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What originally started as simply checking out a local coffee shop that also sells vinyl has quickly turned into a weeks-long tactical ops mission.
Ever since Frank strolled into Pulp Roast and saw those big hazel eyes waiting behind the counter, he knew his days were numbered. When the barista — named Gerard, not that Frank has been eavesdropping — hands him that first americano, Frank recalls briefly forgetting what he’d even ordered.
“Frank?” Gerard asks breezily when he approaches, grinning at the corner of his mouth.
Blinking stupidly long enough to make it weird, Frank stammers out, “Yeah—uh. Yes.”
“Cool.” Gerard hands him the cup with a sly flash of teeth. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Then he walks away, totally nonchalant. Because apparently ruining people’s lives with a smile that sexy is just fucking Tuesday for this guy.
It’s only later when he’s driving home that Frank notices his name misspelled Frink on the side of his cup. Which shouldn’t be a big deal, but feels strangely targeted for reasons he can’t explain.
He orders the same thing when he comes back two days later, and just like before, Gerard asks him with that same toothy expression, “Frank?”
This time, he manages a shy smile in return. “Yup.”
“Sweet action.” Gerard smiles even wider before turning away. “Enjoy.”
Back in his car before he can fully dissolve into a public crisis, Frank checks the side of his cup again, face pinched in a confused grin.
Fred
An abrupt laugh jumps out of him. He can’t decide if this is deliberate psychological warfare, or some bizarre, passive aggressive style of flirting. Part of him hopes it’s the latter, but experience tells him not to make a big deal out of it. Yet.
After that, it becomes an unspoken game between them. Frank comes in pretending he’s there to browse while jamming to Helmet or Bauhaus or whatever badass playlist graces the store speakers. Then, Frank will stop playing coy and approach the counter with shaky legs to order his coffee, followed by exiting as quickly as possible.
Every time, Gerard smiles at him and asks, “Frank?”
And every time, his name is completely wrong on the cup.
One day it’s Francis. Next, he gets Fnrak. Another time it’s Frænk — which makes him cackle for five straight minutes in his car, because if he had any doubts before, this dude is obviously just fucking with him now.
By the end of week two, Frank is showing up at Pulp Roast daily. When he pops by after work on Tuesday, he walks up to the counter and Gerard greets him with, “Americano?”
Caught off guard, Frank grins somewhat bashfully. “Yeah—um.” He shakes his head while digging out his wallet. “Creature of habit, I guess.”
Gerard’s smile continues to remain a national security threat, ringing him up without telling Frank the total, and he doesn’t ask before he pays.
“Find anything good today?”
A little stunned to be questioned about anything besides his coffee order, Frank huffs a laugh and says, “Yeah, actually. I’m debating that copy of Plastic Surgery Disasters on your display back there.”
“Kennedys fan, huh?” Gerard asks while locking a filter into the espresso machine. “A guy sold me his stash this morning and there was a re-press of Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables, if you’re interested.”
“Really?” Frank nods in approval. “Very tempting, but I should probably stick to the one. Shit’s so expensive these days.”
“Preaching to the choir.” Flipping the switch on the espresso machine, Gerard turns back to him and leans casually against the counter. “I could probably cut you a deal for both.”
Frank feels another grin blooming when he asks, “You can do that?”
The smirk Gerard gives might be more devastating than his smile. “I mean, I kinda own the joint, so.” He shrugs one shoulder and adds, “But if it’ll clear your conscience, I can give myself a stern lecture in the office later.”
Exhaling a laugh through his nose, Frank waves him off and says, “That’s really cool of you, but I’m not out to swindle a small business.”
Absently biting his lip, Gerard studies him for a second and says, “Tell you what. I’ll give you a good price for both as a thank you for being a regular. But if anyone else asks, I charged you double and this conversation never happened.”
Unable to stop the dumb smile that spreads across his face, Frank holds out his hand. “Deal.”
