Rain On His Lips

It had been drizzling since early afternoon, the kind of steady, sulking rain that soaked the streets and slowed everything down. By the time Noah finished his shift at the local coffee shop, the drizzle had turned into a proper downpour. Most of the staff had already gone home, huddling under umbrellas or running toward parked cars. But Noah stayed behind, as usual, to close up.

He liked this part of the day when the shop was quiet, the clatter of customers gone, and he had the space all to himself. He plugged in his phone, connected it to the speaker, and let the music pulse through the walls. Rotimi’s In My Bed came on, the bass smooth and heavy. Noah couldn’t help himself. The rhythm took over, curling into his hips as he moved around, sweeping the floor and wiping down counters. Somewhere along the way, he’d tied his T-shirt into a crop top to stay cool, and now his stomach peeked out, glistening lightly with sweat as he danced.

He was laughing at his own moves, grinding against the mop in exaggerated circles, the music carrying him into a world of his own. His body moved shamelessly to the rhythm, lost in the pulse of the song and the fantasy blooming in his mind. The mop squeaked underfoot as he rolled his hips, slow and deliberate. His T-shirt was still tied beneath his chest, exposing the smooth line of his waist and a teasing glimpse of skin each time his torso twisted with the beat.

This wasn’t just cleaning. It wasn’t just dancing. It was something else entirely, something private, uninhibited, and undeniably erotic.

Noah’s eyes fluttered shut as the chorus swelled. His breathing quickened. In his imagination, the mop was no longer a mop. It was a man, tall and solid, dominant in a way that made his breath hitch and his pulse stutter. A man who could press him against the wall with just a look, leaving him aching for more.”

This man was Jack.

God, he hated himself for it, hated that Jack, of all people, starred in the dirtiest corners of his mind. Jack with his cold glares, crisp shirts, and that stupid, sexy scowl that made Noah weak in the knees. Jack, his boss. Uptight, unreadable, frustratingly controlled Jack.

Noah let out a low groan and slid a hand slowly up his own side, brushing the curve of his ribs. His other hand tightened around the mop handle, fingers flexing like he wanted to hold onto something real, something that could whisper commands in a gravel-soft voice that never needed to shout to be obeyed.

He bit his lip, smiling lazily at the fantasy. The Jack in his mind would be watching him now with a clenched jaw, trying not to show how turned on he was. Not because he disapproved, no, but because he liked it too much to admit it.

That image made Noah’s hips move slower, more provocatively, like he was teasing the man he couldn’t have. The mop became a substitute, a stand-in, his stage prop for something far more dangerous than a dance.Outside, the rain beat harder against the windows, masking any sound beyond the walls.

A cool draft suddenly slipped in from somewhere unseen, brushing along his bare skin and raising goosebumps. He paused, his brows knitting together. Something didn’t sit right. The air felt disturbed somehow, as if it had shifted to make space for something or someone.

Then he caught a flicker of movement in the glass reflection of the espresso machine. A shape. A shadow. A person.

He turned fully, a sharp motion driven by instinct rather than thought, and his stomach lurched violently.

Jack stood in the doorway, rain dripping steadily from his coat, puddling beneath his boots. His face was unreadable, jaw tight, lips parted. He didn’t speak. He just stood there.

Noah’s breath caught, heart hammering as everything he’d just done replayed in his head in humiliating detail. The music still thumped on in the background, but all Noah could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and the soft creak of the door swinging shut behind Jack.

"Shit," Noah whispered, fingers trembling as he fumbled to switch off the music. The thumping bass cut out mid-beat, leaving behind a silence so sharp it felt like a blade pressed to his throat. His heart pounded, his breath ragged. He’d been caught, fully, shamefully, unmistakably caught.

"Sir, I—uh—I was just..." he stammered, stepping back and colliding with the mop handle, which clattered against the floor like a gunshot. He nearly tripped, barely catching himself. “I was just… cleaning, Sir.”

Jack said nothing. Not a word, not even a blink. He just stared, his expression unreadable, hard eyes tracking every inch of Noah like he was trying to decide whether to crush him or consume him whole.

Noah could feel that gaze like heat, like judgment, like fire licking across his skin. He knew Jack had seen it all. His flushed cheeks, his heaving chest, the sweat-slicked skin beneath his lifted shirt. Every sway of his hips. Every breathless grind. Every moment of reckless, humiliating desire. And worse, he’d been dancing for him, lusting after the man who now stood frozen in the doorway like a storm about to break.

A flicker of false hope passed through Noah’s mind. Thankfully he hadn’t said Jack’s name out loud. That tiny, damning detail had stayed in his head, saving him from more humiliation. God knows what he could have done to Noah if he had heard it. But even that hope felt pathetic now.

