Blue Bayou seeped, soft and staticky, from the radio beneath the kitchen window. Hips swaying, busy at the Kitchenaid, she hadn't even noticed he wandered in. Eric's throat hitched around a caught breath, chest tightening as the door swung forward and revealed the very last person he wanted to see.

Donna's cousin Chrissy was visiting from out of town. Local to the east coast shore, the petite brunette goddess glowed with a tan the likes of which he had never seen before, deep in the midwestern territories as he was. Not a natural, honest to God tan earned from hours baking on the beach, like hers was.

Linda Ronstadt's crooning continued over the labored whir of the stand mixer, her back still to him as he continued to gawk. In part because he hadn't anticipated running into her at this time of the night, and part because he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Eric had come over to work on that years summer reading assignment with Donna. Or rather, Donna had decided that's what they would be working on, whereas he tried his damndest to end the night on top of her to the rhythm of her headboard knocking against the bedroom wall. Though they were in the midst of their awkward separation, he was needy, and foolishly hopefully.

Eric was equally as hopeful to slip in and out without catching so much as a glimpse of the Bayonne bred pixie. And equally unsuccessful with that as well.

Donna mentioned that she was out running errands, even though he hadn't asked. He always made a point not to. In fact, he always made a point to avoid Chrissy's company altogether, and now here he was. Alone with her in the Pinciotti's kitchen. Late June saw the sun lazily creep along before it faded into the horizon, the remnants of strawberry blushed sunset flooding the artificial sunburst kitchen in a surreal pink haze. The chirring of crickets beyond the back door and cracked window above the sink in stark contrast of the lateness of the hour, to the brightness of the sky.

And there she was at their counter, in all of her delicately toned and bronzed glory, a sun kissed sight to behold. The length of her espresso mane was swept up in a ponytail, still holding it's signature textured waves even in the absence of the salt-air. Tight denim cut-offs teased him with her legs, her calves flexing when she lifted to her tip-toes in need of extra height. A blousy collared shirt only half tucked in at the high-waist did nothing to conceal her feminine figure, nor hide her tiny waist. To say she was petite was an understatement. He was fairly certain he could in fact fit her in his pocket. He'd sized her up enough times to discern that he'd more than likely be able to touch his finger tips together if he wrapped his hands around her, something he'd have to physically do, of course, in order to make certain that he actually could.

Just as he thought to sneak out before she noticed his intrusion, his toe ground against the linoleum behind him, at the ready to hightail it back the way he came, he stilled.

Her nimble fingers slid over a plump lemon nestled in the wooden bowl to her left, palming the fruit in a way that made his mouth dry. With a firm grasp she plucked it, positioning it to the microplane and with exact flicks of her wrist, stripped the lemon of it's zest with practiced ease. As Eric leered his mind drifted to what else she might be accustomed to cupping and yanking just as effortlessly.

Damnit man, get ahold of yourself. He grimaced, his shirt collar snagging against his Adam's apple. You gotta get outta here, stop thinking about her hands, no matter how... dainty there are, and how big they'd make your-

At the mercy of his invasive fantasies, he hadn't heard the silence of the paddle attachment spinning to a halt when she cut the power to the appliance. His eyes glazed over in surrender to his desires, he was roused only when a startled gasp ripped from her upon turning around to see him standing there, zoned out. Relieved to see her smiling instead of suspicious, she brought a hand up to her chest as she breathed down at the ground, her laughter breathy.

"I'm sorry I didn't even hear you come in." The corner of her feline eyes, just as midnight rich as her hair, crinkled adorably when she smiled. It was enough to make his heart stop, if it wasn't so earnest that moment in rushing blood to his groin.

"God, no, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here, I," gesturing vaguely towards the fridge, clear in his desire to stay put in his spot at the opposite end of the kitchen from her. His voice cracked. "I just came in for a drink."

"Okay," she nodded, grinning. Always patient, always polite. "What can I get ya?"

"N-uh, nothing, no, no nothing, thank you, but you're in the middle of," he gestured towards her mess on the counter, once more not finishing his thought. With an awkwardness to his gangly limbs, he willed himself towards the fridge, even if it was in her direction. He needed something to keep his body busy and his mind fixed, lest he fall prey to the temptations of his neglect once more. He changed the subject, looking to distract from his obvious nervousness. "Donna said you were out, running errands?"

