Comfy-cozy (Prompt 001. Christmas)
Title: Comfy-cozy
Author: Me, dangerous_lie
Part: 1/1
Pairing: Fletcher/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All untrue, just a work of fiction.
A/N: For scribblemusic who requested 001. Christmas from my prompt tables here. It's quite short, but I hope you like. Con-crit welcomed! Comments are loved <3
Word Count: 1,256
The confined kitchen was warm; a light glaze of condensation filming the windows, rolling across the clear glass, just like the beads of sweat collecting on the young blonde boy’s forehead. He stood in front of the stove a red apron wrapped around his waist and tied in a dainty bow. He blew strands of golden hair from out of his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the large glass bowl, prodding at the doughy mixture within. The wooden spoon clanked against the glass, breaking his musings, sticky fingers leafing through the pages of the recipe book open in front of him.
He smiled to himself pleased things were going to plan, pleased he was going to be able to say he’d done this himself, with a few encouraging tips from his mum that morning. He was proud to be doing something special for that special someone in his life, a symbolic gesture, perhaps.
Mentally checking off his ‘to do list’, Tom Fletcher grinned, vegetables peeled and cooking, check! Turkey cooked, golden and almost ready to eat, check! Tree trimmed and decorated, (?). There was a huge question mark hanging over that one and Tom couldn’t help but let his mind wander. He’d delegated that job to his clumsy and accident prone lover, occupying him, banning him from entering the kitchen until everything was ready.
He thought of going to check up on him, quickly shaking his head and thinking against it, settling his mind finding the cookie cutters and rolling pin. He trusted him, spying wouldn’t do him any favours, and what harm could fancy lights and glass baubles cause?
Outside the cool winds whistled down the quiet suburban street, whipping up a frenzy, scattering flakes of snow across the landscaped garden. Stepping away from the tree, that stood tall and proud, classy white lights twinkling in all their splendour adding a certain Junoesque to the cosy room, Danny Jones sigh irritably and slouched back against the sofa, pleased with his handy work.
Folding an arm behind his head, he lay back, blue eyes moving towards the window, captivated by the flakes of powdered snow that swirled by. His tummy rumbled hungrily at the smell of his lovers cooking, his lips curling at the thought of Tom slaving away over a hot stove. He could be such a housewife sometimes; everything had to be to perfection, but that was one of the many things he loved about him. The fact he was so persistent, so organised, and ever so slight bossy.
They were going home, separately for Christmas, tomorrow, but still the blonde had insisted on cooking something special for the two of them, even going as far as banning him from the kitchen, not to mention prohibiting the drummer and bassist from interrupting them.
He shifted, getting to his feet, the curious streak within gaining the better of him, the rich aroma of their own special Christmas style dinner and all the trimmings filling his sense as he stretched, and moved towards the kitchen, consciously aware of what Tom had told him. ‘I’ll call you when I’m ready. No peeking or no sex for a month!!’
It was an empty threat, or at least Danny hoped it was, ‘cos he was about to defy the blonde, large hand pressing down on the handle, pushing the door open with a creak, lips instantly broadening.
Tom was stood at the counter, rolling the cookie dough out and cutting shapes of angels from the sweet mixture. He swayed side to side as he hummed along to the festive songs playing on the radio, Danny biting down on his bottom lip a wave of love for the elder boy filled his veins, making him tingle from head to toe.
He stepped forwards, unnoticed to the blonde, and wound his arms around his waist, blowing warm air against the skin at the nape of his neck, wispy blonde locks ruffled. He watched Tom falter, placing the final perfectly cut angel on the try, before turning round in the brunette’s arms, lips curling, arms wrapping around Danny’s neck.
“I thought I’d told you I’d shout you when it was ready?” Tom’s lips curled as he brushed his fingers across Danny’s cheek, smearing flour across the skin and making the patchwork of freckles standout.
Shrugging Danny pulled away. “You were taking too long, I was getting bored and a little curious.” Tom grinned, pulled away, turning his back to the curly topped brunette as he moved towards the stove once more placing the tray of gingerbread angels inside.
“You haven’t gotten any patience, Danny,” Tom tutted, smirking widely and dropping the glass bowl in the sink of soapy water, Danny’s arms once more wrapped around his waist, lips pressed to his neck.
“I have patience when it comes to some things, just not this!” he felt Tom shiver at his words and grinned pleased, fingers resting on his hip, as the blonde continued swaying to the music, the bump and grind of their hips doing nothing to ease Danny’s buzzing thoughts and incessant body.
