Work Text:
Rhys comes home to the smell of cooking, the clatter of dishes and pots and to Duncan singing in the kitchen. He has never heard Duncan sing before, not even hum, and he very carefully closes the front door and sneaks into the living room, listening.
Duncan's baritone is easily heard over the noise of dinner preparation and fills the living room. The shanty he is singing gets punctuated by the sound of the cleaver hitting the cutting board. Duncan is probably busy dismembering the chicken Rhys bartered for a small healing spell. It gives the song a very appropriate martial air.
Rhys curls up on the couch as Duncan launches into the chorus with audible gusto:
John Paul Jones is a pirate, no loyalty does he possess
Keep it up, we'll catch the pirate and sink him along with the rest
There's more enthusiasm than training in Duncan's voice, but he hits every note and every pause perfectly. It's obvious and infectious how much joy he takes in singing. The low notes give Rhys a little shiver.
The song ends, followed by the sound of the chicken parts being dropped into a pot full of water. Rhys holds his breath, waiting if Duncan will continue and is a bit sad when he doesn't. With a sigh, Rhys gets up and steps into the kitchen. 'Hey, do you need help with this?'
Duncan turns with a smile and steals a kiss before he goes back to cutting vegetables. 'I've got this.' He gives Rhys a sidelong glance. 'Didn't hear you come in.'
Rhys grins. 'If you're asking whether I heard you singing, I did. If you ever feel like letting me hear some more, I'd be delighted.' He sits at the kitchen table and watches Duncan's ears blush right to the tips.
There's silence for a bit, but it's a comfortable silence, only interrupted by the bubbling of the chicken stock and Duncan rummaging around in the fridge in search of more vegetables. Still with his back to Rhys, he starts chopping carrots.
Duncan's voice starts out quietly, only just audible, but it quickly gathers strength. By the time he hits the chorus, his voice has a rich baritone timbre that raises every hair on Rhys' body.
We will rant and we'll roar like true British sailors
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt seas
Rhys leans back in his chair, closes his eyes and listens.