Work Text:
Day 7: Cooking-Stewing | Roasting | Baking
"You cook like a white boy."
"Excuse me?" Vox arched an eyebrow as Val slid into the kitchen- which they did have, even if they rarelty ever used it- behind him. He rested his chin on Vox's shoulder, practically bending himself double to do so, wings giving an absent little flutter.
"You cook like a white boy. What even is this?"
"Well considering I am white-" He cut himself off with a soft chuckle as Val dragged his lips along the side of his neck. "-that makes sense. This isn't even for you. Go away."
Val rocked his hips into Vox's ass, pressing another string of kisses down his neck and shoulder. It was distracting, and worse, Vox couldn't care that he was being distracted. Cooking wasn't something they really did ever; they mostly ordered food out, or had it delivered, but once in a while there would be a reason for one of them to make themselves or the group something. Generally these occasions fell on Feast Day (once known as Thanksgiving, when they were alive) or Sinsmas, but not always. Sometimes one of them just felt like it.
And Vox…well. Only recently had he even been able to convince himself to come out of his room. To get out of his bed. They'd started talking to him again about three months ago, after nearly two of them barely acknowledging his existance, and he had a body back since about two months ago. But it was like someone had drained him; talking was impossibly hard, moving damn near impossible. He was tired. He felt nothing but tired. Heavy. They'd gone from ignoring him to fussing over him, worrying about him. He didn't care at first; he didn't care about anything. He just wanted to power down and be left that way.
But they hadn't let him be. They did work in his room, seated beside the bed and talking to him the entire time, even when he barely responded. They watched tv and movies in there with him, and they ate dinner in there with him; Val bringing the sweets he was so surprisingly good at baking and Velvette things like soups, easy to down without much thought. And eventually, he found himself…better. Found himself caring about Val's furrowed brow when he tried to get Vox to engage with him. Found himself wanting to engage with Velvette when she ranted about how stupid someone was. Found himself tasting the food they were bringing him instead of just eating it because they wanted him to.
(The honest truth was that Vox didn't need to eat. He wasn't sure any of them did, really; they were dead, after all. But even that taken into consideration, Vox could sustain himself purely on the energy around him for, as far as he knew, infinity, or as long as it held out.)
And when he started feeling again, caring again, wanting again, he made himself get up. Made himself walk and talk and interact, to try and feel real again. And one of the first things he found himself wanting, actually wanting, was the familiar comfort of a sandwhich and some soup. Easy. Basic. No thought required and it brought him familiarity and warmth.
But of course he'd walked in to the kitchen to find Valentino there, covered head- to-toe in flour, singing loudly and off key in Spanish, a tray of cookies in front of him and surprise on his face.
Val was a surprisingly talented baker. Well, okay, that was sort of a lie; Val, surprisingly, could bake, was perhaps a better statement. He enjoyed it and what he made was edible, if always too sweet and usually lopsided. But it was always also fucking perfectly decorated.
Vox had offered him a small smile and moved to just- make his food and get out of Val's way. When he was like this, he was unpredicatable and manic, and Vox still felt…so fucking tired. He couldn't handle unpredicatable and manic. He couldn't handle a fight because Val had eaten too much of his own work and then fucking made himself puke for an hour after. He just wanted to make his damn sandwhich and go back to bed.
And that brought them to now, with Val wrapped around his back and kisses being pressed down his neck.
"You should eat what I'm making instead. It's better."
"Gee, thanks, Val. I'm- stop- I'm trying to- Val, stop!" His chuckles were involentary, and he found himself playfully elbowing his partner, earning giggles and more kisses. "Goddamn brat. I just want a sandwhich and to go back to bed-"
"No! You're up now, you're staying up and trying my cookies!" Val whisked him around like a dancer, tugging Vox nearly off his feet, pulling him to the other counter. Val was strong, had always been strong, had demonstrated that drastically only a few months ago. Not that he'd ever hurt Vox- not really. They'd had fights; Val had a savage, unpredictable temper and there had been explosions that left Vox having to fight back, cracked or bruised, but never seriously hurt.
"Val, c'mon, let go of me- Val, let go-"
"No! I worked hard on these, and I need a test subject please Voxxy?" He pouted, giving him big, pleading eyes, holding Vox's hands gently in his own, and Vox sighed heavily, feeling a smile tug at his lips despite himself. That happened, with Val; he found himself smiling, soft and crooked, even when he didn't want to.
