Work Text:
Steven was lounging in his bed, back flat on the mattress with his legs up against the wall. He hummed softly to himself, drumstick twirling between nimble fingers as his mind drifted from the present. He’d been relaxed in this position for about half an hour after Izzy banished him from the downstairs for causing “a damn ruckus.” Steven had grunted and groaned his way back to his room after the complaint, making his protest obvious.
He sighed to himself, his fingers fumbling the stick for a moment as he nearly let it slip from his grasp. He inhaled deeply with relief as he caught it—and doing so, noticed the searing smell of roasting tomatoes slipping in under the crack in the door.
Someone was cooking.
By process of elimination—which was really only one step, as there was a single soul in the entire house who was capable of making an edible meal without risking anyone’s life—Duff had to be the one making food. And Steven, being a man of simple needs, decided to follow his nose.
He scampered down the hallway, drumsticks rapping on the walls as he went. His impromptu drum solo came to an end as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, and there he burst into a large smile.
Duff was standing at the stove, back to Steven, and stirring a skillet on the heat while glancing over at a cookbook. He had an apron knotted around his waist, and his hair was half-tied up to keep it out of his face and the food.
Steven set down his sticks before ambling up to him, slowly slipping his arms around the bassist’s waist as he approached. Duff nearly jumped with surprise, but relaxed a bit as he identified the hairy hands joined around his hips. “Hi, baby.” Duff acknowledged Steven nonchalantly, eyes unwavering from his task at hand.
Steven simply smiled and pressed himself closer to Duff’s back, head turning sideways so his cheek could rest on his lover’s spine. “Whatcha’ cookin’ ?” He mumbled, his voice slightly garbled from his restful position.
“Just spaghetti,” Duff answered, sounding slightly distracted. He couldn’t focus all his attention on Steven, after all—he had food to tend to! If Steven wanted to eat, he’d know what’s good for him and leave Duff to his work.
But rather, Steven did the opposite. “Can I help?” He asked enthusiastically, lifting his head off Duff’s shoulderblade to look up at the back of the bassist’s head with a big grin.
Duff paused his stirring, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. “Sure, Steven,” he muttered, looking back to his pan and continuing to push around the contents with a wooden spoon.
Steven perked up, untangling himself from Duff and stumbling off towards the cupboards that held the aprons. Each boy had their own unique design, and Duff had already donned his navy blue one proclaiming him the “Cooking Mama”. The others had gotten it for him as a joke one Christmas, mocking Duff for being the ‘mother’ of their makeshift little family. More aprons followed until everyone had their own, and Steven was currently tying the knot on his white, heavily stained “Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’” apron with much enthusiasm.
“What can I do?” He asked excitedly, bounding back over to Duff and bouncing on his toes in anticipation.
Duff glanced over to him quickly, taking his eyes off the pot for only a moment. “Well, uh… I already added most of the ingredients, so—here, you can find some spices for me, can’t you?” He thought to himself aloud, watching Steven for acknowledgement.
“Sure!” Steven chirped happily, his glimmering grin spreading even wider. “Which ones?”
Duff spared a look down to his cookbook, pursing his lips in consideration. “Basil,” he muttered, stirring his spoon around as he conjured the recipe from the page. “Oregano, and parsley. Can you remember those?” He looked back up to his boyfriend, his crimped, blond bangs falling into his eyes.
“Got it!” Steven smiled back at him, softening at the domesticity of the moment. Duff looked relaxed and comfortable with his sleeves rolled up, still dressed in work clothes from the bar and the top half of his hair messily tied back.
The meal took all of his concentration, and Steven admired his dedication to the simple supper even after a long and taxing day. Duff had already put in grueling time at his job to provide for their household, and here he was giving additional effort just to satisfy them all with warm, fresh food. Steven knew he wasn’t the most proficient cook, but he thought any assistance he could offer would make Duff’s work lighter. It was only a portion of what his lover truly deserved.
Steven turned to the cupboard, opening the door and humming to himself as he peeked past jars labeled ‘paprika’ and ‘cloves’. The names on the canisters danced around in his head as he searched, and after about a minute or so Steven realized he’d completely forgotten what he was looking for.
That wouldn’t help Duff at all! He had to try and remember on his own.
Was this one—‘thyme’—on the list? How did you even pronounce the name, anyway? Like ‘thigh’? Steven’s mind swam with confusion and slight guilt at already failing his task.
“I’m gonna need those soon, Stevie,” Duff’s voice cut in from beside him. The drummer flushed lightly, pushing past another jar in a frantic hunt for the desired spices.
‘Basil’—that had been one, hadn’t it? The glass jar full of large, faintly green leaves stood out from the rest of the bottles containing ground up herbs. Steven snatched it from the back of the cupboard and passed it over to Duff. There were still two others to go, though, and Steven had absolutely no recollection of either.
In a last attempt to make things work, the drummer snatched two random bottles from the shelf and set them down on the counter beside the stove. He shamefully kept his eyes averted as Duff picked them up and read the labels with confusion.
“Babe, this is… turmeric? Where’d you even find this? And I’m not putting cinnamon sticks in the sauce.” The bassist handed the containers back to Steven with a raised brow. “Oregano and parsley. I know they’re in there,” he corrected.
Steven took back the previous spices with an embarrassed blush, shoving them back among the other jars as he started on his search for the right ones. He couldn’t forget now, Duff had even reminded him of the names! He quickly found the correct labels and placed them down on the countertop.
