His foot was tapping lightly against the leg of the metal barstool he rested upon. Black eyes stared intently at the screen in front of him, a fruit's logo illuminated from behind. Ear buds rested in his ears comfortably, the music emitting loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to disturb the neighboring patrons. At times, he inaudibly mouthed the lyrics of the several songs on his playlist as he typed, the left foot still tapping in rhythmic motions. At times, he would glance up from the tinted screen and peer through his black oblong frames, which his friends deemed "Hipster Glasses." However, he had claimed that he had these frames "before they were cool." This, of course, only forced the label onto him more.
He stared at nothing in particular, as it was more so a way to give his weary eyes a rest from the pixelated screen he focused on for several hours. A draft of a manuscript was due within 4 hours and his editor was not in the forgiving mood for him to submit it late. This would be the 12th chapter of his upcoming novel, which he still failed to give a decent title for the publishing company. He never thought that writing erotic fiction would be so demanding. However, in a way, it was a nice source of secondary income and helped him pay off years of student debt. He could thank the sudden rise of popularity from that wannabe BDSM book that ladies ranted and praised about in reviews. It was even becoming a movie, to his surprise. Who knew a little bit of awkward bondage play would spark a genre that was once underground.
Granted, even his form of writing was still underground. Homoerotic fiction was something saved for the depths of the Internet. Yet, over time, he imagined it would emerge from the darkness into the light of the publishing world. His collection of short fiction and novellas had a decent fan base, enough to land him a spot with an independent publishing firm that specialized in finding authors who didn't consider it a career goal to become famous, but enough to garner attention for them in the publication sphere. His editor practically bribed her boss into signing him on, stating his work, "had me swimming in my panties from how aroused it got me!" Lewd, it was. Nevertheless, it was convincing enough.
This was just a side job that he maintained alongside his full-time job. Since he wrote under a pseudonym, no one of major importance was aware of his explicit literature. He would rather it remain a private past time that allowed him to let his creative and erogenous imagination run rampant.
A notification appeared on his screen, catching his attention and causing his eyes to avert downward.
Message from Alyssa Graham: So, how is that draft coming along? Think you'll have that chapter done before midnight?
A slight roll of his eyes was the response it received. Clicking on the notification, he brought up the message box to fully reply.
Skye Shou: I don't know. Are you going to keep hounding me about it? It is distracting me from writing my arousing story.
A smirk crawled onto his lips as he leaned back into his seat, extending his arms upward to stretch as a soft grunt escaped. He grabbed his café cup filled with a lukewarm latte and took a sip, eyeing the monitor of the laptop as he waited for her reply. He once again glanced upwards from the screen to get a look at his surroundings. The café had slowly filled with customers, the once dusk sky having surrendered to nighttime. The traffic piled as usual on the busy streets outside as strangers walked in droves past the thick, paned windows. For a typical Thursday night, it was surprisingly eventful. He released a small yawn once he placed his cup back down onto the wooden, hightop table that he shared with other guests on either side.
Alyssa Graham: As long as it's filled with a dirty, graphic as hell sex scene this time. The last chapter was rather lackluster.
A small snort came from him as he read the message, not helping to comply immediately.
Skye Shou: Sorry Not Sorry. You of all people should know that a plot is sometimes needed in novels.
Alyssa Graham: Whatever, jerkface. That damn chapter better be in my inbox when I wake up tomorrow, or you will face my WRATH. Kthxbai! :D
"She's psychotic..." He muttered to himself with a small smile, closing the window entirely so that he could get back to writing. Pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, he adjusted himself comfortably on the stool and placed his hands back onto the keyboard, finishing the sentence he was working on before he became distracted. The two characters were in the middle of an intense argument about their relationship and he wanted to describe it in detail. However, the table shook slightly at the fluctuation of weight, causing his hands to shift slightly against the keyboard and create a typo in his sentence. This caught the attention of a few other patrons who also looked over in curiosity.
He glanced past the edge of his laptop, seeing that someone was now sitting across from him, his view of the café and windows now blocked entirely. Annoyed, his concentration having been broken again, he lifted his face to get a better view at the person who decided to perch themselves on a barstool. While the other dwellers had lost interest in this stranger entirely, he found himself staring intently.
A man, no more than a couple years older than himself, was settling down directly across from him, removing his cotton-blend jacket in a soft khaki green past his shoulders to rest on a hook underneath the table. It did not help that he had to slightly crane his neck to look at this guy while he was sitting. He had no idea how he compared with his modest height of 5'7", but this man had to be taller than 6'0" easily.
His crew-neck long-sleeve sweater in a dark grey caused his green eyes to stand out, the brunette shade of his hair a wonderful contrast. His lightly tanned skin tone helped emphasize the strong features of his face, which was almost too perfect to be real. Heavily masculine, his chin and jawline tight and solid, but it also exhibited soft features like his eyelashes, which were a bit longer than usual as they hovered over his colored irises. With a book in hand, he placed himself atop the barstool, opening the hardcover to where a ribbon lay and began reading.
It was becoming incredibly difficult for him to not stare, completely taken aback by just how stunning this man looked. While he had seen many attractive men in his life, this one in particular was just too good to be true.
