Happy Christmas!!
Title: Festive Fondue Foments Fornication or F is For... Part 1
Author: Greenstuff
Rating: M
A/N: A little something to heat up the winter holidays. This baby has been lying on my hard drive for years waiting for LP and I to finish a project we proposed back in 2011, and never ever got to, so she lovingly told me it was okay to post it as a stand alone. Pretty much PWP
Mary opened Marshall's front door without knocking. She could hear her partner in the kitchen and the divine smell of melting cheese filled the air. She stood for a moment in the doorway and just enjoyed the novel smell of home cooked food. She shouldn't have been surprised to learn Marshall could cook, there was little that man didn't do well, but when he'd promised to provide dinner she'd been expecting Chinese from a cardboard box. She hung her coat up in the closet because Marshall liked to keep his house tidy, kicked off her shoes for the same reason and padded silently to the kitchen. Home cooked food and she had been inside for almost a minute without a single person yelling, this was already the best Christmas Eve ever.
Marshall added a pinch of chilli powder to the pot of liquid dark chocolate before lifting it off the stove top and setting on the counter. He switched spoons and swirled a loose figure eight in the cheese pot, satisfied it was melted all the way through he moved the pot of cheese to the tea-light burner in the middle of his kitchen table. It wasn't until he straightened and turned to grab the tray of bread and raw veggies from the counter that he caught sight of Mary leaning against the door frame.
He smiled and gestured towards the table. “You have perfect timing. Have a seat.”
Raising one eyebrow, Mary did as instructed.
“Wine?”
She nodded.
In a matter of minutes they each had a glass of Sauvignon blanc and Marshall was seated across from her at the small round kitchen table. He'd thought of setting the dining room table, but Fondue was messy and Mary was likely to be suspicious if she thought he went to any great lengths preparing their meal. “Merry Christmas,” he said raising his glass in a toast.
Mary clicked her glass against his and took a generous swallow before putting voice to the question she'd been holding in since she entered the house. “What the hell is this? I thought Christmas dinner was all Turkey with fruit shoved up its ass.”
Instead of answering, Marshall speared a cube of bread with the long slim fondue fork and dipped it into the cheese. With an expert flick of his wrist he coated it with cheese on all four sides without losing it in the pot and pulled it back out. He held it out and, after a suspicious glance, Mary drew it into her mouth.
“Mmmm...” Mary closed her eyes and savoured the taste. She licked a bit of cheese off the corner of her mouth. “You are a God among chefs Marshal Marshall Mann. Turkey-schmerly. Now will you tell me what the hell this is?”
“First of all, an entire turkey for two people is a tremendous waste.” He said, in that all-knowing tone that always made Mary roll her eyes. “To answer your question, this is fondue, it originated in the Jura mountains in the sixteenth century...”
Ignoring the history lesson, Mary picked up her own fork, and speared a cube of bread.
“... tradition says that a woman who drops food in the pot has to kiss the person next to her.”
Mary paused with the bread inches from the surface of the cheese, “Wait.. what?”
“You don't have to.. it's just.. it's the tradition” Marshall stammered, cheeks flushing.
“And if you drop your food in?”
“I have to buy the next round of drinks.”
Mary studied his face for several seconds, enjoying the flush in his cheeks and the fact he couldn't meet her eyes. “Sounds fair to me.” She dipped her fork in and drew it out, bread and cheese still firmly anchored at the end of the long fork.
Twenty minutes and an entire bottle of wine late Mary had yet to lose a bit of bread in the pot, Marshall on the other hand owed her three rounds of booze their next night out. The combination of wine and rich food lulled Mary into a state of near perfect contentment and she barely paid attention as she stabbed another cube of bread and lowered it into the pot. When her fork came out minus a cube of bread she stilled for a moment before rising to her feet and coming around the table to Marshall's side.
He looked up at her with wide eyes, one part fear one part anticipation, and Mary remembered the last time their lips had met. Three years earlier, in a barn, a dozen yards from a group of Nigerians who would have shot them without hesitation if they suspected Mary or Marshall were with the USMS. She hadn't even meant it to be a kiss... but for a brief moment when their lips met she forgot it was Marshall and that their lives were at risk and felt a thrill of lust. When reality had come crashing in she'd pushed him away and made sure to soundly abuse him about it - he was her only friend, there was no way she was going there with him no matter how much she wanted to.
