Remix based on pautami's fic "Haute Cuisine"
Title: Exactly What I Wanted (the just desserts remix)
Rating: PG-13
Group/Pairing: Ryo/Ueda - Kanjani8/KAT-TUN
Warnings: some food/cooking terms
Notes: I really enjoy cooking and food so I jumped at the chance to use this story and turn it into something a little more cooking related. :3 Tons of love for my beta! Thank you so much for your critical eye! <3
Link to Original Story: Haute Cuisine
Link to Original Writer: pautamiwrites
She looked polished and professional in her ivory suit, hair falling in smooth waves over her shoulders, pale pink manicured nails curled around her notebook. She recrossed her legs, making a polite questioning noise, and Ryo realized that she must have asked him another question and was probably expecting an answer.
He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, could you repeat the question?"
She was too contentious to roll her eyes but her exasperation was palpable. "I asked if you are currently seeing someone. Do you have a girlfriend, Nishikido-san?"
He had no idea what that had to do with food. The reporter was supposedly from a food magazine and was interviewing him about the recent success of the restaurant where he had been working as the executive chef for about a year. Ryo would have bet money she didn't expect to have to deal with someone like him for the interview. He knew music and he knew food; he wasn't especially good with people.
Restaurant kitchens were nothing like the real world. People gave each other the hardest possible time, slinging insults and curses as rapidly as food. But they fought like family - you could give everyone shit because you knew for a fact that they respected you more for it and you'd give as good as you'd got. Working his way up through the ranks had earned him an impressive host of skills and a good-natured foul mouth.
But in real life Ryo couldn't just tell this reporter to cut the bull and quit wasting his time. (Didn't she know he had a mountain of prep to oversee not to mention inventory and veal stock to check on?) He really wished this was a duty he could delegate to his well-spoken maitre d'. Kamenashi could talk about the restaurant and his 'vision' and culinary point of view and all of that stuff much more eloquently than he could. But the owner and magazine insisted, they claimed he was genuine. Ryo thought that sounded like a cop out. Especially since the reporter had been trying to get him to pose for the accompanying pictures without a shirt on under his chef coat. (It was a shame that the bartender Taguchi's shift didn't start for hours as the man was known to disrobe with absolutely no hesitation and little to no provocation.)
Words always seemed to betray him when he needed them most. He had always preferred to connect with people through other mediums. Breakfast on Mother's Day, a birthday cake for his little sister, a bento left anonymously in the shoe box of a high school crush - these were ways he could express his feelings without messing anything up.
Besides which, who had time for girlfriends? Professional chefs had notoriously bad track records when it came to long-term relationships. The hours were long and rather skewed from the rest of the world. Ryo's days typically started around noon and ended well past midnight. Most of his close friends were also in the business and kept similar hours; after work they would meet up at one of their favorite bars or all-night restaurants. His one day off a week was typically spent catching up on sleep and video games or TV. Not to mention research and menu planning. He certainly knew from experience that no sane person would put up with the lack of time and attention,
He wasn't exactly a monk; he had tried the normal dating thing and had dated other chefs with varying degrees of success. (Thank god he and Kato weren't working at the same place any more - when they weren't biting each others' heads off on the line they were fucking like bunnies in dry storage. He still wasn't exactly sure how they had survived that courtship.) It was just that he had taken his first executive chef position only a year ago and his work had consumed all of his time, attention, and passion recently.
Ryo's restaurant was a small but classy bistro. They specialized in classic French food but he often wandering into Italian and modern American flavors as well. The owner was a quiet but cheerful guy who was happy to let Ryo have a mostly free hand over the menu, as long as he was reasonable about ingredients and the customers kept coming. They had a solid kitchen crew partially staffed with friends of Ryo's from previous jobs and their front of house staff, headed by the preternaturally charming Kamenashi, wasn't too annoying as far as servers went. The two teams interacted with a pleasant kind of friction spiked with snappy repartee that made the days more interesting. Prolonged exposure to Kame had certainly improved the kitchen's collective vocabulary. Baru, who used to call everyone 'dickface' indiscriminately, was now much more likely to throw around things like 'useless miscreant' or in one memorable incident 'baculum facade', which sent half the staff scrambling for Google.
