1 comments/ 10953 views/ 0 favorites Coffee Ch. 01 By: lady_macbeth_4711 My daily routine is simple, efficient, and- well, routine. I am an early riser and follow the same path every morning for a short, brisk walk to the university gym. An hour of exercise follows, then a scathingly hot shower and the purchase of a bagel and some fruit from the small commissary in the student union. Six hours of interminable classes, hour after hour of psychoses and diagnoses, another short walk home, six more hours bending over one book or another, or straining to decipher a garbled lecture off of my mini-recorder. Then I throw some random items together for dinner and begin preparing for bed. My weekend schedule doesn't alter much. Simply replace the words "class" and "homework" with twelve hours of mind bogglingly simple-minded work at the University Drive Taco Bell and there you have it. There are two things that keep this wearing schedule bearable for me- one is an evening bath, music a la obsession of the week on the CD player, a single glass of merlot in one hand and a pulpy fiction novel in the other. The other I have to slide into my routine as time and circumstance allow. The College Market, a mom-n-pop-cum-coffee-shop, stands en route from home to the university. Once a day, going to or coming from classes or work, I manage to stop and step inside the doors long enough to pull a breath of decadent steam into my lungs to savor for the rest of the day. I allow herself a single cup of the dark brew once a week, but the blends I prefer tend toward the extravagant, and a student living on part time Taco Bell wages has a hard time supporting any extravagant habit. I don't have a coffee maker at home, either, because I prefer to come down to the Market and bury my whole body in the experience- the smells, the worn couches populated by students and professors, reading or debating, some poet off in a corner working on the rhythm of a line with the concentration of a Philharmonic conductor, walls floor to ceiling with books, others stacked on tables, still others lying abandoned in the sunshine on the windowsill. So, most days, in concession to the expense, I merely satisfy myself with the smell. Some days, the sweet scents of vanilla or hazelnut or toffee cling to my skin for hours. Other days, I can turn my head in class and the dense fragrance of dark Arabica clouds from my hair. Most days, it is enough. And so, late in the afternoon on a Friday in mid-April, wholly unsatisfied with the progress I was making studying at home on my diminutive couch with the cat head-butting my elbow for attention and a pile of dishes screaming at me from the kitchen sink, I decided it was time to treat myself to a cup of expensive brew. I slid my books, notebook and recorder into a worn shoulder bag, flung the works over one large shoulder and commenced the short walk to the College Market. Outside, warm air brushed my brown hair back from my face. Whispers of breeze tangled in the hem of my tank top, making me crave summer, and a long hike in the dark green hills. I peered wistfully over the rooftops as I walked past. Scout Mountain still wore a crown of white, the upper reaches not yet free of the strangling snow. There was still time, then, before my favorite trails would even be passable, let alone before I could walk them without ending up knee deep in mud. Right now, however, I felt that ending up knee deep or deeper in mud would be preferable to slogging through the pile of make work my professors were demanding as the semester neared its end. I sighed and kept walking, dragging my eyes and mind down from the mountain to more mundane things. A block ahead I could see the brick patio and brightly painted window of the College Market. Small groups congregated on the patio, huddling to light their cigarettes and staying clustered, as if afraid their smokes would go out without the buffer of other bodies. I walked past the acrid clouds of smoke- almost, but not quite craving a cigarette- and through the glass doors into the coffee-warmed brightness of the shop. I hadn't realized how dim it was getting outside. A table was open near the large front window of the shop and I dropped my bag in one of the chairs. My wallet was buried somewhere in the mess of my bag. After some searching, I found it in the deepest, darkest reaches, tangled with a copy of my half-finished paper on antisocial behavior. I sighed and shoved the paper back in the bag. I had almost forgotten it existed. The counter swarmed with coffee addicts. A couple of the boys in the group were letting their coffee sit, though, apparently finding the girl behind the counter of more interest. I elbowed a space between two freshmen and stole a glance at her before gazing up at the hand-lettered board resting on a narrow shelf above the row of espresso machines. I could see why they were interested. She was tall, about my height, and broad-shouldered, like me, but there the resemblance ended. Her black hair was cross-cut with slices of bottled blood red, and her eyes were large enough that the black edging on them make them appear surreal; japanime in an apron. I thought I may have seen her somewhere