Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Reth cannot cook today.

It's absurd, to be honest, he needs to. He has to work, the Inn is open and lunchtime is nearing, the peak of customers approaching.

But the more he tries, the worse it gets. As he works on his tasks, it's easy for his mind to sink to a comfortable repetitive state: chop, stir, wash, walk, serve, clean the counter, rub the glasses, think of the way you spasmed around his fing-

See. Reth can't cook today. He is not in his usual demeanor, he feels too warm and his breathing is uneven. He should make some chamomile tea to calm his nerves before he messes up an order or even burns himself. Burning reminds him of the way your skin ignited his.

He should be chill about it. Chill, dude. He tells himself. Be cool.

The cook reaches over to fill a glass of iced water and drink it, but it does nothing.

A customer arrives, but he doesn't quite register the order, his legs walk on their own to prepare the dish. He is chopping carrots and can't even recall when the plate was already served, and he leans on the counter, eyes distant - the patron looks at him with some discomfort, why is he watching them eat, after all?

Reth ghosts over to the kitchen again, propping his chin on his hand, his torso over a station.

The casual touch of his fingers on his lips wakes him up. They were so close to his mouth, the sweet aroma of the carrots still lingering on them. Makes him wonder if he parted his lips slightly, reached out his tongue to them, if he could still taste-

He sighs, groans, swears. He can't cook today. Reth has to use his hands around, has to touch knives and vegetables and he has to, Phoenix damn him, look at them too. How can he look at them?

How can he cook knowing where they've been?

Lettuce soup. Let's make some lettuce soup. He straightens himself up and starts the preparation.

Run over the ingredients. Garlic, onions, leek, your thighs parted in front of him, some lettuce, good seasoning imported from Bahari City, he should order you something from there, they don't have many sensual options in Kilima- right, bring up the heat, let it simmer, and wait.

He can't wait. He can't wait for this lettuce soup to be ready! He loves lettuce soup.

Reth's feet are tapping the floor impatiently, he doesn't know what for.

Your eyes are like lettuce soup. His brain is like lettuce soup. Life is lettuce soup.

He tucks his hands crossing his arms. That should help. He should get outside, talk to customers about the weather, or snicker about Eshe's ridiculous demands, maybe ask for five minutes to take a walk and... no. No, what if he sees you on the street? No. He is at work. That's unprofessional.

He laughs to himself. Reth: unprofessional. Now he is caring about being professional. He should have cared about that when taking up the Cartel life, that takes all of his precious time. Time he trades for when he sneaks to your plot late at night or early in the morning, trying to squeeze in any spare moment to see you, cook you a meal, to hear your laugh and your voice while the cool air of the late hours is inciting his skin to get closer, to feel the warmth between your-

"Hey, anyone there?" The voice comes from the counter. "Reth, I'm kinda in a hurry, could you get me a steak pretty quick?"

Reth breathes in deeply. He gives the customer a thumbs up, prepares the meal and when the service is done, slowly slides down the wall to sit on the kitchen floor. Scrubbing his face, he rewinds the night before.

It took him all the courage he had, to reach out to your intimate spot, he thought maybe you did not want that, maybe he was reading too much into it and craving affection too much.

But he heard a "please" and the next thing he knew you both were a mess of limbs on the couch of your house, his lips not able to leave you. Your hands grabbed his when he was two fingers deep, feathering over a bad cut scar on his palm.

His scars. A short dark line in his thumb, a small cut in the mount, an old scarred tissue in his middle finger. Reth lingers his gaze on his middle finger scar for longer than he should. He counts his knuckles. He tries to remember with how many you made that noise.

He spaces out, his own hand a distraction. Writing down “back in 5” on a small paper (then scratching it and writing “back in 10”, because he knows he got it bad), he rushes downstairs to the storeroom. 

Reth has seen his hands his entire life! Shouldn't be different now! Well, it feels different now anyway. It's almost alive, his skin tingles. Unrestful, to say the least. They get his pants and underwear out of the way.

It needs you. It wants your heat, the slick scent of you covering his fingers, encouraging sluggish moans. Hands can't hear, but Reth still tries when working them on that spot, the dedicated man he is craving to please. He still tries because it makes such pretty noises, it makes his name be said in a way that his body shivers, that his mind slips.

Reth thinks of them buried to the base, and how you looked when they were trying to get impossibly deeper.

He reaches for his shaft, so drunk on the thought that his hands that were inside you are now on him.

He can almost imagine, his memory vivid, your wetness, the way it felt warm and how it would feel around him now. Those hands were in you.

He pants, breath hitching as he strokes himself eagerly, a haze consuming him. They were on him now, sliding across his skin, and they sent electricity through his veins, you were so close to him - through them.

You were just there. It was last night, many hours ago, but you were around his fingers, and just some time after his fingers are now wrapped around him and it's insane. It's insane and he doesn't know how this is real.

He could stay between your trembling legs for days. He'd give up cooking time to keep his hands there, fingers on you.

He can't cook when around you. That's not where his hands should be. They need to wander your skin, slide in your folds, to circle your pleasure.

He thinks about the come hither motion they did. He savors the image of you gasping, the rough action of your hands grabbing at him in desperation, your lungs reaching for air.

Reth reaches for air now. He is so close. Fuck, now he thinks of when you were close too, on the verge of your climax.

The rhythmic pulse of your flesh around his fingers.

It tips him over, eyes shut, moaning while frantically jerking his cock chasing the rest of the high. Your touch, your smell, your maddening heat on his hands.

Reth groans, watching his spurts of cum cover his fingers and member.

No, no, this is worse now. Now the fingers who touched you are covered in his cum.

His heart stops, the heat of his imagination making his mind lose track of time for a minute or two or three. He imagines his cum where his fingers were last night. It's too much, he is panting again with the thought, only the thought of it makes him feel like a mad man.

He stays there, the silence of the storeroom now reaching his ears, reality coming back to him.

Reth has to go back there and pretend his load wasn't on those same fingers from last night. He will go back. There's no more time, the customers must be already making a line.

At least he can wash himself down here. There's that. It's at times like this that he swears under his breath.

"Ashura, get me a goddamn sink..." Reth mumbles, soap and water trying to wash up what a piece of cloth could not do, not for kitchen standards.

He sighs, hands tucking himself in and fastening his pants back on. His back slouches, breath slows down. That mind of his is going to be his death, for sure.

Reth closes the storeroom door behind him, going up the stairs in a walk of shame only he acknowledges.

He can't really cook today.

Chapter Text

*Slaps this bad boy of a ff*

Hey everyone!!! I'm not sure if you know me from Tumblr, but I'm an artist and now am with open commissions for YCHs of some of the Palia boys.

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Palia YCH Commissions post on Tumblr

Sorry for the long ass hiatus