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"I should not allow myself to go so long without fluids."
Nikolai said it for the benefit of no one in particular; the ether swallowed his thought without so much as a hiccup in response. All the grunts were occupied - likely another one of those propaganda meetings, which he thankfully was not forced to attend - so he had to go fetch his water himself. It was just as well: he needed a break, and to stretch his legs.
Normally housing at least a few chattering grunts, the break room was a ghost town, lacking only a characteristic tumbleweed. Nikolai's shoes clopped loudly in the stark silence, and the creaking cupboard door interrupted it likewise. Mentioning the faucet would be redundant.
At this point, Nikolai expected to return to his lab and continue his work. But a sudden slurping noise made him jump, turning to the source in the corner. His pupils narrowed to pinpricks as the siren song reached him again, a familiar odor now teasing his nose along with it.
Coffee, freshly percolated.
"No." He had been doing so well: off the stuff for two long months. But now here it was, freely in front of him, with no one else around.
No one would know about their little liason.
"No! Not today!" he barked at the steaming pot, mostly for his own benefit. He turned on his heel, shoe squeaking. All he had to do was walk out that door, and go back to his lab with his nice, wholesome water.
Nikolai...
His breath hitched in his throat as a warm shudder worked its way down his spine. A voice like smooth velvet, tickling his ear. Calling.
Come now. Don't you miss me, Nikolai? It feels like years since we've been together like this.
He swallowed hard, throat a desert, summoning all his willpower not to turn around. His head defied him, looking back at the temptress lazing on the counter. Strong. Rich. Black. Just the sight alone was making every cell in his body quiver with unquenched need.
You know you want me inside you. Want me down your needy throat.
Oh, how the coffee knew. How easily he would go crawling back.
Who was he kidding? He craved it. Bitter fluid chewing on his tongue, warmth sliding down his throat, settling inside him, spreading through his body. The rush! The charge! The energy! When he was high on that nectar of the gods, my, but how he could wield the ten-thousand things and ride the six vital breaths!
Coffee was life. Coffee was oneness with the world. Coffee was good. Very good.
Coffee gooooooood.
The silence found itself broken by his twisting shoe again.
There's a good boy. Come now. Let's get that pure white lab coat of yours stained, just the way we used to.
Water forgotten, hurtling to the floor and only not causing a dangerous mess because the cup was not glass. That cup soon bounced off the opposite wall as he unknowingly kicked it, legs carrying him closer and closer to his long-lost lover. Oh yes. Yes. He needed this. He had earned it. Weeks of nonstop, hard work without it. Surely he deserved just - a little - taste...
A monochrome, checkered mug: the only vessel worthy of this pure Irish delight. He blew the dust out of his long-neglected mug, hands trembing with anticipation. Steady. Wouldn't want to spill a single drop. Slowly, gently, he eased the warm, wet, sinful drug into the cup, a positively-electric sensation jumping throughout his body, scouring for a place to escape.
Carafe safely back onto the burner. Raising the mug to his eager mouth. Savoring how close the warmth was...
So close...
"What's that?"
Only his firm grip prevented a tragedy as a sudden voice startled him out of his reverie. He hadn't noticed the grunt's approach. "Er... well..."
"Let me guess," she went on. "Coffee?"
His tongue traced his dry lips, yet made it no easier to speak. "No."
Boldly, the grunt reached out, taking hold of his mug and the sweet nectar within. This was not insubordination: she was under strict orders from Ghetsis himself, as were all the others. With a burst of despair and quiver of unfulfilled need, he relinquished the cup, watching sadly as she poured the coffee back into the carafe.
"Don't you have things you need to be doing?" she scolded.
"Perhaps."
The grunt resolutely pointed out the door. Head hanging, he trudged out of the break room. One attempt to look again upon the sumptuous drink, but she would have none of it and stood in his way.
With a dejected sigh which had no effect on the grunt, he made his way back to his lab with neither cup of water nor mug of coffee. The metal door swung closed with a slam, and he shambled back to the blueprints for Kyurem's storage unit. An exaggerated lean over them, sweat dampening his brow, and then a quick glance around the lab. Empty and desolate.
Excellent.
His hand snaked into his coat pocket and extracted the thermos hidden there: the grunt had failed to frisk him, as expected. With the top swiftly removed, he was once again greeted by the salacious scent of his beloved, a mad grin spreading involuntarily across his face. Fuck staying clean.
"Shall we, my sweet?"
For the next six hours, chaos reigned over the Plasma Frigate, and nothing else.
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