Title: i'd go extra miles
Author: texaswatermelon
Fandom: Lost Girl
Pairing: Bo Dennis/Tamsin
Rating: T
Summary: "Well, I figured someone had to show you what real home cooking looked like."
Disclaimer: Lost Girl does not belong to me. No infringement intended.
Word Count: 1,305
A/N: Anon's prompt: "Bo is a terrible cook and Tamsin teases her about it but later feels bad that Bo eats so much take out and makes her a home cooked meal." Pure fluff to break up all the angst. I tried to do some research on Russian expletives, but please feel free to let me know if the word I've used here isn't used properly (and give me a suggestion to fix it). Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Please enjoy.
Title from Jon McLaughlin's "Beating My Heart".
xx
"Jesus Christ, what died in here?"
Bo looks up from the disaster she's tending to on the stove to see Tamsin walking in, nose crinkled up and eyebrows furrowed as she swipes some of the foul-smelling smoke out of her face. She walks toward the kitchen and Bo watches the sway of her jean-clad hips, appreciates the way her tight black camisole accentuates her curves. If the self-satisfied smirk Tamsin wears is any indication, she definitely notices Bo staring, but then she leans over to take a look at Bo's abysmal attempt at cooking and her expression morphs into one of disbelief. She looks back to Bo, eyebrows shooting into her hairline and eyes wide.
"Really, Bo? Spaghetti? How the fuck do you burn spaghetti? It's literally a pot of water with some pasta thrown in."
"I don't know! I put it on to boil and I guess I got distracted," Bo says, taking the pot off of the stove. She tries to dump it, but it's all stuck to the pan and won't budge. She sighs and tosses the whole thing into the sink.
"Didn't you grow up on a farm?" Tamsin asks incredulously. "How is it possible that you don't know how to cook?"
"Well if you ask my mother, I was too busy being possessed by the devil to learn how to be a proper housewife," Bo huffs.
Tamsin chuckles. "Damn, babe, you're lucky you're so cute, otherwise you might never find a nice man to marry you."
Bo rolls her eyes and walks to the fridge. She pulls two menus off of it and holds them up for Tamsin to see.
"Pizza or Chinese?" she asks.
Tamsin grins and plucks the menus out of Bo's hands, placing them on the island beside her before she reaches out to grab Bo by the hips and pull her forward until their bodies are flush together. She leans in and kisses Bo slowly and sensually, sucking on her bottom lip for a moment before breaking away. Bo's eyes flutter open dazedly and she licks the taste of Tamsin's vanilla lip-gloss off of her mouth.
"You know," Tamsin says lowly, hot air puffing out across Bo's face, "I'm craving something else entirely right now."
"I wasn't really that hungry anyway," Bo murmurs, and swallows Tamsin's laugh with another kiss.
xx
She comes home from the Dal the next day to find that Tamsin has let herself in again, and she never did need much of an invitation to make herself at home. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, nothing like the kind she usually wears when she's working, and she has on a pair of tight blue jeans, a flowing white blouse, and… an apron? Whatever she's doing at the stove smells amazing, and as Bo approaches cautiously, she can hear Tamsin actually humming quietly to herself while she grates a block of cheese.
Bo almost can't reconcile the disparity between the snarky, badass, leather-clad Valkyrie that she's so familiar with and this ridiculous picture of domesticity she's witnessing right now. She has to admit that it's actually kind of hot. There's still so much about Tamsin that's a complete mystery to her, and she's forever being surprised by this woman, but she sort of loves that about her.
She finally decides to make her presence known and wraps her arms around Tamsin's waist from behind. There's a split second where Tamsin stiffens—the natural reaction of a person who's spent too much time on her guard and on her own—and then she settles and leans back against Bo with a grin.
"Hey there, Hotpants."
"Hey yourself," Bo says, chin resting on Tamsin's shoulder while she watches Tamsin work. "That smells amazing."
"Well, I figured someone had to show you what real home cooking looked like," Tamsin says smugly. "Couldn't have you getting sick off of all that gross takeout and slacking on your duties."
"Uh huh," Bo mutters, reaching out to grab some of the cheese that Tamsin has been grating. Tamsin slaps her hand away.
"Hands off, Succubabe," she warns, ignoring Bo's pout. "Why don't you go chop up some salad? You're pretty good with knives, as I recall."
Bo huffs, but does as she's told. After a few minutes, they fall into an easy rhythm, effortlessly moving around each other as if they've been doing this all their lives, and Bo realizes that she's actually starting to enjoy this. The soft sound of Tamsin's humming soothes her and guides her hand while she chops.
It takes a while for the lasagna to bake, and in that time the two of them finish preparing the rest of the meal and set the table, and at one point Tamsin presses Bo against the counter and kisses her like she means it, which occupies a lot of their time. When they finally sit down at the table and Bo takes her first bite, she realizes that it was totally worth the wait.
"Oh my God," Bo moans, mouth still full, "this is incredible."
"Well, you pick up a few skills here and there after you've been around for a couple hundred years," Tamsin says with a smirk.
"I'm really starting to appreciate my habit of dating older women, in that case," Bo says, and then proceeds to devour two helpings of lasagna, a bowl of salad, and a piece of garlic bread with barely a breath to spare.
"You're not going to lick the plate are you?" Tamsin asks with a raised eyebrow. "Because I already have one dog in my life, and I think that's plenty."
"I plan on licking something tonight, but it's definitely not this plate," Bo says cheekily.
Tamsin snorts and gets up to begin clearing the table. After allowing her food to settle for a few moments, Bo moves to help her. When they're finished cleaning up and the leftover food has been put away they take a seat on the couch where some brainless documentary is playing on the television. Bo throws her arm over the back of the couch and loosens Tamsin's hair from its bun so that she can play with it. Tamsin sighs and rests her head on Bo's shoulder. They stay like that for almost an hour until Kenzi comes home.
"Hola, bitches!" she says happily and bounces her way into the kitchen. "God, I am starving. I swear I could eat a truckload of food right now."
"There's lasagna in the fridge," Bo calls over to her.
"Oh là là, what's the occasion? Did you buy it from that corner store where we tracked that one cockroach Fae to?" Kenzi asks, pulling the dish out of the fridge.
Bo laughs. "I didn't buy it, Kenz. Tamsin made it."
Kenzi looks up from where she's scooping a hearty portion of lasagna onto her plate with narrowed eyes.
"Is it poisoned?" she asks suspiciously, and Tamsin rolls her eyes.
"Just shut up and eat it, you ungrateful midget."
"Be nice, ladies," Bo says, wondering how it is that she's managed to surround herself with children.
Kenzi makes a displeased face, but puts her food in the microwave anyway. Bo and Tamsin turn back to the television, only to be interrupted a minute later by Kenzi's exclamation.
"Блядь!* Holy shit, that is like a sexual encounter in my mouth," she says loudly, looking at Tamsin with wide eyes. "The good kind, not the skeevy drunken kind you regret in the morning. Can we keep her?"
Bo chuckles and continues scratching lightly at Tamsin's scalp.
"What do you think?" she says, pressing a kiss to Tamsin's temple. "Can I keep you?"
"I suppose," Tamsin sighs like it's some sort of hardship, but then she tilts her head up and kisses Bo with a grin. "As long as I get to gag your sidekick."
"Hey! I heard that!"
* Блядь – translation: whore, used here as an exclamation of surprise (similar to holy shit). Using the Latin alphabet, it's spelled "blyad".