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Phainon has figured it out. Mydei is just like a big cat.
And, just like cats, he needs love and care and attention, but it has to be on his own terms.
So Phainon adapts.
At first, he thought Mydei hated him.
And, you know, that he kept coming by the shop just to put Phainon’s professional integrity into question.
Which, okay.
Phainon might make overpriced coffee for a living, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take pride in his work.
He makes very pretty latte art. He has this on good authority. All the mean lesbians that come by the coffee shop agree. They always ask for him. Especially when Hyacine isn’t working the same shift.
So.
When they met, he figured Mydei was just a jerk.
Even if—
He did look fluffy. In a might bite your head off kind of way. Lamentably, Phainon tends to like that.
Cipher scoffs and tells him he’s got bad taste in men. Which Phainon frankly doesn’t have the track record to deny, or anything, but. You know. Sucks to hear it from a friend, and all.
Castorice, merciful angel that she is, just tells him he needs to put himself out there and meet the right alpha.
Phainon doesn’t know if a lion hybrid with a bit of a temper counts as the right anything, but his belly does do the swoopy thing a lot around Mydei. Which, if he said out loud, Cipher would probably also count towards his bad taste in men.
So he’s been on a few bad dates since he started working at Chrysos Cafe. So sometimes he likes to gossip about them with Hyacine in the back when work is slow. So Cipher always happens to conveniently overhear.
What’s he supposed to do? Take going on a blind date with a guy who confessed to liking sock puppets in bed to his grave? Surely the heavens would strike him down for such insolence.
So, instead, he waits until all the mildly depressed college kids have had their morning caffeine, and he tells Hyacine about it.
Omega solidarity, or whatever.
It’s probably in the bylaws somewhere.
They’re certainly not paying Phainon enough not to gossip in the back off peak hours, so.
You know.
But still—
He doesn’t expect a huffing Mydei with his arms crossed over his chest at the counter when he steps out from the back. The last date he went on wasn’t even that bad, or anything. The guy was a beta. He had lots of opinions on office-appropriate socks and a pet tarantula. Predictably, neither of those things got Phainon’s panties particularly wet.
And he didn’t even have a knot, so.
“Your customer service is horrendous,” Mydei says. “How do you manage to stay in business?”
“You keep coming back,” Phainon points out. “So we must be doing something right. That, or you just like my pretty face.”
Mydei scowls. Phainon kind of wants to poke his cheek. Maybe pet him, a little. The ears and tail do look fluffy.
And he does wonder.
Is what they say about hybrid knots true?
Phainon has never been on a date with a hybrid before. Not even a casual hookup when he was still in school and everyone was young and inexperienced and eager, eager, eager. They’re not that common. Mydei might be the first one he’s actually talked to.
And Mydei hardly seems like a common representation of any category of human.
“I like your face,” Phainon says. “Even when you furrow your eyebrows like that. You’re handsome, you know, it would be a shame if you were to get wrinkles so young.”
“One black coffee,” Mydei says. “And some of that freshly squeezed pomegranate juice you made for me last time.”
“Sure thing,” Phainon says. “Anything else I can help you with?”
Mydei purses his lips into a thin line. “It might do more bad than good if I tell you,” he says, “but you’re free to guess.”
Phainon considers it. “Well,” he says, “you definitely don’t want my number. You’re so straightforward. You would have asked by now.”
Surprisingly, the tips of Mydei’s ears go red. He mutters something that Phainon can’t make out under his breath. It’s probably dialect.
“Wait,” Phainon says, delighted. “Do you? Is that why you keep coming back?”
“Your coffee isn’t terrible, I guess,” Mydei says through gritted teeth. “Or else your attitude would have driven me off for good by now.”
Phainon laughs, can’t help it. “Cute,” he blurts. “You look so intimidating, with your expensive suits, but you’re really quite—”
“Shut up,” Mydei hisses. “You’re so—”
“What?” Phainon asks, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “What am I, Mydeimos?”
Mydei’s eyes follow the movement. “So infuriating,” he says. “You know, don’t you?”
It’s a good thing Hyacine is still busy tidying up back there. Phainon doesn’t know if he’s brave enough to say this next bit out loud with an audience. But, when it’s just Mydei, it’s okay.
“You could put me in my place,” he says, “if you’re man enough.”
It’s bait. He’s openly goading an alpha, titans, the heavens really are going to smite him this time around. And then he won’t even get to tell Hyacine about finally getting some good knot.
It’s unfair.
Life is so, so unfair.
Mydei’s eyes narrow. He lets out a sound a lot like a growl. “Fine,” he says. “But remember. You asked for it, you brat.”
And then—
And then.
