#holdendadcliffe

[loveaos]

Alex, @holdendadcliffe, is a wonderful bean! Their works are amazing and seeing them in my feed never fail to cheer me up!

[sneakybiskit]

TrevorDeke + 17 for the new dialogue prompts (hurt me)

In my defense, you asked for this. :)

17. Who did this to you?

Warning: implied abusive relationship

Trevor had already left for the day and had gotten halfway home when he realized that he’d forgotten his phone on Deke’s desk, and turned back around. His sister would berate him for the illegal u-turn he pulled, but she wasn’t there. He’d left Deke finished up month-end reports, and that was only after Deke had reassured him that he didn’t need anything else.

“Hey Randy,” Trevor said as he passed into the lobby, letting himself in with his key fob.

“What are you doing back here?”

“Left my phone with Deke on accident.”

“Hate when I do that,” Randy replied.

“See you in a bit.”

Deke’s office was a few floors up and he was right where Trevor left him, except that the lights were off and there was a tension to Deke’s posture that Trevor had never seen before. He gently knocked on the door and the movement turned on the motion sensor lights. Deke startled as the lights illuminated the room, eyes darting up and around like a caged animal waiting for the whip to crack down on them.

“Hey, it’s just me. I forgot my phone,” Trevor said gently. He knew Deke’s past was indescribably dark, and it was only be the sheer force of Deke’s own will that kept Deke bright and shining each day, kept him moving forward when anyone else would’ve buckled. Trevor had never seen Deke like this before, though, withdrawn and tremoring. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Deke said, and Trevor watched Deke plaster a fake smile on his face.  

“Are you sure?”  

He crossed the room and, while he wanted to go to Deke’s side, stopped at the front of the desk, facing him. Closer now, though, he could see Deke’s face was red. No, just his cheek was red, and it wasn’t the sweet rose of his blush.  

“Who did this to you?” he asked without thinking, the words stumbling out of him barely in the right order. He hadn’t been gone that long, but somehow in the last forty-five minutes, Deke had been slapped hard enough to leave a welt on his face.  

“It’s fine.”

“Was it Sequoia? Where is she?” Trevor turned as if he might find her hiding behind the door, shadowed like a villain.  

“It wasn’t Sequoia,” Deke said, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Trev.”

“It’s not. What the fuck happened?” he asked, and then forced a slow breath out so he came off less confrontational. He stepped around the desk and took Deke’s chin gently in his hand, careful not to hurt him any more than he already had been. “Deke, what –”

He turned his face and inspected the welt. There was a scratch just under his cheekbone, like nails or, or a ring. Sequoia had a very specific set of rings she wore when she was out, since she called them iconic and a part of her brand.  

“I will kill her,” Trevor said. Deke reached up and caught Trevor’s wrist.

“I’m fine. Go home, Trevor. It’s late.”

“Deke, I’m not going to leave you here.”

There was a sound down the hall, the click of a door, and Deke pushed Trevor away, not roughly but with a quiet insistence. His eyes went a little wild, animalistic with that same fear he’d seen earlier.  

“Go home.” Trevor took a step back. “Please.”

“You know where I am,” Trevor said, taking his phone from the desk, “if you need me. I’m just a phone call away.”

“I’m fine.”

And Trevor could see even Deke didn’t believe it, but he stepped back away as the door opened again and Sequoia appeared.

“Okay, I’m ready to go, babe. We’ve got those reservations to get to. Oh, Trevor. You’re here.”

Trevor shook his phone at her.  

“Forgot this. If I didn’t call my sister tonight, she might think I’ve died and send the SWAT team in or something,” he said. “Over-protective seems to be a family trait, you know?”

Sequoia hummed at him, and walked over to Deke to tilt his head back and kiss him very obviously. Trevor watched for a moment, and then turned his head so he didn’t hurt her and get himself landed in jail.  