Soft lips shifted against his neck, as his fingers pulled at the apron strings, the vividly bright material falling away. Tom’s body turned quickly, lips meeting hastily. They were proper kisses, tender, delicate like snowflakes against flower petals, but still with that edge of urgency, still with that burning want.
His hands touched over warm flesh, feeling every ridge and bump below his freckled fingers, his lips occupying Tom’s, their bodies moving across the linoleum flooring with uncoordinated haste.
Danny’s fingers moved surreptitiously across the blonde’s back holding tighter, fingers digging into his skin as he crashed backwards into the wall, groaning into Tom’s mouth and lifting his hand, rubbing at the sore spot at the back of his head.
Every kiss was growing more and more rougher, feral. Every touch was from relentless fingers, clawing at clothes, unable to hide that craving want. They’d be gone a week, a week away from one another from the familiar touches and kisses, a week with nothing but phone calls and teasing words they had to make tonight good, memorable.
Danny shivered at the thoughts, the thought of husked words, and a pent up cravings. His eyes flickered, clouded with lust, but focusing as he felt Tom’s hand press to his breastbone, pushing him back and jolting him from his world of filthy thoughts.
“Danny!” Tom’s pink lips form the words perfectly, spoken in a chastised manner, but showing there was no harm meant. “What about the dinner?”
The brunette’s eyes widen, softening and turning the blonde’s knees to jelly as he flashes him that bedazzling smile. “Tommy…” his fingers crept along the blonde’s chest, tickling, and touching, teasing the round plastic buttons with his nimble fingers. “I want to give you your present,” his hands clasp around the bottom of the yellow tie Tom was wearing and tugged, pulling the blonde’s body closer to his own, continuing in a hushed whisper. “We can have dinner after… later…”
Tom couldn’t protest, his perfectly devised schedule falling out of the window as it did so many times when the brunette was around, lips meeting, silencing him with kisses unlike those they’d shared in the kitchen bodies manoeuvred and tugged through into the lounge, eager lips and a manipulative tongue muffling his mumbled, “I love you!” as they crashed back onto the sofa, starting an exploration of warm contours with quick fingers, that would go on long into the night.
FIN
Author: Me, dangerous_lie
Part: 1/1
Pairing: Fletcher/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All untrue, just a work of fiction.
A/N: For scribblemusic who requested 001. Christmas from my prompt tables here. It's quite short, but I hope you like. Con-crit welcomed! Comments are loved <3
Word Count: 1,256
The confined kitchen was warm; a light glaze of condensation filming the windows, rolling across the clear glass, just like the beads of sweat collecting on the young blonde boy’s forehead. He stood in front of the stove a red apron wrapped around his waist and tied in a dainty bow. He blew strands of golden hair from out of his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the large glass bowl, prodding at the doughy mixture within. The wooden spoon clanked against the glass, breaking his musings, sticky fingers leafing through the pages of the recipe book open in front of him.
He smiled to himself pleased things were going to plan, pleased he was going to be able to say he’d done this himself, with a few encouraging tips from his mum that morning. He was proud to be doing something special for that special someone in his life, a symbolic gesture, perhaps.
Mentally checking off his ‘to do list’, Tom Fletcher grinned, vegetables peeled and cooking, check! Turkey cooked, golden and almost ready to eat, check! Tree trimmed and decorated, (?). There was a huge question mark hanging over that one and Tom couldn’t help but let his mind wander. He’d delegated that job to his clumsy and accident prone lover, occupying him, banning him from entering the kitchen until everything was ready.
He thought of going to check up on him, quickly shaking his head and thinking against it, settling his mind finding the cookie cutters and rolling pin. He trusted him, spying wouldn’t do him any favours, and what harm could fancy lights and glass baubles cause?
Outside the cool winds whistled down the quiet suburban street, whipping up a frenzy, scattering flakes of snow across the landscaped garden. Stepping away from the tree, that stood tall and proud, classy white lights twinkling in all their splendour adding a certain Junoesque to the cosy room, Danny Jones sigh irritably and slouched back against the sofa, pleased with his handy work.
Folding an arm behind his head, he lay back, blue eyes moving towards the window, captivated by the flakes of powdered snow that swirled by. His tummy rumbled hungrily at the smell of his lovers cooking, his lips curling at the thought of Tom slaving away over a hot stove. He could be such a housewife sometimes; everything had to be to perfection, but that was one of the many things he loved about him. The fact he was so persistent, so organised, and ever so slight bossy.
