A/N:Mmm… crack pairings are the best. Sasuke ponders the virtues of coffee and his lover.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
He was an early riser. He always had been, and probably always would. It wasn't because he was a morning person, or because his biological clock was just wired that way – he never found out really.
No, he rose early each and every morning, each and every day of his life because he had to. When he was younger, it was so he could tag along with aniki to the training grounds to watch him train and beg a few pointers. Later, it was to greedily suck up every moment he possibly could so he wouldn't waste time – every minute spent training would make him stronger, and lead him closer to Itachi – Avengers did not luxuriate, they did not have the time to indulge in petty slumber. Each moment he spent in his bed with his eyes shut was a moment lost in being an Avenger.
Long years of early risings had cemented the habit permanently in him now, and it was only secondary nature to rise early. He still trained in the morning, but it didn't mean that it was easy to stay completely awake either – Avengers are, after all, human.
Now that he had the time to indulge in the silence of sanity and have some peace of mind and pace, he found himself making coffee in the mornings. It kept him awake, and he enjoyed its taste.
He drank it dark. Sometimes if he felt indulgent he would add some milk and sugar, but he kept it black most of the time. It stayed true to the flavor of the bean, bitter and dark and rich in its aroma and warmth. The way Sakura drank it made him gag – it was too much like her and Dobe; overly sweet and light, it was practically milk.
Tenten didn't drink her coffee black, not unless she was exceptionally tired, but out of all the kunoichi, her taste was closest to his. Her mug was always a dark brown that matched the depths of her eyes and pulled back hair. When she did let her hair down, all he could think about when running his fingers through the dark cascades was coffee.
Her eyes were a dark brown that invited him to savor its depths, much like the pot he was brewing right now. They shone and twinkled at him. Many had admired the beautiful sky blue of Ino's gaze, or the springtime green of Sakura's eyes, or the lavender pearl orbs of Hinata, or even the bewitching scarlet of Yuui Kurenai, but none of their unique colors held the sunny clarity of her eyes. Her eyes did not hold mysteries or intrigues – he had seen more than his share when under the Snake Sanin's wing and didn't care for them. But Tenten's eyes were open and honest.
For weren't Ino's eyes constantly gleaming in cold calculation and impatience? Sakura's green eyes were too watery and pale as she always seemed to be weeping, and the Hyuuga's were empty and held nothing in their blankness. Only her eyes contained the depth he wanted, the cheerful warmth that soothed him, and alternatively eased and invigorated him – like coffee.
Hearing the percolator go off, he took the pot and poured into two mugs. One was tall and slim, a slender shiny navy blue - he left that one as is, but poured some milk into the other, a shorter but wider matte light green, lightening the black brew into a dark brown.
His beloved is still sleeping. She was normally a morning person, but that didn't mean that even she needed to sleep in from time to time, particularly after a grueling mission or a hectic week. She is slumbering on her side, comforter and sheets in a tangle about her – those varying shades of blue- arm hanging off the side of the bed while the other clutches an armful of comforter, the pillow threatening to overwhelm her face.
He sits down where her torso curves in – between her tucked in arm and bent knees, and runs his hand along her side, following her rib cage to the dip of her waist before flaring out again at the hip (she always did have a fine silhouette) before burying his fingers into the thick hair at the nape of her neck, his lips brushing her bare shoulder.
Sleeping Beauty does not wake up gracefully today, she groans and tries to escape the administrations of his fingers and mouth – she can be quite grouchy when sleep deprived (or when she thought that she didn't have enough sleep), but the aroma of his dark roasted brew finally coaxes her.
She rolls over onto her back, smiling sleepily up at him "morning…" she says, voice croaking from slumber. He smiles in return and holds out her mug.
He decides in that moment, as she sits up, sheet tucked underneath her arms to cover her nudity (what did that matter? He had memorized every inch of that porcelain skin with his sharingan. She was only his to see), hair tumbling about her shoulders, that she is beautiful and that he won't share her with anyone else. But he doesn't tell her this, not yet at least. Instead he watches her over the rim of his mug as he drinks deep, watching with pleasure how her throat pulsates with life as she sips her coffee, remembering how wildly it had worked the night before as she chanted his name over and over again.
"What?" she asks him suspiciously, noticing him staring at her over his coffee cup, "never seen eye boogies before?" He just smiles and shakes his head before leaning forward to place a kiss on the corner of her mouth, "is your coffee okay?"
Her mouth splits into a crooked grin, as she brandishes a half empty mug, "you know I love how you make it best." He could only smirk at that, "good."