[dexter] domestic {debra/lundy} - english
OMG NO MERLIN? WHAT'S THIS?? World gone crazy, yes? XD
Fandom: Dexter
Title: Domestic
Characters: Debra, Lundy [Debra/Lundy]
Rating: PG15 | lots of sexyness suggestions?
Warnings: spoilers season 2.
Word Count: 551
Summary: He makes her breakfast everytime, the bastard.
Notes: For malana prompt: butterscotch @ VAGINA FEST: ROUND TWO | So, I kind of broke the moment because I fail at going further than this. But... anyway. Haven't seen season 3, just in case anybody feels the need to spoil me, I'll appreciate if you didn't, thank you.
He is always cooking when she wakes up -so domestic, she dares to think. She can smell breakfast before opening her eyes and hear his voice calling her from the kitchen (you can’t sleep forever, you know?). She moans and complains to the pillow -because he would roll his eyes (and he does). Eventually, she gets up and puts one of his shirts over her naked body.
It’s Sunday. “We aren’t working today,” she claims as she starts walking toward the kitchen. His laugh echoes in the department, and she leans on the doorframe of the corridor to watch him cook. He looks… busy. Maybe this is something she could get used to -as weird as she might though one day it would be. Wearing underwear and an old t-shirt he bakes eggs, bacon and pancakes. (So domestic, she remembers).
“Why on Earth would you wake me up so early, dumbass?” she asks, but doesn’t move. He finally looks up and at her -maybe not exactly up. She leans a bit more on the doorframe letting the shirt slid upwards (more flesh never hurt).
“I thought we could size the free day,” he explains, his eyes barely managing to look her in the face.
“Rite.” She rolls her eyes. “Bed seems like a perfect plan for me.”
“Of course,” she is in front of him by then, sitting on the counter and leaning towards him.
“Dumbass.” She kisses -she assaults him- like if that would bring him back to bed. Somehow, he manages to let go of her and she almost fells into the kitchen table. “What’re you cooking?” she asks, sitting in one of the stools (not making sure the shirt is wide open, of course not). “I mean…” she continues and point at the orange liquid in the glass bowl. “That’s not the usual”.
“Butterscotch” is all she gets as an answer.
“You are seriously weird today,” she complains and gets up. “You seriously need to be taught to seize the day” she mocks him and walks around the table until she can put her arms around her. “Like… playing with food. And taking breakfast” -as if she would believe it herself- “to bed.”
“I thought naughty girls were the ones that needing teaching,” he replies and turns on her arms, cupping her ass until her legs are around his waist and her hands on her neck (his mouth put into a better use on her neck).
He sits her on the kitchen table and bites her neck while making rid of the few buttons of his shirt she cared to button up. “I like butterscotch” she says then, her hands tangling on his hair, her lips wanting to come closer but his mouth on her breast making her bend backwards. “I…”
“Of course you do,” he says, and she can’t see it, but she feels the smile that spreads on his lips as he follows his way down. She can imagine the naughty look on his face and it only helps her to want more. Dumbass, she thinks -she would say, if she could.
He is always cooking when she wakes up -and some days, when they stay in and use the house as bed, she doesn’t really mind. Maybe, she’ll ‘cook’ him sometime, but never before nine.
Fandom: Dexter
Title: Domestic
Characters: Debra, Lundy [Debra/Lundy]
Rating: PG15 | lots of sexyness suggestions?
Warnings: spoilers season 2.
Word Count: 551
Summary: He makes her breakfast everytime, the bastard.
Notes: For malana prompt: butterscotch @ VAGINA FEST: ROUND TWO | So, I kind of broke the moment because I fail at going further than this. But... anyway. Haven't seen season 3, just in case anybody feels the need to spoil me, I'll appreciate if you didn't, thank you.
He is always cooking when she wakes up -so domestic, she dares to think. She can smell breakfast before opening her eyes and hear his voice calling her from the kitchen (you can’t sleep forever, you know?). She moans and complains to the pillow -because he would roll his eyes (and he does). Eventually, she gets up and puts one of his shirts over her naked body.
It’s Sunday. “We aren’t working today,” she claims as she starts walking toward the kitchen. His laugh echoes in the department, and she leans on the doorframe of the corridor to watch him cook. He looks… busy. Maybe this is something she could get used to -as weird as she might though one day it would be. Wearing underwear and an old t-shirt he bakes eggs, bacon and pancakes. (So domestic, she remembers).
“Why on Earth would you wake me up so early, dumbass?” she asks, but doesn’t move. He finally looks up and at her -maybe not exactly up. She leans a bit more on the doorframe letting the shirt slid upwards (more flesh never hurt).
“I thought we could size the free day,” he explains, his eyes barely managing to look her in the face.
“Rite.” She rolls her eyes. “Bed seems like a perfect plan for me.”
“Of course,” she is in front of him by then, sitting on the counter and leaning towards him.
“Dumbass.” She kisses -she assaults him- like if that would bring him back to bed. Somehow, he manages to let go of her and she almost fells into the kitchen table. “What’re you cooking?” she asks, sitting in one of the stools (not making sure the shirt is wide open, of course not). “I mean…” she continues and point at the orange liquid in the glass bowl. “That’s not the usual”.
“Butterscotch” is all she gets as an answer.
“You are seriously weird today,” she complains and gets up. “You seriously need to be taught to seize the day” she mocks him and walks around the table until she can put her arms around her. “Like… playing with food. And taking breakfast” -as if she would believe it herself- “to bed.”
“I thought naughty girls were the ones that needing teaching,” he replies and turns on her arms, cupping her ass until her legs are around his waist and her hands on her neck (his mouth put into a better use on her neck).
He sits her on the kitchen table and bites her neck while making rid of the few buttons of his shirt she cared to button up. “I like butterscotch” she says then, her hands tangling on his hair, her lips wanting to come closer but his mouth on her breast making her bend backwards. “I…”
“Of course you do,” he says, and she can’t see it, but she feels the smile that spreads on his lips as he follows his way down. She can imagine the naughty look on his face and it only helps her to want more. Dumbass, she thinks -she would say, if she could.
He is always cooking when she wakes up -and some days, when they stay in and use the house as bed, she doesn’t really mind. Maybe, she’ll ‘cook’ him sometime, but never before nine.