Thank you so much for reading this little ficlet of mine. :) I had a lot of fun writing this story, and laughed at a lot of the great comments. Thank you so much for making it a real joy to write! This chapter is every so slightly OOC but I wanted to write this so bad...

On a side note, if any lovely artist out there is moping around looking for a new idea, PLEASE draw me Russ in this apron! I will love you forever! (and probably find a way to add it to the story on Ao3) :3

Look away underage daffodils! This is super heavy with smut~


Russ was enjoying his lazy day off, sleeping in until eleven, munching on some junk food, ass planted in the couch cushions and bare feet propped up on the coffee table. Milt was out on a jog. After two years of living together it stopped surprising Russ that Milt still relentlessly kept to his routine schedule. Of course, Russ had been pretty proud to realize he'd at least influenced Milt somewhat with his laziness. He woke up an hour later than he used to now.

He also didn't leave for a run without waking Russ up with a peck on the cheek, but that wasn't by Russ's design. Of course, he had become slightly dependent on those morning kisses. One morning Milt had neglected to give him his good morning wake up call- He'd been late for an FBI meeting and was gone well before the sun was up. But Excuses were unimportant. Russ had woken up grumpy and groggy, wondering why he hadn't been roused earlier. Child-like abandonment ran through him, and when Milt got home he'd marched forward, grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed his cheek with an awkward force.

Milt didn't forget again.

He didn't forget accidentally anyway.

This morning he'd gotten his chaste kiss on the forehead and gone straight back to sleep, like he always did on his off days. Milt had left just a few minutes ago, and Russ, feeling nostalgic, decided to read through his old emails with an 'anonymous admirer'.

He smiled, reading their awkwardness and Milt's charismatic charm fondly. Looking back through them now, Russ couldn't have imagined his admirer being anybody else. He still used his gifts, the scarf was perfect for the chilly weather and his taser (still in excellent condition) was his favorite weapon at work. Naturally it was also still the best weapon the Battle Creek PD had. He'd had more chances to use it since being promoted as well. He huffed, craning his head towards the plac hanging on the wall with Milt's name on it. During their time together Russ had gotten a promotion, been overjoyed and more than willing to show it off. Then Milt had gotten two.

That was still generally how their relationship worked, Milt would be appraised for every and anything that he did, and Russ would be grumpy, a little irritable, but come around in the end. It was better than they'd been before, when Milt was new to Battle Creek and Russ had a personal vendetta against him and his over-cheery ways. Nowadays, Russ could get revenge. He knew how to make Milt squirm in the bedroom, and took back his sense of power there.

During the day, everyone might be Milt's bitch, but when the lights went out, it was Milt who followed Russ around like a begging puppy.

Of course, it may or may not have influenced Milt to try harder to succeed and excel, given that Russ would always react. After his second promotion, Russ had actually cuffed Milt's hands to the headboard and put a blindfold on him. There was an odd sense of power that came from riding someone with their senses taken away, when all they could do was thrust up senselessly and beg to be untied. He'd actually strained the wood of the bed frame that night, struggling...

As Russ carefully read through each message, giggling, grimacing and grinning accordingly, he came across an old dirty fantasy they'd talked about.

Russ had been having a dilemma again, cracking jokes about becoming a housewife when Milt had mentioned him dressing up. Russ remembered this, the sexual fantasy of Milt coming home to a barely clothed Russ, in nothing more than an apron, and fucking him into the kitchen table. Of course, the FBI loft (which Russ had begrudgingly moved into) didn't have a kitchen table, but a high-set bar. The single apron they owned wasn't that inviting either. It screamed less 'come-hither-housewife' and more... 'broke-back-baker'. Milt had offered to buy a new one, but Russ had insisted on bringing some of his worn out hand-me-downs into Milt's well kept apartment.

