***

"That apron is so fucking gay."

The exclamation drew all eyes toward Chanyeol's topless form as he adjusted the apron straps around his neck. The graphics were more cartoonish than raunchy with their stock 2D appearance, but Chanyeol figured the erotic curves of his hardened body intensified the appeal. Like bobcats to a tender piece of gazelle meat, his teammates unlatched themselves from their lockers to crowd him by the shower mirrors.

Even with guys, Chanyeol was hot stuff.

In other news: grass continues to remain green.

Steam had left the large expanses of mirror glass foggy, but Chanyeol had stolen Minho's towel to carve some much-needed visibility for himself. It hadn't lasted long with the showers still running, but it was enough to make out the details of his work attire that everyone seemed keen to steal a peek of.

He'd known better than to bring it to the locker room today, but he was covering a shift for Minho, which meant he'd needed to go straight from practice to the café. Unlike Minho, he didn't have enough foresight to just change at work.

It was understandable the guys were curious. All they saw moving through the locker room haze was a splash of Barbie pink—more vibrant than any color they'd worn outside of their neon shoes and shorts. There was also a pulse of red from the heart, which was creased up the center because the valley of Chanyeol's muscled tits was just so dang pronounced.

"Dude, is that cum on the front?" Inkyu, the scrawniest of them all, shrieked, stirring up a roar of boyish taunts and requests for the guys at the back to come get a closer look.

"And a ran-through pussy?" Kyungsam tossed in, eliciting from himself a deep-voiced chuckle that beckoned more half-naked dudes to huddle closer, for the tall giant rarely spoke in the first place.

Chanyeol pinched the edges of his apron away from himself, flattening the front so that everyone could confirm for themselves. Oozing out from the heart's vaguely vaginal opening was a river of cum that spelled out its goon-worthy punchline: "We'll fill you up. Any time. Every time."

"Ew, dude, what the fuck are you wearing that for?!"

"Work," Chanyeol answered simply.

"Are you doing OnlyFans now, bro? Is that it?"

"What's your account—I'll give you a tip. All eight inches!"

Laughter drowned out Chanyeol's honest reply. The expressive cloth fit the theme of Creamie-Pie Café—the only employers to take a pussy magnet stud like himself. Most places he'd applied to only rejected him because they were scared work wouldn't get done. He understood what was at stake for them: employing someone dripping in sex pheromones was a liability waiting to happen. He was a distraction, a fact that had stopped him from jogging shirtless next to busy roads. Too many cops had flagged him down as a public disturbance, his bouncing tits and massive equipment too hypnotic for weak-minded drivers, too obscene for families enjoying their day at the park. He'd been reduced to a walking talking biohazard, just for being himself. He was used to it.

As the condensation blurred out his frame, Chanyeol pulled the side straps behind his waist and tied a knot tight enough to shame a decorated boy scout too afraid to grow up and move on. He didn't like the way the apron stretched around his muscles, though, like a second skin, constricting him and his ribcage, but what could do about his ridiculously stacked body?

Stop going to the gym? He flexed, crunching his arms, and liked what he saw.

Fat chance of that.

He flexed again, this time pumping his chest outward to test the material's elasticity. Then, assessing his mobility, he rolled his arms out and twisted his torso, bent over to touch his toes despite the catcalls for dropped soap ass. Righting himself, he was content with his research. Both checks brought conclusive results, so he deemed the apron S(e)F(hh)W.

Safe (enough) For (hunk hottie) Wear.

He supposed he could ask for a bigger size when he arrived on-site. While a size too small to begin with – he'd worn an oversized sweater for his interview, so he could see how the stoned manager could have underestimated his bulk, assuming him to be a medium when a large was more apt. – drying the apron last night and shrinking it further hadn't been his intention.

He wasn't used to wearing form-fitting clothing—it was either oversized shirts and pants or hardly any clothes at all. He didn't like how thirsty it made girls to the point that they slipped on their pussy juice fawning over him. And he didn't care for guys sizing him up with their macho alpha bullshit, either.

At the end of the day, none of them could ever hold a candle to the size of his cock, so it didn't matter anyway. He had nothing to gain nor prove from existing the way he wanted to.

If only these idiots got the message.

"I think he looks cute and sexy," Minho proclaimed. His tanned figure was obvious in the mirror as he came strutting up behind, his cock leading the way no doubt with his towel a soggy used mess at Chanyeol's feet. He was one of the last guys finishing up, from those who'd been late to practice and made to run extra laps at the end. As the honorary (and clinically insane) leader of the redshirts – a privilege granted to him by way of being the only sophomore redshirting this season – he'd happily volunteered to pound the pavement with the freshman hoodlums. His enthusiasm was inspiring in an unintended way; it scared the guys into behaving and performing better just to avoid his backward ideals of ultimate team bonding, which was enduring pain together with a smile.

But as off-beat as he was, a few weeks of rooming together had given Chanyeol full confidence that Minho had the potential to be a lifelong friend—or at least, a fun guy he could always count on when he felt like bending the rules a bit. That was because Minho was a lot like him in a way: they simply did not care about a lot of shit. That came in clutch when Chanyeol's ID outwrestled his Superego.

"Thanks for taking my shift, man; means a lot." Minho slapped a soapy hand on Chanyeol's bare shoulder. Suds burst from the collision, popping up like fry grease and burning Chanyeol's eye. He went to wipe it with a corner of his tee, then realized that he hadn't even put one on before trying the apron on.

Mam, fuck.

Chanyeol strained his arms, thumbing the gnarled bundle behind him, and gave up. Oh well. Maybe no one would notice?

"Is the theme 'Sex Café', or what?" Inkyu snorted.

