Adventures in the kitchen
800 words, rated M for nudity
The absolute chaos was first to grab his attention. Dishes piled frighteningly high in the sink, vegetable peels littered the floor, and the splashback looked like a warzone. “What… what have you been, erm? Doing?”
“It was going to be a surprise,” Draco murmured. “You weren’t meant to come back so early. I was going to have everything tidied up by six.”
“What?” he sounded on the verge of panic, now. “Oh, no, wait—shit, could you grab the—no, move out of the way! The chickpeas!”
It took this long to notice his actual boyfriend, running frantically everywhere in the tiny kitchen. He was wearing Ron’s gag-gift apron, the one with the very buff, naked torso drawing. And beneath the apron he wore…
Nothing. Harry forgot how to breathe for two whole minutes.
“I don’t get it, it was meant to be ready hours ago! Why doesn’t… Harry? Are you all right?”
“Hmm?” it took so much effort to pay attention. “Sorry, you were—chickpeas? What are you making?”
Draco’s pout made his heart beat even faster. “I had a whole plan. But the vegetable Pakoras took about forever, and I have serious doubts about the Dal, although the biryani should be nice, and the naan, and—no, actually, that’s it, since the stupid chickpeas won’t cook. I wanted to try that Chana Masala recipe you like. The other day, you said you missed your family’s… But I’m obviously a disaster, and—half six! I was going to take a shower. Get dressed. I’m sorry, Harry, I just… I wanted to surprise you.”
“You sure have,” Harry said truthfully, still far from what he wanted to convey. The words he was looking for were buried under too much affection, flooding his veins hot and fizzy, and delight, writhing in his belly, and this weird, close-to-tears feeling, some sort of excitement he couldn’t name. Draco was so good at making him absolutely speechless. The way he wanted to take care of him, that he put so much effort into the things Harry liked and that might make him happy. And how he was so entirely, enchantingly messy about it; not to mention how he always, always succeeded, even if Harry couldn’t really explain why. It just worked.
“I’m sorry,” Draco mumbled, defeated in front of the cooker, and when he turned to stir the pot Harry was awarded full view of his rear end. He thought he might actually die. Instead he took three steps forward, until he could wrap his arms around Draco.
“You have nothing to apologise for, silly,” he whispered in his ear, laying gentle kisses on his neck. “This is… god, it’s amazing. I can’t believe you went through all this trouble just on an offhand remark I—it smells bloody terrific. God, I’m so hungry.”
He wasn’t when he walked through the door, but now—in the kitchen holding the man he loved, Harry was practically salivating. He kept kissing Draco’s back, his shoulders, until he was a squirming jumble in his arms, giggly and impossibly sweet.
“Knock it off! I still have to watch the bloody chick—”
“Oh, who cares about that. You’ve made enough food.” And Harry was far more interested in this, anyway. He turned Draco to face him with a small kiss for each cheek, then for the edge of his nose. “You’re incredible.”
“I’m very naked,” was Draco’s response, and, yeah. Harry’s definitely noticed.
“Dangerous in the kitchen,” he said, stupidly. His brain was melting with the combination of love and desire and this endless, bottomless pit of Draco in his chest.
“The apron’s charmed to—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” Harry asked, although he knew. Draco’s cheeks went even redder, and Harry was ready to combust into flames right here and now.
“Like that,” Draco grumbled. “Do I have something on my face?”
Well. Yes, there was a little smudge of—maybe turmeric on Draco’s left eyebrow, and that damned blush, and the prettiest, loveliest pair of eyes, and the tiniest barest hint of a smile—
“I’m just. Surprised. You did very well to surprise me.”
The hint became a full grin, rendering Harry far beyond helpless. “Wait till you taste it.”
“I fully plan to,” Harry nodded, and without further ado picked Draco up in his arms. He squealed in protest, but his legs wrapped around Harry anyway, laughing and squirming and loud. He was such a mess—literally, technically, in every way that counted. But he was everything Harry wanted, most of what he needed, and somehow he always succeeded in making Harry feel so… fuck, so loved. It just always worked. Looking into his eyes now, Harry thought he might know why.
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