Shaking it firmly, they let go and Gerard says, “Pleasure doing business with you. I’ll pack ‘em up real quick, be right back.”
The combined total feels more like highway robbery, even for used vinyl, but Frank’s not about to argue. Especially when Gerard passes the bag over along with his coffee, leveling him with that debilitating, pearly-white smile.
“See you tomorrow?” He asks, almost hopeful.
Snorting, Frank returns the smile and says, “Most likely, yeah.”
“Awesome.” Gerard flashes a smaller, more knowing grin as he turns away. “Have a good night, Frank.”
Vibrating all over when he reaches his car parked out front, Frank climbs in and jams his keys into the ignition. It’s only after the engine turns over that he glances at the side of his coffee cup, snickering at what he finds written there today.
Franklin
Which, to Gerard’s credit, is probably the closest attempt he’s made thus far.
By week three, Frank is having full-on conversations with Gerard that keep him lingering in the store longer and longer. Mainly just bullshitting about whatever while Gerard serves other customers, spending hours trading favorite bands and horror movies, but it only takes a few visits before they’re veering into more personal territory.
Frank learns that Gerard has a younger brother named Mikey who lives out of state, and that he sang lead vocals for their shitty band in high school called Raygun Jones that played maybe three shows before breaking up. Following a discussion about local bands, Gerard perks up once Frank shares that he frequently fills in for his buddies’ band if they’re a man down for one of their shows.
“That’s pretty rad,” he’s saying while wiping down the counter. “You ever think about joining a band for real?”
“I’ve thought about it,” Frank admits, “but I also never subscribed to the idea that every creative hobby needs to be a job, y’know?”
“Oh, for sure,” Gerard agrees. “That’s why I stick to freelance work, but even then I’m pretty choosy.”
“Do you play?”
“Nah, not really,” Gerard says with a small laugh. “I dabble with guitar every once in a while but nothing worth a damn. Most of my side hustle is graphic design stuff for bigger companies, like logos and shit. The rest of what I do is just for me.”
“So you’re an artist?”
“I like to think so,” Gerard replies, expression warm with a humility that melts Frank’s insides.
Back in his car two hours later, Frank grins at the name on his cup.
Ph’rnk
This new pattern continues for another full week, and Frank wonders why Gerard never seems to get annoyed about him loitering so much. If anything, he actually seems pleased to have the company.
One of their earlier talks revealed that Gerard is the shop’s only employee, but occasionally he’ll get help from his brother or friends during the summer when there’s more foot traffic. All under the table, of course, because fuck capitalism, which Frank can respect. But someone committing tax fraud has also never looked this good, so maybe he’s just biased.
“I’m not in the red or anything,” Gerard had clarified at the time. “Like, I make enough to justify keeping the shop open. But if I can’t pay people a decent wage, then all that tells me is I can’t afford the extra staff.”
One Saturday night — a full month after his first visit — Frank finds himself lingering until it’s almost closing time. He’s been here since noon, him and Gerard spending the entire day running their mouths, quoting favorite movies and laughing at inside jokes they somehow already have.
“Doesn’t it ever get overwhelming, though?” Frank is asking while taking a sip of his third coffee. “Running the whole show by yourself?”
“Dude, are you kidding? Constantly,” Gerard laughs, prompting Frank to do the same. “But luckily this location is tiny enough that it isn’t too awful, at least not all the time. I think if I were in a bigger space it’d be a completely different story.”
Humming in acknowledgement, Frank grins down at Flank blazoned in black Sharpie on his cup. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask: what’s the deal with—” He motions to it.
Glancing over while cleaning the machines, Gerard cuts him a crooked smile. “I was wondering if you’d ever say anything,” he says smugly, running a hand through his hair. “The first time was an accident, but it was pretty funny, so I just left it and decided to keep fucking with you.”
“Most people call that negging,” Frank notes with a smirk.
”Do they?” Gerard asks, feigning ignorance with his own smirk. “Bummer. I was hoping it came off as flirting.”
