MB Saucy Side: Hot and Cold (Ambrosia Version)

Inspired By: www.nobelprize.org/prizes/medicine/2021/press-release/ because science is sexy

AU where Button is a college student and Rosy is their tutor.

* * * *

When Ambrosia volunteered to help you study for your biology final, you hadn’t anticipated that her unorthodox tutoring methods.

Your lashes brush against the soft silk of Ambrosia’s dress sash currently tied securely around your eyes. You can vaguely tell her location due to the turned-on lamp upon your nightstand, which the fabric’s stripes whenever you turn your head slightly to the right.

“No peeking.” Her voice comes as throaty whisper right next to your ear, causing your breath to hitch. She’s closer than you thought.

Papers rustle as she flips through your class notes, reminiscent of an ASMR video that Sally once sent you. But the electric frisson that runs down your back is less a physical reaction to the paper’s gentle swoosh, and more an anticipatory response to Ambrosia’s nearness. Your girlfriend likes to surprise you. Who knows what she has planned for tonight?

“Give me . . .” Ambrosia trails off suggestively, thumbing through your stack of index cards like a deck of cards; she fans the papers against the skin of your upper arm until she finds a question that she likes. “Give me the definition of a protein.”

“Protein.” You miss the brush of the notecards—without Ambrosia’s touch, however removed, you’re a hollow ache of desire. “A complex biomolecule comprised of amino acids and peptic bonds.”

Ambrosia hums with approval. “Such a diligent student.”

“I prefer the lessons that you taught me.” Because you’ve never been one to pass up playing with fire.

Her hand grasps the back of your neck, forcing your head to the side so that you look away from the turned-on lamp and can no longer discern her silhouette through the blindfold.

“No distractions, Wiseman,” she scolds. “We’re studying.”

You nervously wet your lips before deciding to take one more risk. “I’d rather be studying you—”

er mouth halts your final word. This kiss is deep and intense, almost businesslike in its thoroughness, as if she’s resolved to give you something that will tide you over until this study session’s end. But when she breaks away, you smugly note that her breathing is just as rapid and uneven as your own.

“Who won the 2021 Nobel Prize in Medicine?” she demands.

“Julius and Patapoutian.” You arch forward, silently begging for the kiss’s continuation.

“For?” She withdraws further as punishment for your unsatisfactorily short answer.

“For discovering the nerve cell sensors dealing with temperature, pain, and . . .” You gasp. Ambrosia’s hands have stolen upwards from beneath the hem of your shirt, and her palms splay securely against your midriff.

“Pressure,” she whispers. “Temperature, pain, and pressure.”

You let out an embarrassingly needy mewl as her graceful hands migrate upwards and over your skin. Not content to have her exploration constrained beneath fabric, she pulls at your shirt with a low growl, and you compliantly lift your arms so that she can take it off completely. There’s a flash of total darkness as she lifts the shirt over your head, and then a promising swish from what you assume (and hope) is her taking off her own shirt as well.

You hear her footsteps as she walks across the room—one, two, three, four. Each second that she’s away, you shiver and goosebump beneath the air conditioner’s breeze. Before you can chide her for neglecting your lesson, you hear the mini-fridge open and close. Her footsteps stride back to you.

“What cold receptor did they discover?” she asks.

Your mind goes blank as Ambrosia slides an ice cube down the line of your neck. It melts against your skin, the water welling at the dip above your collarbone, which Ambrosia banishes with a slow, hot lick.

“I’m waiting.” She trails the ice cube lower, across your chest and down your navel, sucking your flesh that prickles in the wake of its chill.

“TRPM!” Your brain can barely function at this point, let alone recall biology terms.

“TRPM what?” She removes the ice cube, causing you to whimper. Somehow, you feel colder without her touch than with the ice drawing circles upon your skin.

“TRPM8!” you explode. “Damn it, Ambrosia. TRPM8!”

She kisses you as a reward, the remaining sliver of the ice cube upon her tongue. You’re tormented by the juxtaposition of her mouth’s warmth and the ice’s cold—until the ice melts between you, until only Ambrosia’s heat remains. Once the ice cube is completely gone, she withdraws again, leaving you once more aching.

“What else does TRPM8 respond to?” her voice is insufferably collected in the aftermath of your embrace.

You turn your head to the light and reach out towards her shadow, or what you think is her shadow through the blindfold. Your hand lands on her upper chest. Beneath your palm, her heartbeat pounds, even more rapid than your own racing pulse. You smirk.

Ambrosia places her hand over yours, pressing it against her bared skin. Her fingertips are still cold from the ice cube, but the rest of her skin is burning hot. “What else does TRPM8 respond to?” she repeats.

“Menthol.” You curl your fingers, so that the tips of your nails lightly scratch across her skin, and she moans. “Which is why mint gum feels so cold.” You lean forward, and blow a cold stream of air next to your hand. You must’ve hit your target, because she moans again.

“Only you can make bubblegum sexy, Wiseman.” Her fingers twine through yours, and she brings your hand lower down her chest and to her lap. You hear the neglected notecards fall feather-soft upon the carpet, but Ambrosia doesn’t pay any heed. She grabs both your hands and stands.

“Let’s talk about TRPV1,” she murmurs, leading you across the room.

Still blindfolded, you allow her to pull you onto the bed. Once you’re lying down, she unknots the fabric from around your eyes. You have barely a moment to appreciate the hungry desperation of her expression before her lips once more capture yours.

“TRPV1,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “The receptor for heat.”