"Woah! How did you know?" Minho asked, elated with the guess. Everyone winced before it happened. Even Chanyeol's burning eyes pressed together, squeezing out a sympathetic tear.

Chanyeol smelled burnt coffee and knew from it that Minho had branded Inkyu's skin with his handprint when he clapped that freshman's bony shoulder blade. Minho was deeply unaware of the strength lining his arms as a hardened multiple-gold-winning javelin thrower all four years of his high school career. If it wasn't for the wrist injury that had forced him to sit out all season, he might have fractured the poor boy's back. Inkyu hissed, tears condensing around his eyes, and slinked away without collecting his prize for the right answer.

There was no judgment as he left, and even less judgment as the guys took Minho's violent enthusiasm as the cue to get dressed and tuck tail. His high-energy injection always had the bonus effect of repelling the guys away, a helpful attribute on the court, and a nightmare for class clown types within arm's reach.

Only the most unemployed stayed around. After all, Minho was crazy, but he wasn't a tyrannical senior like most of the older guys who got court time.

At the end of the day, everyone in the locker room was a redshirt and redshirts ALL warmed the bench during game nights. They were as equal as two botched double-Ds.

"Seriously, bro." Myungdae had a towel hooked around his neck. His three-inch cock never stopped him from chilling with the biggest of them; he never shied away from his manhood, and that's why Chanyeol liked him. On most days. "You're not going to get any pussy wearing this eyesore."

Considering all the guys knew Chanyeol had been slaying girls left and right since he'd stepped foot on campus, his arched brow spoke for him.

So, did Minho.

"It hasn't stopped him or me from getting some all year." Minho scratched his pubes idly, then elbowed Chanyeol's side. "Honestly? Girls dig the pink, don't they?"

Chanyeol nodded. That they did. He hadn't had to do much to pick up a girl since he started working at Creamie-Pie Café. It was easy and annoying at the same time.

"Yeah, but…"

The doubt written on his Myungdae and the rest of his teammate's faces was touching.

They cared so much about his sex life.

"Isn't this a bit much?" Kyungsam's deep voice bellowed, bringing the mood down a bit.

Maybe.

But even so, that was life.

Not like the guys knew what it was like to settle for a job because you desperately needed to pay off the rest of his tuition or face homelessness back home. Their biggest concerns in their life were paying a price-gouging plug for weed and beer or for courting expensive girls for a chance at pussy. He didn't expect anyone to stop and consider that he might be at the mercy of some sadistic, exploitative employer with a sick public humiliation fetish. He didn't expect anyone to stop and think that wearing this uniform might be a bigger shock for him than it was for anyone wearing it. But leave it up to the guy's immaturity to dull his feelings towards his uniform. After all, anything these protein shake-for-brains idiots focused on proved to be pointless in the grand scheme of things. It was an important frame of reference that had spared Chanyeol many a headache in recent years.

"What kind of fruity ass place do you work at?"

"Maybe I'll see you there," Chanyeol quipped and left Minho behind to pitch their coffee shop better than the rest of the shift managers ever could.

Minho had been the one to bring Chanyeol in on referral—and they'd both get paid at the end of Chanyeol's first week an extra $100. The second week promised an additional $50, accumulating by $5 per week after that until the end of three months. Overall, Chanyeol (and Minho) sought to make $1425 just in bonus pay alone—not including his base salary, which was minimum wage but with additional earnings from tips. That type of money was more than enough to cover his tuition and then some, and besides, it was free money. In his situation, free money was too good to pass up. He'd have to be stupid. And although he had plans, he wasn't blond yet.

Since the deal was also sweet for his roomie, he couldn't leave Minho hanging. They hadn't shared much about personal lives, but if a graduated high school superstar athlete like him was taking coffee orders at a place like Creamie-Pie Café, then Chanyeol figured his reasons must've been pretty damn serious.

So, a corny outfit? Chanyeol could live with it. Especially if it meant he'd see greener pastures sooner than later and could get through his classes without wondering if his classmates would find him fixed on a corner the next week. He'd made peace with the ridiculousness of his situation the second they gave him the job. He decided he'd put in the time, learn how to make a few gay lattes and faggotccinos for the sorority girls and professors and local businessmen, and then, after three months, he'd call it a season.

Chanyeol called out to Minho that he was leaving ahead of him, and Minho shot him a sly, shit-eating grin along with two thumbs up.

"Go get him, tiger."

Chanyeol shook his head and ambled out of the locker room drawing even more attention with his shirt half-stuffed in his sports bag and his faded gray joggers as baggy as he wished his apron could be. He kept his head high, shoulders back, and cruised out of the sports complex paying nobody any mind. His focus was on surviving this shift at work.

Undress Creamie-Pie Café's salacious display, and it was still a coffee shop, dedicated to one thing and one thing only: great service, and in that category, Chanyeol hadn't disappointed anybody yet.

He didn't usually work evening shifts. But Minho had asked him to take his so he could get his shit and leave, so Chanyeol figured he could manage at least one. Besides, this was a special Thursday with a four-day weekend ahead, which meant that much like Minho, most of the homesick student populous was fleeing for home rather than sticking around to loiter at coffee shops. It'd be an easy shift if that was all he had to factor in.

It was often the shift managers that gave people a reason to have a preference. Whereas some people grew tired of Minho's energy, Chanyeol preferred shifts where he could double up with Minho.

He was content with working with any of the managers just as long as it wasn't Jongin.

Jongin had been the one to train him during his first week, and Chanyeol had screwed up too many things to count. All because he'd been busy thinking about screwing his trainer instead. His inability to focus when Jongin was near had gotten so bad that he was almost fired, but Jongin had called in that day, having pulled an all-nighter for an exam, and it resulted in Chanyeol ending the rush hour as the top performer. The only thing in this world that could stop him from being great in life was his obsession with fucking a guy two years his senior – and straight as an arrow.