They had been steadily busier the last few months but Ryo had a soft spot in his heart for their regulars, the people who had taken a chance and patronized them before they started winning awards and garnering write-ups in magazines. They had an open kitchen which in some places could be disastrous but gave Ryo the chance to catch glimpses of their customer and sometime interact with people when he felt like it.
He had some favorites - there was a brood of little old ladies who had been meeting at their place for dinner once a week since the first week they opened. Ryo was continually updated with their family gossip, made to look at photos of grandchildren (he would never admit just how much he actually enjoyed cooing over the baby pictures), and occasionally presented with fresh produce from home gardens which he would always try to incorporate into their meal. There was a pediatrician, Koyama-san, who would stop in as often as he could when he had evening office hours. When Ryo got a chance to chat with him somehow Koyama ended up listening to his stories, effortlessly pulling tales out of Ryo with his infectious grin. And then there was Ueda.
He could count on one hand the number of times he had actually talked directly to Ueda. He came in often but irregularly. Ryo didn't know exactly what he did but it seemed to involve similar hours. He usually came in near the beginning of dinner service before he went off to work and much more rarely, right before closing. He was clearly friends with Kame, they bantered like old buddies on topics ranging from politics to music to sports (Kame was a not so secret baseball nut and Ueda an amateur boxer).
Ryo could never quite resist weighing in on their discussions but he usually relayed his opinions through Kame in a blatant attempt to disguise his interest in their conversations. Kame rolled his eyes but always played along. Ueda seemed delighted to argue with Ryo by proxy, cheerfully disagreeing with Ryo on nearly every subject.
There was no doubt that the physical attraction was there. Ryo was taken aback, the first few times he saw the man exactly how beautiful he found him. He was a conundrum, a lovely face framed by tousled caramel hair, dark eyes and a sparkling grin that was undeniably pretty. With an impressively muscled frame, husky voice, and a low chuckle that couldn't be anything but masculine. Ryo often found himself wondering what it would be like to spar with him. Or kiss him. Sometimes both at the same time. His preoccupation with the guy is a little odd even to him. They barely interacted but Ryo felt like he knew Ueda. He always falls a tiny bit in love with his regular customers but Ueda was an extreme case.
A few weeks back, he actually dropped his knife when Ueda turned up sporting very short, very dark locks. The hair (or lack thereof) threw the sharp lines of his cheekbones in to relief and highlighted the sensual curve of his smile. The week after the hair incident, as he called it in the privacy of his own head, Ryo could barely keep his hands out of his pants. Laying in the dark, panting and sticky in the aftermath and still thinking about Ueda's mouth, he had to admit that he might have a bit of a problem. He went with his gut instinct of ignoring the hell out of it and hoping it went away.
It didn't help that Ueda was Ryo's favorite kind of customer, the kind who appreciated skill and flavor and is willing to let the chef give him something worth eating. His usual order was 'Whatever the chef recommends,' claiming that the only area of life in which Ryo was remotely competent was cooking. Ryo recalls countless dishes, each one a carefully composed message, all the things he couldn't manage to put into words put on a plate instead.
A spin in Chicken Cordon Bleu with a delicate citrus sauce that matched the gentle warmth in the early spring air, Your smile makes me think of spring sunshine and cherry blossoms and new beginnings. A simple and hearty Coq Au Vin, You are looking tired and a little worn around the edges lately. Is work busy? Take better care of yourself, idiot. Negimaki that weren't even close to being on that day's menu, made simply because Ueda was complaining about not being able to find a place that was willing to do them the traditional way: simple and straightforward, I appreciate that you believe there are some things that should be done the way they always have been. A hearty pasta with a light sauce of feta and sun dried tomatoes, I like the way you light up when someone puts a dish of pasta in front of you. And I like watching you eat it, like a cute kid doing his best grownup impression.
The reporter and her photographer cleared out. She gracefully pretended not to notice Ryo's preoccupation. He hoped she thought it has something to do with food. Which it did. Mostly. He shook his head and got back to work.