Frank’s pulse spikes when he grins wider and confirms, “So you are into me.”
“Duh,” Gerard retorts flatly, shooting him another smile, sneakier this time. “You think I let just anybody hang around all day without buying anything?”
That earns a scoff from Frank. “I buy coffee.”
“Right,” Gerard says, making his way over. “And I think we both know the coffee I serve is pretty run of the mill for this area.”
Frank narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Narrowing his eyes back, Gerard says, “It means my coffee fucking blows and you’re only here because you’re into me, too.”
Heat prickles up the back of Frank’s neck, and he ducks his head to laugh slightly before looking back up. When he does, Gerard is already looking right back, their gazes meeting for a long, weighted moment.
“Does this mean it’s cool for me to ask if you wanna hang after this?” Pausing, Frank quickly adds, “No pressure. Only if you’re down.”
Staring at him, Gerard says casually, “We could do that.”
Folding his arms across the counter, he leans into them and gives Frank a heavy-eyed look that makes his throat dry up into a desert.
“Or,” Gerard suggests in a low, sultry tone, “I can take you to my office right now and you can put it wherever you want.”
It takes a second for Frank’s brain to catch up with his dick, but as soon as it does, something hot and dark passes between them across the counter. A slow smile tugs at Frank’s mouth, one that Gerard mirrors back at him, sending his heart rate skyrocketing.
“Aren’t you still technically open for twenty minutes?”
Gerard gives an unbothered shrug. “I know the owner.”
Snickering, Frank feels almost dizzy when he fumbles, “Well, I guess I’d be stupid to say no.”
Grinning widely, Gerard compliments, “Smart man.”
His tongue is already exploring the inside of Frank’s mouth when they finally spill into the glorified storage closet Gerard calls an office. The room is windowless and tucked down a hallway, so they don’t bother shutting the door behind them as Frank blindly guides Gerard backwards into the room.
The desk against the wall skids slightly when Gerard’s hips hit the edge, Frank lifting him onto it by the backs of his thighs before his hands find his waist again. Gerard exhales a hungry noise through his nose and rakes his fingers through Frank’s hair, tipping his head to change the angle. It earns a grunt from Frank, sucking softly on Gerard’s lips while teeth just barely graze his own.
Frank presses into him harder and Gerard shoves at his denim jacket, breaking long enough for Frank to shrug out of it before diving back in with both hands gripping Gerard’s face. Fingers find Frank’s hips before gripping his ass, and Gerard spreads his legs wider, bringing Frank as close as possible.
Dipping down, Frank trails along Gerard’s jaw until he’s mouthing the crook of his neck, reaching between them to touch Gerard through his jeans. He makes a soft keening sound and offers Frank more of his throat, hips twitching to meet Frank’s rolling grind, thickening under the heel of his palm.
“Mm—” Gerard whines, followed by a breathy, “Yeah.” Then he’s tugging Frank back up by the hair, teasing his mouth with a wet, lazy fuck of his tongue. Frank responds by pinning him a little rougher against the wall, sending something tumbling off the desk.
Pulling back just enough to talk, Frank keeps touching him and murmurs, “I’ve been thinking about this since I first walked in.”
Smirking against his mouth, Gerard licks his top lip and fists the front of his shirt. “Then stop thinking about it and fuck me on this desk,” he orders through gritted teeth.
Never one to refuse requests from a face that pretty, Frank hauls Gerard off the desk by his hips and drops to his knees in front of him. Making quick work of the button and zipper, Gerard’s fly shrugs open and the outline of his hard-on straining in his boxer-briefs makes Frank’s mouth water.
Lightly gripping Gerard’s hips, Frank leans forward and licks the wet spot forming at the tip, tasting him through the fabric. Gerard hisses and lifts the hem of his shirt for a better view, exposing the pale expanse of his stomach and a light dusting of pubic hair that disappears into his underwear.
