Work Text:
“I'm going to need decaf today, because just seeing you is making my heart race.”
Peter sighed, leaning heavily against the meager counter space behind his register, palms flat against the freshly wiped surface as he prayed for patience.
The silence dragged on, just the background noise of the coffee machines and the few early risers sipping coffee to accompany the internal mental breakdown he felt like he was experiencing. Off to his left he could feel his coworker, Kali, shaking with suppressed laughter. She enjoyed his reactions to his “favorite customer” too much, and told him to his face that his suffering was a bright beam of sunshine in her otherwise dreary days. She always made it a point to make sure she wasn't working the registers in the morning in order to enable maximum suffering potential.
He swore he would have his revenge, someday.
When he felt himself composed enough he slowly looked up at the customer before him. Stiles Stilinski, as his University ID and bus pass—which hung for some unholy reason around his neck on a Twilight lanyard—proclaimed him to be. Paradoxically both Peter's favorite customer and yet also his most painful encounter of each day.
“I'm assuming that's not actually your order,” he said, voice mild as he watched the young man squirm under his bland gaze.
“Uhhhh, right. I’ll have a mocha, two shots, with raspberry syrup please. For here,” he sheepishly handed over his point card, which Peter stamped and handed back without breaking eye contact.
The young man wilted, handed over a ten dollar bill and ducked away with a muttered “Keep the change”.
Shaking his head, Peter began making the order. He didn't mind the flirting. He might be a washed up adult with a liberal arts masters degree, working in a coffee shop, but he was a sexy washed up adult and he knew it. No, the issue wasn't the flirting at work, or even the flirting-with-a-customer thing.
The issue was altogether more serious.
“Go get’em tiger,” Kali said, examining her nails from her perch on a tall barstool. “I can hold down the fort here while you do your disgusting little mating dance with the twink.”
“Fuck you very much too,” he simpered, maturely not giving her the middle finger as he finished the whipped cream on the drink. Carefully, so as not to spill hot liquid on himself like an idiot, Peter approached the back corner booth where his Serious Issue was muttering to himself.
“One mocha, happily caffeinated,” he announced. Stiles jerked upright, clearly having been too deep in his crisis to have noticed Peter's arrival, and Peter was horrified to notice the sight only brought a wave of fond feelings for the young man as he watched him flounder to pick up a container of creamers he had knocked over in his surprise.
Fondness. Like he cared or something. Ugh.
In the space of time Peter spent mentally slapping himself for his nonsensical feelings, Stiles managed to recover from his earlier fluster. He visibly gathered himself, seemingly coming to a decision.
He looked Peter in the eye, and Peter was put in mind of a wildlife documentary, something poetic about eyes that issue a challenge , and another inappropriate wave of amusement hit him. A duel to the death in a Starbucks knock-off location. Read headline; feral, horny college boy rips out fair barista's throat, mistaking carnage for a kiss. Somehow he was unsurprised when what actually escaped those admittedly sinfully shaped lips was—
“Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?”
If he wasn't still holding the saucer and cup Peter would have been tempted to slap his hand to his forehead. The human shaped, college aged, puppy of a person just looked at him hopefully, the confident demeanor he had been attempting already crumbling under the anticipation of Peter's answer.
He looked at the cup, then back at the boy with a sigh.
There had been a small part of Peter's tired, shriveled heart that had been wondering if the question would ever come. But the larger, more practical ventricles of his jaded organ had been praying they could just keep up their comfortable, enjoyable , customer-coffee provider relationship.
“Look, Stiles. I want to say I'm flattered.” He handed over the cup, and leaned a hip against the table as Stiles grabbed at the drink like a man dying. Peter winced as the scalding coffee was gulped without a care. “You've been coming in at least five times a week for the past…several months. As far as customers go you're certainly up there with the best, even if the tips you've been dropping end up being due to this,” he gestured at the air between them, “Infatuation.”
To Peter's shock, Stiles neither wilted at the gentle letdown or puffed up in defense of his feelings being belittled. Honestly Peter had been expecting something in between, going only off of experience in turning down young ladies (easy enough, although it often turned awkward when they revealed they came with backup. Roving gangs of young women ready to tear apart anyone who hurts their friends tend to make a man out extra effort into the gentle part of a gentle letdown) and sometimes old ladies (these were easier, you just had to dodge the roving hands as they usually only had one good grab in them, and then stand firm against the open ogling). Sometimes the occasional twink would try his luck, and end up slinking away with his tail between his legs because Peter was decidedly not in the market for a boy toy.
Stiles neither slunk, nore leered.
He pulled out a list.
A printed, bullet point list.
“There's a PowerPoint too, but I figured that might actually skeeve you out enough to get me banned for life, and I was hoping that even if this didn't work out you would still be open to being coffee buddies,” Stiles tentatively offered when Peter's blank staring at the page had started to drag on again.
“You're not serious.”
Stiles shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with Peter's less than stellar reception, but he didn't look away.
“I have my reasons, please give me a chance to convince you of my totally objective and also slightly horny desire to date you. Super seriously.”
