Fic: Sometimes It's Better (8)
Title: Sometimes It's Better (Not to stick bits of each other in each other) - 8
Characters: Cook/Katie, Naomi/Emily
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 1304
Summary: Naomi owes Cook a favour.
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: This is unbeta'd so any mistakes are all mine. Title from Hot Club de Paris 'Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother'
I'm winding this one up here, but don't panic, there's no surpise!death.
“Taste this,” Naomi says, thrusting a spoon in his direction.
Cook knows what’s coming, but he does it anyway. He’s put his body through worse for his mates, and Naomi’s definitely a mate, a right good one as it goes. So he takes the spoon with the sauce that she’s been trying to perfect for the last three days, and forces it down. “Still shit. It’s better, it’s not like, proper shit, but it’s still shit.”
Naomi’s face falls. “Shit,” she sighs.
Cook wonders if he should tell her yet. It has been a couple of days since he’s figured it out, but he’d just let her get on with it. Except, now she looks on the verge of depression, and it’s only some fucking sauce, and Emily said she didn’t care that much, even though clearly Naomi does. Ah, fuck it, he thinks; she looks so down in the dumps he’ll tell her. “I know what you need,” he says.
Naomi glares at him. “Cook, if you say your cock then I’ll pour the rest of that pan over it.”
“Alright then pissy pants, suit yourself. I was gonna tell you what you were doing wrong, but I guess you like to poison the people you have round for tea.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go on then master chef, what?”
He grins at her. “Less oregano.”
“Less…what?”
“You’ve too much oregano, don’t ya? It’s overpowering, innit.”
“Cook, since when did you know how to…cook?” She asks, her hands waving all over the shop.
“Hidden depths, Naomikins. A man of many talents, me,” he winks.
She looks almost impressed, so he’s not going to let on to her that he read the recipe book the other day and it said a teaspoon of oregano, and Naomi had been using a tablespoon. He quite likes that she thinks he came up with that all by himself. “Right, so now I’ve solved your little problem, you owe me one. We’re having a big night. Tonight. Dancing. You bring your woman, I’ll bring mine and we’ll make it a bit of a party, yeah?”
Naomi opens her mouth to say no, of course she does, but all she needs is a gentle nudge in the right direction. “Come on gnomes. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Jesus, must you insist on trying to bed me at every available opportunity? How many times? I have a girlfriend.”
“Keep your hair on love, I was just gonna stand you a drink. Not that I wouldn’t bone you or nothing, but I don’t think that Katie would take too kindly to any extra curricular activities, you get me?”
Naomi huffs in her chair, but he knows she’s beaten. “Fine, I’ll come.”
“Nice one, I’ll meet you there. Gotta go see a man about a dog,” he says, ruffling her hair as he legs it out the door.
---
Cook was fucked up good and proper, and he knew it.
They all were - couldn’t help themselves when he had dangled the baggie under their noses, and it was good shit that he’d got off Keith, really nice, top drawer, A-grade shit, and he was buzzing. He’d been on best behaviour the whole night though, his eyes trained on only one set of boobs at all times (well, there was that girl at the bar, but fair play right, she had a pair of melons stuck to her fucking chest, it wasn’t his fault that, cause he couldn’t not look at them).
He was dancing with Katie, slutting it up right in the middle of the floor. He’d tried to get the lesbians to join in earlier, but he’d found them necking in the corner, so he left them to it, given they were providing a public service an’ all that. It was just him and Katie then, and things were getting naughty, really fucking naughty. Fucking filthy what they’re doing with hands and fingers and mouths and tongues, and Cook’s not sure that he’ll make it to an alley outside the club, let alone back home if she keeps this up.
Katie gives him the look, which is his cue to mime a fag in Naomi’s direction as soon as she comes up for air. When she eventually does, she nods, leaving Emily to get the drinks in with Katie.
“Look, Naomi. Need a favour,” he says as soon they’re outside and he’s lit her cigarette for her.
“Another one?” She asks him with a raised eyebrow.
“Eh, did I or did I not get you out the shit with that sauce?”
“I don’t think -”
Cook cuts her off, a bit more forcefully. “Did I get you out the shit with that sauce?”
Naomi rolls her eyes. “Yes,” she replies grudgingly.
“Right then. Give me your keys.”
“What? Why?”
“Oh, me and Katie are heading back and she’s going to paint my nails. Why’d you fucking think?”
“Fuck’s sake. Here. Don’t lose them again.”
