BSG Fic: The Fine Art of Dishwasher Repair
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
Rating: ADULT
Wordcount: 2700
Summary: Kara needs her dishwasher repaired, and Sam's up for the job. Customer satisfaction is his first priority. (Earth AU)
NOTE: y'know how I say I don't write (a) crack, (b) fluff, or (c) PWP? I lied. Sorry, there is absolutely no literary value to this whatsoever.
Inspired by the Kink Bingo challenge at DW, for the square "Domestics/Tradesmen". And real life. And commercial bad porn. oh gods, what am I doing? *hides*
The doorbell rang and Kara was already crossing the entryway before the echo of the bell died. When she pulled it open, a blast of oven-like air struck her, and she was glad for her shorts and tank-top.
Then her eyes widened a bit, seeing the man the plumbing gods had just decided to put on her doorstep. He was tall, with short brown hair that was damp at the sides of his face from sweat. His eyes were striking blue, and when she could finally look away from them, she noticed the broad shoulders that barely fit into his work coveralls. He was carrying a clipboard and a metal box of tools at his feet. When he saw her, he gave her a bright, friendly grin. "Ms. Thrace? I'm here to fix your dishwasher."
"Right. Come in," she noticed his name on his coveralls, "Sam." She opened the door more widely to let him in, and pretended not to notice that his eyes had found her cleavage, following the line of the dog tags around her neck where they rested atop her breasts.
She led him toward the kitchen. He paused in the hallway at the photo of her and her husband, both in their flight suits, in front of his Raptor. "You're a fighter pilot?" he asked, sounding impressed. "That's cool."
"Flight instructor," she corrected. "My husband flies the Raptor. Though he has yet to fight anything but sand." Which was okay with her, since that meant he wouldn't be deployed overseas.
"Oh. Husband." Sam's face fell noticeably. "Is he around?"
"He's away," she answered, smiling, and turned her mind back to the present circumstance of the good-looking appliance repairman in her house. "He won't be back 'til later."
"Oh, that's ... too bad," Sam said, without much conviction, and followed her to the kitchen.
"There it is." She pointed to the dishwasher and its black front. "It started to make funny grinding noises yesterday."
He set the box down again, careful of the metal box on the ceramic tile floor, and it occurred to her that he must be pretty strong to be carrying that thing like it weighed nothing. When he straightened up again, she noticed there was sweat gleaming in the tanned hollow of his throat. Her tongue came out to lick her suddenly dry lips.
"That doesn't sound good," he agreed. "It's probably the motor." He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Man, I hate Nellis in the summer. It's nice to be in air conditioning."
"I know what you mean. I start to think about deployment to Elmendorf, myself. You want some iced tea?" she offered.
"That'd be great, thanks."
As she poured him a glass, she could sense his gaze, almost physical in its intensity, sliding down her bare legs and back up to her chest when she turned to face him.
"Interesting tattoo on your arm," he observed, as if he hadn't just been burning off her clothes with his eyes.
"It's what I wear instead of a ring," she answered. "Can't have wedding bands in a plane pulling 3Gs."
"I don't know anything about that, but I like tats on women," Sam said, and he reached out a finger to trace it on her arm. She knew she should move, but the boldness of the touch made her shiver. He smiled, a bit of a smirk, and took the glass from her. He downed half of it immediately, and watching him put his mouth on that glass made her want him to put those lips on her. Then he let out a gusty breath and pushed a hand through his damp hair, spiking it up on the top of his head. "Thank you. The heat was killing me out there."
"You're welcome," she answered and noticed when he put his glass down on the counter that he didn't wear a ring either. "You're not married?"
"Nope," he answered and knelt to open the tool box. The first thing he pulled out was an old towel which he put down on the floor. "I like my work, but I get called out at all kinds of hours. Not too many women care for those late night emergency calls."
"Oh, I don't know," she returned. She watched as he bent, muscles straining against the back of his coveralls, and he pulled off the panel from the bottom of the appliance, exposing the motor workings underneath. "Depends on the woman, I'd think. My friend Sharon, who lives not far from here, told me she had some kind of plumbing emergency on Saturday night last week. She got really good service; that's why I called you."
He shrugged and set the panel on the towel. "Wasn't me. Karl maybe. But I'm glad to hear she liked what she got. I hope you're just as satisfied at the end of the job here." His tone was completely earnest and she swallowed her giggle.
