Omg 'My face'...I'm dying to read more of that. Wasn't sure what the Trixie x Milk dynamic was going to be but I've seen the light and I need more PLEASEEE
However much I loved all 95 words of my face, maybe to improve you could work on building into the smut, rather than just writing the last 10 seconds of a scenario xox
(A continuation to Kenny’s 2 Months of Cooking Dangerously)
When Kenny is five years old, he falls flat on his face over some uneven crack on the sidewalk while walking back from kindergarten with his mother. The clay sculpture of a bird he made at school drops and rolls a good three feet away, losing its head in the process.
“Shh, Kenny,” his mother says sternly, wiping his blotchy, teary face with a rough movement. “Why didn’t you watch where you were going? Don’t cry. You can always get up again, nothing to cry about.”
His mother has always been practical. Five-year-old Kenny sucks up his sniffles and stares at her with wide, brimming eyes, too afraid to make a noise. He’s picked up his clay bird, now a lopsided lump.
“There is nothing you can’t fix, you hear me, Kenny?” she says, her tone softening. She kneads the edges and sticks the missing part back on. Kenny knows she’s tired from working the nighttime shift at the hospital the day before, so he stays silent. “Be brave.”
He nods. Years later, sitting in the hospital waiting room by himself after the draft—after Jack’s overdose—and feeling like his clay bird from over a decade ago, all he could think of is, I can fix this. There’s nothing I can’t fix. It’ll be okay.
He’s brave, and he doesn’t cry, not yet. Not until Jack ignores his fifth, sixth text, then all of them. He cries for the whole day, the sobs echoing in his empty apartment and he is reminded of what he had failed to fix. It is not the last time he cries, that is wholly unrealistic, but it is the last time he cries into the night because holy fuck, his sinuses and upper teeth hurt like hell afterwards. Kent develops a habit of putting his phone face down and on silent. His manager gets on his case about it, and he misses more calls from Jeff this way, but he hates seeing the notifications lighting up and not being from who he really wants it to be.
I can fix this, he thinks now, as he flips another soggy mess of scrambled eggs and pokes his wooden spatula at the edges to push the pieces back together. This is the second time he feels like his clay bird, but he’s put himself back together so many times by this point that it’s a routine. He gets up, plays hockey, comes home and cooks, and fixes himself for the next day.
Kent wakes up, half on top of Alexei, half on the bed. He’s sore in a good way, and he finds that he likes waking up to Alexei, again and again and again. Alexei has an arm around him, his knuckles lighting grazing up and down Kent’s naked back.
“When do you have to go back?” Kent asks, then winces, knowing that he sounds clingy.
“Monday,” Alexei replies, kissing his forehead like he is Kent’s great-aunt. “Do you wish I stay longer, Kenny?”
Kent tucks his head under Alexei’s neck. He also really loves the name ‘Kenny’ coming from Alexei’s mouth.
“I know you have to go back,” he murmurs. “You’re already staying an extra 3 days. Won’t the Falconers know?”
“I say I am visiting friend in area. Or,” Alexei grins. “I say I quit hockey because I have handsome captain in bed who makes eggs in the morning.”
Kent chuckles and repositions himself on top of Alexei.
“Speaking of retiring,” he starts slowly, “would you go back once you’re done with this? To Russia?”
“Maybe,” Alexei hums. “Then again,” he says, smiling at Kent’s figure sprawled on him, “maybe not.”
It’s too early to ask for a move-in. But God, what Kent wouldn’t give to have this—the morning conversations, the cooking, even the arguing—every single day.
“It’d be cool if you stuck around,” Kent casually comments, poking at a bruise he’d left on Alexei’s collar. “Kit would miss you.”
He was glad that Alexei got his meaning, because the man suddenly flips Kent around, hovering over him with a determined look.
“And you?” he rumbles, running a hand down Kent’s side. “What will you feel?”