Maybe that was just another way of handling his own, or getting one up on Milt, but it had felt oddly good to see a picture of his mother and father hanging next to a picture of him and Milt, both in different styled frames. The little bit of Russ's unruly chaos unraveled some of Milt's tightly placed facade and left Russ satisfied. It made Milt seem a bit more human. Jacocks herself had commented on it at their housewarming party. Because that's what it was now; their house.

Smiling, Russ opened a new tab on his laptop and hatched his nefarious plan.


It was several days before his package came in the mail, and another still before Milt would be out of the house for a few hours, and Russ was ready.

Fantasizing about it since placing the order on his newest kinky purchase, Russ had romanticized a string of different ways to greet Milt while wearing it. Maybe he'd pretend to cook something, maybe he'd actually cook something, or maybe he'd just idly wipe down a counter... Whatever he decided, Russ wanted to look domestic and be able to lean. A few years ago, something like this would have been completely out of his comfort zone. He wasn't one for toys or lingerie or anything like that, but this... this was a personal touch. Stemmed off of his original sexual interest in Milt, this was deeper in meaning than a maid costume or a sexy schoolgirl. It was different.

And Russ really wanted to do this.

Nervously excited, Russ waited until Milt had said his goodbye and slipped out the door before pulling his brown cardboard box up and onto the counter. He cut the tape, flipped up the flaps and grinned gleefully down into the package. It was exactly like the picture.

In comparison to the ratty beige apron hanging next to the refrigerator, this one was lush and obviously not meant for any actual cooking. It didn't have any lettering or a design, but the bright, primary pink was certainly a more striking color. Russ had wanted it to seem at least a little feminine, to play to Milt's original fantasy, but he would not be wearing any frills. In fact, the design was fairly similar to the one draped off the wall, but instead of cutting off in a straight line at the knee, this one was rounded, and would only cover Russ until just below the groin. Two small pockets in the front, and a cute puff of cotton stuffed into the end of the straps to make them a bit more cartoony when tied in a bow. It was perfect.

Russ anxiously shucked his shirt off and slipped the apron strap over his neck. He was delighted to find the creases where apron met strap, slotted just over his nipples. If he leaned a little too far to the side, one would pop out. Maybe that was the intended design. The limited coverage left a lovely expanse of his chest available to the eye, and the fabric didn't round over his hips. Russ might have felt a little too proud of himself, slipping his pants down a few inches to feel the pink strap against his hip bone.

A mirror, he needed a mirror. He needed to see this.

It had taken Russ a considerable amount of time to get over the differences between his body and Milt's. The sculpted muscle of a toned FBI agent not doing wonders for his self esteem, Milt had forced him to embrace his "cute" belly and "rugged" bits of graying hair. Of course, Russ would always argue that "cute" and "rugged" weren't exactly a normal pairing, but he learned to stop that soon. Milt would intentionally spend hours roaming every inch of his body and pointing out what he liked until Russ finally gave in.

Russ had been left a heaping, greedy mess, waiting for Milt to do more than just stare and whisper against his skin. It had been agonizing. He learned to keep his mouth shut about feeling inferior, but the underlying worry was still there.

Right now though... Right now Russ looked good. He looked good enough to proudly admit that he. looked. good.

The apron was accentuating every odd curve of his body just right, and the fabric covered the belly he wasn't so proud of. When he turned to get a look at the back, the full length mirror revealing the ugly color of his slacks in contrast to the pretty pink, he'd been overwhelmed with the urge to take everything else off. Maybe it was the apron, maybe it was the excitement, maybe it was the fact that he was alone and nobody could judge him, but Russ took the removal of his pants slow.

He watched curiously as his (only ever so slightly) rounded ass was freed, suddenly seeing the appeal of naked skin with flimsy coverage. Hell, he would admire himself in this sometime. Thoughts briefly flickering to what Milt might look like in nothing but a flimsy hunk of fabric, Russ found himself getting carried away.

He was excited.

