A Mess in the Kitchen
Title: A Mess in the Kitchen
Team: The Order, dahling
Words: 300 (3 x 100)
Challenge: Pumpkin
Rating: PG
A/N: This is just a little something I brewed five minutes ago. :) Hope you all like it.
She pursed her lips together, staring intently at the recipe, oblivious to the eyes that followed her - the eyes that had been following her for months.
She had no idea how sensual she looked, what with her hair carelessly tossed into a bun, tendrils sweeping across her forehead. Her sleeves were rolled up, the apron hiked about her waist, her black pants dusty with flour.
She looked up.
“Professor,” she said, startled. “I…I didn’t know you were here for the holidays.”
“In spite of the grievous Weasley children, their mother’s cooking is the best in Britain,” he said, his eyes glazed over.
She swallowed. “Don’t look at me.” She dropped her gaze. “I’m just making the pumpkin bars.”
---
“I can see that,” he said, his voice low and warm. He leaned against the doorway. “May I ask why you are in the kitchen and Molly is not?”
“Molly’s helping put the newest grandchild down for a nap,” Hermione said quickly, staring at the batter she was mixing.
“Bill and Fleur’s latest collaboration?”
She let out a chuckle. “That’s an interesting way of describing a couple who have decided to give their son a sibling. A sister,” she added.
“Ah.”
She sighed and threw down the rag she had wiped her forehead with.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
---
“I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“We made a decision months ago, Professor.”
“It wasn’t ‘professor’ then, Hermione,” he said lowly.
She threw a glare over her shoulder. “It was a mistake and you know it. I can’t apprentice to you now.” She plunked the wooden spoon into the batter and started mixing vigorously.
“And why ever not?” He walked over to her slowly, standing barely a foot away from her. “Masters have apprenticed their wives before.”
“Is that you want me to be, Severus? Your wife?” she spat. “A woman to cook and clean for you. A pretty picture this must paint.” She let go of the spoon, putting her palms on the counter. “I will be no one’s cook or bedmate.”
“Not even mine?”
She looked up and met his eyes, blazing just as furiously as hers. “Keep dreaming."
---
Team: The Order, dahling
Words: 300 (3 x 100)
Challenge: Pumpkin
Rating: PG
A/N: This is just a little something I brewed five minutes ago. :) Hope you all like it.
She pursed her lips together, staring intently at the recipe, oblivious to the eyes that followed her - the eyes that had been following her for months.
She had no idea how sensual she looked, what with her hair carelessly tossed into a bun, tendrils sweeping across her forehead. Her sleeves were rolled up, the apron hiked about her waist, her black pants dusty with flour.
She looked up.
“Professor,” she said, startled. “I…I didn’t know you were here for the holidays.”
“In spite of the grievous Weasley children, their mother’s cooking is the best in Britain,” he said, his eyes glazed over.
She swallowed. “Don’t look at me.” She dropped her gaze. “I’m just making the pumpkin bars.”
---
“I can see that,” he said, his voice low and warm. He leaned against the doorway. “May I ask why you are in the kitchen and Molly is not?”
“Molly’s helping put the newest grandchild down for a nap,” Hermione said quickly, staring at the batter she was mixing.
“Bill and Fleur’s latest collaboration?”
She let out a chuckle. “That’s an interesting way of describing a couple who have decided to give their son a sibling. A sister,” she added.
“Ah.”
She sighed and threw down the rag she had wiped her forehead with.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
---
“I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“We made a decision months ago, Professor.”
“It wasn’t ‘professor’ then, Hermione,” he said lowly.
She threw a glare over her shoulder. “It was a mistake and you know it. I can’t apprentice to you now.” She plunked the wooden spoon into the batter and started mixing vigorously.
“And why ever not?” He walked over to her slowly, standing barely a foot away from her. “Masters have apprenticed their wives before.”
“Is that you want me to be, Severus? Your wife?” she spat. “A woman to cook and clean for you. A pretty picture this must paint.” She let go of the spoon, putting her palms on the counter. “I will be no one’s cook or bedmate.”
“Not even mine?”
She looked up and met his eyes, blazing just as furiously as hers. “Keep dreaming."
---