(Writing Spicy prompt 3: “If you want that, you’re going to have to earn it.”)
Luca:
This was not where I thought the night was going to take me. She showed up in an off-the-shoulder dress I wanted to tug down with my fingers, thin black heels that defined the shape of her gorgeous calves, and a neckline that made my teeth water. This was the same subway girl? All of the parts of her that were closed inward were suddenly here loudly, including her energy.
She walked inside and some heads turned, and some barstools. Eyes were roaming her the same as mine and I swallowed back the thickness that had set in my throat and went to stand as she approached me. With a flair of confidence, she set her matching clutch on the bar between us and with an impish smile asked,
“So what are we drinking tonight?”
I’d gotten her here, but now what? I felt flustered, thrown from whatever game I’d been waiting to envelope her in when she arrived, and the cappuccino of her eyes lured me in deep as I cleared my throat.
“I’m having a maker’s mark, but I can get you anything you’d like.”
She winked at me slyly, raising an eyebrow and licking her lips. She had freckles flecked across her shoulders and smelled of plums and freesia, nails matte black and short. I wanted to see them on my skin, watch them spider up my chest and grip the back of my neck.
Not missing a beat, she waved the bartender over and ordered the same as me, came straight back to my stupefied gaze and stated the obvious.
“We’ve been paying attention to each other for a while. Glad we both decided to be decisive today about it. I’m Zoey, by the way. Names feel like they should be the start of this.”
“I’m Luca. And. Yes. We have. Weirdly glad that ass pulled that on you this morning and I was there to intervene.”
She licked her lips before she took a long sip of the glass just out in front of her, left the faintest mark of lipstick behind on the rim and I felt my cock twitch, I slid my own hands up and down my thighs a little and tried to keep the eye contact, feeling a heat rise up my throat to my cheeks.
“Mmm, Luca. I like that. You intervene well.” Her smile softened and I was distracted by the pinkness in her lips, her waves of auburn hair slinking down the nakedness of her back. I wanted to bunch them in my fist like a bouquet of flowers.
“You caught me just as I was getting out of the shower with your text. I haven’t been out in ages really, been sort of solitary and it feels nice to remember noise like this, energy, lights. It’s been a minute since someone sweet has asked for my company, too.”
“Someone sweet”, the s’s in that phrase ran out of her mouth like warm marbles, caressing a part of me that felt spotlit in a way I hadn’t in a while. I noticed the bartender staring at us and he grinned at me, seeing whatever was building and obviously enjoying the little show of it.
“So you’re a bit of a homebody these days? I can respect that. I have to admit I think I was imagining you more-“
“Demure?”
I laughed and nodded. Guess she can see exactly what cards I’m holding.
“I’ve been told I’m hard to pin down. When I’m on the L in the mornings when you see me, I am very much in a more standoffish mode where I try to minimize how I’m perceived. I get so tired of the behavior of cis-men. Masking like that just gives me a nice continuity of care so they don’t feel invited. Regardless, even if they don’t I still get bothered and approached. Femme visibility and all that.”
“Sorry to hear that’s your lived experience. I rubber band back and forth with that myself, as a transmasc. It’s never the pocket I wish I could just sway in comfortably. Too much or not enough seems to be the seesaw of how I present but I try to find my spaces between the waves. I definitely noticed you when I first saw you on the platform. I keep it to myself though unless I feel like there’s an invitation. I did notice you looking, or looking back, or being distracted from your book and losing your spot at times.”
“It’s nice to be noticed quietly, isn’t it? Sounds like neither of us gets that enough. People tend to come to me so if they don’t I just sometimes assume there isn’t interest. This morning though. I felt. A certain way when you were standing over me.”
“I know.”
She ran her hand through her hair in a girlish way that felt both shy and a little giddy and her eyes looked back at me in a lidded way that said more than her gesture.
“As long as you know.” She cocked an eyebrow at me and smirked, moved closer and ran the fabric of my shirt collar between her fingers, tugging a little. Her face was the closest to mine it had been and the urge to turn and kiss her was strong. Before I could decide, she set her phone on her clutch and sauntered off to the find the bathroom, murmuring,
“Keep an eye out, sweet boy.”
I watched her walk away and wanted to follow, crush her with my body weight into a stall door and see if I could overcome that power of hers. Still, I felt heady and like I could sink into her skin. I wanted her nails on my scalp and that delicious pink of her lipstick smeared on my neck.
I’d come here in that space that commanded something, and her showing up was really turning it on its ass. Part of me was happy to let her take it, the other half wanted to let her feel like she had it so I could smother it with my own energy.
Distracted, I came out of my stupor and noticed someone had taken her barstool so I took my jacket off mine and held it, ordered another round I figured we could sip on slowly. This little joust was unexpected, but hot.
I heard the rhythmic stomp of her heels behind me and felt her hand rest delicate on my shoulder,
“Are you leaving so soon?”
A little panic in her voice, I turned and offered her my seat, nodding to her own being taken.
“Not at all, just ordered us another round. I’m here for as long as you’re here.”
That last sentence came out a little less casual than I’d home and she flashed her eyes at me. She turned her stool so we were waist to waist and I set one of my boots between her thighs.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
I cleared my throat a little awkwardly, ran my hand through the back of my hair like I do when I’m nervous. Fuck.
“You know. No one has really-no one has called me that in some time.”
She took her glass and stared back at me, taking a small sip and then offering her cup to me. She didn’t let me take it, kept her hand steady and tilted it until my lips met the edge, feeding me courage? Fuck.
“Called you what?” She feigned ignorance, playfully. I took a drink and she set it back on the bar. She wanted me to say. No, she wanted to hear me say it. I felt myself blushing and stared at her heels with were now sweetly hooked around my lower leg, tighter against the tread of my boot.
My breath was hitched in my throat and I looked around haphazardly. No one was watching us or even listening. The bartender was slammed as a crowd of 20 or more had just come through the front door, and everyone was distracted by someone nailing Joan Jett at karaoke.
I leaned into her ear and whispered, “sweet boy”, a little sheepish but still grateful I could push the letters out of my mouth. Her neck and collarbone begged for my teeth but I couldn’t do it. I was putty and dizzy on her and inhaling her scent and trying to be a gentleman. Fuck.
As I went to move away, I felt her slide a finger through a loop on my jeans and pull me back to keep me there, her voice in my ear sprinkled like sugar through my brain, I gripped the back of her chair tight and tried not to falter as she whispered,
“If you want me to say that again, you’re going to have to earn it.”
Jezebel Jett 
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