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“Saparata, dear, how was your day?” Fluixon almost instantly chirps when he hears the front door open, the sound of heavy boots dragging across the floor following shortly after the door clicks shut.
“Marvellous, you?” Saparata replies, tone ever so sweet as he sheds off his armour, placing them with such precision onto the armour stand before he heads to the kitchen where he knows Fluixon is, most likely preparing their dinner.
His arms wrap around the other’s torso, snaking around to tug him closer by any means possible, which earns him a small huff as Fluixon is forced to let go of the spatula he’s holding in favour of turning around to press a small kiss onto the other’s cheek. It’s not long before Fluixon pulls away, prying off Saparata’s arms so that he can go back to cooking. The action does make Saparata pout slightly, but he does pull off, albeit reluctantly, so that Fluixon can go back to what he was doing.
“You’re all damp and sweaty. Go run a bath and I’ll finish up dinner for us.” With that, Saparata exits the kitchen completely, heading upstairs into their bedroom to take off his clothes and shower.
Fluixon prepares the meal with care and love—a dash of salt in the pasta water before dropping the noodles in, a few pieces of basil into the tomato sauce once it’s done simmering, a handful of ice cubes into the glass before pouring in some red wine, three pinches or four of white powder into the small almond cake he’s baked for their dessert—not missing a single step in each of the recipes. The end result is nothing but stunning. Two plates of spaghetti and marinara sauce sit opposite of each other, glasses of wine on the left and cutlery organised on a napkin placed on the right. The almond cake rests in the centre of the table, the aromatic dessert finishing off Fluixon’s masterpiece.
He waits patiently at his chair for his husband to finish his shower. He’s wearing the white button up top that he forgot to take off before cooking and his usual black slacks, hands fiddling with each other on top of them, fingers scratching at the material. His hair is still in the small ponytail he put it into earlier today, the hair tie slightly loose and threatening to let his hair free.
Saparata walks in not long after Fluixon is seated, still wearing his white cloak and pants that only tells the darker-haired avian that Saparata hadn’t showered yet—most likely having spent his time messing around with his communicator or talking with someone. It’s alright, Fluixon supposes, he’s had adequate time to do what he wanted to.
Both of them are now seated across from each other, a small smile plastered on Saparata’s face and a curious glint in Fluixon’s eyes. Saparata rambles on about his day, his speech slightly meandering as he jumps from one topic to another as Fluixon listens, sparing him some commentary or his thoughts on some occasions. They continue like this for a while as they usually do, the pasta slowly disappearing as more time passes, until Saparata reaches for his wine glass but stops right before taking a sip.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier.” Saparata muses, a small threat laced in his words as his eyes pan to watch his husband’s reaction.
“Which question?” Fluixon replies, batting his eyes oh so innocently as if he’s playing dumb.
“You know what I’m talking about.” Saparata shoots back, now taking a minuscule sip from the wine, gaze still locked onto Fluixon, who only seems to crumble marginally under the pressing glare.
“It was fine. Didn’t do much other than plan some stuff with Thomas. Like usual.” Fluixon responds, also reaching out for his own glass and drinking half of it, holding it so elegantly that he could be mistaken for a prince of some sort.
Saparata only hums at the reply, swallowing the rest of the liquid in his glass before setting it down and going back to eating and talking about his own plans. The two fall back into their familiar rhythm, nothing from there bothering them. Soon later, Saparata’s pasta is gone, and so is Fluixon’s. Their glasses are also empty, the tall bottle of wine remaining unbothered on the kitchen counter behind Fluixon, leaving only the almond cake untouched on the dinner table.
Fluixon stands up to get a knife from the kitchen, excusing himself as he pushes the chair aside. Just as he grabs a particularly sharp one from their wide selection of knives, Saparata calls out to him, staring at him from the table through the window way, his gaze somehow gentle yet threatening, making a chill run down Fluixon’s spine as he nearly freezes right in front of the cabinet where they store their cutlery and kitchen tools.
“My love, you baked this cake just for me?” Saparata’s words are overly honeyed, that same charming tone he uses on his targets or opponents to make them let their guard down.
Fluixon, however, knows much better than those people.
