[She gasps, hopping down from the counter.] I am shocked! Not a fully stocked kitchen if there's no way to listen to your old school jazz records, is it?
[The fact that the thought makes her excited all can be blamed on him, and his record player at the base.] I'm gonna go look for it. [And explore more than the kitchen, while at it.
Once she's gone about one minute, there's music playing through the house; she finds the record player. And then it's...so weird and domestic but in the best of ways. Skye and Phil about to have dinner, with music playing in the background.
She's missing being dressed in just one of his button-ups, but that can be for breakfast. She bets he's going to try to at least make an omelette.
[ He lets her go, content enough to try and work his way around the kitchen. Grilled cheese shouldn't be that hard of a task - he at least had the foresight to buy pre-sliced cheese when he got the groceries. And maybe he'll figure out the more complicated recipes in time.
He's actually doing okay by the time she comes back, has the sandwiches in a pan and is frying them in oil. ]
[Maybe one day she will stop feeling proud and impressed by his fortitude whenever he does something complicated one-handedly and without complaining.Or maybe she will stop feeling relief to see him not succumbing to the depression that's worried Skye enough she even approached the subject with Andrew.
("And why does it matter so much to you?" he'd asked. She'd shrugged it off because -- well, they hadn't agreed on being a thing, let alone an open thing)
Maybe one day. Not today.] Yep, I did. [Sure enough, there's music; some old school jazz they both enjoy. She gives him a smile and practically skips to the counter.]
Glad to have your approval. [She says it with a teasing tone, but almost immediately she has a flashback to another time; with her on her knees and his thumb running along her lips. Glad to have your approval, she'd murmured then, before sucking first on his fingers when he asked, then his cock when he ordered, huskily, a few moments later.
She barely suppresses a little shiver with the memory, and stands on her toes to get the damn plates from where he told her. She's going to have to focus better than this; is she seriously this starved for his touch that just the memory of sucking him off makes her wet?
Pathetic, that's the word to describe her self control. Pathetic.]
[ At least she doesn't have to watch him awkwardly trying to tip grilled cheese on to plates. He's thankful for that. Because by the time she's back he's managed to clear up any spillages and leave the pan in the sink. ]
[Maybe that was the plan, see. She leaves the suitcases in the hall and steps inside to get her hands on that beer.]
That smells like I can't wait to get my mouth on it. Seriously, I have dreamed of your sandwiches ever since the day in the honeycomb room. [They're number two on the list of things she thinks about: his mouth, his sandwiches.]
[ He follows, his beer tucked into the crook of his elbow and held in place by the curve of his plate. When he makes it he bends to set them both down, smiling a little when nothing falls off or spills. ]
So? Verdict? Do I pass muster?
[ He's teasing mostly. Phil takes the space beside her, his knee pressed against hers and his food left in his lap. ]
So good! [She doesn't need much for her to get comfortable with him, on his couch, in his house. Maybe because she feels so welcomed here, by him.
Worth the tongue burn. She takes care of that with beer, her plate balanced on her knee.] Herbs or not, it's still a pretty kickass sandwich. You're a pretty kickass cook...[A thought crosses her mind.] Maybe you could teach me -- I can cook, but mostly van food.
I thought we said no teaching so you can't dump me.
[ He offers her a sly grin, moving to pick up his own sandwich. ] But maybe. If I keep out the secret ingredients. Make you leave the room while I add them. Then we could have a deal.
I know we said, but if I'm perseverent. [Case in point being that he agreed to part of a lesson already. With enough time, she'd work miracles on him and stick her nose into his secret recipe.
She smiles, her mind following that thought for a moment.] It's funny, because when we said no more secrets, you should've added except in the kitchen.
[Laughing. She's going to take notes and remake the sandwiches over and over again until they're like his, and then shock him by not leaving. Never leaving.
(Dumb people like Skye, once they love you it's for life.)]
I should make you make a whole list of those rules.
What, so we get to sleep in? [She actually gasps here. What did that even feel like? Sleeping in? Waking up next to -- well, actually that makes her draw up short.