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Trevor said, and turned back just in time to see Deke looking away. That’s all they ever did, look away, and here he was doing it again when Deke needed him the most, but he couldn’t save Deke if he didn’t want it.  

[more dialogue prompts]

[elijahwoodnot]

for unpopular opinions: i've been sitting on this one for like literal years at this point, but the fact that they touted The Mage as the big bad for s2 of DGHDA and then he just kind of had an identity crisis for a few episodes and died feels like a huge waste of John Hannah's talent he should have actually been the main bad guy of the season.

pal, let me raise an even more unpopular opinion: besides the aesthetics and the brotzly moments (still so good. so tender), the entirety of dghda season 2 felt like a waste of everybody’s talents

[apictureofspace]

playlist requests (1/?) - for @holdendadcliffe

“TREVORDEKE”

[ listen here ] // [ submit a request ]

[plinys]

"one more chapter" + Kitscliffe?

"It’s late.”

“One more chapter,” he says, the textbook propped up on the table, because there is more he needs to learn. More that could help. More knowledge that he doesn’t yet have and each line, each bit of research could provide some sort of clue, some sort of solution and he can’t just stop not when there’s not enough time for that.

There’s never enough time for anything.

Not anymore.

As he turns the next page, he listens for the tell tale signs of her walking away, the usual sort of thing, like they haven’t been having this discussion for the past few weeks.

Except this time she doesn’t follow the script.

There’s no sound of heels on their tile floors. 

He freezes in the middle of his sentence, looking up, “Agnes?”

There’s worry on her features.

Worry that shouldn’t  be there.

He’s supposed to be the one of them that worries. 

“Read it to me?” 

[slamncram]

Calcium

I’m still not entirely sure how this happened, but this morning, while discussing the trend of “no homo” responses, @plinys mentioned that she once had a student tell her “drinking milk makes you gay”. Me, entirely joking, said I should write a Fitzward fic with that as the premise. Next thing I knew, I wasn’t joking, and a bunch of us were seriously on board with it. 3000 words later? Here we are...

(And I promise, there are no weird milk kinks or anything in here. That I know of.)

Once upon a time, Grant and Leo were taken along on just about every mission the team did. Now, the team has gotten so big, and the world has gotten so weird, that when the Secret Warriors go out to handle new Inhumans, there's nothing for Grant and Leo to do but sit at the base and drink. And sometimes, that can lead to some pretty interesting places.

At some point, and Grant wasn’t sure precisely which, the world in which they lived had gotten to be extremely weird. When he’d first been brought into SHIELD by Victoria Hand, that had just been a given. SHIELD protected people from the weird things in the world that they just didn’t need or want to know about. In his first few years in the organization, Grant had seen and experienced enough weird things that, really, he should never bat an eyelash at anything else ever again. Enhanced humans, aliens, technology that interacted with humans on a level previously unknown. He’d seen it all.

And then Vic had wanted him working with Phil Coulson, and his ragtag little team. That wasn’t anything malicious. She wanted him to be working with others; his social skills and teamwork were all right, but they certainly weren’t his shining attributes. There was also the addition of the fact that, despite what Director Fury said, Vic wanted someone keeping an eye on Coulson. Someone who wasn’t in the Director’s back pocket, and had an unbiased eye for everything that would be going on aboard that plane. That was where Grant came in. It didn’t hurt that he’d fit the criteria that Melinda May had put together for a team that would be able to be efficient, should something go wrong with Coulson.

Grant hadn’t had all the details then, and he wasn’t sure he had all the details now. What he did know was that Coulson was a feat of science and that a lot of his superiors weren’t entirely sure what that could mean in the long run.

[READ THE REST BELOW, OR ON AO3]

In Vic’s mind, that had meant that Coulson was more susceptible than most to the underlying threats that had been present in SHIELD all along. After seeing everything from alien tech burrowing itself into Peruvian temples, to an ordinary father supercharged with an experimental and highly temperamental formula, finding out that Hydra had been hiding within SHIELD’s ranks all along was just the cherry on top of a very weird, very jarring cake.