Looking up, Frank tugs down the waistband of both Gerard’s jeans and his briefs, just enough to expose his erection and holy fucking shit — even this dude’s dick is pretty. It’s long and thick, pink at the tip that’s shiny with precome, balls drawn up tight with arousal. Frank licks his own lips without realizing as he stares, wrapping his fingers around the base and spitting on it.
Gerard lets out a long moan when Frank starts pumping his shaft, spitting a few more times to make it wet while ducking under to suck his balls. He circles his tongue around each one before closing his mouth, drawing them deep and letting them slide back out.
“Frank, fuck,” Gerard groans, one hand gripping his hair while the other braces the edge of the desk. When Frank looks up again, Gerard is watching him with dark eyes, baring his teeth every time he sucks in a sharp breath.
Licking a flat stripe from balls to tip, Frank puckers his lips over the head and applies pressure as he slowly sinks down over the shaft. Gerard’s legs shake under his palms and he lets out another loud moan. Frank takes him halfway, then back up, then a third of the way, pulling off to tongue the slit before sinking all the way down, nose buried in the coarse hair at the base.
“Shit, shit, oh my fu—” Gerard gets out around several quick breaths, throwing his head back and cinching his fingers hard enough to burn Frank’s scalp.
Holding him there long enough to gag, Frank lifts off with throaty gasp to pump him fast and filthy. He circles the head with his tongue and sucks the whole thing into his mouth, focusing his attention there while corkscrewing the rest with his hand.
He tortures Gerard a little longer before blowing him properly, throwing every trick he knows at the wall just to hear the reaction each one elicits. Throbbing against his own zipper, Frank uses his free hand to get his pants open, moaning around Gerard when he gets it on his cock.
Gerard suddenly yanks Frank off by the hair. He rocks his hips and rubs his dick all over Frank’s face. The motion smears precome that Frank sticks out his tongue to taste, messily lapping along the underside.
“I’m gonna come on your fucking face, Frank, holy shit.” Letting go of his hair, they break and breathe heavily for a minute, then Gerard says gruffly, “You better get up here and fuck me before I do it myself.”
Back on his feet in an instant, Frank crushes their mouths together and shoves his tongue past Gerard’s lips. He moans when he tastes himself, reaching down the front of Frank’s open pants, past his boxers. Gerard gets a hand around him and pumps slowly, until Frank is groaning into his mouth.
“You got anything?” He pulls away just enough to husk.
“Lube,” Gerard offers unhelpfully, snickering when Frank gives him a pinched look. “What? A guy can dream.”
“But no condoms,” Frank confirms with a small smirk. “Should I be worried?”
“I wouldn’t,” Gerard assures him, grinning mischievously. “Kind of a thing for me, but I get tested once a month.”
“And?”
”Squeaky clean. But if you wanna wait we can—”
Frank cuts him off by making out some more, because he’s absolutely not waiting another fucking second. Not when Gerard is this hot and this eager, and certainly not when Frank has spent weeks imagining this exact scenario while jerking off in the shower.
Breaking the kiss, Gerard fumbles the top drawer of his desk and they both grab for the same clear bottle. Frank grinds their naked dicks together while sucking on Gerard’s tongue, then breaks to murmur, “Turn around.”
Obeying, Gerard spins and lets Frank guide him facedown over the desk. Running his hands down Gerard’s back, they settle at the perfect, pale curve of his ass. Frank spreads him open and rubs his dick between his cheeks.
“Frank, please,” Gerard whines, white-knuckling the edge of the desk. His name comes out as a desperate plea — and really, what kind of monster would Frank be to say no after being asked so nicely?
Popping the cap open, Frank drizzles lube right at Gerard’s hole and lets it dribble down the back of his balls. Gerard flinches at the temperature, gasping when Frank starts playing with his ass, rubbing a finger against his entrance and pushing inside just enough to make Gerard tremble all over.
Pouring more lube in his hand, he teases his index finger around the rim.
