The barista’s fingers brushed Leo’s as she handed over his latte, her painted nails lingering just a second too long against his knuckles. Leo’s smirk was effortless. A slow curl of his lips as he leaned into the counter, his broad shoulders blocking Ben’s view of the menu board. "Extra shot, just like I like it," Leo murmured, his voice rich with implication, his thumb swiping a nonexistent droplet from the cup’s rim. The barista giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze darting to Ben for half a second before snapping back to Leo’s piercing blue stare. Ben clenched his jaw, the paper sleeve of his own coffee crumpling under his grip.
Leo slid into the chair opposite Ben with feline grace, his knee bumping Ben’s under the small table. Steam curled between them, mingling with the scent of espresso and Leo’s aftershave, something woodsy and expensive. Ben focused on the dark liquid in his cup, the reflection of his own stubbled jaw distorted in its surface. Leo’s fingers drummed once, twice, on the tabletop before he reached across, his thumb catching a stray drip of coffee from Ben’s bottom lip. "You’re scowling," Leo murmured, his voice low enough that the couple at the next table wouldn’t hear. Ben’s breath hitched, his tongue darting out instinctively to lick the spot Leo had touched, tasting bitterness.
The paper sleeve of Leo’s cup sat between them, flipped casually upside down. Ben had seen the barista’s looping digits in pink ink the moment Leo set it down. His fingers twitched against his thigh, itching to crumple it, to toss it in the trash with the rest of the napkins. Leo exhaled through his nose, leaning forward until his forearms rested on the table, his biceps flexing under the rolled sleeves of his Henley. He nudged the sleeve toward Ben with one finger, his smirk widening as Ben stiffened. "Not my type," Leo said, voice dripping with amusement. His knee pressed harder against Ben’s beneath the table, warm and insistent.
Ben’s pulse thudded in his throat. He curled his fingers tighter around his cup, the heat searing his palm. "Don’t care," he muttered, though his jaw clenched when Leo chuckled. Leo’s foot hooked around Ben’s ankle under the table, dragging him closer with a scrape of chair legs against tile. "Could’ve fooled me," Leo murmured, his thumb brushing Ben’s wrist where it rested on the table. His grin turned wolfish, teeth flashing. "You jealous, Wright?" The words curled around Ben like smoke, intimate and teasing.
The espresso machine hissed behind them. Ben swallowed hard, his knee bouncing under Leo’s insistent pressure. Leo’s fingers traced idle circles on his wrist now, feather-light, maddening. Ben’s exhale was ragged. He leaned in suddenly, close enough to catch the scent of Leo’s shampoo and growled under his breath, "You gonna drink that, or just flirt with every barista in Brooklyn?" Leo’s laugh was low, dark. He lifted his cup slowly, deliberately, his tongue darting out to catch a stray drop from the rim, eyes locked on Ben’s mouth. "Depends," he murmured. "You gonna give me a reason to hurry?"
A chair scraped nearby. Ben jerked back, heat flooding his cheeks as an elderly woman shuffled past their table. Leo’s smirk never faltered. He stretched lazily, the hem of his Henley riding up to reveal a sliver of taut stomach, the waistband of his briefs just visible above his jeans. Ben’s gaze snagged there, his throat dry. Leo noticed, of course. He adjusted the fabric with deliberate slowness, his fingers lingering at the button of his jeans.
Leo’s expression shifted. The teasing glint in his blue eyes dimmed, replaced by something quieter, more deliberate. He set his cup down carefully against the table. His knee pressed against Ben’s under the table with a purposeful pressure. "Ben," he said, his voice lower now, stripped of its usual bravado. "We should probably talk."
The words landed like stones. Ben’s stomach knotted. He forced his fingers to unclench from his coffee cup, flexing them against his thigh. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the café’s murmur. He knew what this was. Knew it in the way Leo’s thumb traced absent circles on his wrist.
Leo exhaled through his nose, his shoulders squaring. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. "This isn’t just... locker room shit," he said carefully, his voice stripped raw. His knee pressed harder against Ben’s. "Not for me."
Ben’s breath stuttered. The noise around them dimmed until all he heard was the hitch in Leo’s breathing. His fingers twitched toward Leo’s wrist, hesitated, then curled into a fist. His throat worked. "What are you saying?"
Leo leaned in, his breath warm against Ben’s jaw. "I’m saying," he murmured, rough and quiet, "that I want more." His hand slid over Ben’s fist, fingers prying it open gently. Their palms met, damp and warm. Ben’s pulse stuttered as Leo threaded their fingers together. "If you do."
The café noise blurred into static. Ben stared at their joined hands. Leo’s long fingers curled possessively around his thicker ones. His throat tightened. "People will see and know," he rasped, but his grip tightened instinctively.
Leo smirked, but his eyes were serious. He lifted their clasped hands, brushing his lips over Ben’s knuckles, a whisper of contact that burned. "Let them." His thumb traced Ben’s palm, slow and deliberate. "Unless you’re scared."
Ben’s nostrils flared. He leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched, their coffees forgotten. "Fuck you," he breathed, but his free hand gripped Leo’s thigh under the table, fingers digging into denim. Leo’s exhale was ragged. "That’s the idea."
The café door chimed. Neither looked. Leo’s thumb traced Ben’s pulse point, feeling the wild hammer of it. "So?" Leo murmured, his voice impossibly low. "Boyfriends?" Ben swallowed hard. The word curled hot in his gut, terrifying and inevitable. He nodded once, sharp.
Leo’s grin was slow, triumphant. He squeezed Ben’s hand tighter- too tight, almost painful- then abruptly released him. "Good." He stood, chair scraping loudly. Ben gaped as Leo rounded the table and dropped into the seat beside him, their thighs flush. Leo slung an arm over Ben’s shoulders, fingers tangling possessively in his curls. "Now," he said, loud enough for nearby tables to hear, "kiss me, boyfriend."
Ben froze. Every muscle locked. Leo’s smirk faltered for half a second, just long enough for Ben to see the flicker of doubt, before Ben grabbed his jaw and crushed their mouths together. Somewhere, a phone rang. Ben didn’t care. Leo’s tongue slid against his, tasting of espresso and promise.
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