"Well, that's what I was hoping for," she answered and moved closer. "Because your friend Karl did satisfy her, very well, I hear. And, y'know, jock fighter pilots are great and exciting and all that --" and so easily did she dismiss her husband with only a little guilt, and her voice turned husky with what she really wanted. "But sometimes I like a man who's willing to get his hands dirty."
He looked up at her, and their eyes met and she knew they were thinking the same thing. "I like getting dirty," he answered, and added suggestively, "And wet."
"Wet's good, too," she agreed and this time, when she licked her lips it was for him.
He reached out with a large hand to her knee and slid up her bare thigh, leaving a smear of grease on her skin from one of his fingers. She saw it and was sorry when he didn't reach for her inner thighs. Instead he moved his hand up over her clothes and the outer curve of her hip and waist, as he rose to his feet so he could look into her eyes.
"That is one hot tattoo, Ms. Thrace." Shit, how did the polite way he said her name make her belly tighten? "You sure the husband's not coming home soon?" he murmured. "That could be... awkward."
She put two fingers over his mouth. "Don't worry about it. We have as long as we want." She lifted the hand away, but just to put it around to the back of his neck and pull him down.
His eyes holding hers, he leaned down slowly, giving her a chance to stop. But she didn't want to stop. She tilted her head back to offer her mouth. There was nothing tentative about his kiss, as his lips came down on hers like a man who knew what he wanted. His hand curled into the back of her head, tangling into her hair. His tongue sought her mouth and she opened to him, eagerly, wanting it messy and wet and fast.
Then moving forward, he hit the toolbox with his foot and he sprang back with a wince and a muttered, "Ow. Damn it."
"You okay?" she asked.
"Stubbed my toe," he answered, looking more regretful than in pain. Then he kicked the offending tool box out of his way and she cringed when it slammed into the dishwasher. He glanced down and reassured her, "It looks okay."
"You'll fix it later, right?" she asked, teasing.
"Later," he agreed and bent back down to kiss her again and pick up where they'd left off.
His hands went under her legs and in a quick burst, he lifted her up on the top of the kitchen island. She gasped with surprise and her flailing hand knocked the pepper grinder to the floor. But that just made her heart beat faster, even as she felt that seething tingle between her legs.
Her hands fumbled at the zipper of his coveralls and unzipped it just like a flight suit, and shoved it down his arms to hang down at his waist. He wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, and she had to stare at all the smooth skin and muscles and droplets of sweat. This was exactly what she'd wanted -- something raw, forbidden... hot.
Her hands went directly to his shoulders, and the touch what she expected: damp soft skin and firm muscle under her fingers. Her hands slid down the flat area beneath his collar bones and over the swell of his pecs and nipple nubs, which she pinched mischievously. He flinched with surprise and let out a startled breath, blinking rapidly as the sensation rushed through him. "That's good?" she asked, grinning.
"Hell, yeah." His hands were at the bottom of her tank top and she had to let go so he could strip it off over her head. "You want me to--?" she started and brought her hands together to open the front clasp of her bra, but he got there first.
"Let me," he asked and opened it without pause. Like a blind man feeling his way, he cupped her breasts in both hands, tracing her areolas and rubbing her nipples with his fingers until they hardened to his touch and her breath caught in her chest. Then he leaned forward and she had to lean backward on both hands to hold herself mostly upright, as he bent to touch his mouth to her breast and tugged on her nipple with his lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist tightly, feeling him hardening against her.
"More, now." She wriggled against him until he groaned deep in his chest.
He opened her shorts and she lifted her hips so he could pull them off with her panties, until she was naked on her own kitchen table. Even as he lifted the fistful of clothes to his nose to take a deep sniff, his blue eyes raked down her body. He smiled and tossed her clothes to the floor. "You're wet for me, captain?" he asked in a low voice that made her shudder and a wave of heat slip down her spine to lodge right between her legs. "You want a dirty working man to touch you? Make you feel all the things your uptight disciplined officer husband doesn't?" he murmured. His hand settled briefly on her stomach and then down, through her curls and between the legs she parted for him eagerly. "Oh yeah, you're ready. Hell, you've been ready since you opened the door, haven't you?"
"Shut up and frak me," she ordered, but he chuckled deep in his chest.
"I'm not one of your soldiers," he retorted. "I'm here to give you good service. Take my time... do a thorough job..." With every phrase he dragged his fingers across her slick lips and brushed her clit.
Her heels pressed into the counter, knees bent, as her back arched to try to push into his touch more firmly. Searching for something to hold onto, she could only grab the edge of the island behind her head.