It would be another half hour at least before Milt was back, curse Russ and his overeagerness. He thought about using the time to prepare himself, maybe set himself up so Milt wouldn't have to wait at all before taking him up against the kitchen counter... but Milt enjoyed it when he wasn't. Milt had revealed to him ages ago that he'd loved the slow torture of fingering Russ open himself, watching his face change and feeling him loosen... It had been a rather awkward discovery for Milt, who always thought it was a rather weird process, but he'd come around to it when Milt had explained his fascination with a very entertaining demonstration.

That was how Milt liked to do things, sluggish and drawn out, almost lazily, which was nice sometimes, but Russ liked the punch. He liked the bite and the bittersweet thud of pain that came from an ill-prepared first thrust. He liked it fast and hard. Over the years, they'd learned about each other and worked at meeting every need. Which was why today, Russ would give in. It was something he was doing for Milt.

Of course, that wouldn't stop him from being as absolutely tantalizing as he could. Maybe he could get away with forcing Milt to kiss his foot or something before hand.

Russ had just decided on cooking pasta or some kind of noodle (water took a delightful amount of time to boil) and had plonked the big pot of water onto the stove when he realized the time. It wasn't thanks to the clock, or a watch or even a timer, but the tell-tale sign of the loft's door sweeping open. A quick jolt of nervous panic overtook Russ, an he stiffened.

He cocked his head minutely at the sound of Milt, merrily walking in, about to start a conversation about something before spotting Russ. His quick steps hesitantly slowed, then came to a full stop, where Milt stood frozen in the living room, staring openly and wide-eyed. Russ didn't break eye contact.

This would be the perfect time to smirk at him. Or maybe give Milt a seductive wink! But... Russ found himself awkwardly stuck. He couldn't propel his body into motion, or even find something intelligent to say. Damn it.

"Russ..." Milt breathed, demanding his attention with a stunned gasp.

He took another step forward, carelessly dropping his keys onto the counter, eyes never leaving Russ. He missed. The keys clattered to the floor, but Milt still didn't shift his glance, attention fully focused on Russ as he stood, arms awkwardly docile at his sides, "Russ, what..."

"I'm making noodles." he replied, stupidly, turning his body towards the stove and unintentionally giving Milt a full, prime view of his backside.

"You're... You're making noodles?"

"Yeah." Russ huffed, deciding to stir the water with his wooden spoon, even if it made no real sense.

Milt craned his head, loosening his tie with a choked bob of his adam's apple, "What-" he coughed, his voice less croaky on the second try, "What are you wearing?"

Russ decided this was the moment. This was when he'd make Milt a pile of lusty goo. He turned the upper half of his body, willing the apron to let one of his nipples peek out, about to give Milt a seductive line- but he'd moved when Russ wasn't looking. He was closer now, an arms length out of his personal space. It would be easy for him to grab Russ from where he was, and it threw him off for a second. "I-"

"Where in the world did you get this?" Milt questioned, taking that final step forward and touching.

He ran his hands over Russ's hips, sweeping them around to feel the fabric. Russ realized the question had been meant to go unanswered as Milt continued, "You look so..." Milt seemed to be fighting himself, reigning in the temptation to bring himself flush with Russ's backside in favor of being able to stare at it. He rocked back and forth on his heels, as if trying to decide which was the better option, "Jesus, Russ. Why?"

Well that was the million dollar question, wasn't it?

"I read through some of our old emails..." he answered hastily, his attention centered on the movement of Milt's hands, exploring him, "One of the old kinky things we talked about. I thought it would be a good idea."

Milt nodded silently. The clever hands that had taken Russ apart just the other night, ever so slowly, once again set out on a torturous snail-like mission. Fingers gently trailing up along the line of where fabric met skin, Milt's hand swept up Russ's side, dragging a line of gooseflesh in their wake. The snail line, to match the snail's pace, he supposed. "It was a brilliant idea." Milt praised, finally slipping forward that last inch and aligning himself with Russ's back. "You're a genius."

Russ let his head fall back leisurely against Milt's shoulder with a smile, "Flattery will get you everywhere." He smirked, trying to reign in his control and be the snarky little deviant he had been planning on. Getting this kind of instant reaction from Milt made him all the more confident in his demands.