Before he knew it, it was a Tuesday, the only day the restaurant was closed and everyone got a day off. Ryo had stopped in for a few hours in the afternoon to put the finishing touches on their special anniversary menu for next week. The keys jingled as he locked up, idly wondering what he should do with his evening and regretting not throwing together a snack in the restaurant. His stomach was grumbling and he couldn't remember what he had at home.
"Nishikido."
A familiar voice startled him out of his thoughts. Ueda stood in the afternoon sun, blinking like he was having a hard time reconciling Ryo with the world outside the restaurant. Ryo could empathize. Standing there in his jeans and sneakers, no knives, no chef's coat, no convenient kitchen to hide it, he was woefully unprepared for this encounter.
"Uh, hi. Ueda. What are you doing here?" His tone was the perfect balance of discomfort and mild accusation. Great.
Ueda gave him a sort of half-shrug. "It's on my way home from work?"
"What do you do anyway?"
"I'm a DJ. I do a few nights a week at a club and I have a late-night radio show."
Well that explained the hours. And his taste in music. Ryo thought about asking for the details of his radio show and quickly vetoed that as he realized that listening to Ueda's voice late at night was no way to help relieve his infatuation.
He realized he must have been spacing out a little when Ueda's soft chuckle startled him. "Hungry, Nishikido? Isn't that kind of like a cobbler going shoeless?"
A sudden flush heated his cheeks. "I was going to eat!"
"Know any decent places around here? My favorite restaurant is closed." It took Ryo a couple of seconds and a gently wry smile from Ueda for him to get it.
"Oh. Um. Thanks." And then he suffered from a bout of temporary insanity. Later he would blame it on hunger pangs. "I was going home to throw something together. Want to come?"
Ueda's eyebrows shot up into his (still short, still unbelievably sexy) hairline. Ryo was a breath away from telling him not to worry about it when his mouth curved into one of those big, sparkling smiles. "Lead on, Nishikido."
Ryo had never been so nervous in his own kitchen. Ueda was parked at one of the high stools at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. Normally Ryo loved being able to talk to his guests while he cooked but normally he was much more sure of what was going on. Was Ueda trying to be friends? Or... no. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. If he started thinking about that he might cut off a finger or something.
Ueda carried the conversation while Ryo took stock of his pantry, telling a series of amusing anecdotes about some of this co-workers at the club. He found himself relaxing into the sound of the other man's voice and chuckling at the stories, immediately more at ease when he decided what to cook. He had a ribeye and some fresh arugula. He could do a quick marinade and put together a nice Tagliata. It was simple and delicious and he could make it in his sleep: 0% chance of fucking up.
He let himself go into chef autopilot, managing to talk to Ueda just fine as long as his hands were moving. Before he knew it he had shaved the last bit of parmesan and garnished with a quick squeeze of lemon. They dug in and focused on the food. Ryo was pleased that like him, Ueda seemed to prefer to focus on eating and pick up the conversation later. Of course it didn't keep him from risking a few sidewards glances, trying to determine what Ueda thought of the dish.
The other man took pity on him after just a few bites. "I really don't get how you can make like five ingredients taste so amazing."
"It's more like eight if you count seasoning and oil." He could feel the stupid grin on his face and was absolutely helpless to prevent it.
"What do I have to do to get food like this all the time?"
What he should have said was 'Keep coming to my restaurant.' What actually came out of his mouth was, 'I'll teach you if you want.'
Ueda gave him a speculative stare. Ryo stared back and tried his damnedest to appear casual and not fidget. "I like it better when you cook for me."
Then Ueda kissed him. One startled wide-eyed second ticked past before Ryo registered that it was actually happening - and then everything was a sudden rush of plush lips, strong hands on his shoulders, and soft, breathy moans. The first kiss melted into another and things got considerably hotter, shifting from a simmer to a rolling boil as Ueda walked them back toward the sofa, neither of them bothering to let go of each other.
A while later Ryo gathered up enough of his wits to reply. "You're going to have to learn a few things at least. I'm not cooking breakfast every time."
The force of Ueda's laughter dislodged Ryo from his comfortable sprawl over his chest. Ueda pushed himself up on an elbow caught halfway between a glare and a smitten smile. "What are you talking about breakfast for? We haven't even finished dessert."
Ryo conceded that Ueda might have had a valid argument and let Ueda pull him back into his arms. He was right, breakfast could wait.