And his part in that had been to barricade himself in the cockpit of the Bus, and bring it in to the Hub when Vic had ordered for it to be done. That had taken away a lot of the trust that the team had with him, at first. He was supposed to be their friend, and on their side, but he had knocked out May, trapped Skye and Coulson, and barricaded himself in with the controls, to take them to someone who suspected that they all may be Hydra infiltrators. At first, it hadn’t mattered that Grant had done all that so that he could vouch for them to the agent who had been his mentor all these years; he had broken their trust and informed on Coulson every day of every month they’d spent together. They were hurt, but things could have been worse, if Hand hadn’t been ready to take his word for it. If she hadn’t trusted her protege the way he insisted she did, things could have gone sideways.

Sideways before they got entirely turned upside down by the Hydra uprising and subsequent defeat.

That had taken some work to get over. Grant got that, with a little help from Victoria. He had been sneaking around behind their backs for months, and as noble as it had been, when you found that sort of thing out about someone you cared about, it could screw things up. Grant had accepted it, and accepted that he was going to have to go back to Vic’s team, working with her at the Hub, and running ops when she needed. That seemed like the best option for everyone involved.

Instead, she’d kept him assigned to Coulson, and with that team, Grant had seen the uprising of a small but determined sect of Hydra, and the beginning of a new world where there weren’t just SHIELD agents, and civilians, and Avengers. There were all of those, and Inhumans, and Skye – Daisy, she was now, in homage to her parents – was one of them.

That had been something that had changed the entire team. For a while, Daisy had gone away to stay with her mother, and learn how to control her powers, but when she had come back – with a new friend in tow – she had come back with her people’s history to bolster her, and the knowledge that her mother would be there, should she ever need her.

That had led to Daisy being able to form her own team, within the ever-growing team of misfits that Coulson seemed to attract. It had started out with himself, Grant, Jemma, Leo, and Melinda. They had picked up Skye – Daisy – and then Trip, and shortly after that, Mack, Hunter, Bobbi, and Kara. Daisy had come back with Lincoln, and with their new base of operations growing in size, Mace had been sent in to help Coulson in running things. And that was just their core team. Daisy’s team featured Inhumans who worked side by side with SHIELD, helping people, helping the population understand that they weren’t a threat, and protecting and helping new Inhumans with their transformations.

That was a much smaller team than their own, but Daisy and Lincoln had founded it, and so far brought in Joey Gutierrez, Elena Rodriguez, and James Taylor James. They were making headway, in their own fashion, and Grant supposed that was a good thing.

It was just, he’d seen a lot of weird things in his time with SHIELD, but he’d never quite been prepared for this kind of weird thing.

“Big Op. Lots of moving parts. Handlers needed, agents needed, a team needed,” he started, biting off a large chunk of the celery stalk that had been in his glass. “And for some reason, you and I are sitting here, treating each other to our favourite drinks.”

Across the counter from him, Leo Fitz, SHIELD engineer, one of the most brilliant minds Grant had ever known, shrugged. “I don’t know. I think this might be better than watching you get beat up.”

Grant scowled, and pointed across the polished wood at him with the mangled celery. “I don’t get beat up.”

Leo’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing, lifting his glass instead to take a big mouthful of the thick red drink inside. Ice clinked as he sent it back down, nearly empty, now. “Sometimes you do.” He smiled, and Grant knew what was coming. He knew that smile. That was the smile before the gentle scolding. Leo had gotten so damn good at that. “It’s a new Inhuman. A trio of new Inhumans. Triplets. You know as well as I do that Daisy and the Secret Warriors should be the ones to help them out and bring them in. Keep them safe from getting snatched by Hydra.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that they could have used handlers. A team running the back end.”

“Mack.” Leo pointed out. “And Jemma. You know that Daisy would rather have Jemma in her ear than me.”

