Emo Brick Spaghetti
Title: Emo Brick Spaghetti
Author: Witblogi
Pairings: BENJI AND JAMES Y'ALL
Rating: PG
Warnings: language
Summary: Benji's lap is scalded, and James tries to cook...
Notes: For
introject because It's UR BIRFFDAY ( tomorrow.. on the 23rd whatever) You wanted Emo Brick Spaghetti...and I said 'okay' like a sucker. for some reason this one is like 10x more failtastic than all the other ones I've written for you (and this year you'll get that stupid long christmas fic if it kills me)
Benji slowly mounted the cracked concrete steps of his apartment building. Not even the rustic red brick façade of the historical site could cheer him on this day of days. He slid into the cool lobby, jerking his shoulder at the doorman in greeting as he palmed his keys and gave a low sigh to himself while punching the elevator’s UP button.
This was not how he’d planned the day to go at all. He’d gotten up excited, ready to face a new year with or without his snoring roommate. It was when he’d gotten out side that things had started to spiral downward. He was still reminiscing about the disastrous subway trip that had him spilling scalding coffee all over himself and a dozen other passengers, when he finally got to the door of apartment C16.
He braced his forehead against the grungy green paint and took a deep breath. No matter how bad things got, James usually made them worse, Benji prepared for war. He slid the key into the annoyingly loose lock and swung the door in.
The image he was not prepared to face, however, was James swearing and sucking on a finger while tending pots on the stove.
“ Are you cooking?” The door slammed closed.
“ No, I’m training for the Russian culinary ballet- of course I’m cooking. Got so fucking tried of take out,” James absently scratched his head and stirred what looked to be marinara sauce.
“ What…is it?” Benji poked at the other pot, dodging James’ spoon whack and feeling immense amusement well up in his chest. Just that simple grandmotherly action, so out of character for the aloof and offensive man, cracked Benji’s bad day into something resembling lopsided humor.
“ Spaghetti, now get the fuck out of the kitchen, fucking emo,” James muttered running a hand through his hair in a clear indication that a stress cigarette was imminent.
“ Remember to open the window if you smoke…” Benji ducked into his room, avoiding a thrown potholder and chuckling darkly to himself.
He emerged later, rippling groans from his abdomen signaling that even James’ failing attempts at cooking were better than no food for the night. James was reading at the table when Benji surfaced, his plate already cleared and pushed away, extras left on the stove for later clean up.
Benji poked about a bit finding the fruits of James’ labours at least edible and attacked his pasta with gusto.
“ So how was the birthday?” Benji froze half way through a bite and stared at James with awe.
“ You remembered my birthday?” he choked out through half a mouthful, forcing himself to swallow. James glanced up once.
“ You were bouncing around all week, I looked at your diary while I swiped fifty bucks from your purse.”
“ It’s not a pur-“ Benji pushed a frustrated breath out through his nose, “ It’s not a purse, and that ‘diary’ is an agenda so I don’t forget anything. And you’re welcome for the fifty. I expect you’ll be paying me back considering you’re the one with the trust fund and I’m the one working at Burger McFlipsters.” James grunted and flipped the page. Benji looked at him for a moment and then put his plate down completely.
“ To be honest you were the only one who remembered.” Benji crossed his arms trying to forget the persistent conversation he’d had with his mother just that morning which was no different from any of the others he’d had with her every Saturday for the last two years.
James closed his book.
“ Don’t get any ideas that I care at all. I only asked because usually if provoked into conversation at least once a day your moody menstrual symptoms lessen dramatically.” James slid out of his seat to get some sort of amber coloured alcoholic beverage from his private stash while Benji pointedly rolled his eyes.
“ How many times have you called me a girl in this conversation?” James shook his head.
“ It’d be easier to count how many times I didn’t call you a girl.” He took a sip and blinked at Benji who toyed with is fork.
“ Thank you for remembering anyway,” He frowned, not quite knowing what emotion was churning uneasily in his stomach or if that was just the results of bloated noodles and cold marinara.
“ I didn’t remember.” James sat back down again and picked up his book with an air of finality. Benji bit his lip and looked at James for a moment.
He picked up his plate and headed for his room, glancing over his shoulder he shrugged,“ Thanks anyway.”
