#THIS WAS GLORIOUSSSSSS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

korebringerofded · 5 months ago

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THIS IS GLORIOUSSSSSS. You ever read something you didn’t even know you needed? That is this

Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too.

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room.

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this.

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle.

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already.

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked.

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them.

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious.

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

A weighty beat passes. One. Two.

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this?

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What?

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face.

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity.

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better.

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word.

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually.

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth.

“Out.”

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now.

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?”

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him.

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him.

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but.

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw.

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar.

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal.

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away.

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan.

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his.

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this.

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth.

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended.

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast.

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers.

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants.

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth.

And Gojo keeps going.

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily.

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good.

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?”

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs.

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit.

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous.

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together.

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute.

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone.

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife.

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch.

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly.

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance.

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you.

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there.

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least.

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.”

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear.

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side.

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?”

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him.

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find-

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted.

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles.

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are.

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices.

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper.

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you.

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes.

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his.

“Clean that room up.”

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie.

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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darcyfangirlsfrequently · 2 years ago

Text

IT'S HEREEEEEEEE

AND IT'S GLORIOUSSSSSS

Every Body Needs A Hobby

PART 3: NOT BOUND BY WHERE WE SHOW UP TO WORK: A RE-IMAGINING OF SEASON 15 GARVEZ

Also on Tumblr PART 1 | PART 2

On AO3 : Part 1 | Part 2 | This one!

CM EPISODE: N/A - Between Season 14 & 15

Content: Graphic Garvez Sex; Erotic Baked Goods; Extremely silly prose with a lot of references to food/baking/cooking; A recipe for gimmick icing that I haven’t tried (yet). WAY TOO MANY WORDS.

Dedicated to: My husband who listened when I read him bits and bites of the prose that you are hopefully about to enjoy for MONTHS and didn’t divorce me (or ban me from our kitchen).

Word Count: Approx. 12,000 – aka you may want to make sure you’re hydrated and pack a lunch before you begin - I can’t believe this is so long!

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1 Set up a workspace near your stove with sugar for sweetness, flour for body, tonic water for glow. Don’t forget some colour and flavour!

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Across the street from Penel- NO!

Be professional.

GARCIA’S apartment building, Luke sits in his car - trying to decide what to do next.

He had tried casually sending Penelope a lighthearted slightly jokey (grovelling) text the day after the wedding - no response.

Then, after 26 hours (and 42 seconds… but who was counting?), he debated sending an email to explain but instead had bullied himself into calling.

The phone had gone directly to voicemail

She had never called back.

He’s not totally surprised by her behaviour - after all, he had been the one to have something that resembled a mini freakout when she invited him to come back to her place after the wedding. He remembers uncomfortably how he had made some inarticulate excuse about needing to go home to Roxy (who was at the sitters and so was totally fine).

Now, he feels like it’s getting down to crunch time - either he tracks PenerGarcia down so that they can have some sort of conversation and figure out together “what’s next” - or he plays the waiting game until presumably they return to work and what happens happens.

DAMN IT.

His stomach knots at the prospect as he curses himself for the billionth time for not accepting her invitation to 'come up'… but it all felt so unreal after being given such incredible head in the damn hot air balloon… and she had said it was just two tipsy single people hooking up at a wedding… “no commitment” she had said…

…but she had also said there would be a “later”...

CURSES.

Luke bangs his head against the steering wheel. What a mess. He just wants to talk. Make sure there are no weird feelings. That everything will be cool at work. Nothing more. Just talk.

Liar. You just want to talk like the Cookie Monster prefers broccoli to chocolate chips.

Fuck it. He’ll bite the bullet and head up to her place and knock.

What’s the worst that can happen?

Gritting his teeth, Luke opens his truck and grabs the bottle of locally brewed gin and the fancy tonic water he picked up at the farmer’s today - at least he’s bringing a peace offering…

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2 If it’s not too much to ask, you’ll also need a saucepan, measuring cups and spoons, a whisk, a small rubber spatula, several small jars and paint brushes…

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Penelope Grace Garcia is absolutely furious. Or maybe it's nervous? Or embarrassed? Or worried? Or maybe happy and excited? Or just really horny? Or - No. Definitely furious. Angry. Mad. Enraged. Outraged. Irate. Cross. Indignant. Apoplectic.

Dare she think it? That she is…

at your boiling point?

STUPID SMIRKING BRAIN - SHUT UP!

oh fiddle-dee-dee such a tempest in a teapot

over a little bit of… of…

of crumpet…

…well maybe not a little bit…

SHUT UP! HOW COULD I HAVE LET THIS HAPPEN?

how couldn't you?

SHUT! UP! BRAIN! CAN'T YOU SEE I AM BAKING DELECTABLE UNIQUE GOODIES?

…you've done little else for days!

Just call him back…

…..at least text him…

The poor man does not deserve to be burned this way…

and the team may have this week off - but unless you QUIT…

YOU are going to be seeing HIM at work on Monday!

Do you really want-

I SAID SHUT UP BRAIN! I HAVE NO TIME FOR PHONE CALLS OR YOUR… YOUR… TASTELESS PAP…THIS…THIS… FABULOUS ICING IS NOT GOING TO MAKE ITSELF!

Oh Penny-my-love…

….where did my brilliant brave modern multi-tasking “takes what she wants and has no regrets” woman get to?

I. AM. WHISKING!

To be frank, Penelope Grace Garcia knows her brain is right. She has been hiding behind a flurry of confectioner's sugar ever since she woke up - alone - the day after Rossi's wedding and the incredibly mindblowing ridiculously unbelievably wonderful sexIsodes (two!) starring one Super Special Sexy Agent Luke Alvez.

The day after the wedding, Matt and Kristy and the kids had invited her in to join them for dinner when she dropped by unexpectedly with a tin of puppy shaped cupcakes - but, of course, she couldn't stay… she had more baking to do…more edible joy to whip up …more not calling… not texting… not thinking… not remembering… not hoping…

Next, she surprised Reid with a cake which had been sculpted into a three dimensional model of the oxytocin molecule…with uplifting quotes from his favourite authors, theorists, and Doctor Who… carefully penned with edible markers…afterall it was her duty to cheer him up since he had been looking extra tense lately…even for him.

(Oxytocin may be called the love hormone and flow freely during sex…but that was NOT why it had popped into her mind to use that particular molecule to show some love to her super genius best friend…it could be a friendly hormone too!)

Then there were the diamond chocolatines for Emily.

(Penelope is pretty sure..hopes.. they didn't look as much like miniature yearning yonis to her boss as they had to her feverish imagination as she pulled the chocolatey delights from the oven.)

.. and a dozen deliciously mouthwateringly beautiful loaves of homemade cinnamon swirl bread to J.J.'s.

(which Penelope is CONFIDENT would have looked nothing like erect penises to normal individuals…they were just loaves of bread! It was just her stupid-should-really-just-shut-up brain that would look at them and race back to a certain dishy coworker's glorious…um…)

So what if her cookie tins are bursting with intricately decorated - um - definitely naughty cookies that she has no idea what to do with! Maybe Tara would think they were funny?

(Although maybe that was a bad idea…after all Tara is both a trained profiler and psychologist…and there was no way these cookies are…y'know….just cookies.)

Penelope refuses to even think about what possessed her to whip up the double batch of organic dog biscuits a few hours ago.

And now…now…NOW…she is experimenting with one of a few bod- ICING - recipes she had found online last night…to decorate the last few naked - no! - UNDECORATED cookies left to tackle.

DON’T THINK. JUST WHISK!

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3. In the saucepan, mix together 2 tablespoons sugar and 1/3 cup flour.

