| Implied Sexual Content |
Musical Inspiration| One Hot Mama by Trace Adkins
Because I have such a sore spot for domestic bliss, and the kinkmeme prompted. This is probably one of my favorite bits of writing, because it was so much fun to write. I giggled like an idiot the whole time. I blame that on the side of Rick here that I just don’t get to show a lot; and thank Trace Adkins dearly for one of the best love songs ever. And also for being my inspiration for Rick’s fashion sense. Seriously, if you haven’t seen the music video for this (and if you don’t mind a little country), you need to.
Here. …just for your consideration. :3
“Honey, I am home now!”
Rick swaggered in with his face set in his best smolder, his hair mussed just enough, and skin still gleaming bronze from the long day in the sun. He was already making quick work of his shirt, pleased with himself for the fortunate laundry fluke that had ended with his wearing a buttoned one today instead of the usual cotton t-shirt. Completely worth it for this chance though, he’d known from the instant he’d seen the scrap of paper being passed around the office, with the scribbled drawings and the constantly altered wording. The set-up was far too good to waste, and Rick was never one to miss out on opportunity.
“And I am looking so handsome.” He slid into the main opening of the kitchen, feeling the shirt billow off of him, again grateful that he had forgone the undershirt today as well. The view of his chest was probably fantastic, and lined with just enough lingering sweat from the day’s work. “And also, my shirt opened?”
He swooped forward, perfectly prepared to catch his lover as he fell, and instead found himself looking down into Craig’s trademarked deadpan stare. At least as deadpan as the blonde man could manage to be while still wearing a flowery apron and rinsing out a mixing bowl.
“…what…” Craig began, no small amount of disapproval in his voice. “The hell.”
Rick shifted uneasily, not sure how to handle the break in character. He was also a mite bit annoyed that Craig seemed to have—yet again—called upon some sort of built-in resistance to his charms. Not an overall one mind you, or Rick would have never been able to finagle his way into those well-creased and fitted pants, but just enough that any attempt at…well, something like this, could be shot down instantly with a glare and a statement.
“You’re…supposed to swoon.” Rick edged into an attempt to recover the situation, though he knew it was hopeless. Craig had turned away from the sink, leaving the bowl where it was, and crossed his soap laden forearms over the apron.
“Oh, come on!” Rick gestured to his torso. He had a damn awesome body and they both knew it. Craig was such a complete killjoy sometimes. “The shirt’s opened!”
“And?” Craig raised an eyebrow.
“Well.” Rick didn’t stutter. There may have been a slight pause between his brain trying to form a proper explanation and the actual verbalizing part, but he did not stutter. “You’re supposed to get all…starry-eyed, and then…you know. Kitchen sex.”
Craig didn’t look convinced.
He looked horrified.
“I just cleaned this kitchen, you idiot.” His shoulders were already squared, fists made, and his pink eyes are ablaze with a readiness to bring down hell’s wrath over this. Damn.
“It doesn’t have to be the kitchen!” Rick amended hurriedly, before Craig started throwing things. That had been the newest tactic of reproach the other man had begun turning to, and while it was dangerously fun enough most of the time, Rick wasn’t sure how much more of the monthly budget they wanted to spend on replacement dishes. “I’m open-minded! There’s the table, the couch…I mean, hell, I’d carry you to the bedroom if you want? You’re swooning anyway!”
“Why the hell am I swooning?!”
“Shirt! Opened!” Rick couldn’t believe he had to reiterate this. Craig’s mouth gaped as if he was about to reprimand the dark-haired man further, when the oven gave an urgent beep. He was turning his attention to that an instant later, though not without a parting narrowing of his eyes and a twitch to his lips that promised a healthy lecture on why Rick was never, ever going to come home with any of this nonsense in his head again. While he was grateful for the distraction, Rick was more than a little put-out that the plan wasn’t going nearly as well as he’d hoped.
But maybe…just maybe he could still salvage a little something.
Craig was working the flat end of a spatula between the thick, rectangular slab of chocolate cake and the pan it had been baked in. Rick sidled up behind him, careful not to startle the blonde, and curled one arm around the thinner waist, gentle and loose enough that his partner could pull away at any moment.
