Fic: "Raspberry Swirl Part II"
Title: Raspberry Swirl II (sequel to Raspberry Swirl)
Summary/Prompt: Sequel to the previous. See notes. Probably won't make much sense without the prior half.
Pairing: Cait/Phil
Rating: R/NC-17
Content Advisory: Uh. Sex. Food. Nothing in places where it would cause a yeast infection, though.
Word Count: 1160
Notes: This part isn't particularly fluffy so it didn't fit the prompt. So I didn't write it out, although it was in my head. And then I enticed boosette into shipping Cait/Phil (TINY SHIPS AHOY) so I had to write the second half.
Phil watched, leaning against the counter, as Cait measured out various alcohols and dropped them into the pitcher on top of the fruit, and then filled the pitcher up the rest of the way with what appeared to be white zinfandel. She gave the whole thing a quick stir with a wooden spoon, covered it with a piece of plastic wrap, and pushed various items out of the way in the fridge so there was room for the pitcher. She set the pitcher on the top shelf and closed the fridge before turning back to the counter to clean up her mess.
She turned back to Phil a moment or two later, holding two bowls: one containing various small pieces of fruit, and the other holding about a spoonful of brownie batter. He took them both from her, and she crossed her arms in front of her and pulled off the t-shirt in one swift move, shimmying out of her underwear a moment later. "So what did you want to do with the fruit?" she asked, smiling.
Phil set the bowls on the counter and stripped off his bathrobe, laying it out on the floor. He held out a hand, and Cait took it, still smiling, and he helped her to the floor. "On your stomach," he said, when she turned to lay on her back.
"Okay," she said, rolling over and pillowing her head on her arms.
He grabbed the bowls and knelt beside her, knees carefully on the edge of the bathrobe rather than the tile floor. Cait had fished a couple raspberries out of the pitcher, but he was saving those for her navel or her mouth. Instead, he carefully balanced strawberry quarters in between the knobs of her spine, starting at the base of her neck, just by where he'd licked off the chocolate, all the way down to her tailbone, just barely between the half-spheres of her bottom.
Cait shivered, dislodging one of the strawberries. "Cold."
"Not as cold as ice," Phil said, resetting it, "and I've used that on you before."
"True."
Dipping one finger into the brownie batter, he painted a shape on her left cheek, a couple inches away from the strawberry quarter. "What'd you draw on me?" she asked, lifting her head.
"A strawberry," he said, lying easily. It did perhaps look a bit like a strawberry. A bit. "Stay down. You keep knocking the strawberries off."
Cait lowered her head back to her forearms and sighed, muttering something about 'perfectionist surgeons,' and Phil fixed the strawberries she'd jostled. He sat back on his heels, looking at the contrast between the red strawberries, the dark chocolate, her creamy white skin, and the navy bathrobe, and smiled. It was probably better that she couldn't see the look on his face.
Moving so he straddled her knees, he bent over, licked the chocolate heart off her ass, and then took the first strawberry in his mouth, letting his lips linger against her skin. He did the same with the ten subsequent strawberries, and by the time he got to the strawberry at the top, Cait was gasping, her hands grasping the edge of the bathrobe. "Phil," she said, her voice breaking.
He sucked up the last strawberry, lowered his body to cover hers for a warm, lingering moment or two, and then pushed up and helped her turn over. He fed her the strawberry from his own mouth, and they kissed, again sharing the flavor.
"I think I like raspberry better," Cait said, her hands moving against his ribs.
"Me too," he said, "but we've only got two of those. Hands up."
Cait laced her fingers behind her head, and he settled between her knees, picking up the bowls again, and painting a circle around her navel with the rest of the chocolate batter before setting a raspberry in the shallow dent. He lined up peach chunks in the creases of her hips, and made a trail of strawberries up the midline of her chest before placing the second raspberry in the hollow of her throat. "Stay still," he reminded her.
"I'll try," she said, gasping again when he ate the first of the peaches. "Fuck, Phil," she said, before he'd even reached the other hip-crease. "I don't know if I'll survive this."
"Good thing I'm a doctor," he said, blowing on her pubic hair as he switched sides.
