fic: Kane RPS: My Compliments on the Chicken (1/1)
Title: My Compliments on the Chicken
Author: Havenward
Fandom: Kane RPS (waiter!au)
Pairing: Chris/Steve
Rating: NC17
Words: 3381
Note: For canadiangoddess, who very kindly put up another chapter of one of her stories. Of course, as usual this year, I'm ridiculously late in my bribe. As per her request, though listing it would give away all the good bits... Thanks to shannonrita for the recipe and all the cooking help! Kinda schmoopy too.
Summary: Christian's never had Steve over to his place, not really, and he just wants dinner to be perfect...
Christian fidgets and tries not to check the potatoes again. He'd prepared them first, because he'd need to up the temperature on the oven, and unlike his mama's kitchen, he only had the one. Part of him had thought it'd give him something to do with his hands, but truth be told, he'd had everything a little too ready, cos he's spent most of the 25 minutes they needed to cook sitting on his hands and watching the clock.
He's never this worried over his cooking. He's a good cook, a damn good cook. But he's never made a meal for anyone that's seriously known what they were doing. Well, no, that's not true, it isn't. He hasn't put the same importance on it that he has for this.
It's not that he thinks he needs to impress Steve. It's just... he wants Steve to be comfortable. He wants him to like it...
The kitchen timer going off makes him jump. "Just breathe," he tells himself, and gets up to move the dish from the oven to the broiler. He resets the timer, and resets the temperature on the oven. And waits. Steve will be here any minute, after all. He's got the pans out, and his good black dishes, and the stock is ready, and the chicken is thawed and... "Breathe," he reminds himself again. He has to consciously force himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He's gonna love it," he reminds himself.
Which is, of course, the moment his intercom buzzes loudly. "Yeah?" He thinks maybe he'll throw something if it's just a delivery guy again.
"Hey." Steve's voice sounds tinny and a little distorted through the speaker. "It's me. Uh, Steve."
"Hey!" Chris hits the button to let him in. "Take one of the elevators in the back. I'm 1579." And then the timer is going off for the potatoes, and he forgot to pull down the glasses for the chardonnay, or bring the chardonnay out to offer Steve something to drink, or... There's a tentative knock on the door and his thoughts scatter. "Half a tick!" he shouts and sets the potatoes aside where they'll stay warm.
He pulls the door open, already grinning from ear to ear as he pulls Steve inside and hugs him with a quick kiss against his jaw. Steve smiles back, his cheeks tinged pink as he takes a deep breath. "Smells good," he says, letting Chris pull him farther into the apartment and close the door behind them.
"Ain't even started on the good stuff," Chris chuckles. "Want something to drink?"
"Yeah, sure," Steve says, wandering around the living area and actually getting a look around the loft apartment, stopping to look the photos on his bookcase. "I like it. It's cozier than I thought. Very you."
Christian beams a little as he pours a glass for Steven. "I guess you've never seen it with the lights on. I'll have to fix that."
Steve wanders back toward the kitchen when Chris offers him his glass. "So what's for dinner?"
"Chicken," he says promptly, if not descriptively. But Steve laughs at him, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing. "You can watch me cook. Learn the recipe the hard way."
"Let the poor waiter take a lesson from the master?" Steve's eyes sparkle with amusement as he leans against the counter, just out of Chris' way, and takes a sip.
"Of course," Chris says, all confidence now. He pulls out the pan and starts the stove, tossing in enough butter to coat it, before pulling over the chicken breasts. They make small talk as he seasons them with salt and a liberal helping of pepper and then dredging them in flour.
He can't help but notice the way Steve's eyes drift to his hands. He's sure the other man has already figured out the gist of what he's cooking, based on the ingredients on the counter, but still he watches Christian's hands work. Once Chris has put the chicken into the skillet skin side down, he washes his hands, grinning a little mischievously when Steve licks his lips.
"Hungry?" He isn't asking about the chicken. Steve's mouth must go dry, because he swallows hard before he takes another sip of chardonnay. "Recipe doesn't take long overall. I'm thinkin' I should cook for you more often. Take my time."
Steve looks up at that, flushing scarlet. But he just bites his lip, and nods. Looks away at the chicken on the pan. "I think it's ready to flip," he says.