Tonight however, things were different. She was different. Raphael, Jinx, Brandy and Peter, and Mike Faber... they'd all changed around her, changed her. Tonight the idea of kissing those lips that spent their days reassuring witnesses and maddening her with endless trivia didn't scare her one tiny bit.
She placed one hand on Marshall's cheek, caressing the slight stubble there with the pad of her thumb and leaned forward. The first kiss was light, soft and quick, testing the waters. Mary let her eyes flutter closed as she kissed him again, this time his lips returned the pressure and he brought one hand up to cup the back of her head.
She pulled back, slightly dazed and short on breath, and returned to her seat. She managed to get the next piece of bread out without incident. The piece after that she swore Marshall knocked off on purpose, but she said nothing as she pushed back her chair and circled the table once again.
This time there was no hesitancy as she pushed Marshall's chair so that he was facing her head on and placed both hands on his shoulders.
Marshall used both hands on her hips to guide her onto his lap. She straddled his lean body and slid one hand into his hair. It was silky soft to the touch as she ran her fingers up over his scalp, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips. She lowered her head and placed an open mouthed kiss on his neck.
His head fell backwards, giving her full access to the tender flesh of his throat. “Oh God Mary.” He gasped as she added teeth to the mix. His hands tightened on her hips pulling her closer.
She worked her way slowly up from his collarbone, trailing kisses and light nips along his warm skin until she reached his mouth. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, it tasted like fondue and wine. He opened his mouth to her and she deepened the kiss.
Marshall let her control the pace, matching her intensity without pushing for more. When she finally broke away, panting, it was hit turn. Keeping her anchored against him with one hand, he brought the other around between them. He traced small circles over her stomach, gradually moving upwards until his fingers grazed the underside of her lace bra. Here he hesitated, this was Mary, wild, untamable Mary, the woman he'd been in love with for almost seven years, the woman who had run from him more times than he cared to remember... yet here she was, in his kitchen, on his laps, doing things to his neck with her tongue that should be illegal and all he could think of was the last time he'd opened himself to her. She'd frozen like a deer in headlights and three days later jumped on a plane to Mexico with another man.
She'd broken up with Mike Faber three days into their week-long stay and returned to work two days before she was supposed to be home. Since then she'd been different, calmer, nice.. alright nicer, with Mary it was sometimes necessary to grade on a curve, but despite the changes in her Marshall couldn't shake the part of his mind that was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Sensing his hesitation, Mary pulled back so she could look him in the eye, “Marshall?”
He let the hand resting against her bare skin drop until it rested on her jean clad thigh. “If I do this.. if we do this.. it'll change things.”
Mary nodded, “I know.”
“It won't just be sex.” Marshall continued, “Not between us.”
“But there will be sex, right?” Mary teased, leaning towards him with a hungry glint in her eyes.
Marshall turned his head away so her lips grazed his cheek. “Mary.” he admonished, “We're partners, which means we can't just fall into bed together and expect the details to work themselves out.”
“You're my best friend, Marshall. We've been to hell and back and survived together. I know what I'm getting into. You'll still kick my ass at the shooting range, you'll probably still babble inane nonsense about everything, and I will probably still be a bitch most days, but somehow, you and I... we work.”
“And when did you figure this out?”
“Three months ago, on a beach in Mexico.” she answered honestly.
“And you're sure this is what you want?”
“I think this is all I ever wanted,” She said softly.
For a moment it seemed like the world stopped around Marshall. And then he was kissing her. There was nothing slow or gentle about this kiss. Mary locked both hands in his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp. He brought one hand up to knead her breast, pinching the taught nipple between his fingers until she squirmed and whimpered into his mouth.
They broke apart only long enough for Marshall to push Mary's T-shirt over her head and then his lips were back on hers. Mary struggled with two of his shirt buttons before giving up and with a firm, fast pull, popping them off, revealing Marshall's smooth, toned chest. Mary explored the planed of his chest with her palms pausing only to tweak his nipple. When her hands moved to push his shirt the rest of the way off he broke their kiss and lowered his mouth to her breasts.
Mary arched against him, grinding her pelvis against his and locking her hands into his hair again, pulling him closer. The lace of her bra was rough against his tongue as it darted out to wet the supple skin of her breast. She groaned in protest when he removed his mouth to move to the other breast. He ran his tongue just above the line of her bra and she ground against him again in wanton pleasure. With one hand he released the clasp of her bra. Smiling against her skin he used his nose to nudge the strap off her shoulder. She leaned back just enough to slide the bra fully off and add it to the pile of clothes beside the chair.