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Luke, congratulating himself on slipping into the building behind a pizza delivery guy and finding his way to Penelope’s door, reminds himself firmly that he is an ex-Army Ranger - one of the FBI’s finest - a ready-for-anything kind of fellow and he is not afraid of fall out due to a little casual sex with a coworker.

HA!

Finally, after a couple false starts he swallows hard and lifts his knuckles against her door and…

Tap. Tappy-tap-tap. Tap. Tap!

Good lord it’s like he’s in a 1940s rom com. TAP. TAPPY-TAP-TAP. TAP. TAP??? What is this a club house? Secret knock central? ToonTown?!?!?! Ridiculous.

He hears a rustle and that voice that has made him laugh (ok yes more than just laugh - grin beam giggle jibber groan - no!). Just laugh. …more times than he can count… calling from beyond the door.

"Be there in a Jif! I am going to open the door and just scoot back to the stove because apparently this edible pa-uh-goo-i-mean icing needs to be stirred pretty much constantly...I didn't know you were coming by tod–"

The door swings open and she clearly didn't check the peephole 'cus her face falls like cake made with overmixed batter when she sees who it is.

"YOU are NOT Dr. Super Genius Spencer Reid. How dare you trick me into opening the door with his special secret knock!"

She's done it again. His face cracks into a grin like an egg - but not just any egg - one destined to be served as chocolate chip pancakes in bed.

She's being ridiculous - as usual - and the apron she's wearing…?

She looks like an irate bonbon and it takes practically all of his will power not to drop the breakables and leaping-tackle-kiss her to the carpet to unwrap/devour her DELECTABLE self.

Talk. He is here to talk. Just talk. But teasing is talking right?

"Chica - I've got news for you," he wraps his knuckles on the doorframe: tap tappy-tap-tap tap tap, "Shave and a haircut:Two Bits is nobody's super secret knock."

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4. Slowly add 2 cups of tonic water – there will be a bit of bubbling because the tonic water is carbonated.

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Penelope flushes to the shade of Lowny's hotlips (Luke's favourite candy), throws her hands up, splutters something that sounds suspiciously like "Of course! Toons can never resist the old shave and haircut bit", and stomps back to her stove concoction.

"C'mon Newbie, you've finally cornered me - but I have glo-uh something on the stove - so you can talk while I whisk - although I really don't need to hear the old-"

"Penel-"

Luke follows her into the kitchen.

"-it was a mistake and can never happen again and let's stay just good-"

"Pen-"

He puts down the bottles on the floor since every inch of counter space is covered in used mixing bowls or cooling baked goods or ingredients.

"-friends. I get it. It was an amazingly wonderful-"

"Penny?!"

Luke stares at a rack of cooling cookies that he is pretty sure depict couples (some mlw, some wlw, some mlm) in various sexual positions - if they are doing what he thinks they are doing - their little cookie selves are clearly enjoying their trysts.

"-but one time thing AND we said no commitment AND we work-"

"Penny?"

Her name is softer this time. Wondering.

The cookies seem to be hand shaped - not the result of some purchased set of erotic cookie cutters. Hand shaped. By Penelope Garcia.

"-together. There's nothing - nada - zero - you need to explain. So let's just skip it all ok-eek!"

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5. Heat the saucepan and mix the ingredients together.

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Luke, who clearly is not going to get a word in edgewise, presses himself against her back - nuzzling her neck - breathing her in - cinnamon and vanilla - arms sliding around her - slipping under her frilly pink leopard print apron - relishing the feeling of his palms filled with handfuls of her body again.

If only she was naked.

Penelope moans low.

If only he was naked.

He can't help it - he licks up her neck like he did the ice cream treat he enjoyed on the last case - and then, as with the ice cream, he half bites half suckles her earlobe.

Then his voice - thick like honey - murmurs, "Penelope - did you ever consider that I might have a different dish in mind than the one you were just cooking up in your brain? That maybe…maybe…I could never be satisfied with just one taste of you?"

Penelope - who has been simmering on the edge of boiling for days - can hardly stand it. She wants to…needs to…turn in his arms - lick his stubbly cheek - devour his mouth with wide wet open mouthed ravenous kisses - knead the hard muscles in his shoulders - his upper arms - down his back.

But ..but…

"I. HAVE. TO. WHISK!"

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6.Stir continually - approximately 12 to 15 Minutes.

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"How long?" The question is wrapped in chocolate and whipped cream and ends with his hands swirling up over her body to hold her breasts - squeezing gently as if to test for ripeness.

Penelope's eyes flit up to her kitchen clock like she's sending up a prayer.

"Ten to twelve minutes? I have to whisk until it's ah thick." Penelope whines the last words - although to Luke's ears it is like a sip of dry white wine - refreshingly intoxicatingly tart - and he wants to drain the glass and pour another.

"Well I don't know about you - but I've waited for days…what's a few more minutes? You whisk - I'll find something to keep me busy."

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7. Make sure it does not boil!

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She's still whisking - but the frantic action which paired her pre-emptive monologue and made her bracelets bounce - has slowed and - oh fuck - the motion is rocking her back against him.

Luke's cock rises higher - warm and firm - like baking bread - rising against the toothsome curve of her ass.

(Now admittedly, his cock has been semi-hard since laying eyes on her - ok since sitting in the car thinking about coming up to see her - ok since he woke the morning after Rossi's wedding …with only a few moments here and there of sweet relief after 'pulling his own taffy' so to speak…but still this this is so so so much better.)

Ten to twelve minutes? Despite his earlier words Luke wonders if he's going to make it. Something about this woman gives him the appetites of a much much younger man - oh fuck - especially when she grinds back against him like that.

And - oh fuck - whimpers like that…

Oh fuck, indeed. He's definitely not going to make it… well, not without 'frosting his shorts', at least.

His eyes fall back onto the cooling erotic cookies and, in particular, a busty confection giving a little sugar to her partner while standing - her cookie head thrown back in ecstasy as his cookie cock takes her from behind.

"Penelope? Y'know what?"

"What?"

Her voice is distracted.

Airy.

Bubbling with something he thinks is want.

It sounds the way he feels.

Ten to twelve minutes is hardly a blink of an eye when it comes to 'Foreplay à la Luke Alvez''…BUT by anyone's standards…it’s more than enough time for a ‘Three Michelin Starred’ Quickie...

He makes a decision…and his cock throbs in anticipation.

“Penelope? What would you say to a little Afternoon Delight? You whisk and I'll serve up a little vertical refreshment… an appetiser now and then if you have the appetite…the full course meal could come - cum and cum and cum and cum - LATER."

As each 'cum' roles off his tongue - Luke pulses into her - tugs one or the other of the gumdrops that are her nipples through her apron and shirt - nuzzles closer - and the echoes of "LATER" crystalize the molten emotions running through Penelope's body into golden threads of desire.

Luke picks up the cookie that has inspired him and holds it up for her to see. He senses her swallowing hard.

"What do you say, Penny? Wanna bite?"

He presses the cookie to her closed lips.

Penelope is starving - ravenous for his touch - for the feel of him filling her again. But…but…

Oh! What can it hurt? A last meal, so to speak, before going back to reality?

She opens her mouth and takes a bite of the offered cookie.

The cookie is perfect - even if she does say so herself - sweet and chewy with just enough snap.

Luke watches the profile of this woman - this woman to whom he is unbelievably attracted - watches as she slowly chews and then swallows - her beautiful lips curling into an indulgent smile.

Penelope, still whisking, turns her head for a kiss. Lips taste lips.

Finally.