It was reliving in a way; out of all the fears and psychological inhibitions that crippled man, he was stuck with one he could manage.

Well.

One he hoped he could manage.

He would find out if jerking off in the showers every night for the last three weeks to the image of his trainer blowing him was remedy enough to clear his head and give him the focus he needed to be normal around Jongin and not fuck up a gazillion orders.

If not, what was the point of flooding the shower drains with all his jizz and therefore contributing to the dorm's backed-up plumbing if it was all for nothing? Seriously, that'd be so shitty of him...

***

Everyone turned to look at Chanyeol when the door moaned instead of jingled. He held up his hands, pointing at the sound speakers up above, but the act raised his apron, flashing sideboob to the gaggle of girls lining the bar table along the windows. Besides them, the shop seemed pretty dead.

"Ooh, girl, who is that?"

"Does he work here?"

"I think so… look at what he's wearing…"

"Look at what he isn't wearing…"

"Aww, but I just ordered my drink! Maybe I should order again?"

They cackled, and Chanyeol jerked his shoulder towards his ear before shaking the flinch out.

"Welcome to Creamie-Pie! Let us fill-"

"-fill you up!"

Chanyeol followed the clipped sound of an unfished greeting and determined it'd come from one of the two baristas manning the counter.

The one he didn't immediately recognize was a little blond angel—too ethereally pretty for him not to ask for pronouns before he let his curiosity get out of hand. The other one was… Jongin – Fuck – and he was staring at Chanyeol hard as hell.

After a beat, Chanyeol realized the look wasn't directed at him per se, but rather, at what he was wearing. Or perhaps, as the girls had said, what he wasn't wearing, to be precise.

Chanyeol's pulse spiked as his body heightened in sensitivity, reminding him of his distance from Jongin. How many strides it'd take until he was close enough to feel the electricity raising the hairs on his skin. He tightened his trembling hand around the straps of his sports bag and set his jaw before cutting a path towards the counter.

Jongin's funny little face was all scrunched up in an expression of confusion. It was the best guess Chanyeol could make without letting his darting eyes get too comfortable on Jongin's plump, parted lips and the questions behind Jongin's watchful, glossy eyes.

Chanyeol's first objective was the velvet curtain concealing a divide and the break room that lay beyond. It wasn't exactly his time to clock in yet, but there was likely an empty employee's bathroom with a door he could lock himself in. More importantly, there was a toilet waiting for his spunk.

Fuck.

Wrong thought.

Just the thought of yanking his meatstick with Jongin twenty feet away was enough to make him chub.

Chanyeol suppressed a grunt and curled his arm, lifting his sports bag to cover himself. No good the tight ass apron would be if it made it even more obvious for his cock to show itself knowing his loose gray joggers would do nothing to conceal the sun from rising. It'd be like poking your cheek with your tongue, a move that Chanyeol hadn't forgotten Jongin pulling during their first week of training.

"See that girl of there?" Jongin's breath had warmed Chanyeol's neck. He'd moved in close to whisper, to nudge, prod, and nod Chanyeol in the direction of some brunette that Jongin had claimed had sucked him off in the employee bathroom when she'd come for an interview. Jongin was an attractive guy, with charm and style, so Chanyeol hadn't been surprised to hear about a sex escapade of his. A face and body like his, it was bound to get some pussy. But Jongin was too playful for his own good. Any other guy would've told the story and called it a day. But Jongin? He raised his fist to his mouth, holding an invisible flute, and drove it in sync with his tongue poking through his cheek. Slowly, he rolled his eyes back, then his head. He panted while squeezing Chanyeol's arm—a subconscious habit he'd picked up from the moment they'd first met. "It was heaven, man," Jongin said to Chanyeol after he'd demonstrated the most intensely erotic blissed-out orgasm face that'd make the most deprived hentai-jerker give up anime girls for good. Maybe that had sealed Chanyeol's fate—Maybe he'd been a goner for Jongin ever since. A gooner for Jongin. Crazy how similar the words were. It had to mean something, didn't it?

Chanyeol's arm brushed against something hot. He yanked his arm away in recoil, and dropped his bag on his toe, but focused more on the dull sound it'd made rather than the dull pain coming from his toe. The blood rushing through his ears was loud as shit. Everything sounded muffled. Including Jongin's voice.

Jongin's hand hovered in the air, where Chanyeol's arm had been.

Jongin's lips were moving.

"What?" Chanyeol blinked, willing his ears to take in the ambiance of the coffee shop to remerge. The cashier, the clicking, the conversations.

"I said 'You. Good. Bro'?" Jongin enunciated the words, forcing Chanyeol to stare at his mouth a few seconds longer.

"I'm fine," Chanyeol said, swallowing through a dirt-dry throat. When had that happened? He snatched the closest cup and pumped the nearest lever before downing whatever liquid it dispensed. It was too bland, milk he'd realized, but it'd done the trick. He wiped the back of his mouth with his arm, then burped.

Jongin reclined his head three degrees back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." This time, Chanyeol burped from his chest and gave a tight smile as he exhaled through his nose. "I'm great."

"Where's your shirt then?"

Chanyeol hadn't missed the implication that he'd lost his mind because he'd come to work wearing an apron without a shirt, but he chose not to focus on that. Instead, he snapped his head down and widened his eyes in shock.

"You're right," he said breathlessly. He toggle-jerked his gaze from the bona fide man of his dreams to the angelic bystander, who'd fallen for Chanyeol's joke of feigning shock at them being dressed while he wasn't like clockwork.