They were going home, separately for Christmas, tomorrow, but still the blonde had insisted on cooking something special for the two of them, even going as far as banning him from the kitchen, not to mention prohibiting the drummer and bassist from interrupting them.
He shifted, getting to his feet, the curious streak within gaining the better of him, the rich aroma of their own special Christmas style dinner and all the trimmings filling his sense as he stretched, and moved towards the kitchen, consciously aware of what Tom had told him. ‘I’ll call you when I’m ready. No peeking or no sex for a month!!’
It was an empty threat, or at least Danny hoped it was, ‘cos he was about to defy the blonde, large hand pressing down on the handle, pushing the door open with a creak, lips instantly broadening.
Tom was stood at the counter, rolling the cookie dough out and cutting shapes of angels from the sweet mixture. He swayed side to side as he hummed along to the festive songs playing on the radio, Danny biting down on his bottom lip a wave of love for the elder boy filled his veins, making him tingle from head to toe.
He stepped forwards, unnoticed to the blonde, and wound his arms around his waist, blowing warm air against the skin at the nape of his neck, wispy blonde locks ruffled. He watched Tom falter, placing the final perfectly cut angel on the try, before turning round in the brunette’s arms, lips curling, arms wrapping around Danny’s neck.
“I thought I’d told you I’d shout you when it was ready?” Tom’s lips curled as he brushed his fingers across Danny’s cheek, smearing flour across the skin and making the patchwork of freckles standout.
Shrugging Danny pulled away. “You were taking too long, I was getting bored and a little curious.” Tom grinned, pulled away, turning his back to the curly topped brunette as he moved towards the stove once more placing the tray of gingerbread angels inside.
“You haven’t gotten any patience, Danny,” Tom tutted, smirking widely and dropping the glass bowl in the sink of soapy water, Danny’s arms once more wrapped around his waist, lips pressed to his neck.
“I have patience when it comes to some things, just not this!” he felt Tom shiver at his words and grinned pleased, fingers resting on his hip, as the blonde continued swaying to the music, the bump and grind of their hips doing nothing to ease Danny’s buzzing thoughts and incessant body.
Soft lips shifted against his neck, as his fingers pulled at the apron strings, the vividly bright material falling away. Tom’s body turned quickly, lips meeting hastily. They were proper kisses, tender, delicate like snowflakes against flower petals, but still with that edge of urgency, still with that burning want.
His hands touched over warm flesh, feeling every ridge and bump below his freckled fingers, his lips occupying Tom’s, their bodies moving across the linoleum flooring with uncoordinated haste.
Danny’s fingers moved surreptitiously across the blonde’s back holding tighter, fingers digging into his skin as he crashed backwards into the wall, groaning into Tom’s mouth and lifting his hand, rubbing at the sore spot at the back of his head.
Every kiss was growing more and more rougher, feral. Every touch was from relentless fingers, clawing at clothes, unable to hide that craving want. They’d be gone a week, a week away from one another from the familiar touches and kisses, a week with nothing but phone calls and teasing words they had to make tonight good, memorable.
Danny shivered at the thoughts, the thought of husked words, and a pent up cravings. His eyes flickered, clouded with lust, but focusing as he felt Tom’s hand press to his breastbone, pushing him back and jolting him from his world of filthy thoughts.
“Danny!” Tom’s pink lips form the words perfectly, spoken in a chastised manner, but showing there was no harm meant. “What about the dinner?”
The brunette’s eyes widen, softening and turning the blonde’s knees to jelly as he flashes him that bedazzling smile. “Tommy…” his fingers crept along the blonde’s chest, tickling, and touching, teasing the round plastic buttons with his nimble fingers. “I want to give you your present,” his hands clasp around the bottom of the yellow tie Tom was wearing and tugged, pulling the blonde’s body closer to his own, continuing in a hushed whisper. “We can have dinner after… later…”
Tom couldn’t protest, his perfectly devised schedule falling out of the window as it did so many times when the brunette was around, lips meeting, silencing him with kisses unlike those they’d shared in the kitchen bodies manoeuvred and tugged through into the lounge, eager lips and a manipulative tongue muffling his mumbled, “I love you!” as they crashed back onto the sofa, starting an exploration of warm contours with quick fingers, that would go on long into the night.
FIN