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It was Wednesday and David had dubbed Wednesdays couch nights and insisted they eat dinner on the couch. Sometimes they watch TV, sometimes they just watch each other. David will pull his feet up onto the cushions and tuck his toes underneath Patrick's thigh. Patrick occasionally manages to persuade David to watch a sports game and David lets Patrick think that he’s watching a sports game when he is definitely not.
It had been David’s turn to pick what they watched and this Wednesday, David picked HGTV.
Patrick kept one eye on the screen as he scrolled through his phone. “Did you register us for a...panini maker?” He asked, squinting at their registry app.
“Yeah,” David replied through a mouthful of pasta from the Cafe, distracted by Johanna Gaines.
“When have we ever made paninis?”
David swallowed audibly. “Never. Because we don’t have a panini maker.”
“I think that might be a bit excessive, David.” They had reluctantly decided that they would only register for things that fit into things they’d already discussed needing or wanting to use.
“Excuse me? But the set of beer mugs wasn’t ‘excessive’ even though we have a set of beer glasses already.”
Patrick held up his hands in surrender, and he knew David was right. “You’re right. You’re right. I look forward to seeing the panini maker...be in our kitchen.” Although, Patrick could probably think of a use for it.
“You’re a panini maker.” David turned pointedly back to HGTV while Patrick tried to smother a smirk behind his fist.
+++
Patrick walked into the house just as David was pulling it out of the box.
“What do we have here?” He asked, moving around the counter, into David’s space, and planting a kiss on his lips before he could even answer. David made a noise of surprise against his mouth, hands landing at Patrick’s waist.
“Oh—hi .” He had color high on his cheeks and Patrick would never stop being delighted by the fact that his kisses made his husband blush. He pulled David’s left hand towards his face and touched his lips to the cool metal of David’s rings.
“What’s this?” Patrick asked, nodding to the box on the counter.
“Stevie bought us the panini maker! It was backordered.” David held up the appliance and gave it a little shake.
Patrick blinked back at him, not expecting that level of enthusiasm for what was essentially a sandwich iron. To be used in a kitchen that David had never even prepared real food in before, meal kits aside.
“So,” Patrick began, wrapping his arms around David from behind, “you’re...going to make us paninis?” He kissed the back of David’s neck and felt him shudder.
David cleared his throat. “Yes, if you don’t mind. I was going to make some for myself but I guess I can make you one. You can have all the kisses you want later. Paninis, Patrick.”
Patrick stared at the plate in front of him. “So...you—you can cook. You can actually physically collect ingredients and create a—really good looking dish.”
“And what about it?” David did not want to talk about this. He wanted to enjoy his panini and make Patrick do the dishes while he took a nap. His singular focus when food was involved was really quite impressive.
“‘ And what about it?’ What about the fact that you insist on me buying you takeout all the time—which I’m happy to do because I love you—but you can actually cook a meal!”
David had his crusty, melty panini halfway to his mouth. “I love pizza, Patrick—sue me!” He said dramatically and took a rough bite of the sandwich.
Patrick pressed his lips together to avoid an amused noise that would surely send David into a—into something. “Okay, David,” he said, words forming around a laugh. They ate in the quiet of their kitchen, at the peninsula David insisted they get, and Patrick loved David so much he sometimes couldn’t keep it contained.
The panini was out of this world.
“What’s in this?”
“It’s prosciutto, arugula, and goat cheese,” David answered quickly, still distracted by his meal.
Patrick stared at him in surprise but took another bite. “What’s—sweet—?” He asked, mouth full.
David gave him his pleased smile, the one he really only saw before, during, or after a sincere compliment. “Fig jam.”
“This is like— really good.”
“Thanks, I know.”
“So what else can you cook?” Patrick teased later, snuggled up to David in their big bed. He walked his fingertips across David’s broad chest. “Am I missing out on some posh dishes because you like food delivered to you?”
“I swear to god, Patrick if you tell anyone about this I will never forgive you. In fact, I will only cook for you if you promise to never tell anyone.” David’s voice was low and so serious that Patrick pulled away to look him in the eye.
“Wow,” he commented. “I had no idea you could even be this serious.”
David gave him a dark look and promptly turned to face away from him.
“No, wait,” Patrick said through a laugh. “I’m sorry, of course, I promise.” He laid his hand on David’s fluffy, sweater-covered shoulder.
David looked back over his shoulder, skeptical, but continued. “I can make carbonara.”
