A/N: The following slice of crackfic was borne in a PM with valelf in a fit of whimsy and a desperate need for caffeine. Hope it makes you smile.

All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer. There are no Twilighted vamps here, but since the story was inspired by fanfic about her work, I'm making sure to mention her here. :) I am not messing with her intellectual property, but just with a concept.

It was a perfect job, really. A perfect cover. He arrived to work before the sun cleared the horizon, uniform shirt meticulous, a welcoming light in his coffee-brown gaze that was not too warm, but warm enough. "Good morning, Letty!" he called as he slipped the apron on over his shirt. "Did you have a good evening?"

Letty, an attractive woman in her early forties, grinned, deepening the crow's feet around her eyes. She had spent her first three decades in the desert sun before moving to Seattle, and the exposure showed in her permanently tanned skin. "I really did. The new season of NCIS started last night, you know. My favorite show." She tied her own apron into a neat canvas bow behind her. "And what about you, Tony?"

Anthony. My name's Anthony. He thought it, but didn't say that out loud. No point. His badge said it, and that was the best he could do. "Pretty good night. Went to a movie. Saw that new Marvel Comic one." He was a guy in his twenties, in terms of appearance. Seeing Iron Man II was perfectly legitimate. It was just a way to kill time, really. Kill time until his shift this morning, when he could slake the burn in his throat. Slake it with something aromatic. Perfect. Stimulating.

Letty nodded in her maternal fashion – Anthony could not express how relieved he was to be on shift with her rather than some of his other coworkers – and ducked into the stock room. "We got a new blend in, looks like. Becca the Manager wants us to set it up as our daily today."

Rebecca Rodriguez was called Becca the Manager to distinguish her from Becca Milton, who was a newbie. Anthony was not interested in nomenclature, however. He was only interested in one thing.

"Is it Columbian?"

"African. Red label."

Anthony felt a nearly sensual jolt through his entire body. He took two involuntary steps toward the Employees Only door, his senses moving ahead of him. Fingers twitching, he swallowed against the burn in his throat. Before he was truly ready, Letty sliced open the five-pound bag of roasted coffee beans and Anthony almost lost his composure, right there behind the counter.

So...rich. So...redolent. So...resonant with every cell of his body. With a growl that started deep in his chest, he lunged at Letty as she was reaching to pour the contents of the red foil-shiny bag into the grinder. She cried out, but he was past caring. All he could focus on was that aroma. Intoxicating. He pushed his coworker roughly out of his way, securing the nearly-full bag in his powerful white grip. Practically unhinging his jaw, he tilted his head back and poured the roasted beans into his mouth until he could hold no more.

Then, his eyelids fluttered as he sunk, satiated, to the ceramic tiled floor. Chewing. Luxuriating in the sheer pleasure of the roast. Of the bean. Of the flavor that exploded in his mouth and soothed the burn in his throat.

He was an espressopire and this was the best coffee he'd smelled in a century.