Fiona Glass: Coffee for a Kiss

It’s February, which means Valentines Day is almost upon us. So this week I thought I’d post one of my own little stories, which has a Valentines theme and is kind of cute. I first wrote this back in the Dark Ages (well, the early 2000s) and I think it originally appeared in a Torquere Press newsletter, and featured last year in my own newsletter. I hope you have fun reading it, and if you’d like to see more of my m/m romance books why not check out my website.


Barista © Nicholas Horn; Coffee cup © Ibrahim Rifath; Hearts background © Freestocks, all on

Coffee taste like mud? Hardly surprising—it was only ground this morning!

            Dan read the new sign above the coffee shop counter and groaned. ‘That one’s as old as Methuselah. I remember getting it in a Christmas cracker in about 1982.’

            The barista, young and dusky with a gold earring, held up his hands and grinned. ‘Don’t blame me—it wasn’t my idea. Although it does get the point across that the coffee’s fresh. We roast it ourselves.’

            ‘I can tell.’ Dan savoured the rich smell coming from the kitchen, and tried not to ogle the barista’s backside too obviously. He was nice-looking, with flashing brown eyes and a cheeky smile, and the pertest little tush Dan had seen in a long while.

            ‘So, what’ll it be?’

            I suppose a shag’s out of the question? ‘Skinny latte, please.’ He’d noticed his waistline getting saggy lately. Needed to do something about that.

            ‘Coming right up.’

            Not half as much as what I’ve got coming up…  He watched as the barista turned his back, measuring coffee, banging things, squirting hot milk. The guy had nice hands, too, with long deft fingers that made art of the ordinary tasks. Too soon the performance was over, and a steaming mug appeared on the counter.

            ‘Cheers.’ He fished in his pocket for small change, enjoying the pressure on his newly-awakened cock. ‘What do I owe you?’

            ‘Well, the coffee’s two pounds fifty.’ The barista winked. ‘But I wouldn’t mind if you gave me something else.’

            Dan tossed a handful of coins on the counter and grabbed the mug, wrapping February-frozen fingers around it and hoping they’d thaw out. Raising it to his face he breathed the richly scented steam in deep, took a sip, and felt the caffeine hit all the way to his toes. Mmm. That was good coffee… Then he registered the second part of what the barista had just said. ‘You what?’

            Another wink. ‘You’re a nice-looking guy. I was thinking along the lines of a long slow kiss.’

            Half way through another mouthful, Dan spluttered and coughed. ‘What? Here?’

            The barista’s grin was positively wicked. ‘Much as I fancy having you shag me on the counter top, people outside might be a little shocked. We could use the back room, though.’

            ‘Yeah?’ Dan met the twinkling brown gaze head on. ‘Oh. Yeah.’ He dumped the mug on the counter, contents barely tasted, and followed the barista’s back through the door. The storeroom was full of the heady scent of newly-roasted beans, and in the slightly subdued light it was also, suddenly, full of arms. The barista was standing right behind the door, and grabbed him as he came in. Dan went without resisting, letting the guy reel him in until his back was up against the gritty, unyielding surface of a breeze-block wall. What was in front of him was much more enticing, though. Thigh met slender thigh; chest rested against chest and the rough cotton fabric of the barista’s apron caught against his arms.

            ‘You’ve got a coffee moustache.’ The barista stared at him from inches away. ‘Let me help you with that.’ He stuck out his tongue and used it to circle Dan’s mouth, tracing the shape of his lips and flicking into the folds at the corners of his mouth. ‘Mmm. Always did like the taste of Arabica and hot milk.’

            Dan was enjoying the tongue, and the warmth of the other man’s body pressing against his own. But the words had given him an idea. ‘Hang on a jiffy.’ He dashed back into the shop, flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’, mouthed ‘Sorry,’ at a disappointed-looking woman on the pavement outside, then grabbed the coffee he’d left on the counter top.

            Back in the dark fragrance of the storeroom he took a swig of the cooling liquid and swirled it around in his mouth. Then he leaned back in to the barista’s embrace, waited until their lips were just touching, and let a thin stream of coffee trickle onto the guy’s waiting tongue.

            The barista’s breath hitched. ‘Nice. Want more.’

            Dan was happy to oblige. He took another mouthful and repeated what he’d just done. The result sent an electric thrill rushing through his veins but he wanted more, wanted to touch the other man—especially that tush he’d been admiring from afar. One hand held the coffee mug, but the other was free. He rested it on the small of the barista’s back, then, greatly daring, slid it down to cup on delicious rounded cheek. It felt every bit as good as he thought it would—firm, smooth, and very squeezable. So he squeezed and was rewarded, through his mouth and tongue, with the thrum of a lush little moan.

The game lasted as long as the coffee did: mouthful after mouthful of latte circling his tongue, dribbling down, with the barista drinking it straight from his lips. An occasional drip ran down his chin, catching on his beard hairs, and the barista licked that off, too. Too soon, the mug was empty. He held it upside down and shook it to show that no more coffee was left.

            The barista pouted, then grinned and kissed him again anyway, lips soft and warm against his own. Then he swatted Dan on the backside and pushed him away. ‘I’d better get back to work. The customers will get grumpy otherwise. But tell me I’ll see you in here again.’

            Well, duh, Dan wanted to say. We’ve only been doing this on Valentine’s Day every year since we got married, and that’s six years ago. And I’ll be waiting for you tonight at home, just like I always do. He didn’t, though. He knew how much Mitchell enjoyed their little game. ‘Are you kidding?’ he said. ‘Of course I’ll be back. That was the best I’ve ever had.’

            ‘The coffee’s not bad, either,’ said the barista with a grin.


8 thoughts on “Fiona Glass: Coffee for a Kiss

  1. Pingback: Free Valentines story – FIONA GLASS

  2. Pingback: Rainbow snippets – a Valentines story – FIONA GLASS

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