+++
Patrick wanted to have another barbecue in the backyard, and David’s only requirement was alcohol and baked goods. Which, Patrick had learned, were David’s requirements for almost everything he felt lukewarm about. It wasn’t that David felt lukewarm about barbecues. He felt super hot about barbecues. It was just that hosting really took a lot out of him.
(“It’s just a barbecue, David, I can do all of the prep.”
“It’s not about prep, Patrick! It’s about entertaining our guests!”)
So David had been eating brownies and making Patrick whiskey gingers all night. Sure, he partook in a few vodka sodas, but watching Patrick go from buzzed to tipsy to more was highly amusing.
And Patrick was— drunk.
Despite being the one responsible for this state of affairs, David cut him off when he started making people gag by trying to clamber onto chairs and shouting about how excited he was to get married to the love of his life.
They’d been married for 2 months now.
So David fed him pretzels and gave him ice water to sip on and gesture with as he told Twyla and Ted story after story that after a while David was pretty sure he was making up. He stroked the back of Patrick’s hair, the ends starting to curl because David had persuaded him away from the barber on more than one occasion since the wedding. They sat around the firepit, David catching him by the shoulder every once in a while when he lost his balance on his god-awful stump-chair. God, David loved him and his stupid backwards hat.
“And—and—which day was that, babe? With the—the big thing—” Patrick looked to his husband for confirmation and David raised his eyebrows incredulously.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, honey.”
Patrick lost his train of thought, then, and a huge grin nearly broke his face in half. He pressed his lips to David’s in a messy near- smooch that had David laughing against his mouth. “Okay, baby, let’s—”
“Oh, I know!” Patrick sat up straight to continue his conversation, though David was sure exactly who the other participants were by now. “It was the night David made me tostadas! God, they were so good —” David slapped his hand across Patrick’s mouth and stared in horror at their guests.
After David had soothed his family out the door with promises of a dinner party the next night, he’d ushered Patrick up to their bedroom, sweetly getting his drunk ass ready for bed. David had helped him change into his jams since his balance was still—well—and tucked him into bed before he went off to their ensuite bathroom.
“David, I’m sorry,” he repeated. Again. The guilt of his reveal had sobered him up a bit, but his vision was still a little fuzzy from the whiskey. He leaned across the bed to see if he could catch a peek of David in the bathroom doing his PM skincare routine, but the door was only cracked. All he saw was a dark blur that he assumed was his husband.
“I know, Patrick.” David didn’t sound mad or upset.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” He asked, voice low, once David slid beneath their covers. He nudged his way into David’s arms and wrapped his own around David’s middle, pressing his cheek against David’s shoulder. He tucked his head under David’s chin and burrowed further into his body, distracted by the comfort of his embrace. He felt his eyes flutter closed.
David ran his fingers gently through Patrick’s hair, and Patrick couldn’t remember what they were talking about. Had they been talking? He felt the soft press of David’s lips against the top of his head and then nothing.
Patrick groaned before he was even fully awake. His head was pounding and he wanted to be unconscious again so he didn't have to face the day. He sent a few thank yous into the universe that it was Sunday and he could stay in bed all day and think about his mistakes. He wanted to blame David, since he’d been the bartender, but Patrick could have easily picked up a bottle of water instead of sidling up to his husband to trade kisses for cocktails.
He felt the bed dip next to him but kept his eyes shut and tried to pull the blankets over his face, careful not to disturb his head in any way. Every movement knocked his brain around inside his skull and it felt like he was Operation and his brain was a pair of metal tweezers wielded by a shaky surgeon.
David’s gentle touch found his hair anyway, and Patrick was relieved that it made him feel marginally better. He groaned again, softly, but he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. Don’t stop, maybe. Or, I love you.
“Hi, baby,” David whispered. “I’m assuming you’re miserable, but I have medicine and water and you need to take them.”
Patrick really, really loved him.
He finally emerged from his cocoon after aspirin, water, and 2 more hours of sleep. He was still queasy and groggy and generally grumpy, but he let David lead him downstairs to the couch.
“Think you can handle some toast?” He offered, keeping his voice quiet.
Patrick nodded. David moved to head into the kitchen, but Patrick caught the hem of his Sunday Sweater as he passed. He tugged his husband back over and pulled him into a thank you, you’re the best kiss. David smiled against his mouth like he always did, holding Patrick close with a gentle hand on his cheek.
“Sit tight.” David murmured against his lips. He pulled the blanket around Patrick’s shoulders and left him with a kiss on the forehead.
