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“Are you flirting with me?” Stiles asked jovially, snickering when the man he’d snuck up on jumped in his seat and whirled around, knocking his knee against the table and almost sending his drink toppling over.
There was an obvious splash of shock across his lightly-bearded face. It was just as handsome as his usual stark concentration, though the way his mouth had fallen open in a little “O” was very appealing. Stiles was only twenty-three, after all—and his libido was very active.
Stiles smirked as the older man did nothing but stare at him.
“You okay there?” Stiles asked, putting a hand on his hip as he studied the man’s face.
The man made a noise that was not a word. Stiles snickered again and then leaned forward to get a better look at the sketchpad now resting in the man’s lap.
Whoever he was, he was a regular at the coffee shop Stiles worked at more than he didn’t. New York was expensive, but leaving Beacon Hills behind after a chaos demon had taken his body for a joyride had been worth it. Now, years later, he was baristaing it up in a small, quaint coffee shop as he slowly worked towards getting a degree in Criminology.
Mystery Man was a regular. According to Stiles’ coworkers, he hadn’t been one before Stiles started working there a year ago. And as far as regulars went, he was pretty boring. He showed up, got a simple coffee he paid for with cash, and then he sat at a corner table by a window that had a direct line to the bar.
And, every time, without fail, he pulled out a sketchbook.
Stiles had gotten glimpses of Mystery Man’s art over the last year, but the guy seemed pretty private. He closed his book if he was using the washroom, and Stiles never had a good enough reason to get close enough to really take a look.
Until today, when Mystery Man had been more engrossed than usual and hadn’t noticed Stiles approaching from the side. He’d gotten nice and close and, to his surprise, had seen himself staring back at him.
Well, a really hot version of himself in smoky, charcoal strokes, but himself nonetheless.
Which was why he asked, “So is it? ‘Cause I’ve had a ton of guys hit on me, and none of them have done it by drawing super hot depictions of me.”
“Uh—You—I—super hot you are?” Mystery Man said in a bumble of awkward starts and stops that were totally adorable.
“Complimented I am,” Stiles said with a grin. When the guy did nothing but stare at him some more, Stiles kicked the leg of his chair. “So, what’s your name, cutie?” he asked, moving around so he could prop his hip against the table and look down easier.
The man blushed even darker, but he said, “Steve. Steve Rogers.”
“Nice to meet you, Steve Rogers,” Stiles greeted, holding out his hand. The name seemed familiar, and Stiles wondered if he’d seen the guy’s art online somewhere. “Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”
“I know,” Steve told him. Then, he winced and added, “I’m not some sort of creep. You wear a name tag.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Stiles joked, grinning widely when Steve finally let go of his hand. Damn, super hot guy was really into him, huh? “I’d hate for you to be some sort of creep.”
“Yeah?” Steve asked, his voice a little more sure than before as he managed to get his face into something resembling a smile. “Why’s that?”
Stiles grinned widely, kicking out his foot and knocking the leg of Steve’s chair again. “I don’t let creeps take me out after my shift.”
“You gonna let me take you out, darling?” Steve asked, the barest hint of an accent colouring his words that made Stiles’ knees feel weak.
“Oh lordy lord,” he breathed, overjoyed with the way Steve was finally smiling up at him. “You’re gonna be dangerous for me, huh?”
“You seem like you can handle it,” Steve told him easily, and Stiles threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh, this is going to be great.” Stiles smiled down at Steve widely, before he looked over his shoulder to make sure there still wasn’t a line. “I have an hour left till I’m off. Why don’t you finish up your flirting-sketch, and then you can take me out for dinner?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Steve said, and he sounded so freaking genuine that Stiles wanted to swoon.
Because he’d made it through that entire interaction without making a fool of himself, Stiles didn’t ruin it by saying anything else. He figured he’d be safest if he quit when he was still ahead, so he turned on his heel and started making his way to the bar.
Which was when he tripped over his own foot and toppled forward, an ungodly shriek leaving his lips as he completely lost his footing and the floor started rushing to meet him. Before he could hit the ground, Steve was somehow there, catching him around the chest and easing him back to standing.
Once he was upright, he took a very deep breath and told himself that he was invisible. He kept his eyes clenched shut and believed that no one could see him. Only… he wasn’t. It wasn’t even a good lie. The entire coffee shop was now watching them, which was made even worse because Stiles was still holding onto him.
“Uh, I’m a little clumsy sometimes,” Stiles admitted sheepishly, his cheeks burning.
“Good thing I’m quick,” Steve told him quietly, their faces close together.
Stiles nodded. Then, in a fit of absolute darling, he leaned in and stole a very quick peck that Steve chased after.
“That’s all for now, big guy,” Stiles murmured, putting Steve’s very impressive bicep as he stepped back. “Don’t you have a picture to finish?”
Steve grinned even as he dropped his head. He slowly headed back to his seat, and Stiles watched him walk away. Since they had a date scheduled, he very shamelessly tracked his eyes across Steve’s wide shoulders, trailing down to his tapered waist and his absolutely drool-worthy ass.
Wait. Wait… he knew that ass.
It was America's ass!
“Oh my God, you’re Captain America!”