Grant rolled his eyes, thinking back to the op three weeks ago when Daisy and Jemma hadn’t been on a second frequency, and Daisy had made a pretty descriptive joke that had Jemma sputtering that Grant was listening. And the whole rest of the team, but Grant, somehow, had been the one she’d pointed out. Very likely because he’d been the one sitting beside her in the van, giving her a very, very flat look.

“All right, fine. But Mack is one guy. And we both know that Daisy only tapped him in because he and--”

Leo shushed him, glancing around like there might be someone else in the base’s kitchen. There wasn’t. It was just the two of them, two drinks in, after a very big pot of spaghetti, split between them for dinner. Of course, there was a chance that someone could be walking by, but that seemed very unlikely. No one tended to barge in on Coulson’s original team.

“That’s not something that Coulson or Mace know about.” Leo said, quietly, swirling the ice cubes in the bottom of his glass. “And before you make some bloody smart-ass comment about how they know about Jemma and Daisy, and you and--”

“--I wasn’t going to make a smart-ass comment.”

The look on Leo’s face plainly said they both knew otherwise. Pushing his glass into the middle of the counter, Leo got off his stool and stretched, clearly having had just about enough of sitting on that. “You done?”

Picking up his own glass, Grant tipped back the rest of his Caesar, and then nodded, letting Leo take both of their glasses away. “What do you say. One more drink?”

“You read my mind.” Leo replied, dumping the half-melted ice out into the sink before setting the glasses to the side. Turning around, he leaned his hip against the counter, looking Grant over. “Is it my choice or yours? We both picked those gin and tonic shots before the food, and the Caesars were you… Do I get to make the choice, here?”

“As long as you know how to make whatever it is that you’re about to propose.”

“White Russians.”

That was a long way from what Grant had expected. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a smirk, and he turned on the stool, crossing his arms. “Say again?”

“White...” Leo narrowed his eyes, searching Grant’s face like there was a joke he wasn’t getting. “White Russians. Am I missing something?”

Shaking his head, Grant got up off his stool, and then leaned up to open the cupboard next to Leo, getting down two new glasses. “No, you’re not missing anything. But if we’re doing White Russians, then I’m taking back the bit about you making them. I’m making them. And then we can take them back to the lounge? Sit on something other than these damn stools, and wait for the others to get back from the Op we weren’t invited to?”

“You know, one may think you were bitter about being left behind, Grant Ward. But, fine by me. You make the drinks, and meet me in the lounge. Because you offered, and I actually worked on the specs for a new stealth suit for Elena, today, but all you’ve done is sit around and mope about being left out of tonight’s mission.” Leo dug his finger into Grant’s side, more playful than vindictive, and left him to it, wandering out of the kitchen, probably intent on making sure they would have the lounge to themselves. There was nothing worse than being in there with agents who were afraid to so much as hiccup around them, because they ranked higher. Some agents got a high out of it. For Grant, it was just sort of annoying.

He’d rather leave that job to Leo. Making their drinks was easy for him, almost second nature. Ice, vodka, Kahlua, milk, done. Poking his head in the fridge, Grant found that Jemma still had a container of cherries in there. She wasn’t going to miss one or two, he decided, and topped off their glasses with one each, before setting off to the lounge, hoping that Leo would be the only one there.

As he passed down the hallway – lined with shorter hallways that lead to the agent quarters – he became more and more sure that just wasn’t going to be the case. The closer he got to the lounge, the more distinct the sound of voices became. Under them, he could hear the dull rumble of yet another one of the base’s favourite first person shooter games. That meant that there were at least two agents in there, maybe more. Not exactly the kind of party he and Leo would want to put a damper on by showing up, in all their Level 8 glory.

Leo hadn’t come back to the kitchen, though, so--

“Don’t drop those.”