Fucking hell, one time that happened, and she’s never let up about it. “Won’t. Promise. Cheers babe,” he kisses her cheek and then bolts back inside to get Katie before she changes her mind.
---
There are only two things that Cook knows of that’ll cure a hangover. A blowjob or hair of the dog - or both even, if it’s a goer. But Katie told him to “get the fuck off babes” when he suggested the former, so he had to trek down the stairs for the latter.
Naomi and Emily haven’t made it up to their room; they’ve collapsed on top of each other, fully clothed (more’s the pity) on the sofa. Cook knows he shouldn’t, but that’s never stopped him in the past, so he jumps on them.
Five minutes later - once Naomi’s stopped swearing at him and Emily’s face has returned to normal after the green shade it had gone - Katie comes in, complaining about the noise, plonking herself down next to him, and flicking the telly on all at the same time. Emily grumbles about whatever it is she's put on, but Naomi shuts her up with a hand on her knee.
He’s not exactly sure why, but it’s a bit strange, good strange, them all sitting there together watching what Cook has now worked out is modelling or something (he’s not sure, but there’s some reasonably fit birds, the sort you wouldn’t kick out of bed, posing for pictures). Katie is really fucking into it, making all sorts of comments about bone structure and angles and shit, Naomi’s mouthing off about sexism, Emily’s pretty quiet, but she’s got a bit of a blush on her and he reckons she’s got a bit of a thing for that leggy blonde one - he can’t blame her much, she’s quite hot, even if she could be going with a bit more up top.
Whatever it is though, this strange thing, it’s doing some magic work on his hangover, which is clearing up nicely. That is, until the front door slams closed, and Cook has to crane his neck round to see who it is.
“Fucking Christ. Don’t you little bastards ever piss off? College is like a fucking sanctuary in comparison to this.”
“Kieran!” Cook calls. “Alright, fella?”
Kieran grunts a response and then looks at them all lined up on the couch. “Aren’t there more of you lot? Tall and skinny, and the weird one, and that quiet one that never wears any fucking clothes.”
It’s the first time anyone’s mentioned either Freddie or Effy in a long time, and Cook braces himself for the feelings that normally go along with that, but they don’t come. Maybe he’s got something here then, something that’s better than what that was ever going to be.
“Nah, Kieran. Just me and my girls here.”
Characters: Cook/Katie, Naomi/Emily
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 1304
Summary: Naomi owes Cook a favour.
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: This is unbeta'd so any mistakes are all mine. Title from Hot Club de Paris 'Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother'
I'm winding this one up here, but don't panic, there's no surpise!death.
“Taste this,” Naomi says, thrusting a spoon in his direction.
Cook knows what’s coming, but he does it anyway. He’s put his body through worse for his mates, and Naomi’s definitely a mate, a right good one as it goes. So he takes the spoon with the sauce that she’s been trying to perfect for the last three days, and forces it down. “Still shit. It’s better, it’s not like, proper shit, but it’s still shit.”
Naomi’s face falls. “Shit,” she sighs.
Cook wonders if he should tell her yet. It has been a couple of days since he’s figured it out, but he’d just let her get on with it. Except, now she looks on the verge of depression, and it’s only some fucking sauce, and Emily said she didn’t care that much, even though clearly Naomi does. Ah, fuck it, he thinks; she looks so down in the dumps he’ll tell her. “I know what you need,” he says.
Naomi glares at him. “Cook, if you say your cock then I’ll pour the rest of that pan over it.”
“Alright then pissy pants, suit yourself. I was gonna tell you what you were doing wrong, but I guess you like to poison the people you have round for tea.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go on then master chef, what?”
He grins at her. “Less oregano.”
“Less…what?”
“You’ve too much oregano, don’t ya? It’s overpowering, innit.”
“Cook, since when did you know how to…cook?” She asks, her hands waving all over the shop.
“Hidden depths, Naomikins. A man of many talents, me,” he winks.
She looks almost impressed, so he’s not going to let on to her that he read the recipe book the other day and it said a teaspoon of oregano, and Naomi had been using a tablespoon. He quite likes that she thinks he came up with that all by himself. “Right, so now I’ve solved your little problem, you owe me one. We’re having a big night. Tonight. Dancing. You bring your woman, I’ll bring mine and we’ll make it a bit of a party, yeah?”
Naomi opens her mouth to say no, of course she does, but all she needs is a gentle nudge in the right direction. “Come on gnomes. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Jesus, must you insist on trying to bed me at every available opportunity? How many times? I have a girlfriend.”