He has to be a model or something, he thought to himself, his eyes carefully studying every inch of this stranger's face. However, when his eyes had found themselves starting back into the same green ones he had caught sight of earlier, he blinked in surprise, his vision focusing outward fully to see that the man was now staring back at him, a puzzled expression crossing his face.
Embarrassed, he averted his gaze elsewhere in a quick fashion, pushing his glasses back onto his nose once again as he did so. After a few seconds of pretending to be distracted, he glanced back over to see if the man was still starting, only to see that he continued reading. Yet, a very amused smile rested on his kissable lips.
Screw writing. I cannot concentrate anymore. Alyssa will just have to be pissed at me, he concluded to himself thoughtfully, hitting the save button on the word document he was writing before closing the application entirely. Before he even got the chance to close the laptop, another notification appeared on his screen.
Message from Seth Brickman: Hey Skye! I know you are writing your gay fiction shit, and I'm sorry to disturb, but can you stay there for a while longer? I just came back from the bar with some friends, and I picked up this hot chick and I'm bringing her back to the loft. You can be pissy at me later, but I promise I'll make it up to you!
As if it was out of his control, Skye's head rolled back until he stared upwards at the ceiling in an annoyed fashion.
Skye Shou: Yeah, fine. Whatever. Just clean up your mess afterwards. Let me know when I can actually come home. I'd rather not spend all night at this café, even if it is 24 hours.
Seth Brickman: Will do! Enjoy writing your gay smut!
"You spoiled little..." Skye muttered to himself under his breath, closing the message app once again. At this point, he had nothing better to do than finish his draft. While the sound of his roommate banging some half drunk chick in their shared loft was enough to keep him away from home, it wasn't a great motivator to get him writing again. Just the image in his mind made him shudder. He glanced up once again, his eyes not helping but to catch sight of the handsome stranger from earlier. He was fully engrossed in his book, his eyes moving rapidly as he read, a few strands of his dark hair hanging over his forehead.
Like himself, this man seemed as if he had two parents of different ethnicities. Skye was not sure with what. While Skye is African American and Asian (His mother is Black, his father is Japanese), he could not figure out what genes made this man sitting directly across from him so appealing. His face was not the only thing that was appetizing, but his muscles were easy to trace underneath that grey sweater. They were not a big piece of bulking meat like the Hulk, but enough to grab onto and feel them flex and move against your hands. Skye's eyes could not help but move his eyes down his arm towards his chest, wishing he had x-ray vision so that he could actually look at it with ease.
However, he felt that his eyes were playing tricks on him, as the chest he focused on intently appeared to be moving closer to him. Either his depth perception was greatly improving or-
"Are you fascinated with my sweater, or something else?" he heard a voice speak softly, breaking his attention completely.
Skye snapped his head up with a few blinks, looking up to see once again that those same green eyes were staring back at him, curiosity showing within them, but they were much closer than before. He leaned back slightly, as if to gain full control over his body, trying to come up with a sensible excuse, his mouth opening and shutting quickly as his brain attempted to work once again. He could feel his face heating up in embarrassment as he stared dumbfounded at this man, who appeared more amused than anything as he watched Skye's spectacle unfold with a small grin on his face.
Taking a sharp inhale of breath, Skye looked away bashfully. "I'm sorry... I was staring off into space..." he finally stated softly, adjusting his glasses once again. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Having regained some of his composure, he looked back towards the man, seeing a small smile still resting on his face.
"Lost in thought?" the man asked, leaning his forearms onto the wooden table below, balancing himself as he leaned over the small black barrier separating them both.
God, his smile is gorgeous. Skye thought to himself as he nodded in response.
"And apparently my sweater was a good place to rest your eyes." The stranger teased, his smile growing bigger, his eyes narrowing slightly with the movement.
"I guess so..." Skye stated with a bashful laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"What could you be thinking about so hard that you became so fixated on my clothes?" he asked, his voice filled with sincere curiosity.
Taking them off... Was what Skye wanted to say, but he saved that for his inner monologue. "I'm in the middle of writing a chapter... so I was pretty focused on finishing it."
"Ah, you're a writer." The man stated with a slight nod. "What of?"
The realization of how uncomfortable this conversation could get came over Skye rather quickly, his black eyes widening just slightly at the question. Lucky for him, the shifting of a neighboring patron caught their attention, glancing over to give off an annoyed expression at their conversation.
"I guess we better stop talking..." the stranger stated with a small chuckle as he rested back into his seat.
Fuck you, you prick. You totally ruined the conversation. It is a public café. People are going to talk. Don't like it? GTFO and go home! Since Skye could not muster up the courage to state such a thing to the guy next to him, he sent him a rather irritated glance back, peering at him through his glasses.
However, his attention averted as a piece of paper fluttered down against his keyboard. Taking it into his right hand, he read the scribbled message.
Maybe we can continue some other time in a more friendly setting. Give me a call. If I do not answer, please leave a message. Try not to become too distracted while writing.
Ros
A phone number followed the name. Skye glanced up to see if the man was still there, catching sight of him placing his jacket back on with one hand and chatting on his cellphone with the other. Once situated, he grabbed the book he was reading and headed out of the café without a second thought or even a glance back.