"Uh, yeah, I just had to hit the grocery store, nothing serious." She crossed her arms over her chest, the action innocuous, but doing well to highlight the perkiness of her teacup breasts all the same. Eric caught them from the corner of his eye as he bent into the fridge, grabbing the first can of PBR that came into his line of sight. He saw her in a bra not once since arriving to Point Place, the silhouette of her nipples always managing to poke through.

Must be an East Coast thing.

He straightened, unable to crack the tab of the can fast enough. "So what are you up to in here?"

Eyes shimmering, she cast them sideways, almost bashfully. "I'm baking a cake for Uncle Bobs birthday this weekend." There were three cake rounds, golden yellow and whipped to fluffed perfection, cooling on the oven still in the pans.

Eric knew she was Donna's cousin, but until that point it hadn't occurred to him by which side she belonged.

"Very cool," he swallowed his gulp hard, looking down at the top of the can as the rush of hoppy, liquid carbonation gushed down at throat to pool in his gut, adding to the overall heaviness of his lower body. "So I was just wondering, uhm... how are you related to Donna again?"

"My dad's Uncle Bob's brother." Unperturbed by the direction of their conversation, she took a step towards him, still posted up by the fridge, and helped herself inside despite his proximity. Leaning in to reach for the pitcher of heavy cream, unbothered by the fact that his crotch was mere inches away from her shoulder. Eric also noted, with agony, that with just one angled the side of his nose, he had a clear shot down the front of her blouse, barely buttoned at the collar and billowing against her hot skin.

"So you're... you're Bob's niece, by blood?"

"Yup!" She sprung upwards, now almost entirely flush with his front. Eric noticed a smudge of flour dusting her cheekbone, and an ache throbbed both in his canines and in his loins to flatten his tongue against her buttery smooth skin and lick the powder away. The heady aroma of coconut and cocoa-powder suntan lotion wafted from her, beaming up at him in a way that was oblivious to how unfortunate he found that detail to be. He cleared his throat.

"Huh. You don't say."

"You don't see the resemblance?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. Eric almost choked on his beer.

"Resemblance to Bob?"

She laughed. Stepping away from him to stand back at the counter, she tipped the pitcher of cream into the bowl of the mixer. "Yeah! You know, the hair?" She flicked her eyes up towards her scalp, her hands occupied. "I'm not blonde like Aunt Midge, so." She laughed again, flipping the switch of the mixer as it kicked back to life. "I dunno I guess I thought it was obvious."

How in God's name can something like that come from the same blood of something like Bob-

"So what kind of cake are you making?" He asked instead, his back against the wall next to the fridge. Pressing himself against it to dodge having his easily-excitable front brushed up against by Chrissy, he hadn't peeled himself from that spot since.

"Strawberry lemonade." Her voice thickening around the word "strawberry" from her Hudson County accent. Powering the mixer down for the final time. He watched behind his beer as she lifted the head up and tugged the bowl free of the base by the handle. With her index finger, she scooped a dab of baby pink frosting onto the tip before popping it into her mouth. Genuine pleasure hummed from her in response, eyes fluttering shut to savor the confection in a way that was downright sinful. He very nearly crushed the can in his palm as he observed something that felt almost pornographic.

Licking her lips, she then noticed his eyes on her, clouded with his own appetite.

Not even his many years of porn consumption, nor his brief yet torrid relationship with Donna, had prepared him for what she did next.

"Here," she skirted out from around the center island, advancing towards Eric with the grace and fluidity of an alley cat. Almost a full head and shoulders taller than her, he prayed she couldn't hear (or for that matter, see) the wild bucking of his heart against his ribs. Gathering two fingers worth of buttercream, she held it up to him, peering through a veil of impossibly thick, fluttering lashes. Nothing about her posture, or her candid expression made it seem like she was aware of what she was doing.

There's no way she doesn't know. She's a bit younger, sure, but come on-

"Have a taste," she urged, simpering, "let me know what you think."

