Work Text:
It’s not like TK can’t cook, it’s that he doesn’t feel the need to, not with Carlos actually liking it.
TK is a passable cook, he can fend for himself (and his dad if need be), and most of the time it’s pretty decent. Like you’d want to actually eat it again.
He doesn’t get the same joy that Carlos does though. The satisfaction and artistry doesn’t reinvigorate him after a day of work like it does for Carlos. And that works for them.
TK fills in when he can, helps out when need be, and is happy to be the sous-chef or taste tester or dish-washer.
It’s been a long few days for Detective Carlos Reyes, though, and as his loving husband, it’s the least TK can do. Even if the dishes Carlos likes are so much work.
Carlos comes through the door, worn out and tired.
“Hey baby,” TK calls over to him.
Carlos comes into the kitchen after putting down his jacket and toeing off his shoes and fits himself behind TK, arms wrapping around his belly and pressing a soft kiss at his spot on TK’s neck.
“I made your favorite,” TK says, as he puts the finishing touches on the dish in front of him.
Carlos squeezes TK and kisses that patch of skin again.
“Love you, mi vida,” Carlos whispers and TK pats the arm wound around him.
“I know,” TK says, borrowing Carlos’ favorite line, if only for the tired little chuckle.