Rating: E
Summary: When T.K. is stood up on his birthday, a "stranger" named Carlos makes sure he has a fun night anyway.
A/N: This one is real filthy friends...
Being stood up is one of the shittiest things that can happen to a human being.
First you think your date is just running late. Then you start imagining scenarios in which they’ve been kidnapped or murdered or stopped to save a dog from a kidnapper-murderer. Then finally, a little later than you should, you realize you’ve been stood up and start plotting your date’s kidnap-murder.
There’s a lot of self talk; you remind yourself that you’re worth more than this, that clearly your date is an asshole of a human being who couldn’t be bothered to take the high road and at least send a text. And then you either go out and party, or you go home and wallow.
Being stood up on your birthday is a whole new level of shitty though.
T.K. stares moodily at his drink, his ass numb after forty-five minutes of sitting on an unfathomably uncomfortable barstool. In an attempt at making the night feel festive, he’d asked for a lemon and a lime in his bubbly water, but right now nothing in this place feels festive at all.
He should have known better. He and Kyle have been on a few dates, but Kyle hadn’t seemed super into him. It had been fun, but very surface level. The sex had been pretty good though.
And T.K. had been looking forward to a birthday blow job.
He chomps angrily on his straw, his stomach growling beneath the shirt he’d picked out for tonight. It’s one of his favorites, a blue button down with pink and purple flowers on it. There are little lizards hiding in the leaves. He’d been politely waiting to order food, but now that it’s clear Kyle’s not going to show, T.K. is quickly tipping into hangry territory.
He peruses the menu and then signals the bartender. He’s ordering everything. If he’s not going to get laid tonight, at least he can eat.
“Hi,” he says when the bartender comes over. “I’ll have the bacon wrapped dates, the artichoke dip, the chickpea salad, the miso glazed salmon with mashed potatoes and broccoli, and…” He looks again. “The mozzarella sticks. Please.”
The voice at his elbow is smooth and deep and T.K. feels his cheeks warm in a flush of embarrassment, which quickly turns into annoyance. It’s a pick up line, and he’s not in the mood to be picked up right now. He’s in the mood to wallow. Alone. With his deep fried string cheese.
“Yep,” he replies tersely, taking a sip of his extra fruity water.
“Here for something special?”
Wow, this guy isn’t taking the hint. “Getting stood up,” T.K. says with an annoyed sigh.
He turns, expecting to find a smarmy smile and a look that says, “Hey baby, wanna see my dick?”
Instead he finds warm brown eyes that are full of genuine sympathy.
“Oh. That sucks,” the guy says.
The man is built. His button-up strains over all his muscles, his brown skin warm and practically begging T.K. to touch. And then his eyes…T.K. feels like he could drown in them, so full of life.
“Their loss,” the guy says. “I can’t imagine standing up someone like you.”
Well that’s flattering. “Thanks,” he replies. “I guess that’s what you get when you date a guy named Kyle.”
The hot guy winces. “Oof. Yeah. Kyles always turn out to be dicks, don’t they?”
“They do,” T.K. agrees. “I’m T.K., by the way.”
“I’m guessing the K doesn’t stand for Kyle?”
The guy nods in approval. “Much more interesting. I’m Carlos.”
