These days, you take turns ordering each other's coffee. It's silly, but it gives you a thrill every time like it did the first – he knows your coffee order!– and now it's just routine. Today it's his turn, so you give him a quick peck on the cheek before going to sit at your table – yeah, isn't it cool? You have a table you can call your own. You pull the gloves off your hands and slowly unwind the silk scarf from around your neck, grateful that your breath is no longer misting in the warm air of the café.

You watch him as he queues, his confident manner making you blush like a twelve year old. You admire the way he brushes that one unruly curl out of his eyes – he must have missed that one with the gel – and you can't help but notice how the cold-induced flush on his cheeks only makes his eyes sparkle more. You hear his chocolaty voice ordering two medium drips – because you like your coffee the same as his now. Because ittastes like him – and something else, but you don't catch what he says – you're too busy giving a death stare to the barista whose 'come –hither' eyes make you want to slap her.

Distracted as you are, you jump when his voice sounds from right in front of you.
"Hey, baby,"
"Hey," and you blush, just like the first time. Because everything still feels so new and different, and are you really sure this is ok? You reach out to take the coffee he's proffering, and you let your fingertips linger on his skin a moment too long. This time you both blush, because you know that's as sexy as it gets. It's only as you take the first sip of your coffee, smiling to yourself at the perfect balance of bitterness to one-and-a-half-sugars sweetness, that you notice the plate he put down between the two of you.

"You got cake?" you ask, surprised. This wasn't part of the routine. He looks down, embarrassed, and speaks into his scarf.
"Uh, the girl at the counter gave it to me on the house 'because I'm so cute'," and his squeaky impression makes you laugh through the death-glare you are one again directing to the barista. "But," he adds hurriedly, almost as if he's afraid that looks could kill, "I thanked her and told her I would share it with my boyfriend over there – you should've seen the look on her face!"
"I suppose that's alright then," you say, grudgingly, and his winning smile has you blushing all over again.

You reach out and grab a fork, digging it into the cake and lifting it to your mouth, all the while not breaking eye contact with the barista, who had made the mistake of looking your way. You give her a polite smile-and-nod before licking the cake off your fork in a decidedly suggestive manner. The look on your face makes Blaine snort with laughter, and you swallow the morsel as quickly as you can.
"Raisins? Really? She tried to woo you with raisin cake? That's disgusting!"
"I … like … raisins," he huffs between outbursts of amusement. You merely look unimpressed as he shovels a large slab into his mouth. It's kind of gross how he can put so much food in his mouth at once, but your eyes widen at the way his tongue flashes out to catch the crumbs, wetting his lips and making them look even more kissable.

"Well, they say the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach," he says once he's swallowed his mouthful. "How would you woo me, if not with raisin cake?" he challenges, merriment making his eyes twinkle.
"Well …" you muse, your fingers subconsciously stroking the fork still in your hand … which gives you an idea. "Well …" you repeat, this time drawing it out and accompanying it with an arched eyebrow. He grins a little as you raise the fork to your mouth, and you see his honey-gold eyes widen in surprise as you lick its head before inserting it slowly between your plump lips.

"No way …" he breathes, but you just smile innocently.
"What, Blaine? What am I doing?" you say, your tongue caressing the cold metal and making you shiver. You see him tremble slightly too, and you know it's working. You slide it out, pursing your lips around it and moaning gently, just loud enough for him to hear. You see his eyes darken over, and he's looking up at you from under his eyelashes. You dab a kiss onto the tip of the fork before sucking it into your mouth again, slipping it in and out and making little mewling sounds as you do it.

Before you know it, Blaine's up out of his seat and standing right behind you, leaning over so his lips are at your ear. You freeze and the sudden proximity and the fork slips out of your grasp, clattering loudly onto the floor.
"I think," he whispers, sultrily, "that you succeeded on the wooing-me front," and he sucks on your earlobe, nipping a little before blowing a cool waft of air across the sensitive skin and making you whimper.
"You think?" you manage to gasp out, and he grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you into a messy kiss that's hard and rough and tastes like medium drip with the slightest hint of raisins. As soon as you regain control of your mind, you pull away, slapping his arm – you are in Ohio after all – but you shoot him a smile accompanied by a blush.
"I know," he growls, and he takes your hand and pulls you, giggling, out of the coffee shop and into the biting winter air.