Luke pulls her even closer and heat floods their bodies. Penelope reaches up and back with her free hand - threading her fingers into his hair - cupping the back of his head - pulling him deeper into the kiss. Their tongues taste and tangle.

The kiss is both a feast in itself and…yet… mere crumbs compared to that which they are now both are sure is on the menu.

As Penelope's hunger for Luke's touch grows - the voice in her head suggests that maybe - just maybe - she could abandon the culinary experiment that she is currently whisking. Just turn off the stove and turn on Luke instead… while another part of her thinks that perhaps she should finish whipping up the confection but switch its purpose from a frosting for cookie people to a frosting for the gorgeous man who has invaded her kitchen.

The argument is so fierce that she speaks her dilemma:

"Maybe I don't need to finish this? I could turn the stove off? We could…?"

What they could do sifts between them - glazed eyes fixed on each other… then…almost as if against his own will…Luke swallows and scrapes out:

"What is it? Just icing?"

And even as he says it - Luke knows that Penelope would never make 'just icing'. Nothing touched by Penelope is ever not infused with her special brand of muchness - he can practically feel her touch transforming him into something more special - more worthy - more free and blessed and (dare he say it?) sprinkled and sparkly?

"It's supposed to be an edible paint that glows in the dark - to decorate the…"

The pause brims with shimmering scrumptious possibilities.

"...cookies."

"You-" Luke half chokes on what he's saying - licks his lips and clears his throat and then in a savoury whisper: "Penelope. Please. Don't. Stop. Whisking."

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8 To test, stop stirring and lift the whisk so you can see exactly how freely the mixture is flowing.

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His far hand runs down her arm until his fingers touch hers - engulfs her hand that is poised - frozen - holding the whisk. At his touching reminder - Penelope answers with renewed stirring and so, he kisses her.

Hard. Brief. A resolution. A promise.

Then, looking into her eyes, with the tambour of his words cast iron wrapped in caramel, Luke places an order:

"You pay attention to the stove, Penelope. I'll pay attention to you. Do not burn yourself or me or the icing. Oh, and Penelope? If you stop stirring? I stop."

And with that Luke steps away - and under Penelope's ravenous gaze - he pulls first his shirt over his head - then toes off his shoes - then, to the sound of a Penelope gasp, shucks off pants and underwear and socks - until he stands before as golden and naked as any of her cookies. Beautiful.

Penelope can't help it; she laughs in joy and smiles oh so so wide. He is so mouthwateringly gorgeous and he is being so silly and incongruously stern and all over generous. And it just makes her SMILE.

And now he is doing a little dance and stepping back towards her - grinning his fool head off because her smile makes him stupidly ridiculously happy and she is too far away - so… step step… and he pulls her back in his arms - her back presses to his chest as he hugs her - snuggling in close - half chiding himself for so easily dropping the commanding persona he had adopted earlier sex play - but she is too luscious today for anything fierce - he is too happy and she looks and smells and feels too wonderful for anything but goofy joyous rambunctious sugary fun…so he will draw her out - tease her - tickle her - and the more fierce serious passion that was a moment ago?

Later. Oh yes. Later. But now? Oh yes. Now! Now.

And with that thought, Luke pulls her even closer, her clothing a sea of sensations against his nude flesh. He grinds against her - a recipe for a moan if ever there was one - and then swings around her - a bit like she’s the pole and he’s the dancer - sliding down until he is knelt in front of her - between her and the stove.

Luke runs his hands down her legs and then back up under the robin egg blue skirt that peekaboos out from under her pink print apron. He keeps expecting his fingers to brush up against the edges of her panties but it never happens; instead, his fingers tangle in her tight curls. He lets out a hum at the deliciousness of it. Luke lifts skirt and apron over his head and dives into the delectable darkness - pressing cheek, then nose, then open mouth against her curls - into the fold between plump thigh and belly - breathing her in - tasting her - his hands cup the naked rounds of her ass - drawing her closer - kissing closer and closer to the nub of nerves until the flat of his tongue is pressed against her clit - and then - oh and then? Luke starts to round his tongue to match the rhythm of the whisk scraping round the bottom of the pot - the metal on metal ting-zzipppp-ting-zippp the perfect accompaniment to his lavish licks and curling flat tongue pressing her flesh in bodacious arcs. Penelope can’t help but pant.

“L-Luke. Oh! Oh! Oh my! Oh!”

As his touch and her want combine - Penelope falters with the stirring and as her hand pauses with the whisk mid-circle - so does his tongue. His tongue holds hard and steady against her clit - it’s intense but not enough - but he holds her still with hands on her thighs so she can’t thrust against his mouth to gain the friction she wants - needs. Oh no. Penelope half-wails half-moans and gives the icing a little stir in frustration and Luke - dear sweet Luke - matches the motion with his tongue and the light goes on somewhere in her sex soaked brain - and she whisks again - a long slow sweep around the pot - and again he matches her movement exactly - then again presses hard and still against her when she pauses. She has complete control - he is nothing but a delighted sous chef - the power of the moment thrums through Penelope as she begins again to…whisk...and he begins to… oh my… indeed.

Penelope draws the inside of her lower lip between her teeth - sharp and comforting - as the play of his tongue and the headiness of controlling the moment transforms her body into a swelling pressure cooker of arousal - when Luke starts to embellish his licks and sucks with hearty growls and robust nuzzling - Penelope’s head spins like sugar. Luke delights in the half swallowed cries bursting from her mouth somewhere over his head as he fills her order - matching her now almost frantic whisking with his circling lashings - giving her an extra sharp lick with pointed tongue whenever the metal of the utensil clinks against the side of the pot - making her body jerk against his strong grasp on the back of her thighs - his hold essential to her staying vertical since Penelope’s legs are jelly.

Her gooey centre churns in exaltation and her free hand is heavy on Luke’s shoulder - steadying her further but also adding spice - her perfectly manicured fingers kneading deep with each wave of sensation.

Faces flush. Penelope’s breasts strain and heave under her apron. Her hips thrust involuntarily but rhythmically as Luke begins to suck her clit instead of lick - still matching the pace of her frantic stirring… hh hhh hhh hhh hhh hh hh hhh… higher and higher… tight fast…tighter…faster…round …and round ...and round…and round and clink and ahhhh and oh oh oh! and…

"I-O-!"

Something works free inside of Penelope and her mouth opens wider with a “Luke!? Luuuuuuuuke!” and then her mouth is slack open - then stretches in an almost O - throat taught and her chin lifted - but then he sees her swallow and knows she is not quite quite done - no not quite - but oh close…so close… and the jolt of it takes all the energy out of her stirring and the whisk stutters through the icing as her hand goes slack like her lips… and Luke?

He is as good as his word - his mouth goes into slow mo as the stirring stills. Oh, he stays pressed at the jointure of her thighs but they just hang together - open wide against each other…Penelope catching her breath…Luke breathing deep through his nose… sensing exactly how close to ready she is…

Then…with a shuddering breath… Penelope starts to stir again - a slow broad sweep of her whisk through the sticky confection… and Luke - bless him - senses her movement - and twins it - but now instead of a licking lapping tongue - or a dizzying sucking - his whole mouth is flush with her quim and he rolls his neck - letting his mouth drag and press round in a wide round swooping circle - round and round - round and round - round and round - and Penelope while soused by the sensations - stays steady and slow - minute over minute over minute - round and round and round and round - their breaths matching - in and out - and round and round and round - her sense of him thickening along with the icing - and the languorous intoxicating build suffusing her body with heavy creamy pleasure previously unimagined - they are drunk on each other - mesmerised by their own rhythms and the sugary fumes of the baking.

