(no subject)
Fic #16: Mishaps
Request: Fast Falls the Eventide, Neil/Rowan, prompt: adorableness involving hot chocolate
Requested by: trikachan
Length: 781
Rated: R
Notes: I… have nothing to say about this fic. Other than that I like it. Yeah.
The weathermen had been predicting a heavy snowfall for several days, and like most stolid New Englanders, Neil and his mother ignored it. They had a snowblower. What else could they possibly need? So when Neil found himself snowed into his house, it was with some chagrin. His mother had called from work to say that the roads were awful, but the snow was supposed to stop within the next couple hours, so she was going to work late and come home once the roads were clear.
Rowan happened to be over for a tutoring session, something that Neil now did for free since they only managed to spend about a quarter of the time spent together actually studying. Neil didn’t mind doing it for free, because he basically didn’t mind doing anything if it was with Rowan.
“Mom’s gonna work late,” he said, hanging up the phone. He looked out the window at the snow that was piling up. “And you’d better call your parents, because there’s no way I’m driving you home in this stuff.”
“Okay,” Rowan said. He accepted the phone but didn’t dial yet. “I guess that’s one advantage to you guys having moved across town,” he said.
Neil let out a snort. “Yeah. What do you want to do for food? We’ve got some frozen pizzas.”
“That sounds fine.” Rowan dialed his parents’ house. “Hi, Dad. I’m going to stay over at Neil’s, okay? He doesn’t want to drive in the snow . . . no, we don’t want you to drive in the snow, either . . . Dad, I know you’re just giving me a hard time.” Rowan snickered. “Okay. I will, I promise. See you tomorrow.”
He hung up the phone and turned to Neil. “Dad says you have to return me with my virtue intact.”
Neil let out a snort. “Boy, has that particular ship sailed and then some.”
“Oh, Dad knows that,” Rowan said. “He just likes to be a jerk.” He slid his arm through Neil’s. “Can we make cocoa?”
“Sure,” Neil said. “Cocoa sounds good.”
They went into the kitchen. Rowan rooted around in the pantry and came out with a box of Swiss Miss.
“Nah, not that shit,” Neil said. “We’ll have real cocoa, made the old-fashioned way,” he added, getting out the milk and a pot. “Have you ever had it made on the stove?”
“Uhm, no,” Rowan said, putting the Swiss Miss away. “I wasn’t encouraged to do a lot of cooking on my own, you know. I mean, after trying to kill myself by sticking my head in a stove that wasn’t even a gas stove, I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen very much. Plus I burned myself a few times.”
“On purpose?” Neil asked, glancing at him as he turned the stove on. After a moment, he turned it up to high so the burner would heat up.
“Maybe.”
“Where?”
Rowan shrugged. “My arms, usually.”
“Bah.” Neil was not impressed with this statement. He reached out and grabbed Rowan by the arm, pushing the sleeve of his sweater up so he could examine the skin underneath.
Rowan let out a little laugh. “You can’t look back through time and see what I did, you know,” he said. “None of them scarred. I’m not stupid, you know. Not when it came to hurting myself.”
“Well, this poses a problem,” Neil said. “How can I kiss it and make it better if it’s already better?”
“That’s quite a problem,” Rowan agreed solemnly.
“I guess I’ll just have to kiss all of it to make sure that I got it,” Neil said, and began showering Rowan’s arm in quick, light kisses. Rowan laughed again, but submitted willingly to this treatment. He didn’t even object when Neil slid his hands underneath the sweater and pulled it over his head to reveal the T-shirt underneath. “How about here, any up here?” Neil asked, pushing the shoulder of the T-shirt down so he could press kisses against Rowan’s neck and collarbone.
“Uh . . . not sure . . .” Rowan said, his voice out of breath. “You’d better . . . to be sure . . .”
There was a sudden frothing, hissing noise as the milk boiled over.
“Shit!” Neil said, letting Rowan go and lifting it off the burner. He turned off the burner and then glared at the pot as if it had personally wronged him. A great quantity of the milk had spilled over, and was merrily cooking in the area underneath the burner, creating a horrible smell.
Rowan snickered.
Neil glared at him.
Rowan smiled back.
“Shut up and get me the Swiss Miss.”