“Clara? Can you go and make me a coffee please?” Tiffy called out from her office.
Clara looked up; brow furrowed. She could have sworn her assistant had made them both one just a few minutes ago. She glanced down. Her mug was in front of her next to the quarter’s budget report, steam curling into the air elegantly twirling the aroma of hazelnut rifling through the paperwork.
“You literally have a coffee Tiff, you cannot need another one yet,” Clara called back and picked up her highlighter again. One day, she’d learn to check all this online, and on that day, Lucifer would need a Zamboni to get to work, she chuckled to herself and settled back into the printouts.
Tiffy stomped into the main office and stopped in front of Clara’s desk. She stared impatiently and tapped the pointed toe of one stiletto boot, the effect ruined by the muffling effect of the thick carpet.
Clara determinedly ignored her.
The tapping continued, accompanied by a pair of tan hands leaning onto the edge of the desk.
Clara sighed and looked up,
“Tiff, I have to get this done, my mug is still mostly full, you have a caffeine problem, go away.”
Tiffy snaked an arm through the detritus scattered over Clara’s desk and snagged her mug away. She stared her boss down as she chugged the entire hot, hazelnut latte, one manicured finger extended at Clara to keep her from commenting.
She finished, thunked the cup down, screwed it into place on the desk and leant forwards.
“Please. Can you make. Us a coffee. In the kitchenette at the end of the corridor. Right now.”
Clara stood up, the sight of Tiffy voluntarily drinking anything as sweet as her usual beverage without alcohol in it jarring enough to spur her to look in the kitchen.
Tiffy shoved her mug into Clara’s hands as she passed her desk in the outer office and bustled her out of the door.
Clara, habitually forgetting to put her shoes back on, tried to turn to get them, only to run into an immobile assistant with crossed arms barring the way.
Padding in stocking feet, past Xander’s makeshift office in the meeting room next door, past the storeroom and elevator, Clara turned into the tiny, hidden kitchen corner. It just about managed to hold a fridge, kettle, coffee machine and a sink. The water cooler hid behind a small, round Formica table and two legendarily uncomfortable chairs. There was a reason she and Tiffy ate in her office, she had sofas.
The kitchen stood empty usually- it was too small and badly ventilated to be a welcoming space.
Today, it was occupied.
Clara found herself brought up short trying to get to the coffee machine by a pair of long, brown, hairy legs propped up on one of the chairs.
She followed the line of the legs up, past the ragged edge of a pair of cut-off sweatpants, Past the curve of rock-hard thigh muscle clearly outlined in soft grey cotton. Past a sweat-stained and wrinkled sleeveless tee clinging to impressive pecs. Up along a thick bicep and a pale band where his watch strap usually lay. All the way to Xander Mason’s stupid face, in which his stupid, perfect mouth was going to absolute town on a dessert spoon full of peanut butter.
Clara stopped dead. Her mouth went dry. Her knees felt suddenly jelly. She fumbled one of the mugs she was holding.
“Erm,” she started dumbly.
His pink tongue traced a delicate line around the curved edge of the spoon, licking away a line of the goo, then he flattened his tongue over the whole dish of it, chasing the traces of flavor from his lips and swallowing.
Clara followed the movement of his throat. A bead of sweat escaped his hairline and proudly ran along his brow and down the sharp angle of his jaw.
A small voice in the back of Clara’s mind screamed for her to move and stop staring at the man making love to a spoon. A louder voice told it to shut up and enjoy the view.
Xander realized he was blocking access to the coffee machine with a jolt. His relationship with Clara had been rocky to say the least, and he was anxious not to piss her off. Preventing her from getting to the coffee machine seemed like a bad idea.
“Doc, how’s it going? Sorry about that, didn’t realize you and Miss Tiffany could go through drinks so fast?”
“Um,” Clara stared more as Xander moved out of her way.
“We didn’t. She did. I need to. Coffee. For Tiffy. Thanks,” Clara jerked forwards and automatically reached for the coffee pods and milk.
“No worries, are you ok? You seem a bit pale?” Xander propped both elbows on the table and took another swipe at the spoon.
Clara’s breath caught as his tongue lapped and swirled around it.
“Nope. Fine. Thank you. All good. Just coffee.” She tried to focus on the drip of the machine, willing it to go quicker. Too long stuck in this proximity to all that musculature and she wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to stay professional.
Xander took in her tight posture and flushed cheeks, she seemed unwell. He swallowed the last of his post-workout treat and stood. He moved to place the spoon in the sink and placed a concerned back-of-hand against Clara’s forehead.
She whimpered and gripped the countertop to stop herself from sliding her hand down his shorts.
“Hmm, you’re a little warm, you sure you’re feelin’ ok there Doc?” He looked into the warm amber of her eyes, losing himself for a moment.
Clara breathed him in, all heat and salt and peanuts and something just him.
“It’s all ok,” she whispered. She reached up and gently cupped the back of his hand on her shoulder. It felt so natural, she ached to curl into him, sweat be damned.
He leaned in just a tiny bit, the illusion of them together dancing on the edge of his mind.
She followed, reaching for his hip, aiming to trace the tight vee of muscle that taunted her every time he stretched.
The coffee machine beeped insouciantly, announcing it was ready for the second cup and shattering the fragile moment with reality.
Clara sprang back, busying herself with the machine and blushing all the way around the back of her neck. She shook her hair forwards, hiding behind the thick curtain.
Xander snatched his hand back as if burned, this was no way to be handling his nemesis over here. He looked for an exit, tripping over the chair he’d had his feet propped on and cursing the space, the chair, the building designer and anything else he could in momentary embarrassment.
“I’ll just head off to shower then, I mean, I’ll leave you to it, erm, have a good afternoon caffeine, don’t drink this one too quickly!” He shot off to the stairs, kicking himself on every step for the overly cheerful weirdness he’d poured all over the situation.
Clara finished making the drinks on autopilot, blank-faced as she re-lived the movement of his mouth over and over. She picked up both mugs, absently wandered back to her office, handing the wrong mug to Tiffy on her way through. She settled onto her office chair and took a deep breath. He’d been so close, so warm. So caring. His eyes had been so soft. She daydreamed and smiled to herself.
Tiffy watched her boss float back in, sit and take a sip of Tiffy’s own super-hot black triple espresso without so much as a wince.
“Good coffee bosslady?” she ventured.
“Mmm, yummy thanks,” Clara didn’t look up or blink.
Tiffy crept in to swap the mugs, one sugar-stuffed milkshake masquerading as coffee was more than enough for one day. She took the mug from Clara and swapped it, turning it so her boss could grip the handle and not burn herself on the ceramic.
Clara turned to face her; eyes wide with an unbalanced mix of desire and shock,
“Did you see that?”
Tiffy nodded and grinned.
“Shut the door behind you. I’m not here for the next twenty minutes. Thank you,” Clara settled back, toed the top drawer of her desk out prop her feet up, and closed her eyes. She breathed in the coffee and sighed happily.
Tiffy backed out of the office quietly, closing the door and the blind. She’d taken one look at Xander digging a spoon into the peanut butter and booked it back to make Clara go in and watch. She had a lot of cash in the pool for when those two finally knocked boots and she had no hesitation in playing dirty.