STEELE COOKING
By: xffan_2000
Summary: Set during "Red Holt Steele," Laura decides about the loft…and Remington.
The scent of coffee and burnt toast drew Remington toward the kitchen. He found Laura next to the sink, her hands on either side of the basin, supporting herself as she stared into its chrome depths. The clock on the stove read 4:23. Like the previous night, she wore only his white dress shirt, her legs and feet exposed, her long brown hair tumbling loose over her shoulders.
The toaster popped up two blacked bits of bread, but she didn't flinch, didn't move to replace them.
He watched, as he had before. Waiting. Not sure if she wanted him to stay or go, wondering if he should start a conversation or leave her to her thoughts. A minute passed and he decided.
"Coffee smells good." He approached and she didn't turn. "That toast, though..." He plucked up the burnt slices and tossed them into the trash.
"Sorry I woke you," she said.
He smiled, adjusted the cook-temperature and deposited two more pieces of bread into the toaster. "You didn't. I am always awake at four in the morning."
That got her to look at him. He arched an eyebrow at her, daring her to debate. She rolled her eyes and finally smiled.
He poured coffee for them both and handed her a mug. "I was afraid I'd have to come up with another inspirational story."
She sipped her drink, her brown eyes never leaving his. There were no traces of tears, for which he was glad.
"I've been thinking about what you said: 'Everything is new again,'" she repeated from his tale.
He nodded. "Indeed." He took a swig from his mug and realized not everything was new – her ability to ruin both food and drink was still in full force.
"I'm going to rent that loft."
"Laura..."
"It's got a strong foundation. I can build on that. Make it my own."
The perfectly toasted bread popped up. He buttered them and held them out to her.
"There's something else I also want to build on." She leaned forward, sliding between the slices into his arms, rising on her toes to meet his lips. She kissed him with a fervor he'd not known from her before. Resolute, focused...a little desperate.
He dropped the toast and enveloped her, one hand tangling in her hair, the other low, touching the bare skin of her thigh.
She pulled open the lapels of his robe, worked the buttons of his pajamas. Her hot hands were everywhere - searing his chest, his back, undoing the sash on his robe, trailing around the elastic of his pants. When she grabbed his butt and yanked him forward, he broke the kiss.
"Laura, we shouldn't. You're not..."
"We should. And I'm fine." She dipped a hand past his waistband, touching, gripping, fondling.
What little willpower he had gave out and he smashed his mouth against hers, teeth and tongues colliding.
"Bedroom," he mumbled around their kisses. There he had a comfortable bed in which to give her everything she could possibly want.
"Here," she said. "Now."
She shoved his pants down and then went for her own panties, kicking them off and across the kitchen. Her hands fumbled at the buttons of her shirt, succeeding in getting only one loose before she gave up, instead dropping them to his waist and pulling him flush with her stomach.
He pinned her against the counter, one hand on either side of her hips as he captured her mouth again and rutted against her bare flesh. Her hand went to the back of his head, threading fingers through is hair, holding him tightly in place.
"Condom," he managed to say around her tongue.
She backed away far enough to say, "Pill. And I'm clean. You?"
"As a whistle." And he was. He'd never had sex without a condom, mostly because he never trusted his partners enough to not try to entrap him with an unwanted pregnancy. But he trusted Laura implicitly.
He hoisted her up on the counter, shoved her legs apart and maneuvered himself into position. It wasn't a perfect angle, he had to lift up and lean forward while he gripped her backside with one hand to keep her from sliding away. Fingers from his other hand spread and probed, finding her slick and ready for him. He slid in, sheathing himself in such hot, tight bliss that he nearly came undone in that moment. A steadying breath calmed him, until she spurred him on by wrapping her legs around his waist and digging her fingernails into his back through his robe. He thrust gracelessly, groping and pawing at her ass, her breasts, her clit.
"Look at me," she said. Only then did he realize he'd dropped his head to her shoulder as he pumped into her.
He raised his head, meeting her eyes, and that was what it took to push her over the edge. He felt her clench around his cock, a rippling magic that pulled a strangled cry from his throat and a matching gasp from hers. He surged forward, finding his own release a moment later.
When he came back to himself, he was still buried inside, but knew it wouldn't last. He tilted his forehead against her, kissed the tip of her nose.
"Laura, I..." He wanted to say it. Needed to have her hear it.
But she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, touched the very tip of her tongue against his skin, silencing him. She pulled back and smiled and said simply, "Me, too."
As they parted, his pants tangled around his ankles tripping him up, causing him to step on the buttered side of the abandoned toast on the floor. She grunted as she unstuck her bare ass from the granite countertop. Their shared fluids smeared on her thighs and his hands before he could grab a handful of paper towels from the roll for the mess.
"I'll clean your kitchen," she said as she slipped her panties back up her legs, "if you get me your cleaning supplies."
He snagged her hand as she reached for a nearby dishcloth. "Our mess. Together."
She nodded then smirked. "Might want to pull up your pants first."
He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I hear housework in the buff is quite the trend."
She tossed the dishcloth at his face. "Put your pants on, Mr. Steele."
"Yes, Miss Holt."
While they swept up toast and crumbs, disinfected the countertop, and washed dishes, Remington allowed himself to revel in the everydayness of it all. She didn't need to move out. They could live together, share a bed every night, clean the kitchen together at a more reasonable hour, she could burn every meal, he could enjoy being domesticated.
"Stay with me," he proposed. "Live here. You don't need that dirty warehouse."
She had the decency to not shoot him down that next second. She paused with her hands in the sudsy dishwater, staring at the mug she held, as though she was truly pondering the possibility.
"No," she finally said, looking up at him and handing him the mug to rinse. "I do need it. I have to rebuild."
He nodded and they finished the last of the cleaning in silence.
As they left the kitchen, Laura slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers. "Hopefully I won't have to rebuild alone?"
He kissed her. "I will buy coveralls and painting supplies immediately."
Her lips quirked up. "Perhaps not immediately." She tugged on his hand. "Take me to bed first."
END.