cookin keys

What's Cookin'?

Key in the lock. Front door opens, it’s dark inside. Quiet.

A flick of a switch and there’s light. He smiles, removes his shoes. A sigh, exhaustion from work. Slippers on tired feet. A hand through his soft blond hair, a hand loosening his tie.

He trudges up the stairs, feet scuffing as he enters his room. Seeking comfortable clothes, he changes. Fabric warm and soft and unbusinesslike. He feels at home again.

Moving to the kitchen, he checks the time. She’s late. The clock ticks rhythmically as he watches it. No messages on his phone. His stomach growls, the sound louder in the quiet room. Dinner needed to be made.

Knife upon chopping board. The onion diced, he wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. She’s a better cook. The sharp sizzle as the onions hit the pan, the scent as they brown…his mouth waters. Cubes of beef follow, the front door opens and a voice calls out.

She’s home. Happiness as she enters the kitchen, her radiant smile enough to blow him away. They kiss, chaste but loving. The room feels colder when she leaves to get changed. She’s not gone for long.

Her face curious as she peers into the pan, praising his efforts. He smirks, making suggestive comments about his prowess in bed just to see her blush. She swats at him in embarrassment and her shy behavior makes him want her.

He’s already given up on dinner, another urge has overcome him. Arms loop around her waist and draw her close. She protests, wriggling, what about dinner? It falls on deaf ears. She’s the main course now. He turns off the gas.

His lips are upon hers before she can say another word. She resists, but he feels her relax and return his affection. Her fingers gripping the shoulder of his sweater. Her body against his getting hotter. He whispers to her, hoisting her up in his arms.

Back to his bedroom, she’s placed upon the bed. He’s on top of her, embracing her. Soft lips tracing her neck. A shudder, a sigh. His hands wander beneath her sweater, her skin flinching away from his cool fingertips.

A kiss, a caress…she’s his now. Tongues teasing, tasting as they kiss. Clothing disappearing item by item. Skin to skin, hands tracing curves, nails biting skin. They are one.

She’s singing his song now, an angel beneath him. As it reaches the crescendo he joins her in song, until they are spent.

Warmth, such warmth. Their skin shining with sweat. A gentle kiss, a comforting embrace.

Dinner is long forgotten, but they are full.

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