A Kitchen Thing
Title - A Kitchen Thing
Author -
jlrpuck
Rating - MA
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Spoilers - For both Blackpool and S2 of Doctor Who.
Disclaimer - Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary - Rose surprises Peter in the kitchen one morning.
Author’s Notes - Written especially for
souleswanderer, as part of the great “We love you,
souleswanderer!” project organized by several of her friends this past week. Another story will be posted tomorrow, by another author; and another the day after that...with the result that you'll have a story, just for you, each day this week. *hugs*
This story was beta’d, as always, by the inimitable
earlgreytea68 .
Peter Carlisle had been seduced a few times in his life. There was the requisite older woman at Uni, who had taught him the importance of foreplay; he’d arrived at her flat one rainy night to find her sprawled seductively on the floor, candles flickering around her. There was the girlfriend right before he’d met his wife-the one who’d met him wearing nothing but a coat one night (on a perhaps not-unrelated note, that was right around the time he’d discovered his love of overcoats). The first girlfriend after his divorce, who’d seduced him one sunny day quite literally by the seaside (she’d been a bit of an exhibitionist; he hadn’t much cared). And the girlfriend after Natalie, the one with the insatiable sexual appetite, who’d invited him over to her flat one afternoon and done a striptease as he’d followed her down the hallway.
And he’d shagged women in all sorts of places: parlour, dining room, bedroom, bathroom, under a bower, in a tent, under an umbrella by the sea.
But never in his life had he been seduced into shagging someone in the kitchen. It was quite the gap on his sexual resume, and he was pleased Rose took it into her head to help him fill it.
It had started, as these things do, innocently enough. He’d meant to make morning coffee for him and Rose; he’d been distracted by the Sunday morning paper, and had settled in at the table to peruse it while the water for the press boiled. He’d been engrossed by one of the stories, a sordid tale of murder and mayhem, straight out of a hard-boiled detective novel, somewhere down in the South; he’d missed the kettle clicking off, had missed how much time had passed, had even managed to miss hearing Rose coming into the kitchen.
His first warning was the gentle brush of her hair against his bare shoulder as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
“Did you forget about the coffee?”
He was pulled from the twisted world laid out in the newsprint in front of him, the ghost of Rose’s breath against his ear tickling as he landed with a thud in reality.
“I, ah...” He rubbed the back of his neck. He had forgotten.
He closed his eyes as he felt her lightly blow a line from his ear, down his neck, along his shoulder. He could feel her hover just above the skin there, her breath warm and enticing, and he held his breath as he waited to see what would happen next.
What happened next was...nothing. He opened his eyes, startled.
Rose had moved to stand by the waiting coffee press; as he watched, she picked up the glass-and-silver object, took an appreciative sniff of the freshly-ground contents, and sat it back down. She moved to the kettle, her hips swaying seductively under the thin fabric of his robe-the same robe she’d effectively claimed as her own so very long ago, and which he still wore periodically so he could enjoy the scent of her on his clothes. He didn’t miss the small disgusted shake of her head as she picked up the kettle, the slight purse of her lips as she moved to dump the neglected water down the sink.
She ran fresh water through the kettle, finally filling it; he sat at the table, hypnotised simply by watching his wife do something so very mundane. She turned, catching him watching her; instead of the blush he would have expected, she gave him a slow, knowing smile.
She’d taken delight in doing that to him, in the few months they’d been married. It drove him wild; made him want her no matter where they were. She slowly crossed the small distance to the kettle stand, moving in a way that gave him tantalizing hints of the curves hiding under that robe; leaned over the counter more than was strictly necessary to return the kettle to its usual home. She flicked it on to boil, and returned her gaze to his.
He’d not been able to stop watching, his mind considering whether he wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to their room, to make passionate morning love to her on their bed; or if he’d rather see what it would be like to make love to her in the kitchen, pressed up against the cabinets like secret lovers stealing time. She noted his reaction, seeing his skin flush even across the kitchen, and her lips curved further upwards.
“See something you like, Mr. Carlisle?”