Kent’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I miss you, okay? runs through his mind, along with Jack’s angry expression. It’s gone in an instant, and all he sees is blankets and his own room and Alexei.
He clears his throat. “I would miss you.”
He expects Alexei to fuck him into the mattress, and he’ll have to explain to Todd (again) that yes, Alexei Mashkov is still in my house, please don’t come over (again). But Alexei only takes Kent’s hand, brings it up, and kisses his knuckles like Kent is someone important.
“I bring breakfast,” Alexei says, like a promise of a thousand other things. “You wait.”
“Okay,” Kent says.
It seems inappropriate to take Alexei out clubbing, and he’s almost 98% sure that the man has visited the Strip the last time the Falconers were around in Vegas. Gondola rides seem tacky for Alexei’s last day in Kent’s apartment, so he decides to send him out the same way they got into this whole thing.
“Let’s make dessert,” Kent says, mid-make out. He’s still straddling Alexei on the living room couch and Alexei has his hands all over Kent’s waist and back.
“Is that standing for something else?” Alexei says into his mouth, squeezing his ass for good measure. “Why American sayings are so…cheesy? Is that the word?”
“Gross, no, who says that?” He may have seen a few pornos that had pulled that particular line, but he doesn’t tell Alexei. Kent pulls back. “It’s your last day. We’ve been doing the eat-fuck-sleep thing since you got here.”
“Not a bad thing,” Alexei counters, mouthing at Kent’s ear.
“Definitely not,” Kent agrees. “But I am still doing the whole Julia Child cooking challenge. It won’t be complete until I use my cup noodle-making hands on pastry dough.” He’s lying straight out of his ass now, but Alexei doesn’t have to know. Kent’s house, Kent’s rules. Bittle will have a heart attack if he knew, he thinks. But he has Alexei here. It seems right to make something sweet. (Ugh.)
“Come on, let me live my dream of becoming Bittle,” he jokes lightly. “Be my Jack Zimmermann, baby.”
He regrets it the moment it comes out. Alexei freezes. He doesn’t know how much Alexei knows about him and Jack, but he knows it sounded like he was still pining. Or worse, that Alexei is nothing more than a rebound when he is so much more than that.
“I—I mean—not like, you know, I know you’re not him, in fact, I’m glad you’re not—”
But Alexei relaxes.
“No.” He kisses Kent’s nose, right on his splatter of freckles. “You be Kenny, and I am Alyosha. In time, yes?”
“Yes,” Kent says quietly. “That sounds good.”
“Hey, Kenny,” he says, after a few moments. “Do you think we can trending more than Zimmboni and Bittle on Twitter?”
The holy shit, I love him hits Kent harder than he expects, so he grabs Alexei’s face and kisses him like he’s dying.
“Look kind of…not right,” Alexei says as he observes the cherry clafouti. “Like a lot of holes?”
The cherries on the pancake surface had been arranged in a circular manner (by Alexei) that made it look too precise, for lack of a better word. However, the texture was flaky and the top toasted a golden brown. Kent cuts a triangle into the pan and dug into the piece with a fork.
“Try it,” he prompts, holding the fork up. “It smells really good.”
“Okay, one minute.” Alexei grabs Jeff’s vintage leftover wine and takes two big gulps. Kent laughs and shoves him lightly on the shoulder. “Smell like butter.”
“Jokes on you, I didn't use butter for this,” Kent retorts, prodding the piece at Alexei’s lips, who finally takes the bait and chews. “Your nutritionist might still get angry though.”
“Hm. Good.”
“See—”
“Look ugly, but good.”
“God, fuck you.”
