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The aroma of tomatoes and basil and pepper filled the apartment as a pot of soup bubbled away on the counter. Misroch stood at the counter chopping onions, their hair tied back and out of their face. A smudge of sauce smeared across the corner of their glasses and across their cheek. They cooked on their days off, as rare as those were. Of course nothing beat the greasy fried spray from the food stalls of the mall but home cooking was enough to fill time and waste energy. The demon was alone in the apartment, Belzagor, Asmoraius and Hornblas out Lucifer knew where and Misroch was not complaining about the peace and quiet.
Until the front door opened and slammed and Misroch almost chopped the tip of their finger off.
“Oh for fucks--- QUIT SLAMMING DOORS!” They yelled, gripping the chef's knife in one hand and turning to see which one of his roommates was home. Asmoriaus emerged from the living room, flipping his hair over a shoulder.
“My word! What is that delightful aroma Misroch?” He hummed, coming into the kitchen to investigate.
“Soup, and pasta. For dinner, stick your grubby hands in anything and I’ll make sure we eat your hands instead .” Misroch growled, turning back to chop more vegetables.
“No need to worry darling, I’ll just enjoy the show.” Asmo chimed in that purring voice that made shivers snake up Misroch’s neck. The chef’s grip tightened slightly.
It got quiet again as Asmoraius got two wine glasses from the cupboard as well as a bottle of red from the fridge and uncorked it. He poured two glasses and leaned against the counter beside Misroch, offering them one glass. Misroch side eyed him and kept chopping.
“I’m busy, Asmo.”
“Oh come on! You’ve probably been slaving away at this stove all day and you haven’t even poured yourself something to drink! It’s torture. Humor me darling.” Asmo smiled that charming smile and Misroch sighed loudly before taking the glass from the other.
They clicked glasses and each took a sip, before Misroch wordlessly went back to cooking and adding the onions and peppers to a pot. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and stirred the larger pot of noodles. It got quiet again. Just the soft rumble of soup, the bubbling of pasta, the soft sizzle of vegetables in oil and garlic.
“Here.” Misroch fished a noodle from the pot with a pair of tongs and handed it to Asmo to test.
The other demon grinned wide and slurped the noodle up, making Misroch roll their eyes.
“Maybe two more minutes. It’s chewy.” Asmo said and Misroch snorted, “It’s called al dente, dipshit. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“This is why you’re the chef and I just eat.” Asmo laughed and watched Misroch keep cooking. They didn’t need to eat of course. Especially human food. Demons didn’t have a nutritional requirement. But Misroch, ever busy demon of gluttony, enjoyed the ritual of it. Even stuffed into the cramped kitchen at Weiner World over boiling oil it was peaceful. They didn’t have to think, they didn’t have to stress about all the shit going on. They could just chop and stir and taste.
Misroch had gotten lost in thought stirring pasta sauce when they felt a pair of hands wind their way under their apron and rest on their hips.
“Asmo…” They mumbled, turning their head slightly to see Asmoraius very, very close. The other demon hummed in their ear and pressed a gentle kiss to the shell of Misroch’s ear.
“You look so calm stirring that pot.” Asmo snorted at his own joke and Misroch joined him.
“You’re so fucking ridiculous. Fuck off, I need to drain this pasta.” Misroch let out another laugh, it came out easily. It always did around Asmoraius.
They moved to dump the pot of noodles into a strainer in the sink. Asmoraius went back to his wine and admired Misroch from a distance.
“You’re awfully quiet today.” Misroch said and picked up his own wine and drained the glass.
“You seemed like you were enjoying the silence. Brooding over your dinner. Who am I to disturb a peaceful demon.” Asmo waved his hand dramatically as if reciting a poetic verse.
“You’re so weird.” Misroch rolled their eyes and removed their glasses to wipe them on the edge of their apron.
Asmoraius only laughed again and moved to pull Misroch closer, grasping their wrist gently.
“Do I get to kiss the cook?” Asmo mused, as Misroch rolled their eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“Shut the fuck up and kiss me then.” Misroch hit Asmo’s chest lightly as their lips met and the soup boiled over behind them.