He pushed two fingers inside her, frakking her and making her whine with the need for more. Then he lifted those fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, and she stared, a little shocked at the strength of the jolt the sight gave her. He murmured, "Wet and dirty. But I like it." Then, holding her thighs apart with both hands, he lowered his head to push his tongue where his fingers had been.
She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't lie still, and jerked in his grip, as he licked her clit until orgasm broke through her in a sudden wave. "Frak, yeah," she gasped. "Gimme more of that."
She tugged at the hanging top half of his coveralls with her toe to urge them down. "You too," she said.
He pushed them down and kicked off his clothes to land somewhere. She let her eyes slip down his body, appreciating the lean muscle all the way to his erection. He stood there boldly naked, not shy at all, not that he had anything to be shy about. "God, I love big men," she murmured, watching as he fisted his cock so he was flushed and stiff.
She opened her legs, scooting to the edge. It shouldn't have been so easy with a complete stranger to let him enter her, but in a moment, he was stretching her, filling her. She just wanted more. Biting her lip, she urged him on, "C'mon, appliance repair guy, move."
She wrapped her legs around him, heels on his back to pull him into her, and braced herself with hands clutching the countertop to either side of her hips, as he thrust in her.
He grabbed one of her legs and held it higher, to open her deeper, and the feel of him moving inside her, the wet sounds they made coming together, and the sound of their own panting breaths, made the heat tighten inside her. "Yes, Sam, harder," she said through gritted teeth.
He listened and quickened his rhythm, biting his own lip, sweat dripping down his chest. "Hurry up, Kara, don't know if I can--" he muttered through clenched teeth, and his grip on her leg turned bruising, trying to hold himself back for her.
Speeding up a little more was the trick, and the spasms shook her deeply. She rode it out, as he groaned under the assault of her tightening on him. His head thrown back, neck and shoulder muscles corded with strain, he pulsed into her with each uncontrolled snap of his hips into her.
Then, panting, he collapsed forward onto her, to plant lazy sloppy kisses on her chest and neck. "Frak, that was good," he pushed out between breaths. "We should do this more often."
She lifted a trembling hand to his head to press it down to her chest, and stroke his hair. "Yeah. You're a hot repairman." They stayed there, resting, until the discomfort got to her. "Sam?" He made a mildly inquisitive sound and didn't move, even when she poked him in the side. "I've got a granite counter under my ass and you're really heavy."
He turned his head to kiss her breast and with a deep breath, pushed off. It was a relief not to be squished, but she missed the feel of his body on hers. She watched him pad naked around the far end of the island to grab a kitchen towel to clean up with.
Sitting up, she discovered she was a bit sore, especially in her inner thighs and tail bone, but it was definitely worth it.
She got down and stepped on something hard. Curious, she looked down. She was stepping on a piece of the dishwasher panel, which looked to have broken in several pieces, probably from when Sam had kicked the box out of his way. She burst into laughter. Sam frowned at her curiously, but she was unable to speak at first. She had to push him until he turned and saw for himself. Then, between giggles, she forced out, "Honey, I think you broke the dishwasher."
He regarded the disarray in their kitchen floor and the broken panel with dismay. "Damn it." Then the humor caught up to him, and he laughed, pulling her tight against his chest. "I guess we'll have to call a real repair guy. Please don't frak him on the kitchen counter, though."
"Only if he's hotter than you," she promised, grinning, and ran her fingers across the muscle of his shoulder and down his matching arm tattoo to make it clear that she didn't think that was even possible.
"Then I'd have to find some other pilot who wants to frak plumbers or pool boys or the mail man," he retorted.
That gave her ideas. "Oh! The mail man! Or maybe you could deliver a package," she suggested, enthusiastically. "And it could have toys in it. I could invite you to help me out with them..."
She could see he was intrigued, even though he laughed. "All right, all right. But if I have to be the FedEx guy, then I want you to be a French maid. With a feather duster," he added with joking leer. But she caught the gleam in his eyes and wondered how much of it really was a joke.
She rolled her eyes. "Cliché, but fair enough. If that's what you want. But first, let's go break the shower."
"Hell, I'm never living this down, am I?" he asked with a resigned sigh, following her toward their bedroom.
"Nope," she retorted cheerfully. "Just wait 'til Sharon and Karl hear about it. Or your squad-mates. It should be around the base by tomorrow night."
She laughed at the way he pretended to be horrified, but then took a little pity on him. Not that she wasn't going to tell, because it was just too good not to, but she'd have to make it up to him somehow. She'd try to find a sexy little maid's outfit in time to surprise him tomorrow.
