TASTE
Title: Taste
Fandom: Pushing Daisies
Pairing: Ned/Chuck
Rating: R, in a double entendre way
A/N: Written for PD_Playtime March Challenge, Prompt No. 10 (Food-Chocolate)
Disclaimer: I only own these characters in my thoroughly romantic, yet twisted imagination
Twill make old women young and fresh;
Create new motions of the flesh.
And cause them long for you know what,
If they but taste of chocolate.
- James Wadworth (1768-1844)
He watches as her finger slowly skates the rim of the smooth glass bowl - the bowl with the remains of the chocolate fudge filling from today’s dessert pie -then plunges into its depths. Dragging her finger through the wet, warm mixture, she slowly brings its velvety creamness to her lips.
She pauses a few seconds before her tongue, pink and moist, laps at the alluringly filling. Once, then again and again, until her finger is once again dessert free.
He realizes that he hasn’t heard anything she’s said between provoking licks. Something about Mayans believing chocolate to be a natural and sensual aphrodisiac. How Cassanova employed its tantalizing fragrance and enticing taste to seduce partners. How scientists believe it reproduces the same endorphins that the body releases when one is in love.
He nods, not because he understands her words, but because she is saying them. And because he has no need for erotic cocoa beans to release those self same endorphins. He only need look at her. So, he does. In fact, nothing could entice him to look away.
Once again, she dips her finger, this time driving deeper into the bowl and bringing her glistening tongue to pink mound that is her fingertip. This time, she shoves the entire chocolate-covered flesh into her mouth, as if it were a sucker. He hears a slight ‘pop’ as the finger dislodges a few seconds later - or it is minutes later? Everything seems in slow motion, as if the kitchen had become a world where only they exist.
He feels her steady gaze on him, as if she is waiting for him to tell her to stop. But he doesn’t. For the sight of her tongue, moist and pink, is all he can think of. How it would taste in his mouth. How it would feel hot and slick on his neck. How it could slide down his chest, creating a soft path like a raindrop dripping sensually down a windowpane. His windowpane.
“Ummmm…” she moans, as if the concoction is her lover, pleasing her, satisfying her. Obviously not completely sated, she take the wooden spoon he’d used to mix the chocolate, butter and sugar together and thrusts it into the bowl’s depths to mine for the last remnants of sweetness.
As she brings the wooden stick to her mouth, he realizes how rapidly he’s breathing. Each breath quickens his throbbing pulse.
Her tongue makes long, slow sweeps from its base to its tip. She spins her tongue from side to side, her lips gliding as they take in the silky richness. Engulfing the hard utensil with the warmth of her lips. Engulfing him in the discovery of her previously undiscovered talent until he finally can look no more or risk losing all control.
And in that moment, the Piemaker realizes how right the Mayans were. Watching the girl he calls Chuck taste his filling -well, in some ways it’s almost as good as tasting her. Almost.
Fandom: Pushing Daisies
Pairing: Ned/Chuck
Rating: R, in a double entendre way
A/N: Written for PD_Playtime March Challenge, Prompt No. 10 (Food-Chocolate)
Disclaimer: I only own these characters in my thoroughly romantic, yet twisted imagination
Twill make old women young and fresh;
Create new motions of the flesh.
And cause them long for you know what,
If they but taste of chocolate.
- James Wadworth (1768-1844)
He watches as her finger slowly skates the rim of the smooth glass bowl - the bowl with the remains of the chocolate fudge filling from today’s dessert pie -then plunges into its depths. Dragging her finger through the wet, warm mixture, she slowly brings its velvety creamness to her lips.
She pauses a few seconds before her tongue, pink and moist, laps at the alluringly filling. Once, then again and again, until her finger is once again dessert free.
He realizes that he hasn’t heard anything she’s said between provoking licks. Something about Mayans believing chocolate to be a natural and sensual aphrodisiac. How Cassanova employed its tantalizing fragrance and enticing taste to seduce partners. How scientists believe it reproduces the same endorphins that the body releases when one is in love.
He nods, not because he understands her words, but because she is saying them. And because he has no need for erotic cocoa beans to release those self same endorphins. He only need look at her. So, he does. In fact, nothing could entice him to look away.
Once again, she dips her finger, this time driving deeper into the bowl and bringing her glistening tongue to pink mound that is her fingertip. This time, she shoves the entire chocolate-covered flesh into her mouth, as if it were a sucker. He hears a slight ‘pop’ as the finger dislodges a few seconds later - or it is minutes later? Everything seems in slow motion, as if the kitchen had become a world where only they exist.
He feels her steady gaze on him, as if she is waiting for him to tell her to stop. But he doesn’t. For the sight of her tongue, moist and pink, is all he can think of. How it would taste in his mouth. How it would feel hot and slick on his neck. How it could slide down his chest, creating a soft path like a raindrop dripping sensually down a windowpane. His windowpane.
“Ummmm…” she moans, as if the concoction is her lover, pleasing her, satisfying her. Obviously not completely sated, she take the wooden spoon he’d used to mix the chocolate, butter and sugar together and thrusts it into the bowl’s depths to mine for the last remnants of sweetness.
As she brings the wooden stick to her mouth, he realizes how rapidly he’s breathing. Each breath quickens his throbbing pulse.
Her tongue makes long, slow sweeps from its base to its tip. She spins her tongue from side to side, her lips gliding as they take in the silky richness. Engulfing the hard utensil with the warmth of her lips. Engulfing him in the discovery of her previously undiscovered talent until he finally can look no more or risk losing all control.
And in that moment, the Piemaker realizes how right the Mayans were. Watching the girl he calls Chuck taste his filling -well, in some ways it’s almost as good as tasting her. Almost.