Quick Fic: Damn Fine Coffee
On to the fun stuff, as promised. :) Since coffee is a big thing in this community, I figured you might enjoy a coffee based story starring the gentlemen from my Everyday Spectre, Prophet.
Raid is an antisocial mechanic who happens to be slightly psychic. He likes beer, porn, and when Jimmie Johnson kicks Jeff Gordon's ass.
Priest is a space god monster thing. He likes Betty Boop, sushi, and devouring entire planets after a brief reign of terror and destruction.
They fight crime.
Part I
***
Part II: Raid
I gave Priest the meanest damn glare I could, but it didn’t faze him none. He was busy getting all cozy on one of the couches. He folded his long skinny legs up in the lotus position, and when he caught me looking, he waved and mouthed “Milwaukee” to me.
Son of a bitch.
There was a big gray-green chalkboard next to the counter with the day’s specials written on it in yellow chalk. None of the choices were in English, though I did catch the word “vanilla” here and there. I craned my neck up to look at the menu, but it wasn’t no better.
Reading the choices made me square my jaw. Damned if today was the day I turned into a man who ordered anything that ended in “-ccino.”
“Hiya!”
Man, whoever owned that voice was too damn perky. I hated him right away. The owner was leaning over the counter, smiling at me. The buzz around his head was kind of like milky coffee, too: warm and liquid-smooth. He wasn’t bad looking, I guess, if you like the college boy look-- short brown hair and a scruffy beard, probably had a band or something.
Making eye contact earned me a big grin from him, and it turned out he had a dimple in one cheek. “What can I get for you?”
Son of a bitch was probably used to people smiling back at him. “Just get me some coffee.”
“Awesome choice.” He hadn’t quit smiling. Maybe his face had frozen like that. “Might I suggest our mochaccino?”
I stared.
“It’s full of chocolate-y goodness,” he offered, wiggling his thick brows. “Best of both worlds.”
Man. I exhaled loudly. “Coffee,” I repeated, then once more, since he obviously wasn’t getting it. “Cof- Fee.”
That got the smile off his face. He eyeballed me up and down, real good, and I fought the urge to shuffle. “Oh,” he said quietly. “I know your type.”
My hands clenched into fists at that. “My type?”
“Never-had-a-decent-coffee-in-your-life.” The grin was back, something about it slower and lazier than before. It made me suspicious. “Where’re you from?”
Of all the questions, I wasn’t expecting that. Caught me off-guard right there. “…what?” I managed.
“Your accent.” He leaned on the counter. “Where do you come from?”
“Um.” No idea where this was going. “Red Creek, Alabama.”
He laughed and snapped his fingers. “I knew it! Deep South, huh?”
I rubbed my shoulder. “I guess.”
He grinned, showing me even white teeth. “Southern accents are totally sexy.”
I blinked. “Sexy?”
Again, he did that thing where he looked me up and down. “Totally.”
Don’t get me wrong, I still hated him. But I ain’t made of stone. And he wasn’t bad looking.
“What sort of -ccino?” I asked.
***
Part III: Priest
When Raid returned to me, the blood vessels near the surface of his skin had dilated and he would not make eye contact. I took this to be the sign that the coffee was most excellent. I straightened and smiled hopefully. “What did you get for me?”
He handed me a large drink container. “Mochaccino.”
I brought it under my nose and sniffed. It did not smell unpleasant. I looked back at Raid, who was still standing next to the couch. “What else did you purchase?”
He cleared his throat and looked down at the carton in his hand. “Uh. That’d be three more mochaccinos.”
I was impressed. It is not often that Raid willingly spends his money on more than one of anything. I patted the couch cushion next to me, inviting him to sit. “You must enjoy mochaccinos a great deal,” I observed.
Raid sat, and I noticed his face flushed further. His freckles stood out in a most adorable fashion, and I found myself resisting the urge to pet his hair affectionately. “Uh, no, Priest. Don’t care for ‘em, actually.” He shrugged and transferred the carton containing the mochaccinos to my lap. “They’re yours, if you want.”
Although I can consume vast quantities of matter and essence and anti-matter, I did not think drinking so much coffee would be appropriate. “I cannot possibly have four mochaccinos,” I informed Raid. “Three and a half, perhaps.” I removed a drink container from the carton and offered it to him. “Drink exactly one half.”
He did not accept it, instead shaking his head. “Don’t like ‘em.”
I narrowed my eyes, studying him. “Have you actually tried them?”
