coffee in the shop, choking on her cock
"Um. So, am I doing good? Mr. Medvedev?"
Daniil eyes snap up from where they'd been tracing the outline of plush lips, warmth rising to his cheeks as he clears his throat, patting harshly at his chest for a minute too long, "Yes!" A frenzied answer—Daniil winces, "yes, this is actually very smart, really, Stefanos. You've been doing very well."
And thats the thing isn't it. Stefanos has been doing amazing.
Daniil doesn't even know why she'd approached him, emailed him over and over again with her academics (far too great) and previous job experience (somehow even better) until he'd finally agreed on a zoom call.
Daniil had waited less than five minutes in that call before Stefanos had joined, and he'd known immediately—had felt that thick feeling of inevitable doom as soon as her camera had blinked open to reveal those wavy blonde locks that fell perfectly atop her shoulders and those large brown doe-eyes that had looked at him through the screen imploringly.
"Mr. Medvedev," she had said, voice so breathlessly melodic and breezy—like the curl of a slender vine opening quietly against the push of the wind—that for one nonsensical moment, Daniil had wondered whether the Greeks had been right, whether there really were sirens walking amongst them back then, roaming alive even still; their tantalising voices long over drowning pirates—being used for mundane tasks now, luring poor unsuspecting professors into becoming PhD supervisors.
Okay, Daniil had thought then—firm, I am going to stop thinking weird perverted thoughts and be a normal, smart man who has normal, smart thoughts. And I will tell this beautiful lady that her qualifications and intelligence are far too good to not get into contact with someone much better than me. I will end this properly and be normal and smart and a man.
Now, four weeks later, sat in a small coffee shop with Stefanos in front of him, her lips quirked into a soft smile as she looks up at him through her eyelashes; Daniil hates his old self just a little bit. (Honestly, he hates that stupid old guy alot, but hey. His therapist had told him he had to be nicer to himself, so give him a break. He's trying, okay? Also. Ignore the fact he hasn't been to any of his appointments these past five months.)
This is the sixth time Daniil has met Stefanos in-person away from their regular Zoom calls, and yet, somehow, Daniil becomes even more crazier with each meeting—something he constantly thinks cannot be possible the meeting before.
But here he is. Proving himself wrong once more, staring at the twists of her ears where she'd tucked a stray un-tied strand behind just a second ago, outlining the curves of it—how right at the top it looks kind of pointed. Like cat ears, Daniil thinks absently, little perked tips that he wants to lick and–
What the Fuck. What in the Fuck.
You are a sick, thirty-one year old, perverted, loser of a man, Daniil, he tells himself—speaks it into the very neurons of his brain, you are a dirty, dirty, man lusting over a woman six years younger than you and you need to get your shit together right now.
"Truly," he says out loud, straightening up his back from where he'd let it hunch over, "there is nothing I can add. Seriously, Stefanos, the research you are showing me today is amazing. I cannot wait to read your dissertation if this is how quickly you're already, like, getting on the best track."
Stefanos blushes, red blooming across her cheeks and the crook of her nose, "Oh!" she pulls at her fingers—flustered (Daniil wants to take her face into his hand and squeeze it, pepper kisses at wherever the colour has risen and pepper kisses where it hasn't, he wants to take her fingers and pull them into his mouth and force them down his throat and gag and choke on them all while she recites her research to him, he wants to—), "Thank you, Mr. Medvedev, you'll be the first to see it when I'm done."
Daniil's heart warms. (Fuck, he's such a loser.)
He gives her a grin, "I'll be looking very forward to it, then."
Their gazes meet over the rickety wooden table between them, a soft silence falling between the two as the conversation comes to an unspoken end.
"You know," Daniil voices—can already feel the doom he's causing to himself, "we are both adults," what a hypocrite he is, "you can call me Daniil."
He watches in real-time as Stefanos' mouth forms a small 'o', her eyes widening, "ofcourse! Yes, um... thank you? I will keep that in mind next time we talk. Daniil."
(Yeah. Daniil's just dug his grave for himself hasn't he? Well, fuck it all.)
He does a thumbs-up (he is an awkward losing loser of an old man)—tires to hide a wince as she gives him one back hesitantly, before getting up from the cushioned seat and beginning the task of collecting his things.
Stefanos follows his lead, pastel blue fingernails tapping at the table as she reaches out with other hand to grab the bag she'd placed under the table top when she'd first sat down. She glances momentarily at the glass wall next to them, a miniscule frown wrinkling the smooth skin of her face almost immediately.
Daniil looks out, sees the pitter patter of drizzling-but-also-more-than-that rain, "hui, tell me you have an umbrella, Stefanos."
(Stefanos lived about a 20 minute walk away from the cafe they meet at, a walk Daniil knows she took happily—the little piece of information coming to him when she'd run late one day and had arrived gasping for air, puffing out sorry's as she'd explained that the only pedestrian crossing signal there had stopped working, and that she hadn't wanted to jaywalk so she' called the police and waited until they'd come and told her she could pass. Daniil had wanted to kneel down at her feet and tell she was allowed to walk all over him whenever she wanted.)
"Stefanos," Daniil repeats, watches the way her head tilts towards him—guilt written all over her expression, "tell me you have an umbrella. Tell me you saw the, like, clouds today and knew you might have needed it."
There's that familiar feeling of doom again.
Well, he thinks, fuck it all, huh?
Stefanos' jaw drops open.
Blood rushes to Daniils face, fuck. Why the fuck had he said it like that! Oh my god Stefanos was going to think he was a disgusting pervert and she would go report him and he'd be kicked out and lose his job and he'd have no income and—
He clears his throat, swallows, "I mean. Just for a bit, until the rain stops! My house, actually, is five minutes away, I don't want you catching a cold just because you ran like a maniac to home in this weather."
Stefanos bites at her bottom lip, lashes fluttering (Daniil yearns), "Um, well, only if you're really okay with it, for sure."
A fisherman caught by the point of his own cast. Yeah, Fuck it all.