If the name tag was to be believed, the soft giggling belonged to Taemin. The delicate pale hand with glossy nails. The cut-short, neat hairstyle framed their facial features well. Those were theirs too, yet neither detail worked to give Chanyeol the confirmation he needed. Objectively, the lack of clarity wasn't taking anything away from their beauty. They were still pretty as fuck regardless, and maybe, just maybe, he didn't need to know if they were he/she/they/them or taken after all.

But fuck, Jongin was standing right next to them, and Jongin was…

Still rocking that stupid hairdo. Despite coming off as wolfish, the voluptuous waves and layered fringes indicated that it was styled. But what Chanyeol didn't understand was Jongin's choice of hair color. It was a strange, shifting shade of moon dirt. Grayish silver. Muted beige. Ashy blond. Sandy caramel. It just didn't make any sense. Chanyeol ran his free hand through his own plain, post-shower, no-fuss hair, detangling the fringe that had clumped together after leaving it to air dry. How much time would he have to spend to get his hair in the same style as Jongin's? And how long until the people around him realized it was a cry for help?

"Ha-ha," Jongin said dryly, never one to partake in Chanyeol's antics. So, Chanyeol looked at him and got serious. Like really fucking serious. Because this was the first time since he'd seen Jongin during his first week of training. And after weeks of abstinence, of abstaining from his trainer's presence (only with his eyes), a stupidly morally wrong feeling had begun to take hold of him. It wasn't his desire to cum buckets once more, although that urge was still present, yes.

It was something… way more gross.

"Least he came after the boss already left," Taemin said.

"Yeah. You'd be fucked if she saw you," Jongin said. "We probably could get fined for this."

Jongin pinched the heart of Chanyeol's apron—just about the only grip he could manage with the fabric stretched as taut as it was. The light touch made Chanyeol hold his breath.

"I know I've trained you better than this…" Jongin spoke with the fondness of a little league coach. It was a disgusting kind of tone on the ears, for it put Chanyeol in his place—several levels below Jongin—as an amateur and naïve little thing. The condescension bristled Chanyeol, made him lick his lips and zero in on Jongin's lips as he did so.

They were close.

Close enough that the suggestive act couldn't have been missed. It raised a flag in his manager's brain, who, after a flash of confusion, gave ground and expanded their pocket of space. Plastic slipped in place of Jongin's condescending smile to hold its form, but the crack was there—everything that Chanyeol had needed to know to decide if he was capable of usurping power from this man if he'd wanted to.

A throat cleared.

"Excuse me?" A silver-haired middle-aged man dropped an elbow on the counter. The glass countertop rattled.

"How can we help you?" Taemin asked, stopping short of serving the man when he held up his hand. A fifty-dollar bill hovered over the tip jar. Tempting enough to make Taemin and Jongin's eyes sparkle, but the man's attention was on Chanyeol.

"Care to help me, young man? I'm having trouble… getting into the bathroom…"

There was a brief pause. Meaning sank in.

"Dude, what the fuck—"

"I'm not on the clock," Chanyeol answered curtly, cutting Jongin off.

At the man's blatant shock and crab-like retreat, Taemin moved in to cure the burn.

"It might be locked, sir!"

"Dude, come on," Jongin called after Taemin, wrinkling his nose in disgust. His voice dipped into a peculiar whine-line register, a mix between complaining and disbelief. "How gross was that? I was disgusted, and he wasn't even talking to me. How can anyone even like that?"

Chanyeol raised his shoulders and gave no fucks.

The old pervert had risked and maybe some change in a foolish hope that this hunk of meat would serve him the meat he so desperately craved. But human cock and baby batter weren't on Creamie-Pie Café's menu. At least, not on any menu that was publicized by way of Chanyeol's awareness. Eye candy was just about the only thing that wrinkled fuck would be able to suck on. Either he was content with deep-throating that or he could simply fuck off.

His choice.

"This is all because you wanted to show off," Jongin grumbled and flicked the nubs through Chanyeol's too-tight apron. "At least wear some nipple pads. Otherwise, customers are gonna start overthinking they can come to you for dairy substitutes."

Jongin cocked his head towards the break room and went through the velvet curtain first.

Chanyeol watched him go.

He almost sounded… jealous.

Nah.

Chanyeol berated himself for the thought.

That was ridiculous.

A moment later, Jongin's head was poking through the curtain.

"Well, don't just stand there! I don't care if it is a slow day, as long as you're on my watch, you're putting on a shirt before you clock in."

Chanyeol grabbed his bag and spared a glance behind him before proceeding. A warm sunset glow left the nearly empty lobby ablaze. Taemin and the older guy were nowhere to be seen. Those who remained could shout if they needed anything.

Chanyeol pushed the curtain aside and stopped in his tracks.

The break room was the same as always, with the clock-in console by the too-small table, the lockers lining the wall, and the bathroom sign vacant. But it smelled like it had the first time he and Jongin had met.

Jongin stood at his open locker, with his back to Chanyeol's exactly like how it'd been back then…

At the time, Jongin had been struggling to tie his apron behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he caught Chanyeol staring.

"Hey, new guy; do you mind?"

Chanyeol thought Jongin was flagging him down for staring at his cute pert ass in his skinny jeans, but really, he'd just needed assistance. He quickly discarded his jersey and tossed it upon the table with the rest of his things before moving over to help, donned in just a white t-shirt and basketball shorts. He hadn't had time to shower after working out and hoped his BO wasn't noticeable.

Their hands touched uncomfortably as Jongin transferred the straps over to Chanyeol.

Standing right behind him, Chanyeol learned three things about his shift manager and trainer before he learned of his name.

One, Jongin's waist was so small. While he seemed to have a good height and shape, with broad shoulders, and some meat on his bones—his frame in comparison to Chanyeol's made him seem much smaller in Chanyeol's eyes. Definitely lawn chair material.

