Mercykill Week — Day 5
OF MERCY AND DEATH - Too Spicy
“Welcome home,” Angela called to her husband from the kitchen area as he came through the door of their small apartment-like room on the Watchpoint.
Gabriel could smell something cooking and he grinned widely, pulling his coat and beanie off and hanging them up. “Mm, something smells good.”
Angela bounced out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “I decided to cook for you.”
Gabriel’s eyebrow immediately shot up. “You barely sleep at night for claims that you’re too busy to function but you found time to cook for me?”
“Well, we’ve been married for close to a month now and I wanted to do something special for you,” she said, and then took his hands and led him into the kitchen, seating him at the kitchen table as she stirred the pot on the stove and agitated something in the pan with a spatula.
Gabriel watched her, a smirk pulling at the sides of his lips as he drank in her the back of he, admiring her slim shoulders and ample hips and bottom. He stood and pressed himself up against her back, hands on her shoulders, and began to kiss her throat and ear. “You look damn good, cooking for me. Not sure if I’m hungry for dinner anymore.”
Angela laughed and elbowed him lightly, her elbow colliding with the hard muscle of his abs under his sweater. “You’re such a man. I can’t—“
He noticed what she was cooking. “Chilaquiles? Oh, we have time.” He scooped her up against her loud protests, flipped the heat onto low and carried her off into their bedroom.
~~
“Oh good, it isn’t burned,” Angela said when she returned to the kitchen, wearing only her robe now, her short bob hanging around her face.
Gabriel emerged from the room in a pair of sweats, shirtless in all his caramel skinned glory, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “You know, chilaquiles is one of my favorites. You call my sister?”
“Yes.”
“And...she didn’t bother telling you it’s usually a breakfast dish?”
Angela sighed. “I knew the fact that it asked for eggs was suspect.”
Gabriel chuckled. “Pobrecita.” He took a swig ofbhis beer. He sat back down at the table and watched his wife with admiration as she finished their dinner in only a robe, before putting a plate of it in front of him. He grinned. “Ah well, who am I to say no to breakfast for dinner?”
Angela stood, nervously watching as he took his first bite. At first, his face lit up at the delicious flavor and Angela began to soothe, but then he started to cough and heave as he took a long swig of his beer.
“Angie,” he choked, “babe, how many of the red chilis did you use in the sauce?”
“All of them...?”
“Didn’t you use a recipe?” He coughed as he stood up and got a glass of water from the sink, his beer now gone.
“Just the one your sister gave me,” Angela replied, blushing sheepishly, clearly not used to making Mexican food—or cooking at all. “Is it too spicy?”
Gabriel chuckled around his red face and dry throat as he nodded and chugged his water. “Yeah, but that’s not your fault, baby. Lupe knows I can’t handle spicy food. Even this far away, she still manages to find a way to mess with me.”
But Angela didn’t see the humor. Her special surprise was ruined now, and as he turned to look at her, he could see that it upset her that it was. Finishing his water, he approached her and touched her shoulders with his large hands, smiling.
“Thanks for dinner, Ange. Tell you what—why don’t we order takeout, go back to the bedroom and watch that stupid Disney movie you like so much, and maybe...wear in our bed a couple times more, hm?” He grinned widely.
Angela shrugged, but softened when she felt his large arms around her. She smiled against his chest, inhaled his scent, and nodded. “Next time, I promise I won’t ask your sister for help.”
Gabriel pursed his lips nervously and chuckled a little as he led her into their room. “Uhh, babe, how about you just let me do the cooking from now on?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Well...okay!”