Grande Non-Fat Mocha, No Whip

Summary- AU. In which Blaine is a barista, Kurt is a fashion student, and they've never met. Will they fall in love, or will their bruised egos get in the way?


It. Was. Hot.

Blaine didn't know if he'd ever get used to this crazy Chicago weather. The winters were at least 20 degrees colder than in southern Ohio and the summers a heck of a lot hotter—90 degrees in July? The outside temperature made even more unbearable by it being his turn to man the espresso machine. Sure, the coffee house was air-conditioned, but that was a small comfort to him as he stood in front of the hissing machine, making his twelfth cappuccino of the day and wondered, also for the twelfth time that morning, why on earth anyone would want hot coffee on a day like this.

Seriously, what the HELL? He thought yet again as he watched the espresso flow into the paper cup before covering it with milk and foam and mixing it together. If Blaine was honest with himself, he knew he wasn't angry at the weather or the innocent blonde teenager who'd ordered a cappuccino. Nor was it because he had been called into open at 5.30 in the morning AND cover his regular 1-8 shift, and be the one making the near-boiling hot drinks all day.

No, the reason he was so steamed was the man who had just walked out of the shop with a satisfied smirk on his face and a steaming hot mocha in his hand. As Blaine thought over the conversation again, his face flushed red in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. What makes him think he has the right…?


The man had come forward, grabbed his drink (a non-fat mocha, no whip) and taken half a sip before grabbing Blaine's attention.

"Excuse me," he called in a deprecating tone, "this mocha is cold. Lukewarm, at best. I'll need you to make me another one."

Blaine glanced the man's way, then looked towards the cash register. There was only one person in line at the moment, giving Blaine enough time to make another one before Mocha-Man threw a fit, as Blaine thought he would—he'd seen Mocha-Man's kind too many times before. Stupid, spoiled kids who have nothing better to do that have a hissy fit when things aren't exactly perfect, Blaine thought to himself as he made a new mocha.

Covering his irritation with a bright smile, he placed the new drink on the counter and got the man's attention. "Here you go. Nice and piping hot, sir."

"Is it as hot as you are?" the man responded haughtily.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you heard me, sweet cheeks."

Blaine blushed, not appreciating Mocha-Man's advances.

"And, no, I was not referring to your face," Mocha-Man continued with a smirk, raking his eyes over Blaine's body.

As Blaine opened his mouth to respond, Mocha Man spoke again.

"You could actually look half-way decent with my help. Let me know when you want some fashion advice—or just a date."

"How do you even know if—"

"What? If you're gay? Oh, please, the way you dress? How could anyone doubt?" Then, shoving the 'lukewarm' mocha at Blaine, he turned on his heel and left.

Flabbergasted, Blaine had looked down at the offending coffee cup to see a name, "Kurt," written on it, followed by a phone number. Anger rose in his face as he crushed the cup as his hand formed a fist. As he threw the cup away, cleaning up the now-cold mocha from the counter that had spilled through the now flattened cup, he let out a deep breath.

Well, he's gone. But I'll be damned if I take another morning shift.


Little did he know, that would be far from the last time he saw Kurt the Mocha-Man.

**Author's Note: Please R&R! This is my first attempt at writing non-academic things in six years, so any and all feedback is much appreciated! **