Archive of Our Own

“Don’t you think this is a little ambitious?” Troye asks, watching Connor set out his ingredients on the kitchen counter.

“Ambitious? Don’t you mean delicious?” Connor teases, shooting Troye a quick grin over his shoulder, their eyes holding contact just long enough for Troye to roll his eyes at the joke.

“I mean, yeah, it does sound delicious-”

“And I want to try!” Connor interrupts. “I never properly cook and I’ve got all these pots and pans I don’t even know what to do with-”

“Exactly! You don’t even know what to do with them!”

This time it’s Connor who’s rolling his eyes at Troye. “Come on. They’re pots and pans. Of course I know what to do with them. Just because I’m not the chef of this family doesn’t mean I can’t prepare a simple meal.”

“Simple’s fine! This doesn’t look simple!” There’s far too much wrapping and securing with tooth picks going on for Troye to call this simple.

Connor shrugs. “I asked Nicola what a simple but good date food would be to make, and she said this is easy.”

“She is literally the chef of the family, though,” Troye says, choosing not to comment on how Connor apparently wants to make this dish for him, mostly because he can’t believe he didn’t see that coming. Of course Connor wants to cook for him. Scratch that, Connor probably wants to cook with him. Nicola probably told him a thing easy to make that still impresses, and Connor’s going to turn it into a group activity.

“Well,” Connor says, hesitating only slightly before barreling on. “She knows I’m not super good at this, so I’m sure she won’t have misled me terribly.”

Troye sighs his acquiescence. Nicola does know what Connor can and cannot do in a kitchen.

“So are you joining me or am I on a date with myself tonight?” Connor asks, turning around a bit and angling his body more towards Troye.

Troye sighs again. As if that was ever really a question.

“Where do we start?”

Connor beams. “Divide and conquer, I thought? One of us makes the meat and the other one the salad?”

“I’ll go salad,” Troye says. Salad sounds like something you can’t mess up, at least not easily. It doesn’t generally involve a lot of chopping or heating either, so that suits Troye just as well.

“Great! I printed out the recipes, so…” Connor says and then trails off. He shifts his weight from one leg of the other one and glances out the kitchen window, like he’s suddenly nervous.

Troye grins and slings an arm around Connor’s shoulders, leaning down a bit to press a kiss to his hair.

Connor jokingly pushes him away, but Troye sees the soft smile on his lips. Not that Connor’s ever trying to hide it, really.

“Wash your hands,” Connor reminds him, prompting Troye to gasp and clutch at his chest.

“I’m not a heathen!” he says, and pulls his sweater up over his head, draping it over the far end of the kitchen counter. He’s long since learned that the baggy sleeves just will not stay pushed up to his elbows if he’s actually doing something, and he doesn’t particularly want to get them dirty.

The recipe for the salad that Nicola sent does seem simple enough – arugula, dried cranberries and a balsamic vinaigrette – when Troye skims it. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Connor already getting started on flattening the veal cutlets, determined set to his brow and lips.

Troye wants to scoop him up and press kisses all over his pinched little face, and while he’s certain Connor would probably let him, laugh with him even, Troye doesn’t want to disturb his concentration either. Connor’s cute when he gets something in his head that he wants to see through, and he’s absolutely adorable when he’s beaming about even the smallest success, so Troye washes his hands instead, and then the arugula.

Whisking together the vinaigrette doesn’t take a lot of focus on Troye’s part, so instead he keeps glancing over at Connor, watching his fingers rub seasoning into the meat, and grins to himself. It’s not the most appropriate thought for the kitchen, maybe, but Troye’s definitely taking Connor upstairs for dessert.

Once the vinaigrette is all done, all that’s left is to dump the arugula and cranberries in a bowl, grate parmesan and add it and then wait to toss everything together shortly before they eat, so Troye turns to lean back against the kitchen counter and watches Connor more openly.

“Done?” Connor murmurs, concentrated on folding the seasoned, prosciutto-ed cutlets in half and pinning them shut with a tooth pick each.

“Mm,” Troye hums agreeably.

Connor lifts his head to smile up at him. “Can you go set the table then?”

Troye would honestly rather stay and watch Connor, but he supposes the table has to be set if they want to eat there, and it won’t take terribly long.

Neither, it turns out, does the cooking of the veal saltimbocca, and by the time Troye’s pushed the vase of sunflowers back and forth too many times to know where he wants it to sit, Connor’s already stirring a red wine sauce.

“Almost done,” he announces when Troye rejoins him in the kitchen, and Troye takes that as his cue to toss the salad and plate it. He plugs his phone into Connor’s sound system, letting his chill playlist play softly in the background and goes to grab them drinks from the fridge. Connor follows him out.

“Smells delicious. Consider me wow-ed and wooed,” Troye says when Connor sets the plates down and beams down at them proudly.

“Told you we could do it,” Connor grins up at him, accepting the sweet kiss Troye leans down to give.

There’s not much they can’t do together, Troye thinks.