“You actually are serious.” Now Peter did press his hands to his face, as if he could wipe away the last few minutes of his life. Ridiculous.
“Stiles, please. What are you imagining would come out of this? Look at me.” He gestured at himself, clean green apron, comic sans font name tag, and all. “I'm a washed up college grad working retail forty-plus hours a week. I'm tired, broke, and currently not speaking to the vast majority of my family because for some godforsaken reason I still believe my educational choices were the right ones and not even the permanent smell of coffee burned into my sinuses had managed to change my mind.”
To his chagrin Stiles was actually nodding along enthusiastically to each point he made, as if they were perks and not the sad reality of Peter's mundane existence.
“Yes, that's the thing though. I think it was the job that made me realize I wanted more than just a casual flirt with a hot guy. Like you said, you're an adult, with a fucking masters degree.” He was practically vibrating in his seat now, and Peter regretted not getting him that decaf. But his eyes were shining with something like admiration and somehow Peter couldn't bring himself to interrupt.
“Regardless of whether there's work available for you there's no way you aren't overqualified for wiping counters and bravely restraining yourself from punching assholes every morning. But you still do it. Every morning you come work your job with the best effort you can give. I've heard the other girls here talking about how you've gone out of your way to unfuck their schedules, or taken point on one of those asshole customers. It's not easy smiling at people and actually caring enough to remember orders and stuff. I couldn't do it.” His nose wrinkles at the very thought, and if Peter's mouth hadn't gone dry by now at the quite frankly thoughtful and unexpected flattery he would have some quip about it. He sat down before he embarrassed himself by falling over from shock.
“You really do make a difference in someone's day, and it's not like you have to do it. I just…. it's something I admire about you. And I'm hoping you'll let me take you out and get to know other things about you to admire too.”
The smell of coffee must have been extra strong that morning. Kali must have opened a new bag of that dark stuff that made Peter's eyes burn every time. It was the only explanation for why he had to stare hard at the ceiling now, clenching his jaw and refusing to let any moisture escape. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a frustrated growl as Stiles leaned forward, golden brown eyes wide with earnestness.
“I swear —on my PS5 and every future coffee I will inevitably purchase— that if you don't ever want to see me again I will leave right now. But, like, I do also think you should consider that adults spend most daylight hours at work and I'm pretty sure following you home would have been much more creepy than asking you out on the clock, uhhh…”
“So you are aware that every other word out of your mouth is a disaster. I'm glad. Self awareness is the first step to healing.” Peter snarked, shaking his head to cover the last moment he needed to recover his composure. Stiles pouted, fidgeting with his mostly empty cup. Peter groaned, feeling his resistance crumble.
“Utterly ridiculous. I cannot believe I'm considering this.”
Stiles perked up, a smile beginning to shine as Peter rolled his eyes, but didn't retract his statement.
“What do you have to lose? It's a single evening, maybe two. And then you’ll know for sure.” His grin softened into something that made Peter's heart do that twingy, hopeful thing again. “I think I would regret it for the rest of forever if we didn't try.”
“Ok. No regrets.” Peter agreed, feeling something starting to tingle up his spine. Excitement? Damn it.
Damn Stiles and his fast mouth and his fucking tenacity.
“One date. You're paying, and we will NOT be getting coffee,” he finally conceded, decidedly avoiding eye contact as Stiles almost fell out of his seat as he gave an almighty fist pump of victory.
“Ohmygod!” He shouted, catching himself on the edge of the table and almost knocking over his coffee cup. “First of all, you definitely won't regret this! I'm going to woo the pants off you, although maybe not literally because I don't think it would be cool to put out on a first date but you know, I also don't think I would ever turn down a chance to tap that. I'm only human. Second, I hope your standards are low, because after getting all this coffee the last few weeks I am mostly broke and might be able to afford a half decent Italian place but not something like, black tie or anything. Not that I think you want something that fussy! I totally get it if—”
With a groan Peter leaned over the table, both hands coming up to cup the brunette’s face and put his mouth to better use.
Peter was pleased to find he was right; kissing was an effective way to shut him up before he put his foot in his mouth. Enjoyable too.
Stiles had a deliciously dazed and pink look across his face as Peter pulled back. He could only blink foggily as Peter slid his receipt across the table and tapped it meaningfully.
“Pick me up here at noon, we'll get lunch. You can have my number just in case, but I expect you to restrain yourself from spamming me with emoji or whatever you kids are into these days. I enjoy Italian, but I won't say no to a good burger either.”
He pat Stiles on the cheek for good measure, and then rose from his chair.
Checking his apron and brushing imaginary lint off, he then gave Stiles his most sardonic customer service eyebrow raise. “Don't you have classes to get to? Make sure you drop your mug off at the counter on the way out. I'm not into service kink and these tables don't clear themselves.”
Stiles threw him a double thumbs up as he headed back to the register. He laughed, ignoring the looks early morning patrons sent him as he ducked back behind the counter. He ignored Kali's knowing grin twice as hard.
Only six hours left on his shift, and for once he had no intention of getting any overtime.
He had a hot date tonight.