DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.
A/N: Just fluffy drabble that came into mind while binge-watching the series.
Grace opened her fridge, wondering what her limited culinary abilities could turn into tonight's dinner. Cooking probably wasn't in Earl's repertoire of divine intervention; the bag of pre-mixed salad that had gone slimy was beyond salvation anyway. Grace wrinkled her nose and tossed it in the kitchen garbage. She washed her hands thoroughly, then got a beer. She'd cut down on her drinking quite a bit and her clothes had been fitting better ever since, a fact she knew Ham appreciated. Hell, she was sure Butch and Bobby appreciated it too.
Gus lifted his massive head off the arm of the couch, a sign someone was approaching. There was a knock on the front door. Gus wagged his tail. Grace ran down the list of possible suspects: Rhetta, Ham, Clay. Of course, Gus was so darn friendly it could be anyone from a delivery guy at the wrong address to Jack the Ripper. When Grace swung the door open, she was facing the towering frame of her partner.
"Hey, can I come in?" Ham greeted.
Grace noted that he was sober and didn't have that come-hither gleam in his eye. Unusual but not overly worrying. They might be screwing like jackrabbits, but they were partners and best friends first. Ham came over for all kinds of reasons.
"Sure. You want a beer too?" Grace asked.
"No, not right now." It was barely seven-thirty in the evening, but he sounded tired.
Grace wasn't surprised by that either. It had been a rough day for everyone; Ham had been the one to tell a father his daughter was raped and murdered, then found out the same guy had attacked Grace years prior. It made him madder than hell that someone had done that to his best friend and lover. Those fits of anger always took a lot out of him.
"Something on your mind?" she wanted to know, setting her bottle on the counter.
"Lotta things," Ham replied vaguely. "Mostly I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
Before either of them knew it, Ham's big arms were around Grace, squeezing tight. They stayed that way for a long time, him wishing he could soak up her pain like a sponge. Grace pulled away but kept her grip locked around the small of his back.
"Don't you worry about nothin', Ham," she said, pure Oklahoma drawl. "I'm a tough girl. Lift my own saddles and everything."
Grace winked.
"I know you are, but I had to be sure," said Ham.
"Well, you're a good man, Charlie Brown." The phrase tumbled out of her mouth unbidden.
Clay's school had recently put on the play; Grace had taken Clay to every performance so he could see the girl he currently had a crush on, a bubbly little thing who played Sally.
"What?" Ham snickered.
"I said, you're a good man, Charlie Brown," Grace repeated, moving her hands so her palms were flat on his middle. "Was that a growl I just felt?"
"I think you just like touchin' my abs," Ham teased.
Grace's only response to that was, "What happened? Darlene run ya off without supper again?"
"I'm back stayin' with my brother and, um, he's havin' company tonight," Ham explained.
"Company or 'company'?" Grace inquired, making finger quotes against his shirt.
"The second kind." He put his hands over hers.
Grace took a few steps away. "Well, if it's a free meal you're lookin' for, you are S.O.L., cowboy. I ain't cooked for a man in 20 years. Shit, I barely even cook for myself." She sipped her beer.
"We could go grab something," Ham suggested. "My treat."
Grace shook her head. "I got my favorite fuzzy PJs on. I'm in for the night." She gestured around the kitchen. "Cupboard's a little bare, but I think there's cereal and a box of Pop-Tarts."
"I need more than that." He bit his lip.
Was Ham pleading with her? Grace found it strangely hot.
"Beggars can't be choosers," she shrugged.
"What if I ordered us a pizza?" Ham wheedled. "Or maybe some Chinese? I know you love reading the fortune cookies."
"Not in the mood." Grace was toying with him, but he didn't know that.
"I could go out and bring us back somethin' from Johnnie's." Ham tried as his stomach cramped again.
"Nah, we had that for lunch," said Grace, just because it was fun watching her partner squirm.
"Well, what do you want? Come on, help me out, will ya?" Ham's voice had gone up almost an octave. "I'm starving."
Oh, he was definitely begging.
"All right, I'll check the fridge again," she said. "If the cheese ain't gone bad, I make a mean grilled cheese."
"Sounds good." Ham looked around the counter and kitchen island. "But I don't see any bread."
"Well, then if I have tortillas, it'll be Mexican grilled cheese." Grace opened the refrigerator and deliberately bent over, seeing whether she could make her partner hungry for two things at once.
