Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.


66. Richard Armitage 5

~You're finishing cleaning up the kitchen when you hear the lock click, followed by a sigh and the shutting of the door. Quickly putting away the baking tin, you walk into the foyer, where Richard is taking off his boots.
"How was the play tonight?" you ask, setting his backpack by the sofa.
"It was good. Giles got a lot of laughs, and nearly the whole theater gave us a standing ovation."
"And the stage door?"
"Good," he replies. "The fans were quite generous tonight. My backpack is full of cards and letters and chocolates."
He scrubs a hand over his shorn head and is about to shrug out of his blazer, when you take his wrist.
"Undress later," you say and pull him towards the kitchen. On the table are two, large fairy cakes, one of which has a candle stuck into it. "It's 12:01 AM, which means it's officially your birthday."
"Did you bake these?" Richard asks, picking up the cake with the candle. He licks the frosting, looking pleasantly surprised. "This is whipped cream," he remarks and takes another lick. "Orange-flavored whipped cream."
"Sort of. I folded in some of that fancy blood orange liqueur." You smile sheepishly when he arches a brow. "I know you're abstaining from alcohol for Proctor, but I figured this doesn't count because one, it's your birthday and two, you're not technically drinking it."
Richard chuckles and wraps his free arm around your waist. "So does that mean I can have wine if it's in my food?"
"It does," you nod. "And you will have wine for your birthday dinner. Or lunch, since you're on stage during dinnertime." He follows you to the table and sits beside you. "I found that Kiwi Pinot Noir you like so much, and I thought I'd make coq au vin."
"Where did you find it?" he asks, eyebrows raised.
"At this little gourmet food store in Covent Garden. I searched all day for it."
"So that's where you disappeared to this morning," Richard says. He leans over to kiss you, and you taste the blood orange liqueur on his lips. "Thank you, darling. This is really lovely."
"Don't thank me yet," you caution. "I've never made coq au vin, and I think you're actually supposed to use Burgundy. For all I know, it could completely suck."
"I doubt the type of wine makes a huge difference, as long as it's good quality," Richard reassures you. He's about to bite into his fairy cake, when he reconsiders and pulls out his mobile from his jeans pocket. "Will you light the candle, love?"
You do, looking at him curiously as he hands you his phone.
"My first twitter post," he explains. "Or my first tweet?"
"The latter," you say, grinning at the face he makes. He's pretending to blow out the candle, his eyes wide and his mouth in the shape of an 'o'. You quickly snap the picture, before he blows out the candle and types the tweet.
"There," he announces, showing you the screen. "What do you think?"
Giggling, you say, "I think you're the biggest dork I know." He frowns in mock-insult, and you can't resist kissing him again, allowing your lips to linger on his. "And I love you all the more for it, just like your fans do."
"Good," he smiles, his beard tickling your chin. He kisses you a third time, then bites into his cupcake. You watch him nervously, as he chews and swallows.
"It's amazing," he compliments and takes another bite. "Is there orange liqueur in this, too?"
"Nope, orange zest," you reply, finally tasting your creation. "And Belgian dark chocolate."
"Mmm, my favorite."
You smile. "I know."
When you've finished eating, you place the plates into the sink and contemplate washing them now or in the morning. Your answer comes in the form of Richard wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.
"Leave them," he murmurs, his breath warm on your neck. His hands are splayed on your belly, caressing it through your shirt, his thumbs occasionally slipping under to stroke your skin. "As you said, it's officially my birthday."
"And how would you like to spend it?" you ask, leaning back against him.
"Eating more of that whipped cream, for starters," he says. "In bed, with you." He turns you in his arms, gazing down at you with smoldering eyes. "And since we'll already be in bed, I might as well spend as much of my birthday inside you as possible."
You shiver at his words, desire flooding through you.
"Well, then," you whisper and dip your index finger into the frosting. He bends down to lick it off, his tongue swirling around the digit. "You'd better grab the bowl."

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