Descriptions on the Spot: "Cooking with Gas" -- Just slight #NSFW

The woman cried out, her back arching as pleasure washed over her. Her toes curled while her fingernails dug into the back of the man on top of her. He was rigid, his own release washing over him with an overwhelming intensity, a particular feeling he had not felt in many years. 

After what felt like many minutes, the man exhaled, his body growing soft as he returned to the present. He looked down at her, groaned, and rolled off. She was still in a bit of a daze, her breasts rising and falling quickly as she came down from her orgasm. Only after she had reached baseline did she look over at him, a wide grin on her face. 

"I won't lie," she started, rolling on her side so she could run her finger through his chest hair. "I've got it good at home, but there's something to be said for your first husband."

"Tell me about it," he replied, hands behind his hand, his eyes looking straight up at the ceiling. "And especially when it's been years, it felt just like the first time way back in college."

She laughed, pushed herself up on her elbows, and kissed him deeply. "That's very true, Jack, that is very true indeed," she said. "It's too bad that we can't keep pretending like we're married for much longer. I have to get in touch with Troy in the next few hours or he'll know something's up. My flight is due to land at 8:30."

Jack nodded his head and ran his hand down her cheek. "Do you mind doing me one more favor, Mel?" he asked.

"Does it require leaving bed?" she cooed, "because I can definitely think of something I'd like to have one last time."

He laughed and nodded his head. "Unfortunately, it does require leaving bed," he said and rolled away from her, his legs just a little wobbly from before. He grabbed his boxers and pulled them on, before looking back at her. "We're going into the kitchen."

"What? The kitchen?" she asked as he walked out. She scurried out of bed, pulled his oxford blue shirt on, and closed it with two buttons, more than ample cleavage visible along with her belly. 

Jack bent over and rummaged around in the refrigerator, pushing some things out of the way. "Ah, here it is," he said and pulled out something wrapped in white paper. He turned around and smiled. "Want to cook for me?"

"What? Are you serious? I thought I was supposed to be away from my household duties!" she objected, crossing her arms over her chest, looking away just slightly in a mild pout.

"Mel, I want you to make me chicken cutlets."

She looked at him then, smiled, and dropped her arms to her side. When they had first met, he was a sophomore and she was a senior at their university. She had bragged to him that she was a great cook-and in particular, great at making chicken cutlets--so he had begged her to make them for him. 

After much convincing, both in and out of bed, she agreed. She never quite understood why she was willing to waste so much time with someone a couple years younger than her, but it had felt right. So after a few days of him insisting, she made him chicken cutlet.

To this day, Mel's chicken cutlet was something Jack missed most about being married to her. He had great chicken cutlet since, maybe even better, but there was something about hers that had felt so right. 

"Fine," she ultimately said, "but you don't get to run off while I make it like you used to." She crossed the room and took the wrapped cutlets from him. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he said and grabbed a bottle of red from his wine rack. "Remember this?"

About a year before they had divorced, they had found a craft wine store where the owner, who talked far more than needed, could recommend the perfect wine for each person who came in. And this was a bottle that they had grown fond of very quickly. 

"How could I forget?" she asked, reaching up into the cabinet for a bowl and a plate while Jack opened the wine. She walked over to the refrigerator, grabbed a couple of eggs, and cracked them into the bowl before tossing the shells out. She quickly forked the eggs until they were scrambled before pouring breadcrumbs onto the plate. 

"Here you are," Jack said, handing her a glass of wine. 

She held hers up to him and smiled. "To us?"

"No, that's too cheesy," he teased. "To second chances. Though they may not be permanent, they are rewarding nonetheless."

She nodded her head, clinked her glass against his, and then took a sip, her light blue eyes never leaving his. 

"Now! Let's see what we have here," she said. She bent over and reached into a cabinet, her butt poking out from underneath his button down shirt. She pulled out a frying pan and set it on the stove. She turned the knob and heard the clicking sound as the lighter waiting to ignite. 

"Oh my God, Jack," she moaned, "I can't tell you how much I miss cooking with gas. Our new place came with an electric stove and I've been waiting to save up to replace it with gas."

"Well, you're welcome to come here whenever you get the craving," he said. 

She laughed and poured oil into the pan. As that heated up, she dipped one of the chicken cutlets into the egg, coating it on both sides, before placing it on the plate with the breadcrumbs. With the fork, she flipped the cutlet over so that both sides were generously covered. 

When she thought the oil was ready, she got her hand wet in the sink and dropped a few water droplets into the oil, which then splattered. "Perfect."

She forked the first cutlet and moved it into the oil, it immediately starting to crackle as the heat began cooking. And then the second one went in, the two large cutlets fitting perfectly in the frying pan. 

"So when do you think you'll be back in Washington?" Jack asked, sitting at his kitchen table. 

"I don't know," she admitted. "Getting the grant is a big deal, but unless I decide to get more involved in politics, I probably won't be down until I win the next one."

"Then get more involved in politics," he teased, taking a sip from his glass. 

"You know, I've thought about it. I wouldn't be opposed to becoming the Assistant Secretary of State for educational and cultural affairs," she said, looking back at him with a cheeky smile. 

"Wow, you've got it all figured out," he said. 

"Well, you know ... I know what I want," she said and then jumped, "oww!"

"What happened?" Jack immediately stood up and crossed his kitchen to stand next to her. 

"The oil splattered," she said, frowning just slightly. Jack reached up, took her hand, and took her ring finger knuckle between his lips, kissing it deeply. She sighed and smiled, her eyes closing just slightly. "That feels nice."

He just smiled, replaced her finger with her lips, and pulled her against him in a tight embrace. After a moment, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back. "Do you want burnt chicken cutlet or not?"

Jack just laughed and moved back to his seat, watching as she finished making the cutlets. She put them on a third plate, dabbing them down with paper towel to get rid of the excess oil, and then brought it over to the table. "Now be careful," she said, "it's hot."

Of course Jack didn't wait and immediately took a bite of the cutlet, not even cutting it. He held the fork with an entire cutlet on it and chewed, a childish grin on his face. "Obviously," she said. "I never did expect you to be human about eating my chicken cutlets."

But for the next few minutes, neither of them really spoke as they reminisced about such a basic food that had brought them closer together. 

"I really fucked up, didn't I?" he finally said after another few bites. 

"We both did, Jack," Mel said, putting her fork down. "We were young, we were madly in love, but we didn't have the maturity we do today. You needed a kick in the ass to really get your businesses going and I wasn't what you needed at the time."

"I wish we had worked," Jack said.

"I don't. I love my daughter. I love my life. I know it's wrong that I'm here right now, but I wouldn't change it. This was good for us. And if it happens again, it'll be good then," Mel said. 

"I suppose," he said, looking down at the plates in front of them. 

"Now," Mel started, standing up from the kitchen table. "Why don't I call Troy and tell him that I am getting held up in DC for one more night? And then I'll catch the first Amtrak out of Union Station?"

Jack looked up at her, grinned, and nodded his head. "I'll get a shower started," he said, standing up quickly. He took her hand in his, pulled her against his body, and kissed her. She returned his embrace, her body growing lax against his. 

"So tell me," he said after he pulled back. "Was it worth seeing me?"

"Baby ... Cooking with gas is always worth seeing you."

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This took about forty five minutes to write. It was kind of cathartic to me. Thanks to @eeks for recommending the phrase. I know it's probably not what you meant, but it was fun nonetheless. :)