notes: in which i try to write smut in less than 500 words. let's see how i do.
for: excuse me, mirajens. are we trying to one up each other with fics? because now I owe you one.
kiss the cook
Erza knows exactly what she's in for when she decides to put on an apron—and nothing else.
Erza knows exactly what she's in for when she decides to put on an apron to make breakfast—with nothing else on.
Casually, she cracks eggs into the hot oil in the pan, ignoring the sounds of Jellal finally waking up and rolling out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom in the hallway just around the corner—completely unaware of her unclothed condition. She watches the whites of the eggs stiffen while listening to her husband's morning routine behind the gentle sizzle crack of cooking.
She notes he isn't taking a shower when she hears no squeak of the shower water—but no matter, she thinks, shifting her weight from her left to right leg—she's already clean.
She pushes one of the eggs closer to the center of the pan, musing whether or not to go sunny side up or down on breakfast today. But on second thought, she flips the eggs over, deciding that maybe she'd want an easier clean up of the dishes afterward.
Jellal walks into the kitchen, bedhead and shirtless—probably only having gotten as far as emptying his bladder and washing his face—stumbling in to grab the carton of milk in the refrigerator.
He's very likely still half asleep because he doesn't notice that her bare ass is hanging out of her apron until she berates him for drinking directly from the carton—and when this happens, his eyes widen and he keels, spitting out milk.
She briefly looks at the splatter of milk on the tile, a little disappointed because she wasn't quite expecting to do any mopping today.
He immediately puts down the carton—still open—and reaches past her for some paper towels. He wipes at his mouth with his forearm and squats down to clean up his mess.
"I didn't realize you wanted kids this badly," he tells her in a still-croaky-from-sleep voice, wiping methodically at the floor.
She places the finished eggs onto the prepared plate aside the stove and then takes the last two eggs to fry from where they're balanced on the counter, cracking them against the pan. She turns slightly, giving Jellal the eggshells on his way to the trash, which he accepts into his left hand without a word, and tosses along with the spent paper towels.
"Let me be clear that I'm not having sex with you just because I want kids," she replies. Then coyly, she adds, "I just want to fuck you."
The faucet behind her shuts suddenly at her last words, and the next thing she knows, his wet hands have slipped around her to her front, wiping themselves dry on her apron. He presses his chest into her back, pushing her into the stove. She realizes it's harder to flip the eggs when her breasts are covering half her view straight down.
"You can have such a dirty mouth in the morning, you know?" he mumbles against the crook of her neck. His breath sends shivers up her neck and tickles her left ear.
She smiles, biting her bottom lip, and rubs her ear with her shoulder to nudge him off the sensitive skin but to her dismay—or maybe to her excitement—his lips move to the other side of her neck, this time tacking a small swell of skin up into his mouth, sucking gently.
One arm hooks her securely against him. The other drifts backwards, slipping under the apron. She's not surprised when cool fingers reach deep between her thighs, but she also can't quite keep the egg balanced on her spatula.
The egg flips onto the other side anyway.
"I'm working with hot oil right now," she warns, tease-scolding him with a smile—the edge of which he kisses before retorting.
"Well, you're hotter," he mumbles against her neck.
As if considerate, he waits for her to flip the other egg before he dips in with a practiced finger—or two. Her hands come down to the counter. The spatula clatters against the plate she's propped it on.
The crackling of the eggs drowns out to silence, her mind in a whole other place than cooking breakfast. But when his palm begins to make clockwise circles in time to the in-out of his hand, she thinks it best to get the cooking over with as soon as possible. She picks up the spatula shakily and tosses the last two eggs onto the plate to join the other ones and then immediately turns off the fire under the pan before reaching both hands behind her to grind his hips against her backside, very aware of the bulge underneath his sweatpants.
"Done?" is all he asks to make her shudder at this point.
She swallows thickly and nods slowly, catching her breath.
He lets her, slowly retracting his fingers. His hands slide over her skin, resting a moment on either side of her waist before inching up to cup her breasts firmly in both hands, purposefully avoiding touching the very erect tips. She arches her back, resting the back of her head onto his left collarbone, lazily moving her hands over and behind her to the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to her neck.
His tongue flickers over her throat.
"You know, I was planning on actually eating breakfast beforehand," she admits, in a low drawl—leisurely gyrating her bottom against him.
He turns his head toward her and she feels him smile against her skin. His hands squeeze. Hard.
"Oh, I hope you're hungry then," he says.
oh, what a shame. my word count is 925. maybe I took too long describing the eggs.
thir13enth