Luke’s knees tingle from kneeling - his cheeks wet and stinging - his hands full of sweet Penelope - but he never ever falters - just keeps on matching her rhythm - breathing in her tangy musky pleasure - resisting the urge to gobble her up and instead savouring every moment - round and round and round and round and..he is sozzled,,,befuddled..bemused…how did this happen… how could it not?

How oh how did he let it take this long…. oh yes…oh yes - and now, she is speeding up just a touch - her hand and breathing taking a heavier turn.. the whisk pushed hard and scrapping against the bottom of the pot with each jabbing stir.. so Luke pushes his tongue down - licking a hard line down over her clit and then pushes up and rigid - up into her welcoming cunt - high and hard and with each hard scraping turn of her whisk - tongue fucks her - deep plump thrusts - hands gliding up from her thighs to the rounds of her ass - pulling her tighter against him - up and in - up and in - up and in - not fast but hard and deep - stroking out until she is empty and only the tip of his tongue flirts with her opening - and then another deep sheathing - Penelope realises just in time that there is no turning back this time - and she stretches to flip off the burner - the whisk falling to the side of the pot - but Luke knows better than to stop now - two hands on his shoulders now - as she keens into the otherwise silent kitchen - and she rides his tongue - in and out - in and out - as she is whipped into hard peaks - higher and higher - his fingers dig into the ripe flesh of her ass - ten red circles decorating her flesh - and Penelope is shaking - baking - rocking - rolling - quivering and then begging - please - now - more! More! MORE! PLEASE SIR COULD I HAVE SOME MORE?!?!

And Luke is THERE! SECOND THIRD AND FOURTH HELPINGS OF WHAT SHE WANTS ARE HEAPED UPON HER…and then? OH AND THEN???? SHE IS THERE! And Goddess Almighty!?! And oh? my? oh! my! and then? oh yum and damn and yum and fuck and oh…oh…OH…OH….and YESSSSSSSSS! OH YESSS! OH LUKE LUKE LUKE LUKE L..uke..luke..l. oh my luke..oh. my.. oh. my… oh.. oh.. m-m-my. oh my luke.. until all is richness and flavour and zest and… and… and… mm-mmm-mmmmmmmmmmm-nnnnn-nn-OHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Penelope shatters like toffee brittle - crumbles like buttery pie crust - boils over into oblivion until finally… finally…finally all is silence and stillness.

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9 When ready it will be a very light gold, with no bubbles left, and perfectly thick.

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A tendril of hair clings to Penelope’s moist cheek as she slumps against the naked man who kneels at her feet. Polka dots of frosting seem to cloud her vision - sweet syrupy pleasure ropes through her body - she is done.

Luke carefully unwraps his mouth from between her thighs - then, making sure to lend Penelope his steadiness, he rises as smoothly as his tingling legs and insistent cock allows - part holding this gorgeous woman up - part climbing her hand over hand - until he stands before her. Penelope’s unfocused gaze is cotton candy soft but roves over his face - his cheeks and chin and lips are glazed in her juices - a dimple pops on her cheek as her lips curl in pillowy satisfaction.

Luke can’t look away - can’t move - as Penelope closes the distance between them to lick a bead of moisture from his upper lip. It tastes of sweat and herself but she has but a blink to savour it because suddenly Luke pulls her tight against him - his hard proud cock tangled in the swinging fabric of her apron - pushing against her belly - and he is kissing her like he is a starving man and she is a full-course meal - Penelope is snapped like a ginger biscuit into the here and now and she too is suddenly starving again - hands and mouths ravenously gobble up every sensation - rubbing - roving - wildly over the other - neither feeling like they will never be able to get enough.

Luke’s need is even stronger than hers though - he has yet to be satisfied and his insides are molten with an urge to take - to plunge - to pillage - to feast - his lips are at her nape - suckling deep and urgently - then at her ear - rasping: “Pen - I - now?” and her gasped reply is just what he is seeking “Condom?”

Luke’s brain soaks in the memory of slipping a condom 'overly optimistically' into his pants pocket that morning. “One second.” He dives for his pants and triumphantly removes the shiny foil package - ripping it open with his teeth - stupidly flattered by Penelope’s bemused face as she braces herself against the stove at the sudden loss of his body and the apparent requirement that she stare dumbly at his beautiful body as he rolls the rubber onto his rampantly exquisite cock with deft fingers.

Her pink tongue flicks out and licks her lips at the sight and then, like an embodiment of one of her sexy cookies, she turns back to the stove - bracing her hands on the edge of the cooktop - leaning forward - her breasts swaying heavily down under her shirt and apron - wiggling her butt in invitation - spicy smile turned towards him.

Luke swallows hard - his throat rippling - stepping forward - tossing up her skirt - hands moulding the globes of her ass and then pulling her hips to him - so she tilts just so - opening to him. He runs the tip of his cock up the seam between her cheeks - the condom has some sort of ice cold cooling action - so the line he traces buzzes against her skin.

Moments ago Penelope would have told you she was completely satisfied that there was nothing else she needed…possibly ever…but now? Now her body clamours its impatience - she wants to feel his cock sliding inside her. Have they really only done this once before? It seems so right. So essential. What is he waiting for? Now! Now!

The thoughts turn to words and she pleads with him “Now Luke. Please. Please. I need you inside me right now.”

Luke looks down at where he is about to make their bodies one - hardly believing that he is going to take her for the second time without undressing her! Who has he become? But every fibre of his body is pointed towards the heart of her - urging him to skewer her - broach her most private place - quench their mutual thirsts with thrust after thrust after thrust…he may not have it in him to deny her request but he makes himself hang back for a heartbeat - two - three - savouring the moment - her spread before him - the feel of her hips under his fingers - the sensory symphony offered by the surrounding baked goods - the taste of her salty sweat and husky juices which still coat his tongue - the sight of her robins egg blue skirt bunched across the small of her back - crowned with the pink loose bow of her apron - the frustrated whistle of her breath hugging the word “Please”...

It takes all of his control to enter her slowly. Penelope is a wet molten silk embrace - loose from the loving of his tongue but tooth-achingly enveloping sweet as his cock pushes into her body. All of him centres on where his body is now encased by hers and oh he is all throb and want and desperation. Again and again - teeth-grittingly slowly he pulls out - now it is his cock instead of his tongue which flirts with her opening - and then inchmeal pushes steadily back in - his bare toes curling against the linoleum.

Penelope tries to buck against him - speed things up - but Luke is stronger and holds her in place. The tang of her frustrated bliss perfumes the air as he ruthlessly relentlessly drives her higher and higher…the iron will of ‘If you stop stirring - I stop Luke’ is back in control.. although heaven only knows how long it can hold on.

Each thrust is a lucious test of his will - until his fancy manners are suddenly pushed to their limit and all he can do is hold on as his body demands that he gorge himself with the feel of her perfect body - his thrusts become almost drunken - dazed - driven with a need that rips him into ragged chunks - chews him up - consumes every nerve - every inch - burns through him and drives him in and out of her faster and faster. Hotter. Wetter. A slapping perfect fit. Faster and faster. Tighter and higher.

Penelope can do nothing more than hang on as he pummels her into the shape of another perfect orgasm. The heat from the now cooling burner can hardly compete with the combustion of feeling and emotion broiling deep within her - stark against his ice sheathed cock - spiralling her higher and higher. She sucks in air - her cheeks hollowing - her lips folded tight - then pursing - then stretching wide as she is pounded and pounded and pounded from behind.

Oh fuck!