Cait laughed briefly before moaning again and wrapping one leg behind his knees.
He skipped the raspberry and chocolate by her navel, but lingered more on the front than he had on her spine, making detours along the sides of her ribs and to suck her nipples into peaks. When he reached the raspberry at her throat, he licked the sweat and juice pooling under it first before sharing it with her again, in a long, slow kiss that curled his toes, let alone hers.
"You missed one," she said, when they broke for breath.
"No, I didn't," he said.
She curled up, looked at her own navel. "Oh?"
"That's my reward." He shifted onto all fours, and then crawled backwards, watching her face until she realized his goal.
"Oh," she said. "Ohhhhh."
He slowly and methodically took her apart with his tongue, lips, and fingers, and if perhaps his back and knees complained about the tile floor, he ignored it, even after she sobbed his name and buried her fingers in his hair. When he was done, he licked the batter off her still-quivering stomach, ate the raspberry, and collapsed beside her.
She rolled into him, kissing him to get the raspberry and chocolate off his tongue, and buried her head in his shoulder, still panting. "Oh, God, Phil, you're wearing me out."
He kissed the top of her head and thought, I love you. He didn't say it, though. He never did, and neither did she, although she said it so easily to others. "I thought I was the old one here," he said out loud, and she laughed.
The timer for the brownies sounded, and she groaned, rolled away, and stood in a graceful motion, pulling the shirt back over her head. "Go shower," she said. "I'll join you in a couple minutes."
He nodded, stood, picked up his bathrobe, finding a stray strawberry and popping it in his mouth. "Take all the time you need," he said.
"It won't be long," she said as she opened the oven and poked a cake-tester in the brownies. "Ohhh, these smell divine."
They did, actually. Phil dropped a kiss on her temple after she set the hot pan down and headed for the bathroom.
"Oh, and Phil?" she called after him. He stopped and turned partway. "Stop drawing hearts on my ass like a lovesick teenager."
"It was a strawberry!" he protested, forcing himself to grin and join in her laughter. It followed him down the hallway and into the shower. Damnit, Cait, he thought. Damnit.
Summary/Prompt: Sequel to the previous. See notes. Probably won't make much sense without the prior half.
Pairing: Cait/Phil
Rating: R/NC-17
Content Advisory: Uh. Sex. Food. Nothing in places where it would cause a yeast infection, though.
Word Count: 1160
Notes: This part isn't particularly fluffy so it didn't fit the prompt. So I didn't write it out, although it was in my head. And then I enticed boosette into shipping Cait/Phil (TINY SHIPS AHOY) so I had to write the second half.
Phil watched, leaning against the counter, as Cait measured out various alcohols and dropped them into the pitcher on top of the fruit, and then filled the pitcher up the rest of the way with what appeared to be white zinfandel. She gave the whole thing a quick stir with a wooden spoon, covered it with a piece of plastic wrap, and pushed various items out of the way in the fridge so there was room for the pitcher. She set the pitcher on the top shelf and closed the fridge before turning back to the counter to clean up her mess.
She turned back to Phil a moment or two later, holding two bowls: one containing various small pieces of fruit, and the other holding about a spoonful of brownie batter. He took them both from her, and she crossed her arms in front of her and pulled off the t-shirt in one swift move, shimmying out of her underwear a moment later. "So what did you want to do with the fruit?" she asked, smiling.
Phil set the bowls on the counter and stripped off his bathrobe, laying it out on the floor. He held out a hand, and Cait took it, still smiling, and he helped her to the floor. "On your stomach," he said, when she turned to lay on her back.
"Okay," she said, rolling over and pillowing her head on her arms.
He grabbed the bowls and knelt beside her, knees carefully on the edge of the bathrobe rather than the tile floor. Cait had fished a couple raspberries out of the pitcher, but he was saving those for her navel or her mouth. Instead, he carefully balanced strawberry quarters in between the knobs of her spine, starting at the base of her neck, just by where he'd licked off the chocolate, all the way down to her tailbone, just barely between the half-spheres of her bottom.
Cait shivered, dislodging one of the strawberries. "Cold."