"You're amazing."

"I know."

Milt chuckled, dipping his head to mouth at Russ's neck, his second hand snaking down Russ's arm and latching onto his fingers. Milt gave his hand a quick squeeze before bringing it up to his collar, "Gorgeous." he breathed, kissing Russ's knuckles lightly, "Beautiful."

"Okay," Russ heaved, trying weakly to pull his hand back, chuckling nervously, "I was kidding."

Milt let him go, watching Russ's hands take steady hold of the counter's edge, anticipating Milt's next move. He truly was beautiful like this, wearing nothing but a flimsy little apron, bracing himself against the counter and leaning into Milt, like that was where he belonged... He did. It was where Russ belonged. "I wasn't kidding." Milt admitted, paying careful attention to the lump Russ swallowed in his throat.

A small and involuntary whine slipped from Russ as Milt began biting beautiful, bruising marks into his shoulder. "God, Russ."

"Please, Milt." he groaned, "Don't tease me tonight. I need-"

Milt dragged his teeth across Russ's skin, up to his ear, where he nibbled gently, "I know." he muttered between bites, "Did you bring lube out here?"

...

Fuck. Russ wanted to kick himself, "Shit." He cursed. How could he forget something like that? One of the most important elements of this whole thing was the freaking lube, and he'd fucking forgotten it. "In- in the bedroom-"

"You couldn't make me move for all the promised blowjobs in the world." Milt grinned, dragging his body forward and letting his weight settle against Russ in a meaningful fashion.

So, Russ had bribed Milt with blowjobs before, sue him. Milt had certainly never let him forget, but at the time, it had been the quickest way to get what he wanted from Milt. Not only that, but it had been extremely satisfying to make Milt red in the face in front of the entire station. One quick whisper in his ear, Milt's cheeks were pink and he had the FBI... well, the NSA intel to back him up in his pursuit of a case.

"Milt." he huffed, halfheartedly pushing back, trying to encourage him off in search for a bottle, but only managing to press himself firmly against the bulge Milt's pants. "I'm not prepared, Milt." he groaned, suddenly frustrated, "Without lube, you can't-"

"I'll use the damn olive oil."

Russ blubbered out a stumbling reply as Milt reached above them, rummaging through the oils and spices for the olive, and drawing it down when he finally found it, "You are not going to fuck me with olive oil, Chamberlin!"

Milt, unabashed as ever, merely shrugged, "You should've brought lube."

"You can just go get it!" Russ barked, now giving a real push back as Milt bent him over the counter, a commanding hand between his shoulder blades keeping him pressed down while he worked.

"Told you," he rumbled, placing the bottle next to Russ and struggling to pop the lid with just the one available hand, "not moving. Olive oil will be fine. Think of it like... a natural lube." he offered, "Perfectly safe."

Russ squirmed a bit, realizing Milt had actually managed to get the cap off. Of course... why had he expected any different? "No, no, no, obviously you don't understand." Russ huffed, his palms flat against the smooth surface as he tried to push up and off the counter again, failing miserably, "I have to cook with that. Every fucking time I have to use olive oil, this will be going through my head."

"Well then, I'll do my best to make sure its a very fond memory." Milt smirked.

Without Milt warming it between his hands first, the oil it was cold. The first small drip down the dip of his crack was surprising, making him wriggle and gasp minutely. But Milt was careful, one finger trailing down between his cheeks, chasing the oil as it slowly descended down and just over his balls. It was an unusual sensation, and the feeling of a wet trail sliding down over his sac made Russ uncharacteristically squirmy.

Milt's finger ran the length a few more times before finally resting on one area, gently circling the rim of Russ's hole and being very tenacious about it. "Milt." Russ groaned, remembering that he had specifically told Chamberlin not to be a tease.

"Relax." Milt instructed, shifting his position.

With his legs bracketing Russ's left, Milt's interested dick pressed happily against Russ's hip, he could plant soft, reassuring kisses over Russel's back, plenty of room for his free hand to work while the other kept Russ pinned to the counter.

