Take-out.

19Mar08

Brock heard her coming three streets away.

He wasn’t surprised, she always drove too quickly and loudly, and in fact did not mind at all, because it gave him ample time to get out to the garage. He was standing in the door when she pulled up, and he walked over to her car when she turned the engine off.

“Hey baby.”

“Hello, my Samson,” she answered, taking the key out of the ignition. “Get the food.” She motioned towards a brown paper bag on the passenger seat, then vaulted over the drivers’ side door.

Brock picked up the bag, grinning lightly at her. “You didn’t have to get dinner.”

“I have not eaten in two days, Samson, there are no restaurants in the desert,” she answered. “You can have the kung pao chicken. Do not touch the lo mein and the szechuan shrimp, those are mine.” She walked past him into the house without another word.

Following, Brock went into the kitchen as she went upstairs to change. He pulled out plates and arranged her food first, and when she came down, she took the food and a set of chopsticks silently, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Brock was not terribly shocked to see that she was naked.

Molotov went out into the living room after retrieving a bottle of wine and a glass, and had set into her plate when Brock came out with his own food, staring intently at her.

“What?” she asked, mouth full of noodles.

“Did you eat like half of this kung pao chicken?”

“No.” She shovelled a few shrimp in her mouth, and Brock rolled his eyes.

“Mol.”

She sighed heavily. “Samson, I am starving. Either sit down and eat, or give me your plate.”

“You ate my food,” he said irritably, moving to sit next to her on the floor, though he did not hesitate to place one hand on her knee under the coffee table as soon as he was seated.

“Stop whining,” she replied, still eating like there was no tomorrow, though she scooted closer to him.

They were both quiet for a while, eating, though Brock finished before Molotov did. Once she finally put her chopsticks down, she leaned against him and sighed again, wrapping one arm around his waist. He slid his own arm around her shoulders and pushed the coffee table a little bit away.

“Better?” he asked.

“Da.”

“I missed you.”

“It was only a few days, Samson,” she said softly.

“It seemed like longer.” Tilting his head, he leaned his cheek against the crown of her head.

Molotov smiled gently, placing her other hand on his thigh lightly. “How did you make it though all those years,  zaychik?”

“There were a couple of times I almost didn’t,”  Brock answered, drawing her up into his lap, where she leaned against him, head thrown back over his shoulder to look up at him. He kissed her for a second, squeezing her hips, then moved his hands to stroke along her inner thighs. “I just had to keep holding out.”

Flexing her muscles under his hands, she reached up and wrapped one arm around his neck. “Good,” she answered simply.

Brock kept stroking her thighs and Molotov kept looking up at him.

Filed under: Brock/Molotov, Venture Bros, future fic   |  Leave a Comment