"Fine, fine, but then can I go back to bed?"
"Yes yes yes whatever taste it!"
The exhaustion melted away, a little. Faded to the back of Vox's mind. He laughed quietly, accepted the gift of lopsided cookie. Bit into a brick like- or maybe limestone like concoction of half of the kitchen, from what he could tell. All of the things Vox had ever even suggested he liked was in those damn cookies, and possibly literally part of the kitchen sink, from how hard it was. His fucking jaw hurt. He winced, trying to hide it, trying to smile around it.
"It's…good..Val." It wasn't really a lie. It tasted…acceptable. Way too sweet, with what seemed like caramel and chocolate and something maybe strawberryish? But edible, if it wasn't for how much of a puck it was. And while normally Vox didn't mince words with critisim, it was differant with Val.
He wasn't going to look too hard at why. He wasn't going to think about it. Not now of all Goddamn times, at least. Not when he was still trying to remember when he'd stopped caring about them. When they'd become expendable.
When he'd become expendable.
Val made a tisking noise in the back of his throat, rolling his eyes skyward and plopping a hand on his hip, wings giving an irritated flutter. "Liar. You hate them."
"I don't hate them," He tried, and God, he was so tired, he didn't want to fight, he didn't have the fire to fight right now, "they're good. They're- edible."
"They're disgusting and you hate them and I made them for you." Val was pouting now, antenna drooping, upper arms folded across his chest and lower still resting on his hips. "And you're lying to me."
"Come on, Val, please, I-" He stopped, put the last of the puck cookie back onto the counter. "I'm tired. Can we not do this shit right now?"
Val stopped, abruptly, and his hands fell from his hips, upper ones uncrossing. Something soft flitted across his expression and his brow furrowed before he said, much more quietly; "I wanted to give you something nice. For getting out of bed finally."
Jesus.
"I appreciate them. I do, really." He reached out, touching Val's lower shoulder; to his surprise, Val didn't shove him away or shake him off, but pulled him into a snuggle. He was warm and smelled like sugar and flower, chocolate and cream, and Vox found himself sighing, melting into his warm softness.
Tired. He was so fucking tired, and Val was so warm and smelled so nice and he was still here, still here and hadn't left him and hadn't abandoned him and he'd made him cookies even though Vox had damn near thrown him away, thrown them all away, and still couldn't figure out where the hell he'd started tripping and stumbling. He couldn't figure out why the hell they'd been there to catch him instead of running the other direction as fast as possible.
"I do," He said again, into Val's ruff. "they just…needed a little less time in the oven. And a few less ingredients."
Above his head, Val laughed softly, placing a hand on the top of his head, between his antenna. "Aie, amorcito, you tried at least." He wasn't angry, wasn't lashing out, and while that had been on the list of possibilities, Vox was so fucking glad it had budged up from the bottom of it to the top, because he really did not want Val to let go of him. He wanted to be held, to be forgiven and held and wrapped up in those powerful arms and why the fuck was he leaking?…
He was so fucking tired.
He pressed his face further into Val's chest, hid the tears he couldn't seem to stop.
"Vox?" Came the soft murmur, above his head. "Voxxy?" A tsk noise, and then he found he was being lifted, scooped like a child.
"Val! Put me down, what the hell are you-"
"Shhhhh amor, stop flailing, Goddammit Vox be still!" Val tightened his grip on his wiggling, flailing captive, scooping a few of the cookies with one of his lower hands. "You and me, we're going to go watch a stupid horror movie and watch bimbos with tits out to here die. And you're gonna eat my awful fucking cookies and tell me they're the best things you've ever had." Now that he was still, one hand loosened it's grip, lifted to brush away the unwanted traitor rolling down Vox's face.
"And then we'll order from that little bakery you like so fucking much."
He chuckled into Val's soft neck again, listening to him start humming once more as they made their way into the living room with shitty cookies and then overful glasses of milk a few minutes later, and he let Val tuck him into his side, listening to his partner get started ripping apart whatever horrible b movie he'd put on. He didn't join in right away. Just listened, and ate his awful cookie, and it was the best thing he'd ever had.