+++
On Monday, Patrick had called in reinforcements to figure out how to do something for David. The whole ‘I’m sorry I blurted your secret to your entire family and half of the town when you specifically told me not to tell a single soul on the entire planet,’ thing was weighing on him. He felt awful, and David had said it was okay, knew he didn’t mean it, but still. Patrick wanted to do something.
David hadn’t come into work yet, it was still early, and Patrick and Stevie were having their weekly ‘coffee and gossip’ session, as David liked to tease.
“I don’t know, maybe you could do a sexy dance for him,” Stevie offered unhelpfully. She flipped through a magazine, leaning against the counter in the front of the store.
“Wow, okay, yeah—no. I don’t think that’s gonna work.” He felt his face heat up.
Stevie glanced up from her article and gave him a once over. “Probably work just fine.”
“That’s not what I mean!” Patrick laughed. “I’m sure it will work.”
She hummed in agreement and glanced at her watch.
“Well, thanks so much for your help,” Patrick said brightly, sarcasm rolling off him in waves. “This has been really enlightening.”
Stevie slapped the magazine closed. “Why don’t you just cook him something.”
Patrick raised his eyebrows. “He’s the chef, Stevie.”
She sighed, rolled her eyes and picked up her bag. “Yeah. But you could be a chef. That’s the surprise. You love surprising him.”
The bell on the door jingled, and Stevie was gone before he could reply.
+++
“And where are you off to?” David called over his shoulder from his spot on the couch.
Patrick pulled on a sweatshirt and stood in the archway between the living room and the foyer.
David was watching a Property Brothers marathon and flipping through an industry publication; it was a new part of his Sunday afternoon routine. He was wearing his glasses, as he’d started to do more frequently when they were at home. Which Patrick appreciated a lot. Like maybe-he’ll-cancel-his-plans a lot.
He hoped David didn’t push too much to find out where he was going, because Patrick was weak when faced with his husband in cozy clothes and glasses, hair in mild disarray from sleep, with blankets piled around him. Soft and warm and comfortable and why was Patrick leaving the house anyway?
“Patrick?”
He’d just been staring. Patrick shook his head and blinked stupidly.
“It’s—I can’t tell you.” He rushed out, puffing his cheeks out to brace for David’s displeasure.
David stood up from his nest on the couch. “...Okay…” He replied, skeptical. “So you’re just gonna...not tell me. Where you’re going.”
Patrick gripped his shoulders and nodded seriously. “Yes. I’m not telling you.” He leaned forward to plant a quick kiss to David’s lips, but it turned a lot more heated than he intended. David made a noise of approval and pulled him closer, arms tight around Patrick’s waist.
Patrick got lost in his David’s mouth, as he was known to do, sliding his hands across David’s shoulders and up to his neck. David’s tongue was hot, searing, as he slipped it into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick responded in kind, a low noise rumbling in his chest as he tangled his fingers in David’s hair. He delighted in the fact that Pre-Shower David was one of the least likely to protest, beat out slightly by Giving-A-Blowjob David who would never, ever protest to hair touching. And pulling.
David tasted sweet, like coffee and bittersweet chocolate, and that jarred something in Patrick’s brain. Was he supposed to be doing something? He startled away from David’s lips, and David made an unhappy noise and followed Patrick's lips anyway. Patrick gave him a final smooch before dragging his hands away and taking a step back.
“David.”
“Mmhmm.” He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. Patrick loved him so fucking much.
“I have to go. I’ll be back in a few hours. Promise.”
Patrick returned, as promised, a few hours later to a house that smelled like the Cafe on Italian night. That is to say: garlicky. He wasn’t so much surprised (David loved pasta and garlic bread so walking into a garlic house was a fairly regular occurrence) as he was disappointed. He’d taken Stevie’s suggestion and he had a pretty great surprise for David that was about to be overshadowed, no doubt, by something cheesy and garlic-flavored.
“Hi, honey!” David greeted him happily like he always did, and Patrick’s mild annoyance melted away. He was in a red apron that Stevie had gotten him with a big D embroidered in the middle. It was truly hideous and Patrick couldn’t believe it when David had decided to actually use it.
Patrick discreetly placed his small bag on the table by the door before he pulled off his sweatshirt and hung it up. David was at the counter dumping things into a food processor, so Patrick meandered over to watch.
He loved watching David cook, the look of concentration, the furrow in his brow, the clench in his jaw as he stirred together a sauce, the way his hands moved surely across a cutting board, how he always proffered a spoonful of something to Patrick for tasting purposes.
David stepped back from the counter and lifted his arms up a bit, holding his hands away from himself and away from Patrick as he dipped in for a hug. Patrick scooted into his embrace, squeezing David tightly around his middle.
