Work Text:
Julian sang under his breath, a soft, delicate Nevic melody, while he ran coffee beans through the hand mill. The weather had been unusually cold lately—for Vesuvia, at least. He and Iris felt it wasn’t all that cold, perhaps just chilly, bordering on frosty. Definitely nothing near proper winter temperatures. But, the fact remained that it was chilly out, bordering on frosty, and Iris was walking around the city delivering orders and picking up supplies, and Julian wanted to have a steaming mug of something hearty for her when she came home, and he could think of nothing warmer nor more fortifying than a good cup of coffee.
So, he ground the beans, tipped them into the glass pot, added the water when it had boiled. Stirred. Waited. Pushed down the pot’s little plunger and poured two mugs of oily, black coffee.
He added cream and sugar to one of the mugs then carried both into the sitting room and set them on the low table in front of the sofa, stopping to stoke the fire before plunking himself down on the sofa. He took up one of the mugs and downed a great glug, sighing in contentment. Kicking his feet up, he rested them on the table, snugging down into the old sofa’s sagging brocade cushions, then fetched his book out from beneath hers where they’d left them on the table and settled in to wait for his beloved’s return.
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It is an herb of Venus. Dioscorides saith it hath a healing, binding and drying quality, and therefore the juice taken in vinegar, stays bleeding: It stirs up venery, or bodily lust; two or three branches thereof taken in the juice of four pomegranates, stays the hiccough, vomiting, and allays the choler…
…Julian startled, looking up from his book at the sound of the bell for the downstairs door—the shop door. Iris hadn’t mentioned anyone was supposed to be coming by. The bell rang again, followed by the thud of urgent knocking, and Julian leapt to his feet to bolt down the stairs; he threw open the door, only to be greeted by a stack of bundles and packages, with bits of person sticking out from behind the pile. His “Welcome to In Purpura Magicae; the proprietress is out, may I help you?” trailed off into nothing as he spied Iris’s inky green-blue curls peeking out from the top of the lot.
“Flower, you’re home! Here, let me help with those.” He carefully took package after package from Iris’s arms before ushering her into the shop and kicking the door shut behind them.
“Ugh, thank you, jewel, I didn’t think I was gonna be able to hold all that a minute more,” Iris sighed in reply. She set the remaining items she held on the counter, locked the shop door, and took off her large shawl, hanging it on a nearby peg. “I can’t wait to sit down—my hip is killing me.”
“Ah, then wait no longer, my beloved!” Julian cried. He abandoned his armful on the counter as well, scooping Iris into a bridal carry the moment his arms were empty, kissing her temple, nuzzling into her hair while he carried her upstairs, breathing in her scent as he did, that dark, sweet fragrance of oud and roses. The chill from outside still clung to her hair, her skin, as he deposited her on the sofa; it made her smell crisp, cold, with something green lingering just around the edges. It smelled…not like her, no, but it suited her, fit her like a glove. The more he thought about it, it smelled a bit like: “Peppermint?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“Hm? Oh! Yes, someone in the market was selling bouquets of peppermint and snowdrops to celebrate the season,” Iris told him. “I may have bought one or two. And some peppermint tea, since we’re almost out. I also got some mint sweets for the shop to include with this season’s deliveries. Along with some peppermint hot chocolate bombs for Portia—she’s gonna be so excited!—and a small mint cake for us for after supper.” She hid her sheepish blush in Julian’s chest, just under his collarbone.
He chuckled, warm and sonorous (he would later muse about the way the sound contrasted beautifully with Iris’s cold, peppermint-frosted fragrance), and set her down on the sofa. Returning to his reading spot, he passed her the mug of coffee he’d made for her. “I always forget how much you adore mint,” he said sweetly, a warm, besotted grin spreading over his face.
Iris gave a small giggle in response and sipped at her coffee, slouching against Julian and kissing his cheek, her lips still cool where they pressed to his skin, when he wrapped his arm around her. “I may love it,” she said, “but not nearly as much as I love you, Julian.”