Two, unusual for a guy, Jongin's cologne held notes of vanilla, a sharp contrast to the undertones of sweetness lingering in Chanyeol's clothes. Although Jongin couldn't see him as Chanyeol fingered the apron straps, Chanyeol feigned a squint just to bring his nose closer to Jongin's nape to inhale him.

Three, Jongin was incredibly gullible and trusting, evidenced by the kind smile he extended after Chanyeol wove a knot so tight it'd bring a boy scout out of retirement.

Finished, Chanyeol added much-needed space between them. He was feeling a little light-headed suddenly. He returned to the table, where his bag and jersey lay. He had an apron buried somewhere inside and rummaged for it.

"Redshirts get jerseys, too?" Jongin asked, craning his neck to indicate that he'd seen Chanyeol's shirt crumpled on the table. It was a red and white practice shirt with the PEPPERS and 61 emblazoned on the front.

Chanyeol hummed and flung his apron loose.

"I thought Minho only had one because he played last year."

"We all have 'em," Chanyeol said.

"Can I try it on?"

What?

Jongin's friendly smile warmed the room a degree. It was so distracting, that Chanyeol barely even recognized Jongin moving towards him until he was already at the table, fingering the folds of Chanyeol's shirt like a kid so impatient they took before waiting for a yes.

"I just came back from practice." Chanyeol intended it as a polite no, rather than a warning but…

"I don't mind." Jongin raised the shirt to his nose.  After a tentative whiff and a minute reaction to Chanyeol's sweat in the form of a pinched nose bridge, he slipped the shirt overhead, wiggling it on his apron. It settled over Jongin's frame like a dress, illustrating the difference between their bodies which Chanyeol's brain had just visualized minutes ago.

"You may know me yet, new guy—"

"Chanyeol."

"Chanyeol." Jongin popped his head through the collar, a grin as wide as his cheeks could manage plastered on his face. He seemed too geeked to be wearing another guy's sweaty practice jersey. A freshman redshirt, at that. "Today we may be strangers, but tomorrow…? Who knows!" He held out his hand for Chanyeol to shake. "Welcome to Creamie-Pie Café! I'm Jongin, one of your shift managers and your trainer for the first week. It's a pleasure to meet you, Chanyeol."

Chanyeol swallowed Jongin's hand with his own and squeezed.

"I'll fill you up with all the knowledge you need to be successful here, so come to me whenever you're having a hard time."

And Chanyeol had.

The problem was, Chanyeol's hard time didn't want to go away especially when Jongin was around.

Chanyeol felt the corners of his mouth curling down as the past faded from his mind. He'd realized what it was—that gross feeling from before. He wanted Jongin to smile at him again. When had he stopped? Was it over his first week? Did it have anything to do with him at all?

"This a place that serves food, you know," Jongin said as he rummaged through his locker. The rehashed lesson reminded Chanyeol that he was still standing at the doorway like a big oaf. He dropped his sports bag on the table and clocked in while Jongin rambled. "Walking around shirtless like that—what if your sweat drips in someone's coffee? What if they catch your musk funking up the brew? I'd have to file a complaint myself."

Ultimately, Chanyeol thought it was stupid to try and enforce a nonsensical dress code penalty on an already nonsensical dress code uniform. Why have a made-up stick up his ass when there were more enjoyable nine-inch shafts within reach? Specifically Chanyeol's, of course.

He also thought it was weird that Jongin would complain about him smelling now but couldn't linger on why without feeling like a pervert.

"I'm squeaky clean," Chanyeol said.

Jongin cast him a sidelong glance. "It's unsanitary regardless."

Chanyeol thumbed behind him. "And not for the dildos and anal beads preserved in glass cases on both sides of the room?" The décor of the lobby was enough to make anyone who tried Creamie-Pie Café for the first time widen their eyes in shock. The interior designer and their boss had clearly aligned in their shared vision, integrating adult sex toys and sultry BDSM-inspired furniture as decorative pieces into a college-demographic coffee shop.

"They're inside the glass, are they not?"

"You sure they're not inside of you?"

Jongin narrowed his eyes. "I'm not gay, bro. Not my thing."

Chanyeol held his hardened gaze, affirming that Jongin wasn't making a jab at him. It was just because he wanted to fuck Jongin that it stung a little bit more than he was expecting.

But why was it so serious all of a sudden? And quiet?

Chanyeol's hearing was a lot better than it was a few moments ago, but his heart was drumming fast against his chest again.

All he could focus on was the pointless rustling and squeak of rusted metal coming from Jongin's ministrations as he resumed the locker rummage. His movements were slow and stiff; he was stalling.

Wait a minute.

Had Jongin been making a jab at him?

At him?

"It's not my thing, either," Chanyeol said, after the awkward pregnant pause he wasn't sure if he'd imagined or not.

"Sure, dude."

Jongin turned and flung a crumpled black shirt his way.

Chanyeol caught it on reflex and noted the flash of envious approval that Jongin blinked away as he folded his arms across his chest.

"What the hell does that mean?" Chanyeol said.

His ex-trainer leaned against his locker.

"Nothing, man. Just forget about it."

Jongin must've been snorting white rocks if he thought Chanyeol was just going to forget about it. His arm was extended out in front of him still. If he were a Pokemon trainer, the only thing he'd be catching was flights.

Fuck this feelings shit.

***

Thanks to Jongin's weird comments, the rest of the shift's vibes had been so off, and Chanyeol couldn't wait to go home because of it. He wanted to jerk off to a rough fantasy of face-fucking a certain barista until he passed out before using the shirt Jongin lent him to catch his load. Then he wanted to sleep until breakfast.