He was purposeful in his movements, starting intentionally slow. Milt knew it made Russ impatient and annoyed, but half the fun of toying with the man was watching him get riled up. Eventually his anger would devolve into frustration, and even that into some form of pleading desperation. Russ was excruciatingly endearing when he begged, and Milt was addicted to seeing it- to causing it. His own patience was growing thin though, coming home to find Russ just standing there, mostly naked, cooking fucking pasta, had given him an immediate kick start. Milt wasn't he'd have enough patience to take Russ apart like he normally enjoyed.

"First." he grunted, giving Russ the slight warning before pressing in a single digit. One finger, three jabs in and out, and then the second. The second finger always took a little more time, a slower, enticing process of scissoring Russ open further before he could take the third. He lifted his head from Russ's back to watch his fingers disappear inside of Russ, trained on his ass and watching it wriggle impatiently, trying to shift back and meet Milt's hand.

Milt had spent hours like this before, just lazily fingering Russ open. He loved it. Russ had begrudgingly obliged to his fantasy about a year into their relationship, laying back and letting Milt do all the work. He'd been very good about it, keeping his complaining to a minimum and fighting his natural instinct to be quiet. Milt had asked him to make noise. They'd actually managed worked up to four loose fingers before Russ stopped him, panicking over the thumb threatening to join the herd.

Fisting was still something they'd yet to explore.

"Miiiilt." Russ whined, trying his best to rock back on his fingers, greedily asking for another.

Russ, for all his caring nature, (never mind his prickly exterior) was actually very greedy in bed. He wanted all he could get whenever he could, always eager for more. Not that Milt minded, he'd always been inclined to giving pleasure rather than receiving it himself. It was moments like this though, when Russ was impatiently demanding more, wanton and horny enough to forget about trivial things like pride, that Milt struggled with his cool composure.

"I'm going to take my hand off your back." he warned, "Stay where you are."

With a whimper and a spiteful nod, Russ obeyed, keeping his chest to the counter as Milt withdrew. He shifted again, swinging back around Russ and coming to a crouch behind him, face up close and personal with his bum, enjoying the show. He watched with fascination as he spread three fingers wide inside of Russ, pulling them back until they popped out of Russ with an obscene squelch. The noises were lovely, but the view, intoxicating.

Curiously, Milt slipped two back inside, one from each hand, the palms of each being used to spread his cheeks wide and give Milt a clearer view. Watching the hole spread by command of his fingers, the black little opening widening up for him. Imagination took hold and Milt's impulses got the better of him. He lent forward immediately and licked a long stripe from the end of Russ's sac to the outer edge of his rim.

Russ gave a startled gasp and jerked forward, away from his tongue. He cursed once, but took to groaning when Milt didn't give a rebuttal, simply followed him along, tongue deviling in beside the fingers that held him open. "Jesus, Milt..."

It tasted like olive oil, surprise, surprise. A devious little idea popped into Milt's head, and he drew back to chuckle, "I should try adding spices down here sometime. Might make this even more fun." he snickered, "Russ, I could make your ass taste like garlic bread."

Russ sputtered, "Oh my God. Chamberlin, I will kill you. I'll douse you with water then electrocute you with the very taser that you bought me. I swear to God, if you don't-"

Milt was up and off the floor before Russ could finish, standing from his crouch and messily dousing his hand with another round of olive oil. He lathered himself up, and gifted himself one last little slow temptation, casually running his head over Russ's hole and through the crack of his ass. It was slick, warm and inviting. Milt was steadily finding it harder and harder to keep his composure, leaning- looming over the grumpy cop. The man who fought Milt at every turn, now spread out for him over the counter, wearing a freaking apron. Milt grabbed a fistful of the pink fabric in one hand, practically clawing into Russ's hip, and pushed in with a grunt.

