That was gross, and when I checked the expiration date, it was too old, and I tossed it in the garbage. My mate put his hands on his hips and growled, and my hands shook as I cracked the eggs. He was adorable, and I kissed his brow and instructed him to sit.
“I could get used to this.”
That could refer to a lot of things, such as waking up next to one another or me cooking for him or me taking charge and not letting him eat crap in the morning. I didn’t care which it was, and he could huff and puff and pretend to snarl, but as long as we were together, life was good.
I bent over and rummaged through the utensils drawer searching for a spatula. When I finally found it, the handle had melted after being left against something hot.
“Oh yeah, I did that a while ago when I forgot to turn off the heat.”
Between the old food, the burnt handle, and last night's fire-alarm fiasco, I began to question my mate’s kitchen skills. Maybe I should do the cooking from now on, as I pictured the apartment burning to the ground.
Bronson’s nose twitched as the bacon sizzled. “Mmmm, that does smell good.” He leaned over the pan, trying to steal a bit, and I smacked his hand. It wasn’t crispy enough, and besides, he might burn his fingers.
“You’re a meanie.”
“And I’ll wear the title proudly, but no one eats bacon before it’s cooked, not in my kitchen.”
He saluted and returned to his coffee. But after opening all the cupboards, I couldn’t find a toaster, so he got up and pressed his crotch on my ass as he pushed past. I told him to go back and do it again because he needed to perfect the maneuver, and he giggled.
“You’re a good cook but a little messy,” Bronson observed.
What was that saying about not being able to make a cake without breaking eggs? I couldn’t recall, so I just shrugged. I’d clean up when I was done. But my mate shimmied past me yet again and wiped the oil spatter from the stove and grabbed the eggshells from the sink.
Dale described my cooking method as fighting with the food, but it worked for me, though I left a trail of chaos in my wake.
I flipped the bacon and asked my mate how he preferred his eggs. He was on his knees, wiping up bacon fat that had spurted out of the pan. I’d have liked him on his knees while I sat on the edge of the bed, my pants at my ankles, but we had all day and the rest of our lives.
I told him to sit while I dished up the food, making sure to give him about half of what I was going to eat. His eyes bulged, and he dunked a piece of toast in the baked beans.
“Mmmm, this is delicious.”
It took hardly any effort to warm up baked beans and make toast, and I urged him to eat more.
“I love how you threw breakfast together, but I’m a little disappointed you didn’t make pancakes.”
I leaped up and grabbed a bowl from the drying rack. “Sorry, I can make a batch now.”
He put a hand on my arm. “I was joking, being sarcastic.”
I returned to my seat, and our knees bumped under the small kitchen table. We talked about what we’d do for the rest of the day. I didn’t bring up living arrangements because we were together and that was enough for now.
“Ugh, washing up.” My mate studied the pile of dishes in the sink. “That’s the problem with cooking, there’s a lot of work afterward.” He pointed to the garbage bin. “That’s one of the reasons why a cereal bar is so efficient. There’s no clean-up.”
I told him as I’d made the mess, I’d wash up, but he insisted that as I’d cooked, he’d deal with the aftermath. “Besides, washing dishes is kind of meditative.”
“Really?” I hated scrubbing off dried egg and putting leftovers away. “I have a better idea.” I leaned over and licked off bacon grease from his lips. “We could forget this carnage and do it later.” I trailed my foot up his leg.
Bronson sniggered. “Oh yeah, and what would we do instead?”
“This.” I scooped him up, and he squealed as I raced into the bedroom and dumped him on the mattress.
“Are we taking a long snooze after our huge breakfast?” He shimmed his PJ pants off and tossed them on the floor.
I was still hungry, and I eyed him greedily, wondering which part of him I’d nibble, suck, lick, or kiss first.
“You’re a bad influence.” He beckoned me closer.
I agreed and fell onto the bed, making sure my face was level with his cock.