Rating: PG-13
Group/Pairing: Ryo/Ueda - Kanjani8/KAT-TUN
Warnings: some food/cooking terms
Notes: I really enjoy cooking and food so I jumped at the chance to use this story and turn it into something a little more cooking related. :3 Tons of love for my beta! Thank you so much for your critical eye! <3
Link to Original Story: Haute Cuisine
Link to Original Writer: pautamiwrites
She looked polished and professional in her ivory suit, hair falling in smooth waves over her shoulders, pale pink manicured nails curled around her notebook. She recrossed her legs, making a polite questioning noise, and Ryo realized that she must have asked him another question and was probably expecting an answer.
He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, could you repeat the question?"
She was too contentious to roll her eyes but her exasperation was palpable. "I asked if you are currently seeing someone. Do you have a girlfriend, Nishikido-san?"
He had no idea what that had to do with food. The reporter was supposedly from a food magazine and was interviewing him about the recent success of the restaurant where he had been working as the executive chef for about a year. Ryo would have bet money she didn't expect to have to deal with someone like him for the interview. He knew music and he knew food; he wasn't especially good with people.
Restaurant kitchens were nothing like the real world. People gave each other the hardest possible time, slinging insults and curses as rapidly as food. But they fought like family - you could give everyone shit because you knew for a fact that they respected you more for it and you'd give as good as you'd got. Working his way up through the ranks had earned him an impressive host of skills and a good-natured foul mouth.
But in real life Ryo couldn't just tell this reporter to cut the bull and quit wasting his time. (Didn't she know he had a mountain of prep to oversee not to mention inventory and veal stock to check on?) He really wished this was a duty he could delegate to his well-spoken maitre d'. Kamenashi could talk about the restaurant and his 'vision' and culinary point of view and all of that stuff much more eloquently than he could. But the owner and magazine insisted, they claimed he was genuine. Ryo thought that sounded like a cop out. Especially since the reporter had been trying to get him to pose for the accompanying pictures without a shirt on under his chef coat. (It was a shame that the bartender Taguchi's shift didn't start for hours as the man was known to disrobe with absolutely no hesitation and little to no provocation.)
Words always seemed to betray him when he needed them most. He had always preferred to connect with people through other mediums. Breakfast on Mother's Day, a birthday cake for his little sister, a bento left anonymously in the shoe box of a high school crush - these were ways he could express his feelings without messing anything up.
Besides which, who had time for girlfriends? Professional chefs had notoriously bad track records when it came to long-term relationships. The hours were long and rather skewed from the rest of the world. Ryo's days typically started around noon and ended well past midnight. Most of his close friends were also in the business and kept similar hours; after work they would meet up at one of their favorite bars or all-night restaurants. His one day off a week was typically spent catching up on sleep and video games or TV. Not to mention research and menu planning. He certainly knew from experience that no sane person would put up with the lack of time and attention,
He wasn't exactly a monk; he had tried the normal dating thing and had dated other chefs with varying degrees of success. (Thank god he and Kato weren't working at the same place any more - when they weren't biting each others' heads off on the line they were fucking like bunnies in dry storage. He still wasn't exactly sure how they had survived that courtship.) It was just that he had taken his first executive chef position only a year ago and his work had consumed all of his time, attention, and passion recently.
Ryo's restaurant was a small but classy bistro. They specialized in classic French food but he often wandering into Italian and modern American flavors as well. The owner was a quiet but cheerful guy who was happy to let Ryo have a mostly free hand over the menu, as long as he was reasonable about ingredients and the customers kept coming. They had a solid kitchen crew partially staffed with friends of Ryo's from previous jobs and their front of house staff, headed by the preternaturally charming Kamenashi, wasn't too annoying as far as servers went. The two teams interacted with a pleasant kind of friction spiked with snappy repartee that made the days more interesting. Prolonged exposure to Kame had certainly improved the kitchen's collective vocabulary. Baru, who used to call everyone 'dickface' indiscriminately, was now much more likely to throw around things like 'useless miscreant' or in one memorable incident 'baculum facade', which sent half the staff scrambling for Google.
