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turps33 who wanted a ficlet inspired by this icon. It's surprisingly not porny. Sorry ;p.
***** ****** ******
As soon as you see him you know what you want. You keep your gaze fixed on him, checking out the long line of his neck as he inclines his head to acknowledge someone, the curve of butt in nicely draped black slacks, the way his hands are never still, juggling plates and glasses, pens, change and greetings.
You catch his eye every time he looks your way, and the touch of colour in his cheeks makes you smile a little, a brief lopsided signal of intent. He bites his lip, eyes on yours with that flicker of heat that lets you know that he understands and you don’t look away.
You take an absent minded mouthful of your drink, angling your head back a little, and the flick of his eyes to your exposed throat tightens the anticipation in you, and the buzz in your skin is only partly sugar and stimulants. You can't look away from the place where the collar of his high collared shirt pushes into the short dark curls while he's facing away, loading a tray of frosted glasses.
When he glances across to you again your eyes are ready, your lips wrapped casually around the sleek silver length of a sundae spoon. It's cheesy but you linger a little, pulling it between your lips and knowing that he's watching you watching him swallow.
You drain your glass watching him deliver mounded crystal bowls of ice-cream to teenagers, and hold his gaze once more as you gesture for the bill. The buzz is building almost to distraction. You don’t look down as you rake nails along the pale skin of your inner arm but you notice that he does. You feel the raised lines through his eyes. Fair warning.
Neither of you look away when he bends close, bowed a little over your small table. When he speaks, the words might translate to be a question about your satisfaction with your drink, but they mean please and yes and agreement. He understands your gestures of 'great' and 'soon' without your having to resort to the phrase book.
You watch him back to the marble and iron of the cash register. You look away to set what you hope is the right money in the saucer, pressing the curl of paper under it's weight. You shoulder your rucksack as you stand and you can feel his eyes on you. You glance once more and this time he is watching. His pen stutters for a second over his scratch pad.
You don’t turn your head while you make your way to the back of the coffee shop. You know he will follow.
turps33 who wanted a ficlet inspired by this icon. It's surprisingly not porny. Sorry ;p.***** ****** ******
As soon as you see him you know what you want. You keep your gaze fixed on him, checking out the long line of his neck as he inclines his head to acknowledge someone, the curve of butt in nicely draped black slacks, the way his hands are never still, juggling plates and glasses, pens, change and greetings.
You catch his eye every time he looks your way, and the touch of colour in his cheeks makes you smile a little, a brief lopsided signal of intent. He bites his lip, eyes on yours with that flicker of heat that lets you know that he understands and you don’t look away.
You take an absent minded mouthful of your drink, angling your head back a little, and the flick of his eyes to your exposed throat tightens the anticipation in you, and the buzz in your skin is only partly sugar and stimulants. You can't look away from the place where the collar of his high collared shirt pushes into the short dark curls while he's facing away, loading a tray of frosted glasses.
When he glances across to you again your eyes are ready, your lips wrapped casually around the sleek silver length of a sundae spoon. It's cheesy but you linger a little, pulling it between your lips and knowing that he's watching you watching him swallow.
You drain your glass watching him deliver mounded crystal bowls of ice-cream to teenagers, and hold his gaze once more as you gesture for the bill. The buzz is building almost to distraction. You don’t look down as you rake nails along the pale skin of your inner arm but you notice that he does. You feel the raised lines through his eyes. Fair warning.
Neither of you look away when he bends close, bowed a little over your small table. When he speaks, the words might translate to be a question about your satisfaction with your drink, but they mean please and yes and agreement. He understands your gestures of 'great' and 'soon' without your having to resort to the phrase book.
You watch him back to the marble and iron of the cash register. You look away to set what you hope is the right money in the saucer, pressing the curl of paper under it's weight. You shoulder your rucksack as you stand and you can feel his eyes on you. You glance once more and this time he is watching. His pen stutters for a second over his scratch pad.
You don’t turn your head while you make your way to the back of the coffee shop. You know he will follow.
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