"What the hell are you doing?"

Josh flashed her a grin which was obviously intended to be rakish, but wound up somewhat sheepish instead. "Cooking?" he ventured.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" She wrinkled her nose at the pasty globs of pasta and pulled her robe more tightly around her. "Oh my God, Josh..."

"Yeah, I know," he said, defeated. His shoulders slumped.

"What -- what was that supposed to be?"

"I was trying to make you some macaroni. My mom would always make me macaroni with butter when I wasn't feeling well. I guess the problem is that whenever she made it for me, I was in the other room, being sick, and didn't witness what is apparently a top secret and multi-layered process."

Donna made an "aww" sound, and stepped closer to him. "I'm not that sick. I just have a cold."

"A really bad cold," he pointed out.

"It is a really bad cold. But I've had worse." She sniffled. "That was very sweet of you," she said, meaning it. "It really is the thought that counts. Honest." She wondered to herself how long it was going to take her to clean that pot.

"Unfortunately, we can't eat thoughts for dinner," Josh said.

"They probably wouldn't be very filling," she agreed. "But I have couscous, I think. We can make that instead."

"You have couscous in your cupboard?" he said. He scratched the back of his head. "Huh, that sounded kind of dirty."

She rolled her eyes and reached up to open a cabinet door. "Yes, Josh. Look." She showed him the package. "Garlic parmesan couscous."

"That's very...multi-ethnic."

"We live in a complicated world, Joshua."

"According to the couscous, yes, we do."

She bent down to open another cabinet so that she could retrieve a fresh pot while Josh dumped the goopy pasta-filled one into the sink. Five to ten he left it there without doing anything with it that resembled, you know, cleaning. Donna suppressed a sigh and filled the new pot with water.

"Why don't you let me do that?" he suggested. "You're gonna get it all...you know. Germy."

She turned around and glared at him. "After what you just did to the pasta? I'd like to eat eventually tonight."

"Good point," he said quickly, taking a step back.

She turned the burner on under the pot and then swiveled around to face him. "Well, that's going to take a few minutes."

"Oh yeah?" he said. A very familiar gleam appeared in his eyes.

"Josh, I'm sick," she whined, knowing where this was going.

"You just said yourself, you're not that sick." He pulled her to him and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

"But you just said yourself, I'm all germy," she pointed out.

"I'm willing to overlook that detail right about now," he said against the skin of her neck. He tugged at the belt of her robe until it came free, then slipped his hand inside, underneath the shirt of her cotton pajamas.

"Josh," she said faintly, trying to protest, but the throbbing between her legs was beginning to overpower the throbbing in her sinuses, and she found it too difficult to fight him. She let him push her up against the lip of the kitchen counter, Formica digging into the small of her back. He lifted his head and kissed her, his lips warm and insistent against hers. She gripped his shoulders as he inched one hand beneath the waistband of her pajama pants, fumbling at first, then slipping his fingers down to the right spot and oh...

"Yeah okay," she mumbled, her head falling back a bit. His mouth moved down to her neck again, lips working against her skin as his fingers continued to work at her clit. She buried her fingers in his hair, felt her hips twitch from his ministrations. The breaths she was taking in through her mouth (nose was too stuffy) grew increasingly ragged.

Then with one swift movement he lifted her up so that she was sitting on the edge of the counter, her ass half hanging off. He pulled her pajama pants down her legs and left them in a puddle on the floor, then stripped out of his own pants and boxers. When he was ready he gripped her hips with his hands and helped pull her down a bit, and she carefully lowered herself onto his cock, letting gravity do most of the work.

It felt urgent right off the bat, Josh pushing her against the lip of the counter, Donna doing her best to reciprocate in her awkward position. She locked her ankles behind his ass and held on, finding it easier to let him guide their movements. The muscles in his arms flexed as he helped her slide up and down the length of him, hot fullness pounding inside of her.

All too soon the edge of the counter started to hurt like hell, but at the pace they were going she knew it wouldn't be long now, and Josh's moans grew louder and louder to confirm it, and ouch damn shit fuck ouch god and a few more frantic thrusts and then he spilled himself inside of her, making strangled choking sounds as he spasmed against her, a drop of sweat falling from his forehead to dot her robe.

He stayed where he was, pinning her to the counter, still inside of her, and fumbled for her clit, burying his head in the crook of her neck when he found it, his tongue flickering against her flesh in counterpoint to the movements of his fingers on her sex, slow steady pressure spiraling up in her chest and she came, finally, quietly, taking in harsh breaths, her eyes squeezed shut.

They clung to each other for a long moment, anchored in place, then Josh eased out of her and pulled back slightly.

"Water's boiling," he said.

"Huh? Oh, right. Couscous. Hey, I think that cleared up my sinuses." She sniffed experimentally before hopping down off the counter and reaching for her pants.

"I have always tried to explain to you that I am a man of many talents," he said.

"And I've always believed that is true, Josh. But for future reference, cooking? Not one of those talents," she said.

"You said it was the thought that counts!" he yelped.

"I did and I meant it," she said with an exasperated eyeroll. She finished pulling up her pants and leaned over to give him a quick kiss. "But leave the couscous to me."

"You know what I think?" Josh said as he picked up his boxers from the floor.

"What?"

"I think you just like saying couscous."

"I kinda do," she admitted.

Josh stepped into his boxers and started singing the "whoo whoo"s from the Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil," but with his own twist. "Cous cous...cous cous...cous cous..."

Donna shook her head, laughed, and went about cooking the couscous.

End.