Hullo! It's me your er... Wonderful barista. 

As you may know, the fourth of September has come and gone and your libations are late! 

And shorter than normal! 

And I only gave you a lemon for Lucifer's sakes -you must be livid! 
And so for that, I deeply apologize. My muse has been a tad bit fickle as of late.

However I do bring you good news as recompense. You will have a most satisfying potion this coming Friday as my experimenting with my clicking brew machine produced a number of exciting ideas that I think you'll enjoy. 

And more than that you get two posts this week! 

-Cue happy screams of the damned- 

But this experimental group will be a bit stranger than the brews you've had from me before. So, while you wait for them to arrive I hope you offer me your patience and enjoy the other warm potations I've made for you <3 

Brewing hot smut takes a bit more time than tea after all. 

CW: slight non-con, humiliation

Not so far off into the future, but sitting beneath a different sky; one young woman, who by her own admission would have rather been asleep, sat dutifully across at her work desk with her face pressed up against the screen and tablet pen clutched tight in hand.

A commission artist, dutifully dressed in her uniform. Tangled, dark brown hair that hadn’t seen a brush in a good while, tumbled over small brown, shoulders; a faded, old, and oversized gray top with “The Sunny State” printed in bubbled blue lettering and little else. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she contemplated her latest assignment. 

Four days ago she’d gotten the request through Hublr, the strange love child social media site made from a pair of earth-based companies merging a few years ago. The request read: 

Ever vigilant, the artist pressed for details. For her troubles she got a full color and shading, a better description of the scenario, and an unwanted reference photo to use on the fifty dollar commission. 

Considering how much effort it’d taken to get the lady to say what she wanted, the sleep-deprived scribbler was a bit frustrated with herself for letting the awkward woman haggle her down from her normal seventy; but she needed the practice anyway. Honeymoon or not, she’d promised her readers a new page of her comic by next month and she’d be damned if she had to read another, “why’s the cum look so weird” comment at the bottom of her babies.

“I suppose I should be happy I’m getting paid for this at all.” She grumbled, furiously shrinking a blob of cum into oblivion with her eraser tool.

“Well that doesn’t sound like a very confident artist.” Said a yawning voice from behind. 

Startled out of her focus, the porn artist knocked over her sketchbook and flung her pen across the room. 

The voice laughed at this and as the artist whirled around in her chair to see her snickering audience, the frown on her face slipped into a sheepish look of shame as the speaker came into view.  A young woman with dark red hair, coffee brown skin, and blue eyes; in little more than socks and a black shirt who’s hem hovered around her hips and otherwise matched the artist’s own. 

“I thought we agreed, nothing but house work on the honeymoon.” Her wife teased, drawing close with a large and steaming mug of coffee. 

“What, this? This s’not work.” The artist sputtered while as the hot cup clacked into a resting position against her work desk. “It’s practice.”

Safira snorted and leaned over the raveonettes chair so her breasts pressed against the smaller woman’s neck. “Mmh, awfully high quality for a practice sketch this early in the morning, kitten.” 

“Quality my ass, I won’t be surprised if they stiff me-” She griped, then stopped short, caught in her lie. “Er-”

“Well then you won’t mind taking a little break then will you?” Safira said, leaning closer to murmur into the shorter woman’s ear.

The corner of the artist's mouth twitched. “We ah, kinda took a long break last night didn’t we?” She asked, and pulled Safira’s coffee to her lips and sipped the hot liquid.

In response, blue nails on brown skin slid beneath the raveonette’s shirt, running warm fingers across the short woman’s navel and drawing a shiver and soft moan from her full lips. 

“That doesn’t necessarily mean we need to stop, Hon-” The redhead stammered for a moment as the memory of fingers, and sweaty, slick, and desperate hips from last night returned to her mind. 

A deep grin stretched across Safira’s rosy pink lips.

“Hey space cadet.” Came the artist’s voice, snapping the woman back to the present. “Earth to horn dog, you still there?”

Safira’s grin bloomed into a toothy smile as her wife spoke, and then slid into a playful frown as her face flushed. “I thought you were the anxious one, Cy.” She asked.

“Maybe?” Cynaeh said, drawing out the word teasingly; and with the sun peeking through the window in the kitchen, the light caught on her eyelashes and lips, making them shimmer. 

Safira also grinned. “Cutie.”She said like an accusation, then tilted her face and leaned forward for a kiss. 

The raveonette returned it, and their lips locked and met in soft harmony. This lasted for what felt longer than a full minute before the artist spoke up again, breaking the kiss for air.

“Mhmm… Babe, lemme work-.” Cyneah said, turning away and reaching for her wife’s coffee mug.

Safira set her hand over the mug’s mouth and pulled the woman in again, chastising her between breaths. “It’s four in the morning and you need your sleep more than work. Besides, no working on the honeymoon.” She answered back, pointedly. 

Then, pulling the steaming mug away and placing on the desk again, Safira spun the raveonette’s chair around so it faced her and then dropped to her knees.

“Ah! H-hey! This is not sleep-Hey! Watch it!” The raveonette protested weakly while the redhead made short work of planting hot and soft kisses against the inside of the Cyneah’s cold legs; pulling them open and up like slender, brown poles while she attacked them with laughter, lips, and tongue.

After an awkward tug nearly dumped the raveonette from the chair, “We’re not fucking if you make me break my ass trying to weasel me out of this chair!” Cyneah pushed the ravenous woman away, and back onto her behind.

Without moving, and cracking a coy grin, Safira asked, “So then, we are fucking?” 

“... I said what I said. ” The artist mumbled, burshing her tangled locks away from her green eyes.

“You could just say it, we’re not in the back of a movie theatre anymore,” Safira mocked her, then pulled herself up the girl’s chair with the raveonette’s legs spread and set to rest on either side of her waist. Then, leaning close so their lips brushed as the redhead spoke again; “Are we fucking or what?” Fluttered across the woman’s mouth and Safira reached around behind the artist and grasped soft brown cheeks with both hands. 

At this the raveonette’s face flushed again, more profusely this time, then tensed and sucked in a sharp breath. Finally, a muffled squeak sounded from behind her hand, and her legs locked and wrapped tight around the Safira’s waist.

The grin on Safira’s face turned from cheeky to wicked. 

While the shorter woman panted and turned away from the redhead’s gaze in her arms, Safira let her hands slide away from the artist’s butt and settled for gently holding her waist.

When it looked like her wife had caught her breath again, the redhead used one hand to pull the raveonette’s hand away from her face. 

“Did you… Did you cum just then?” She asked; and barely contained laugh threatened to bubble up from her lips.

“Shut up.”