Grant managed not to jump at the sound of Leo’s voice, only because he’d heard quick footsteps coming his way down one of the side hallways. Leo emerged, taking one of the glasses from his hand and nodding down the hallway with his head, picking the cherry off the top of the glass and eating it. “Let’s not make it awkward for them. Come on, we can just settle in my room. Not like it will be the first time you’ve been there.”

Grant shrugged, following behind Leo as the other took the first sip of his drink. “And probably not the last, knowing us.”

The look he was given over Leo’s shoulder pulled a smirk from him. “No. Definitely not the last.”

Leo’s room wasn’t exactly tidy, but it was passable. There was space enough for them in there, with the door shut to block out the noise from the lounge down the hall.

Dropping into the small, squashy couch against the wall furthest from his bed, Leo look another sip of his drink and looked up at Grant, pointing at the glass. “This tastes differently from when I’ve had it before.”

Grant nodded, taking up the space next to Leo, following his lead and eating the cherry. He always felt huge when he sat on this couch. It wasn’t really that old, and it didn’t look that small, but when you put a man his size in it, it was almost comical. It was even funnier, Leo insisted, when he imagined Grant, Trip and Mack having to share the thing. The three of them were big guys, and it would be like some kind of clown couch. Right now, though, with only the two of them, it was snug, and comfortable. The perfect place to enjoy a couple of drinks and unwind.

“White Russians are Vic’s drink.” He explained, taking a sip of his own. He’d done a damn good job with this. Vic would have been pleased. “But she doesn’t like them with cream. It’s milk or nothing, for her. She says it makes them taste richer, or something.”

“Is there really that much difference?”

Leo held his glass up, peering at it critically. A scientist’s eye, as always. Smiling, Grant shrugged his opposite shoulder.

“I don’t really know. I’ve never had them the other way. You clearly have.”

“Ah, no.” Leo corrected, bringing his glass back down to take a drink. “I think the ones I’ve had have been just higher in the vodka and Kahlua content than this. But, I forget. You’re American, so you need this to be as gentle with you as possible.”

“Vic wouldn’t like to hear you talking like that.” Grant replied, conversationally.

“Victoria Hand can most definitely hold her liquor with the best of us. I’m talking about you, and only you, Grant. Then again, she’d probably be glad you’re drinking this with more milk.”

That statement right there had been something Grant hadn’t wholly expected to be made. Leo commenting that Vic would want him to have his milk made very little sense; yes, the team did, on occasion, tease Grant about the fact that, really, Hand was his hard-ass surrogate mother. That included comments about whether he was honest with her during his check-ins about whether or not he was taking his vitamins, and eating his vegetables, and things like that. The milk comment, Grant assumed, was in that same vein.

“Why, so I can grow up to have strong bones?” He deadpanned, lifting his glass to take a sip.

“No. Because milk makes you gay.”

On a list of things Grant had expected Leo to say, that hadn’t even ranked. It had been a long damn time since he’d spit out a drink, but that’s what happened, leaving Grant wiping his chin and Leo nearly howling with laughter.

“Where the hell did you hear that?!”

“The look on your face!”

“Drinking milk does not make you gay. Where the hell did you get that from?”

Leo pulled himself together, wiping at his eyes. “There are some people out there who would disagree with you. And maybe they’re on to something. I mean, you say Victoria likes her White Russians with milk, and not cream...”

Grant quirked an eyebrow. “There’s literally no correlation.”

“Ooh, look at you, Grant Ward.” Leo grinned, leaning into Grant’s face. “Correlation. You almost sound scientific when you say that. Sadly, I still don’t think that it would sway the section of the population that really and truly believes that too much milk gives one a gay bent.”

“You are not in that section of the population, Leo.” Grant pointed out, smiling despite himself. That really was an utterly ridiculous thing to say, much less believe, but he had no doubt that there were those, out there in the world, particularly this country, who believed it. He’d heard less outlandish things.

“No, but I’ve also never studied the relation between sexuality and the quantity of milk a person consumes. Who knows. Victoria seems to be a prime example in their favour.”