He remains nonchalant, suppressing the goosebumps on his arms (he thanks the void that he’s wearing long sleeves at the moment) as he turns around, eyes locking onto the other’s in return.
“Well, of course, dear. You work so hard every day—this is the least I could do to repay you.” The smile he offers is nothing short of sweet, showing no malice or anything remotely threatening to anyone.
Saparata, though, is not just anyone. He’s not stupid, he’s an essential figure, and most importantly, he’s Fluixon’s husband. Pity on the other, really, for thinking he could try and fool Saparata like that. It’s alright though, he supposes, there’s always other days to try.
“Oh really? Well, you must have misread something in the recipe, for it smells far more aromatic than it should be. Almost like you might have added something that wasn’t meant to be in there, no?” Saparata questions, making Fluixon go perfectly still for exactly one second before his shoulders sag and he lets out a groan, placing the knife back onto the kitchen counter, his reaction earning an amused chuckle from Saparata.
Fluixon steps back out of the kitchen and drops onto his chair, an evident pout on his lips as his gaze drops down, hands on his knees as he calculates where he went wrong. To Saparata, he looks like a scolded child (his height most certainly doesn’t help with that either), which is more than hilarious to him.
“Don’t fret, my love, you can try again someday.” Saparata giggles, standing up from his chair and placing his hands on the other’s, pulling him out of his seat as well as he presses a kiss onto the crown of his head. Fluixon only grumbles at the action, the words vaguely sounding like an insult towards him.
“I swear I didn’t put that much in.” Fluixon retorts, his arms snaking around Saparata’s neck as he tiptoes to quickly peck the other’s forehead in return.
“It sure smelled like it. Are you sure you’re not a part of the population who can’t smell cyanide? That’s quite a disadvantage, if so. Also, you hate almonds. The last time I bought you those instead of cashews, you refused to even touch them.” Saparata replies. “Actually, if you couldn’t smell that, you most definitely are a part of that population. Did you seriously not know that cyanide gives off such a pungent odour when in large doses?”
“I did, I just assumed that I hadn’t put as much of it in for it to emit such an obvious smell.”
“It’s alright then, there’s many other ways you can try to kill me that don’t involve me not being able to eat the desserts you make me.” Saparata reassures.
The pair pull away from each other to tidy up the dining table, Fluixon doing the dishes while Saparata dries them. Now, it’s Fluixon rambling on about how his Conspiracy was doing anything but their jobs—Gotoga messing around with candles alongside Newkids, Thomas just being Thomas, and Seraphim acting all nonchalant and unbothered during their meeting instead of actually contributing to anything—while Saparata listened intently, giving his opinion or stifling a giggle sometimes.
After a while, Fluixon starts to slow and Saparata goes quieter than he should, a dead giveaway that he’s planning something. Whether he does it on purpose or subconsciously is something only Saparata knows, but Fluixon is quick to catch the sudden silence. He’s quick enough to dodge when a sharp shard of glass comes flying at him, just barely missing his head as he ducks.
Fluixon turns around to throw Saparata a smug grin as he moves back up, the other giving him an irritated smile in return before he goes back to shoving the plates into the cabinet with more force than necessary. Fluixon also goes back to washing the dishes and passing them over to his husband, but doesn’t go back to talking, instead relishing in the silence, allowing the clinking of plates and cutlery to fill in the quiet.
Once the sink is empty and their clothes are thoroughly wet, they head to their room wordlessly, changing into more comfortable wear in the bathroom and doing all of their nightly routines. Fluixon puts on his skincare while Saparata follows suit, both of them doing so with such precision before they finish their routines.
Both sink into the bed once all of the lights are off, the front door is locked, and the blinds are shut, Saparata pulling the blankets over them as Fluixon steals a pillow from Saparata’s side of the bed and drapes his arm over it, cuddling it close to him. Saparata pulls Fluixon closer despite his mumbled protests and rests his head in the crook of his neck, blowing against the skin right before a punch lands on his side, making him grunt at the unexpected gesture. He pulls back in favour of resting his chin on the other’s head, the black hair tickling his skin.
No more words are spoken before the pair fall asleep like that, in each other’s embrace and in complete trust that the other won’t try to kill them in their sleep.