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English
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Part 2 of prompt fills & ficlets
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Published:
2023-03-26
Words:
930
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1/1
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5
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Sauce

Summary:

Prompt fill: "Neck Kisses"
----
“Barbara Howard, if you don’t get out of my kitchen…” Melissa didn’t turn away from her pan, but she did point her spatula at her in a threatening manner.

Barbara chuckled, creeping up behind her at the stove. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

“Barbara Howard, if you don’t get out of my kitchen…” Melissa didn’t turn away from her pan, but she did point her spatula at her in a threatening manner.

Barbara chuckled, creeping up behind her at the stove.

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Oh, I bet you will.”

Two strong hands made their way to Melissa’s hips, followed by a warm body pressed against her back. She pressed her hips back into her instinctively, but caught herself. She was busy.

“Barb.” 

“Have I told you before that you look cute in an apron?” She rested her chin on Melissa’s shoulder, watching her work, fingers creeping to toy with the apron tie at her waist. 

“I look cute in everything.” she deflected, but still loved it all the same.

“Yes, you do.”

The hands on her waist lifted up her shirt, just a little, her fingertips settling just above the waistband of her pants, drawing small, lazy circles against the skin of her belly, nails and all. It sent a shiver up her spine. She tried to ignore it. Concentrate on what she was doing.

“Is this the six hour sauce?”

“Seven. Yeah. It’ll be ready to go in the oven soon.”

“How soon?”

“Five minutes or so. It’s nearly done.”

“I can work with that.” Hot, suddenly, against the shell of her ear, followed by a wet kiss just below it in the hollow just beneath. Fuck. “You can’t go anywhere, right?”

Oh. You bitch. “No, kinda chained to the stove.” As you apparently know.

“Good.”

Her mouth set a trail down the column of her throat, settling in that one spot near her collarbone that had Melissa gripping her counter with her free hand like a fuckin’ lifering. One of her hands travelled up, up, under her shirt to the cup of her bra. Just resting there, holding her still against the heat of Barbara’s body.

“This ok?” She whispered, soft, into the skin of her shoulder. Always checking in.

If you stop I’ll kill you with this spatula. “Yeah,” she managed to say, 'cause that’s all she could manage, her brain already working overtime to focus on two tasks, so a third - talking - was really pushing it.

“Good.” The kisses, again, with teeth, in that damn spot that had her nearly losing her balance. The hand slipped down to hold her up by the ribs. “Careful. I’ve got you.”

Yeah, I know.

Melissa leaned back into her with purpose, full acceptance, enough to support her weight, but still tried to focus on putting in the last of the seasonings: salt, pepper, oregano. She brought a spoon to her mouth to taste it, just as Barbara’s other hand slid down below the waistband of her leggings, cupping her over her underwear.

The combination of the sauce on her tongue, her mouth on her neck, and her hand on her cunt was… new. It was heady,  decadent, damn near overstimulating. Had her toes curling. She moaned around the metal, nearly bit down on it.

“I love how you take care of me, Melissa.” Her voice, a low rumble, between kisses to her throat, “Seven whole hours of cooking, all this effort, just for me. You’re so good to me.” 

The praise on it, the truth in it, shot straight between her legs like an extra hand, joining the fingers stroking the length of her through thin, wet, cotton. 

Cooking? Sauce. The fucking sauce.

She tore her eyes open, which she didn’t even realize had slammed shut, and with a shaking hand added more pepper, tasted it again.

Barbara hummed into her neck as she stroked her, finding her clit just as the sauce hit her mouth. She made a guttural, animal noise. Everything was too much. The sauce was perfect, rich, tart, sweet. Her hand was perfect, her mouth on her neck was perfect, Barbara was perfect.

The spoon fell to the floor with a clatter. Couldn't take any more. She chased Barbara's fingers with her hips with an unfocused, frantic rhythm, pulled back her arm to touch Barbara’s hair, needed to touch her, feel her, and to bring her closer to her throat, don't stop.

“Please.” It came out of her, from somewhere, a desperate noise.

“I’m here, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” She slipped her hand past her underwear and finally, finally, fucked into her, pressed her palm down on her clit in the cramped space of her clothing, adding friction as her fingers worked, curling inside her just-so. Melissa let her head fall back onto Barbara’s shoulder as she rode her, burning her open, filling her out, the wet sound of it in her kitchen doing things to her that she couldn’t name, crying out.

She was so so close, gripped the counter for dear life, could taste iron in her mouth, could taste tomato and onion and garlic and butter and and and and

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you.”

It was enough, it was everything, she fell into it, coming full-bodied, damn near collapsing to the kitchen tile. But Barbara held her through it, fucked her through it, slowly, carefully, until she fully relaxed in her arms, a panting, sweaty mess.

When she could move again, breathe again, think again, she turned down the stove, turned in Barbara’s arms and wordlessly stalked her backwards to the kitchen island, her hand still pinned between their bodies. Still fully clothed. Her apron still on. 

She kissed her, finally, frantically. Hoped she could taste what she tasted. All the love she'd put in it.

Notes:

This was a requested ficlet prompt from the soft prompt meme created by @aboldclaim on tumblr.
Is this soft? I don't know but it's soft to Me!!!!!

Prompts currently still open, so please don't hestitate to send me an ask on Tumblr at @gatalentan!

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