Marshall sucked her nipple into his mouth, grazing it slightly with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. His hands slid down from her waist to cup her ass, readjusting the angle of her pelvis so she could feel his erection.
Mary rocked against him, losing herself in the wonderful feeling of his hot mouth on her breast, his strong hands on her ass and the pressure of his straining penis against her, hot even through the fabric that still separated them.
With one hand he freed her fly and in a single motion slipped his thumb between them, finding her clit and circling it with steadily increasing pressure until she thought she might die if he stopped. Her hips thrust erratically into him as the waves of her first orgasm stole all semblance of control. “Marshall!” she moaned towards the ceiling, letting her head fall back in complete abandon.
When she could once again control her movements, Mary busied herself with Marshall's fly, not an easy task with his lips on her throat, his hands running over the bare skin of her back, but at last she was able to free the stubborn n buttons. Before she could run her fingers over his silken length, Marshall stood, supporting her weight with one hand on her ass and one on her back. Holding her against him he carried her into the living room, finally setting her down next to the couch.
They both kicked free of their jeans and underwear before falling back against the worn leather cushions. Mary reached down between them and wrapped her hand around Marshall's cock. It was rock hard but the skin was softer than silk. She caressed it with her fingers, varying the pressure, learning by his groans what he liked. When he gasped her name in a throaty voice she needed to hear every day for the rest of her life, she guided him to her wet, ready entrance.
His first thrusts were slow and long. Torturous and incredible. He filled her completely and she could feel another orgasm building even before he quickened his pace. Mary locked her legs around him and pulled him into a searing kiss as he thrust into her, each stroke faster and deeper until they were both slick with sweat and crying out in pleasure.
She came first, silent, mouth open in a wordless, noiseless cry as she gave in to the wave of pure pleasure. The spasm of her inner walls around him brought Marshall over the edge and they collapsed in a sated heap.
“So,” Mary said, pressing a kiss against his neck, “now that you’ve unwrapped your present, what's for dessert?”
Author: Greenstuff
Rating: M
A/N: A little something to heat up the winter holidays. This baby has been lying on my hard drive for years waiting for LP and I to finish a project we proposed back in 2011, and never ever got to, so she lovingly told me it was okay to post it as a stand alone. Pretty much PWP
Mary opened Marshall's front door without knocking. She could hear her partner in the kitchen and the divine smell of melting cheese filled the air. She stood for a moment in the doorway and just enjoyed the novel smell of home cooked food. She shouldn't have been surprised to learn Marshall could cook, there was little that man didn't do well, but when he'd promised to provide dinner she'd been expecting Chinese from a cardboard box. She hung her coat up in the closet because Marshall liked to keep his house tidy, kicked off her shoes for the same reason and padded silently to the kitchen. Home cooked food and she had been inside for almost a minute without a single person yelling, this was already the best Christmas Eve ever.
Marshall added a pinch of chilli powder to the pot of liquid dark chocolate before lifting it off the stove top and setting on the counter. He switched spoons and swirled a loose figure eight in the cheese pot, satisfied it was melted all the way through he moved the pot of cheese to the tea-light burner in the middle of his kitchen table. It wasn't until he straightened and turned to grab the tray of bread and raw veggies from the counter that he caught sight of Mary leaning against the door frame.
He smiled and gestured towards the table. “You have perfect timing. Have a seat.”
Raising one eyebrow, Mary did as instructed.
“Wine?”
She nodded.
In a matter of minutes they each had a glass of Sauvignon blanc and Marshall was seated across from her at the small round kitchen table. He'd thought of setting the dining room table, but Fondue was messy and Mary was likely to be suspicious if she thought he went to any great lengths preparing their meal. “Merry Christmas,” he said raising his glass in a toast.
Mary clicked her glass against his and took a generous swallow before putting voice to the question she'd been holding in since she entered the house. “What the hell is this? I thought Christmas dinner was all Turkey with fruit shoved up its ass.”
Instead of answering, Marshall speared a cube of bread with the long slim fondue fork and dipped it into the cheese. With an expert flick of his wrist he coated it with cheese on all four sides without losing it in the pot and pulled it back out. He held it out and, after a suspicious glance, Mary drew it into her mouth.