“Yeah.” That sounded very much like a lie, and combined with the tension in his back and neck and the blood rich tone to his skin, I began to doubt.
My tongue flicked out and curled around the surface of all four drink containers, tasting and testing. Plastic, plastic, remnants of skin cells, but I did not find what I was looking for. I glared accusingly at my prophet. “There is no trace of your saliva on any of these drink containers!”
He had watched me lick the containers with an expression that I filed somewhere between awe and disgust. “Man, that… that ain’t right.”
It was indeed right, but I did not bother to correct him. “You did not try the mochaccino.”
Raid sighed. “Look, you’re gonna have to accept that I don’t wanna be a guy that drinks mochaccinos.”
I tilted my head. “Why?”
“Don’t like the name.” He shrugged. “Just deal, man.”
Raid is a very likable human being, but he is not permitted to tell me to ‘just deal,’ particularly when I am right and he fails to see this. Unfortunately, like all humans, on occasion he can be quite thick and must be corrected.
After analyzing how best to get my point across, I took the top off one of the drink containers, threw my head back, and ingested the entire volume. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, and swished the hot liquid in my mouth, ensuring a proper coating.
Raid’s eyes were quite wide. “Oh, Hell no--” he began.
I did not permit him to finish the statement. Human beings have a reaction time of anywhere from 0.05 to 0.12 seconds, depending on the human and the situation. It was quite easy to move faster than Raid’s brain could process. He did not have time to move away before I had clasped his face between my hands and pulled him to me, opening his mouth with my tongue.
There was the initial flailing, and then he managed to balance himself by holding onto the back of the couch. My original intent had been to make him simply taste the coffee, but I found myself lingering longer than necessary. His lips moved against mine, and his tongue slipped in and rubbed against the roof of my mouth. I pulled back, and he caught me by my hair, bringing me back down. I greatly enjoy kissing, so I did not mind too much. Raid is excellent at kissing.
I drew back when he ran out of oxygen.
Raid’s chest rose and fell as he caught his breath. “Think you burned the inside of my mouth.”
Well. It might be possible. Humans are delicate at times. I patted his shoulder in apology. Still, on the whole, it seemed the experiment had been a success.
Raid swallowed. After many seconds, he finally admitted, “That’s some damn fine coffee.”
***
And if you liked that, you might want to check out the novella. :) You can read a summary and a snippet from the actual story here. It's the story of how Raid and Priest wound up together.
Raid is an antisocial mechanic who happens to be slightly psychic. He likes beer, porn, and when Jimmie Johnson kicks Jeff Gordon's ass.
Priest is a space god monster thing. He likes Betty Boop, sushi, and devouring entire planets after a brief reign of terror and destruction.
They fight crime.
Part I
***
Part II: Raid
I gave Priest the meanest damn glare I could, but it didn’t faze him none. He was busy getting all cozy on one of the couches. He folded his long skinny legs up in the lotus position, and when he caught me looking, he waved and mouthed “Milwaukee” to me.
Son of a bitch.
There was a big gray-green chalkboard next to the counter with the day’s specials written on it in yellow chalk. None of the choices were in English, though I did catch the word “vanilla” here and there. I craned my neck up to look at the menu, but it wasn’t no better.
Reading the choices made me square my jaw. Damned if today was the day I turned into a man who ordered anything that ended in “-ccino.”
“Hiya!”
Man, whoever owned that voice was too damn perky. I hated him right away. The owner was leaning over the counter, smiling at me. The buzz around his head was kind of like milky coffee, too: warm and liquid-smooth. He wasn’t bad looking, I guess, if you like the college boy look-- short brown hair and a scruffy beard, probably had a band or something.
Making eye contact earned me a big grin from him, and it turned out he had a dimple in one cheek. “What can I get for you?”
Son of a bitch was probably used to people smiling back at him. “Just get me some coffee.”
“Awesome choice.” He hadn’t quit smiling. Maybe his face had frozen like that. “Might I suggest our mochaccino?”
I stared.
“It’s full of chocolate-y goodness,” he offered, wiggling his thick brows. “Best of both worlds.”
Man. I exhaled loudly. “Coffee,” I repeated, then once more, since he obviously wasn’t getting it. “Cof- Fee.”
That got the smile off his face. He eyeballed me up and down, real good, and I fought the urge to shuffle. “Oh,” he said quietly. “I know your type.”
My hands clenched into fists at that. “My type?”
“Never-had-a-decent-coffee-in-your-life.” The grin was back, something about it slower and lazier than before. It made me suspicious. “Where’re you from?”