Chris watches him a moment longer, but decides to let it go for now. The chicken really is ready to flip, and then he's sliding the pan in the oven to cook for another six minutes. When he's done he pours himself a drink and takes a slow swallow and just takes Steve in a moment. He's relaxed again, at least, though the way he's tipped his head lets his blond curls fall into his eyes. His jeans look totally worn in, but his off white button up, a splash of soft yellow curling designs on the chest in an almost western style, looks as though it's freshly pressed.
The top few buttons are undone, letting his necklaces peek through. There's one Chris can't see, a dark stone ringed in silver wire. He knows it's there by virtue of the fact that Steve never takes it off. The other he wears nearly as much, a guitar pic, done up in henna and some beads.
Steve catches him looking, raises his eyebrows in silent question. Chris leans forward, lifting the pendant and running his thumb over it. "You almost always wear it. Did you get it in Hawaii?"
"Yeah," Steve said, smiling fondly for a moment. Then his his smile faltered. "I... A girl gave it to me. For teaching her to play guitar."
Chris could hear what he wasn't saying and frowned a little. He couldn't imagine leaving him behind with only a guitar pic to remember him by. It seemed so... flippant. He withdraws his hand. "Oh," he says lamely. What do you say to that? I'm sorry? You're better than her?
Steve shrugs and sips his drink. "What I get for dating a surfer. And anyway. I'm here now, right?" He smiles again. It's genuine, and it's all for him. The smile Christian gives him must be blinding.
The oven timer dings. He busies himself checking the chicken, his smile only widening when it springs back under his touch. Setting the chicken aside in tinfoil he starts pulling together what he needs for the sauce.
"You're going to use the drippings?"
Chris adds the oil and the shallots, sauteing them. "Course. Mama always told me it tastes better that way."
"And you always listen to your mother?" Steve chuckles.
"Only when she's right," Chris says. "Of course... She's right a lot."
"Should've known a good southerner like you would be a mama's boy."
Christian pretends to be offended, but he knows the effect is ruined completely by the smile around his eyes. Once the shallots are tender he adds in the chicken stock and starts scraping up the drippings. "So," he says as he flips the heat to medium so it can reduce. "I didn't know you played."
"I don't, per se. Not like you." Steve shrugs again. "It's just fooling around really, but I know the basics." Now it's Chris' turn to raise an eyebrow. "What?"
"Music's an art, man, like cookin'. Your food's got plenty o'soul. Bet your playin' does too."
Steve looks at him like he's just a little nuts. "If you say so."
"And I do." He mixes in the chardonnay and grins impishly. "Course, there's only one real way to prove me wrong..."
Steve laughs at that. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"
"And more stubborn than a mule," Chris adds. "Or so my mama keeps tellin' me."
"She right about that too?"
"What d'you think?" He flashes him another grin over his shoulder. Steve just laughs at him again. It's a gorgeous sound, and completely contagious. The way it lights up his face, lights up the room with it... Chris barely remembers to add in the heavy cream. So he chops the parsley for the garnish and slices the chicken to keep his hands busy. By the time he's done the bubbles in the sauce have slowed to a stop.
Chris grabs a spoon and scoops just a little out. He blows on it a moment before holding it up for Steve. "Taste?"
"Absolutely," Steve says and slides closer. He doesn't take the spoon, instead sliding it into his mouth slowly before pulling back. Any trace of teasing amusement is gone, replaced by something akin to rapture. "Mmm," he purrs. "It's perfect. The texture--"
Christian can't help himself, he has to kiss him. Has to press him back against the the counter just so, press their lips together just enough to taste the chardonnay sauce. Steve hums again, kissing him back and curling his free arm around his waist. "We should plate the food," Chris says, pulling back a bit. "And eat."
Steve leans forward a little, stealing another lingering kiss. "We should. It'll burn, or congeal, and either way we won't be eating. It's too good not to eat."
Chris beams at him, holding him tightly for a brief moment before stepping aside and turning his attention back to the sauce. Well, as much as he can, at least. He's smiling so hard his face is starting to ache, but he manages to get half the sauce on each plate. Even if he's practically bouncing on his toes as he delicately plates and flares the chicken slices. A perfect portion of potatoes, and just enough parsley, in all the right places...
