angela flusters fareeha
It’s not often that Angela cooks. Rarely does she have the time, and even if she did, it would require her to stop working long enough to register she was hungry. A bad habit, she knows, and sets a daily timer for reminders to make sure she’s eating healthily. How would it look if Overwatch’s resident medic didn’t take care of herself like she instructs others to do?
Still, sometimes the notion grips her, a desire for pasta or chicken or something other than the microwaved delicacies she usually indulges. She’s in the kitchen, reaching down for a pot to boil water, when Fareeha walks in. Usually, when Angela’s in the kitchen, the smell of coffee brewing follows her. Not this time, however, and Fareeha, curious, steps closer. She rounds the counter and nearly collides with Angela’s ass. Round and in the air as the medic searches beneath the cabinet. Fareeha’s hands fling up and outward, a spastic motion to keep her from gripping Angela’s ass instead, and she backs up several paces, bumping into a chair.
The ponytail turns, and Fareeha catches a blue eye watching her curiously, the profile of a smile. “Hello, Fareeha. Care for some spaghetti?”
“Uh,” Fareeha blinks and regains herself. She’s not that hungry, but nods anyway, eager for the pleasure of Angela’s company. Angela straightens with the pot, and slides it under the sink. The spray of the water catches the rim of the pot and splashes Angela’s face. Fareeha grabs the pot to adjust as Angela laughs and steps back.
“Goodness. This is why I don’t cook often.”
Fareeha smiles over at her and is caught off guard by the droplets of water running down Angela’s jawline. It drips slowly from her chin, onto her white shirt which is dappled with clear spots. A few rivulets run into her cleavage and Fareeha clears her throat as she looks away, reaching for a rag and extending it. Angela takes it, squeezing Fareeha’s fingers as she dries off. Fareeha knows her cheeks are vibrant, radiating heat. Her fingers itch to touch and she keeps eyeing the doorway to her bunk as if it will make something happen. Angela is gorgeous, always has been. But as they’ve grown closer it’s becoming harder and harder not to notice certain…aspects. Aspects that Fareeha finds incredibly attractive despite her soldier’s will.
She doesn’t quite register Angela pulling the pot from her hands. Only the swell of Angela’s generous ass as she turns, and the taper of her waist. Fareeha blinks and looks away politely when Angela turns back around, only to be beckoned again by her soft voice.
Fareeha’s eyes lift, and she finds Angela leaning back against the counter, giving her a playful look. “You can look. I like when you do.”
Fareeha’s eyes widen, head shaking automatically as she tries to find an excuse for her actions. But Angela simply chuckles and saunters over, placing her arms around her neck. Finding that Fareeha somewhat resembles a fish, Angela places a finger under her chin and closes her gaping mouth. Fareeha’s eyes are everywhere at once, looking, wanting, desiring, and Angela tilts her head.
“Have you heard the phrase a watched pot never boils?”
“I-I, uh, yeah.”
“Good. So we must keep ourselves distracted so we don’t look over there.” She juts her chin to the stove.
“Do you have any suggestions.”
“Um, suggest–oh. Um.” Fareeha laughs nervously, dipping her head. Her brain has lost the ability to think, mouth to speak. Angela is too close, smells to good, feels too wonderful. And her laugh is music when she giggles again, fingers tracing the back of Fareeha’s neck.
“Well, come over here, and we’ll see if I can’t give you some ideas.”
Still dumbfounded, Fareeha obeys.