"Isn't that the same thing as a quesadilla?" Ham asked.
"You say 'tomato'-"
"Tomatoes? I love your spaghetti, Grace. Been a while since I've had some."
In retrospect, Grace should've known better than to attempt that trick. When Ham Dewey's belly started growling, everything else came second, including his appetite for her.
"Nope, outta tomato sauce," Grace reported from inside the appliance. She held out the milk carton. "Here. This might fill you up a little."
Ham doubted it, but accepted the carton anyway. When he opened it, a sour smell rushed out. He wrinkled his nose and poured the milk down the sink.
"Shit." Grace swore. "That's bad too?"
She didn't bother checking the freezer; there was nothing in it but ice cube trays. Grace thought it might be a good idea to start keeping Hungry-Man frozen dinners around for the possibility of occasions such as this.
"Well, hell's bells. I guess pizza it is." she said.
Ham reached for the cordless phone. "Wait. Won't that take, like, an hour?"
Grace answered that with a tilt of her head.
"But I'm hungry now," he pouted.
"I have a roll of cookie dough. We could bend the rules a little, start with dessert."
"Wouldn't be the only rule we've bent." Ham's talking about his marriage and they both know it.
While Grace preheated the oven, Ham called the nearest pizza place and ordered two large meat-lovers with extra cheese and garlic knots.
"An hour, just like I thought," he reported as he hung up. "Hey, I'm gonna run out to the gas station and get some more milk."
"Can't have cookies without it," she agreed.
By the time Ham returned, the whole front room of Grace's house was full of a sweet aroma that made him feel lightheaded. There were about two dozen cookies sitting on a cooling rack. Ham's mouth watered. He carefully toed out of his cowboy boots and socks, padding toward Grace. She had her back to him, pulling another batch from the oven. She looked over her shoulder when she heard him set the milk on the counter.
"Those cookies are still real hot," Grace warned her partner. She heard a loud, irritable grumble she reckoned she could ID from a line-up. "That one sounded like it hurt."
"It did." Ham winced. "Man, I gotta get somethin' in my stomach, Gracie." That particular endearment was one she rarely heard outside of intimate moments.
"Start with this before you burn your fingers off," said Grace, pouring him a glass of milk.
Ham gulped down half of it, watching Grace scrape up the cookies with a spatula and put them on a plate.
"Feeling any better?" she asked.
"Not really."
Grace bit into a cookie. Just for devilment, she made a few exaggerated noises to show him how tasty it was. She broke off a piece and stood on her tiptoes. Ham opened his mouth eagerly, callused fingertips gently caressing her knuckles. As he chewed, Ham made some sounds that were borderline orgasmic and she didn't think he was faking it. Grace picked up the plate of cookies, carried it into the living room, and turned on a football game. Ham was right behind her with the glasses of milk.
Grace made herself comfortable on the couch, her legs stretched out across his lap. Bite by bite, she fed Ham the other half of her cookie. Bobby and Butch would have fresh ribbing material if they could see tough old Ham Dewey eating out of her hand like a trained sea lion.
"That enough?" she teased.
"Hell no, Grace, I'm a big guy," said Ham, trying to reach over her for the plate. "I gotta have some more."
Grace blocked him with her body. "You gotta say the magic word first."
"Please, Gracie?"
Grace smiled and held up the plate.
"Thank you."
"The other magic words. I'm impressed," she said.
Grace put the plate on the coffee table between them, keeping a careful eye out for Gus. They sat in companionable silence for a while as they watched the game and ate their snack. Grace checked the clock.
"We still have time to kill before the pizza guy shows up," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "How 'bout you and I make out like we're in high school?"
Ham should've recognized sooner that Grace taunting him with cookies was one of their "games." He blamed it on being tired and starving.
"I might have just enough gas in the tank for that," Ham flirted. He kissed her on the mouth. "You taste like chocolate."
"So do you," said Grace.
They went back to kissing deeply, stopping only when one of them needed air. Ham was on top, rubbing Grace's thigh the way that always drove her crazy. Did he have the energy for a quickie? Probably not, but he'd make an honest effort if that's what Grace wanted. Ham pushed up Grace's shirt and started kissing her torso. Grace let out a happy little sigh, lacing her fingers in his hair. A soft gurgle broke the quiet.