Penelope needs to - must - cry out. Swear. Hollar. But instead she silently screams - her lips and cheeks stretching wider and tighter - because oh goddess he is making these grunts and little shouts and moans that are just sending her - somehow filling her - stuffing her - even more then his glorious cock could ever on its own - and she refuses to miss a single morsel of what this man is giving her. She can hear his sounds change as he gets closer and closer to cumming - getting almost shrill - urgent like a kettle screaming for release - instinctively she milks his cock with her cunt muscles - clenching him closer - sharply augmenting the bliss of the almost imperceptible rests which punctuate Luke's now feverishly erratic strokes.

A ripe fresh sound is plucked from somewhere near Luke's heart as he slams one last final time into Penelope's body - cum overflows from boiling balls - pumping out in stream after shuddering stream deep inside his lover's body. He is no longer simple Luke Alvez but a tingling shouting embodiment of sweet decadent all-encompassing release. Ever balls deep inside, he sprawls onto her back, and it is this unchecked weight of him - the hot cold of his sweaty chest soaking the back of her shirt - that ignites Penelope's orgasm. Unlike her first, which was an outward explosion that sapped her and would have toppled her if not for Luke… this one, while just as powerful, folds inward like a pressure cooker doing it's magic as she holds strong and supports them both through the wracking shared stew of rapture and the semi-sweet aftershocks.

Finally, Luke settles. His spent dick slips messily from her body - but still he is draped across her - his fingers loosening their grip on her hips - his arms wrapping around her in a hug - one arm around her belly - the other across her chest hand resting over her heart- his cheek pressed high on the flat of her shoulder blade.

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10 Let it cool a little.

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They stay like that for a very very long time.

Eventually, as one, they untangle and Penelope pulls a square of paper towel (100% recycled) from the roll and passes it to Luke who uses it to wrap up the spent condom.Then...with silent agreement go hand in hand - a glazed duo - to her bedroom.

Something about crossing the threshold into her cozy lair of a bedroom awakens Luke to…something.

What is this? He had just come here to talk and…

Luke drops her hand - pauses in the doorway - neither in nor out.

“Penel-”

Now it is Penelope who is snapped out of the delicious daze - and she just comes at him - talking a mile a minute.

“Luke Alvez you just shush! I thought I told you...I get it… no commitment… one time thing…well - two time thing - maybe three depending on how one counts - but we do not have to talk about it! And frankly - since we’re already in the midst of time number two…or three…I see absolutely no reason to- we’re coworkers…plus you’re on rebound and that just breaks so many rules…and…so let’s just enjoy what today has cooked up…unless you don’t want anymore? Is that what you were about to say? That you’ve had sufficient? That the appetiser was enough? Have I assumed more than I should? I just thought you still would want - but was going to make some boring hero-complex speech to make sure I wasn’t about to catch feelings or something crass like that. You don’t have to worry. I mean I’m sappy but we all know I’m a total commitment-phobe so I don’t think you need to worry about me becoming all clingy or embarrassing or anything… I mean the sex is fantastic and I’d like to continue - it’s such a delicious use of our last day off - but if you want to go… no hard feelings ok?”

Penelope smiles then and blithely presses a kiss to his cheek looking so earnestly up at him that he could throttle something. What is it about women like Penelope believing that most men would rather eat dirt than have them fall in love with them?

Luke’s stares blankly as his brain scrambles.

He was actually about to say something like “Penelope - I am so happy this is finally happening - I think I have been in love with you since about 4 seconds after Rossi introduced us. I know we said ‘no commitment’ but maybe we should rethink this? Maybe we should just go for it. Have our cake and eat it too?” but Penelope’s mini rant meltdown whatever it was speech has swallowed that impulse.

Or at least to say it out loud.

He might have been not totally sure when he opened his mouth a moment ago of his feelings - but having her preemptively shut down his declaration of love has made it crystal clear to him exactly how he feels and what he wants: Penelope.

He wants to live with and love Penelope Garcia for the rest of his life and he wants her to want it too - which apparently she does not.

Yet.

One thing he does know though - is she is not lying when she describes herself as a commitment-phobe - just fighting to be her friend has been a huge battle… getting her to admit to herself… to him.. that she might love him? Convince her that she can truly completely trust him - love him? That is going to be a war. But suddenly - it’s one he knows he is going to win - or die trying. But softly softly.

Luke takes both of her hands in his and looks seriously down into her worried earnest face. He lets himself smile just a pinch - a twinkle - feeling like this might be the most strategic encounter of his life. This. This is when he proves that thing he told her in the elevator all those years ago: Luke Alvez, behavioural analyst. That's what I do.

“Penelope - I… all I was going to say was that I didn’t have any other condoms and ask if you did - because I really really really am excited about the main course and don’t even get me started about how much I am looking forward to dessert. But if I need to step out and get-”

“Oh. No. I.. yeah.. I uh sure do. And stop smirking Mr. Punky Newbster! I totally didn't pick up the brand new fancy mixed pack I’m about to pull out of my nightstand for any reason having to do with you - so you can save your knowing smirks."

Damn it. She's making him laugh again.

Luke holds up his hands as if warding off the idea as preposterous even if his grin betrays him. “Never!”

“Oh you…you..you…Newbie!” Her words are paired with a Perfectly Penelope Huff, Spin on Her Heels, and Stomp OffTM but he can hear the pure joy percolating under the act. She’s back with him and her back is to him. He reaches out and grabs one of the ties of her apron - laughing a bit at how her skirt is still bunched up at the back - not as high as it was in the kitchen but the curve of her ass peekaboos at him from under the uneven hem - a luscious reminder that HE HAS YET TO SEE HIS NEWLY ACKNOWLEDGED LOVE OF HIS LIFE FULLY UNDRESSED! So, with a new resolve to at least make love to her whole body - even if he is not yet allowed to make love to her whole self… Luke tugs the captured tie.

Penelope - of course - has double knotted the apron. So instead of untying the bow - his tug pulls her back to him - and for the umpteenth time in this particular interlude she finds herself pulled into a backwards hug - her butt snug against his groin - her back plastered against his chest. His words spooned directly from his mouth into her ear.

“Lots of time for getting those fancy condoms you got for some unspecified reason having nothing to do with yours truly… but you know what really needs to be done a la minute? Getting your toothsome body out of all this extra clothing… I’m getting lonely over here.”

Penelope turns in his arms and slides her palms up his chest until they drape around his neck - she sways just like when they were dancing at Rossi’s wedding - dimpling up at him. “Oh don’t you mean jealous? After all - I've been treated to the full monty - but you’ve never gotten even close to unwrapping the goods.”

“Exactly. I’m absolutely green over here. Just call me Mr Broccoli,” Luke dips his mouth then and catches her lips in a kiss.

“Mmm. You don’t taste like broccoli.”

“No? What do I taste like?”

Penelope kisses him again as if on a quest to detect exactly what flavour notes can be found on his lips. A little tasting kiss. Then another. Then another. Then another. A nip. A lick. A kiss on the corner. Then another more centred. Testing. Tasting. And then a deep swigging kiss that Luke can’t help but be swallowed up by.

Finally she breaks the kiss - smiling up into his eyes. “You taste like midnight in a hot air balloon - and sneaking away from the party - and sugar cookies - and dumb jokes - and body rush. Exquisite.”

And then she kisses him again - roving and hungry - until he pushes them apart with shaky hands because his heart is starting to pound and his cock awaken - urging him to take her again - sooner than later without anymore preamble or play - but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see her naked before losing his head again….damned if he doesn’t paint her body with that warm sugary concoction they left on the stove.

“I think you said something about wanting to take these clothes off me? But maybe that could wait? No time like the present for a little snack break?” Her smile is warm honeyed milk as she sinks to her knees at his feet - clearly intending to take her turn bestowing pleasure with her mouth. His cock jumps at her suggestion and with a self-satisfied smile she presses one of those little tasting kisses to his cock.

