'His naiveté is charming.'
That was Artel's initial evaluation of the beautiful young man that shared a table with him at a cafe.
The 'Metropolitan Cafe' was a quaint and semi-popular urbanised coffee shop in the bustling heart of the Capital. One of which Artel was foreign to.
The young scion was an hour early for a business meeting, ordering a plate of macarons and a black coffee at the counter then designating the meeting to a small booth near the front window.
The meeting was with a board director of a family owned conglomerate with a century of history and the international reputation to match. The other had simply picked the cafe as a meeting point and honestly, with his power, he could hold the meeting in a bathroom stall and Artel could only helplessly comply.
With the neutrality of the cafe's environment and the aroma of brewing coffee, he pitted that they'd both leave with the result they wanted.
While Artel pulled out a little paperwork to look over, a youthful young man with blonde curls, took a seat across from him without glancing away from his novel.
Despite his stoic demeanour, Artel was perplexed. Most people would sit at an unoccupied table, rather than sit with a stranger. But it was not like he could use all the seats at the table, and granted, his new company was nice to look at and smelt pleasantly like strong scented laundry detergent.
Artel's order was brought over by a bashful waitress. She slid his plate and coffee over to him, then hugged her serving tray to her chest with coy anticipation. The older man glanced at the napkin with her number on it and gave her a small wink that sent her into a blushing giggle as she scurried back to work and he went back to reading.
'It was better not to promise anything.' He thought, sliding thd number under a napkin dispenser and forgetting about it completely.
After a few more pages, he paused to rub his eyes under his glasses when he noticed a slender, pale hand with long and well manicured fingers, on his plate.
The pretty stranger had picked up a chocolate macaron and ate it absent-mindedly, blue eyes firmly on his book. Artel's eyes flickered to the stranger's own plate that was on the table as well, untouched.
The young man, much to Artel's amusement, had almost devour the whole plate before the older man cleared his throat and startled him, a pair of blue eyes like a deer in headlights.
"Did you enjoy your meal?" Artel's voice was low, traced with his amusement.
"Yes, I did?" His brows furrowed in confusion, wondering what sparked this conversation. Artel's green eyes bore pressure into him longer, and the young man stumbled to elaborate.
"I— I mean— It was really nice. B— But well, she bought me chocolate macarons when I ordered strawberry and cream ones." He gave Artel a guilty look, as if not wanting to fault the waitress.
"It's good that they were nice. You see, I ordered chocolate macarons but they seemed to have disappeared before I could eat them."
Reality dawned on the man as he took in the plate he had been eating from and the plate hidden behind his book with his correct order nicely plated for him. His pale cheeks bloomed bright red.
"I— Oh no, I— I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to! I really didn't. I can— I can get you another." He looked on the verge of tears and Artel felt the vicious urge to bully him.
"Breath, young man. It's okay. Really." The other seemed not to believe him and shook his head.
"Let me buy you something else. Another plate of macarons? Another coffee?"
"Fine. I want a chocolate mousse… and another coffee." The other man was eager to please and set off to the register.
Artel admired his youthfulness. The tall and lithe body dressed in cream slacks and a branded shirt. He gave a dimpled smile when their eyes met and Artel wrinkled his nose. He was very cute. Like a rabbit.
When he returned, the older man made it apparent that he was about to have a meeting. Flustered, the stranger got up and fumbled for his things as he gave a profuse apology.
"It's okay. I was going to ask you to pretend to be my assistant if you didn't want to move. Or I could have moved myself…"
"No no no. I can't possibly ask you to move, I'm almost positive you were sitting here first."
"I was but that's besides the point. How much to hire you for the next two hours, Mr…?"
"Wicker. Kensin Wicker."
"Artel Sasark."
Kensin took a seat and fixed his attire to look more assistant like, humouring the businessman very much.
Before Artel could comment, a portly man wearing a brown suit and leather briefcase walked into the cafe and approached Artel with a smile, his hand extended towards him.
"Tobias Hudson, it's a pleasure to meet you." Artel took his hand with a smile and gave him a firm shake.
"Artel Sasark and my assistant, Kensin Wicker."
"Of the winery Wicker?"
"The very same, Sir."
"How brilliant."
The trio settled into their seats and business was conducted almost immediately. Kensin was armoured by the casual business jargon that made no sense to him, the polite haggling and narrowed eyes Artel made when Tobias challenged him. It was a world he had only read about in books and it was fascinating.
Artel and Tobias settled the contract draft and stored it away for their lawyers to look over. The two sat their business aside and continued to converse about business in general.
"I heard about the acquisition of G…"
"… yes, they were quite difficult…"
"A bulldozer? Interesting…"
Honestly, Kensin did not have to be here. He did not know why he bothered to stick around but he enjoyed this atmosphere. His company were both older, mature men that talked about things that his own friends never cared about like real estate and politics.