Cautiously, she tries,] Since we're talking about rules. [Her gaze moves down to her beer, from which she pauses to take a sip, and then back up at him.]
We should talk about what you're comfortable with. With what I'm comfortable with too.
I haven't shaken anything since before Afterlife. I think it'd be safe for us to sleep in the same bed if...you'd be okay with that? [She's being safe.] I would definitely like to try that.
Absolutely not, I plan to take advantage of every single morning of being able to wake up next to you. [Did that come out too intense? She flushes a little, but doesn't look away.]
We've talked through kissing, so that's settled. [She moves on,] What about cuddling?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[You're pretty pasta maker be damned.]
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There's a record player in the study. If that helps?
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Once she's gone about one minute, there's music playing through the house; she finds the record player. And then it's...so weird and domestic but in the best of ways. Skye and Phil about to have dinner, with music playing in the background.
She's missing being dressed in just one of his button-ups, but that can be for breakfast. She bets he's going to try to at least make an omelette.
Spoiler, she likes being fed by Coulson.]
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He's actually doing okay by the time she comes back, has the sandwiches in a pan and is frying them in oil. ]
You find it?
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("And why does it matter so much to you?" he'd asked. She'd shrugged it off because -- well, they hadn't agreed on being a thing, let alone an open thing)
Maybe one day. Not today.] Yep, I did. [Sure enough, there's music; some old school jazz they both enjoy. She gives him a smile and practically skips to the counter.]
That smells good, AC.
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Good choice by the way.
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She barely suppresses a little shiver with the memory, and stands on her toes to get the damn plates from where he told her. She's going to have to focus better than this; is she seriously this starved for his touch that just the memory of sucking him off makes her wet?
Pathetic, that's the word to describe her self control. Pathetic.]
What're we drinking? Wine, beer?
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[ It's probably a good thing he can't read thoughts because he is handling some very hot oil right now. So instead he flips the sandwiches again. ]
Should be some still in the fridge.
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She gets them both beers from the fridge, and while he finishes up making the sandwiches she finishes up storing what's left of the groceries.]
I'm going to get our suitcases and lock Lola up before we get cozier, okay? [Not asking for permission, she already heads out to do just that.]
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You can leave the suitcases in the hall!
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That smells like I can't wait to get my mouth on it. Seriously, I have dreamed of your sandwiches ever since the day in the honeycomb room. [They're number two on the list of things she thinks about: his mouth, his sandwiches.]
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I just hope they're good.
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Temptation wins on the way, and she tales a bite from her sandwich. Hot as it is, the flavour makes up for the tongue burn.]
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So? Verdict? Do I pass muster?
[ He's teasing mostly. Phil takes the space beside her, his knee pressed against hers and his food left in his lap. ]
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Worth the tongue burn. She takes care of that with beer, her plate balanced on her knee.] Herbs or not, it's still a pretty kickass sandwich. You're a pretty kickass cook...[A thought crosses her mind.] Maybe you could teach me -- I can cook, but mostly van food.
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[ He offers her a sly grin, moving to pick up his own sandwich. ] But maybe. If I keep out the secret ingredients. Make you leave the room while I add them. Then we could have a deal.
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She smiles, her mind following that thought for a moment.] It's funny, because when we said no more secrets, you should've added except in the kitchen.
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All of my rules have a kitchen exception.
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(Dumb people like Skye, once they love you it's for life.)]
I should make you make a whole list of those rules.
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[ His sandwich is too hot and so he has to reach for his beer and take a deep refreshing sip. ]
There aren't really any rules. Apart from not setting an alarm.
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Cautiously, she tries,] Since we're talking about rules. [Her gaze moves down to her beer, from which she pauses to take a sip, and then back up at him.]
We should talk about what you're comfortable with. With what I'm comfortable with too.
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All right. What are you comfortable with?
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[ His smile dimples slightly. ] There is a spare room though, if you want me to take it at any point.
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We've talked through kissing, so that's settled. [She moves on,] What about cuddling?
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