Even though he is very tempted to just give in - see what Penelope is thinking of serving up - Luke is conscious of how much time he squandered - how much more he wants to do before this strange erotic illusion ends - so instead - with a salty grin down at her - he steps away and says “I have an even better idea! Wait here!”

Now it is Luke who turns on his heel. Leaving Penelope shaking her head and holding her cheeks which are now spread by a disbelieving but truly pleased smile - he heads back to the kitchen…

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11 Divide up into jars, add colour…and maybe just a little flavour to taste.

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Beside the stove is a printed recipe - he picks it up and reads… then as carefully as he can with shaking hands - he pours some of still warm icing into one the three glass jars Penelope had clearly left out for this purpose - adding a few drops of red and blue food colouring since purple is definitely a Penelope approved hue - and then, on a whim, adds a splash of the fancy gin he brought - mixing it with a paint brush. He brushes a taste onto his tongue… not bad… not bad at all…

With his prize, Luke practically skips back to the bedroom. He carefully sets the little pot of the edible paint on her vanity and then turns to Penelope with his best snooty Maitre D impression offers a dignified hand to the still kneeling Penelope.

“Now you, my dear, I am terribly sorry, but I have to inform you that you are extremely overdressed for this evening. May I help, Mademoiselle, remove the offending items?"

Penelope places her hand in his and demurely lets him help her up to her feet - a study in coy haughtiness.

"Monsieur? Yes, you may proceed. Provided, of course, that you take all the appropriate liberties."

Luke, never dropping the act, moves efficiently around his grand lady. Tugging the apron bow loose, pressing a clandestine kiss to her cheek, then formally easing the neck loop over her head - careful not to tug any strands of blue or blond hair - folding the garment carefully then placing it on a side chair. Next, quick practical fingers unhook her skirt and then guide it to the ground so that he can guide her - foot by kissed foot - to step out of it so that he can whisk it away to fold in quarters and place on top of the apron - returning lickitysplit to stand in front of her so that he can raise his embarrassingly trembling hands to the top flower shaped button if her blouse.

Luke, his eyes fixed on the fabric pulled tight across her heaving chest, seems to freeze. His tongue darts out to lick his upper lip as if to catch a dollop of cream. He is actually salivating from the mere thought of finally seeing her breasts in real life instead of just on the imaginary loop that sometimes (every night) runs through his mind as he falls asleep.

Penelope, enjoying the moment as much as Luke seems to be, doesn't mean to rush him - but she can't hide the delicious shiver of anticipation which runs from the point where his fingertips have come to rest on her chest out - out in a starburst - racing towards each extremity. The raspberry ripple of sensation is not missed by Luke and suddenly aware that Penelope is in danger of melting into some sort of soupy puddle at his feet if he doesn't keep things moving.

"Mademoiselle, permits Monsieur? Provided he pays the appropriate attention to the task?"

Her pupils are so large that her eyes appear to be little blue Pôts au Chocolat. Now it is Penelope who licks her lip - who's fingers tremble.

"Oui."

The word is a kiss - the chocolate kind - wrapped in sparkly red foil - so Luke gives her a swift kiss on the lips and then begins to unbutton in a no nonsense classy way that would make any high-end restaurateur proud - he's eyes never wavering from her face - he pushes the blouse off her shoulders and down her arms then with the flourish of a clean white cloth over a table for two she is finally free of all clothing.

He's about to repeat his journey to the chair but then his gaze dips from her eyes and the shirt falls from his fingers. He's not sure what he expected - honestly his imaginings while repetitive were somewhat non specific - only the slopes of her breasts detailed (since they were the only parts revealed by Penelope's daring-for-the-fbi decolletage) - no he doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn't these delicate pink-yet-blue-undertoned nipples - less like garrish cherries atop a corporate bakery cupcake and more like sugared violets crowning some decadent spherical patisserie maybe a rose mousse cake over a lemon sponge, decorated with delicate ribbons of a cassis champagne compote finished with a dusting of confectioners sugar.

"Penelope."

His voice is filled with wonder. His hands cup her breasts reverently. He lifts first one then the other to his lips for a humble kiss to be pressed near but not quite touching her nipple. Next - as Penelope holds her breath and her hands rise to cover his - Luke buries his face in the sweet hollow between her breasts - Penelope gasps as another kiss is pressed to her skin and then again as his mouth adores its way down to the sensitive skin of her belly. He pulls back when his mouth finds her scar and traces it with gentle fingers.

"I'm sorry it's so ugly."

"It's not."

Luke drenches her worry with kisses pressed to the line which celebrates one of her most important victories over evil then remembers the icing and breaks away to collect the little glass pot and brush.

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12 Turn on an ultraviolet black light and the quinine will fluoresce.

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"You say this is supposed to glow in the dark?"

"Fluoresces. Flip the switch on the cord over there…then turn off the light there. We'll see if it worked."

Only slightly regretting cutting short feasting with his eyes on her naked body, Luke promises himself that it will not be the last time and does as Penelope says. The room is plunged into purplish darkness studded by a galaxy of plum, strawberry, and rhubarb coloured miniature twinkle lights. Sure enough - the translucent jar of icing in Luke's hand glows a bright true lavender - outshining anything else in the room - well except maybe their teeth. Luke - making a mental note to smile with his lips closed - doesn't waste a moment wondering why Penelope has a blacklit twinkling bedroom.

Of course she does.

Instead, he crosses to her silhouette and asks. "So, what shall I paint on you, Madame?"

"Nothing! My concoction - so I claim the right of conquest! I am going to decorate you, my hunk of nouveau cuisine!"

Penelope grabs his hand and drags him towards the bed. "Lie down! On your back. The other way might make for a smoother canvas but you’ll be able to see the final results better if I paint your chest. You may be a bit of a philistine when it comes to appreciation of the more abstract arts but I think you will be able to appreciate my handy work this time."

Again Luke seems obedient to her appetites but then rebels at the last moment and takes the brush from her.

"You can have these back in a second Madame Impatienta - but I have waited a long time to see these beauties and if I can't see them properly I want to at least know exactly where they are." And with that Luke deftly cups her blue shadowed breast, finds the tip of her left nipple with a stroke of his thumb, and then paints a flower outline around the sensitive nub.

The paint is warm and the brush is soft and pliable against her skin - part tickle part caress. Delish. Penelope makes sure to stay still as he outlines the second flower - even though the sensation of the warm icing dancing onto her skin makes her want to arch like a cat - but when he refills his brush then strokes a new thick line from between her breasts down to her navel - it is too much so she distracts him with a full on kiss then wrestles the brush from him.

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13 Have some fun decorating with your glowing, edible paint!

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“My turn! Lie down! Here - hold this - I’m going to turn you into a masterpiece- well more of a masterpiece - although this may be a case of gilding the lily - “

Luke starts to laugh - bubbling beneath her - so to shut him (and herself) up, Penelope thrusts the glass jar of icing into his hand and then, for good measure, straddles his hips to keep him in check - careful where she puts her weight but not being shy about trapping him between her spread thighs. She can’t have her canvas wandering off now can she?

“Stop laughing - stay still - uggh - just because you look like- Stop! You’ll ruin my painting!”

This time Luke gets a hold of himself and follows instructions. Not sure what to paint - Penelope loads up her brush and then just starts to doodle with it across his chest - something will come to her, surely? A long warm curve over one peck, then a straighter path towards a tasty spot just below his navel, then mirroring back up…

Luke is leaning back, but suddenly he gets an inkling of just what Penelope may be tracing onto his skin. He tries to sit up - crane his neck to confirm with sight what his nerve endings are claiming to be true…

…oh shit! It's the chocolatines all over again - her subconscious is clearly in need of some R&R to avoid such delusions...Not a heart Penelope! What are you? A sophomore? Quick…transform it! Hide it!