“You smell like a big clove of garlic,” he noted, pressing his lips and nose to David’s neck.
“How romantic, thank you.” His voice was teasing but Patrick knew he’d probably love to be a clove of garlic.
“What’s all this?” Patrick asked as he let go. He recognized these ingredients. “Oh—pesto?”
“It’s for Jocelyn.”
“Oh.” Patrick did not hide his disappointment. He loved David’s pesto.
David’s cheek’s flushed at the sort-of praise, and he jutted his chin in the direction of the fridge.
“There’s cheese and tomatoes in the fridge, and I grabbed extra basil before it started to rain. You can make us a caprese plate for snacking.”
Patrick took his assignments from David very seriously. Because he knew that when he asked David to do something for him, for the store or otherwise, David took it very seriously. He carefully cut the tomatoes and sliced the cheese, then painstakingly put together little sandwiches layered with mozzarella, a basil leaf, and a tomato wedge stuck through with a toothpick and arranged as artfully as he could manage.
Once David had packaged up Jocelyn’s pesto, he came over with what was left to drizzle some (a lot) on the appetizers for the final touch.
Patrick carried the plate over to the coffee table while David grabbed a bottle of wine and some glasses.
“So are you gonna tell me where you were?” David asked immediately once he poured the wine. His eyes were downright gleeful. If Patrick was being honest, that look was the main reason he ever did anything. Will this make David smile so wide his eyes crinkle and his dimples deepen? Done.
“Yes, I’m going to tell you.” Patrick rolled his eyes and pushed him onto the couch by his shoulders.
“Ooh kinky,” David teased as he flopped down, reaching out to make grabby hands at Patrick’s waist. Patrick danced out of reach before he made contact, and went to get the bag he left by the front door.
“Okay, now don’t get too excited,” he prefaced as he sat down. David was sitting sideways, cross-legged, leaning against the arm of the sofa. Patrick turned towards his husband, getting a knee up on the couch so they could be face to face.
“Too late.” David was positively beaming, and it warmed Patrick’s heart to see that look in the face of a surprise. David used to be slightly more than uncooperative when it came to surprises, evidenced by their first few months together when Patrick bought him monthiversary gifts just to annoy him.
But now, years after that first date over questionable mozzarella sticks, David just smiled and waited, lips pressed together in an attempt to tamp down his excitement. His hands were in his lap and he twisted his rings as Patrick took his sweet time handing the bag over.
David grabbed it immediately and brought it to his face. “It smells like chocolate—is it chocolate?”
Patrick ducked his head to hide a smile. “Why don’t you just open it.”
David settled the bag between his legs and parted the tissue paper carefully, peering between the folds. “It looks like chocolate, too.”
Patrick knew the black box inside had the logo of David’s favorite gourmet chocolate in Elm Valley.
David pulled the small parcel out and held it up. “I know it didn’t take you all that time just to buy this and come back.”
Patrick stayed quiet, and let David slide his finger under the glossy label holding the box closed. He tried to keep breathing normally but found himself holding his breath, waiting for David’s reaction.
David tipped open the lid to reveal 12 chocolate truffles of somewhat varying sizes. Some of them were slightly misshapen, and one or two seemed to be just...the inside of a truffle, caramel oozing slightly onto its neighbor. There was sea salt haphazardly sprinkled over half of them, some getting several grains and some getting just one sliding down the side.
David looked up at Patrick after several minutes of staring at the chocolates. “Did you—” David cleared his throat, “—did you make these for me?”
Patrick sucked in a breath and nodded. “Do you like them?”
David’s eyes were shining. “You’re saying you went to Emilio’s. And made me chocolate truffles. Like from scratch.”
“Well, from chocolate,” Patrick sassed.
“Mmhmm.” David nodded, blinking rapidly. “For me.”
“Yes, David, for you. Don’t you want to try one? They’re pretty cool flavors. I haven’t had any, I didn’t end up with any extra,” he said.
“I see that some are naked here,” David teased. “But, also, no I don’t want to eat any! I want to keep them forever.” He pulled them close to his chest and tucked the lid closed again.
“David—”
“Patrick,” David interrupted. “You made me chocolate truffles, are you kidding me? Oh—is it an anniversary I forgot about?” His face started to fall.
“No!” Patrick shook his head vehemently. Patrick knew better than to spring something like that on David—he always made sure to mention those kinds of days a bit ahead of time. Not their yearly anniversary. Just little ones Patrick was thinking of honoring (6 months since they closed on the house, 2 years since their first open mic). David just wasn’t a “remember that date” kind of guy, and Patrick was perfectly happy to tell David about upcoming causes for celebration.