And a feather duster.
end.
-
Rating: ADULT
Wordcount: 2700
Summary: Kara needs her dishwasher repaired, and Sam's up for the job. Customer satisfaction is his first priority. (Earth AU)
NOTE: y'know how I say I don't write (a) crack, (b) fluff, or (c) PWP? I lied. Sorry, there is absolutely no literary value to this whatsoever.
Inspired by the Kink Bingo challenge at DW, for the square "Domestics/Tradesmen". And real life. And commercial bad porn. oh gods, what am I doing? *hides*
The doorbell rang and Kara was already crossing the entryway before the echo of the bell died. When she pulled it open, a blast of oven-like air struck her, and she was glad for her shorts and tank-top.
Then her eyes widened a bit, seeing the man the plumbing gods had just decided to put on her doorstep. He was tall, with short brown hair that was damp at the sides of his face from sweat. His eyes were striking blue, and when she could finally look away from them, she noticed the broad shoulders that barely fit into his work coveralls. He was carrying a clipboard and a metal box of tools at his feet. When he saw her, he gave her a bright, friendly grin. "Ms. Thrace? I'm here to fix your dishwasher."
"Right. Come in," she noticed his name on his coveralls, "Sam." She opened the door more widely to let him in, and pretended not to notice that his eyes had found her cleavage, following the line of the dog tags around her neck where they rested atop her breasts.
She led him toward the kitchen. He paused in the hallway at the photo of her and her husband, both in their flight suits, in front of his Raptor. "You're a fighter pilot?" he asked, sounding impressed. "That's cool."
"Flight instructor," she corrected. "My husband flies the Raptor. Though he has yet to fight anything but sand." Which was okay with her, since that meant he wouldn't be deployed overseas.
"Oh. Husband." Sam's face fell noticeably. "Is he around?"
"He's away," she answered, smiling, and turned her mind back to the present circumstance of the good-looking appliance repairman in her house. "He won't be back 'til later."
"Oh, that's ... too bad," Sam said, without much conviction, and followed her to the kitchen.
"There it is." She pointed to the dishwasher and its black front. "It started to make funny grinding noises yesterday."
He set the box down again, careful of the metal box on the ceramic tile floor, and it occurred to her that he must be pretty strong to be carrying that thing like it weighed nothing. When he straightened up again, she noticed there was sweat gleaming in the tanned hollow of his throat. Her tongue came out to lick her suddenly dry lips.
"That doesn't sound good," he agreed. "It's probably the motor." He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Man, I hate Nellis in the summer. It's nice to be in air conditioning."
"I know what you mean. I start to think about deployment to Elmendorf, myself. You want some iced tea?" she offered.
"That'd be great, thanks."
As she poured him a glass, she could sense his gaze, almost physical in its intensity, sliding down her bare legs and back up to her chest when she turned to face him.
"Interesting tattoo on your arm," he observed, as if he hadn't just been burning off her clothes with his eyes.
"It's what I wear instead of a ring," she answered. "Can't have wedding bands in a plane pulling 3Gs."
"I don't know anything about that, but I like tats on women," Sam said, and he reached out a finger to trace it on her arm. She knew she should move, but the boldness of the touch made her shiver. He smiled, a bit of a smirk, and took the glass from her. He downed half of it immediately, and watching him put his mouth on that glass made her want him to put those lips on her. Then he let out a gusty breath and pushed a hand through his damp hair, spiking it up on the top of his head. "Thank you. The heat was killing me out there."
"You're welcome," she answered and noticed when he put his glass down on the counter that he didn't wear a ring either. "You're not married?"
"Nope," he answered and knelt to open the tool box. The first thing he pulled out was an old towel which he put down on the floor. "I like my work, but I get called out at all kinds of hours. Not too many women care for those late night emergency calls."
"Oh, I don't know," she returned. She watched as he bent, muscles straining against the back of his coveralls, and he pulled off the panel from the bottom of the appliance, exposing the motor workings underneath. "Depends on the woman, I'd think. My friend Sharon, who lives not far from here, told me she had some kind of plumbing emergency on Saturday night last week. She got really good service; that's why I called you."
He shrugged and set the panel on the towel. "Wasn't me. Karl maybe. But I'm glad to hear she liked what she got. I hope you're just as satisfied at the end of the job here." His tone was completely earnest and she swallowed her giggle.
"Well, that's what I was hoping for," she answered and moved closer. "Because your friend Karl did satisfy her, very well, I hear. And, y'know, jock fighter pilots are great and exciting and all that --" and so easily did she dismiss her husband with only a little guilt, and her voice turned husky with what she really wanted. "But sometimes I like a man who's willing to get his hands dirty."