Of all the questions, I wasn’t expecting that. Caught me off-guard right there. “…what?” I managed.
“Your accent.” He leaned on the counter. “Where do you come from?”
“Um.” No idea where this was going. “Red Creek, Alabama.”
He laughed and snapped his fingers. “I knew it! Deep South, huh?”
I rubbed my shoulder. “I guess.”
He grinned, showing me even white teeth. “Southern accents are totally sexy.”
I blinked. “Sexy?”
Again, he did that thing where he looked me up and down. “Totally.”
Don’t get me wrong, I still hated him. But I ain’t made of stone. And he wasn’t bad looking.
“What sort of -ccino?” I asked.
***
Part III: Priest
When Raid returned to me, the blood vessels near the surface of his skin had dilated and he would not make eye contact. I took this to be the sign that the coffee was most excellent. I straightened and smiled hopefully. “What did you get for me?”
He handed me a large drink container. “Mochaccino.”
I brought it under my nose and sniffed. It did not smell unpleasant. I looked back at Raid, who was still standing next to the couch. “What else did you purchase?”
He cleared his throat and looked down at the carton in his hand. “Uh. That’d be three more mochaccinos.”
I was impressed. It is not often that Raid willingly spends his money on more than one of anything. I patted the couch cushion next to me, inviting him to sit. “You must enjoy mochaccinos a great deal,” I observed.
Raid sat, and I noticed his face flushed further. His freckles stood out in a most adorable fashion, and I found myself resisting the urge to pet his hair affectionately. “Uh, no, Priest. Don’t care for ‘em, actually.” He shrugged and transferred the carton containing the mochaccinos to my lap. “They’re yours, if you want.”
Although I can consume vast quantities of matter and essence and anti-matter, I did not think drinking so much coffee would be appropriate. “I cannot possibly have four mochaccinos,” I informed Raid. “Three and a half, perhaps.” I removed a drink container from the carton and offered it to him. “Drink exactly one half.”
He did not accept it, instead shaking his head. “Don’t like ‘em.”
I narrowed my eyes, studying him. “Have you actually tried them?”
“Yeah.” That sounded very much like a lie, and combined with the tension in his back and neck and the blood rich tone to his skin, I began to doubt.
My tongue flicked out and curled around the surface of all four drink containers, tasting and testing. Plastic, plastic, remnants of skin cells, but I did not find what I was looking for. I glared accusingly at my prophet. “There is no trace of your saliva on any of these drink containers!”
He had watched me lick the containers with an expression that I filed somewhere between awe and disgust. “Man, that… that ain’t right.”
It was indeed right, but I did not bother to correct him. “You did not try the mochaccino.”
Raid sighed. “Look, you’re gonna have to accept that I don’t wanna be a guy that drinks mochaccinos.”
I tilted my head. “Why?”
“Don’t like the name.” He shrugged. “Just deal, man.”
Raid is a very likable human being, but he is not permitted to tell me to ‘just deal,’ particularly when I am right and he fails to see this. Unfortunately, like all humans, on occasion he can be quite thick and must be corrected.
After analyzing how best to get my point across, I took the top off one of the drink containers, threw my head back, and ingested the entire volume. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, and swished the hot liquid in my mouth, ensuring a proper coating.
Raid’s eyes were quite wide. “Oh, Hell no--” he began.
I did not permit him to finish the statement. Human beings have a reaction time of anywhere from 0.05 to 0.12 seconds, depending on the human and the situation. It was quite easy to move faster than Raid’s brain could process. He did not have time to move away before I had clasped his face between my hands and pulled him to me, opening his mouth with my tongue.
There was the initial flailing, and then he managed to balance himself by holding onto the back of the couch. My original intent had been to make him simply taste the coffee, but I found myself lingering longer than necessary. His lips moved against mine, and his tongue slipped in and rubbed against the roof of my mouth. I pulled back, and he caught me by my hair, bringing me back down. I greatly enjoy kissing, so I did not mind too much. Raid is excellent at kissing.
I drew back when he ran out of oxygen.
Raid’s chest rose and fell as he caught his breath. “Think you burned the inside of my mouth.”
Well. It might be possible. Humans are delicate at times. I patted his shoulder in apology. Still, on the whole, it seemed the experiment had been a success.
Raid swallowed. After many seconds, he finally admitted, “That’s some damn fine coffee.”
***
And if you liked that, you might want to check out the novella. :) You can read a summary and a snippet from the actual story here. It's the story of how Raid and Priest wound up together.