"Don't give yourself a green thumb," Steve chuckles, and carries their drinks to the table. Chris huffs out a laugh as he follows. They eat without talking, though it's hardly silent. Steve keeps making appreciative noises that are... distracting. He likes this, watching Steve at his table, in his apartment, laughing and comfortable and happy. "My compliments to the chef," Steve says finally and pushes back from the table.
"He was pretty amazing,"Chris says, though he can't quite keep a straight face. He grabs their dishes and heads back toward the sink. "You should thank him. I'm sure he'd love to know just how much you liked it."
"Oh," Steve says, bringing their empty glasses with him. "Should I?"
"Mmhmm. Maybe if you thank him nicely enough," Chris says, sliding everything into the dishwasher, "he'll even make dessert." He turns to find Steve standing right behind him.
"I already know what I want for dessert," he says. It should be funny, it's so cheesy. But Steve is looking at him so intently. The quirk of his lips, the subtle sense of laughter under the tone of want. Before Chris can muster another response, Steve takes another step closer and brushes their lips together almost like it's a question.
Chris pulls him closer, tipping his face up and deepening the kiss. He lets his fingers trail along the edges of his shirt, slipping under just a little to brush against the skin there. Steve's hands curl around his shoulders before takes another step closer so that Christian's back is pressed into the counter, one thigh pressed between his legs. It's Chris that takes advantage of it, though, rocking his hips just enough to tease as he slides his hands down to cup his ass. Steve makes a soft sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh and hitches his hips, his grip tightening just so.
Chris rolls his hips again, just to hear that sound. He wants to draw it out, wants to hear Steve say his name in that voice. But not like this. Not in the kitchen, not this time. He breaks the kiss to nip at Steve's jaw when he pushes away from the counter and walks him backward out of the room. Steve tries to aim them toward the couch, starts pulling at the buttons of Chris' shirt, but that's not what Chris wants either. He grins and takes him by the hand, fingers tangled together, and pulls him towards the stairs instead. Leads him up to the bedroom and starts kissing him again in earnest.
Steve is breathless, buttons forgotten as he tries to press as much of himself against Chris as possible. It would be so easy to knock him backwards, down onto the bed, but instead Chris cups his face. Brushes his thumbs along his cheekbones, his jaw. Brushes them down and back along his neck to tangle his hands in his hair. To just hold him there as Christian kisses him, and tip his head up so he can trail his lips from his chin to his throat.
There's too many clothes between them; Steve's shirt keeps him from kissing any lower. Chris pulls back a little, only just enough, and goes at the buttons one handed. Steve must remember what he was doing because he starts pulling at Chris' shirt again, unfastening them by feel as Christian's lips make their way back up his throat. Chris growls a little when the last two on Steve's shirt don't come undone and just tears at them, making Steve whimper, then gasp when he nips and flicks a tongue over his nipple.
Chris shoves the shirt off Steve's shoulders and out of the way. Pushes the other man down onto the bed before managing to rid himself of his own shirt and following him. Steve makes that noise again, his hips rising even as his fingers are digging into Chris' ribs, his back, clinging even as they're moving. Christian claims his mouth and rolls their hips together, grinding denim on denim, swallowing his groan.
Somehow they manage to undo their belts, to kick off their boots. Getting out of their jeans and boxers is more complicated, more difficult because they won't let go of each other. They roll across the bed, finally kicking free of the clothing and coming together again. Steve straddles him, shivers and moans as their cocks rub together. Chris pushes himself up with one hand, bracing Steve with his legs as he strokes both of them together. Steve pants against his mouth, gasps as Chris runs his thumb across the head, as he twists his wrist. Whimpers as Chris brings him a little closer and then backs off.
"Chris," he groans. Steve tries to rock his hips, pressing forward into Chris' hand.
"I know, darlin'," Chris murmurs, stealing a kiss. "I know. I've got you." He flips them over, stretching Steve out below him and sitting back on his heels for a moment to look at him. He's beautiful, flushed and sweating, his blond hair splayed out over the pillow. His eyes darkened to thin rings of blue, reflecting in the dim light. His cock curling up toward his stomach, dark with need and bobbing slightly as his hips hitch up with want.