They had been steadily busier the last few months but Ryo had a soft spot in his heart for their regulars, the people who had taken a chance and patronized them before they started winning awards and garnering write-ups in magazines. They had an open kitchen which in some places could be disastrous but gave Ryo the chance to catch glimpses of their customer and sometime interact with people when he felt like it.
He had some favorites - there was a brood of little old ladies who had been meeting at their place for dinner once a week since the first week they opened. Ryo was continually updated with their family gossip, made to look at photos of grandchildren (he would never admit just how much he actually enjoyed cooing over the baby pictures), and occasionally presented with fresh produce from home gardens which he would always try to incorporate into their meal. There was a pediatrician, Koyama-san, who would stop in as often as he could when he had evening office hours. When Ryo got a chance to chat with him somehow Koyama ended up listening to his stories, effortlessly pulling tales out of Ryo with his infectious grin. And then there was Ueda.
He could count on one hand the number of times he had actually talked directly to Ueda. He came in often but irregularly. Ryo didn't know exactly what he did but it seemed to involve similar hours. He usually came in near the beginning of dinner service before he went off to work and much more rarely, right before closing. He was clearly friends with Kame, they bantered like old buddies on topics ranging from politics to music to sports (Kame was a not so secret baseball nut and Ueda an amateur boxer).
Ryo could never quite resist weighing in on their discussions but he usually relayed his opinions through Kame in a blatant attempt to disguise his interest in their conversations. Kame rolled his eyes but always played along. Ueda seemed delighted to argue with Ryo by proxy, cheerfully disagreeing with Ryo on nearly every subject.
There was no doubt that the physical attraction was there. Ryo was taken aback, the first few times he saw the man exactly how beautiful he found him. He was a conundrum, a lovely face framed by tousled caramel hair, dark eyes and a sparkling grin that was undeniably pretty. With an impressively muscled frame, husky voice, and a low chuckle that couldn't be anything but masculine. Ryo often found himself wondering what it would be like to spar with him. Or kiss him. Sometimes both at the same time. His preoccupation with the guy is a little odd even to him. They barely interacted but Ryo felt like he knew Ueda. He always falls a tiny bit in love with his regular customers but Ueda was an extreme case.
A few weeks back, he actually dropped his knife when Ueda turned up sporting very short, very dark locks. The hair (or lack thereof) threw the sharp lines of his cheekbones in to relief and highlighted the sensual curve of his smile. The week after the hair incident, as he called it in the privacy of his own head, Ryo could barely keep his hands out of his pants. Laying in the dark, panting and sticky in the aftermath and still thinking about Ueda's mouth, he had to admit that he might have a bit of a problem. He went with his gut instinct of ignoring the hell out of it and hoping it went away.
It didn't help that Ueda was Ryo's favorite kind of customer, the kind who appreciated skill and flavor and is willing to let the chef give him something worth eating. His usual order was 'Whatever the chef recommends,' claiming that the only area of life in which Ryo was remotely competent was cooking. Ryo recalls countless dishes, each one a carefully composed message, all the things he couldn't manage to put into words put on a plate instead.
A spin in Chicken Cordon Bleu with a delicate citrus sauce that matched the gentle warmth in the early spring air, Your smile makes me think of spring sunshine and cherry blossoms and new beginnings. A simple and hearty Coq Au Vin, You are looking tired and a little worn around the edges lately. Is work busy? Take better care of yourself, idiot. Negimaki that weren't even close to being on that day's menu, made simply because Ueda was complaining about not being able to find a place that was willing to do them the traditional way: simple and straightforward, I appreciate that you believe there are some things that should be done the way they always have been. A hearty pasta with a light sauce of feta and sun dried tomatoes, I like the way you light up when someone puts a dish of pasta in front of you. And I like watching you eat it, like a cute kid doing his best grownup impression.
The reporter and her photographer cleared out. She gracefully pretended not to notice Ryo's preoccupation. He hoped she thought it has something to do with food. Which it did. Mostly. He shook his head and got back to work.
Before he knew it, it was a Tuesday, the only day the restaurant was closed and everyone got a day off. Ryo had stopped in for a few hours in the afternoon to put the finishing touches on their special anniversary menu for next week. The keys jingled as he locked up, idly wondering what he should do with his evening and regretting not throwing together a snack in the restaurant. His stomach was grumbling and he couldn't remember what he had at home.
