#ayooooo

“So this is where you vanish to every Sunday morning?”

“Da.” Nikto replies, without a trace of shame. “The best apple turnovers live here.”

“And you were content to leave me at home?! Keep this as your dirty little secret?”

He makes a low noise in the back of his throat, one you recognise as gravelly humour. One of his gloved paws comes to rest on the small of your back, nudging you gently towards the door which he leans forward to hold open.

“It is not a crime, for a man to enjoy cake.”

“I’ll be the judge of that thanks, it depends on how good the cake is.”

The growling chuckle sounds again and when you glance back at him while crossing the threshold, his eyes are crinkled at the corners. He looks so happy, the frigid blue softened like a glacier fed lake. Carelessly, Nikto pinches the fat of your ass between two thick fingers. You bat him off, but the playfulness remains as he wraps one arm around your waist when you reach the counter.

Pastries and cakes of all types, presented sweetly on mismatched plates. It feels too kitsch for a man who dresses entirely in black and almost permanently has a cigarette perched on his lips. Each delicacy looks delicious, the smell of coffee and steam wafting over your face.

Nikto’s nods at the faintly baffled barista, who’s clearly used to seeing him brooding and alone.

“The usual?” The guy asks, reaching for a takeaway bag.

“Can we eat in? I want to look at the plants?”

His steely gaze meets yours, you can tell he’s smiling by the way the corners upturn.

“Mmph, we can. But only if you sit in my lap moya milaya.”

You scoff in response, a flicker of heat rising in your belly in spite of it.

“I don’t think you want to be barred from your favourite coffee shop.”

“I will behave.” He retorts, pairing his wide eyed innocence with another grope of your rear, a big palm squeezing your flesh. “Besides..”

He glances at the barista, who’s pointedly busying himself with the till.

“Gregor doesn’t mind? Do you Gregor?” There’s a slim challenge in his tone, barely perceptible but ominous all the same.

“Absolutely not, sit where you like.” Gregor replies a little too quickly, watching Nikto’s broad shoulders hunching around your back.

Needless to say, Nikto doesn’t behave. After devouring two sweet, cinnamon flavoured turnovers along with the remnants of your brownie, he devotes himself to placing trailing kisses along your neck. Nikto’s hands wander endlessly, petting the meat of your thighs as his fingers brush over your clothed core several times ‘by accident’.

When you kiss him on the way home, he tastes of summer orchards, heady blossom and the tang of fruit. You barely make it through the front door before he’s tugging off your clothes.