@TheRealKVP
“Ugly but good” -Tater @amashkov_09 #cookingwithkenny
@OfficialJeff_Sw [In reply to Kent Parson]
@TheRealKVP HOLY SHIT!!!! That is one ugly pie
Kent puts a filter and adjusts the color three times before posting it on his Instagram and Twitter. Alexei ends up finishing the rest of the slice and cuts himself another. They decide to tackle one more recipe, the Reine de Saba cake, before calling it quits. Alexei holds him from behind, wrapping his arms like tentacles around Kent’s waist as Kent spreads the chocolate frosting on the cake (“The top of it looks like the top of a brownie. Why? I followed the instructions. It’s not supposed to look like that.” “It’s okay, just cover with chocolate. No one will know.”) and propping his chin on Kent’s right shoulder. Alexei jumps into another story about his teammates, and the entire time Kent just thinks, if there is a way to fall in love in three days, he knows by now that he’s done it. He’s turning into his very own sappy romcom, and it feels incredible.
“I used to bake with my mother,” Alexei says. “When I was little.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I was mostly there to eat. But she make all kinds of cookies, sweet breads.” Alexei swipes a finger on the frosting bowl and narrowly avoids Kent’s rubber spatula swatting his hand away. “I was not small kid.”
“I’m continuing her legacy,” Kent says, then eyes the lopsided cherry clafouti. “More or less.”
“You are enough,” Alexei says sincerely, before pressing a kiss to Kent’s temple and going to the sink to rinse his hands. Kent bites his lips to smother down a smile. “I am glad to find you.”
“You know, you never did tell me—”
“I swear, Dom, I wasn’t hallucinating. I saw Mashkov’s abs, and he was ripped, I fucking swear—”
The lock on the front door turns, and Todd and Dom step in. Dom takes a breath and scans his eyes up and down Alexei’s frame.
“Wow, you’re right, he’s huge,” Dom comments.
“See! Hi Parser! Hey Mashkov!” Todd sets his car keys on the side counter, along with a tray of coffee. “Hey, you’re making dessert. I thought you said it was a sin for you to make pastries or something—”
“What the fuck, Todd?” Kent recovers quickly from his shock and directs a frosting-covered spatula at Dom. “And why is Dom here, too? I told you the key was for emergencies.”
“Yeah, but I texted you, like, four times.”
“What? No you didn’t.”
“He did,” Alexei says, flipping Kent’s phone over and passing it to him.
Toddy: Parser can I come over
Toddy: I bring coffee and Dom. He doesn’t believe that I saw Mashkov. He’s in your apartment still right
Toddy: I’m on your street
Toddy: I’m outside don’t be naked ok
“Jesus, Todd, what is wrong with you?”
“I texted! You said to let you know when I’m coming, so I did!”
“Can I have your autograph?” Dom says. “I’m Dominic.”
“Uh. Sure.”
“Alexei, don’t give him the autograph.”
Alexei is already holding the Sharpie. “But he has pen ready.”
“Hey, this cherry pie tastes amazing,” Todd says, stuffing his face. “Looks like shit, though. What happened?”
“Todd, for the last time,” Kent hisses, “Key is for emergencies only. Like if I’m not responding because I’m choking on a chicken bone or something.”
“But you never answer your phone, so it always feels like an emergency.” Todd pulls a face. “I’m sorry, man, I haven’t heard from you in two days.” He lowers his voice to a whisper, “What if Mashkov had killed you? Then we’re left with Jeff as captain, and he keeps asking me to make his lunch.”
“Alexei won’t kill me, this isn’t hockey Game of Thrones. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t let you know, but I’m fine.” He throws a look over at Alexei, who was chatting with a clearly star-struck Dom. “I’m doing really well,” he admits.
“I can see that,” Todd says. “Man, you’re happy, I’m happy. I’ll leave once Dom has his moment with your boyfriend. Or is this not…?”
“It’s…I think it’s a long-term thing. I hope it’s a long-term thing.”
“That’s good. You deserve it, Parser. Apology coffee for barging into your place even though I did let you know?” he says, handing over a Starbucks cup. “I didn’t know what you liked, but I asked the lady to make something a sixteen-year-old would want.”
“I fucking hate you.” Kent takes a sip. “Shit, this is really good.”