Eric swallowed hard against the bitterness of beer, staring down at her as if in pain. Her brows raised expectantly, her hand not wavering from its place before his chin, he grit his teeth in a way that rippled the muscles of his sharp jaw. Bending down, he hesitantly dropped his lips to her fingers, planning only at first to take as little as he could get away with, so as to not accidentally brush his lips or tongue to any part of her fingers. He was only going to take a taste.

But that homemade buttercream frosting melted against his lips like whipped sugar air. Perfectly sweet, the pure white sugar cane was balanced by both fresh lemon juice, and a strawberry reduction made from scratch. A refreshing tartness, like the lemonade in its name, almost made him pucker around it before the butter and powdered sugar glided back in to smooth it all over again. It was heaven.

If this was coconut and cocoa instead, I bet this is exactly how she tastes.

Before he was able to help himself, Eric was tasting more of what she offered him. His long fingers curled around her wrist, so thin he could almost wrap around or twice over, steadying both herself and him he dared to suck her fingers inside his mouth.

A moan, low and throaty, erupted from him as the sticky and frosting smeared pads of her fingers pet his tongue. His eyes, having fallen shut at the first taste, were now forced open to stare down at her through heavy lids. She trembled slightly in his grasp, but he didn't care. Greed had assumed dominance over his resolve, dissolving as quickly as the frosting on his pouty lips.

Chrissy's eyes were equally heavy, her cheeks as bright red as the pops of fresh strawberry clumped within the frosting. Uncharacteristic to the way she had known Eric to be, his grip on her wrist tightened, tugging her in closer, sucking her fingers in with heightened neediness.

He was aware, somewhere through the haze of lust that clouded his judgement, that his noises were becoming obscene. He tried to stop himself, feeling them turn mode guttural, wet and heavy, the more he lapped at her. Like a hungry dog, he wandered into the kitchen starving, and Chrissy dangled before his nose like filet mignon, whether she was knew it or not. A sudden gasp erupted from her, trailing off into a choked whimper as he gripped at her harder with a bruising strength you might not think him capable of to look at him. Though he was thin, his muscle was all the more lean by comparison. Eric didn't lessen his hold even at her noises, hearing them only made him want to draw more from her, more uncharacteristic of him still.

His cock began to throb, harsh and insistent against the tight denim of his jeans. If Chrissy was in the dark about his intentions, or his feelings towards her at that moment, any and all doubt washed away in sobering clarity. Her feet bare and teetering on tip toes to reach him, at his next pull on her lithe body she lost her balance and stumbled into his chest, finding it warm and sturdy under his collared shirt. The swelling bulge at his groin greeted her stomach as she grazed him, the contact making her flushed skin burn. A whimper, hoarse and sick, tumbled from him at the contact.

There wasn't a lick of frosting left on her fingers, but Eric didn't let up. Saliva dribbled past his lips in his fervor, his posture slumping down around her, as if ready to envelope her in his mass and take her down to the kitchen floor. And if he tried, she'd let him. Not that she had the strength to fend him off even if she tried.

Insistent fluttering in her core alerted her to the silky wetness that began to collect against the cotton of her g-string, like morning dew on a honeysuckle.

Chrissy honestly hadn't meant for this to happen. She wanted Eric, but was always too shy to make a move. And with the way he seemed to leave the room whenever she entered, she was almost sure that he didn't even like her, much less want her in this capacity. Yet here he was, curled over her like a hound caught in the throes of instinct. His hips began to jerk and rock against her as the heft of his groin engorged to as full of capacity as the restraints of his jeans would allow. The next thing she knew, her back was colliding with the fridge and she was pinned underneath him, her fingers still sucked into his mouth to the knuckle, of which he gave a none too playful nip. He shook another gasp free.

"E-Eric-!"

Eric liked the sound of his name on her tongue. Just as desperate and delicious as hers was on his own, late at night in his room as he worked the angry, bloated head of his cock raw between his sheet and pillow. He wanted to hear it more, he wanted her to say it again. He wanted her to scream it.

"Ohh, God," Eric groaned, leaning into her further as he blindly dropped his beer on the counter next to her. He felt her little fingers dart out to explore him, her palm cupping along the length of his shaft, giving gentle, kneading squeezes as he did so. Dropping his head, he grunted in her ear, his breath hot and heavy with strawberry, lemon and sugar. His canines twinged along with his length to sink into the meat of her slender neck. "Chrissy-,"

A cold chill broke between both of them at the distant calls of his name, muffled through the back door next to them.