“I might, Mrs. Carlisle.” He felt his groin twinge, could feel the rush from endorphins and hormones flooding his system in preparation for making love to her, regardless of location.
“And what is that, Mr. Carlisle?” She leaned against the counter, her eyes dancing with laughter. She crossed her arms, the action pulling the cloth of the robe taut against her chest while causing it to gap teasingly over her legs. He stood slowly, his heated gaze taking in everything about her: the way her nipples were standing out against the fabric, the glimpse of a creamy thigh through the gap in the robe, her nervous swallow as he slowly covered the small distance between them, trapping her in the corner formed by the countertops.
She licked her lips as he came to a stop in front of her; he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she held his gaze.
“You.” His voice was a growl as he leaned forward to kiss his wife.
Rose didn’t bother with the pretence of being surprised; she leaned towards him, meeting his lips eagerly, her arms wrapping around his back and pulling him towards her. He pushed against her, his rapidly hardening erection pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach.
Her hands began to drift up and down along his spine, sending shivers through his body. He groaned into their kiss, and moved his hands to find the loose tie of the robe.
She’d not bothered to do more than fold one end of the belt across the other, and his hands were soon gliding over her shoulders, sliding the fabric down so he could trail kisses along her bare skin. She tilted her head back, shifting her hands to his hair and guiding him down; he eagerly followed her lead, moving his mouth to lap gently at her breast.
They teased and tormented each other in the kitchen for several minutes, his right hand playing with the breast he wasn’t suckling, his left hand moving down between her thighs to lightly slide through the wetness. She continued to keep a hand buried in his hair, alternately curling her fingers in it or lightly stroking along his scalp; her other hand found its way under the waistband of his pyjamas, greedily encircled him, and began to stroke.
He wasn’t going to last long, and he was fairly sure Rose wasn’t, either. He pulled back from paying attention to her breast, licking his lips as he straightened to look at her. Her eyes were glazed with need, her lips parted as she released him and slowly removed her hand from between his waistband and skin.
He leaned in to kiss her again, devouring her this time; her hips arched into him, rotating against his straining erection. He wrapped an arm around her, turning them, slowly guiding her backwards to the kitchen table. He broke their kiss, hastily swiping a hand across the surface and scattering the not inconsiderable Sunday paper, before helping her to sit on the wood surface. As she settled, he moved to stand in between her legs, feeling the heat radiating from her core. Holding her gaze, he reached down and slid his pyjamas across his hips, freeing his erection; she reached down and slid her robe completely off, baring herself before pulling him closer. He moved his hands to her hips as she reached down in between them and guided him into her.
They were both eager for release, and their lovemaking was almost desperate as they worked to drive the other to completion. His hands remained on her thighs as he pounded into her, driving home repeatedly as he told her how she felt around him, what it was like to be inside her; her hands were splayed on the table behind her, providing resistance to his thrusts while also enabling her to arch into him. Her eyes were locked on his, the pupils large and dark as she listened to his words, as she whispered thoughts of her own to him.
He could see her need building, watched as she drew her bottom lip inter her mouth as she concentrated on coming to orgasm. He moved his hand, lightly pressing against her centre as he whispered, “Come for me, Rose.” She let out a shout, her head falling back as her orgasm washed through her, and he continued to thrust into her.
She tilted her head forward, met his eyes as he continued to drive himself to completion. She reached forward, cupping his jaw; holding his gaze, she whispered the words she’d had engraved into his wedding ring. “I love you, Peter. My husband.” Her thumb lightly brushed his lips, and he kissed it even as he felt himself release into her.
With a few more thrusts he was spent, and he leaned forward to wrap Rose in an embrace. She rested her cheek against his chest, her arms draped loosely around his waist, as she worked to catch her breath. He bent down, resting his lips in Rose’s hair as he heard the kettle click off.
The water was done boiling. Again.
“Is this to be my punishment for forgetting about you?” he finally asked, humour evident in his voice.
She leaned back, looking up at him with a smile. “No. This is to be your punishment for forgetting about the coffee.”
He arched an eyebrow, all sorts of deliciously mischievous ideas running through his head. He’d have to forget about the coffee as often as possible.