Christian can't not touch and leans forward, skimming his hands lightly over Steve's thighs. Up his stomach and across his ribs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. Steve bites his lip, reaching out for him and spreading his legs invitingly. But Chris doesn't oblige him, takes his time instead and leans down to kiss his forehead then his nose. Steve arcs under him, curls his arms around him, but Christian just kisses him slowly along his jaw, down the curve of his throat to his shoulder.
He traces the line of Steve's collar bone with his lips, down the center of his chest and along his ribs. Steve leans into each kiss, each touch as Christian's fingers feather over him. The smooth expanse of his stomach, the curve of his hipbone, the soft skin of his inner thigh. Chris moves to the other side, working his way back up, but he lets his hands linger, almost but not quite touching his cock, his balls. He watches Steve close his eyes and tip his head back, hears the way his breath turns ragged. Feels him let go, even as he's clinging to him.
Chris claims his mouth again, asking and giving as one and the same. Steve opens under him almost hungrily, making that small sound, that moan-sigh, and pulls him closer, pulls at his hips, as though being skin to skin simply isn't close enough. Chris can't hold back much longer, doesn't want to. But he has to pull back, to lean over and rifle through the bed stand for a condom and the lube.
He kisses Steve again before kneeling between his legs. He pours some lube in his palm, warming it as he slicks his fingers. Steve spreads himself again, lifting his hips in offering. This time Christian doesn't deny him, moving his hand down and back, teasing his entrance just enough and easing two fingers inside. Steve bites his lip and whimpers as Chris curls and scissors his fingers, his own hands tightening in the sheets as Chris continues to take his time.
"Please," Steve gasps out. He can't seem to help the way he cants his hips in time to the motion of Chris' fingers. "'M ready.... Want..."
Chris pulls back, chuckling at the way Steve whines at the loss. Sliding the condom on, he slicks himself and kisses his way up Steven's body again, until he's face to face with him, until he's lined up. He presses in slowly, slowly, watching Steven's face. Watching his eyes glaze over, his mouth fall open in a soft whimper. It's breathtaking, knowing he can see that mirrored in his own expression, and Christian can't help but kiss him. Can't help but moan in approval.
He gives Steven time to adjust, time to breathe, but even when he's ready Christian still takes his time. Still moves tortuously slow. He savors this, every movement, every gasp. Every kiss, and the way Steve's lips chase his own. Every expression, because Chris can't look away. Can't understand how he needs this like breathing and kisses him again, groaning as Steven lifts his hips and pulls him closer. Chris has no idea how long he's drawn this out, only that he pushes Steve a little bit closer, that Steve keeps him just as close.
"Please," Steve says. His voice stutters, raw and needy, reduced to that small moan. "Christian... Chris please..."
Chris leans up, bracing with one arm as he reaches between them to stroke him in time with his thrusts. He increases his pace just a little, and from the way Steven's head falls back, his fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise, just enough. They're both close, so close. "Look at me," he murmurs. "Darlin', look at me. Wanna see you. Wanna watch you come undone..."
Steve looks up at him, eyes wide with need, with want, shining with all the things they'd never dare to name, that Chris wants to ask him for. That Chris will always give him. Steve trembles in his arms, whispers his name as his hips shudder, as he tightens around him. His orgasm ripples through him, laying him open, and Christian kisses him, claiming him, filling him. They rock together as they're spent, coming down, just breathing.
"I'll be right back," Chris says, kissing him again as he slides out and gently disentangles himself. He wants nothing more than to collapse into the bed beside him, but he knows they'll both be more comfortable if they're clean. Reluctantly he slips into the bathroom, grabbing a cloth and wetting it with warm water. He heads back and cleans Steve first, then himself, and tosses the cloth in the approximate direction of his hamper. He drops into the bed again, fighting for a moment with the sheets.
Steve curls into him, his head on Chris' shoulder, and sighs. "Don't wanna move."
"Then don't," Chris says. "You should spend the night. I could make you breakfast for once." He feels more than hears Steve hum in agreement, satisfied, his breathing already evening out into sleep.
