Lintu's Special Delivery

Aaaahh this is wonderful, thank you so much, Mus and Mael!! ;u; <3

“Where d’you keep the paprika, ‘Gene?” called Wanker over his shoulder, unwrapping one of the packages tied in butcher paper and string. Eugene found himself nibbling on the edge of a fingernail and stopped himself with an effort, choosing instead to open the bottle of red on the table. Wanker lit the tiny stove, the little blue flames kissing the bottom of the pot, then grabbed the beef with his hand, pristine white shirt cuffs dipping incidentally into the blood in the tray. Tiny glints of light sparkled from the ruby droplets on the hairs of his wrists.

Eugene scoffed, cork in hand, and chastised the other Sniper, “You silly bugger! Get that off now, and soak it! You’ll ruin it otherwise!” Wanker pursed his lips in a mock pout, then shucked the crisp white linen in one easy motion, the rustle seeming too loud in the quiet kitchen. As Wanker left the room, mumbling, Eugene turned a deep embarrassed red, its burning uncomfortable. He had actually ordered someone to do something. And it was him. He gulped a little, hoping… His fears were confirmed as Wanker returned from the laundry, white shirt gone, double breasted coat draped lazily over his broad shoulders in the cool, dim kitchen.

“Now, where were we?” Wanker clapped his hands together, rubbing the palms as he looked around with a relaxed grin. The contrast between the tanned pecs and the subtle sheen of the charcoal wool set his opal eyes off perfectly, wondered Eugene, slightly dazed at the sight.The lambent blue gas flame of the stove cast a ghostly light across the room, limning the edges of the tiles and the table, and gleaming off the aquiline profile of Wanker as he scraped his shock of sable hair back, and reached over the sink. Wanker fumbled around the small kitchen, bumbling as he pulled out pans. Eugene cringed as his domain was turned upside down; the neatly nested stack of bowls had been lined up along the counter, the chopping boards dealt out like a pack of cards.

While out of the room, Wanker had switched from his trademark amber lenses to clear ones, which showed the tiny furrow of concentration between his winged brows. As the water in the pot came to the boil, he poured in rice from a paper sack printed in Italian, gave it a stir, and showered in a fat pinch of salt. “Got ta salt the water but good, ” he explained, half turned, then quirked a corner of his lips. “Hey, ‘Gene, can you slice these onions for me?”

Eugene blinked as two onions flew in his direction, and almost fumbled the catch. “S-sure.” Collecting a second knife and chopping board, he joined Wanker in companionable silence as they prepped the vegetables, pausing only to drain the now-cooked rice. Another pan was set on the stove, dosed with butter and oil, to heat up while Wanker carefully sliced the beef into chunks. A twist of the wrist landed said chunks into the pan to sizzle and brown, along with the garlic and onions. Wanker handed Eugene the bloodied knife and chopping board with a charming smile; Eugene was halfway through obligingly washing them before he realised, and quashed the spark of irritation. “What now, then?”

With economical waves of his golden hand, Wanker scooped the prepared vegetables into the pan, along with a good shake of paprika, and poured some of the rice cooking water in as well. The lid was placed aslant on top of the pot, and the heat turned down. “Now, we wait. And talk. And sink some o’ this lovely cheap wine. Goulash needs t’ cook for an hour or so.” A dazzling white grin. “Don’t you think we should get acquainted?”

Eugene hastily collected a brace of glasses and the bottle, following after as Wanker started for the fireplace in the living room, doffing the coat on the way. Yes, he mused, mesmerised by the play of muscle on Wanker’s bare back as he stacked wood in the hearth, there was indeed a lot to learn. And hopefully about each other. Almost reluctantly, he found himself contemplating the long night ahead with more optimism than apprehension.