black to clear his throat and glare over from his station. He’s holding a cup at the ready—he clearly didn’t catch Sean’s order and has never bothered to learn what Sean always gets.
Fortunately, White takes the cup and says, “I’ll make it,” blowing Sean another kiss before he makes the best latte Sean’s ever had.