Author: Havenward
Fandom: Kane RPS (waiter!au)
Pairing: Chris/Steve
Rating: NC17
Words: 3381
Note: For canadiangoddess, who very kindly put up another chapter of one of her stories. Of course, as usual this year, I'm ridiculously late in my bribe. As per her request, though listing it would give away all the good bits... Thanks to shannonrita for the recipe and all the cooking help! Kinda schmoopy too.
Summary: Christian's never had Steve over to his place, not really, and he just wants dinner to be perfect...
Christian fidgets and tries not to check the potatoes again. He'd prepared them first, because he'd need to up the temperature on the oven, and unlike his mama's kitchen, he only had the one. Part of him had thought it'd give him something to do with his hands, but truth be told, he'd had everything a little too ready, cos he's spent most of the 25 minutes they needed to cook sitting on his hands and watching the clock.
He's never this worried over his cooking. He's a good cook, a damn good cook. But he's never made a meal for anyone that's seriously known what they were doing. Well, no, that's not true, it isn't. He hasn't put the same importance on it that he has for this.
It's not that he thinks he needs to impress Steve. It's just... he wants Steve to be comfortable. He wants him to like it...
The kitchen timer going off makes him jump. "Just breathe," he tells himself, and gets up to move the dish from the oven to the broiler. He resets the timer, and resets the temperature on the oven. And waits. Steve will be here any minute, after all. He's got the pans out, and his good black dishes, and the stock is ready, and the chicken is thawed and... "Breathe," he reminds himself again. He has to consciously force himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He's gonna love it," he reminds himself.
Which is, of course, the moment his intercom buzzes loudly. "Yeah?" He thinks maybe he'll throw something if it's just a delivery guy again.
"Hey." Steve's voice sounds tinny and a little distorted through the speaker. "It's me. Uh, Steve."
"Hey!" Chris hits the button to let him in. "Take one of the elevators in the back. I'm 1579." And then the timer is going off for the potatoes, and he forgot to pull down the glasses for the chardonnay, or bring the chardonnay out to offer Steve something to drink, or... There's a tentative knock on the door and his thoughts scatter. "Half a tick!" he shouts and sets the potatoes aside where they'll stay warm.
He pulls the door open, already grinning from ear to ear as he pulls Steve inside and hugs him with a quick kiss against his jaw. Steve smiles back, his cheeks tinged pink as he takes a deep breath. "Smells good," he says, letting Chris pull him farther into the apartment and close the door behind them.
"Ain't even started on the good stuff," Chris chuckles. "Want something to drink?"
"Yeah, sure," Steve says, wandering around the living area and actually getting a look around the loft apartment, stopping to look the photos on his bookcase. "I like it. It's cozier than I thought. Very you."
Christian beams a little as he pours a glass for Steven. "I guess you've never seen it with the lights on. I'll have to fix that."
Steve wanders back toward the kitchen when Chris offers him his glass. "So what's for dinner?"
"Chicken," he says promptly, if not descriptively. But Steve laughs at him, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing. "You can watch me cook. Learn the recipe the hard way."
"Let the poor waiter take a lesson from the master?" Steve's eyes sparkle with amusement as he leans against the counter, just out of Chris' way, and takes a sip.
"Of course," Chris says, all confidence now. He pulls out the pan and starts the stove, tossing in enough butter to coat it, before pulling over the chicken breasts. They make small talk as he seasons them with salt and a liberal helping of pepper and then dredging them in flour.
He can't help but notice the way Steve's eyes drift to his hands. He's sure the other man has already figured out the gist of what he's cooking, based on the ingredients on the counter, but still he watches Christian's hands work. Once Chris has put the chicken into the skillet skin side down, he washes his hands, grinning a little mischievously when Steve licks his lips.
"Hungry?" He isn't asking about the chicken. Steve's mouth must go dry, because he swallows hard before he takes another sip of chardonnay. "Recipe doesn't take long overall. I'm thinkin' I should cook for you more often. Take my time."
Steve looks up at that, flushing scarlet. But he just bites his lip, and nods. Looks away at the chicken on the pan. "I think it's ready to flip," he says.
