Here's the first of my entries for Porn Battle XIII, run, as always, by the lovely oxoniensis. My goal this time around is to write in fandoms I've never tried before. The only excuse I can make for writing fic for What's Your Number is that the film has five minutes of Martin Freeman (also, to be fair, it was cuter than it should have been, given its godawful premise). [musesfool, stop laughing at me] So, enjoy nearly a thousand words of Ally Darling (Anna Faris) seducing Simon Forrester (Martin Freeman) by, among other things, pretending to be English and wearing a whipped-cream bikini.
"Clotted cream," Simon sighed, poking disconsolately at his creme brulee. "God, don't you miss clotted cream?"
"Absolutely," Ally nodded, pleased that having a mouth full of cheesecake lent exactly the right British tilt to her vowels. Simon was already British, of course, but he should have gotten the cheesecake anyway, because it was to die for.
And really, so was Simon Forrester, so cute when he grumbled half-heartedly, all adorably melancholy. Ally Forrester had a really nice ring to it. "Try mine," she offered, holding out a generous bite of Finale's blueberry cheesecake. He smiled as he accepted, and she got to kiss graham-cracker crumbs off his mouth. He went pink and he was so adorable she just couldn't stand it.
"Take me home?" she asked.
He jumped and checked his watch, frowning incredulously at it. "Sorry, love, I didn't realize how late it was getting. Got to get to work early tomorrow. But I can skive off a little early to make up for it?"
"Yeah - yes, of course, that's fine," she said, because more time meant she could come up with an awesomely crafty plan to rock his world.
"Darling Ally," he said, smiling at her in that way that just made her melt.
"Simon," she said, just like the British kid on Saturday Night Live who had the best accent and the weirdest drawrings.
So clotted cream looked totally gross. There was a picture up on Wikipedia that basically made it sound like some kind of bastard butter in a metal can, which was like a recipe for food poisoning. But Simon had looked so sweetly earnest and so unassumingly delicious that she figured she could show him the good old American version.
Simon was sophisticated - he could talk about porters and lagers and stouts and he understood what the cocoa-content numbers on bars of chocolate meant - and he had the best smile anyway, so she checked allrecipes.com and hit the grocery store early the next morning to buy heavy cream and sugar and vanilla. Twenty minutes of whipping later, she really regretted not letting her mother buy her that stand mixer, but she'd needed the counter space for her figurines. She shook out her arm and started up again and got it just right. Okay, so, bowl in the fridge, Ally in the bath. She had a couple of hours to soak and get herself clean and soft and make Simon's mouth absolutely water.
She'd been naked under her silk robe before, lots of times, but always when she was rushing to find something to wear or when she was too sick to care about anything but getting some sleep. But now, when she had nothing to think about except Simon, it became quite an experience. The silk slid against her nipples and cut gently into her waist whenever she reknotted the belt. Her thighs felt just as silky when they rubbed against each other, and fuck it, she needed something to do.
Tying her hair back swiftly, she considered the options. She got out the little newsboy figurine out and concentrated on carving the fine lines of Simon's face into his, gave him Simon's cheeky grin. She'd given him dark hair before, but now she reconsidered and sculpted some lighter strands for him. She hummed as she worked and was totally startled when the buzzer sounded.
"Simon? Please, do come up," she said into the intercomm, as proper as could be, then darted to the kitchen to wash the modeling-clay from her hands, drop her robe, and shape the whipped cream into a bikini.
"COLD COLD COLD!" she shouted, feeling her nipples go rock-hard at the contact. Maybe the goosebumps on her skin would help hold the cream in place - Simon would probably know if that was true or not.
His polite knock on the door interrupted her scientific musings and she took a deep breath and went to open the door. "It's not clotted cream, but -"
His big eyes went round and his jaw dropped. "Darling Ally," he breathed, finally, "you look better than anything that has ever come out of Devonshire, believe you me." He tugged his tie off and kicked off his shoes. She would have helped him with his shirt and pants, only she was sticky and melting a little, and besides, she'd never seen anyone move quite that fast.
"Right," he said, fully naked and still on her doorstep, "I should probably start by saying thank you." Good thing he said that, because he stepped in, slammed the door behind him, and latched on to her nipple; she'd never have understood what he was mumbling if he hadn't told her.
"Ahhhh," she sighed, the contrast between his hot hands and mouth and the cold cream so fantastic on her skin. "Bed?" she asked, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his waist, feeling his hands come up to cradle her bottom.
"Anything you want, my sticky goddess," he said, and she dipped her head down to lick at the whipped cream edging his mouth. She was totally going to have to bookmark that recipe.
"You're spoiling me rotten, Darling Ally," he murmured into her skin, cuddling her close. "Keep this up and I shall get quite fat."
"No," she slurred, still riding a sugar-high and trying to keep her British accent in place. "Don't you think you burned as many calories as you took in?"
"Mmm, quite possible," he allowed, kissing her again, one hand cupping her cheek.
"Let's make sure," she said, turning her head to bite at one of his nipples, smiling as he shouted with delight.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.