"Nishikido."
A familiar voice startled him out of his thoughts. Ueda stood in the afternoon sun, blinking like he was having a hard time reconciling Ryo with the world outside the restaurant. Ryo could empathize. Standing there in his jeans and sneakers, no knives, no chef's coat, no convenient kitchen to hide it, he was woefully unprepared for this encounter.
"Uh, hi. Ueda. What are you doing here?" His tone was the perfect balance of discomfort and mild accusation. Great.
Ueda gave him a sort of half-shrug. "It's on my way home from work?"
"What do you do anyway?"
"I'm a DJ. I do a few nights a week at a club and I have a late-night radio show."
Well that explained the hours. And his taste in music. Ryo thought about asking for the details of his radio show and quickly vetoed that as he realized that listening to Ueda's voice late at night was no way to help relieve his infatuation.
He realized he must have been spacing out a little when Ueda's soft chuckle startled him. "Hungry, Nishikido? Isn't that kind of like a cobbler going shoeless?"
A sudden flush heated his cheeks. "I was going to eat!"
"Know any decent places around here? My favorite restaurant is closed." It took Ryo a couple of seconds and a gently wry smile from Ueda for him to get it.
"Oh. Um. Thanks." And then he suffered from a bout of temporary insanity. Later he would blame it on hunger pangs. "I was going home to throw something together. Want to come?"
Ueda's eyebrows shot up into his (still short, still unbelievably sexy) hairline. Ryo was a breath away from telling him not to worry about it when his mouth curved into one of those big, sparkling smiles. "Lead on, Nishikido."
Ryo had never been so nervous in his own kitchen. Ueda was parked at one of the high stools at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. Normally Ryo loved being able to talk to his guests while he cooked but normally he was much more sure of what was going on. Was Ueda trying to be friends? Or... no. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. If he started thinking about that he might cut off a finger or something.
Ueda carried the conversation while Ryo took stock of his pantry, telling a series of amusing anecdotes about some of this co-workers at the club. He found himself relaxing into the sound of the other man's voice and chuckling at the stories, immediately more at ease when he decided what to cook. He had a ribeye and some fresh arugula. He could do a quick marinade and put together a nice Tagliata. It was simple and delicious and he could make it in his sleep: 0% chance of fucking up.
He let himself go into chef autopilot, managing to talk to Ueda just fine as long as his hands were moving. Before he knew it he had shaved the last bit of parmesan and garnished with a quick squeeze of lemon. They dug in and focused on the food. Ryo was pleased that like him, Ueda seemed to prefer to focus on eating and pick up the conversation later. Of course it didn't keep him from risking a few sidewards glances, trying to determine what Ueda thought of the dish.
The other man took pity on him after just a few bites. "I really don't get how you can make like five ingredients taste so amazing."
"It's more like eight if you count seasoning and oil." He could feel the stupid grin on his face and was absolutely helpless to prevent it.
"What do I have to do to get food like this all the time?"
What he should have said was 'Keep coming to my restaurant.' What actually came out of his mouth was, 'I'll teach you if you want.'
Ueda gave him a speculative stare. Ryo stared back and tried his damnedest to appear casual and not fidget. "I like it better when you cook for me."
Then Ueda kissed him. One startled wide-eyed second ticked past before Ryo registered that it was actually happening - and then everything was a sudden rush of plush lips, strong hands on his shoulders, and soft, breathy moans. The first kiss melted into another and things got considerably hotter, shifting from a simmer to a rolling boil as Ueda walked them back toward the sofa, neither of them bothering to let go of each other.
A while later Ryo gathered up enough of his wits to reply. "You're going to have to learn a few things at least. I'm not cooking breakfast every time."
The force of Ueda's laughter dislodged Ryo from his comfortable sprawl over his chest. Ueda pushed himself up on an elbow caught halfway between a glare and a smitten smile. "What are you talking about breakfast for? We haven't even finished dessert."
Ryo conceded that Ueda might have had a valid argument and let Ueda pull him back into his arms. He was right, breakfast could wait.