He swallowed, throat dry, panic rising fast. The silence pressed in like a vice, unbearable and growing tighter by the second.

“You weren’t supposed to be back,” he burst out, words tumbling in a frantic rush. “Not that you’re not allowed here, I mean, of course you are, this is your place, it’s just that....”

He winced, mentally scolding himself to shut up.

“I thought you’d already be home by now, with your wife, or husband, or… whoever. I’m not judging, not that I even know if you’re married or if you prefer—” He exhaled sharply, fists clenched. “God, shut up, Noah, shut up.”

The soft click of the door echoed behind them as Jack stepped forward, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between them with every measured stride.

Noah didn’t move, well, he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed between panic and something hotter, something tighter coiling in his belly. Jack was close now. Too close. Noah could see the rain still clinging to his hair, the wetness at his collar, the way his eyes darkened with every heartbeat.

“That was not professional,” Jack said finally, his voice low, almost husky. “Not even close.”

“I know,” Noah whispered, “I am sorry sir.”

Jack didn’t answer at first. He just looked at him, a long, unreadable stare that made Noah’s skin prickle. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, Jack moved past him, shedding his wet coat and laying it carefully over the back of a chair.

Noah’s throat bobbed. He stood frozen, unsure whether to run or drop to his knees and beg forgiveness or for something else entirely.

“I should be furious,” Jack murmured, his back still to him. “You were dancing in my café. Half-dressed. Grinding against my mop.” He turned then, his eyes sweeping Noah from head to toe. “I should fire you.”

Noah’s heart stuttered. His fingers clenched at his sides.

“But,” Jack said, taking a single step toward him, “I’m not gonna do that.”

Noah’s lips parted. “You won't?”

“Yes.”

Jack took another step, then another, until he was standing directly in front of him. He was close enough that Noah could smell the faint traces of cedar and rain clinging to his skin. Jack's gaze dropped to his lips and lingered there, the air between them heavy with something tense and unspoken.

“I should tell you to get dressed, lock up, go home,” Jack said quietly. “But that little performance you gave…” He paused, his voice threading with something heavier. “It wasn’t just unprofessional. It was provocative.”

Noah’s breath hitched. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” Jack’s voice hardened, eyes sharp. “Maybe not consciously. But you wanted to be seen. You wanted to be wanted.”

A shiver rolled down Noah’s spine. Jack lifted a hand, just one hand, and brushed his fingers beneath the tied edge of Noah’s cropped T-shirt. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but it burned.

Noah gasped.

“You don’t wear something like this… move like that… unless you’re asking for trouble.”

“I wasn’t asking for anything,” Noah lied, voice shaky.

Jack leaned in, so close Noah could feel his breath ghosting over his cheek. “Liar.”

Noah’s knees trembled as Jack’s hand moved to his waist, slow and deliberate, the touch light at first, almost questioning. He hesitated there, giving Noah a silent chance to pull away. But Noah stayed still, breath shallow, heart thudding loud in his ears. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want this to stop. Jack’s fingers grazed his skin, cool against the heat building under the surface, steady and sure, as if anchoring them both in the charged space between restraint and surrender.

Jack’s voice was low, almost a whisper that slid through the air between them. “Tell me to stop.”

Noah’s breath hitched but he stayed silent, unable to speak the words.

“Tell me this wasn’t for me,” Jack pressed, his eyes searching, sharp and intense.

Still, no answer came. The silence stretched, heavy and full of everything neither of them dared say.

Jack’s hand slid smoothly to the small of Noah’s back, drawing him in until their bodies pressed flush together. Noah’s breath hitched, sharp and shallow, as the heat of Jack’s touch ignited a fire beneath his skin. Their hips met, the subtle friction sending a thrilling jolt straight through him, impossible to resist.

“I... I don't like you... like that,” Noah whispered.

Jack smirked. “That’s not what your body’s saying.”

The first kiss was soft and tentative. Jack’s lips brushed against Noah’s with careful control as if testing the waters. When Noah tilted his head and pressed back harder, something inside Jack gave way. Suddenly the restraint vanished and their mouths met with fierce hungry need, igniting a blaze neither wanted to stop.

Jack’s hands roamed boldly, gripping his waist, sliding along his back, tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Without hesitation, he lifted Noah effortlessly onto the counter, his body pressing between Noah’s legs. Their lips collided again, this time rougher, desperate, urgent. Noah’s breath hitched into a moan against Jack’s mouth as his fingers dug into the wet shirt, tugging it free from Jack’s trousers, hungry to feel more skin beneath his hands.