Chris watches him a moment longer, but decides to let it go for now. The chicken really is ready to flip, and then he's sliding the pan in the oven to cook for another six minutes. When he's done he pours himself a drink and takes a slow swallow and just takes Steve in a moment. He's relaxed again, at least, though the way he's tipped his head lets his blond curls fall into his eyes. His jeans look totally worn in, but his off white button up, a splash of soft yellow curling designs on the chest in an almost western style, looks as though it's freshly pressed.
The top few buttons are undone, letting his necklaces peek through. There's one Chris can't see, a dark stone ringed in silver wire. He knows it's there by virtue of the fact that Steve never takes it off. The other he wears nearly as much, a guitar pic, done up in henna and some beads.
Steve catches him looking, raises his eyebrows in silent question. Chris leans forward, lifting the pendant and running his thumb over it. "You almost always wear it. Did you get it in Hawaii?"
"Yeah," Steve said, smiling fondly for a moment. Then his his smile faltered. "I... A girl gave it to me. For teaching her to play guitar."
Chris could hear what he wasn't saying and frowned a little. He couldn't imagine leaving him behind with only a guitar pic to remember him by. It seemed so... flippant. He withdraws his hand. "Oh," he says lamely. What do you say to that? I'm sorry? You're better than her?
Steve shrugs and sips his drink. "What I get for dating a surfer. And anyway. I'm here now, right?" He smiles again. It's genuine, and it's all for him. The smile Christian gives him must be blinding.
The oven timer dings. He busies himself checking the chicken, his smile only widening when it springs back under his touch. Setting the chicken aside in tinfoil he starts pulling together what he needs for the sauce.
"You're going to use the drippings?"
Chris adds the oil and the shallots, sauteing them. "Course. Mama always told me it tastes better that way."
"And you always listen to your mother?" Steve chuckles.
"Only when she's right," Chris says. "Of course... She's right a lot."
"Should've known a good southerner like you would be a mama's boy."
Christian pretends to be offended, but he knows the effect is ruined completely by the smile around his eyes. Once the shallots are tender he adds in the chicken stock and starts scraping up the drippings. "So," he says as he flips the heat to medium so it can reduce. "I didn't know you played."
"I don't, per se. Not like you." Steve shrugs again. "It's just fooling around really, but I know the basics." Now it's Chris' turn to raise an eyebrow. "What?"
"Music's an art, man, like cookin'. Your food's got plenty o'soul. Bet your playin' does too."
Steve looks at him like he's just a little nuts. "If you say so."
"And I do." He mixes in the chardonnay and grins impishly. "Course, there's only one real way to prove me wrong..."
Steve laughs at that. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"
"And more stubborn than a mule," Chris adds. "Or so my mama keeps tellin' me."
"She right about that too?"
"What d'you think?" He flashes him another grin over his shoulder. Steve just laughs at him again. It's a gorgeous sound, and completely contagious. The way it lights up his face, lights up the room with it... Chris barely remembers to add in the heavy cream. So he chops the parsley for the garnish and slices the chicken to keep his hands busy. By the time he's done the bubbles in the sauce have slowed to a stop.
Chris grabs a spoon and scoops just a little out. He blows on it a moment before holding it up for Steve. "Taste?"
"Absolutely," Steve says and slides closer. He doesn't take the spoon, instead sliding it into his mouth slowly before pulling back. Any trace of teasing amusement is gone, replaced by something akin to rapture. "Mmm," he purrs. "It's perfect. The texture--"
Christian can't help himself, he has to kiss him. Has to press him back against the the counter just so, press their lips together just enough to taste the chardonnay sauce. Steve hums again, kissing him back and curling his free arm around his waist. "We should plate the food," Chris says, pulling back a bit. "And eat."
Steve leans forward a little, stealing another lingering kiss. "We should. It'll burn, or congeal, and either way we won't be eating. It's too good not to eat."
Chris beams at him, holding him tightly for a brief moment before stepping aside and turning his attention back to the sauce. Well, as much as he can, at least. He's smiling so hard his face is starting to ache, but he manages to get half the sauce on each plate. Even if he's practically bouncing on his toes as he delicately plates and flares the chicken slices. A perfect portion of potatoes, and just enough parsley, in all the right places...
