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ratherastory) wrote2010-05-11 03:57 pm
ratherastory) wrote2010-05-11 03:57 pm
Entry tags:
Foam Hearts
HOLY CRAP WTF EVER THIS IS ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roque_clasique's FAULT.
I wrote something short enough to fit into one LJ comment box, over at the
The SPN CuddleCommentFic Meme
Title: Foam Hearts
Prompt:roque_clasique wanted: Sam comes into the stupid uptight coffee shop with the burgundy and gold furniture where I used to work this fall, and I make the most spectacular vanilla soy latte he's ever had -- foam like velvet, I swear. Cuddles happen. Original prompt and my response can be found here
Warnings: Holy crap, the SCHMOOP!
Wordcount: 611 (seriously, shortest thing I've written, ever that isn't a drabble)
Disclaimer: Sam isn't mine, and neither isroque_clasique. Both these things make me sad, because cuddles with them would be the most awesome thing ever.
Neurotic Author's Note: IDEK /o\ This isroque_clasique's fault. I wrote in the first person singular, for God's sake! That never happens!
Neurotic Author's Note #2: I wrote this off-the-cuff inside the comment box in the meme. I've never done that before. I cannot be held responsible for the quality of the prose.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: I have never worked in a coffee shop. I am totally making shit up, and had to Google how to make a vanilla soy latte. Yes, I researched for comment-fic. I know.
A barista's work is never done, but sometimes there are slow days, and that's the day he comes in, complete with laptop and kicked-puppy expression. He orders a vanilla soy latte, stands there fidgeting until I offer to bring it to him when I'm done.
I watch surreptitiously as he folds himself into one of the plush burgundy and gold chairs the boss insisted we get so the four and a half clients who can actually sit at one time here will be comfortable. Except, of course, they're designed for normal people, and he's taller even than me by a few inches, and I'm really pretty tall. He doesn't really fit with the decor, dressed in ratty jeans and too many layers, but he doesn't seem to notice the stares he's getting from the yuppie regulars. Or maybe he doesn't care.
I foam the milk first, because that's the secret to an awesome soy latte. Tap the bottom of the jug, until I know just from the feel that it's exactly right. While the milk settles I grind the beans, pour the vanilla syrup into the thick glass, just enough to cover the bottom —I'm guessing he doesn't like his overly sweet, by the looks of it— then pour the newly-made espresso into a tulip cup (double-shot, naturally). Double-shot goes on top of the vanilla, and over the years I have turned the pouring of frothed soy milk into highly complex performance art. I even manage a heart on top of the coffee.
He's tapping listlessly at keys of his laptop when I get there, latte and extra biscotti in hand, and I catch sight of an internet page opened to something with shadows and flame before he shoves it aside, looks up at me with big hazel eyes. He looks as though he expects me to spit in his latte. So I smile instead.
"On the house."
He starts. "Uh, sorry?"
I give a half-shrug, and put down the drink. "You look like you're having a shitty day."
"Thanks." He takes an experimental sip of the latte, almost timid, and the smile I get back after that is like watching the sun come out from behind the clouds. Goddamned blinding. "This is really good."
I blush a bit, which, you know weird. 'Cause baristas are meant to be unflappable. "I wield a mean steamer."
"No, really. It's like... I don't know, velvet or something," he insists.
He's choking up, of all things, eyes bright, and damn if there isn't a lump in my throat too, now, because how shitty does his life have to be that someone giving him a free (really awesome) latte is, like, the highlight of his year? The next thing I know the latte is forgotten on the table and he's on his feet, goddamned looming over me, and then I'm being enveloped in the most diffident hug in history, as if he's waiting for me to kick him in the nuts now he's vulnerable.
So I hug him back, and he tightens his hold, and it's a bit like being held by a really gentle bear, except his arms are really long. My cheek ends up somewhere near his collarbone, one hand at the small of his back, one rubbing between his shoulder blades, and it's nice and warm and he smells good, like leather and a hint of aftershave and something tangy I can't identify.
I don't know how long we spend like that, but eventually the spell breaks, and he pulls away, and I get another one of those smiles that makes me fear for my retinas.
"Seriously," he says, "thank you."
roque_clasique's FAULT.I wrote something short enough to fit into one LJ comment box, over at the
Title: Foam Hearts
Prompt:
roque_clasique wanted: Sam comes into the stupid uptight coffee shop with the burgundy and gold furniture where I used to work this fall, and I make the most spectacular vanilla soy latte he's ever had -- foam like velvet, I swear. Cuddles happen. Original prompt and my response can be found hereWarnings: Holy crap, the SCHMOOP!
Wordcount: 611 (seriously, shortest thing I've written, ever that isn't a drabble)
Disclaimer: Sam isn't mine, and neither is
roque_clasique. Both these things make me sad, because cuddles with them would be the most awesome thing ever.Neurotic Author's Note: IDEK /o\ This is
roque_clasique's fault. I wrote in the first person singular, for God's sake! That never happens!Neurotic Author's Note #2: I wrote this off-the-cuff inside the comment box in the meme. I've never done that before. I cannot be held responsible for the quality of the prose.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: I have never worked in a coffee shop. I am totally making shit up, and had to Google how to make a vanilla soy latte. Yes, I researched for comment-fic. I know.