Without lifting her brush Penelope, pushes Luke back with her free hand and admonishes him to "Not peek". She feels a flash of relief when he doesn’t fight her and instead, forgetting his earlier private resolution to smile lips shut - lies back with the biggest most teeth-glowing-est grin ever - tucking his hands behind his head as he relaxes back - his skin in the blue-black in the gloam - lifting his pecs towards her ... like he’s serving up his body on a platter for her pleasure

Is he thinking about how she asked him to grab his pecs for her in the air balloon?

How he did…?

She is.

Penelope draws a sharp breath and then blows it out long and slow - finding herself tracing the heart with the stream of air.

Ridiculous.

Penelope makes herself shake off this last vestiges of this foolishness she has allowed herself; then, resolutely begins to embellish the accidental heart, turning it into a variation of one of her go to doodles - two dragons nose to nose - tail to tail - wings spread - usually she makes sure the heart they form is extra evident - but this time the goal is to obfuscate her slip into sentimentality with fierce fiery entwining breath and legs and talons and scales… so many scales and…does she dare?

Yes. Yes, she does.

Time stretches for both of them as Luke enjoys the novel feeling of being delicately iced and Penelope gets absorbed into the endeavour - getting transfixed by first curves of his pectoral muscles - then how sweetly her brush glides over the ridges of his clavicle perfect guides for the sweeping horns she gives her dragons. The tails wind together with each other over the planes of his lower stomach… she keeps expecting him to react as if tickled…but it never happens…instead he is still…relaxed…well almost…as she works Penelope feels his cock swell beneath her - sometimes jumping - jerking against her…but still she paints…her breasts penduluming over him in glowing wobbly arcs - or bouncing high - making the flowers around her nipples seem to bloom when she sits up to observe her handy work and stretch out the sore spots from holding herself in the perfect position to finish the talons or shade the web of a wing.

Purple glowing icing is not the most exact medium but somehow the picture comes together so much more precisely than she would have thought was possible. She is able to use an almost dry brush to create depth (Luke particularly enjoys the peculiar feathery feeling from this part of the process) and then when heavy almost garish lines are needed, Penelope loads up her brush with the sugary luminous goo and slathers it wetly across her living canvas - pleased when Luke seems to grind his teeth and humm into the sensation. He positively vibrates when she sets the brush aside and instead uses the tip of a perfectly manicured nail to sketch in the finer details of the faces or the clawed wings.

Finally, the masterpiece is done to Penelope's satisfaction. Luke's chest is a writhing mass of intricate glowing lines. Much to Penelope’s relief, the heart is no longer in evidence,in its place is a starkly erotic image of two dragons clearly mating on the wing; the beasts encircled in flames of their own making. It is like the best tattoos - accentuating and working with the shape of his body.

"So? Are you done, Chica? May I see?"

Penelope can hardly wait to trace the image with her tongue until he begs her to ride him - but he should see what she's done first. It's only fair.

"I think that seems like the logical next step."

Penelope lifts herself off of Luke, careful not to smudge anything.

Truly today has been even more surreal than the wedding and the hot-air balloon ride.

With that thought, she takes his hand and leads him to stand before the full length mirror on a stand in the corner. It is a heavy dark wooden carved piece that she fell in love with, once upon a time, antiquing with Emily on a rare day off. Luke peers at their reflection in the grand old piece - struck dumb by the sheer raw brilliance that has been wrought in icing on his skin.

Good lord. Fucking dragons. Or rather dragons fucking. In mid-air. Ablaze. The arcing erection of the one dragon leaps across the space between the two wild creatures emblazoned on his chest - plunging into the centre of the other who arches in terrible welcome. The whole sticky tableau seethes with vibrant clashing movement - he takes a breath and - fires above - the rise of his chest somehow causes the male dragon to deepen his thrust and Luke swears he can almost hear the female's bellow of satisfaction. Luke has never seen the like.

It is hot.

Hell.

He is hot.

Luke has never been vain. Oh he knows his body is appealing to others - women and men alike have said as much - and he has always been confident in his body's abilities whether on the battle field or in the bedroom - but this feeling of being resplendent is new.

It is the first time his own reflection has turned him on.

In Iraq, Luke had been friends with a soldier who Reid always vaguely reminds him of. The guy had been smart as a whip and was assigned to their unit as an intelligence officer. He and Luke had developed what the other soldiers considered an unlikely friendship - since Luke was a tough as nails dog guy from the Bronx and the other a weedy guy from Santa Fe who couldn't bluff when they played poker but could speak 8 languages and made their computers sing - but it worked. The guy had a soft spot for Greek myth and lent Luke a copy of his collection of plays by Euripedes. It had been a slow period where they had been stationed on base waiting for orders; so Luke, with time to kill, had read them and had become strangely obsessed, in particular, with The Bacchae. The tragedy of the daughter of the king killing her own son because she believed him to be a lion left him hollow… but there was something magnificent about Dionysus and the seductive power he imagined would need to suffuse the performance. Now, with his hair sticking out wild in all directions and his cock high and proudly jutting up towards the ferocious mythical mating - painstakingly painted on his chest - it is as though he is the embodiment of that louche son of Zeus and this flower painted maiden beside him must be one of his devoted - soon to be frenzied - followers.

He traces the bulging dragon penis which vaults across his skin above his navel.

"Penelope. I didn't know you could paint like this. I thought you were more into y'know abstract than figurative. This…this…reminds me of those Chinese erotic prints…Shunga I think they are called?"

"You know about Shunga? No, don't answer that. It's just a hobby. Painting I mean - not - uh so much the other," Penelope blushes invisibly in the near dark, "This isn't that good…I mean not much more than a doodle really - in highschool I used to do the flyers for the DND campaigns run by a local comic book shop. So I got good at dragons. Not much call for dragons at the BAU; we see enough evil without adding mythical dangers."

Maybe it is some sort of Dionysian omniscience - but Luke knows this is the opening he needs to make sure whatever this is continues so that he will have the time to properly convince Penelope that there is and should be something more than a past fling between them.

"They say everybody needs a hobby, you know,"

Luke casually but carefully runs his finger down the spine of the female dragon and then lifts his icing laden finger not to her mouth but to his; thrumming when Penelope watches their reflection agape.

"Yes. I've heard that."

"We're friends, right Penelope? We agreed that at Rossi's wedding? Good friends?"

"Yeah…"

"Well good friends do things together - common hobbies, right? Like I know you and Spencer to sci-fi conventions together and Emily and you follow the same t.v. shows. But we don't have a thing yet…do we?"

"No…?"

Penelope stills. Luke is pretty sure she is holding her breath. He lets the moment rest - lets the juices of the idea suffuse her brain - then…

"What if this," Luke turns away from the mirror towards Penelope and traces the still sticky flower around her nipple with one finger and then, as Penelope watches in the mirror, lifts his finger to her lips for her to taste the icing. Amazingly it is her first taste of the gin and tonic paint and she is surprised by the dance of flavours in her mouth when she suckles his finger, "what if this was our thing?"

"This?" Penelope nervously licks her lips.

"I've never had sex quite like this with anyone else - you Penelope Garcia have a flair all your own - and I have to admit I am intrigued. We could explore the adventurous erotic together…as friends of course…a hobby between friends."

"Like a ‘friends with benefits' thing?"

