veryroundbirdfics | Arknights

Rating: Spicy
Words: 985
Characters: Silence, Saria
Relationships: Silence/Saria
Summary: When Saria insists on making Silence dinner after she missed kitchen hours at Rhodes Island, Silence can't help but remember the first time Saria made this particular dish for her.
Notes: Pride Month 2021 request for villanelle! also:
skirt steak salad with arugula and blue cheese
lemon garlic vinaigrette

Content Notes:

Cunnilingus, kitchen sex

Olivia is already regretting this; a bad day made worse by her own decisions. Already, she'd been sleepy and generally below her personal standards for performance on the job, and on top of that, one of the patients who'd been making progress suddenly deteriorated. She'd snapped at an intern. And now—

...and now, she's sitting at the tiny table in her ex's quarters, watching as said ex cooks at the very barebones kitchenette, which is the worst of all of it.

Of course Saria had to be the one to find her having nodded off through dinner hour in the medics' lounge; of course she'd already asked Mayer to watch Ifrit tonight so there'd be no one expecting her back. And of course—

...well, all else aside, Saria's an excellent chemist, and along those lines, an exceptional cook, and Olivia, left to her own devices, eats instant noodles more often than she'd care to admit.

She hasn't gotten up the nerve to ask why Saria still keeps the ingredients for her favorites. They're just good recipes, after all. It's surely nothing more than that.

There's something comforting, too, if she lets herself feel that way, about—familiarity. The warm smells; the hiss of steak searing in the pan. The sour tang of vinaigrette; the light swish of Saria's apron against her pant legs. She can think back to other times—

"Here," said Saria. "Help me with the dressing. All you have to do is whisk these things together—"

Olivia looked at the bottles, dubiously. "Mustard?" she asked. "Does that really work?"

"It's an emulsifier," Saria said, matter-of-fact—in the way Olivia knew made the interns feel castigated but was just the way she talked. Saria herself was, Olivia thought, a bit stupid herself, often when she was at her most genius.

But Saria went on: "It's easier to show the results. Here."

She put her hands on Olivia's, to show the proper whisking technique. This was not strictly necessary, but both of them had been dancing around casual intimacy with each other long enough that it sent a shiver down Olivia's spine. In spite of having been to bed together, those little gestures came easily to—well, neither of them.

And Saria was right, of course. The creamy yellow melted into the sharp vinegar and the sour-sweet of the lemon, pulling it all together into something that looked classy. Professional, even.

Olivia leaned into the crook of Saria's arm, one arm looping around her waist as she dipped a clean spoon into the dressing to taste it. Perfect.

She could imagine a life like this. Even with her infection, even as frustrating as her superiors could sometimes be—

A clink, as she set down the spoon. Saria didn't quite say anything, as Olivia turned to ball her hands into the front of her shirt, but she made the sort of gentle sound in the back of her throat that Olivia had come to interpret as flustered.

"Olivia," she said. Level, but quiet.

"Saria," Olivia had said. "I love you."

Saria, who was in fact, an idiot despite being a genius, still didn't say anything, but her eyes widened a little like she was surprised. Olivia had been trying to get those reactions out of her more; that time, she was, suddenly, determined to push it farther. To skim her hands down to the waistband of Saria's lounging shorts; to kneel, pressing Saria back against the oven door, to kiss the taut muscle of her thighs.

A long exhale, from above. "Olivia," Saria said. "I still need to finish dinner."

"It'll keep," said Olivia, testily. "I'm hungry for something else, too, as it happens."

"—ah."

Was that a flush across Saria's face? "Don't insist I eat my vegetables first."

"Well—" She'd never seen Saria look so caught off-guard. Truly she needed to do this more often. "If it's—if it's really what you want."

Incorrigible. Olivia pressed another kiss a little farther up Saria's thigh, and watched the slight flex of her muscles, tensing. "I want to do something for you."

"And it can't be vegetables?" Saria's mouth was still set in a serious line, but there was a slight crinkle of humor at the corner of her eyes—and Olivia was so, so in love with that. "Then... I'll have to accept that, as the next-best thing."

"I could bite you," Olivia muttered, but there wasn't real teeth to the threat. Instead, she pushed Saria harder against the kitchen counter, pulling her shorts down to get at the meeting of her legs. A different taste to savor—the residue of salt and sweat, a light metallic aftertaste.

She was hard-pressed to think of anything she liked better, as she worked her tongue to delve further into the folds between Saria's legs, feeling her quiver, listening to her breath quicken. Hopefully—she'd have this again and again—

Olivia startles fully alert at the dull sound of a plate being set down before her at the table.

The presentation is beautiful—the thin slices of meat laid across the fresh, bright greens. Tomatoes perfectly ripe, not too watery, and the bright scent of the dressing...

...no wonder she'd remember that time. There's a lot of—very, very, vivid memory associated with it.

She can feel Saria's eyes on her, watching for her reaction; after a second, she looks up. (Her eyes only linger on Saria's legs for a moment. Just a moment.)

"It's perfect," she says, slowly. "Thanks."

There's a part of her that's still regretting this. She's not sure if this is Saria's clumsy attempt at an olive branch, or just professionalism in seeing to a colleague's well-being, but the night is still young enough for her to find out and to see if she can find anything else to regret.

So, she thinks, as she picks up a forkful, she'd best leave room for dessert.

Arknights | Just Desserts