"… how is young Ivis?" The younger man tuned in to both men watching him and he sheepishly smiled.
"Sorry, what?" Tobias gave a warm smile, and Kensin relaxed bashfully.
"Ivis? Your older brother? How is he?" Artel's eyes widened.
'His older brother's Ivis Wicker?' He scanned his face again. They did have similar features— identical noses and the same face shape. Maybe only half…
"Uh, I'm not too sure, actually. I haven't seen him around lately."
Tobias commented on the busy social calendar of a budding entrepreneur like Ivis and gave the young man a pat on the back before starting to get up.
"I must go, I have another meeting and a beautiful apple pie waiting for me at home." He gave Artel another firm handshake and he was off.
Artel pursued his lips.
"Your brother doesn't like me," He confessed. He and Ivis were too similar in personality to be friends, settling for cordial rivals. Still, Artel admired him, even if he would never admit so outloud.
"It's fine, Ivis doesn't like most people," Kensin casually waved the topic of his half-brother away.
Artel continued to sit with the young Wicker, intrigued as he spoke about college life, his family, his friends, books and music, food and instruments. They bantered lightly over politics and new technology.
The business mogul was refreshed. Kensin was one of his younger acquaintances, if they can call each other that now. He was equally as fascinating without the conversation being too heavy and Artel found himself enjoying his company.
A mousey young man with bright eyes and a shy constitution, buzzing with admiration and wonder as he hung onto every word Artel spoke in return. The attention made a cold-hearted villain like himself feel soft.
Soon, cafe meetings became more frequent, only less business and more for Kensin and Artel to meet. These changed to dinners, theatres and group hang-outs with friends at bars.
The older man could not deny his selfish need to constantly touch the other, as if mere contact satisfied an itch, an addictive craving. Artel liked to press his thigh against the other's when they sat together. He found opportunities to casually tuck the other into his side or place a guiding palm on his lower back.
He liked Kensin's blush. The blooming of red cheeks that spread to his ears and neck with embarrassment. It awoke a carnal desire that made the older man want to make him cry.
Artel wanted him, craved him so much that his restraint was tugging pathetically to keep himself at bay as he tip-toed with mild adoration around the man. He could not pounce before the emotionally stunted and adamantly introverted object of his affection was ready. Artel was not shaken and in stride, played the long game.
"Can I ask you something?"
They were seated across each other in a booth at a local retro diner. It had been two months since they met and they've seen each other almost every two days.
Artel was distracted by the menu but had the Kensin's left leg between his own, locked in with his ankles crossed.
"Mhm?" Artel gave him a smile, one that Kensin felt he only did when he was laughing about something private at his expense.
"Why do you touch me the way you do?"
Artel was now fully alert, attention focused now on the shorter man. The menu was discarded as he rested his chin in his hand, eyes narrowed as he scanned his face with a smirk.
"In what way, Kensie?"
"You know exactly which way I mean!" The youngest Wicker snapped, face scrunched into a scowl. "Answer me."
He must have read something in Kensin's eyes that meant business because he sat back, and conceded, "Okay, only if you're sure you want an answer."
"I'm sure."
"I want to fuck you." Artel stated bluntly. Kensin's jaw dropped a little, baby blue eyes, wide with shock.
"Wh— wh— what?! How can you say that in public?!" He hissed, glancing around quickly to make sure no one was paying attention to them, heat swarming from his neck and his ears.
"It's the truth. I want to sleep with you."
"Is that it, then what? I become one of your mindless sex dolls?!"
"No you don't. You become my boyfriend, then my fiancee and eventually my husband."
Kensin was stunned into silence. His friend was… delusional. That did not stop him flaring up like a tomato.
Besides, Kensin was pretty sure he liked women. Well, he had never been with a woman but he knew he would like it so that was enough to know he was straight.
But his newest best friend had just admitted to hitting on him. Did it creep him out? No, it didn't. Did he want him to stop? Also no.
But Kensin could not allow himself to be touch now that he knew these were invitations to Artel's bed.
The food was served with Kensin preoccupied in thought and Artel giving him time to process. For the first time since they met, the pair ate in silence.
After watching Artel devour the last of his burger, Kensin stood abruptly, rushed to pay and left without him, muttering that he would send him a message soon.
Artel let him go, gloom pooling in the pit of his stomach as he watched the retreating back, the stiffness in his gait apparent of his discomfort as he almost sprinted across the street and into the crowd.
Artel slumped back into his seat and lazed in defeat. It was an expected response from his Angel. He probably never thought of men romantically or even sexually.
The older man did not leave the diner for a long while after, lost in thought and in spirit. Finally, the waitress ushered him away so she could close and Artel made the slow walk home, discarding his car to pick up another day.