original - ficlet - the man in sunglasses
Ficlet: the man in sunglasses
Category: accessories.
Accessory chosen: sunglasses
Notes: Written for ASiNiiNE’s birthday challenge (MoD ~ Gaia) as an example of the type of fics we wanted her to write. Her challenge was to choose an item from each of five categories we gave her, and write a fic for each item. The objects she chose would be presented in a sexual light, while the fics themselves would remain overtly innocent and within Gaia's PG-13 rating limit.
*
Cory has come to anticipate visits from the man in the sunglasses. The man always comes in at 2:15 in the afternoon and stands a few feet from the counter as if deciding his order. Despite this time spent, he always orders the large chai latte with two shots of espresso. And he always half-smiles at the person ringing him up, pressing a finger and thumb to the joint of his dark glasses and sliding them off as he says he wants the soymilk instead of the regular. His eyes are a striking pale blue, jarring when the glasses are removed no matter how often Cory sees the stark contrast between black glasses and intense blue.
When the glasses are off, they are always folded primly and either placed in the breast pocket of the man’s suit jacket, or stroked with thin fingers while waiting for his drink. Whenever Cory takes his order, the man puts the sunglasses on the counter between them and carefully pulls out a crisp five dollar bill to hand over before picking the glasses back up and sliding a thumb over the curved rims, massaging the top and watching Cory’s hands as he counts out the change. Cory has been caught staring at those fingers instead of counting change before; he blushed each time, and his hands even shook the time the man’s smile turned secretive, and he trailed a thumb and forefinger down the length of the frame and then curled his thumb around the earpiece as if it was something else entirely. The man always reaches for the change in the hand holding his glasses. When Cory’s fingers touch the rims, the brush of cool plastic is almost as jarring as the man’s eyes; he always thinks the sunglasses will be warm, like the man’s fingers and half-smile as he nods in thanks and walks over to the pick-up counter.
When others make the drink, the man stands with glasses in still hands and watches the counter or the line of people waiting to order. When the drink is almost ready, he slips the dark glasses over his eyes. The sight always makes Cory want to touch the man’s face, to find the intensity of those pale blue eyes and the warmth of the smile that the glasses are suddenly hiding. When Cory makes the drink, the man’s hands move maddeningly slowly over the curves and hard edges of his sunglasses. And he waits until Cory has placed the drink between them to put on his glasses. He always says a polite thank you in a voice like black silk as he picks up the cup. Then, with his other hand, he slides on his glasses and nods, tipping them in lieu of a hat.
He smiles at Cory as he leaves. Cory smiles back and watches those sunglasses, wishing to see once more the pale eyes they hide, and wishing the willowy hand wrapped around the steaming cup’s protective cardboard was once more stroking the black rims while a secretive smile graced the man’s lips.
Category: accessories.
Accessory chosen: sunglasses
Notes: Written for ASiNiiNE’s birthday challenge (MoD ~ Gaia) as an example of the type of fics we wanted her to write. Her challenge was to choose an item from each of five categories we gave her, and write a fic for each item. The objects she chose would be presented in a sexual light, while the fics themselves would remain overtly innocent and within Gaia's PG-13 rating limit.
*
Cory has come to anticipate visits from the man in the sunglasses. The man always comes in at 2:15 in the afternoon and stands a few feet from the counter as if deciding his order. Despite this time spent, he always orders the large chai latte with two shots of espresso. And he always half-smiles at the person ringing him up, pressing a finger and thumb to the joint of his dark glasses and sliding them off as he says he wants the soymilk instead of the regular. His eyes are a striking pale blue, jarring when the glasses are removed no matter how often Cory sees the stark contrast between black glasses and intense blue.
When the glasses are off, they are always folded primly and either placed in the breast pocket of the man’s suit jacket, or stroked with thin fingers while waiting for his drink. Whenever Cory takes his order, the man puts the sunglasses on the counter between them and carefully pulls out a crisp five dollar bill to hand over before picking the glasses back up and sliding a thumb over the curved rims, massaging the top and watching Cory’s hands as he counts out the change. Cory has been caught staring at those fingers instead of counting change before; he blushed each time, and his hands even shook the time the man’s smile turned secretive, and he trailed a thumb and forefinger down the length of the frame and then curled his thumb around the earpiece as if it was something else entirely. The man always reaches for the change in the hand holding his glasses. When Cory’s fingers touch the rims, the brush of cool plastic is almost as jarring as the man’s eyes; he always thinks the sunglasses will be warm, like the man’s fingers and half-smile as he nods in thanks and walks over to the pick-up counter.
When others make the drink, the man stands with glasses in still hands and watches the counter or the line of people waiting to order. When the drink is almost ready, he slips the dark glasses over his eyes. The sight always makes Cory want to touch the man’s face, to find the intensity of those pale blue eyes and the warmth of the smile that the glasses are suddenly hiding. When Cory makes the drink, the man’s hands move maddeningly slowly over the curves and hard edges of his sunglasses. And he waits until Cory has placed the drink between them to put on his glasses. He always says a polite thank you in a voice like black silk as he picks up the cup. Then, with his other hand, he slides on his glasses and nods, tipping them in lieu of a hat.
He smiles at Cory as he leaves. Cory smiles back and watches those sunglasses, wishing to see once more the pale eyes they hide, and wishing the willowy hand wrapped around the steaming cup’s protective cardboard was once more stroking the black rims while a secretive smile graced the man’s lips.