-I don't know what the Russian culinary ballet is....don't ask-
Author: Witblogi
Pairings: BENJI AND JAMES Y'ALL
Rating: PG
Warnings: language
Summary: Benji's lap is scalded, and James tries to cook...
Notes: For
introject because It's UR BIRFFDAY ( tomorrow.. on the 23rd whatever) You wanted Emo Brick Spaghetti...and I said 'okay' like a sucker. for some reason this one is like 10x more failtastic than all the other ones I've written for you (and this year you'll get that stupid long christmas fic if it kills me)
Benji slowly mounted the cracked concrete steps of his apartment building. Not even the rustic red brick façade of the historical site could cheer him on this day of days. He slid into the cool lobby, jerking his shoulder at the doorman in greeting as he palmed his keys and gave a low sigh to himself while punching the elevator’s UP button.
This was not how he’d planned the day to go at all. He’d gotten up excited, ready to face a new year with or without his snoring roommate. It was when he’d gotten out side that things had started to spiral downward. He was still reminiscing about the disastrous subway trip that had him spilling scalding coffee all over himself and a dozen other passengers, when he finally got to the door of apartment C16.
He braced his forehead against the grungy green paint and took a deep breath. No matter how bad things got, James usually made them worse, Benji prepared for war. He slid the key into the annoyingly loose lock and swung the door in.
The image he was not prepared to face, however, was James swearing and sucking on a finger while tending pots on the stove.
“ Are you cooking?” The door slammed closed.
“ No, I’m training for the Russian culinary ballet- of course I’m cooking. Got so fucking tried of take out,” James absently scratched his head and stirred what looked to be marinara sauce.
“ What…is it?” Benji poked at the other pot, dodging James’ spoon whack and feeling immense amusement well up in his chest. Just that simple grandmotherly action, so out of character for the aloof and offensive man, cracked Benji’s bad day into something resembling lopsided humor.
“ Spaghetti, now get the fuck out of the kitchen, fucking emo,” James muttered running a hand through his hair in a clear indication that a stress cigarette was imminent.
“ Remember to open the window if you smoke…” Benji ducked into his room, avoiding a thrown potholder and chuckling darkly to himself.
He emerged later, rippling groans from his abdomen signaling that even James’ failing attempts at cooking were better than no food for the night. James was reading at the table when Benji surfaced, his plate already cleared and pushed away, extras left on the stove for later clean up.
Benji poked about a bit finding the fruits of James’ labours at least edible and attacked his pasta with gusto.
“ So how was the birthday?” Benji froze half way through a bite and stared at James with awe.
“ You remembered my birthday?” he choked out through half a mouthful, forcing himself to swallow. James glanced up once.
“ You were bouncing around all week, I looked at your diary while I swiped fifty bucks from your purse.”
“ It’s not a pur-“ Benji pushed a frustrated breath out through his nose, “ It’s not a purse, and that ‘diary’ is an agenda so I don’t forget anything. And you’re welcome for the fifty. I expect you’ll be paying me back considering you’re the one with the trust fund and I’m the one working at Burger McFlipsters.” James grunted and flipped the page. Benji looked at him for a moment and then put his plate down completely.
“ To be honest you were the only one who remembered.” Benji crossed his arms trying to forget the persistent conversation he’d had with his mother just that morning which was no different from any of the others he’d had with her every Saturday for the last two years.
James closed his book.
“ Don’t get any ideas that I care at all. I only asked because usually if provoked into conversation at least once a day your moody menstrual symptoms lessen dramatically.” James slid out of his seat to get some sort of amber coloured alcoholic beverage from his private stash while Benji pointedly rolled his eyes.
“ How many times have you called me a girl in this conversation?” James shook his head.
“ It’d be easier to count how many times I didn’t call you a girl.” He took a sip and blinked at Benji who toyed with is fork.
“ Thank you for remembering anyway,” He frowned, not quite knowing what emotion was churning uneasily in his stomach or if that was just the results of bloated noodles and cold marinara.
“ I didn’t remember.” James sat back down again and picked up his book with an air of finality. Benji bit his lip and looked at James for a moment.
He picked up his plate and headed for his room, glancing over his shoulder he shrugged,“ Thanks anyway.”
-I don't know what the Russian culinary ballet is....don't ask-