Chapter Text
“Bit of a head rush, that was,” said the Doctor. Setting the cafetière on the kitchen table, she kissed the top of Yaz’s head. “Long night.” It wasn’t the Doctor’s first encounter with accidentally handling alien hallucinogens, but it was a wave of paranoia, well into the wee hours. Ruddy traffickers trying to give them the slip. Fortunately, the contact dosage was a mere touch of the spores, mostly harmless once it cycled out, but it took its toll on Yaz, and they spent the whole morning recovering in bed, the Doctor tracing circles on her skin as she waited. Hence, coffee was a necessity.
Almost like tea, cafetière, thought the Doctor, watching the black grounds tumble in the darkening water. (Americans called it a French press, she remembered, apt, but on the nose, like the way they called chips fries.) Pressing the plunger was her favorite part; that satisfying compress of the grounds against the bottom of the glass, the small puff of coffee silt in a lighter brown. But before she could, Yaz pulled her in by her collar.
“Doctor,” said Yaz seriously, her eyes still soft from waking. “Forgetting something?”
“Right you are,” the Doctor agreed. Over the weeks, Yaz had gotten bolder about asking, but it was all still an adjustment period. And she leaned in to kiss Yaz gently at first, Yaz responding with warm enthusiasm, which sent the soles of the Doctor’s feet tingling. She pressed her fingertips against Yaz’s sternum, breaking off before she got too carried away. “Good morning,” she murmured, nudging her forehead against Yaz’s before returning her attention to the coffee. She poured them both a mugful, and proceeded to dump sugar into her own.
“I heard someone somewhere say coffee is sexy,” said Yaz, stirring cream into hers. The spoon clanked against the mug as it circled, scraping the ceramic. “Probably one of those slogans they slap on cups and t-shirts and stuff.”
The Doctor slowly tucked her live, laugh love tea towel under the press. “Might be. Thought I heard HG Wells declare summat like that, explains why she had so many ideas, even if she got time travel wrong.”
“She? HG Wells was a woman?”
“But yes, you’re both right, coffee is sexy,” continued the Doctor, not at all elaborating. She slurped. It was a flavor she could only describe as brown, the natural oils of the beans forming a fine reddish froth on the creamy surface. She’d sugared it just the right amount and it was a fuller flavor than tea, heavier on her tongue. Yaz shook her head, distracted by the way the Doctor’s cheeks flushed when their eyes met.