summary— its hot, he needs a fix, but theres people waiting for their food in about twenty minutes
wanrings— sex in a freeeezzeeerr, female oral receiving authors note— first personal chef steve fic so enjoy, this was made pretty fast while i was tired as fuck so beware,
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It was warm, it was stiff and it made him feel silly to be focusing on those two aspects when he had a damn kitchen to run. Chef Steve Rogers' grip tightened around the fevered-feeling sauce bottle while his mind drifted longingly to images of himself in a lavish bubblebath, being scrubbed and-
"Chef! Taste this."
He was interrupted by the concerns of his sous chef, currently in the form of a cauliflower soup steaming off a spoon.
"Blend it for a touch longer next time. Still a bit denser than I'd like but it'll be fine. The salt is perfect."
"Thank you, Chef."
His second-in-command then returned to the station to begin working on the next round of prep work for the upcoming dinner service.
This would be their 15th consecutive night in the trenches together here at 'the anticipated five-star fusion-cuisine dining experience' known as Royalgarden. He had brought his young squire of a sous chef with him from their previous employ after it tanked like so many. That was the lifestyle though. Work and cook your heart out until management couldn't pay you anymore.
Getting this place off the ground had been quite the task. The kitchen staff had all walked out under the obnoxious French drunk that ran it since it first opened a month ago. It meant long-long-long hours and hard-hard-hard work. Lucky for the Royalgarden, Chef Steve had work ethic etched into his DNA. Besides seeing oven timers when he closed his eyes and an intense soreness beginning to form in the back of his shins, the only problem was his critically underfed carnal appetite.
Usually days off were spent on top of shuffled sheets while he hammered climax after climax out of himself with the help of a toy chest more packed than his knife drawer. After this recent run of a week plus with no reprieve, that bed of his was beginning to fell like a half-remembered dream.
Steve was hard.
Service didn't start for another twenty. That was more than enough time to duck back to his office, lock the door and stroke one-maybe two out.
But why have junk food when you could have a real meal... Steve glanced back over to his sous-chef.
Steve had the kinda face you just couldn't wait to sit on. Somehow his sous-chef had avoided it so far.