Then he slips it in.
Gerard sucks in a breath, clenching at first, and Frank places his other hand at the small of Gerard’s back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Letting go with a sigh, Frank feels Gerard open up for him, almost pulling him in deeper. He sinks all the way in and back out again, rapidly picking up speed as Frank fucks him with his finger.
He adds more lube. Frank slips in a second finger and Gerard actually whimpers in response. Once he adjusts, Frank starts trying different angles until Gerard abruptly cries out with a sound that will probably follow Frank well into his golden years. Probably to his deathbed.
Rocking back onto his fingers, Gerard bites his lip with another whine, shaking all over while his sweaty fingers fail to find a grip. Frank is so fucking hard it feels like his dick might explode, so he takes that as his cue and carefully removes his fingers.
Slicking himself up, he pumps a few times while admiring his handiwork. Gerard, bent over the desk half-dressed, trembling and on the edge of climax. Spread open and glistening with lube, hair sticking to his face in dark clumps as he heaves every breath with tremendous effort. It’s far better in person than anything Frank could’ve dreamed up on his own.
Stepping forward, Frank grabs the base of his cock to line up behind Gerard, who throws a smarmy grin over his shoulder and presses back into him. Other hand gripping Gerard’s hip, Frank nudges the tip against the tight ring of muscle and pushes in.
Gerard is tight — impossibly so, welcoming Frank with a hot, vicelike clench that tears a low groan out of him. He feels every. Single. Inch. As he sinks down to the hilt, stopping once he’s fully sheathed just to catch his breath.
Slowly, so fucking slowly, Frank pulls back before driving forward in a tentative thrust. The next one is a little easier, and so is the next, and before long Frank sets a steady pace that syncs up just right with Gerard’s.
Frank grabs Gerard by the shoulder to bring him down harder onto his cock, which earns him the hottest sounds Gerard has made yet: a series of breathy, mewling whimpers. Like Frank is too big or too rough or both, but it’s so fucking good that Gerard can’t bring himself to stop.
They’ve barely gotten started and Frank can already feel his orgasm tightening in his balls. Getting lost in it, his head falls back and he closes his eyes, both of them getting more and more vocal until they’re drowning out the loud, obscene slap of their bodies coming together.
Touching himself, Gerard starts clamping down in pulses, signaling his impending climax. Each contraction elicits a groan from Frank, fingers digging bruises into Gerard’s hips.
“You’re gonna make me come,” Gerard whispers, then louder: “You’re gonna make me fucking come—” His entire body convulses and he moans, “Ah—mmm…”
That’s all it takes to send Frank over the edge. His orgasm cleaves out of him, starting in his toes and detonating every nerve until he’s hunched over Gerard, filling him up as Frank gets hit with wave after wave after wave. He keeps driving his hips forward and Gerard cries out once more as he seizes with his own finish, gasping as Frank fucks him through the aftershocks.
Fifteen minutes later, they’re both fully dressed and snickering at how awkward they both walk toward the front door. Unlocking it, Gerard suddenly stops and says, “Hold on, I’ll make you something for the road.”
Piddling around behind the counter, Gerard reappears five minutes later with a coffee cup in his hand.
Crinkling his eyebrows, Frank grins and takes it from him, asking, “Where’d this come from?”
“Keurig,” Gerard says with a proud smirk.
Shaking his head, Frank takes a sip and mutters, “You disgust me.”
Laughing, Gerard leans in, pecking Frank on the lips before shooing him out the door.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, closing the door while giving that irresistibly toothy smile Frank wants permanently tattooed to his brain.
Climbing in the car, Frank immediately reads the side of his coffee cup.
Frank
And below it, there’s a phone number.
Smiling, Frank glances through his windshield and watches Gerard unload the register drawer to count it down in the back. Catching Frank’s eye through the window, Gerard leers and shoots him the bird.
Laughing, Frank shakes his head.
Fucking idiot.