before, either passing by here, or in some class or another. The smell of coffee was overwhelming me now. I ran a finger across my wallet and silently calculated how much I had to spend. The special was a large mocha au lait. Three-fifty. Probably about fifty cents more than I ought to really spend, but I felt the chocolate was worth the extra change. I could give my cat half a can of cat food for a couple of days; she never finished what I put in her bowl anyway. Satisfied with my self-justification, I signaled to the waitress when she turned my direction. She smiled as she came over. I asked for the special and handed her my cash, and watched her bustle back to the espresso machine. She did have a strong frame, like me, but it seemed softer than my body, just in the right places. Maybe I spent too much time working out. Nah. Machines hissed and steamed, and she eventually produced a hot mocha au lait. I thanked her, folded a dollar into the tip jar. It was another extravagance, but god, she had to pay for that eye makeup somehow, and I wasn't about to be the one to make her give it up. Rather than return to the table and face the homework in my bag, I wandered through the bookstore portion of the Market, hoping something interesting would catch my eye while I drank my coffee. Most of the fiction section was titles I'd read before. They did have Alice Hoffman's newest, but it was brand new, a condition in which I knew I'd spill coffee the minute I opened it up. So I picked it up and read the dust jacket, then returned it to the shelf with regret. It had been much too long since I'd been able to retreat into a little fantasy, and Alice Hoffman was one of my favorite writers. I moved over to the psychology section, knowing the books there would hit my guilt buttons, but sometimes the owner of the Market would have some rare books in here, old texts from the fifties and sixties, booklets about the work of Kinsey. There was nothing of that sort here today, but standing there did give me a clear view of the waitress. She was a pleasure to watch work. I flipped through a couple of abnormal psych books while I watched her, trying to pretend I was interested in the material. She looked up and caught me once. I stared back for a split second and shoved the book back into its niche, then moved back toward my table. At the table, I sat with my back to her, hoping to avoid the temptation of watching her glide through her duties and instead focus on homework, including that forgotten antisocial behavior paper. I pulled in out of the bag and, smoothing it out on the tabletop, began to read it over. Every few minutes I picked up my coffee and ignored my paper for long enough to close my eyes and savor the taste. I closed my eyes to be totally alone with that flavor. It was, therefore a surprise when I opened them once to see the waitress standing at my table, a coffee in one hand. "Ummn, hi," I said, blinking up at her, and trying to keep looking her in the eyes, as her chest was exactly at head level for me. "Hi. Sorry to scare you. Just-" she put the coffee down in front of me. "You seemed to be enjoying that coffee so much and I had a customer who couldn't pay for this one and I hate to see it go to waste." She was blushing. I hadn't taken her for the type who blushed easily. Interesting. "I can't pay you for it either." "That's ok. I would just have to throw it away anyway. I just thought you might enjoy it." Her blush grew a little deeper. "I have a question to ask you though. I saw you, a couple of times, speaking with my abnormal psych professor, Dr. Delaware?" "Yes, she's asked me to student teach a couple of her classes when I start the graduate program next spring." I nodded and picked up my half-empty coffee. Now I was confused. She stood in front of me blushing like a virgin, but it seemed she merely wanted help with psych. How disappointing. At least she brought me free coffee. "Well, I was wondering if maybe you could help me study? Maybe read my term paper? I want the opinion of someone who has already taken the class and knows what Dr Delaware expects?" She was practically twitching now, her blush growing up into the roots of her red and black hair, voice rising in pitch at the end of each sentence. "Well, I don't really have much time-" "I could make it worth it!" She blushed even harder. I smiled. "I mean- I could bring you coffee when you help me. It's only a sophomore term paper anyway. It's only about fifteen pages. Please?" At the please and the look of utter desperation in her eyes, I simply could not refuse. What can I say, I liked the way she begged. Coffee Ch. 02 Lee was watching her. Since Citrine had moved in with him, she'd veered between anxiety and bliss, a roller coaster he was enjoying, but was taking its toll on her. She was tired. She hid it well, but she was just a little more etched about the eyes than he would like her to be. He lowered his newspaper and watched her get a cup of coffee, a smile lighting his eyes. She was a beautiful vision in a short peach silk robe, the edges of the hem brushing her thighs as she moved. Thinking about how to make her feel better and inspired by watching her move, he put his