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Mickey slumps in his seat, eyes down, staring at his coffee. It’s black with sugar, and it smells really good. He can’t say the same for himself. He’s wearing last night’s clothes, smelling of smoke and some weird-ass cologne, and there’s the musky odor of sweat and sex underneath that.
His head aches. His ass aches, and not exactly in a good way. Whoever the guy was last night, he was shit at prep, obviously had shit taste in cologne, and was a lousy fuck. Apparently – if his headache and bad judgment are any indication – Mickey was drunk as fuck last night.
The coffee shop door opens, and another guy stumbles in. Mickey takes a sip of his coffee and looks him over out of habit. He’s tall and lean, built but he wears it well. The sun, which is actually currently Mickey’s mortal enemy, hits the guy’s hair and lights up the rumpled dark strands to red. Fuck. Why couldn’t Mickey have picked up someone like that last night?
The guy orders a coffee with some complicated name and fifty thousand requirements. One percent milk, two pumps of vanilla, three of caramel. He waits, looking exhausted, and Mickey shakes his head, which causes a spike of pain to shoot through his head. He recognizes the walk of shame, but he has no fucking idea how anyone could kick that guy’s ass out of bed.
He gets his drink and glances around, spying the lone empty table by the window, bathed in sunlight. Mickey hears the guy’s soft groan and can’t help smirking. The guy sighs and heads over, walking right past Mickey.
“I gotta ask. Is there any actual coffee in that?”
*
Ian turns at the voice and blinks blearily until its owner comes into focus. Jet black hair, full lips in a smirk and the bluest eyes Ian’s ever seen. “Five shots.”
“Shit. You need that much coffee, you should sit in the dark.” The guy nods to the chair opposite him. “Unless you want to sit over there.”
Ian doesn’t want to sit over there, and not just because his head feels too sizes too big in skin three sizes too small. Sitting there means sitting with this guy, and after last night’s fuck, Ian’s pretty sure he deserves something gorgeous to look at. “Thanks.”
He knows he looks and smells gross. He was in too much of a hurry to get out before the guy woke up and wanted round two. This guy looks a little worse for wear too, and Ian recognizes the look of a walk of shame, the smell of the night before.
“You look like I feel.” The guy says it with a laugh. “Except I feel like shit and I don’t think you could look like shit.” He rubs his forehead with callused fingers. “You look like you feel how I feel.”
Ian gets stuck on his hands, his brain wondering what those calluses would feel like on his skin. He shakes his head to clear it then groans. “I do. Feel like shit. And I’ve seen a mirror today, so I know I look like shit too.”
The guy smirks again and this time Ian focuses on his lips. He can very easily picture those lips wrapped around his cock. The guy holds out his hand, bringing Ian’s attention back. “Mickey.”
Ian takes it and it’s warm from his coffee. “Ian.”
Ian’s no stranger to hard work, but it’s been a while since he’s hauled boxes anywhere, so his hands have softened. Mickey’s calluses feel just as good as they looked, and his handshake is firm. This time Ian’s imagination supplies a very vivid image of Mickey’s hand wrapped around his dick.
“So.” Mickey sips his coffee. “On a scale of one to ten, how was it?”
“What?”
This time Mickey full-on smiles and if Ian had a problem with his dick before, he’s definitely got a much bigger one now. “The fuck you snuck away from at...” He looks at his watch. “Seven this morning?”
“Six-thirty. And a three. And that’s only because I was the one doing the fucking.”
Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up and Ian realizes what he’d just said. He can feel the hot blush rising on his skin. He just outed himself to the hottest guy he’s met in ages. Which is probably for the best, since Mickey can now set him straight – no pun intended – and make it clear that his one-night stand was of the opposite sex.
“Wish I could say the same.”
*
Mickey watches Ian’s face go through a dozen different expressions. He finally settles on what Mickey thinks is supposed to be nonchalance, but isn’t even close. “I mean, then mine might have been more than a one-and-a-half.”
“Ouch. That bad?”
Mickey laughs and takes another sip of his coffee. “Ouch being the operative word.” Ian winces and drinks some of his own coffee. Mickey shrugs.“You’d think it wouldn’t be that hard. I mean, you know? It’s a KitKat, right?”
“A what?” Ian frowns, looking lost.
“KitKat.” Mickey holds up his fingers, one by one, and counts them off. “One. Two. Three. Four.” He holds them close together, slightly curved and Mickey has to remember to breathe when he looks at Ian’s long, tapered fingers and imagines them in his ass. “And done.”
Ian barks out a laugh. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I’ve never...wow.” He laughs again and leans back in his chair. His eyes are ridiculously green, though there are probably a hundred different colors mixed in there too. “I’m never looking at a KitKat the same again.”
“Admittedly, you don’t usually lube a KitKat. And I wouldn’t recommend shoving one up your ass.” Mickey needs to shut up. He doesn’t know why he’s rambling at Ian, much less why he’s casually come out to him. “Not that I’ve shoved one up my ass.”
“But the four fingers...”
Mickey just smiles against the rim of his coffee cup as he takes another drink. “So I know what makes it bad when you’re on the receiving end. What makes it bad when you’re on the giving end?”
“He just laid there. No sounds, no reaction. For a while I thought maybe he was asleep, but then he grunted and came, I guess. I mean, it’s not all going to be the best sex of your life, but the least he could do is seem...interested.”
“Wait. He didn’t do anything?”
“Nope.”
“Huh.” Mickey frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t get it. I mean...what’s the point if you’re just gonna lay there?”
“Exactly.” Ian leans back in his seat. “Your guy and my guy sort of sound like they deserve each other.”
“Dunno. Might open a fucking rift in the universe if that much bad sex happened all at once.”
“Maybe...” Ian pauses and takes a sip of his coffee. His smile is sly and promising and Mickey shifts a little in his seat, his cock hardening. “Maybe we should fuck to counteract their bad sex. Save the world.”
“With our dicks.” Mickey raises an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure we’d have good sex?”
Ian leans in and places his hand on Mickey’s thigh beneath the table, long fingers spanning the breadth of it. “Dunno. Just a feeling.”
“Well, I guess it’s worth a shot. I mean, sacrifices have to be made to save the universe. We could be heroes.”
“Big fuckin’ heroes.”
Mickey rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking better be better than your jokes.”
Ian squeezes Mickey’s thigh, moving his hand up and grazing fingertips over Mickey’s dick. “One way to find out.”