The second the knob turned, before the door even had a chance to creak, Eric had unlatched from Chrissy, jumping a foot in the air. His mouth still smeared and sticky with melted frosting, he scrubbed it away hurriedly while his shaking free hand snatched his beer from the counter. Chrissy, in a daze, fell back against the edge of the counter adjacent from him. A safe distance away, she needlessly smoothed her shirt, rubbing her palms on the tops of her bare thighs as she looked around the kitchen for something to occupy herself, having forgotten what she was doing.

Kelso and Fez soon barreled in, excitement wrought in their faces. Seeing them both alone in the kitchen, flustered and mildly disheveled, Fez's expression immediately took on one of suspicion. Kelso, however, remained unphased. Eric took one more desperate swig of his beer and dropped the can in front of his lap, hoping to conceal his now unfortunate erection.

"Eric, we've been looking everywhere for you, man!" Kelso bounced with the energy of a golden retriever with a tennis balled waved in front of its faces. "Come on we gotta go, it's starting soon!"

Eric opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Kelso didn't seem to pick up on what had just happened moments prior, but that wasn't saying much. "Uh, what-what's starting?"

"Live And Let Die, Forman, c'mon we gotta rewatch the part where he cooks the snake with the cigar. And then we gotta find some aftershave spray, and, a cigar, and a snake."

The swelling at Eric's crotch, while unbearably neglected, was beginning to now lessen by the minute. His voice cracking, and racing heart however, were a different story. His exasperation was genuine. "Kelso we're not," he swallowed hard, having accidentally brushed the perspiring can against his groin from going to move his hands while he spoke. "We're not burning a snake."

"Okay, well..." Kelso stood, his enthusiasm stalled as he tried to come up with an alternative. "Fine, then, we'll just.. find a frog or something."

"No!"

Chrissy was quiet behind him, scratching at her ankle with the painted toes of her other foot, fidgeting under Fez's almost knowing gaze from behind Kelso. A small smirk spread across his face. Kelso continued to whine at Eric.

"So tell me, what was going on in this kitchen?"

Both of their eyes snapped towards Fez, Eric's hardened, pleading. "Nothing. Chrissy's baking a cake." He cleared his throat. "For Bob."

"I see." Fez took a step closer to Eric, in mock contemplation with his hands clasped. "If the cake is for Bob then why is it all over your face?"

Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Eric didn't hazard a glance in Chrissy's direction, nor did he have a response. "I-she, uh... I was just taste-testing."

"Oh really?" His coyness soured. "You were eating cake frosting without me!? You sonofabitch you couldn't have come and got me? I was just next door!"

When Eric released the breath he was holding, he heard Chrissy behind him do the same. She stayed behind him, a little out of sight, as she kept her eyes to the ground at her feet, studying the chipped bright orange toe polish, and the little silver dolphin charm dangling from her anklet. Slowly, her world began to settle again. A dull, hollowness ached between her legs where Eric should have been, had the timing of everything not been so poor. A whirlwind encounter, it had all happened so fast. Too fast.

One moment they were exchanging probably the most words they ever had between them, a pleasant conversation if not a little bashful. The next saw her slammed into the fridge and pinned there by his wiry frame, her fingers at the back of his throat, the two of them a mess of tangled limbs searching for friction.

Eric's palms burned with the need to explore her body, to follow along her curves and taught musculature. He was teased with the smallest taste of her and then forced to stop before he really got started. He hadn't even kissed her, but he felt what they had just done was written all over his face, yet not a chestnut hair was teased out of place.

"Here, Fez." Chrissy piped in, having produced a spoonful of the frosting, outstretching it to him with her polite smile.

Kelso's patience depleted, he clapped Eric on the shoulder, herding him out through the back door. "C'mon Fez, we gotta head back to Formans."

Eric glanced at her over his shoulder as he was all but shoved out the door. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came. As quick as he had appeared he was gone again, leaving Chrissy to sag against the counter with a whimper.

She had been so close.

She'd just need to try harder.