He looked up at her, and their eyes met and she knew they were thinking the same thing. "I like getting dirty," he answered, and added suggestively, "And wet."
"Wet's good, too," she agreed and this time, when she licked her lips it was for him.
He reached out with a large hand to her knee and slid up her bare thigh, leaving a smear of grease on her skin from one of his fingers. She saw it and was sorry when he didn't reach for her inner thighs. Instead he moved his hand up over her clothes and the outer curve of her hip and waist, as he rose to his feet so he could look into her eyes.
"That is one hot tattoo, Ms. Thrace." Shit, how did the polite way he said her name make her belly tighten? "You sure the husband's not coming home soon?" he murmured. "That could be... awkward."
She put two fingers over his mouth. "Don't worry about it. We have as long as we want." She lifted the hand away, but just to put it around to the back of his neck and pull him down.
His eyes holding hers, he leaned down slowly, giving her a chance to stop. But she didn't want to stop. She tilted her head back to offer her mouth. There was nothing tentative about his kiss, as his lips came down on hers like a man who knew what he wanted. His hand curled into the back of her head, tangling into her hair. His tongue sought her mouth and she opened to him, eagerly, wanting it messy and wet and fast.
Then moving forward, he hit the toolbox with his foot and he sprang back with a wince and a muttered, "Ow. Damn it."
"You okay?" she asked.
"Stubbed my toe," he answered, looking more regretful than in pain. Then he kicked the offending tool box out of his way and she cringed when it slammed into the dishwasher. He glanced down and reassured her, "It looks okay."
"You'll fix it later, right?" she asked, teasing.
"Later," he agreed and bent back down to kiss her again and pick up where they'd left off.
His hands went under her legs and in a quick burst, he lifted her up on the top of the kitchen island. She gasped with surprise and her flailing hand knocked the pepper grinder to the floor. But that just made her heart beat faster, even as she felt that seething tingle between her legs.
Her hands fumbled at the zipper of his coveralls and unzipped it just like a flight suit, and shoved it down his arms to hang down at his waist. He wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, and she had to stare at all the smooth skin and muscles and droplets of sweat. This was exactly what she'd wanted -- something raw, forbidden... hot.
Her hands went directly to his shoulders, and the touch what she expected: damp soft skin and firm muscle under her fingers. Her hands slid down the flat area beneath his collar bones and over the swell of his pecs and nipple nubs, which she pinched mischievously. He flinched with surprise and let out a startled breath, blinking rapidly as the sensation rushed through him. "That's good?" she asked, grinning.
"Hell, yeah." His hands were at the bottom of her tank top and she had to let go so he could strip it off over her head. "You want me to--?" she started and brought her hands together to open the front clasp of her bra, but he got there first.
"Let me," he asked and opened it without pause. Like a blind man feeling his way, he cupped her breasts in both hands, tracing her areolas and rubbing her nipples with his fingers until they hardened to his touch and her breath caught in her chest. Then he leaned forward and she had to lean backward on both hands to hold herself mostly upright, as he bent to touch his mouth to her breast and tugged on her nipple with his lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist tightly, feeling him hardening against her.
"More, now." She wriggled against him until he groaned deep in his chest.
He opened her shorts and she lifted her hips so he could pull them off with her panties, until she was naked on her own kitchen table. Even as he lifted the fistful of clothes to his nose to take a deep sniff, his blue eyes raked down her body. He smiled and tossed her clothes to the floor. "You're wet for me, captain?" he asked in a low voice that made her shudder and a wave of heat slip down her spine to lodge right between her legs. "You want a dirty working man to touch you? Make you feel all the things your uptight disciplined officer husband doesn't?" he murmured. His hand settled briefly on her stomach and then down, through her curls and between the legs she parted for him eagerly. "Oh yeah, you're ready. Hell, you've been ready since you opened the door, haven't you?"
"Shut up and frak me," she ordered, but he chuckled deep in his chest.
"I'm not one of your soldiers," he retorted. "I'm here to give you good service. Take my time... do a thorough job..." With every phrase he dragged his fingers across her slick lips and brushed her clit.
Her heels pressed into the counter, knees bent, as her back arched to try to push into his touch more firmly. Searching for something to hold onto, she could only grab the edge of the island behind her head.