"Don't give yourself a green thumb," Steve chuckles, and carries their drinks to the table. Chris huffs out a laugh as he follows. They eat without talking, though it's hardly silent. Steve keeps making appreciative noises that are... distracting. He likes this, watching Steve at his table, in his apartment, laughing and comfortable and happy. "My compliments to the chef," Steve says finally and pushes back from the table.
"He was pretty amazing,"Chris says, though he can't quite keep a straight face. He grabs their dishes and heads back toward the sink. "You should thank him. I'm sure he'd love to know just how much you liked it."
"Oh," Steve says, bringing their empty glasses with him. "Should I?"
"Mmhmm. Maybe if you thank him nicely enough," Chris says, sliding everything into the dishwasher, "he'll even make dessert." He turns to find Steve standing right behind him.
"I already know what I want for dessert," he says. It should be funny, it's so cheesy. But Steve is looking at him so intently. The quirk of his lips, the subtle sense of laughter under the tone of want. Before Chris can muster another response, Steve takes another step closer and brushes their lips together almost like it's a question.
Chris pulls him closer, tipping his face up and deepening the kiss. He lets his fingers trail along the edges of his shirt, slipping under just a little to brush against the skin there. Steve's hands curl around his shoulders before takes another step closer so that Christian's back is pressed into the counter, one thigh pressed between his legs. It's Chris that takes advantage of it, though, rocking his hips just enough to tease as he slides his hands down to cup his ass. Steve makes a soft sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh and hitches his hips, his grip tightening just so.
Chris rolls his hips again, just to hear that sound. He wants to draw it out, wants to hear Steve say his name in that voice. But not like this. Not in the kitchen, not this time. He breaks the kiss to nip at Steve's jaw when he pushes away from the counter and walks him backward out of the room. Steve tries to aim them toward the couch, starts pulling at the buttons of Chris' shirt, but that's not what Chris wants either. He grins and takes him by the hand, fingers tangled together, and pulls him towards the stairs instead. Leads him up to the bedroom and starts kissing him again in earnest.
Steve is breathless, buttons forgotten as he tries to press as much of himself against Chris as possible. It would be so easy to knock him backwards, down onto the bed, but instead Chris cups his face. Brushes his thumbs along his cheekbones, his jaw. Brushes them down and back along his neck to tangle his hands in his hair. To just hold him there as Christian kisses him, and tip his head up so he can trail his lips from his chin to his throat.
There's too many clothes between them; Steve's shirt keeps him from kissing any lower. Chris pulls back a little, only just enough, and goes at the buttons one handed. Steve must remember what he was doing because he starts pulling at Chris' shirt again, unfastening them by feel as Christian's lips make their way back up his throat. Chris growls a little when the last two on Steve's shirt don't come undone and just tears at them, making Steve whimper, then gasp when he nips and flicks a tongue over his nipple.
Chris shoves the shirt off Steve's shoulders and out of the way. Pushes the other man down onto the bed before managing to rid himself of his own shirt and following him. Steve makes that noise again, his hips rising even as his fingers are digging into Chris' ribs, his back, clinging even as they're moving. Christian claims his mouth and rolls their hips together, grinding denim on denim, swallowing his groan.
Somehow they manage to undo their belts, to kick off their boots. Getting out of their jeans and boxers is more complicated, more difficult because they won't let go of each other. They roll across the bed, finally kicking free of the clothing and coming together again. Steve straddles him, shivers and moans as their cocks rub together. Chris pushes himself up with one hand, bracing Steve with his legs as he strokes both of them together. Steve pants against his mouth, gasps as Chris runs his thumb across the head, as he twists his wrist. Whimpers as Chris brings him a little closer and then backs off.
"Chris," he groans. Steve tries to rock his hips, pressing forward into Chris' hand.
"I know, darlin'," Chris murmurs, stealing a kiss. "I know. I've got you." He flips them over, stretching Steve out below him and sitting back on his heels for a moment to look at him. He's beautiful, flushed and sweating, his blond hair splayed out over the pillow. His eyes darkened to thin rings of blue, reflecting in the dim light. His cock curling up toward his stomach, dark with need and bobbing slightly as his hips hitch up with want.