With a roll of his eyes, and barely a second of thought, Grant shot back, “And did you drink a lot of milk growing up, Leo?”

The quiet that settled over the other was almost immediate, and for a second, Grant wondered if he’d overstepped. There wouldn’t have been a reason for it to be an overstep. Leave alone what Leo had just said about Vic – which, Grant conceded, was a point in favour of the bullshit theory – there were other certain factors at work that just couldn’t make it an overstep.

And yet. Leo was getting up from the couch, with his drink, and reaching to take Grant’s. He walked away from the couch, setting both glasses down on his dresser with a soft clink, before he turned back around, eyes still not meeting Grant’s.

For a few seconds, Grant was sure Leo was about to tell him off. For a few long seconds, he was positive that he had overstepped in some way that he just couldn’t see yet.

Then, those seconds passed, and Leo was walking back over to the couch, and climbing into Grant’s lap, straddling him with a hand on his shoulder. The other slid into the short hair at the back of his head, brushing until he could get a decent handful, pulling Grant’s head back to rest against the back of the couch. Leo’s lips brushed his neck, teasing over that sensitive spot he loved so much, and Grant’s hands moved up to grip at Leo’s hips, pulling him in closer.

“As a matter of fact,” Leo murmured, shifting himself teasingly in Grant’s lap, his breath ghosting over Grant’s skin and leaving goosebumps. “I did.”

[sneakybiskit]

“Do you think I’m impulsive?” + trevordeke please?

As promised, here we go!

10. Do you think I’m impulsive?

In his defense, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, and Trevor wasn't there to tell him no. Calling him from the emergency room waiting room with his arm cradled against him, though, wasn't something he wanted to do, but he also couldn't avoid it. He’d already driven himself to the hospital when he maybe shouldn’t have.

“Hey, what’s up?” Trevor answered, and Deke could hear the sounds of his sister chatting in the background.

“Don’t freak out,” Deke said quietly. 

“That’s not a good start for me not to freak out,” Trevor said. “What did you do?”

“I think I broke my arm,” Deke answered, looking around the waiting room. There was a woman across from him who was staring blankly at a space about his head. “I’m at the hospital right now.”

“How’d you get there?”

“Drove.”

“With a broken arm? Deke!” Trevor scolded. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your afternoon. You don’t get to see Avi that often.”

“Oh, babe,” Trevor sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m coming. What hospital?”

“St. Mary’s by the river.”

In the background, he heard Avi ask if everything was okay. 

“Yeah, Deke’s hurt, but everything will be okay,” Trevor answered. “I’m going to the hospital to be there with him.”

Avi said something that sounded like teasing him about being too cute, and Trevor mocked her quietly under his breath.

“Tell her I’m sorry,” Deke said.

“You don’t have to be. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Thanks, Trev.”

They hung up and Deke felt alone again, sitting in the quiet of the waiting room. He probably should have called Trevor when it had happened, or before driving himself to the hospital, that way he didn’t have to wait so long. He hadn’t wanted to worry Trevor at all, but his own fear and anxiety had driven him to call his boyfriend. He felt like a bother most days, but especially on days like this.

Trevor was there within ten minutes, hurrying through the door and only pausing to locate Deke. 

“There you are,” he breathed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? What happened?”

“I was being stupid.”

“Deke.” Trevor took his hand and gave him his sweet patient face. He had the prettiest eyes. 

“Do you think I’m impulsive?”

“Yes,” Trevor replied, but before Deke could get offended, he continued, “but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“I broke my arm.”

“Today you broke your arm. But you also built a company from nothing, and we wouldn’t be together if you weren’t, and -”

Deke leaned over the arm of the chair and kissed Trevor.

“I love you,” he blurted and pulled away, eyes wide. They hadn’t said that yet, and he didn’t want to scare Trevor away.

“I love you, too,” Trevor said. “And I love you impulsiveness.”

