The Cosmic Law of French Toast by Meowser Hotchner
A Ghost Whisperer Fanfiction
Summary: A collection of sweet one shots showing Melinda and Jim, from how I saw their relationship. Lots of sexy stuff. Oh, and I'm only in the first season so far.
Jim woke up slowly, just in time to see his naked wife jump from the bed and a moment too late to catch her.
"Morning," he said, and she turned around.
"You're awake," she replied, eyes twinkling as she looked on the floor for something to put on.
"Come back here," he said. "Don't worry about clothes. We're very casual here." He patted the bed beside him as she grabbed a long sleeved button down shirt of his and pulled it on.
"You have an early shift," Melinda scolded, buttoning the shirt with alacrity. He closed his eyes in disappointment, trying to keep the image of nude Melinda in his mind.
The bed dipped beside him and he jerked his eyes back open in time to see Melinda lean over him. "I'm going to make you french toast," she promised, and he tried to steal a kiss.
"No," she giggled, jumping off the bed again. "You shower and dress and a hot, delicious breakfast will be waiting for you."
He looked at her under lidded eyes. "What else will be waiting?" He asked, climbing from the bed and striding towards her.
Her eyes widened and she deliberately toyed with the buttons on her shirt. "I don't know," she murmured, looking up at him. "It depends how quick you are dressing."
"I'm very good at undressing," he promised and grabbed her hand, yanking her to him in a breathless moment. He lowered his lips to capture hers, sucking her bottom lip until she moaned.
Two small hands pushed against his chest and he captured them in his own, forestalling the inevitable moment when she'd escape.
"Jim, what about breakfast?" She gasped, pulling away and his lips landed on her neck, moving over the curve of it with dozens of featherlight kisses. He found her collar bone and sucked there, eliciting an aroused gasp from her.
"What about french toast? You love french toast," she managed to gasp out as her hands went to tangle in his hair.
He moved his head farther down to where the top button was on her shirt. His shirt, he reflected, and decided to reclaim it "I like this a lot more than french toast," he said, about to reach his goal: her breasts. His hands twitched in anticipation of cradling them and he momentarily slowed in his pursuit.
She darted away at the last second, dashing to the door where she was out of his grasp and range.
He saw that, underneath the shirt, her nipples had pebbled.
Her cheeks were flushed and she put her hand on the doorknob. "French toast," she reminded. "And you can shower."
She twisted the doorknob and escaped into the hall. He accepted defeat when he heard her light footsteps on the stairs, realized that she really meant it and headed the opposite way down the hall to the bathroom.
Maybe a hot shower would calm him down.
The hot shower did indeed calm him down, and he recognized Melinda's wisdom in pushing him away. He did have the early shift.
He dressed quickly, suddenly in a hurry, and made it down to the kitchen in record time, taking a moment to brush the hair from Melinda's neck and press a kiss there.
"Oh, Jim," she murmured, and he pulled away.
"I know, I know," he sighed. "Busy day ahead of me."
A bowl of whipped cream was placed in front of him and he heard the scrape of a turner against the skillet.
Melinda turned to serve her and her breasts pressed against his arm, completely distracting him from the smells in the air.
"Melinda," he warned, his eyes sparkling up at her, and she winked before moving in back of him.
"French toast," she announced, and placed it before him. "And I missing anything?" She saw the bowl of whipped cream. "I put that on the table already? No wonder I missed it."
Jim surveyed the table, knowing that something else was missing too.
Melinda scooped a large helping of whipped cream. "Ready?"
"Cinnamon," he said, reaching for it at the same moment she overturned the spoonful of whipped cream and her scoop landed on his arm, squarely on the elbow of his blue paramedic uniform's shirt.
"Oh," she gasped and he stood up like a shot, only to see the mischief in her eyes. "I'm sorry." She began.
He shook his head, grabbing her before she could dart away from him and pressing his arm to her neck, getting the cream all over her.
"Jim!" She protested but tried to help him when he started to take his shirt off and her hands tangled with him, delaying the job.
He managed to get it over his head and was going to inspect the damage but his eyes caught the sight of the spray of whipped cream on Melinda's face going down to her chest.
She dipped her fingers in the whipped cream. "More?" She asked, giggling at the sight of him and his hand swiped her cheek of the cream there before leaning in.
Their lips brushed and she pulled away. "We should clean—" She began, but the look in her eyes changed and she leaned towards him again, letting him move toward her.
She tried to kiss him, her lips already parted, but he dodged, moving to wipe the cream from her chin and smearing it onto the washcloth that was on the table. He repeated the motion, going in as if for a kiss and instead wiping the cream.
He slowed after the second time, pausing to just look at Melinda.
She stared up at him and he moved his hand up to cradle her neck, holding her still for when he moved in, pressing his lips to hers and kissing her.
Her arms went around his neck so she could get closer and he anticipated the motion by tightening his arms around her waist and bringing her up with him as he straightened.
Her feet dangled above his and he moved the extra step to the counter.
"Melinda," he rasped, lifting her onto it.
"Jim," she whispered back, and he moved his lips to her neck again.
"There's still cream here," he murmured, and licked it off her neck.
Her arm moved to his wait, grabbing his back. "There's more on the table," she reminded and he laughed into her neck, licking the last bit of cream away.
"Do you really mean that?" He asked, and she nodded against his head.
He pulled away slowly, feeling as though they'd been glued together, but turned around to grab the bowl and when he faced Melinda again all the blood in his body seemed to rush to on place.
She'd unbuttoned and thrown off the shirt. He didn't even care about the whipped cream when he saw her, and he placed it on the counter next to her without paying attention to it.
"Melinda," he said, trying to grab her again but she picked up the spoon and gave it to him.
"Do it," she urged, and he could see her pulse jump in her throat when he took it, their fingers brushing together.
He spread the cream onto one breast, paying special attention to her nipple, and she shivered at the touch of the cool metal spoon.
He smeared the cream onto her other breast, making brief eye contact and she swallowed, again just looking at him.
His head dipped and he tasted sweet cream and the even sweeter taste of Melinda's skin beneath it.
He swept his mouth all over before going to the nipple and uncovering it, sucking on it, feeling and hearing her sharp intake of breath as he did so.
He pulled away, his lips covered in cream. "Do you want me to do the other?" He asked, teasing her by licking the cream off of his lips instead of letting her do it, as he knew she'd want to.
This wasn't the first time Melinda had played with her food.
She tried to kiss him but he moved so her lips landed on his neck.
"Should I do the other?" He repeated.
"Mmhmm," she said against his neck, sucking on it lightly.
"What's that?" He teased, moaning when she sucked hard enough to leave a mark.
"Yes, please," she gasped, moving away. "Did I have to ask?"
He again met her gaze before lowering his head, seeing her shiver from the look in his eyes. "Yes," he said simply.
He went straight to the nipple this time, and she jerked, her gasp of pleasure cutting through the air.
Her legs opened and he stepped between them, pressing himself against her as he legs closed around his waist.
"Um, honey, I think your french toast is getting cold," she said suddenly, seeing over his head the still full plate.
He groaned and pulled away. "Do I have to?"
She dived forward, capturing his lips and lunging off the counter to be fully reliant on him. Her legs locked around his waist and his arms locked around her waist in return as he took a step back to adjust his stance to her weight.
He could feel her bare, still sticky, breasts pressing against the skin over his tank top.
"I love you, Melinda," he managed to say when she came up for air.
"Jim, I love you," she said, and the french toast was utterly forgotten.