The gasping, the moaning, Russ's happy sigh and groans for "more" and "yes, yes, yes!" were driving Milt insane. The last small thread of composure he was struggling to hold onto slipped, and he went for it. Milt pummeled him into the counter, kicking his feet further apart after a few thrusts to get an even better angle. He pressed in deeper, trying to aim his thrusts just right... When Russ screamed, literally fucking screamed, Milt knew he'd hit it. He kept his hips angled, bring Russ up onto his toes as Milt thrust hard up and into him, grunting with the effort. He slapped his ass on one of the inward thrusts just for kicks, and felt like howling when Russ let out an absolutely filthy long and drawn out moan. It was perfect.

Russ was scrambling on the counter top, searching for any kind of leverage to help steady himself against the rough pace. On his toes, arms floundering about, being driven into the smooth stone finish with every animalistic snap of the hips. "Milt!" he cried, shutting his eyes and opening his mouth, jaw suddenly slack, grunt after grunt being punched out of him. Good lord, if he'd known it would be this good he would have bought the damn apron ages ago.

It was fast, rough and intense. Just the way Russ loved it.

A small, working fraction of his brain told him he should kiss Milt now, but his body was busy grappling around for stability, forced to take every thrust without being able to rock back. He was shaking, a quivering, sobbing mess as Milt drove home again and again until he came inside Russ with a deep, satisfied groan. Before Russ had time to let his bones settle he was being hauled up and flipped around, Milt dropping to his knees and encouraging Russ's trembling legs to lean against his own as he swallowed him down, taking a heavy portion of Russ's dick into his mouth in one swoop.

"Milt!" he panted, whimpering, gripping the edge of the counter with one hand, the other clutching desperately at the apron to keep it up and out of Milt's way, "Milt, Milt, Milt."

Milt's hands squeezed greedily at his ass, slapping one cheek again as he worked his mouth down another few centimeters closer to the base. "Milt!" he begged breathlessly. Russ was so close, he just needed the tiniest little push, "Milt," he tried again, willing his brain to finish the sentence, "Milt, fingers!"

A quick, determined digit snaked back into him, poking around until it hit, sending Russ into a blinding spiral, fighting over whether to rock back against Milt's finger, or forward and into his mouth. His knees buckled, and he slipped from Milt's lips halfway through cumming, falling down until he was sprawled half over Milt's lap and half on the floor. "Ouch." he hissed, his head hitting one of the cupboard drawer handles.

He was laughing when Milt worriedly lifted a hand to his head, shoving his arm away, "I'm fine." he chuckled, still a little breathless "Believe me. I'm doing so good right now."

Milt shifted around a little, propping himself up against the white wood door of the counter before pulling Russ closer, still half in his lap. He caressed his head soothingly where it would have hit, one hand in his buzzed hair while the other ran up and down a naked thigh. This was one of Milt's favorite parts, probably Russ's too, if he was honest with himself. The afterword, letting Milt care for him and make sure he was alright; the little massages and quick runs for water because Russ had cried himself hoarse.

Milt loved it when Russ let himself be vulnerable for a moment.

He smiled before pecking a light kiss to the man's temple, not at all surprised to hear a lazy grumble in reply. "You want me to finish the pasta?" he asked, rubbing a light circle over his back now, soothing him. Russ nodded, grumbling yet again.

With a chuckle, Milt carefully extracted himself, pulling his clothes back in order and zipping up his fly as he stood. Hell, most of his clothes were still on. The tie had been lost somewhere in the struggle, now discarded haphazardly on the kitchen floor. Milt briefly considered picking it up and putting it away, but before he could make a move for it, a heavy weight settled against his leg.

Russ had leaned into him, one arm draped lazily around and the other in his lap. Sometimes... Russ really was a different person after sex. He was happy, gooey, absolutely adorable... Milt grinned, abandoning the idea of the tie and instead focusing on the few ingredients Russ had pulled out already.

He smirked, eyes flickering over the tall green bottle, "You want a red sauce for the noodles? Or would you prefer salt and olive oil?"

"I will tase you, Chamberlin. Mark my words."