Minho's absence meant an empty dorm, which made the idea all the more tantalizing since he didn't have to be mindful of his volume. It was the only silver lining of taking his roomie's shift despite it also proving itself to be relatively easy as predicted. He couldn't get home fast enough.

When eight struck, official closing, the lobby was already empty, the open sign already flipped courtesy of Taemin dipping out twenty minutes earlier. Unlike Chanyeol and Jongin, Taemin had worked a full shift, so Jongin decided a premature exit was acceptable.

Truthfully, Chanyeol saw through the façade.

The only reason his ex-trainer had cut Taemin loose only to rid himself of the headache. Taemin kept babbling about random things to pass the time, spurred on by the fact that he was so eager to meet the silver-haired DILF from earlier. Since Chanyeol wasn't much for small talk, and Jongin wasn't in the mood, it made for a painfully long shift.

Chanyeol couldn't blame him for the decision, though, even if it left a shit ton of work for just two people to handle alone. As long as he got paid, Chanyeol wasn't going to complain.

They divided up the tasks in a way that was fair while also giving them an excuse to avoid each other.

Jongin handled the bar stuff while Chanyeol worked at packing up the front house. He wiped tables, stacked chairs, and cleared the floor to make way for sweeping and mopping.

No music played while they cleaned. Only the squeaky sounds of movement and the occasional bodily noise filled the dead space.

True to his luck, Chanyeol got the short end of the stick because, for a person of Chanyeol's strength, the steps he had to follow for a deep clean were light work. It meant he finished his tasks early. Exceptionally early compared to Jongin's progress. It wouldn't have been a problem if he could finish and go home.

As it was, Creamie-Pie Café's rules stated that there always had to be at least two people at work, for safety reasons, and all cleaning had to be completed before closing. So, by that logic, if there were only two people in the building, they had to leave together, and only after all the cleaning was done.

Thinking about it now, maybe Jongin had divided the chores the way he did because he knew Chanyeol would finish the more physically laborious tasks faster and would be able to help him out.

Chanyeol wouldn't put it past his ex-trainer. He was conniving like that.

Instead of saying "Excuse me", Jongin had squeezed by Chanyeol at least three times throughout their shift, rubbing his ass against Chanyeol's crotch as he did so. Innocent grazes or not, it wasn't like they were bumping elbows with just three baristas behind the counter. There was no reason to be in contact at all, and yet Jongin had made it a habit. It was sickening because each time Chanyeol tried to say something, Jongin barked an order for him to fulfill. Chanyeol had no choice but to clench his jaw and get the job done. Couldn't disobey a senior…

He also couldn't abandon his senior to clean up alone while he sat and watched. Even if the black leather couches were comfortable as heck.

Reluctantly, Chanyeol peeled himself from the comfort of the cushions and made his way over to the counter. He found Jongin kneeling at the sink, turtling his head as examined something within the base cabinet.

"Something wrong?"

Jongin hit his head on the way out.

"What?" The scowl and sharp tone killed Chanyeol's enthusiasm to help.

"What else needs to be done?" Chanyeol said. "Tired of waiting on you."

Jongin exhaled audibly. "Sorry," he said. "Just the garbage and these dishes, but as you can see…" He gestured to the dark abyss and the piping that must've lay beyond, the dishes piled up on one side of the sink, dirty and dry. "Not working."

"Let me try," Chanyeol moved in as Jongin protested. "You can get the garbage—really, dude?" Jongin huffed as Chanyeol crowded around him. "Really?"

Chanyeol suppressed a smile as his legs knocked against Jongin's body, locking him in place. His apron sat on the wooden peg of an upturned chair, so his VPL was on full blast in his gray joggers. He twisted the faucet, adding unnecessary movement and gyration to his waist and hips to make his cock sway. Unless he was at practice, Chanyeol opted for boxers; the looseness of the material gave his cock and balls the freedom and space to do what they did. Even if Jongin didn't want all nine inches rearranging his guts, the least he could do was appreciate his remarkable manhood up close and personal.  

The metal handle squeaked as Chanyeol confirmed for himself if the faucet would run.

A beat.

Nope.

Not even a droplet spurted out from its tip.

Though… he was sure he'd heard water.

Chanyeol curled over the sink, placing his ear on the cold metal. Consequently, Jongin's head was smushed between the sink's edge and Chanyeol's cock.

"Dude—" Jongin shoved Chanyeol's thighs. Weak thrusts in an erogenous zone of his that sent mixed signals. Chanyeol stepped back for his own good, lest Jongin wake the beast and get his eye poked out. "You're so fucking gross, dude."

Chanyeol stepped back, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about?"

"Your fucking cock, man!"

Chanyeol frowned. "My cock?" He squeezed the soft length through his joggers and shook it. "Why are you talking about my cock all of a sudden?"

Jongin almost spluttered, flabbergasted. "You were rubbing it all over my face!"

"All over?" Chanyeol titled his head as if the slight shift in perspective would allow him to see the precum stains in a better light. Unfortunately, there was none. He glanced down and could confirm. No dark spots on his pants.

"Yes, all over!" Using both hands, Jongin wiped his face, smushing his cheeks and juicy lips together before pawing at it in a flurry of swipes and scrubs.

"So, about the sink," Chanyeol said and resumed his place at the sink. Chanyeol assumed that the ever-so-straight Jongin who wore other guy's sweaty jerseys initiated unnecessary physical contact, and hated the phantom sensation of Chanyeol's cock dancing across his face would move out of Chanyeol's way so he could fix the sink, do the dishes, and leave. But Jongin refused to budge, challenging Chanyeol's belief in common sense.

