Work Text:
The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Style stirs awake, his mind foggy as he blinks at the unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment, he's disoriented, but then the memories come flooding back...
The heavy metal concert, the magnetic pull toward a tall, brooding stranger named Fadel, the way their chemistry had ignited like a spark in the dark. He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair, and glances around the room. It's neat, almost unnervingly so.
Just as he's about to swing his legs out of bed, the door creaks open. Fadel walks in, dressed in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants, carrying a tray laden with food. There's a steaming cup of coffee, a plate of golden egg fried rice, and a small bowl of fresh fruit. Style freezes, his mouth falling open in surprise.
"Morning," Fadel says, his deep voice calm and steady. He sets the tray down on the bed, careful not to spill anything. "Figured you could use some food."
Style stares at him, his brain struggling to process the scene. "You made me breakfast?" he asks, his voice still rough from sleep.
Fadel shrugs, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You'll need the energy to start your work day."
Style blinks, still stunned. "I don't know what to say...and that's rare for me."
"Has no one fucked you and then fed you in the morning?"
"No actually," he admits, his tone a mix of awe and disbelief.
Fadel gives Style a particular look, remaining silent. In response, Style snaps, "Don't look at me like that. I'm not the strange one here."
"I didn't say anything, Style."
"Usually you grab your clothes and leave or you get kicked out after a one night stand."
Fadel chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that sends a shiver down Style's spine. "Guess I'm not 'usually,' then," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Don't overthink it. Just eat."
Style hesitates for a moment, then picks up the fork, his stomach growling at the delicious aroma of the fried rice. He takes a bite and his eyes widen.
"This is amazing," he says around a mouthful. "How did you know I like coffee and egg fried rice?"
"Coffee was a guess," Fadel replies, leaning back on his hands. "But everyone likes egg fried rice."
Style laughs, the sound bright and unrestrained. As he continues eating, Fadel's gaze lingers on him, taking in the smoothness of his forearms. It reminds him of last night, how Style's skin had felt under his hands- soft, almost flawless.
"Where's your body hair?" Fadel asks suddenly, his tone casual but curious.
Before Style can answer, Fadel reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing lightly against the smooth skin of Style's back. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and Style leans into it instinctively, a small sigh escaping his lips. Fadel's hand lingers for a moment, then he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Style's shoulder, then another to the curve of his back.
Style smiles to himself, his cheeks warming at the unexpected tenderness. He likes the attention, the way Fadel's touch feels both grounding and exhilarating. "I'm just not a hairy person," he finally says, his voice a little breathless. He pauses, then adds, "Do you think it's weird?"
He finds himself oddly nervous about Fadel's opinion, which surprises him. He's not usually the type to care what others think, but something about Fadel makes him want to know.
Fadel doesn't respond immediately. He simply nods, acknowledging the information, then meets Style's gaze. "No," he says simply, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's not weird."
Style exhales, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips.
Fadel smirks, "What part exactly looked like I was complaining? Is it the part where I clearly can't stop touching and kissing your skin?"
"The part where you're not licking it." Style counters with a grin
"If we get into that, we'll never leave for work."
He watches Fadel for a moment, his expression softening. "You know," he says, his voice quieter now, "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. And now I have to ask you on an actual date."
Fadel raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely," Style says, his grin widening. "You've set the bar high, Fadel. If you treat you one night stands this good, I can imagine how you treat a boyfriend."
Fadel leans in slightly, his dark eyes locking with Style's. "So you want the full experience?" he says, his voice low and teasing. "The proper boyfriend treatment?"
Style's cheeks flush, but he doesn't look away. For the first time in a long time, he feels something more than just attraction- a flicker of connection, of possibility. And as he takes another bite of the delicious food, he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something real.
Style nods his head.
"So ask me then." Fadel demands, "Use your words. You're good at that."
Style bites his lip, thinking of how to ask. There is the option to do it like normal people do, but normal has never exactly been his strong suit, so he takes the next best alternative, "Fadel, Would you like to fuck and feed me again? After a real date this time? I wanna know what other nice things lie behind your intimidating ass demeanor."
Style resumes his eating while waiting for an answer.
As Fadel watches Style dig into the food with enthusiasm, he finds himself quietly amused. Style talks a lot, too much maybe, and he has this fearless, almost reckless energy that should probably be a red flag. But there's something about him that Fadel can't quite put his finger on.
He's stylish, like his name suggests, with a pretty face, tall frame, and a kind of effortless beauty that makes him look like he could be a model. And despite his loud, rambunctious personality, he seems like a good person. Genuine.
Fadel likes that Style enjoys the food he's made. It's a small thing, but it matters. He's used to people who take his cooking for granted, but Style is savoring every bite, his enthusiasm unapologetic. It's... endearing.
Not to mention that last night had been electric, their physical connection undeniable, but there's more to him than that. Style is decent company and Fadel wonders what it would be like to spend time with him in a different setting, in broad daylight.
He could see Style again. It might be fun. And as Style looks up at him, his mouth full of fried rice and a grin on his face, Fadel feels the faintest flicker of something he hasn't felt in a long time: anticipation.
"How do you feel about Japanese food, Style? I know a place we could go to."
-END-