Yes, they arrive at his place

The neighborhood they came to was hard to describe, modest houses with small yards, in the liminal borderlands between the urban core and its suburban penumbra. Old trees with a thick canopy, root-cracked sidewalks, chain-link fences, open porches, every third plot with a small unguarded garden instead of a lawn.

His was a two-story house, paint peeling, taller than it was wide, but with an aura of sturdiness.

"You own this place? On a femboy hooters paycheck?"

"It was my mom's. And then some things happened, and then it was mine." He gave her a bright, warm smile laced with a deep sadness as he fiddled with the lock. Izzy felt to competing urges in that second, like she was a rope in a tug of war. One urge was to give Joy a big hug, kiss him, and cuddle him on the couch like the puppyboy he was. The other urge was for him to pin her down and fuck her soul out right then there on the lawn, where all could see him claim her as his.

She wallowed, clenching her jaw and pussy shut as she rode out the mini-orgasm the mental image provoked.

"Besides," he said as they stepped in to the dark house. "I have a roommate, a big masc stud. But he's out of town for a few day's."

He led her to the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients, and they began to cook. He said that it was, qoute, "Soup built around tomatoes, but very specifically not tomato soup."

Heirloom tomatoes had to be cut and broiled in the oven, orange lentils boiled in chicken stock, actual chicken finely sliced and pan-seared with seasonings, and a dozen other things. It kept both of their hands and brains so busy that it mostly kept their arousal at bay.

Mostly. The kitchen was so cramped that they were brushing up against him constantly. And the building itself was thick with his smell.

When the process was finished, everything went into the pot and was left to cook.

"So." She said. "How long is this going to take?"

Joy glanced at the soup-stained recipe card on the counter.

"It says around twenty minutes. Technically, we just have to wait until it gets up to temperature, but believe me: It will taste better the longer it cooks."

They stared at each other in silence for a long time.

"You got some soup on you." She said, pointing at a splatter of red on his bare, sweaty chest. He reached for a towel, but she cut him off. "No, I can get it."

Closing the distance, she bent down and licked, sucking the sweet soup and musky sweat from his skin. She did this without once breaking eye-contact with him, running her tongue lasciviously along his skin. She bucked her hips, humping him as she did this, an orgasm washing over her. She eventually stood up, her face level with his, noses nearly touching.

"Twenty minutes, huh?" He said, his mouth suddenly very, very dry. She nodded. "Want a little appetizer, before the main course starts?"