Fic: "Raspberry Swirl"
Title: Raspberry Swirl
Summary/Prompt: Something with Cait and that sangria and some heinously rich baked goods would be awesome. Ship of your choice or gen, either way.
Pairing: Cait/Phil
Rating: PG-13ish?
Content Advisory: This fic is not vegan, vegetarian, low-calorie, low-fat, or gluten-free.
Word Count: 600
Notes: For boosette: shameless, fluff-tastic food porn. :) It sort of fits into a "***" section in my oc_bigbang but that won't be posted until later, so it's just a random interlude on earth. Title shamelessly filched from Tori Amos. Also: brownie recipe, sangria recipe.
Phil came into the kitchen, attempting to flatten his hair into something resembling order. Cait was standing at the counter, mixing what looked like melted chocolate into a pile of flour. It smelled amazing, though--chocolate, vanilla, and, if he wasn't mistaken, coffee. (And he was rarely mistaken about coffee.) "What are you making?" he asked.
Cait looked up. "Phil, I'm pretty sure that is the ugliest bathrobe in the galaxy."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not wearing it to seduce you, Cait." That cat was pretty firmly out of the bag, considering how they'd spent all of last night. And the early part of that morning. Also, all she was wearing was one of his old Starfleet Medical t-shirts. "Cake?"
"No, brownies," she said. "Double-chocolate espresso brownies."
He reached around her, stuck his index finger in the batter, ignoring her indignant, "Hey!" and dabbed it onto her neck, exposed when she'd tied her hair up in anticipation of cooking. He licked the chocolate off of her skin, sucking briefly to make sure he'd gotten all of it.
She shivered, but reached back and smacked him on the arm. "You're lucky I haven't showered yet."
Yes. Yes, he was. "You still smell like us," he said, inhaling.
Cait sighed, but elbowed him until he gave her a little more room. Spreading the brownie batter out in a pan, she popped it in the oven and set the timer.
"What's all this for?" he asked.
She gave him a look. "Chris and One are coming by this afternoon. I thought I'd cook."
"Oh." He'd thought when she said she'd cook that perhaps she'd throw something on the grill and order in the rest, but he did have a decent kitchen. "So what are we having?"
"Brownies, of course. In the fridge I've got some cilantro-lime chicken marinating, and I have to make the mango salsa later. You can toss together a salad just before they get here--" She grinned at him. "--and there's chips and regular salsa--probably not hot enough for Chris and his Southwestern taste buds, but it'll do for the rest of us. I've got zucchini and squash; they'll be roasted after the brownies are done. Oh." She pointed to a pile of various fruits and bottles on the counter. "And I have to mix the sangria now, so it'll have enough time to chill."
"Sounds good," he said, sliding one hand up her thigh to her hip. Damn. She'd put on underwear under the shirt.
Cait laughed, shook his hand off, and started slicing the fruit and throwing it in a large pitcher he didn't recognize. Once she'd gotten through a lemon, a peach, and a handful of strawberries, she opened up the clamshell holding the raspberries and threw it in wholesale. He made disappointed noises, and she reached in, pulled one out, and held it out to him.
"I'd rather eat it out of your navel," he said, and watched her pupils suddenly dilate. Instead, she placed it on her tongue and leaned forward.
He leaned in to meet her, touching his lips to hers and taking the raspberry with his tongue. He bit into it, even while their mouths were still sealed together, the sweet-tart juice flooding his mouth, and opened up to let her lick the juice off of his tongue.
A long, raspberry-flavored moment later, she broke away and said throatily, "I have to finish this."
"And then what?" he asked.
"And then we have about forty-five minutes until the brownies are done." She grinned, and he smiled back.
"Okay."
Summary/Prompt: Something with Cait and that sangria and some heinously rich baked goods would be awesome. Ship of your choice or gen, either way.
Pairing: Cait/Phil
Rating: PG-13ish?
Content Advisory: This fic is not vegan, vegetarian, low-calorie, low-fat, or gluten-free.
Word Count: 600
Notes: For boosette: shameless, fluff-tastic food porn. :) It sort of fits into a "***" section in my oc_bigbang but that won't be posted until later, so it's just a random interlude on earth. Title shamelessly filched from Tori Amos. Also: brownie recipe, sangria recipe.
Phil came into the kitchen, attempting to flatten his hair into something resembling order. Cait was standing at the counter, mixing what looked like melted chocolate into a pile of flour. It smelled amazing, though--chocolate, vanilla, and, if he wasn't mistaken, coffee. (And he was rarely mistaken about coffee.) "What are you making?" he asked.
Cait looked up. "Phil, I'm pretty sure that is the ugliest bathrobe in the galaxy."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not wearing it to seduce you, Cait." That cat was pretty firmly out of the bag, considering how they'd spent all of last night. And the early part of that morning. Also, all she was wearing was one of his old Starfleet Medical t-shirts. "Cake?"
"No, brownies," she said. "Double-chocolate espresso brownies."
He reached around her, stuck his index finger in the batter, ignoring her indignant, "Hey!" and dabbed it onto her neck, exposed when she'd tied her hair up in anticipation of cooking. He licked the chocolate off of her skin, sucking briefly to make sure he'd gotten all of it.
She shivered, but reached back and smacked him on the arm. "You're lucky I haven't showered yet."
Yes. Yes, he was. "You still smell like us," he said, inhaling.
Cait sighed, but elbowed him until he gave her a little more room. Spreading the brownie batter out in a pan, she popped it in the oven and set the timer.
"What's all this for?" he asked.
She gave him a look. "Chris and One are coming by this afternoon. I thought I'd cook."
"Oh." He'd thought when she said she'd cook that perhaps she'd throw something on the grill and order in the rest, but he did have a decent kitchen. "So what are we having?"
"Brownies, of course. In the fridge I've got some cilantro-lime chicken marinating, and I have to make the mango salsa later. You can toss together a salad just before they get here--" She grinned at him. "--and there's chips and regular salsa--probably not hot enough for Chris and his Southwestern taste buds, but it'll do for the rest of us. I've got zucchini and squash; they'll be roasted after the brownies are done. Oh." She pointed to a pile of various fruits and bottles on the counter. "And I have to mix the sangria now, so it'll have enough time to chill."
"Sounds good," he said, sliding one hand up her thigh to her hip. Damn. She'd put on underwear under the shirt.
Cait laughed, shook his hand off, and started slicing the fruit and throwing it in a large pitcher he didn't recognize. Once she'd gotten through a lemon, a peach, and a handful of strawberries, she opened up the clamshell holding the raspberries and threw it in wholesale. He made disappointed noises, and she reached in, pulled one out, and held it out to him.
"I'd rather eat it out of your navel," he said, and watched her pupils suddenly dilate. Instead, she placed it on her tongue and leaned forward.
He leaned in to meet her, touching his lips to hers and taking the raspberry with his tongue. He bit into it, even while their mouths were still sealed together, the sweet-tart juice flooding his mouth, and opened up to let her lick the juice off of his tongue.
A long, raspberry-flavored moment later, she broke away and said throatily, "I have to finish this."
"And then what?" he asked.
"And then we have about forty-five minutes until the brownies are done." She grinned, and he smiled back.
"Okay."