Open RP Post

[scaledwolf]

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[Open post for PSLs, random crack tags, plotted tags, unplotted tags, and tfln overflow.
Basically the w/e RP post.]

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[nexubait]

One of the perks of cooking – and there were far more perks to cooking with someone rather than cooking alone – is that taste tests are often necessary. To be sure that any given ingredient is all that it’s expected to be, of course, and to determine how much or how little might be needed. That’s especially true for things that bring sweetness to the table, because a little too much runs the risk of being far too much, and no one wants the disappointment of there being too little of a sweet touch. It’s one of the more critical elements to get just right, and so she wouldn’t dream of shirking that duty. There’s no reason she wouldn’t want to help, either, given the fact that it’s an activity that calls for two. They’ll both have to decide whether the berries are up to par, right? Or at the very least, it will take two to choose the one to try. Or to do the actual feeding, which is another thought that, once planted in her head, has happily taken root. It would be a shame to miss any of the opportunities that have suddenly arisen in the kitchen. The look she’s given is enough to assure her that she’s not the only one who thinks so.

“Agreed, for safety and for science purposes.” Because food safety came before anything else, surely. There’s a glance at the berries in question and then back up, as if it’s a risky proposition to consider, which has to mask the frisky smile that wants to surface instead. “You choose which one, and I’ll test it. Just promise to make the story of my sacrifice a lot more interesting.” ‘Killed by a blackberry’ wasn’t the final line she hoped to have written about her life, but she also wasn’t planning on dying. Quite the opposite, as reflected in her only halfway-harnessed excitement. But she could blame him for that as well, for having that particular effect on her, even as she arches her brow in return. There’s no way to prove one way or another whether or not he’s laughing at her, though if she can judge by what he’s wearing, and the fact that he is indeed listening, odds seem to be in his favor.

Which means, then, that they are also in her favor, and she leaves her appreciation, for the fact that he’s not like most men, unspoken. It was something she had realized early on and not forgotten, which went part of the way in explaining why she had never succeeded in forgetting anything between them. The simpler truth was that she hadn’t wanted to. In the same way that she doesn’t quite want to pull away from his lips, or step away from the pocket created by his arm, but luckily it doesn’t seem like she needs to, keeping herself nudged in against the sturdy line of his side. “Our flukes are flukier than normal,” she can’t keep from quipping, though she also has no issue with that. It feels unique, either a mistake on the part of the stars or a gift, but something she feels privileged to have, regardless. Quirky, different. Addictive. A maple-glazed kind of fluke. “So, you’re saying we overcome the pain of eating cute things by eating more cute things?” She can only be mock-offended, however, because of what this means: more wolves, and thus more waffles, which means a variety of waffles, right? Chocolate chip, blueberry, strawberry. Confetti. No matter how cute they might appear on the plate, they would not last there for long.

[scaledwolf]

Taste tests are definitely necessary and a highlight to any good cooking excursion, though the fact that he has her to be here to taste with him makes all the difference. Her company with him, while they cook together, even if she mostly watches or supplies moral support from the counter, makes tonight even more special for him. Because he's not just cooking and bringing it to her, they get to talk and enjoy each other's company while the food comes together. And how could he ever say no to wanting to spend some quality time with her, no interruptions? If he could end every day just like this, he's pretty sure he'd be the happiest man in the galaxy. Not necessarily the cooking part, but the them locked in a room alone part, of course. Because there are other activities they could get up to that call for two, other ways to occupy their night in different rooms that have doors that keep the world out and at bay as well.

"I promise that the story of your sacrifice will be heroic and inspiring," he offers as he looks down at the berries in question. The move hides the small smirk that lifts his lips for the teasing. Reaching, he lets his fingers graze a few of them, deeming them not worthy of a taste just yet. Because if she's going to taste, well, he wants to find the perfect berry. He finds one that seems to be just a little plumper than the others, which also means it's just a little blacker than the rest too. Which is fitting, really. The blacker the berry, the riper it is, after all. Lifting the berry out of the container, he holds it up in front of her mouth carefully so she can take a bite, or since the berry is small enough take the whole berry from him. Though the way his eyes watch her and slip to her mouth, and the way he's holding it, he fully expects this to be a mouth only taste test.

While he would normally have absolutely no qualms about getting distracted by kissing her, because he has none, he does also want to feed her. Not just the berries but a meal. It's the only reason he's letting himself be distracted from more kisses. Though he likes keeping her close and against his side for as long as he can. Eventually, with cooking, he'll need to let go of her at least for the duration of eggs, bacon and waffle making. But for now, everything works with the warmth of her stretching down his side like a steady presence he's been missing all these years. "Our flukes are the best kind of flukes though." Because they always seem to put them both in just the right path or clothing or message timing. Very addictive though, he'll definitely agree with that. "That I am. Because if we continue to eat more cute things, then the act of eating them will become normal for us and it won't feel like it's wrong to do so." And yes, a variety of waffles for them, pretty much like the sushi, they can explore different waffle kinds, but also toppings.

[nexubait]

There are worse legacies to have – after all, someone has to prove that her impulse is a benefit to their breakfast-dinner. But they’d already decided, more than once, that they should trust their impulses. And, since hers had happened to dictate that she should bring blackberries, she hadn’t questioned it. A fruitful choice, given the turn of events, and she drops her own gaze to watch as he appraises the berries. They’d looked suitable enough to her, even if she’d been in a little bit of a rush, but she doesn’t mind waiting for him to come to the same conclusion on his own. Which he seems to, having selected a berry, and she gives it a quick look-over of her own before flicking her own smirk. It’s one of the plumper ones, which means it’s one of the riper ones, which means it’s one of the blacker ones, and she skips a curious glance back up to meet his eyes as she leans forward and parts her lips to accept the offering.

Onto her tongue, carefully, with a brush of her lips against his fingertips that may or may not have been accidental, letting go of a considering hum. It’s definitely a blackberry – a small burst of sweet and tart on her tongue, and, as she’d expected, she can imagine that it will pair well with maple-glazed anything. They could also be enjoyed just as well on their own, if the current experience is any indication, and she’s happy to relish the dissolving juice for as long as she can, passing judgment with a smile. “Since I’ve neither died nor tasted anything terrible, maybe the story of our success can be just as heroic and inspiring.” It will be for her, anyway, she feels she can safely assume – inspiring enough to want to repeat this sort of evening again, be it with another iteration of waffles, or dangerous sushi creations, or anything at all. Who says they’re even limited to the kitchen?

A distracting train of thought to ride any further, just as staying pressed in against his side is not going to lead to anything productive in terms of cooking. Sparing a wistful glance along the length of his body, and then back up to his lips, she takes a reluctant step away to instead find a close-by but out-of-the-way piece of real estate on the counter, turning and hopping her hips up gently to take a seat. She had a promise to fulfill regarding moral support, and maybe even a video tutorial if necessary, trusting that she could also manage to make waffles once the time came. But she did intend to waste at least a little bit of time just watching. How often were they locked together in a room, allowing her to shamelessly do so? “My favorite flukes, I will admit,” she agrees lightly, truthfully, lifting her brows at the explanation he provides her. A sensible, kingly outlook. “In order to justify anything, then, the answer is to do it more? Is that a theory that translates to all areas of life?” And how can there not be a cheeky smile to go with that?