"I'm not letting you change the subject," Jongin said, bottom lip jutting out. Chanyeol stared at Jongin's lips as he turned his head to listen to the faucet. He watched Jongin's well-kept brows furrow as he cranked the faucet on and off in quick succession. This time he heard it, the flow of water, the obstruction of its expulsion. There was a jam somewhere. A slick pink tongue broke through, priming a pretty mouth for kissing.

"You're not?"

"You clearly did that on purpose."

Chanyeol ejected his gaze from Jongin's mouth and landed on Jongin's hand, tethered to his elbow.

"Did I?" Chanyeol yanked the head of the hose and pointed it at Jongin. He flinched instinctively, taking his hot hands with him. The big baby. Chanyeol placed his other hand lower on the tube where it curved and stroked it until his fists met. "D'you think it's a shooter or a dribbler?"

Jongin looked between the hose and Chanyeol, a drywall of ice faced with Chanyeol's antics again.

"Neither," Jongin said, cocking his eyebrow. "If a redshirt's involved."

Chanyeol sucked in his lips and closed his eyes, concentrating all his energy on killing the nerves that made him want to concede and give credit where credit was due.

It was funny. The way Jongin always froze him out, one would've thought he was above immature, crude remarks. But Jongin had been the one to start them; he'd been the one to unleash the floodgates in the first place. The highly moralistic stern shift manager shtick was a development new to Chanyeol, and he'd grown quite tired of it. Especially when Jongin had been so lively and playful with him during their training.

Like, on the second day of work, Jongin used bro language to pull Chanyeol deeper into the pits of Jongin-obsessed hell simply because Jongin was trying to be funny, helpful, and relatable. For Chanyeol, it'd been a hellish, grueling endeavor as he struggled to recall what he'd learned while he juggled learning more tasks. It hadn't helped that he'd had a wet dream about Jongin that night, an awkward sight that Minho had woken up to and laughed about all morning. His brain was scrambled, and there Jongin was, cupping Chanyeol's face with their foreheads a pinky's width apart. Sensing Chanyeol's dwindling patience for the job, Jongin had pulled him aside (and together) for an impromptu huddle that was the product of a manager's experience training other jock heads who only believed their strengths were better leveraged with a ball or barbell in their hands.

"Being a barista is a lot like… let's see…" Jongin racked his brain for an apt simile—yes, Chanyeol knew what that was. "Foreplay?" Jongin perked up, his freshman rhetoric classes from two years ago hitting him like three I-don't-feel-anything-CBD gummies. "Yeah! Being a barista is a lot like foreplay. See, customers are like girls: the goal is to keep them coming back-to-back and still wanting more."

"Cumming?" Chanyeol repeated, stuck on the pivot to sex when the subject of the previous night's fantasy was breathing in the same air he was.

"Exactly."

"And with guys?"

Jongin faltered. "Guys? Oh… well… they're easy to fit in." He pursed his lips, and hell, Chanyeol almost leaned forward. "Guys are always down for a hot and steamy exchange. Get it? 'Cuz we make coffee? And hand it over?!"

Chanyeol's chuckled but his stomach had been doing funny little flip things for other reasons. Who at the time could've predicted how skilled at gymnastics his inner organs would become. He really was a top-tier athlete—what was his coach thinking by making him a redshirt?

Chanyeol flexed his index finger and then pumped the trigger twice.

Jongin covered his face as the hose fired a jet of water. "Dude, what the fuck—"

"Well—it looks like 'shooter' is the right answer," Chanyeol said, glancing down at the wet patch darkening his borrowed shirt. "I wonder what your penalty should be?"

Chanyeol let the meaning behind his words soak in at the same pace as his cotton tee before he angled the piston at Jongin. He extended his arm and let the dimple of his cheek pop as he realized Jongin couldn't even turn and flee if he wanted to. Chanyeol had subconsciously cornered Jongin—or more like, Jongin had subconsciously corned himself. 

"Chanyeol," Jongin gritted through clenched teeth, perhaps the first time he'd uttered Chanyeol's name all day. Slowly, his hands came up to block the nozzle. "Put the damn hose down; this isn't funny."

Chanyeol maneuvered the piston around Jongin's hands, forcing him to flinch again.

"Either you get a penalty, or I get a prize," Chanyeol said.  "Your pick."

Jongin narrowed his eyes.

Chanyeol lifted his finger.

"Don't," Jongin gritted again. "You're insane."

Chanyeol shrugged, his aim unwavering. He wouldn't mind seeing Jongin's face wet and dripping with his spray.

"What is it that you want, anyway?"

Chanyeol chewed his lip.

Shit.

Should he ask for it?

Could he ask for it?

At his hesitation, Jongin's eyes seemed to lose the hardened edge. They were still a far cry away from soft, but…

Jongin recalled his hands from his defensive position and, to Chanyeol's surprise, propped one up on his hip.

"Are you seriously going to chicken out now?"

Chanyeol let his guard down and lowered the nozzle. "I'm not chickening out of anything."

"You totally are."

"No…?"

"So, just say it then."

"Say what?"

Jongin sighed. "Say what it is that you want!" He wiped the air in front of himself, gesturing to himself and the emptiness of the building. "It's not like there's anyone around. Not that it seemed to matter. You were pretty vocal about things last Friday."

Chanyeol blinked.

"Last Friday? What happened last—"

Oh.

Ooh…

Oh, fuck.

"The party…" Chanyeol's mind blanked as he tried to recall the night, but between getting sloppy drunk, enduring a crazy hangover, and a week of class, practice, and work—his brain had discarded just about all memory of the night.

"What the hell did I do?"

Jongin scoffed. "Of course, you don't remember."

"What did I do?" Chanyeol tried again, hating how desperate he sounded. "Did I say something… about… you?"

Jongin's face said it all.

He had….