paper down and walked over to her, sliding his hands over the silk on her hips and kissing the back of her neck. She tilted her head to the side and leaned back against his chest, a soft "Mmmmmm" escaping her lips on a deep exhalation. His voice is a soft rumble against her shoulder. "Tired?" She shakes her head in denial, a light dismissal. "No." His mouth explores her shoulder and shifts the fabric aside. "Liar." Her laughter is soft and rueful. "How do you always know how I'm feeling?" His lips shift to her earlobe, biting there softly and then whispering in a humor-rich voice "Because you're a very bad liar." Her shoulders drop and she leans back into him more, her hair brushing across his cheek, fitting herself against his chest. She breathes a deep sigh of contentment and then says "I don't want to go to work." His hands slide around her waist and he rocks her in his arms. "So don't." Her sigh is less contented. "I have to." He shakes his head and says "No, you don't have to. You're tired. Stay home." Conflict measured itself in her tone, but she said "I can't" finally. His laugh is light against her neck, his hands starting to work at the knot in her robe. "Can't. That's a bad word, 'Trine. It doesn't work for me." Her hands are playful and she starts pushing at his, "Lee, I have to go, stop." Sliding the sash from her robe, he makes a sliding knot and loops it around her wrists once, drawing them closed. "No, 'Trine, you really don't have to go. You have to stay." Tugging at her wrists, she concedes "Well, I can't go like this." Drawing her with him, he steps over to a counter with the phone. "Here's how it works. You are going to call work and tell them you're taking a personal day." "I don't get personal days" "That should be fixed. You can't call in sick, you can't prevaricate. You're going to call and tell them you're taking a personal day and then you're going to take it." "Lee, I really can't" "You're running out of time, 'Trine." "This is timed? When did I get timed?" "When you started arguing with me." He hits the speaker button and starts to dial her job. "Convince me." She starts to sputter and hesitate, unable to lunge for the counter button to hang up. His eyebrow raises, looking at her. While it's ringing he steps behind her and says "Convince them or I swear I'll tell them I have you bent over, fucking you in the kitchen." Hot and cold shock washes over her as the receptionist picks up the phone. She asks calmly to be routed to her boss. She's put back on hold. Muzak pours out of the speakers. Lee smiles "Calypso. Nobody should have to listen to that. Your company is evil. Honey, make it fast. Don't say more than you have to, or I will." He twists the sash into one hand, tightening his grip on her hands and using the other hand to cradle her breast, breath on her ear and fingers massaging her nipple. "Lee, this is ridic-" He cuts her off by squeezing her breast and saying lightly "You don't get a vote." The music ends and her boss is on the phone, "Yes?" Swallowing hard, she calms her voice against the frustration and sensation, and says "This is Citrine, I need to take a personal day today." Annoyed, her boss says "I'm afraid you can't do that, I need you here today, there's too much going on. You need to come in right now." Her voice is thready and nearly panicked, "I can't." Lee hears that it's half directed at him and whispers "Tell him or I will, remember? You can. You need a personal day." With Lee's encouragement and threat, her voice hardens slightly and she says "I understand it's inconvenient, but I need to do this. If you have a problem with it, take it up with human resources." Lee smiles and leans over and cuts off the phone. His voice is light. "See how easy?" He's watching her face, amused. Storms crossing over her brow. She's angry "I'm going to get fired." He scoffs "You are not. You're going to have a good day off." Her head tilts back and she lifts her wrists. "May I go now?" His brow lifts and he shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. I think you have no idea how much you're worth to your company. Or to me." "What does that have to do with anything? I'm going to lose my job!" She's distressed and his lopsided smile annoys her. She starts pulling at her wrists again and he tightens his grip. "You're not going to lose your job. You'll probably have flowers sent over. That's what I'd do if you worked for me. Never mind that it's probably because I wanted to get you into bed. Which, luckily for me, I can do." Picking her up, she starts struggling and he hoists her up, belly hard against his shoulder and his hand steadying her on her ass. "You need to learn to speak a little more plainly, 'Trine." "Go to hell! Plain enough for you?" He hand spanks her sharply and his voice is laced with laughter. "Too plain. I'm only going if you're going. Want a vacation in hell? A time share? We can probably manage." "Ow." Is all she has to say, icily. Swinging her down from his shoulder, he lays her on the bed and ties her hands over her head to the headboard. He tsks softly and says "You're too damned stubborn." Her voice is icier, and her eyes narrow. "You have yet to see stubborn." He waves