“Mmmm...” Mary closed her eyes and savoured the taste. She licked a bit of cheese off the corner of her mouth. “You are a God among chefs Marshal Marshall Mann. Turkey-schmerly. Now will you tell me what the hell this is?”
“First of all, an entire turkey for two people is a tremendous waste.” He said, in that all-knowing tone that always made Mary roll her eyes. “To answer your question, this is fondue, it originated in the Jura mountains in the sixteenth century...”
Ignoring the history lesson, Mary picked up her own fork, and speared a cube of bread.
“... tradition says that a woman who drops food in the pot has to kiss the person next to her.”
Mary paused with the bread inches from the surface of the cheese, “Wait.. what?”
“You don't have to.. it's just.. it's the tradition” Marshall stammered, cheeks flushing.
“And if you drop your food in?”
“I have to buy the next round of drinks.”
Mary studied his face for several seconds, enjoying the flush in his cheeks and the fact he couldn't meet her eyes. “Sounds fair to me.” She dipped her fork in and drew it out, bread and cheese still firmly anchored at the end of the long fork.
Twenty minutes and an entire bottle of wine late Mary had yet to lose a bit of bread in the pot, Marshall on the other hand owed her three rounds of booze their next night out. The combination of wine and rich food lulled Mary into a state of near perfect contentment and she barely paid attention as she stabbed another cube of bread and lowered it into the pot. When her fork came out minus a cube of bread she stilled for a moment before rising to her feet and coming around the table to Marshall's side.
He looked up at her with wide eyes, one part fear one part anticipation, and Mary remembered the last time their lips had met. Three years earlier, in a barn, a dozen yards from a group of Nigerians who would have shot them without hesitation if they suspected Mary or Marshall were with the USMS. She hadn't even meant it to be a kiss... but for a brief moment when their lips met she forgot it was Marshall and that their lives were at risk and felt a thrill of lust. When reality had come crashing in she'd pushed him away and made sure to soundly abuse him about it - he was her only friend, there was no way she was going there with him no matter how much she wanted to.
Tonight however, things were different. She was different. Raphael, Jinx, Brandy and Peter, and Mike Faber... they'd all changed around her, changed her. Tonight the idea of kissing those lips that spent their days reassuring witnesses and maddening her with endless trivia didn't scare her one tiny bit.
She placed one hand on Marshall's cheek, caressing the slight stubble there with the pad of her thumb and leaned forward. The first kiss was light, soft and quick, testing the waters. Mary let her eyes flutter closed as she kissed him again, this time his lips returned the pressure and he brought one hand up to cup the back of her head.
She pulled back, slightly dazed and short on breath, and returned to her seat. She managed to get the next piece of bread out without incident. The piece after that she swore Marshall knocked off on purpose, but she said nothing as she pushed back her chair and circled the table once again.
This time there was no hesitancy as she pushed Marshall's chair so that he was facing her head on and placed both hands on his shoulders.
Marshall used both hands on her hips to guide her onto his lap. She straddled his lean body and slid one hand into his hair. It was silky soft to the touch as she ran her fingers up over his scalp, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips. She lowered her head and placed an open mouthed kiss on his neck.
His head fell backwards, giving her full access to the tender flesh of his throat. “Oh God Mary.” He gasped as she added teeth to the mix. His hands tightened on her hips pulling her closer.
She worked her way slowly up from his collarbone, trailing kisses and light nips along his warm skin until she reached his mouth. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, it tasted like fondue and wine. He opened his mouth to her and she deepened the kiss.
Marshall let her control the pace, matching her intensity without pushing for more. When she finally broke away, panting, it was hit turn. Keeping her anchored against him with one hand, he brought the other around between them. He traced small circles over her stomach, gradually moving upwards until his fingers grazed the underside of her lace bra. Here he hesitated, this was Mary, wild, untamable Mary, the woman he'd been in love with for almost seven years, the woman who had run from him more times than he cared to remember... yet here she was, in his kitchen, on his laps, doing things to his neck with her tongue that should be illegal and all he could think of was the last time he'd opened himself to her. She'd frozen like a deer in headlights and three days later jumped on a plane to Mexico with another man.