“I knew you’d like it. Hey, can I get a piece of pie to go—”
“Get out.”
@TheDomMcK
@amashkov_09 met Alexei Mashkov! Thanks for signing my shirt
@OfficialJeff_Sw [In reply to Dominic McKinnon]
@TheDomMcK treason!!
“I don’t want you to leave,” Kent had said into Alexei’s throat the following morning.
“I can stay another couple of days, practice not start until—”
“Fuck, you’re supposed to say ‘No’ so I don’t keep you here forever.”
Kent packs him a few containers worth of the dessert they had made yesterday, plus some of the stew. Kent brings him to the airport and they check in Alexei’s luggage together. He has his Aces cap on backwards and sunglasses indoors. His arm itches to just reach over and take Alexei’s hand in his, but he doesn’t want to mess it up. It’s too soon.
“I’ll see you later, I guess,” Kent says carefully, like Alexei and him hadn’t been fucking and cooking for the last three days. He takes off the sunglasses and tucks them into his shirt. “It was great having you here.”
“Thank you for having me,” Alexei responds in kind, bringing Kent in for a hug that lasts a couple seconds too long, and adds cheekily, “So when I am coming over again?”
Kent gives a small, watery laugh.
“Anytime you want,” he answers. “I’ll miss the pancakes.”
Alexei squeezes his hand, once. He knows what Kent means, and he seems to be floundering for words.
“Goodbye, Kenny,” he says, finally.
“See ya.”
He watches Alexei go towards security, one arm laden with baked goods, back to Providence on the other side of the country. A family passes in front of him, blocking his line of sight for a split moment. When Alexei reappears, he seems that much farther, and the last few days feel like they’re dissipating. It’s too soon, he knows, it’s definitely too soon, three days is not enough. But he can’t let Alexei go just yet. Kent takes a breath and gathers his courage. Fuck it, he thinks.
“Alyosha!” he yells, probably butchering the pronunciation, but he sees Alexei turn violently. He’s never done things by halves, after all. “I—ugh, shit—have a safe trip!”
He doesn’t expect Alexei to literally drop everything to the ground and all 6’4 of the Falconer to barrel back towards him, weaving through the luggage and around the group of touring Japanese businessmen. He doesn’t expect Alexei’s one hand to snake around his back, the other whipping off his snapback to cover one side of their faces as Alexei dips him, kissing Kent deeply in the middle of the crowded McCarran airport. Kent reaches up to thread his fingers through Alexei’s dark hair, and when he pulls back, Alexei is beaming. People are staring, a few whistle, but Kent can give less of a fuck when he has someone holding him and looking at him like that.
“Thank you, Kenny,” he says, and Kent wonders how he can make a nickname sound like a commitment.
“You’re ridiculous,” Kent says, but he’s laughing so much he’s tearing up. “The hell is covering our right side supposed to do? People see us on the other side.”
“Just like in your romcoms,” Alexei says, pressing one final kiss on Kent’s nose.
Kent groans, “I should’ve never told you about that.”
“Visit me,” Alexei murmurs into Kent’s cheek. “Take you around Providence. And other things.”
“Yes, fuck, of course I will.” Kent grips the front of Alexei’s shirt tight, breathing him in, then pushes him off. “Go, you’ll miss your flight.”
“Then I will just stay longer.”
“Go!”
@TheRealKVP
@amashkov_09 Safe travels #cookingwithkennyandalyosha
@amashkov_09 [In reply to Kent Parson]
@TheRealKVP ))))))))))))))) miss u and kit
@OfficialJeff_Sw [In reply to Kent Parson]
@TheRealKVP who tf is alyosha is that a pokemon
@Toddy-S [In reply to Kent Parson]
@amashkov_09 @TheRealKVP please…DMs exist…
I spend my days missing you, folded in bed. Arms and legs scattered around in unfamiliar places, confused where to rest themselves.
Without you all i have are empty limbs that are lost without a home.
So why won't you come home?