“They’re apology truffles,” he said, voice softer.
David blinked at him, confusion coloring his features. “Apology? For what? You didn’t put that crack in my La Mer serum bottle did you? Because if you did these truffles are not gonna cut it, buddy.”
Patrick huffed. “No, David, I told you I don’t know how it got cracked.”
“Well then what’s this about?” David shook the box at him.
“For—last month? The bonfire?” Patrick had taken to calling their barbecue bonfires. “When I told everyone that you know how to cook.” Parick raised his eyebrows in emphasis.
“The—oh, honey.” David moved the chocolates and the gift bag to the coffee table to reel Patrick in by the back of the neck. He pressed their foreheads together.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he whispered, pressing his lips to Patrick’s cheek. “You are the sweetest man on this whole planet, I know you didn’t tell everyone on purpose. Plus I did feed you all those whiskeys. Something was bound to come tumbling out of your little mouth. I guess I always thought it'd be something inappropriate about our sex life. Not my deep, dark secret.
Patrick’s cheek was squished against his now, and David felt him smile. “I’m still sorry. You’re making pesto for Jocelyn.”
David shrugged. “She told me she’d never had pesto before and I thought her first time should be exceptional. Which my pesto is, as you know.” He smirked.
Patrick did know.
“Oh. Well, you’ve been cooking for other people at least twice a week since it happened and—oh,” Patrick sat up straight. “It’s not...it’s not people, though is it? It’s your family.”
David bit his lip and looked away.
“Oh my god, David Rose, are you being nice to your family?”
David sat back and shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
Patrick grabbed David’s left hand and kissed his knuckles, above his rings, just to see his husband’s cheeks color appropriately. “...Actually, it does sound like you,” he replied softly.
David rolled his eyes, definitely not to blink away tears, and picked up the box of truffles. “So what flavors are they?” He flipped back the lid to admire them again.
“These are dark chocolate with cardamom and black pepper—”
“I’m sorry, what? ”
“What?” Patrick leaned back a few inches.
“‘Dark chocolate with cardamom and black pepper’ ? Who are you?”
“It was part of the class, David. Do you wanna hear the rest?”
David didn’t answer, but he picked up one of the chocolates Patrick had indicated and took an unnecessarily dramatic bite.
“Oh my god .” He swayed into the back of the couch with a groan. “I love you so fucking much,” he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate. Patrick rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the grin from his face.
“Are you talking to me or the chocolate?” He teased.
David ignored him and popped the rest of the piece in his mouth. He groaned again, and Patrick was starting to think that the truffles were the best idea he’d ever had. He slid his hands along David’s thighs so he could lean closer and capture David’s lips in a chocolatey kiss.
David made a pleased noise against his mouth, hand floating briefly to the back of Patrick’s head before he pulled back. “Don’t distract me,” he said, voice breathy. “What’s the other flavor?”
Patrick stole another kiss anyway, licking his lips as he pulled away. He watched as David stuck a finger in his mouth to suck off a bit of chocolate, and caught his dark gaze.
“Um—”
“I’ll put the caprese in the fridge.” Patrick jumped up from the couch as David nodded vigorously. “You bring the chocolates upstairs,” he finished.
“This is like,” David mumbled later, eyes droopy, but mouth open as he accepted a bite of chocolate from his husband. “Your best idea yet.” He sighed and snuggled closer to Patrick, tugging the blankets over this shoulders. His body was still tingly, and his lips were deliciously sore as he pressed a chaste kiss to Patrick’s chest.
David gave a groan of disapproval as Patrick jostled him to put the box on the nightstand, but settled down once his arms pulled David closer. As if it were at all possible.
“Don’t fall asleep, we haven’t eaten dinner,” Patrick tapped his shoulder softly. God, he was always making sure David wasn’t skipping meals, or drinking too much wine before dinner.
David flushed, letting out a questioning hum, and snuck a hand over Patrick’s body, curving around a hip to squeeze at a cheek. “We didn’t? What was I just eating? Could’ve sworn it was a whole meal…?”
“You’re terrible,” Patrick insisted, but squirmed slightly and David knew he was blushing anyway.
“Actually,” David replied, voice muffled where his head was pressed into the warm curve of Patrick’s neck. “I have it on good authority that I’m the best.”
Patrick grabbed his hand where it was wandering over his ass and brought it up to rest on his chest, over his heart.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You are.”