Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Yearning for Our Unicity	By : LuluDreams Category: S through Z > YOU Views: 185 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol

Chapter List
- 24
- 25
- 26
Summary:
Bronte has cold hands, what will Joe do about it?
Notes:
Setting: between 5x8 and 5x9, which means, yeahh.. established relationship again!
Even if this is a sort of sequel of both 12th and 24th shots.
Prompt: Cold hands
WARNING: how should I tag? ‘Clumsy handjobs/sex?’ ‘Awkward handjobs/sex?’ ‘Crazy author who should stop writing but won’t?’

Many ways to keep you warm

Joe’s POV

“For the last time, Bronte, this is not your fault!” I try to convince you once more, as I place some books on a shelf.

Today I particularly need to keep moving.

“How can you be so sure? Think about all my… Well, my weird ideas for creative writing nights: two weeks ago I turned the thermostat ten degrees higher than usual, yesterday I shut the electricity down… of course it had to happen!” You just don’t drop, as you keep jumping around; not because you’re happy, but because it’s freezing cold here.

With a faulty heating system in a place as big as Mooney’s.

In the middle of November.
At least, it comforts me to know that cold is a minor damage for the books, rather than too much heat.

“Listen: if it had happened only in our apartment, I could have thought it was due to what you did. And, yes, of course, Mooney’s is just downstairs but it’s very improbable that your little messing up with the electricity extended up until here, not to mention the whole neighbourhood.” I try to reason with you. “So, believe me when I say that it’s only a coincidence!”

You look at me for a while, then nod, although you don’t seem very concìvinced yet.

“If you say so…” You mutter.

“It’s not just me who says so, but mostly the technical workers who are already trying to fix the problem. It’s a general blackout. These sorts of things can happen.” I try to calm you down.

“So, are you not mad at me?” You whimper.

“Of course I’m not, Bronte, I could never be mad at you. And I love the weird ideas you have for our creative writing nights.” I make you smile, as hold your hands, but I let them go the moment after. “Geez, they’re so cold!”

“Of course, they are, I’m freezing!” You strike back, your teeth are chattering.

And you’re wearing two cardigans, your hoodie and even a scarf you stole from me.

“How can you remain so warm?” You ask me, searching shelter into my arms.

And this is good, until you have the terrible idea of slipping your hand under my coat and shirt, getting in touch with my bare back.

And freezing it.

“Wooaah! Please, keep those ice-makers far from me!” I - not-so-gently, I admit- part from you, as I take a look around.

The sign we’ve put outside the store, warning that there’s no heating system until the technical workers fix the problems -in a day or two- , is keeping most of the people far from Mooney’s.

There’s only a customer who spends a while wandering through the shelves, taking quick glimpses at a few books and then leaves without even buying anything.

A waste of time on two legs.

“Okay, Bronte, that’s it. We’re closing, it’s useless to stay here today and I don’t want you to get another flu.”

“Alright, so, where are we going? Please tell me somewhere warm.” You rejoice, as you help me with the closing.

“I was thinking just about going home.” I reply, once we’re ready to go out.

“But there’s no heating system there, too!” You pout.

“I know, but it’s a smaller place, to begin with; then I have many ways to keep you warm.” I wink at you.

“Oohhhh.” You grin.

I begin to think we’re aiming for different things.

“Just sit down and wait as I prepare for us something warm.” I instruct you when we reach the kitchen.

“Oh, so you meant only this.” You almost snort, but at least you sit down at the table.

I was right.

“Well, of course, not only this, but since this house has a gas stove, it would be stupid not to take advantage of that.” I explain, as I open the fridge and grab the milk. “What about hot cocoa?”

“Did you mistake me for a kid?” You strike back.

“Oh, okay, so do you prefer a coffee or a tea, then? It’s just that I’m used to preparing hot chocolate for Henry, he loves it with marshmallows.”

I feel nostalgic, as I chop the dark chocolate.
You must have figured that out, because a few seconds later you’re hugging me from behind.
And this time you didn’t slip under the fabric of my shirt, I’m thankful for that, either.

“Oh, Joe.” You rest my head against my back for a while.

I wonder if you got up to comfort me… or just to steal a chunk of chocolate, since it’s the spoil you go back to the table with.

But I appreciate that in both cases.

“About your question, hot cocoa is fine, thanks.” You change your mind. “But I want it with marshmallows, too!”

I chuckle, but only in my mind.
You’re right, Bronte, you’re not a kid at all.

