Mornings [3/3]
anonymous
February 8 2010, 11:06:35 UTC
There’s a tense pause before Turkey remembers and looks for the crudely bottled ingredient in the refrigerator. Greece sighs and adds this and the cup of red wine to an already heated saucepan on the stove. While waiting for the mixture to reduce in half, he moves about washing dishes.
Turkey returns to the table and slumps on the chair, lazily dragging the open bottle of wine to a readable distance.
“…is this one of Spain’s?”
“A Christmas gift last year.”
“Hn…”
Greece gently adds the honey and the Balsamic vinegar, taking care not to stir the mixture too much before dousing the cornstarch with a little cold water in a separate container and mixing it briskly. He spots Turkey falling asleep.
“Get dressed you,” he says. “They’ll be here any minute.”
“…pray tell, why I would need to get dressed? It’s only them.”
Greece thinks. Sure, France won’t mind. “Lovino will freak, Feliciano will get pissed at you and Antonio will hand you your ass.”
Turkey glares at him, the intensity partly ruined by the fact his face is half hidden by a tanned muscular arm. “Then why don’t you get dressed?”
“I don’t trust you to cook this sauce right.”
There’s a moment of quiet as Greece stirs the red wine gravy to a smooth consistency and Turkey plans his next move. Slowly, he slides off the dining chair and wraps his arms around Greece’s waist. The other man starts and the sudden heat and contact but keeps his grip on the saucepan firm.
“What are you planning?” Greece mumbles and watches Turkey resting his chin on his shoulder from his peripheral vision.
“Nothing,” was the innocent reply and Greece remains unconvinced. His breath hitches and his hands momentarily stop stirring as he feels Turkey’s lips latch onto his neck.
“You insatiable bastard-“ he begins.
“Come on…” Turkey says, low and inviting. “Your sauce is done and the lamb won’t be finished till fifteen minutes. We’ve got time for a quick one.”
Greece barely manages to turn the stove off before he’s bodily dragged into the bathroom.
“Fifteen minutes is relative!” he yells in protest.
“You left the door open, right?” Turkey calmly replies. “When they arrive, let them turn the oven off.”
“…that’s not my point-hnng!”
END - - - - …I hope it is to OP’s liking. :’D /hides
Re: Mornings [3/3]
anonymous
February 8 2010, 14:39:11 UTC
Ah, this is amazing! I love their relationship in this, fighting all the time but still getting along very well. And the idea of them all meeting together is really cute. <3
Re: Mornings [3/3]
anonymous
February 10 2010, 22:46:46 UTC
awww this is so sweet! It sounds very domestic and I love how you put the parts of the recipe in the fic! And all the cooking details ~ very nice! I can smell the lovely kitchen smells ahhhhhhh I love kumin bread! So nice to see Turkey/Greece not fighting and yet so in character
Turkey returns to the table and slumps on the chair, lazily dragging the open bottle of wine to a readable distance.
“…is this one of Spain’s?”
“A Christmas gift last year.”
“Hn…”
Greece gently adds the honey and the Balsamic vinegar, taking care not to stir the mixture too much before dousing the cornstarch with a little cold water in a separate container and mixing it briskly. He spots Turkey falling asleep.
“Get dressed you,” he says. “They’ll be here any minute.”
“…pray tell, why I would need to get dressed? It’s only them.”
Greece thinks. Sure, France won’t mind. “Lovino will freak, Feliciano will get pissed at you and Antonio will hand you your ass.”
Turkey glares at him, the intensity partly ruined by the fact his face is half hidden by a tanned muscular arm. “Then why don’t you get dressed?”
“I don’t trust you to cook this sauce right.”
There’s a moment of quiet as Greece stirs the red wine gravy to a smooth consistency and Turkey plans his next move. Slowly, he slides off the dining chair and wraps his arms around Greece’s waist. The other man starts and the sudden heat and contact but keeps his grip on the saucepan firm.
“What are you planning?” Greece mumbles and watches Turkey resting his chin on his shoulder from his peripheral vision.
“Nothing,” was the innocent reply and Greece remains unconvinced. His breath hitches and his hands momentarily stop stirring as he feels Turkey’s lips latch onto his neck.
“You insatiable bastard-“ he begins.
“Come on…” Turkey says, low and inviting. “Your sauce is done and the lamb won’t be finished till fifteen minutes. We’ve got time for a quick one.”
Greece barely manages to turn the stove off before he’s bodily dragged into the bathroom.
“Fifteen minutes is relative!” he yells in protest.
“You left the door open, right?” Turkey calmly replies. “When they arrive, let them turn the oven off.”
“…that’s not my point-hnng!”
END
- - - -
…I hope it is to OP’s liking. :’D /hides
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Thank you for writing this!
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It sounds very domestic and I love how you put the parts of the recipe in the fic! And all the cooking details ~ very nice!
I can smell the lovely kitchen smells ahhhhhhh
I love kumin bread!
So nice to see Turkey/Greece not fighting and yet so in character
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