And fuck, did that explain Jongin's initial stunted reaction and muted animosity towards him. Whatever Chanyeol had told him, had told anybody within listening range apparently, whatever it was had to have been stupid enough to deprive Chanyeol of Jongin's sunshine personality.

"You cockblocked me the whole night," Jongin said, after a final defeated sigh. "Because you kept telling girls that I was your bro and that I'd be cheating if I broke our bromance. And then, you got sick all over the yard and made me carry your drunk ass all the way to the athlete's dorm. Where you then—" Jongin took a breath, "where you then proceeded to strip yourself of your clothing and lazily jerk off with me watching until you fell asleep."

Chanyeol's face twisted in confusion. "Where the hell was Minho?"

"Probably getting laid with the girls you stole from me."

Chanyeol was in complete disbelief. He released the sink hose, watching it slowly sink back to its original position. It sagged just short of completion, lacking the spinal strength to upright itself.

"And I didn't cum?"

"Seriously? That's what you're asking?"

"I mean, it's unlike me to not finish once I get going."

"Chanyeol."

"Really, my sexual appetite is a bit insatiable."

"No, you didn't cum; you fell asleep holding your dick in your hand. It wilted like a flower," Jongin said. "Happy now?"

"Well, no, actually," Chanyeol frowned, and looked down, staring at his clothed dick. "A little disappointed, to be honest."

"Well, yes. I agree," Jongin said. "It was very anticlimactic."

"I'm sorry," Chanyeol said. "I'm sorry I did that to you." He thought he was crazy, but… he thought his crazy was safeguarded within the confines of his mind. Teasing Jongin was one thing, but blueballing him? Not cool. "But you're totally lying."

"What?"

"That explains why you haven't smiled at me once. You've been mad at me this whole time."

"What are you—"

Chanyeol laughed and clapped a hand on Jongin's shoulder. "I fell asleep while we were hooking up, and you've been pissed ever since." He doubled over, imagining all the instances when a girl had cold-shouldered him for the same thing. It all lined up. Guy or not, Jongin was no different from anyone else who'd experienced what it was like to be so close to riding Chanyeol and yet missed their train.

Jongin's face deepened a shade.

"I already told you, I'm not gay. I didn't—we didn't—nothing happened between us."

"Sure." Chanyeol winked twice, then went about unscrewing the faucet aerator. For whatever reason, this was clogged—but fixing it could wait until the morning. He hit the warm water. Seeing it waterfall as intended, he flashed Jongin a grin and dropped the drainplug. They had dirty dishes to clean and a bag of garbage to toss out. The sooner they did that…

"Minho should be gone by now," Chanyeol said. "Assuming you're staying for the weekend, that'll give us at least three days to ourselves. Unless…" Chanyeol picked up the hose and pulled the trigger, blasting the dish soap he'd drizzled around the basin into a flurry of suds and thick foam. He stuck his hand in the slow-filling sink and waited until the water covered his hands before vibrating his hands to fix the dishwater faster. He caught Jongin watching his flexing arm, watched him swallow and play off his staring as one of disinterest—only this time, Chanyeol could see through the masks.

He could see everything clearly.

The shock of an unexpected meeting, prompted by Minho sneakily asking him to work last minute.  The shock of an initial rejection, prompted by Chanyeol's idiotic dazed reactions. The shock of experiencing jealousy and possessiveness, prompted by a stranger who's straightforward was something worth envying. The shock of being unable to confront the truth when faced with an uncomfortable reality… The shock of Chanyeol's massive cock being so close yet so far away… Well, not for long.

God, was he slow.

So, Chanyeol did his best to compensate for the delay in reaction, speeding through the dishes and emptying the trash bins in the dumpster out back.

They hit the lights in the front and clocked out in silence.

Chanyeol didn't mind the quiet in the break room this time.

He could hear his heart beating, but he also knew Jongin was silent because he could hear his own as well. Perhaps he too had remembered the last time they'd stood too close within these four walls, with his back to a giant, hands hovering at his waist. Perhaps the image had been too much for him to remember.

After all, he wasn't gay.

But Chanyeol hadn't given a fuck one way or another.

As long as his trainer had eyes for his trainee, Chanyeol would take whatever Jongin percentage gave him.

"Ready to go?" Chanyeol hooked his sports bag on his left elbow and hooked his right around Jongin's arm. He began pushing Jongin towards the back door. Jongin half resisted being ushered along but left it up to his mouth to put up a fight.

"You don't need to rush me," Jongin said. He tried freeing his arm, but Chanyeol only tightened his grip, bringing their shoulders closer. The heat from Jongin's body calmed his nerves. This Jongin was all real. "I swear, all of you freshmen are just so clingy and thirsty."

Chanyeol snorted. "Okay, freshman slayer."

Jongin guffawed at the retort, fish-mouthing fresh air as Chanyeol led them outside and into the streetlight-lit alleyway. Jongin had bragged that he'd never needed to sleep with a freshman to get laid.

Chanyeol guessed he was the exceptional exemption.

"No rebuttal?" Chanyeol teased.

He delighted in the 'caught' smile Jongin had reluctantly awarded him. Credit where credit was due. Chanyeol felt himself grinning too. The full exertion of his facial muscles stretched with a surge of happiness that he was going to preserve for as long as he possibly could. Although he would experience many more incredible things before the night's end, he wanted this particular feeling to last. It'd been too long since he'd last seen Jongin smiling at him, and he couldn't contain himself anymore.

So, what if he pecked Jongin on the lips and indulged in Jongin's shock? So what if it amused him that Jongin had looked all around, scouring the sleeping campus for any eyes that may have witnessed their first kiss—a kiss between guys?

Chanyeol had wanted to ask if it was just the first time Jongin was worried about—or the second—but after the third, well…. Chanyeol was pretty sure it no longer mattered.