“Take it off,” Noah breathed.

Jack obeyed, yanking his shirt open with such force that the buttons flew across the room like sparks in the dark. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing taut muscles slick with raindrops that shimmered in the dim light. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his eyes locked on Noah with a wicked hunger that sent his pulse racing.

Jack pressed Noah back gently on the counter, his mouth trailing down the curve of his neck, his collarbone, over the exposed strip of stomach from the tied-up shirt.

Noah arched into him, hands threading into his hair.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Jack growled softly.

“I think I do now,” Noah whispered, breathless.

Jack’s hands moved with slow precision, slipping beneath Noah’s t-shirt and lifting it inch by inch, fingers brushing the warm skin underneath. Noah raised his arms wordlessly, letting Jack pull it over his head and toss it aside. Jack’s gaze burned as he stepped closer, his own hands moving to his belt. He unfastened it with practiced ease, the leather sliding free with a soft hiss. Noah watched, breath shallow, as Jack popped the button on his trousers and shoved them down his hips, kicking them aside.

Then Jack’s fingers were back, teasing the hem of Noah’s pants. He paused, searching Noah’s face, and when he found only need there, he slowly undid the button, dragged the zipper down, and guided the fabric over Noah’s thighs. The pants pooled at his feet, quickly followed by his boxers. Jack crouched, trailing his lips along Noah’s hipbone, then upward again, taking his time, memorizing him with every kiss, every slow caress. Noah trembled as his skin was bared and worshipped, every inch of him touched with a reverence that left him gasping. Jack’s hands moved with purpose, fingers splayed wide, mapping him like he was something sacred. Noah whimpered beneath every slow stroke, every lingering kiss. The counter beneath him was cold, a stark contrast to the searing heat of Jack’s body pressing close, grounding him in sensation.

Jack kissed his way down the line of Noah’s chest, pausing to nuzzle the soft curve of his stomach. Each movement was unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to learn every reaction, every breath. When he finally looked up, his gaze locked with Noah’s, and there was a question there, burning low and deep. A final chance to stop this.

Noah’s eyes were wide, glazed with need, and when he gave the slightest shake of his head, lips parted in surrender, Jack knew. That was all the permission he needed.

He leaned in, one hand steadying Noah’s back, the other slipping down to his hip. His breath was hot against Noah’s skin as he pressed forward, slow and careful, his length pushing inside with aching precision. The stretch burned, sharp and deep, but Noah welcomed it, moaning low as he clung to Jack’s arms, his fingers digging in.

Jack paused once he was fully seated, letting Noah adjust, letting the moment settle between them. He kissed along Noah’s throat, soft and reverent, whispering things that made Noah’s skin prickle. Then he began to move. Each thrust was slow and deliberate, his hips rolling with steady control, pulling raw, needy sounds from Noah’s lips.

They moved together like they had done this a hundred times, like their bodies had always known each other. Jack was thick and hard, filling Noah completely, hitting deep with every thrust. The slick sound of their bodies meeting echoed faintly beneath the roar of rain outside. Noah’s breath came in short, shaky gasps, his body trembling as he rocked into Jack’s rhythm.

Their mouths met again, desperate and searching, lips parting for breathless, messy kisses that matched the hunger curling between them. Noah tightened his legs around Jack’s waist, meeting each thrust with a broken moan, while Jack moved with a rhythm that felt both savage and sacred. One of his hands slid down Noah’s back, the other tangled in his hair, holding him steady as the pace deepened, as everything else fell away but the heat of skin against skin.

The world beyond the café vanished. All that existed was the heavy rain, the scent of coffee and sweat, and the relentless heat between them. Noah wrapped his legs tighter around Jack’s waist, drawing him in deeper, moaning with each sharp, perfect thrust.

“Fuck,” Jack groaned into his neck. “You feel so good.”

Noah whimpered, back arching, his nails scraping down Jack’s back. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jack rasped, slamming into him again, harder now, faster, the rhythm shifting into something rough and desperate. The pleasure built like fire, unbearable in its intensity, tightening low in Noah’s belly.

“Jack—” he gasped, the edge suddenly, violently close.

“I’ve got you,” Jack whispered, his thrusts relentless. “Come for me.”

And Noah did, with a strangled cry, his body clenching around Jack as he shattered. His release spilled hot between them, and seconds later, Jack followed with a deep groan, burying himself to the hilt, hips jerking as he came hard inside him.

They stayed like that, panting, shaking, pressed together while the storm raged outside. The counter was cold beneath Noah, but Jack’s body was fire, heavy and real, holding him through the aftershocks.

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