“The know-it-all stopped by today?” He questioned, tucking his chin over Craig’s shoulder, and trying to sound as if he had absolutely no ulterior motive. The blonde ‘hmmed’ quietly, intent on getting the cake out in one piece. There always ended up being a cake in the oven when that particular friend visited.
Not that Rick was complaining. They tended to be really good cakes. And they were perfect for keeping Craig distracted while he gently untied the back straps of an apron. Along with sneaky, ghosting kisses pressed to the slender line of a throat. He began lightly rocking them both side to side, a swaying motion that allowed him to casually slip his hands underneath Craig’s shirt. Fingertips were trailing up the blonde’s ribs and Rick, having managed to shove the high shirt collar out of the way with careful jaw maneuvering, proceeded to bestow an open-mouthed kiss to the now exposed collarbone.
In the midst of a moan, Craig managed to breathlessly threaten him. “I swear, if you make me drop this cake—“
“You’re not gonna drop it.” Though Craig hands were starting to shake, so he pulled one arm out from the delicious expanse of skin he’d located beneath the fabric of Craig’s shirt and apron, and pushed the pan back to the counter. Ignoring the stab of heat that was searing his palm, he worked his now free arm along Craig’s, pulling it away from the counter surface. A vague noise of surrender tumbled out of the blonde and Rick cheered. He was going to get what he’d wanted after all.
“We are not…” Craig attempted again, trying to push the hand outside his clothing away. The other was already creeping down and had blindly flipped open the clasp holding the smaller man’s dress slacks closed. Fingers toyed with the waistband for only moment before they slid past the elastic of underclothing and began to knead. “N-not…hah…Rick, my kitchen.”
“Think it’s about time I got a black belt in that too.” Rick purred, listening raptly to the way Craig’s brain was fizzling out. “What do you think, countertop? Or floor?”
“I am going to kill you.” Craig hissed out. “I am going to kill you and they will never find the bo—mmnh…”
“Aw. You say the sweetest things.” Rick grinned, pressing a kiss to the back of one ear. The resistance, as usual, was for show. Craig was busily pulling his outside arm to his mouth and kissing the fingers greedily, and if that wasn’t consent then Rick knew nothing about sex. Which, frankly, was just preposterous. “So? Where to?”
Craig moved then. Now usually, this was fine, except instead of squirming like a trapped animal, or maybe keeping up whatever it was he was doing to his fingers (because hell that was making him think about just trying for some action standing up), the blonde managed to bodily flip in his arms and shove him back into the opposite counter. His arm almost tangled in the shirt, but a flail to catch his balance loosed him and both hands went to the counter’s edge for the sake of steadying himself. Craig followed after, hands going to either side of Rick’s jaw and pulling him down into a kiss that was heated, but almost…chaste.
Craig pulled away, and deftly pushed a bit of cake into his mouth. Rick didn’t so much sigh around it, but the sound was close, and he chewed his way through the morsel. It was good, but dammit. Foiled again.
“…I’ll leave my dog tags on?” He offered once his mouth was empty again.
“Dinner.” Craig huffed out, face gone flushed and the words accentuated by his labored panting. “Will be ready in twenty minutes. Go change.”
“….and after dinner?”
Oh, that shouldn’t have sounded so hopeful.
A flash of hunger seemed to pass over Craig’s face, and he frowned. The pink eyes darted about the kitchen, obviously struggling with the knowledge that any activity in the room was going to sully however much effort he’d put into making it spotless. Rick decided to help him along and shifted just so the bunched material of his shirt slid off his abdomen in an achingly slow manner. Craig’s gaze locked in on the movement, and his bottom lip was chewed.
“Fuck.” It was almost a groan. Then he pressed into another kiss, this one with a far less innocent insinuation to it. Rick grinned so hard into the contact that Craig yanked himself away with a scowl to rival all previously made scowls known in history and pushed the taller man back again. “After. Dinner.”
He waited until he was around the corner before he arm pumped. It hadn’t gone according to plan exactly, but a win was a win, and Rick had just won.
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