Cafe Prince
-01-
His shirt was tight. Indecently so. The fabric stretched and pulled, bursting to contain the powerful, bulging frame beneath.
The man was ripped, no doubt about it. And not just in the way that some men were big, through good genes or from the occasional work out at the gym. No, this man's body was an absolute sonnet to the ideal male form. He was Shakespearean prose in flesh; a soliloquy of male perfection, written in bulging biceps, firm forearms, and a compact waist that was just begging to have fingers rake down it in passion, to have delicate hands clutch around his broad sides and cling on to as he moved powerfully above… But an apron's ties would have to suffice in place of a lover's arms for now. Oh, how she wished she could be that apron.
"Order's up!" the barista snapped churlishly at the wait staff.
Bulma pulled her over-chewed pen from her lips. It had been a vain attempt to appease the need for something far more meaty in her mouth. The barista was glaring off to the side, his fingers tapping on the counter impatiently. He didn't tolerate ineptitude, something she had quickly picked up on. She had only discovered this establishment last week, but was already embarrassed to admit just how often she frequented the place, and how familiar she was with the barista's mannerisms. It might have been bordering on stalker-ish behavior, except the eye-candy behind the counter wasn't the only reason she came back, again and again and again.
The coffee he made was friggin' fantastic.
And Bulma knew good quality when she tasted it. And saw it.
She tore her eyes away from the man and back to her laptop, taking a sip of her coffee. The rich, bold flavors of the beverage melted over her tongue like syrup. It sent the neurons in her brain sparking with renewed energy. Goddamn was it good coffee. And yes, perhaps knowing the hunk who made it did improve the taste, having watched him glare with the intensity of someone contemplating world domination as he whipped up her cup of magic.
She smiled to herself and dared a look back at the bar.
With instant regret. He was staring right at her. Polishing a cup with a red cloth, he was glaring at her with a look that she might have taken for hostile if she hadn't seen him look at everyone and everything else the same way. Except, he never looked at the patrons. She had seen him give his stern attention to only two things: his craft, and to the wait staff when he needed them to serve his drinks. So why was he staring at her so acutely now?
Bulma could feel her face flush under his scrutiny. She sunk lower in her chair, and let her gaze slip back to her laptop, trying to play it cool. But she could feel the weight of his stare, resting on her, as heavy and condemning as an executioner's. Her cheeks grew hotter.
Fuck fuck fuck, had he noticed? Had she been too obvious? Of course she had, she was practically salivating all over herself. Stupid, stupid girl. Well, I guess I can never show my face here again…
Bulma swallowed nervously and tried to hurry to finish her coffee so that she could leave. She needed to mentally berate herself someplace else, free from one of the world's most handsome men staring holes into the back of her head.
She had just drained the last of her coffee (and what a waste too, she hadn't enjoyed it in her haste), when another cup was set on the table.
Bulma blinked in surprise, then glanced at the waiter.
"Uh, I think there's been a mistake," she said.
The waiter hitched a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the bar. "He said you usually order this about now?"
Her eyebrows shot up, trying to fly off her face in surprise. She looked to the bar, but the barista had his back to them, working at one of the machines. God, what an amazing back it was too…
No, focus girl.
"…I can take it back if you don't want it," the waiter said, seeing her uncertainty.
"No! No, no," Bulma blurted, and took the coffee from the waiter's hands before he could steal it away. "Sorry, I was just so caught up in work, I was spacing out. Thanks."
The waiter nodded and left. Bulma stared dumbly down at a coffee she hadn't ordered, her mind racing with wild speculation.
All this time she had been watching him… Had he been watching her too?
She looked again to the bar. The barista was wiping down one of the counters. As if sensing her gaze, he glanced up, looking right at her.
Somehow, Bulma didn't spontaneously combust. With a suave bravery she dug up from deep inside herself, Bulma raised her steaming cup towards him, smiled, and mouthed, "Thank you."
No reaction. Not a smile, or nod, or scowl. Nothing. But he held her gaze for a moment longer before turning back to his work, his shirt stretching to its limits over his broad chest as he wiped the counter in large, sweeping circles.
Not sure what to make of his steely countenance, Bulma nevertheless felt encouraged. He had, after all, acknowledged her. That was more than she could say for any of the other patrons here. Bulma sipped her fresh brew, letting the hot liquid wet her lips and dance along her tongue. She savored the taste, and with it, the view. And greatly approved of both.
Yes, it would seem the Café Prince was by far her new favorite venue.
~xox~
AN: Beta-read by the amazing Artephile / Marcella-Duchamp.
Honestly not sure if I'll write more to this. Might leave it as a one-shot for now, and revisit it if inspiration strikes.
This AU inspired by VegetaPsycho's barista-Vegeta, found here:
vegetapsycho DOT tumblr DOT com SLASH post SLASH 156453084170 SLASH i-cant-keep-up-with-all-of-these-au-ideas-but
DBZ original creative property of Akira Toriyama.