A/N: Prompted by phoenixwrites on Tumblr.

Not gonna lie, this was a lot of fun to write.

Disclaimer: It's probably a good thing that I don't own Downton Abbey.

Home Baking

When Anna returned home on her half-day off, she hadn't been expecting to find the kitchen looking as if it had been ransacked by thieves. For a few moments, all she could do was simply blink at the carnage in front of her, at the flour that had exploded all over the kitchen counters, at the eggs that had spilled their yolky brains all over the floor, at the powdery frosting that looked about two seconds away from committing suicide.

And then her eyes found her husband.

He was standing sheepishly in the middle of the wreckage, shuffling his feet awkwardly when he felt her gaze on him. Flour had settled thickly in his hair, giving him a premature look of greyness. Something that looked suspiciously like butter was streaked across his cheek. Despite herself, Anna felt her lips twitch, though she did her best to clamp them down.

"Hello," he offered sheepishly, after a few heartbeats.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked him, stepping tentatively over a few chocolate chips that had scattered themselves across the floor.

"I…I was trying to make you a birthday cake," he admitted sheepishly, feeling the colour rise in his cheeks. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"A birthday cake?" she repeated.

He nodded. "Yes. I asked Mrs. Patmore for a recipe. I thought I could handle it." A pause. "The way she explained it made it sound easy," he muttered as an afterthought.

"Perhaps you would have been better leaving the birthday cake to Mrs. Patmore," said Anna, wincing as she stood in a puddle of milk.

Her husband pouted at her. "I wanted to do something special."

"Oh, darling," she said soothingly. "I think every day is special, because you're here."

It did nothing to lighten the pout. She thought that it was a rather adorable expression on his usually composed face, and she turned back to the wreckage to hide her smile, not wanting him to think that she was laughing at him. Reaching out, she straightened the bowl of frosting that was balancing so precariously on the edge of the table, then paused.

"Well, it's not all bad," she told him. "It looks like you've done a fine job of the frosting."

"Do you think so?" It was incredible that a grown man could sound so full of boyish pride. This time Anna couldn't resist turning back to him, grinning.

"Of course," she said. "It looks very light and fluffy. Perhaps we should sample it now. I take it that you never got around to making the cake."

"No," he admitted, "I didn't."

"Never mind. The frosting will be adequate enough," she told him, then pulled off her gloves so that she could swipe her finger along the edge of the bowl. She eyed it cautiously for a moment – she had never known John to cook anything beyond toast before – but she flicked the tip of her tongue against the frosting that dusted there. She was pleasantly surprised.

"This is rather good," she told him, not quite managing to hide her wonder, and he chuckled a little.

"Let me try," he said, reaching out a hand, but she got there before he did, dusting her finger again and holding it up to his lips. His eyes darkened as he took hold of her wrist, and he gently slid his tongue out to greet her finger, lapping at it gently. Even when all traces of frosting were gone, he continued on, tasting her skin, and she shivered at the look in his eyes.

"My turn again," she murmured, and he dipped his finger into the bowl for her. She suckled his finger into her mouth greedily, grazing against the calloused skin with her teeth, and he groaned aloud. In the next instant, they were grappling desperately at each other's clothes, tearing at jackets and buttons and dresses until they were abandoned haplessly on the floor, victims of the crime.

Anna took the bowl of frosting in hand, sprinkling it over his face. She kissed at every inch of skin, taking particular care to rid him of all traces of butter too, and he groaned when he felt her tongue touch the corner of his mouth. He turned his head to kiss her fully, tasting frosting, and then brought his own coated fingers up to flick flecks against her breasts. She gasped loudly when his tongue descended over her nipple, glancing against it gently, teasing her mercilessly over and over as the pink bud erupted into a peak. He took that peak between his teeth, biting down gently, and she squealed, arching her back, threading her fingers through his hair. She could feel her core beginning to throb, responding to the torching touch of her husband's fingers, and he seemed to recognise the expression of sweet aching upon her face, because he began to trail his lips down the line of her stomach. She lay back against the floor eagerly, shivering at the contrast of the cold flagstones and the delicious heat that her husband was igniting within her, and she watched with heated eyes as John dumped a generous amount of frosting over her lower half.

"How clumsy of me," he growled, meeting her eyes knowingly, before dipping his tongue to her bellybutton. The breath shuddered from her body as he licked his way around it, her back arching unexpectedly. She hadn't expected such an area to be so sensitive. John smiled against her skin, nuzzling his nose against her.

"I think you're all clean there," he told her. "But I've made a terrible mess of your thighs. I think I should clean it up. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," she whimpered. Her core throbbed harder.

"I'm glad," he growled, before turning his attentions to her thighs.

The feelings were electric. Anna convulsed when she felt his tongue flick against the sensitive inside of her thighs, crying out loudly as he traced a path down. She felt his lips closing around her as he swallowed the traces of frosting that he found. All the while, she could feel her thighs beginning to moisten, and he hadn't even touched her properly yet. Her fingers curled in nervous anticipation of what was to come, and her head reeled back when he finally closed his mouth over the sensitive nub, sucking it right between his lips. His tongue came forward to flick against it over and over again, and she felt it all welling up inside her; that irresistible tug in the bottom of her stomach, the incredible sensations of pleasure that made her toes curl and her skin flush. Her palms pressed hard against the floor, fingers splayed, spine rippling as he lapped at her.

The pleasure was sharp and all-encompassing when it came, and she arched into him, squeezing her thighs tight against his ears, pushing her hips up into his face. He held her to him, carrying on ardently through it all. She whimpered and shook with pleasant aftershocks as he slowed the pace of his tongue over her, continuing to caress her there with little strokes.

"Just in case I've missed any," he told her lowly as explanation, and she couldn't help but moan breathlessly at the sensations.

Eventually, he pulled his mouth reluctantly away from her, moving back up her body to kiss her. She moaned in delight at the tang of frosting and herself that she could taste on his tongue, and she stroked a hand between them to make sure that he was completely ready. He was.

The pace that they set up between them was unrefined and frenetic, and their fingers clutched desperately at each other, touching chest hair and stroking sides. John melded his tongue to her nipple, then let one hand find her nub again, rubbing it feverishly until she was coming undone in his arms a second time, knocking the bowl with the remaining frosting all over the floor.

They panted harshly in the aftermath, holding each other tight. John kissed her gently, then rested his forehead against hers. Anna found her lips curling up into a smile.

"Well," she said, "I think it's fair to say that that's the best frosting that I've ever tasted. I think you'll have to make it again sometime, even if it's not for my birthday."

"It will be my pleasure," he growled, pulling her up against him.