Once the hot cocoas are ready -your with marshmallows, of course - I sit at the table with you.

They’re still too hot for us to sip them, but you get content with just holding the cup in your still cold hands.

“Feeling better?” I smile.

“A lot better.” You purr, enjoying the warmth.

You move your hands away from the cup and use them to cup my face.
They’re warm, now.

“Feeling better?” You quote my question.
“A lot better.” I mirror your answer.

“Good, because this gives me an idea. After all, the chocolate is still too hot, so as we’re waiting, why don’t we…”

I got you even before you finish the sentence and the minute after we’re lying down on the bed, engrossed in a sweet, slow kiss.

This inevitably leads us both to want more.

That’s why I insistently caress your thighs still trapped in your blue jeans, as you undo the belt of my pants and lower the zip.

Everything is so perfect until you lower my boxers and touch my cock.

Or rather freeze it.

“Fuck, Bronte, it looks like your hands came back to a trip in North- fucking-Pole and my poor warrior beated a retreat!” I whine, pulling my boxers up again.

“I’m so sorry!” You apologize, going to the table and coming back with the still hot cup in your hands.

You keep it in your hands for a while, then try again to have a closer, pleasant encounter with my cock… until the warm effect wears off.

I jolt again and just give up, kissing your forehead for at least trying.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m afraid there’s no way to do that until the heating system is restored… “ I get up, taking my cup of chocolate and a plaid to cover us both.

We enjoy our hot cocoas, cuddling under the plaid.
It’s another kind of warmth, more innocent, but not less likable for that.

I hold your still cold hands in mine and you seem to enjoy my effort to warm them up.

“But I really wanted to do something nice for you…”

“Believe me, baby, it was anything but nice!” I’m forced to tell you the truth.

“Was it really so bad?” You stare at me in disbelief.

It looks like my words are not trustworthy enough.

“Take off your jeans and panties, remain under the plaid and wait for me.” I instruct you and you seem eager to comply.

I walk towards the bathroom, open the faucet of the cold water and bathe my left hand in it for a while.

Then I go back to you, lift the cover with my right hand, while the left one dives between your thighs.

The effect is immediate.

“Fuuuck, Joe, it’s fucking cold!” You jolt, rushing to dress up again.

“Now you know how it felt!”

“Oh, poor my love.” You adorably pout, leaning closer to kiss me, but being careful not to touch me with your hands.

I enjoy the kiss, your lips, so soft and bitable, your mouth, so, so warm.

Uhmm.

“Isn’t really anything we can do about it?” You ask me, when we part.

A really weird idea crosses my mind.

“Just promise you won’t laugh.” I say and you nod.

But your promise ceases to exist the moment you see me coming back with two oven gloves.

“You’re gonna be kidding me!” You keep laughing as I make you wear the gloves.

I just let you laugh as much as you want, as I lay down on the mattress and take off my pants and boxers.

“If you think about it… there’s a very hot part of you my cock would like to deal with very willingly. Actually two parts of you, your choice.” I smirk, placing my arms crossed under my nape.

“You know what, Joe? This is so absurd I’m going to do it for real!”

And the moment your mouth lands on my lap...

Oh, god.
Heaven has never felt so flaming.

And after giving me some rest, you straddle me.

“If only you would be so nice to help me get rid of my jeans…”

I lay you down and undress you, slowly crawling over you.

“This could be the perfect chance to try some BDSM again and tie your hands to the bed…” I whisper at you.

“Shut up!” You chuckle, slapping me with the oven glove.

We both laugh for our own silliness, but when I enter your welcoming and fucking hot cave everything turns in absolute, mutual bliss.

“I guess I just found the perfect gift for you for Christmas…” I murmur during our after sex cuddling.

Your cold hands are still prudently trapped inside mine.

“Well, I hope it’s something that will make my ring finger really happy!” You trill, all coquettish.

“Ring fingers indexes, thumbs, middle fingers, pinkies, a hand warmer is going to make every finger of yours happy!”

--

THE END
Notes:
Well, this is for sure one of the funniest things I’ve ever written.
If I managed to steal from you even half a smile… would you please do the small effort to leave a kudos?
Otherwise I’ll keep being stuck in my assumption you’re finding all these one shots awful 🙁
Well.. just six awful one shots more and I’ll be done with this project.
See ya tomorrow, with tons of … kitty fluff.
- 24
- 25
- 26
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Yearning for Our Unicity

Summary:

Notes:

Notes: