Chapter Text
The summer air is thick, thick enough you could feel yourself wading in it - the moisture clinging to your clothes then to your skin like a warm blanket. A thin layer of sweat shines on your collarbone, making it glisten in the sun as Rafael tugs you down a cross walk, rushing to make your reservation on time. The leather of your heels sticks to the sides of your feet as you briskly follow behind him, watching his white linen shirt ripple along his back as he moves, a small dark line forming at the base of his spine where undoubtedly his own sweat has collected from the heat.
His hand firmly grasps yours, and your heart twinges as you feel him lift up your hand to press against his lips - the softness of his stubble rubbing against the back of your hand.
"Almost there." he mumbles.
He lets your hands fall from his mouth as you step onto the sidewalk - and you see the restaurant sign blinking a soft blue neon a couple yards away. Cloverfield Diner.
You're both panting as you get to the restaurants steps. He slides the door open and steps aside, motioning you to enter before him with a small smile.
"After you."
Ever the gentleman. And yet, it surprises you every time. The opening of the car door, forcing you to walk on farthest side away from the road, waiting for you to get inside your house before leaving your porch.
It used to be all things you'd make fun of. Say to yourself, "Chivalry is dead!", like some idiot, all the while agreeing wholeheartedly - what man still acts chivalrously?
Apparently, yours still does.
He doesn't make it corny either. No exaggerated movements or poor British accents. Just the firm hand on the low of your back, the slight speed in step so he can beat you to every door, the watchful eyes that you make eye contact with after your key turns in the lock, his smile being the last thing you see as you shut it tight after a night spent together.
So, you still blush a little as you make your way inside, the ice cold air conditioned air blowing your hair back as you step close to the hostess stand. The soft bell of the door chimes behind you as Rafael lets it swing shut and then his warmth is immediately against your side once more.
A firm hand slides along your lower back, his finger tips dancing along your still damp skin, exposed by your open-back dress. You shift in your heels as you wait.
The hostess has a phone pressed up to her ear, writing hastily on a worn notebook in front of her. She glances up at you both and holds up a finger, giving an apologetic smile.
You nod back quickly and let out a breath, letting yourself relax into Rafael's hold as you take a look around.
Cloverfield Diner was an interesting name for what was supposed to be a Michelin-rated restaurant. Soft, ambient light radiated from dome shaped fixtures hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the circular tables scattered along the dining room. A U-shaped bar was the center piece of the restaurant, green leather stools with dark hardwood legs perched up against the expanse of the white marble counter tops.
Soft conversations can be heard around, with diners perched at the bar, feet dangling or balanced on foot rests, hands circling martini glasses and ice rattling in cocktail shakers as bartenders in sharp suit and ties moseyed around, smiling at guests and taking orders.
There were several booths pressed against the perimeter, with dark red upholstered seats - reminiscent of old-school diners - where many of the guests were seated. The floor was a checkered black and white linoleum, and old-school drive in posters were framed tastefully along the cream colored walls - showing couples lounging in their Ford Pintos and Chevy Chevelle's - alongside photographs of city skylines and modern art, bold strokes of paint against stark white canvasses.
It definitely brought an air of nostalgia to the place - contrasted with the very modern looking food and soft R&B that played in the background that brought you back to the present.
"Two for Sanchez." Rafael says, voice low and slightly gravely as the hostess hangs up the phone.
She peers down at her list and nods, motioning a waiter to escort you to your table.
"Right this way." the waiter greets, walking you over to a small table near the bar.
Rafael pulls out your chair, then chooses the seat where he can have his eyes on the door.
You give him a knowing look and he just shrugs, sliding into his own chair as you smooth the back of the dress under you before you sit down.
"Fancy place, huh?" he smirks, glancing up at you as he peers down at the menu. The dish names are short, like Salmon. Chicken. Branzino. Beets. The accompanying ingredients are listed out the same - White sauce. Parsley. Carrots. Dill.
You smile as you make your way down the menu, glancing at the cocktail list then finally settling on the pasta choices.
"It's a bit nicer than Fish 'n' Chips." you joke.
"Does it taste better though?" Rafael responds, still focused on the menu.
"I doubt it." you whisper in a hushed voice, pulling your arm up to rest your chin in your palm to gaze over at him. "Nothing can beat out first date spot."
Rafael finally tears his eyes away from the table and looks up with a wry smile. God, is he painfully handsome. The signature dark scruff of his beard along his tanned skin, the tousled, slightly curly hair - the kind of handsome that would make you think he was a player, too attractive for his own good, until you see his eyes.
That soft, brown hue and kind of gaze that completely unravels you, makes you feel like you can tell him anything in the world. Anything, and he'd listen with baited breath, body leaning towards you so he can capture every detail, focus never wavering.
"You might be right. But I'm willing to give this place a chance." he taps his selection on the menu. "Like whatever this is. I can't pronounce it but it must be good, right?"
And so he does. He points to the menu as the waiter takes our order, nodding approvingly as he takes our main course and drink choices.
As soon as he walks away, Rafael reaches out to grab your hand, tangling his fingers in yours as they rest against the white tablecloth.
"Feels nice to get away, doesn't it?" he asks.
Initially, the idea of taking a five day vacation from the farm was something out of nightmares. Farms needed constant tending to - watering, plowing, fertilizing, rinse and repeat. It was like a child. And like a child, you can't just up and leave on a vacation while it fends for itself.
But Kenny offered to keep an eye on your animals and Ling helped get your sprinkler system up and ready, so when Rafael said he got a reservation at this famous restaurant and was able to book a stay at a cute hotel off island, you couldn't say No.
Not when he planned this whole weekend for you. And how could you have possibly even considered saying No when he was acting like this over dinner - slightly drunk over the wine you chose or over you, he says he can't decide, when his eyes are raking over you from across the table like he wants to eat you alive, and you suddenly feel so small, shy and girlish in a way you haven't felt in years.
"I have a question about your wardrobe choices." he teases, raising an eyebrow as he lifts his wine glass to his lips, taking a long sip.
You raise an eyebrow at that. "What's your question?" You take a gulp of your wine, your lips twitching into a smile.
He brings his thumb up to the corner of his mouth, bringing the wine that collected there between his lips. His fingers slide down his glass and twists the stem slowly as he leans back in his chair.
Oh, to be a wine glass. You watch a dark, red drop slide down his glass and along the stem, finally meeting the table cloth - the red spreading like veins across the fibers of the stark white.
Your body thrums with excitement, and you feel your breath catch in your throat as you watch his eyes rake over you, darting back and forth between your face to your chest, down to your lap.
"That dress. You can't expect me to be a gentleman when you look like," he gestures to your body with a wine glass in hand. "That."
"Dressed like what?" you ask.
You bring the to your lips. The wine settles on your tongue and drips down your throat, stoking the fire in between your thighs - the warmth of it coaxing out the confidence to flirt in public so openly.
Rafael does it so easily, and no one has ever made you feel more wanted, more appreciated, more seen. He's doing it now, with an aura about him that this is just another Saturday night out with his girl, flirting like he's just telling you something that's a known fact - common knowledge - when actually it would make anyone take a second look if they overheard, eyebrows raised and maybe a little bit judgemental.
Yet he does it so easily, and if he notices anyone listening, he doesn't seem to care.
"Like you put it on just so I could take it off." he murmurs, real low.
His voice. That low timber reverberating down your spine - suddenly you feel too hot, the leather of the chair sticking to your thighs, a hot blush creeping up the sides of your neck.
You have to force yourself to respond.
"What - What if I did?"
You watch Rafael swallow, throat bobbing as he sets his glass down.
"Then I think I need to hold up my end of the bargain."
You press your lips together, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you cross one leg over the other. Yes yes yes.
And fuck, you're impossibly wet, you can feel the cotton fabric of your underwear rubbing uncomfortably against you and into the crease of your thigh.
You catch a glimpse of Rafael's expression, and it's like he's noticed, eyebrows quirking up and pupils blown wide with arousal as he watches your legs shift, your hand smoothing the table napkin over your lap shakily.
He doesn't say anything at first, just stares down at you until you finally break eye contact, looking off to the side. He smirks knowingly.
"I think we're ready for the check." Rafael says to the waiter, head tilting back to catch him before he passes by your table. He keeps his eyes trained on you as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.
You reach for your glass of water and take a couple gulps as Rafael places a couple bills on the table before standing up, tossing his napkin on the empty plate before him almost in a haste, before he makes his way around to help you out of your seat.
You take his hand shakily, peeling yourself off of the chair - that pleasant wine buzz radiating down the rest of your body as you both make your way out of the restaurant and back out onto the street.
Rafael laces his fingers through yours as you spill out onto the street and burst into a fit of giggles. He circles his arms around your waist as you both stumble to the side of the restaurant, laughter slowly ebbing away as he gently leans you against the brick wall.
The neon light continues to flash, blue hues illuminating one side of his face, obscuring the other. He leans in, eyes flicking to your lips then back to you. You can feel the heat of his chest against the thin fabric of your dress, the denim of his dark jeans along your inner thigh - the roughness of his palm as he skims along your back.
"What if we just did it here, against this wall?" he whispers, hands sliding dangerously low over your dress.
A laugh escapes you as you tilt your head up, his face sinking into that place between your neck and shoulder and he lets his lips ghost over your heated skin - the coolness of the restaurant dissipating quickly as he pants against you.
When you don't respond, he ruts up closer, firmly placing one of his thighs between your legs.
"Is that a yes?"
And you feel like saying yes. The romance of the weekend and the buzz of the wine makes you feel dangerous, and suddenly the lingering looks of by passers in cars and pedestrians taking a nightly stroll no longer matter to you - as long as Rafael stays in between your legs.
"Maybe," you gasp out breathlessly, draping your arms over his shoulders. You feel him mouth against your throat and finally linger over your lips before he slips his tongue out and licks into you, mouth parting in a moan.
You meet him desperately, fingers tangling in his hair to bring him closer. The fire that started in the restaurant is at full flame now, aching, pulsing, and wanting as you latch onto Rafael's shirt.
"Fuck." he whispers into your mouth, his hands fully up your dress now - fingers toying with the hemline of your thong. His fingertips meet with the damp fabric and he groans, "I fucking knew it."
A sudden honk, twice, like an alert, brings you both back to reality.
You gasp as you tear your mouth away and look over Rafael's shoulder as he pulls down the fabric of your dress. You try to smooth down your hair as he adjusts himself in his jeans, not so subtlety, and he smirks at you before turning around to protectively shield you behind his back.
"Need a ride?"
A bright yellow taxi has it's hazards on next to the curb right in front of the restaurant, the small light on the roof illuminated to indicate that his car was empty and available. The driver has his window rolled down, arm elbow draped over the side, thumb jutting towards the back seat.
Rafael looks back over his shoulder at you, at the flush of your cheeks and disheveled hair. You bite your lip and cling to his hand, that aching feeling beginning to feel overwhelming.
You needed more of him. Now. And he knows.
He tugs you off of the brick wall and strides over to your new ride. He opens the car door.
"After you."