Author -
jlrpuck
Rating - MA
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Spoilers - For both Blackpool and S2 of Doctor Who.
Disclaimer - Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary - Rose surprises Peter in the kitchen one morning.
Author’s Notes - Written especially for
souleswanderer, as part of the great “We love you,
souleswanderer!” project organized by several of her friends this past week. Another story will be posted tomorrow, by another author; and another the day after that...with the result that you'll have a story, just for you, each day this week. *hugs*
This story was beta’d, as always, by the inimitable
earlgreytea68 .
Peter Carlisle had been seduced a few times in his life. There was the requisite older woman at Uni, who had taught him the importance of foreplay; he’d arrived at her flat one rainy night to find her sprawled seductively on the floor, candles flickering around her. There was the girlfriend right before he’d met his wife-the one who’d met him wearing nothing but a coat one night (on a perhaps not-unrelated note, that was right around the time he’d discovered his love of overcoats). The first girlfriend after his divorce, who’d seduced him one sunny day quite literally by the seaside (she’d been a bit of an exhibitionist; he hadn’t much cared). And the girlfriend after Natalie, the one with the insatiable sexual appetite, who’d invited him over to her flat one afternoon and done a striptease as he’d followed her down the hallway.
And he’d shagged women in all sorts of places: parlour, dining room, bedroom, bathroom, under a bower, in a tent, under an umbrella by the sea.
But never in his life had he been seduced into shagging someone in the kitchen. It was quite the gap on his sexual resume, and he was pleased Rose took it into her head to help him fill it.
It had started, as these things do, innocently enough. He’d meant to make morning coffee for him and Rose; he’d been distracted by the Sunday morning paper, and had settled in at the table to peruse it while the water for the press boiled. He’d been engrossed by one of the stories, a sordid tale of murder and mayhem, straight out of a hard-boiled detective novel, somewhere down in the South; he’d missed the kettle clicking off, had missed how much time had passed, had even managed to miss hearing Rose coming into the kitchen.
His first warning was the gentle brush of her hair against his bare shoulder as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
“Did you forget about the coffee?”
He was pulled from the twisted world laid out in the newsprint in front of him, the ghost of Rose’s breath against his ear tickling as he landed with a thud in reality.
“I, ah...” He rubbed the back of his neck. He had forgotten.
He closed his eyes as he felt her lightly blow a line from his ear, down his neck, along his shoulder. He could feel her hover just above the skin there, her breath warm and enticing, and he held his breath as he waited to see what would happen next.
What happened next was...nothing. He opened his eyes, startled.
Rose had moved to stand by the waiting coffee press; as he watched, she picked up the glass-and-silver object, took an appreciative sniff of the freshly-ground contents, and sat it back down. She moved to the kettle, her hips swaying seductively under the thin fabric of his robe-the same robe she’d effectively claimed as her own so very long ago, and which he still wore periodically so he could enjoy the scent of her on his clothes. He didn’t miss the small disgusted shake of her head as she picked up the kettle, the slight purse of her lips as she moved to dump the neglected water down the sink.
She ran fresh water through the kettle, finally filling it; he sat at the table, hypnotised simply by watching his wife do something so very mundane. She turned, catching him watching her; instead of the blush he would have expected, she gave him a slow, knowing smile.
She’d taken delight in doing that to him, in the few months they’d been married. It drove him wild; made him want her no matter where they were. She slowly crossed the small distance to the kettle stand, moving in a way that gave him tantalizing hints of the curves hiding under that robe; leaned over the counter more than was strictly necessary to return the kettle to its usual home. She flicked it on to boil, and returned her gaze to his.
He’d not been able to stop watching, his mind considering whether he wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to their room, to make passionate morning love to her on their bed; or if he’d rather see what it would be like to make love to her in the kitchen, pressed up against the cabinets like secret lovers stealing time. She noted his reaction, seeing his skin flush even across the kitchen, and her lips curved further upwards.
“See something you like, Mr. Carlisle?”
“I might, Mrs. Carlisle.” He felt his groin twinge, could feel the rush from endorphins and hormones flooding his system in preparation for making love to her, regardless of location.
