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Black rimmed glasses slid easily into a mess of blonde, dark brown eyes feeling the pull of the Sandman as she allowed her chin to rest easily in the curve of her hand.
A side-eye to the clock pulled a groan from her chest and she reached for the holy grail of peacekeepers, only to find the mug cold and empty.
Staring at the gaping emptiness of it, unbelieving, her gaze shifted to the door, then back to the cup, wondering just how much longer he was going to make her wait.
***
In San Diego, the scent of coffee had been light, airy, and full of sunshine each day, no different than the city itself.
Settling herself on the weathered wooden porch each morning, ocean waves and the sun had greeted her, a sugar drenched dark roast starting off each day with caffeine’s sweet kiss.
The transfer to D.C. had jarred her senses, rattling her bones when she drew in an anxious breath. It had been a move born of necessity, and accompanied by fear. This new city, this concrete jungle, 3000 hard miles from her comfort zone, was a different beast, more frenzied, more tenacious, more crazed.
The coffee was different, too. But somewhere in the midst of a hurricane, salt water had unknowingly found its doppelgänger in an infusion of sawdust and it calmed her the same.
Whether it was a late-in-the-evening fuel that landed on her desk, a silent ask from a desperate agent hoping for a lead…
Or a middle of the day pick-me-up that tapped into her misfiring neurons, the scent of wood grain drawing her lips to his cheek in thanks….
Or perhaps her favorite coffee scent was the one that was accompanied by a fireplace, a quiet evening, and an even quieter man.
But no matter the time, no matter the circumstance, it was always accompanied by the bottomless sea blue eyes that quelled her fears like the roll of the California waves.
***
In the beginning, she was untrusting, wary that a stranger could replicate the aroma that breathed life into her each day.
Had coffee been gifted to her before? Had it been gifted by men who thought they knew her? By men who thought they had paid enough attention to get the most minute detail correct?
It had.
But like a forger's reproduction, each cup had always been just this side of flawed; one spoonful of sugar too much and it was worthless; one spoonful too little and it caused her to sputter and crinkle her nose.
Until the maddening dichotomy of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
Each piping hot diner blend that made its way to her desk was sweetened to perfection, announcing its aroma a full thirty seconds before it appeared, a direct contrast to the man who carried it.
And while she knew his observational skills were on point, she would forever be in awe at the perfection that lay swirling beneath the black plastic lid, each and every time.
***
“You’re late.”
“Didn’t know we had an appointment.”
“I was ready for that coffee forty-five minutes ago,” she teased, a feline stretch pushing her arms above her head. “You didn’t catch the bat signal?”
He shrugged, handing over a cup with her name scrawled in black permanent marker.
“Traffic.”
One eyebrow lifted, her eyes drifting to the clock on the wall, its soft ticking a nod to the late hour, but she stayed silent.
Carefully prying off the lid, she sighed as she lifted the steaming liquid, drenching her lungs with an aromatic harmony that was a perfect complement to her weariness.
If anyone ever questioned why he did it, they would have to look no further than a moment like this. Jack’s eyes drifted shut as she tasted the sweetened steam before giving in.
“Mmm…Elaine outdid herself tonight.”
Gibbs chuckled softly, his long fingers wrapping around his own cup, allowing him to observe her behind his sip.
Even though he knew their favorite waitress would allow no less than perfection for her favorite customers, he still didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. The truth that her sweetened version of Jack’s coffee only carried half the hedonism the blonde censured it with.
Filed away in his memory was that first night she had left a swallow of dark roast in her cup. He often wondered how long she had stayed after he'd left, lingered over the coffee before disappearing into the rainswept night.
Hours later he had returned to an empty house to see the coffee mugs still holding space at the table, her scent still somehow clinging to the air, a soft reminder of both the woman and the desire that had yanked his attention from his lips to somewhere well south of his belt loops.
He had finished off the last of it, if for no other reason than to be able to place his lips where hers had been, a placeholder in the likely event he'd never have the privilege of tasting them himself. And among his self-indulgence, he committed the recipe to memory; five parts sugar to one part coffee.
So on the days that the coffee came from Elaine, he made a pit stop at his desk, carefully lifting the lid, allowing the aroma to fill his lungs, easily gauging the amount of sweetener required to complete the bitter to sweet ratio. Surreptitiously a bag of sugar would appear, along with a smirk from Bishop, as spoonfuls disappeared into the dark liquid.
And so it was with today’s offering, though he'd never admit that his lateness had nothing to do with traffic and everything to do with an empty bag of sugar in his desk drawer. An empty bag which had sent him back out into the DC night, searching for the balance to her bitter brew.