"Not as cold as ice," Phil said, resetting it, "and I've used that on you before."
"True."
Dipping one finger into the brownie batter, he painted a shape on her left cheek, a couple inches away from the strawberry quarter. "What'd you draw on me?" she asked, lifting her head.
"A strawberry," he said, lying easily. It did perhaps look a bit like a strawberry. A bit. "Stay down. You keep knocking the strawberries off."
Cait lowered her head back to her forearms and sighed, muttering something about 'perfectionist surgeons,' and Phil fixed the strawberries she'd jostled. He sat back on his heels, looking at the contrast between the red strawberries, the dark chocolate, her creamy white skin, and the navy bathrobe, and smiled. It was probably better that she couldn't see the look on his face.
Moving so he straddled her knees, he bent over, licked the chocolate heart off her ass, and then took the first strawberry in his mouth, letting his lips linger against her skin. He did the same with the ten subsequent strawberries, and by the time he got to the strawberry at the top, Cait was gasping, her hands grasping the edge of the bathrobe. "Phil," she said, her voice breaking.
He sucked up the last strawberry, lowered his body to cover hers for a warm, lingering moment or two, and then pushed up and helped her turn over. He fed her the strawberry from his own mouth, and they kissed, again sharing the flavor.
"I think I like raspberry better," Cait said, her hands moving against his ribs.
"Me too," he said, "but we've only got two of those. Hands up."
Cait laced her fingers behind her head, and he settled between her knees, picking up the bowls again, and painting a circle around her navel with the rest of the chocolate batter before setting a raspberry in the shallow dent. He lined up peach chunks in the creases of her hips, and made a trail of strawberries up the midline of her chest before placing the second raspberry in the hollow of her throat. "Stay still," he reminded her.
"I'll try," she said, gasping again when he ate the first of the peaches. "Fuck, Phil," she said, before he'd even reached the other hip-crease. "I don't know if I'll survive this."
"Good thing I'm a doctor," he said, blowing on her pubic hair as he switched sides.
Cait laughed briefly before moaning again and wrapping one leg behind his knees.
He skipped the raspberry and chocolate by her navel, but lingered more on the front than he had on her spine, making detours along the sides of her ribs and to suck her nipples into peaks. When he reached the raspberry at her throat, he licked the sweat and juice pooling under it first before sharing it with her again, in a long, slow kiss that curled his toes, let alone hers.
"You missed one," she said, when they broke for breath.
"No, I didn't," he said.
She curled up, looked at her own navel. "Oh?"
"That's my reward." He shifted onto all fours, and then crawled backwards, watching her face until she realized his goal.
"Oh," she said. "Ohhhhh."
He slowly and methodically took her apart with his tongue, lips, and fingers, and if perhaps his back and knees complained about the tile floor, he ignored it, even after she sobbed his name and buried her fingers in his hair. When he was done, he licked the batter off her still-quivering stomach, ate the raspberry, and collapsed beside her.
She rolled into him, kissing him to get the raspberry and chocolate off his tongue, and buried her head in his shoulder, still panting. "Oh, God, Phil, you're wearing me out."
He kissed the top of her head and thought, I love you. He didn't say it, though. He never did, and neither did she, although she said it so easily to others. "I thought I was the old one here," he said out loud, and she laughed.
The timer for the brownies sounded, and she groaned, rolled away, and stood in a graceful motion, pulling the shirt back over her head. "Go shower," she said. "I'll join you in a couple minutes."
He nodded, stood, picked up his bathrobe, finding a stray strawberry and popping it in his mouth. "Take all the time you need," he said.
"It won't be long," she said as she opened the oven and poked a cake-tester in the brownies. "Ohhh, these smell divine."
They did, actually. Phil dropped a kiss on her temple after she set the hot pan down and headed for the bathroom.
"Oh, and Phil?" she called after him. He stopped and turned partway. "Stop drawing hearts on my ass like a lovesick teenager."
"It was a strawberry!" he protested, forcing himself to grin and join in her laughter. It followed him down the hallway and into the shower. Damnit, Cait, he thought. Damnit.