“And what is that, Mr. Carlisle?” She leaned against the counter, her eyes dancing with laughter. She crossed her arms, the action pulling the cloth of the robe taut against her chest while causing it to gap teasingly over her legs. He stood slowly, his heated gaze taking in everything about her: the way her nipples were standing out against the fabric, the glimpse of a creamy thigh through the gap in the robe, her nervous swallow as he slowly covered the small distance between them, trapping her in the corner formed by the countertops.
She licked her lips as he came to a stop in front of her; he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she held his gaze.
“You.” His voice was a growl as he leaned forward to kiss his wife.
Rose didn’t bother with the pretence of being surprised; she leaned towards him, meeting his lips eagerly, her arms wrapping around his back and pulling him towards her. He pushed against her, his rapidly hardening erection pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach.
Her hands began to drift up and down along his spine, sending shivers through his body. He groaned into their kiss, and moved his hands to find the loose tie of the robe.
She’d not bothered to do more than fold one end of the belt across the other, and his hands were soon gliding over her shoulders, sliding the fabric down so he could trail kisses along her bare skin. She tilted her head back, shifting her hands to his hair and guiding him down; he eagerly followed her lead, moving his mouth to lap gently at her breast.
They teased and tormented each other in the kitchen for several minutes, his right hand playing with the breast he wasn’t suckling, his left hand moving down between her thighs to lightly slide through the wetness. She continued to keep a hand buried in his hair, alternately curling her fingers in it or lightly stroking along his scalp; her other hand found its way under the waistband of his pyjamas, greedily encircled him, and began to stroke.
He wasn’t going to last long, and he was fairly sure Rose wasn’t, either. He pulled back from paying attention to her breast, licking his lips as he straightened to look at her. Her eyes were glazed with need, her lips parted as she released him and slowly removed her hand from between his waistband and skin.
He leaned in to kiss her again, devouring her this time; her hips arched into him, rotating against his straining erection. He wrapped an arm around her, turning them, slowly guiding her backwards to the kitchen table. He broke their kiss, hastily swiping a hand across the surface and scattering the not inconsiderable Sunday paper, before helping her to sit on the wood surface. As she settled, he moved to stand in between her legs, feeling the heat radiating from her core. Holding her gaze, he reached down and slid his pyjamas across his hips, freeing his erection; she reached down and slid her robe completely off, baring herself before pulling him closer. He moved his hands to her hips as she reached down in between them and guided him into her.
They were both eager for release, and their lovemaking was almost desperate as they worked to drive the other to completion. His hands remained on her thighs as he pounded into her, driving home repeatedly as he told her how she felt around him, what it was like to be inside her; her hands were splayed on the table behind her, providing resistance to his thrusts while also enabling her to arch into him. Her eyes were locked on his, the pupils large and dark as she listened to his words, as she whispered thoughts of her own to him.
He could see her need building, watched as she drew her bottom lip inter her mouth as she concentrated on coming to orgasm. He moved his hand, lightly pressing against her centre as he whispered, “Come for me, Rose.” She let out a shout, her head falling back as her orgasm washed through her, and he continued to thrust into her.
She tilted her head forward, met his eyes as he continued to drive himself to completion. She reached forward, cupping his jaw; holding his gaze, she whispered the words she’d had engraved into his wedding ring. “I love you, Peter. My husband.” Her thumb lightly brushed his lips, and he kissed it even as he felt himself release into her.
With a few more thrusts he was spent, and he leaned forward to wrap Rose in an embrace. She rested her cheek against his chest, her arms draped loosely around his waist, as she worked to catch her breath. He bent down, resting his lips in Rose’s hair as he heard the kettle click off.
The water was done boiling. Again.
“Is this to be my punishment for forgetting about you?” he finally asked, humour evident in his voice.
She leaned back, looking up at him with a smile. “No. This is to be your punishment for forgetting about the coffee.”
He arched an eyebrow, all sorts of deliciously mischievous ideas running through his head. He’d have to forget about the coffee as often as possible.