Duff glanced away from the pot to check his new selections, and flashed Steven a small, grateful smile as he saw the jars. Steven let out a small sigh of relief as he watched Duff sprinkle them into the spaghetti sauce.
Looking away from his cooking, Duff noticed Steven had seemingly lost a bit of his boisterous energy from before. He reached out to gently grasp Steven’s hand with his own, pulling his partner close as he let go of the spoon and turned away from the stove.
“Thank you for your help,” he spoke with genuine gratefulness, looking into Steven’s bright blue eyes. “I like spending time with you. And it’s nice to not do everything myself sometimes.” He lifted a hand to Steven’s cheek, running his hand over his lover’s jaw before leaning in for a lingering kiss.
Pulling away, he flashed a small, secretive smile and pecked the tip of Steven’s nose softly. “I love you, okay?” He whispered, trying to reassure Steven his mistakes weren’t as crucial as he thought.
The drummer flushed lightly, offering a thankful smile of his own back up to Duff. “I love you too,” he mumbled, feeling his chest flood with warmth inside after the exchange. He ducked his head slightly, his fluffy curls falling into his eyes as his face went pink.
“Do you wanna be my taste-tester?” Duff offered, reaching back over to stir the pot with his spoon. Steven nodded, already perking up at the mention of trying the delicious-smelling meal in front of him.
Steven rocked his weight from his toes to his heels in anticipation. His fingers tugged at the string of his apron impatiently as Duff nudged a bit of sauce into the dip of the large, wooden spoon. After gently blowing on it a few times to cool down the contents, the bassist carefully turned to Steven, slowly extending the sample towards him while holding it as steady as he could. God knows their floor didn’t need yet another stain.
Steven opened his mouth, eyes trained earnestly on the red, steaming pool of sauce. He took the end of the spoon into his mouth, quickly licking up the purée. Before he had even finished swallowing, the little drummer was already humming in delight at the tangy, acidic flavor spreading across his tongue. His eyebrows shot up, and he quickly made wide eye contact with Duff to express his pleasure.
“That’s fucking good!” Steven exclaimed, running his tongue across his lips a few times to gather every last drop. He could feel the roll of his ravenous stomach in his gut, the small taste only leaving him craving more.
“When is it gonna be ready?” He asked curiously, trying not to let a desperate, whiny tone creep into his words. No matter how hungry he was, he wouldn’t sound impatient when Duff was still working so hard.
Steven noticed a hidden smile on his partner’s face as Duff turned back to the stove, obviously feeling proud of himself at Steven’s raving review of his meal. “Just a couple minutes now, ‘kay?” He replied softly, already concentrating on the recipe once more.
The drummer stood and watched him for a moment or so, head tilted to the side as he observed his lover. Duff was so beautiful sometimes.
It was silly to say—the word shouldn’t fit in their run-down, grimey excuse for a kitchen, with two young men who both hadn’t showered or laundered in close to a week. Yet, there was no other way to describe the glow of Duff’s bleached hair under the cheap overhead lighting, the gentle grace with which his large, callused fingers grasped the spoon in his hand, or the subconscious pucker of his lips as he whispered the steps from the cookbook under his breath.
Duff would never realize it, either. But Steven certainly did.
He was shaken out of his stupor by the clang of the pot lid settling down onto the rim. Duff laid down his spoon on the countertop and brushed down the front of his apron, turning to Steven with a small smile.
“It’s gotta stew for a little,” he explained while glancing down at his partner softly, his cheeks a bit pink. “That means I’m all yours.”
Steven perked up, his face immediately splitting into a wide grin. “C’mere, sexy chef,” he teased, holding out his arms and coaxing Duff toward him with open palms. His cheesy smile grew impossibly wider as Duff took a few steps forward and wrapped his arms around Steven’s waist, hoisting him up so their faces were level. Steven hugged his arms around Duff’s neck to steady himself, tucking his face into his partner’s shoulder while giggling softly at the surprise lift.
Duff spun them around slowly, and Steven felt his weight shift to settle more deeply in Duff’s hold. He inhaled with fervor, taking in the musky scent of sweat and savory tomato that clung to Duff’s work shirt. He’d gotten used to the smell of Duff lately—it invaded his bedsheets, laundry pile, and even the shower. The familiarity had become comforting, and Steven felt his muscles relax loosely as he was completely enveloped in the scent and feel of Duff.
His lover settled him gently back down on the floor, keeping his long arms circled around Steven’s waist. The drummer shivered slightly at the ticklish touch of damp lips against his cheek where Duff pressed an open-mouthed kiss. “I missed you today,” he mumbled into Duff’s shirt, his voice shy and breathless.
Duff hummed deeply, happily, and Steven felt the lips against his face curve into a pleased grin. “Me too,” the bassist said, soft and rumbling. “Miss you every day.”
He lifted his head to stare down at Steven, hazel eyes bright in the orange kitchen lighting. Steven took in the details of his face—crooked nose, dark brows, thin and stubbly upper lip, rough patches of acne, and darkly lined eyelids. He loosened his arms around Duff’s neck.
His eyebrows shot up suddenly as an empty gurgle met his ears. He stared at Duff with abrupt embarrassment as his cheeks filled with heat.
“Is dinner done?” He asked sheepishly, glancing down at his stomach with betrayal.
Duff laughed, a dopey half-shout, and patted Steven’s hip with his hand. “Yeah,” he grinned. “I think so.”