Christian can't not touch and leans forward, skimming his hands lightly over Steve's thighs. Up his stomach and across his ribs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. Steve bites his lip, reaching out for him and spreading his legs invitingly. But Chris doesn't oblige him, takes his time instead and leans down to kiss his forehead then his nose. Steve arcs under him, curls his arms around him, but Christian just kisses him slowly along his jaw, down the curve of his throat to his shoulder.
He traces the line of Steve's collar bone with his lips, down the center of his chest and along his ribs. Steve leans into each kiss, each touch as Christian's fingers feather over him. The smooth expanse of his stomach, the curve of his hipbone, the soft skin of his inner thigh. Chris moves to the other side, working his way back up, but he lets his hands linger, almost but not quite touching his cock, his balls. He watches Steve close his eyes and tip his head back, hears the way his breath turns ragged. Feels him let go, even as he's clinging to him.
Chris claims his mouth again, asking and giving as one and the same. Steve opens under him almost hungrily, making that small sound, that moan-sigh, and pulls him closer, pulls at his hips, as though being skin to skin simply isn't close enough. Chris can't hold back much longer, doesn't want to. But he has to pull back, to lean over and rifle through the bed stand for a condom and the lube.
He kisses Steve again before kneeling between his legs. He pours some lube in his palm, warming it as he slicks his fingers. Steve spreads himself again, lifting his hips in offering. This time Christian doesn't deny him, moving his hand down and back, teasing his entrance just enough and easing two fingers inside. Steve bites his lip and whimpers as Chris curls and scissors his fingers, his own hands tightening in the sheets as Chris continues to take his time.
"Please," Steve gasps out. He can't seem to help the way he cants his hips in time to the motion of Chris' fingers. "'M ready.... Want..."
Chris pulls back, chuckling at the way Steve whines at the loss. Sliding the condom on, he slicks himself and kisses his way up Steven's body again, until he's face to face with him, until he's lined up. He presses in slowly, slowly, watching Steven's face. Watching his eyes glaze over, his mouth fall open in a soft whimper. It's breathtaking, knowing he can see that mirrored in his own expression, and Christian can't help but kiss him. Can't help but moan in approval.
He gives Steven time to adjust, time to breathe, but even when he's ready Christian still takes his time. Still moves tortuously slow. He savors this, every movement, every gasp. Every kiss, and the way Steve's lips chase his own. Every expression, because Chris can't look away. Can't understand how he needs this like breathing and kisses him again, groaning as Steven lifts his hips and pulls him closer. Chris has no idea how long he's drawn this out, only that he pushes Steve a little bit closer, that Steve keeps him just as close.
"Please," Steve says. His voice stutters, raw and needy, reduced to that small moan. "Christian... Chris please..."
Chris leans up, bracing with one arm as he reaches between them to stroke him in time with his thrusts. He increases his pace just a little, and from the way Steven's head falls back, his fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise, just enough. They're both close, so close. "Look at me," he murmurs. "Darlin', look at me. Wanna see you. Wanna watch you come undone..."
Steve looks up at him, eyes wide with need, with want, shining with all the things they'd never dare to name, that Chris wants to ask him for. That Chris will always give him. Steve trembles in his arms, whispers his name as his hips shudder, as he tightens around him. His orgasm ripples through him, laying him open, and Christian kisses him, claiming him, filling him. They rock together as they're spent, coming down, just breathing.
"I'll be right back," Chris says, kissing him again as he slides out and gently disentangles himself. He wants nothing more than to collapse into the bed beside him, but he knows they'll both be more comfortable if they're clean. Reluctantly he slips into the bathroom, grabbing a cloth and wetting it with warm water. He heads back and cleans Steve first, then himself, and tosses the cloth in the approximate direction of his hamper. He drops into the bed again, fighting for a moment with the sheets.
Steve curls into him, his head on Chris' shoulder, and sighs. "Don't wanna move."
"Then don't," Chris says. "You should spend the night. I could make you breakfast for once." He feels more than hears Steve hum in agreement, satisfied, his breathing already evening out into sleep.