He pushed two fingers inside her, frakking her and making her whine with the need for more. Then he lifted those fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, and she stared, a little shocked at the strength of the jolt the sight gave her. He murmured, "Wet and dirty. But I like it." Then, holding her thighs apart with both hands, he lowered his head to push his tongue where his fingers had been.
She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't lie still, and jerked in his grip, as he licked her clit until orgasm broke through her in a sudden wave. "Frak, yeah," she gasped. "Gimme more of that."
She tugged at the hanging top half of his coveralls with her toe to urge them down. "You too," she said.
He pushed them down and kicked off his clothes to land somewhere. She let her eyes slip down his body, appreciating the lean muscle all the way to his erection. He stood there boldly naked, not shy at all, not that he had anything to be shy about. "God, I love big men," she murmured, watching as he fisted his cock so he was flushed and stiff.
She opened her legs, scooting to the edge. It shouldn't have been so easy with a complete stranger to let him enter her, but in a moment, he was stretching her, filling her. She just wanted more. Biting her lip, she urged him on, "C'mon, appliance repair guy, move."
She wrapped her legs around him, heels on his back to pull him into her, and braced herself with hands clutching the countertop to either side of her hips, as he thrust in her.
He grabbed one of her legs and held it higher, to open her deeper, and the feel of him moving inside her, the wet sounds they made coming together, and the sound of their own panting breaths, made the heat tighten inside her. "Yes, Sam, harder," she said through gritted teeth.
He listened and quickened his rhythm, biting his own lip, sweat dripping down his chest. "Hurry up, Kara, don't know if I can--" he muttered through clenched teeth, and his grip on her leg turned bruising, trying to hold himself back for her.
Speeding up a little more was the trick, and the spasms shook her deeply. She rode it out, as he groaned under the assault of her tightening on him. His head thrown back, neck and shoulder muscles corded with strain, he pulsed into her with each uncontrolled snap of his hips into her.
Then, panting, he collapsed forward onto her, to plant lazy sloppy kisses on her chest and neck. "Frak, that was good," he pushed out between breaths. "We should do this more often."
She lifted a trembling hand to his head to press it down to her chest, and stroke his hair. "Yeah. You're a hot repairman." They stayed there, resting, until the discomfort got to her. "Sam?" He made a mildly inquisitive sound and didn't move, even when she poked him in the side. "I've got a granite counter under my ass and you're really heavy."
He turned his head to kiss her breast and with a deep breath, pushed off. It was a relief not to be squished, but she missed the feel of his body on hers. She watched him pad naked around the far end of the island to grab a kitchen towel to clean up with.
Sitting up, she discovered she was a bit sore, especially in her inner thighs and tail bone, but it was definitely worth it.
She got down and stepped on something hard. Curious, she looked down. She was stepping on a piece of the dishwasher panel, which looked to have broken in several pieces, probably from when Sam had kicked the box out of his way. She burst into laughter. Sam frowned at her curiously, but she was unable to speak at first. She had to push him until he turned and saw for himself. Then, between giggles, she forced out, "Honey, I think you broke the dishwasher."
He regarded the disarray in their kitchen floor and the broken panel with dismay. "Damn it." Then the humor caught up to him, and he laughed, pulling her tight against his chest. "I guess we'll have to call a real repair guy. Please don't frak him on the kitchen counter, though."
"Only if he's hotter than you," she promised, grinning, and ran her fingers across the muscle of his shoulder and down his matching arm tattoo to make it clear that she didn't think that was even possible.
"Then I'd have to find some other pilot who wants to frak plumbers or pool boys or the mail man," he retorted.
That gave her ideas. "Oh! The mail man! Or maybe you could deliver a package," she suggested, enthusiastically. "And it could have toys in it. I could invite you to help me out with them..."
She could see he was intrigued, even though he laughed. "All right, all right. But if I have to be the FedEx guy, then I want you to be a French maid. With a feather duster," he added with joking leer. But she caught the gleam in his eyes and wondered how much of it really was a joke.
She rolled her eyes. "Cliché, but fair enough. If that's what you want. But first, let's go break the shower."
"Hell, I'm never living this down, am I?" he asked with a resigned sigh, following her toward their bedroom.
"Nope," she retorted cheerfully. "Just wait 'til Sharon and Karl hear about it. Or your squad-mates. It should be around the base by tomorrow night."
She laughed at the way he pretended to be horrified, but then took a little pity on him. Not that she wasn't going to tell, because it was just too good not to, but she'd have to make it up to him somehow. She'd try to find a sexy little maid's outfit in time to surprise him tomorrow.
And a feather duster.
end.
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