“Even this?” Deke asked, gesturing to his arm.

“Well, not this specifically,” he amended. “I’d prefer if you didn’t get hurt in the process, obviously, but I’m not looking to change you, Deke. I knew what I was getting into when I asked you out. I know who you are, and that’s not going to push me away.”

“You don’t even know what I did. What if it’s bad enough you change your mind?”

“Were you using that stupid pogo stick near the stairs again?”

“No,” Deke said quickly. “Maybe. You weren’t there to tell me not to, and -”

Trevor leaned in this time and kissed him first. 

“I love you so much. Don’t ever change, you beautiful chaos man.”

Deke laughed and nudged him playfully.

“Deke Shaw,” one of the nurses called, and Deke raised his good hand as he stood up. “The doctor will see you now, if you’ll come this way.”

“Can my boyfriend come with me? I’m not good in hospitals.”

The nursed looked over Trevor for a moment and then nodded. Deke didn’t have to hold out his hand for him; Trevor took his hand and squeezed, letting him know he was there without Deke having to ask. Deke didn’t have to worry about that, though, not with Trevor. He had been at Deke’s side unflinchingly since they’d met and Deke had hired him without a second thought or having to meet anyone else. He’d been an amazing assistant, and an even better boyfriend after Deke had decided to kiss him one night when they’d stayed late at the office. It had been the best decision Deke had made, impulsive or not. It had changed his life, and at least that once, it was for the better. 

[more dialogue prompts]

[sneakybiskit]

17 + trevordeke for the dialogue prompts?

Alex, you delight me with your choices every time! I hope you like it!

[send me a dialogue prompt and a ship]

17. You literally have egg on your face.

Trevor came back from his run to absolute chaos. It was hilarious how many times this happened. Deke was delightful, and carefree, and the main creator of chaos in Trevor’s life. The cat was laying on the back of their couch, watching the living room with clear apprehension. She was usually right up against Deke, so if she were keeping her distance, Trevor wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was happening in the kitchen.

“Deke?” he called. “You here, babe?”

“Of course! In the kitchen!”

He followed the sound into the kitchen and paused at the doorway. There were bowls covering the counter top, some dirty, some clean, some filled with chopped up vegetables. Deke was wearing his apron, which Trevor had bought him when he’d first started messing around in the kitchen. It was mostly black but with a bright yellow lemon print, with frills at the shoulders. It had mostly been a joke, but when Deke put it on the first time, he’d smiled so much that Trevor couldn’t feel bad about it. 

“What are you making?”

“Omelets!”

“Have you ever made omelets before?”

“Nope!”

“And how’s that going?”

“Well,” Deke said, gesturing to a plate to his left that had more of a veggie scramble than an omelet. “Not great.”

He turned to face Trevor finally, and Trevor couldn’t help the cackle that burbled up out of him. 

“What?” Deke demanded.

“Oh, babe. Not great at all, huh?” Trevor said, crossing the kitchen.

“What is it?”

“You literally have egg on your face, that’s all.”

“Why did you specify literally? How would I figuratively have egg on my face?”

“It’s an expression, figurative -- it doesn’t matter. Come here.”

He grabbed the dish towel that Deke had bought for him in return, a bright pink towel that said Bitch I am the secret ingredient, and wiped Deke’s cheek gently. 

“What made you want omelets?”

“I was watching Food Network while you were on your run, and they made it seem so easy.”

“It’s the Food Network. They’re professional chefs, everything they do seems easy.”

“I wanted to have one ready for you, but I can’t get one right.”

Trevor smiled and turned Deke towards the stove.

“I can teach you,” Trevor said, wrapping his arms around Deke’s waist, slipping his hands underneath the apron to press into his belly, and kissing the nape of his neck. 

“You know how to make an omelet?”

“I do. I don’t know why you’re so surprised. I’m talented at a lot of things.”

“Oh, I know that for certain. So, Agent Kahn, teach me.”

“Gladly.”