Luke cringes. He has never liked the implication of that phrase. It seems too transitory - too using - too much an arrangement - but he supposes that is what he's proposing…but…

"If you like. But…I think I am going to think of it as two very good friends exploring a mutual interest…"

Penelope starts to shake her head no and Luke's stomach drops - he instinctively drops the hand that had been resting on her upper arm - leans away. Cold air seems to rush between them.

"..or not!? I didn't.."

Penelope can't bear the sudden coolness. She turns to him with a 500 hundred kilowatt smile and instantly the chill is dispersed.

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14 Enjoy your special glowing treat!

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"Luke Alvez. I… I… I think this idea of yours may just be brilliant. We can work out the parameters later…but I think we are well on our way to what is going to be a beautiful friendship… shall we keep on with our exploration of our mutual interest? I think we should find out what happens when the sweet treats we've decorated get plated…don't you think?"

"Yes, please."

"Race you back to bed?"

It is a race indeed - a squealing - laughing - grabbing - bounding - tickling race which ends with them throwing themselves backward across the bed. Lying side by side at first but then Luke sits up so he can lean over his bodacious adventurous talented lover and kiss her. He might just be addicted to kissing this woman - so scrumptious - and a shudder of relief wracks him when their tongues start to tangle. Feeling like a complete novice - he can’t help but reach up and squeeze a ripe breast as the kiss deepens and he finds himself literally panting into her mouth - his other hand cups her cheek just as Penelope breaks away - just for breath though - she’s not going far and they breathe each other’s breath - their teeth lines of moonshine - is is him that mock bites her first or her that mock nips him? Who knows! But the toothy duel is an intense no contact bout - part battle royale part royal romp. And then they are kissing again and forgetting to be careful of the art - their chests smash and rub together as they exuberantly roll back and forth - not sure whether they are fighting to be the one on top and in control or the one deliciously smothered by the weight of their lover. Once, when Penelope is the one astride…

“Wait! I wanted to lick it off you! And we’ve smeared it!”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t lick it, Chicca. Go nuts!”

So down she dives licking the smudged image line by line until Luke can’t stand it any longer and flips her again and now it is he licking icing off the rounds of her breasts - laving her nipples - making her squeak and then groan as his tongue does magical things - eventually he has stuffed almost all of one breast into his mouth - while his other breast kneads the other so it doesn’t get jealous and Penelope reaches her limit this time shouting the instructions: “Condom! Luke now! Bedside - please!”

Refusing to give up any of the succulent mouthful he has captured - Luke reaches blindly as she thrashes beneath him - his hand falling on the box she had taken out and left on her nightstand while he had fetched the body paint - he grabs and then transfers it to her hand - sucking deeper - hoping she gets the idea that it’s up to her now.

Penelope - never the dullest knife in the drawer - understands right away and tears the carton open even as she squeals into his ministrations. As she pulls a package off the strip, Luke shifts and licks down the now-blended stripe he painted between her breasts until he can nuzzle into the soft blanc-mange-like perfection of her tummy. He lowers himself with kiss after kiss - now kneeling on the floor between her knees bent over the side of the bed - and now he can't help but lean in and press some inaudible loving words and secret promises disguised as kisses into the scar which gleams a pale yellow against her blue skin.

"Ready!"

Looking up, Luke admires Penelope as she triumphantly, if delicately, brandishing a glowing disk of latex between thumb and forefinger. He breaks into yet another literally brilliant toothy eager grin, and with a dip to, first, press one last kiss to her stomach and, second, catch the back of her thigh with one hand so that as he stands he can lift her leg, tipping her back flat onto the mattress as he pushes to standing - slowly - powerfully - smoothly - his strong hand sliding up over the back of her knee - up her calf - his tongue following his hand - licking a precise line up the back of her leg like he's tracing the seam of an old-fashioned stocking as he stands - then rests her leg on his shoulder then scoops up her other leg so that her foot lies flat on the bed her knee angled first toward the ceiling and then yawing wide - opening herself up to him - wide and wet. His groin answers the sight with a heavy wanting greedy ache.

Luke leans forward into her raised leg - reaching out to take the condom - their fingertips kissing in the exchange - the move stretches her hamstring deliciously.

As she waits and watches Luke roll the condom on - the luminous sheath transforming that which was a purple-blue shadow turn into an otherworldly glowing rod, Penelope's cheeks - breasts - belly - yoni feel like they have been whipped into some decadently layered confection: her skin a spicy-sweet tingle - a cinnamon-sugar glaze drizzled over a layer of orange cream - spooned soft and tangy but somehow vulnerably thick over a dense kirsch-torte longing pulse for this man’s body to join with hers - all set upon a butter and cookie crust made of something delicate and new that she refuses to examine too closely lest she collapse into a mess of sentiment.

Luke - her ankle still high over his shoulder - his hand warm on her foot - kneels on the edge of the bed - close enough that he strokes his cock over her open quim - firm circles echoing his earlier tongue play and then as Penelope lifts towards him - opens for him - he gives up on the athletics - gently easing her leg down - then…no other word can be used… sexy be damned… snuggles down into her…easing her cock into her slow and warm as he hugs the rest of his wanting tender body into her - her arms come around him in comfort and her legs tug him closer as they wrap him up - snug warm hot.

Luke catches his weight on his hand which have come to rest palm down to the mattress just under her shoulder blades - but Penelope will have nothing of this misplaced chivalry and pulls him closer tighter - burritoing him with her embrace - his palms flip and he gives her his weight with a wrapping hug - his cock pushing as deep as he can get an holding resting in her hot pulsing delicious heat - and she catches him in the cradle of her thighs - her breasts - her arms - and they undulate and pulse together - the icing still on their skin melding and melting into an abstract of all that is erotic - all that is life - and something of the beginnings of what many would call love.

The movements they share and indulge in are the petit-fours of erotic sensation - a chocolate box of unspoken hopes and dreams made physical. They start to kiss - matching the rhythm set by the joining of their nether regions - a powdered-sugared pulsation. A feast of micro-pleasure upon micro-pleasure upon micro-pleasure rippling through their bodies. They start to turn over and back with their thrusts - a twisting of cinnamon churros - peaches and cream corn hotly rolled in butter - sauced and tossed and sizzling.

Their cries are matching - each one a pop of a cork - then his and hers champagne flutes crossing and clinking - sharp - bright sounds punching up the taste and feel of their sex - getting higher and clearer as they get closer and closer.

It is a rare thing this joining - their bodies are but mediums - to convince the other of how well done they are. A sigh, a gasp, a shudder of delight as cock and cunny mix and mate. Shaken not stirred.

Suddenly Luke is there - fizzing over - her name on his lips - a choked back "I love you" caught in his throat but his bubble - his unexpected squeak and then dark smoking grunt of release is the last ounce needed to make Penelope fall with him over the edge. They rise above themselves like a top chef's soufflé - snap - crackle - cum into each other - into themselves - melding - chemically transforming - baked but so so raw - singed and charred but in a way that adds flavour and depth. Penelope clings and wraps and does not let him pull apart from her. She wants him inside her until the last and so heavy and entangled for the first time just like this - they rest - cool down.

Finally, finally this feast is done and it is time to tidy up and reminisce and indulge perhaps in one last night cap…but all the while they will dimple and peek at one another - confident that both are replete for now - they they have had a 'delicate sufficiency'... but not unhappy for they know the time to break their fast again will come soon.

It is so nice to have a friend.

And…every …body… needs a hobby…

🍯🍭🧁🍭🍯🍰🍯🍭🧁🍭🍯

Source for original recipe I adapted for the sake of kitschy writing (and no I have not tested it and have no idea if it’s actually body safe - although you’ll note our heroes kept it out of sensitive areas just to be on the safer side): https://www.instructables.com/Glowing-Edible-Paint/

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