Work Text:
"What are you making?" Green eyes peered curiously at the bubbling pot on the stove, currently being stirred by Desmond's lithe, yet sturdy hands. It was a sleepy afternoon on a weekday, and Damon Maitsu was right where he belonged.
A rich, chocolatey laughter resounded within the kitchen; Desmond, his eyes crinkling softly, turned away his attention from the stovetop to his partner. "Just soup." He said. "Does chicken noodle soup sound good for tonight?"
"Yeah, sure." Damon shrugged, coming over to lift the ladle Desmond was using to his mouth, the cook obliging. He pursed his lips out, before slowly blowing. Then, after a momentary pause, he took a careful sip.
"So?" Desmond's put his hands on his hips, the corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided grin.
...Damon put the ladle back in the pot. "For one--too much salt. Though the spices come through. Getting those cooking lessons from Ingrid definitely helped."
For anyone else, their feelings might've been hurt or they may have felt taken aback. Yet Desmond, taking things in stride, simply chuckled. "Alright! I'll take it. More water, then."
"And please," sighed Damon in further exasperation as he walked out of the kitchen briefly, before returning after fishing out a hair tie from a cabinet, "get your hair out of your face." The cook for that day's meal then, as he carried the pot over to the sink to fill up, has the Damon Maitsu gather his hair and, hair tie stretched over his fingers, pull Desmond's locs into a ponytail getting them away from his face. He has to be the luckiest man alive.
Desmond is so deeply in love. "Thanks, man."
"If you have time to be grateful, then you can try washing the dishes as you go." Damon flatly said, glancing at the whirlpool that went through their shared kitchen in the flat.
"Noted." Desmond, meanwhile, turned on the tap, quickly shutting it off just as it started. He sets the pot back on the heat. "Though if we work together, they'll be done faster."
"I'm obviously going to help you." He, fussing, began the work of slowly chipping at the mess--pulling the cutting board with chips and flecks of chopped vegetables off the counter top and putting them in the sink-- rinsing it off. Damon treated the rest of the dishes the same, give them a quick wash, scrub them with soap, and rinse them off too, and they're all good. Desmond, looking over, leaves the pot unattended to come over and wrap his arms around Damon.
"You're so good to me," murmured Desmond into the crook of his boyfriends neck, pressing his chest to his back. His green eyes flitted in surprise, head turning to the side and very soapy hands reaching to swipe at his cheek.
"I can't do anything like this," he breathed.
"Mm." Desmond's nose grazed against Damon's jaw, taking in a deep breath. "That sounds fine with me."
"What about the soup?"
He sounded like he was smiling. A very cheeky face slides over to glance at the so-called soup behind them, and he sighed: "I'm sure it can wait a couple minutes."
Damon was splotchy-faced, reddening. It wouldn't have been as funny if it weren't for the fact it was migrating to his ears.
"...Okay. But we're still turning off the heat."
"Hahaha!"