Phainon half expects Mydei to make him bend over the counter. Right here. In the empty coffee shop. Just them and the glass windows. And poor Hyacine checking stock in the back.
But, instead, he steps behind the counter, takes hold of Phainon’s wrist and tugs him to his chest. And then, once Phainon is busy wondering if maybe he slept through his alarm today and now he’s having a very nice (if slightly workplace inappropriate) dream, Mydei cups his chin with his free hand—bigroughwarm, oh, titans—and he slots their mouths together.
“Come on,” Phainon blurts. “I want to suck you off.”
Mydei blinks. “You’re trying to kill me,” he says. “You’re actually trying to—”
“Nuh uh.” Phainon shakes his head. “Die later. I want to see it first.”
...
(He prays to the heavens that Hyacine doesn’t mind handling the shop on her own for a little bit.
And then he leads Mydei to the staff bathroom.)
...
It is big.
It’s, like, really big.
“Oh, wow,” Phainon says. “That’s, um, proportional.”
Mydei laughs. “You asked for it,” he says. “Come on, pretty boy, get to work.”
He’s not mean. He doesn’t grab Phainon by the hair and guide his cock to his mouth. He doesn’t even tug on his hair. He’s just. Standing there, gazing down at Phainon almost—fondly?
(Phainon, who is kneeling for him with his lips parted and his tongue sticking out.)
“I never did figure out all the fancy tricks for this part,” he warns. “But I’ll do my best just for you, okay?”
And then he takes Mydei into his mouth. He’s too sloppy with it. Too wet. Hasty just from the pressure between his own thighs. Mydei could fuck them. Let Phainon get him slick with his mouth and then tug his panties down his thighs and slide his cock between them and tell him to take it like a good boy, because that’s what omegas are for.
Phainon wants it.
Phainon wants a lot of things, with Mydei.
All of them potentially unadvisable.
Like—
Like one of those picnic dates with the checkered blanket and a warm spring breeze and the sunset making the sky light up. And then, maybe, Mydei could lean in and kiss him. Like in the movies.
None of it sounds too bad if Mydei’s there. They could hold hands. Make plans for next time. And Phainon could text him a thousand little hearts when Mydei asks if he got home safe.
God, he’s so—
He’s sucking cock, and he’s thinking about cheesy things like that.
The weight of it on his tongue is pretty nice, though. It’s so warm, and so big, it’s such a pleasant fullness Phainon almost wants to sneak a hand down his body just to press it to his cunt, even through the fabric of his pants. Just for the pressure. For the comfort. For the catharsis.
(And, maybe, a little bit just so he can picture Mydei touching him like that.)
He pulls off and licks at the underside, follows a vein until he’s pressing a kiss to the leaking tip. “I’m wet too,” he says. “I’m making such a mess. In my panties. Because of you.”
“Fuck,” Mydei hisses. “Should have done this the first time I saw you, huh? Should have made you get on your knees right there? Let your little friends watch?”
Phainon nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I wouldn’t have minded. I liked you from the start. You, ah, tipped a lot.”
“Brat,” Mydei laughs. “Spoiled little—”
“You should keep spoiling me,” Phainon says. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
And then he takes him back into his mouth, and wraps a hand around what he can’t fit until he can feel the pressure of a knot swelling against his palm, and then—
...
(“Oh, wow,” Phainon says, wiping come from his cheek, “it really is barbed. Fascinating.”)
...
Mydei, unsurprisingly, still doesn’t agree to let Phainon pet him.
Phainon pouts. “What if I let you knot my pussy?” he asks. “Can we cuddle then?”
Maybe dick sucking just... doesn’t meet the intimacy threshold? For him? And they should do other things first?
Maybe one of those fancy DIY pottery workshops?
Mydei huffs. “I’m buying you dinner,” he says, ears red. And then, just a little softer, “Is that okay?”
“Oh, please,” Hyacine pipes up. “Please please please buy him dinner. Please.”
Phainon smiles. “I’d like that,” he says. “And, um, breakfast after too. If that’s okay with you.”
“Deal,” Mydei says. “But I’m cooking breakfast.”
Well—
There’s really no reason for him to be opposed to that.
“Do you still want your pomegranate juice?” Phainon asks. “On the house, this time. For, um, helping with my anthropological curiosity?”
Mydei’s eyes narrow. “I’m still not letting you pet me,” he says. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”
But he does take the free pomegranate juice. Even if he drops three times what it costs in the tip jar. And he pokes Phainon’s cheek when he starts pouting about not being allowed to pet him.
So maybe there’s hope yet.
(Phainon writes his number on the to-go cup just in case. They have a date to plan, after all. Mydei promised.
He’s stubborn enough to keep his promises, Phainon knows that much for sure.
Besides, he can’t wait to tell Hyacine about it.)