But any petulance at his after-hours scavenger hunt was wiped away by the way her lips curled into a smile as she took a deep swallow. And suddenly he wanted to taste for himself.
Suddenly he was tired of his heart playing second fiddle to his brain; tired of the curiosity that her lips baited him with; tired of wondering how long the sweetener lingered on her tongue.
He was startled to discover his want -his need- had finally pulled loose the threads of his defenses.
She must have caught the unintended hitch in his breath, because her eyes suddenly fluttered open, her voice startling him.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
He waited a beat before answering, as if weighing his options. “Gonna need to see that penny first.”
Her laughter dislodged something in his chest and it was the release he’d been searching for all damn day.
She feigned offense as she stood, rounding the corner of her desk. “You don’t think I’m good for it?”
A smirk licked deliciously across his lips and she knew shark infested waters when she saw them. But no one ever accused her of playing it safe. She’d swan dive into a whole damn tank if it meant that the smile stayed in his eyes just a half second longer.
Standing on tiptoes, warm lips grazed his cheek on a path to his ear, her words teasing into a whisper. “How about a down payment?”
Careful not to spill his coffee, he gave a one handed push on her hips until he felt her heels hit the carpet as his head angled closer. “Y’know I’d tell ya for free.”
“Oh I like this payment system much bet-.”
Her words disappeared beneath his kiss and all playfulness disintegrated into lips that were soft and warm and carried the taste of a forgotten cup of coffee. And while his mouth felt steady and sure beneath hers, the breath she drew in was one of uncertainty.
Slim fingers found a landing spot on his chest, an attempt to balance the precariousness of her racing heart as the kiss deepened.
Tasting her hesitancy, he felt a moment's regret over his timing and pulled back, his grip on her waist slackening enough to be noticed. But she was having none of it, parting her lips under his and giving a firm tug of approval against his lapels.
It was fresh-faced but oddly familiar, hungry yet searching, her taste carrying with it a notion that she had lived a thousand lifetimes inside of him already.
And suddenly he wondered why he had waited so long to find out for himself. Suddenly it occurred to him that maybe his coffee was missing something sweeter. Or maybe just his life.
The press of her mouth, the trace of her tongue, unwound his whole damn spool of desire in a matter of seconds. And suddenly he was 15-years-old again, sweaty palms, nervous stomach, wondering if the girl beneath his lips wanted him half as badly as he wanted her.
He refused to allow the kiss to end, not fully, instead extending it to smaller ones, each a half second shorter than the last, until there was a whisper between them and a viscosity to the air around them.
Clearing her throat, but failing to be rid of the raspiness, she pulled back slightly. “Well?”
Well? He lifted one eyebrow in curiosity. She lifted one of hers in return.
Well? ‘The hell was she after? A ten out of ten from the judges table? He certainly wasn’t in the habit of giving first base commentaries.
A tap on his chin pulled him back to the present.
“Pretty sure that was worth more than a penny.”
Her reference to his aforementioned train of thought finally connected. “Like a dog with a bone, huh?”
“I promise your thoughts are safe with me,” she said with a two-fingered cross over her heart.
He relented, shrugging as he pulled a long swallow from his neglected drink. “I was thinking you’d look a lot better drinking coffee in my kitchen.”
The statement caused her brow to furrow as she reached for her own cup, mindful that their shared love of caffeine had leant itself to his outdated kitchen on more than one occasion.
Blue eyes caught her confusion, recognizing the need for an amendment.
“Was thinking you’d look a lot better drinking it in my kitchen… tomorrow morning .”
To Jack’s credit, she did manage to finish her sip without choking, the spike of heat she felt at his brazenness not nearly as surprising as the tightened pants pressed against her thigh.
Brown eyes flicked downward with the hint of a tease. “That’s a pretty big… ask… for such a small cup of coffee, Cowboy.”
“That anything like ‘Size doesn’t matter ?’”
She laughed at the glint in his eyes, feeling a playful squeeze at her hip. “Quality over quantity?”, she volleyed back.
“Just a cup of coffee, Sloane.”
A grin teased across her features. “Yea? Got some oceanfront property in Arizona you’d like to sell me, too?”
Chuckling, he released his hold on her, watching as she made quick work of packing files away, tapping at a few computer keys before reaching for her purse and rounding the desk once more.
His hand found the small of her back. “Brochures layin’ next to the coffee pot.”
Her laughter filled the room as she allowed herself to be guided towards the exit. “That better be one a helluva sales pitch, Marine.”
Gibbs tugged at the back of her dress, halting them in the doorway, his tone feigning offense.
“Sloane. The coffee is the sales pitch.”
“Mmmm… in that case,” she said, on tiptoes again to reach his waiting lips. “We should probably get started on that down payment.”