“Keep your hair on love, I was just gonna stand you a drink. Not that I wouldn’t bone you or nothing, but I don’t think that Katie would take too kindly to any extra curricular activities, you get me?”
Naomi huffs in her chair, but he knows she’s beaten. “Fine, I’ll come.”
“Nice one, I’ll meet you there. Gotta go see a man about a dog,” he says, ruffling her hair as he legs it out the door.
---
Cook was fucked up good and proper, and he knew it.
They all were - couldn’t help themselves when he had dangled the baggie under their noses, and it was good shit that he’d got off Keith, really nice, top drawer, A-grade shit, and he was buzzing. He’d been on best behaviour the whole night though, his eyes trained on only one set of boobs at all times (well, there was that girl at the bar, but fair play right, she had a pair of melons stuck to her fucking chest, it wasn’t his fault that, cause he couldn’t not look at them).
He was dancing with Katie, slutting it up right in the middle of the floor. He’d tried to get the lesbians to join in earlier, but he’d found them necking in the corner, so he left them to it, given they were providing a public service an’ all that. It was just him and Katie then, and things were getting naughty, really fucking naughty. Fucking filthy what they’re doing with hands and fingers and mouths and tongues, and Cook’s not sure that he’ll make it to an alley outside the club, let alone back home if she keeps this up.
Katie gives him the look, which is his cue to mime a fag in Naomi’s direction as soon as she comes up for air. When she eventually does, she nods, leaving Emily to get the drinks in with Katie.
“Look, Naomi. Need a favour,” he says as soon they’re outside and he’s lit her cigarette for her.
“Another one?” She asks him with a raised eyebrow.
“Eh, did I or did I not get you out the shit with that sauce?”
“I don’t think -”
Cook cuts her off, a bit more forcefully. “Did I get you out the shit with that sauce?”
Naomi rolls her eyes. “Yes,” she replies grudgingly.
“Right then. Give me your keys.”
“What? Why?”
“Oh, me and Katie are heading back and she’s going to paint my nails. Why’d you fucking think?”
“Fuck’s sake. Here. Don’t lose them again.”
Fucking hell, one time that happened, and she’s never let up about it. “Won’t. Promise. Cheers babe,” he kisses her cheek and then bolts back inside to get Katie before she changes her mind.
---
There are only two things that Cook knows of that’ll cure a hangover. A blowjob or hair of the dog - or both even, if it’s a goer. But Katie told him to “get the fuck off babes” when he suggested the former, so he had to trek down the stairs for the latter.
Naomi and Emily haven’t made it up to their room; they’ve collapsed on top of each other, fully clothed (more’s the pity) on the sofa. Cook knows he shouldn’t, but that’s never stopped him in the past, so he jumps on them.
Five minutes later - once Naomi’s stopped swearing at him and Emily’s face has returned to normal after the green shade it had gone - Katie comes in, complaining about the noise, plonking herself down next to him, and flicking the telly on all at the same time. Emily grumbles about whatever it is she's put on, but Naomi shuts her up with a hand on her knee.
He’s not exactly sure why, but it’s a bit strange, good strange, them all sitting there together watching what Cook has now worked out is modelling or something (he’s not sure, but there’s some reasonably fit birds, the sort you wouldn’t kick out of bed, posing for pictures). Katie is really fucking into it, making all sorts of comments about bone structure and angles and shit, Naomi’s mouthing off about sexism, Emily’s pretty quiet, but she’s got a bit of a blush on her and he reckons she’s got a bit of a thing for that leggy blonde one - he can’t blame her much, she’s quite hot, even if she could be going with a bit more up top.
Whatever it is though, this strange thing, it’s doing some magic work on his hangover, which is clearing up nicely. That is, until the front door slams closed, and Cook has to crane his neck round to see who it is.
“Fucking Christ. Don’t you little bastards ever piss off? College is like a fucking sanctuary in comparison to this.”
“Kieran!” Cook calls. “Alright, fella?”
Kieran grunts a response and then looks at them all lined up on the couch. “Aren’t there more of you lot? Tall and skinny, and the weird one, and that quiet one that never wears any fucking clothes.”
It’s the first time anyone’s mentioned either Freddie or Effy in a long time, and Cook braces himself for the feelings that normally go along with that, but they don’t come. Maybe he’s got something here then, something that’s better than what that was ever going to be.
“Nah, Kieran. Just me and my girls here.”