A barista's work is never done, but sometimes there are slow days, and that's the day he comes in, complete with laptop and kicked-puppy expression. He orders a vanilla soy latte, stands there fidgeting until I offer to bring it to him when I'm done.
I watch surreptitiously as he folds himself into one of the plush burgundy and gold chairs the boss insisted we get so the four and a half clients who can actually sit at one time here will be comfortable. Except, of course, they're designed for normal people, and he's taller even than me by a few inches, and I'm really pretty tall. He doesn't really fit with the decor, dressed in ratty jeans and too many layers, but he doesn't seem to notice the stares he's getting from the yuppie regulars. Or maybe he doesn't care.
I foam the milk first, because that's the secret to an awesome soy latte. Tap the bottom of the jug, until I know just from the feel that it's exactly right. While the milk settles I grind the beans, pour the vanilla syrup into the thick glass, just enough to cover the bottom —I'm guessing he doesn't like his overly sweet, by the looks of it— then pour the newly-made espresso into a tulip cup (double-shot, naturally). Double-shot goes on top of the vanilla, and over the years I have turned the pouring of frothed soy milk into highly complex performance art. I even manage a heart on top of the coffee.
He's tapping listlessly at keys of his laptop when I get there, latte and extra biscotti in hand, and I catch sight of an internet page opened to something with shadows and flame before he shoves it aside, looks up at me with big hazel eyes. He looks as though he expects me to spit in his latte. So I smile instead.
"On the house."
He starts. "Uh, sorry?"
I give a half-shrug, and put down the drink. "You look like you're having a shitty day."
"Thanks." He takes an experimental sip of the latte, almost timid, and the smile I get back after that is like watching the sun come out from behind the clouds. Goddamned blinding. "This is really good."
I blush a bit, which, you know weird. 'Cause baristas are meant to be unflappable. "I wield a mean steamer."
"No, really. It's like... I don't know, velvet or something," he insists.
He's choking up, of all things, eyes bright, and damn if there isn't a lump in my throat too, now, because how shitty does his life have to be that someone giving him a free (really awesome) latte is, like, the highlight of his year? The next thing I know the latte is forgotten on the table and he's on his feet, goddamned looming over me, and then I'm being enveloped in the most diffident hug in history, as if he's waiting for me to kick him in the nuts now he's vulnerable.
So I hug him back, and he tightens his hold, and it's a bit like being held by a really gentle bear, except his arms are really long. My cheek ends up somewhere near his collarbone, one hand at the small of his back, one rubbing between his shoulder blades, and it's nice and warm and he smells good, like leather and a hint of aftershave and something tangy I can't identify.
I don't know how long we spend like that, but eventually the spell breaks, and he pulls away, and I get another one of those smiles that makes me fear for my retinas.
"Seriously," he says, "thank you."
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And off the cuff--I'm impressed!
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I'm not sure where this came from, except that if I were a barista I would totally want this to happen. /o\
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Glad you liked it! I have no idea where it came from, only that I saw roque's prompt and was all "Hey there, prompt! Come here often?" /o\
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Thank you! It was fun.
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Okay, apparently I've lost the ability to write coherently. It's just that adorable.
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Personal kindness goes a long way and you highlighted that very well. Well done. I really enjoyed this.
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I do sometimes give free drinks to sad-looking people by the way. I LOVE GIVING FREE THINGS (which is one of the reasons why this particular coffee shop fired me, so even more kudos for realism! LOL)
also
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Isn't it? I want a hug like that!
&hearts Sam &hearts
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That was a great scene. :D
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I've had a few people tell me their favourite part of my stories are the Neurotic Author's Notes. *shrug* To each their own, right? :D
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Thanks for the kind words! I am a firm believer in individual acts of kindness. :)
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I totally want Sam!hugs. :)
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Thank you so much! This is the first time I've managed to keep it short enough to fit in the comment box. I am absurdly pleased. ;)
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And it IS about Sam hugging you!
I don't know what happened, but I had SO MUCH FUN writing this prompt. It's quite possibly the most fun I've had with a fic since I turned Sam into a dog for my own amusement. :)
Re: also
Failing that, when I have time off from work I'm totally going on a road trip and I will seek out fellow fangirls and DISTRIBUTE HUGS AMONG THEM.
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*gives Sam more cuddles just in case*
Lord knows the poor boy needs 'em.
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His life really is shitty, so it's a good thing we fangirls are here to write him as many hugs as we can. :)
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I can't stand uptight places, I am too free and easy tra la la la la (read: messy, with punctuality problems, LOL!)
I'm glad you had fun w/the prompt! I love the results :)
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And if anyone needs a hug these days, it's Sam...
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You've made this trip enjoyable.
:)
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Thank you so much!
That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about my fic. :)