NEEDY - B.E. IMAGINES

firefighter pt 2 *

part two!!

this is by far the filthiest thing i have ever written, so i hope you guys enjoy!

-

As promised, the paint job was finished on Sunday.

Now, the faint chemical tang of fresh paint mingled with the lingering scent of Billie's cologne–cedarwood, smoke, something deeper, primal and charged. It had soaked into the walls, clung to the air, seeped into her skin. When Y/n opened the fridge, she could still see her: Billie towering over her, hands pressed against the counter, paint flecking her collarbone, laughter in her lips, mischief in her eyes.

Her hands shook as she reached for the butter and eggs.

She burned the muffins. She overmixed the batter. It was off–too sweet, too dense. Her mind kept skipping ahead to Billie's voice in her ear, the strong, capable hands that had guided her hips like they were made for each other.

She stared at the corner of the countertop where she'd been bent over, where Billie had made her gasp, made her ache. Even now, Y/n could feel the raw print of Billie's presence, branded deep in her memory. Y/n still felt Billie's touches, her possessive grip on her hips, the dirty words she whispered into her ear. Her mind raced with every time she was reminded of Billie, her piercing blue eyes and luscious lips. Even the bits of dried paint she couldn't fully wash off–all of it kept her up at night.

-

The firehouse garage door groaned open with a hiss as Y/n stepped into the space, her heartbeat louder than her footsteps on the concrete.

Billie, crouched beside a bench with a hose coupling in hand, turned at the sound of Y/n's arrival. Her dark gray shirt clung to her back, damp from sweat and effort, her arms flexing with quiet power as she stood to greet her. She looked like something sculpted, chiselled from smoke and storm. She wiped her hands on a towel and walked over, slow and unhurried, every booted step echoing across the bay floor.

"Hey," Billie said, a lopsided grin tugging at her mouth. "You trying to make me fat?"

Y/n held up the box, her fingers slightly trembling. "Pumpkin spice muffins. And no, I'm just providing you with fuel and energy."

Instead of taking it right away, Billie reached out and gently placed her hand on Y/n's waist, grounding her with the warmth of her touch.

"You're shaking," she said, stepping closer. Her breath was heat and pine, and Y/n wanted to drown in it. "What's got you so flustered, sweetheart?"

Y/n's lips curled faintly. "You."

Billie leaned in until her mouth hovered over Y/n's cheek, her jaw, her lips. "Good," she whispered. "Because you've been haunting every second of my day."

Billie took the box, brushing her fingers over Y/n's as she did. The contact sent a ripple of warmth up Y/n's arm. Billie's presence did that to her now. It was like gravity had shifted and realigned around this one woman.

"You smell like cinnamon," Billie murmured.

Y/n tried to laugh, but Billie was too close, her body radiating heat, her voice lowered to that delicious growl that made Y/n's thoughts go slow.

"I think you're confusing me with the muffins."

Billie's mouth tilted higher. "I don't care what I'm confusing you with. I just want to taste it."

And then she kissed her; slow, deliberate, warm.

Y/n's hands slid up the front of Billie's thick work shirt, brushing her collarbone. Billie didn't press; she just kissed her like she had all the time in the world, like this was a reward for patience neither of them had truly mastered.