his hand in dismissal. "That's not a problem. I like stubborn. Stubborn is fun." Divesting himself of his clothes, conversationally, he says "Has anybody made you beg for anything before?" "You mean, like mercy? Is it likely?" He turns his head to her and shakes his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. Not that kind of begging. You'll see." She opens her mouth to speak and he puts one finger to her lips. "Shhhh. No talking. Not unless I ask you a question. Understand?" Her eyes are mutinous and murderous. He asks "Feel like swearing?" She grits out "Yes." His smile widens. "Say Fuck." "Gladly. FUCK." "Good. Say 'Me'" Her eyes narrow. "Me." Leaning in closer he trails a finger along her body, producing a shiver. "Say my name, honey." She swallows once, hard. "Lee." Changing position, he lowers his body onto hers, and her eyes close against the feel of his skin settling over hers, her breath harsh and fast. With his weight pressing her into the bed, his hands slide along her arms. His mouth kisses a trail along her neck to her ear. Softly he whispers "Put it together, honey. Say "Fuck me, Lee." Heart pounding in her chest, she presses her lips shut. Anger, frustration and helplessness make her pull hard on her hands and he chuckles. "Too damned stubborn." Trailing his hands over her body, he shifts his weight again, lifting off her and settling to her side. He draws fingertip lines around her breasts, around her nipples. He trails one long line from the center of breastbone down to her pussy, sliding his fingertip along the cleft there, teasing the folds open with his fingertip and settling on her clit with gentle pressure. The twist of her hands in the bonds becomes more supplication than struggle. Kissing the side of her breast and sliding his finger inside her pussy, keeping his thumb on her clit, teasing her. Building up her whimpers into twists of her thighs and white knuckles, he stops and withdraws his mouth and hand, whispering into her ear in a velvet soft voice. "Say it, 'Trine. Say 'fuck me, Lee.'" Thighs trembling in withdrawal, the words pass her lips in a short halting breath, whispering an intensely felt "Fuck me, Lee." Pleased, he lifts his body and settles his cock up against her, pressing in to tease and withdraw. Only the head poised to thrust, one hand on her hip to keep her from surging up and drawing him in. "Fuck you how, 'Trine? Gently? Hard? Tell me how." Choked with need, her voice rushes out to meet him. "Fuck me hard, Lee." A tiny pause, and then a fervent "Please." Surging at the sound of her voice, he draws up one of her knees and presses her thigh back toward her shoulder, with her shin flush to his chest, pushing into her inch by tortuously slow inch until he's seated balls deep in her and she's biting her lip with a soft keen escaping her throat. The tone of his voice shifts as he asks her to please open her eyes. Fluttering open, her eyes meet his, drenched in lust and need. Measured and sincere, he says "I love you." Trembling and vulnerable, open and frightened, she listens to him speak. "Say it. Tell me you love me." His eyes are warm and he repeats her word as she spoke it to him. "Please." "I love you." She says simply. Bending his mouth to capture hers in a kiss, she cranes her neck to meet him, her tongue ravenous to taste him, biting gently, sucking and tasting him. She arches her hips to meet his thrusts, starting hard, slow and grinding and building faster, drinking her whimpers and moans into his mouth. Keeping her pinned with his arm cradling her knee and guiding her hip with the other hand, he keeps thrusting until her thighs are trembling and she's begging in soft pleas and gasps of his name. He murmurs against her mouth "Come for me, 'Trine," and his voice and body tip her over into scalding orgasm, straining against him frantically and clenching tight against a low scream. Hard, deep spasms and a thick growl are wrenched from his body, cock straining in spurts. Raining soft kisses on her face, eyelids, lips, cheek, he unties her hands and kisses each finger, rubbing circulation back into the cramped muscles. Dragging her over with him so he's lying on his back and she's draped on his side like a vine around a tree, he strokes her hair and whispers her to sleep. Waking later she stretches and reassembles her robe with a smile, shaking her tangled hair and finger combing it on her way out to the living room. Lee's there, and there are flowers. Irises. Smiling at her, he hands her a card. "To our most valued team member, we hope all is well." From her boss. She looks suspicious. "You set this up. Somehow." He grins and pulls her onto his lap. "No, just a good student of human nature. It was a lucky guess." "This still doesn't make assault right, you know." Her voice is teasing. "Right enough for me." "You really shouldn't get used to being right all the time, it's unnatural." "I'm not right all the time, but I'm right about you." "I'll get you back, somehow. I'm not sure how." He scoffs. "Yeah, go ahead, give it a try. If you think you can negotiate a pay raise on the phone with me armed with ice cubes." She bursts out laughing and kisses him, smacking his ass hard. "Ow."