"Well, thanks, Ham. Now you got my belly started too." Grace's tone was just this side of sassy.
"Should I stop?" Ham asked.
"Hell no. I've got an idea. Just lie on back for me."
Grace unbuttoned his shirt and straddled his waist. Next thing he knew, she was eating cookie pieces off his washboard abs. Ham held her hair back so it wouldn't get sticky. Grace thought this might be even more fun than the night they did body shots of tequila.
"Do I get a turn?" Ham wanted to know, his hunger pangs getting stronger.
There was a sharp series of knocks on the door.
"Slice of Heaven!" called a rough male voice Grace knew too well.
She wondered if Earl had peeked in the front window and watched what they were doing.
"I'll get it, Grace," said Ham, sliding out from under her.
He buttoned his shirt enough to hide any lingering crumbs or smears of chocolate. Grace sat cross-legged on the couch, doing her best to look innocent. Ham opened the door and dug out his wallet.
"Howdy," Earl greeted. "You the Mr. Dewey ordered two large pizzas and garlic knots?"
"Yeah, that's me."
Grace listened to them exchange pleasantries about the weather and the current state of Sooners football.
"Why, thank you kindly," Earl said when Ham told him to keep the change. "That's a mighty generous tip. You folks have yourself a nice supper."
"Yeah, man, we will. Drive safe."
Grace chuckled to herself and shook her head. "God's Pizza, we deliver."
"What'd you say?" asked Ham, scooting the cookie plate to make room for the boxes.
"Nothin'. I thought you called the Olive Branch."
"I was gonna, but I found that other menu under the phone," Ham explained, cracking a beer and getting a cold one for Grace. "Place is new in town, thought it'd be worth a try."
Grace didn't remember having any new menus, but it wouldn't be the first time Earl had made something appear out of nowhere.
"I tell you one thing, it smells good," she observed.
"Mm-hmm. You want a plate or would you rather use me?" Ham was only half-joking.
"You know where the plates are, smart-ass," Grace returned.
Ham didn't bother to use his and went straight for the garlic knots. He shoved half of one in his mouth at once. Grace watched his eyes roll back in his head.
"Give me that," she said, snatching the rest out of his fingers.
Ham got a slice of pizza from the box. Grace leaned forward and took a huge bite.
"Jesus, Grace, that was almost my thumb!" he cried.
"Sorry, Ham," she apologized sincerely.
Ham shook his head. "And I thought I was hungry."
Slice of Heaven was an apt name, Grace thought. The crust, the toppings, the cheese, the sauce, every element was in perfect harmony.
"This is the best pizza I've ever had in my life," Ham declared.
Between the two of them, they polished off most of the garlic knots and the entire first pizza. Ham licked the last of the garlic butter from his fingers, crumpled up his napkin, and leaned back against the couch. Grace put her head on his shoulder and slid a hand under his shirt, massaging his slightly-rounded gut.
"Your belly nice and full now, Ham?" she purred in his ear. "I bet there's still room for dessert."
"Dessert or 'dessert'?" It was his turn for finger quotes.
"Could be both if you play your cards right," smiled Grace.
She heated a couple of cookies in the microwave, just long enough to melt the chocolate again. Grace pulled off her shirt, now wearing nothing but her bra and pajama pants. She took Ham by the hand and walked him into her bedroom. Once she was lying down comfortably, Ham scattered cookie pieces on her bare skin. Grace hummed with pleasure as his lips brushed against her; this was making her so horny. Suddenly, he stopped.
"What's the matter, Ham?" she asked.
"I don't know if I can finish," he groaned.
"Here, see if this helps," said Grace, undoing his belt and the button on his jeans.
"That's better." Ham sighed.
There were little red marks where his jeans had dug into him, so he took them off altogether. Grace hoped his next move would involve the condoms in her bedside table, but that didn't happen. Instead, he ate another piece of cookie and swallowed hard.
"You missed a few spots," said Grace.
"I'm sorry, Grace, I can't," he apologized. "I'm too full."
"Why, Ham Dewey, I never thought I'd hear you say that," she teased.
Ham flopped on his back beside her. Grace ate the remaining bits of cookie and rolled to her side. She began to gently rub Ham's distended stomach.
"That feels good, Gracie," he said, his eyes drifting closed.
"You rest up a while. You're gonna need your strength later," she smiled.