She'd broken up with Mike Faber three days into their week-long stay and returned to work two days before she was supposed to be home. Since then she'd been different, calmer, nice.. alright nicer, with Mary it was sometimes necessary to grade on a curve, but despite the changes in her Marshall couldn't shake the part of his mind that was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Sensing his hesitation, Mary pulled back so she could look him in the eye, “Marshall?”
He let the hand resting against her bare skin drop until it rested on her jean clad thigh. “If I do this.. if we do this.. it'll change things.”
Mary nodded, “I know.”
“It won't just be sex.” Marshall continued, “Not between us.”
“But there will be sex, right?” Mary teased, leaning towards him with a hungry glint in her eyes.
Marshall turned his head away so her lips grazed his cheek. “Mary.” he admonished, “We're partners, which means we can't just fall into bed together and expect the details to work themselves out.”
“You're my best friend, Marshall. We've been to hell and back and survived together. I know what I'm getting into. You'll still kick my ass at the shooting range, you'll probably still babble inane nonsense about everything, and I will probably still be a bitch most days, but somehow, you and I... we work.”
“And when did you figure this out?”
“Three months ago, on a beach in Mexico.” she answered honestly.
“And you're sure this is what you want?”
“I think this is all I ever wanted,” She said softly.
For a moment it seemed like the world stopped around Marshall. And then he was kissing her. There was nothing slow or gentle about this kiss. Mary locked both hands in his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp. He brought one hand up to knead her breast, pinching the taught nipple between his fingers until she squirmed and whimpered into his mouth.
They broke apart only long enough for Marshall to push Mary's T-shirt over her head and then his lips were back on hers. Mary struggled with two of his shirt buttons before giving up and with a firm, fast pull, popping them off, revealing Marshall's smooth, toned chest. Mary explored the planed of his chest with her palms pausing only to tweak his nipple. When her hands moved to push his shirt the rest of the way off he broke their kiss and lowered his mouth to her breasts.
Mary arched against him, grinding her pelvis against his and locking her hands into his hair again, pulling him closer. The lace of her bra was rough against his tongue as it darted out to wet the supple skin of her breast. She groaned in protest when he removed his mouth to move to the other breast. He ran his tongue just above the line of her bra and she ground against him again in wanton pleasure. With one hand he released the clasp of her bra. Smiling against her skin he used his nose to nudge the strap off her shoulder. She leaned back just enough to slide the bra fully off and add it to the pile of clothes beside the chair.
Marshall sucked her nipple into his mouth, grazing it slightly with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. His hands slid down from her waist to cup her ass, readjusting the angle of her pelvis so she could feel his erection.
Mary rocked against him, losing herself in the wonderful feeling of his hot mouth on her breast, his strong hands on her ass and the pressure of his straining penis against her, hot even through the fabric that still separated them.
With one hand he freed her fly and in a single motion slipped his thumb between them, finding her clit and circling it with steadily increasing pressure until she thought she might die if he stopped. Her hips thrust erratically into him as the waves of her first orgasm stole all semblance of control. “Marshall!” she moaned towards the ceiling, letting her head fall back in complete abandon.
When she could once again control her movements, Mary busied herself with Marshall's fly, not an easy task with his lips on her throat, his hands running over the bare skin of her back, but at last she was able to free the stubborn n buttons. Before she could run her fingers over his silken length, Marshall stood, supporting her weight with one hand on her ass and one on her back. Holding her against him he carried her into the living room, finally setting her down next to the couch.
They both kicked free of their jeans and underwear before falling back against the worn leather cushions. Mary reached down between them and wrapped her hand around Marshall's cock. It was rock hard but the skin was softer than silk. She caressed it with her fingers, varying the pressure, learning by his groans what he liked. When he gasped her name in a throaty voice she needed to hear every day for the rest of her life, she guided him to her wet, ready entrance.
His first thrusts were slow and long. Torturous and incredible. He filled her completely and she could feel another orgasm building even before he quickened his pace. Mary locked her legs around him and pulled him into a searing kiss as he thrust into her, each stroke faster and deeper until they were both slick with sweat and crying out in pleasure.
She came first, silent, mouth open in a wordless, noiseless cry as she gave in to the wave of pure pleasure. The spasm of her inner walls around him brought Marshall over the edge and they collapsed in a sated heap.
“So,” Mary said, pressing a kiss against his neck, “now that you’ve unwrapped your present, what's for dessert?”