Work Text:
The apartment fills with the smell of burning butter, hot and heavy in the early morning air. Johnny stirs, the smog tickling his nostrils as he lay sleeping in his shared bed. He feels a heavy hand shake his shoulder, eyes fluttering open as a sun-drenched Simon loomed over him.
“Here.”
Simon waves a steaming plate of…‘ something ’ in Johnny’s groggy direction.
Johnny chuckles, eyeing the plate of dull brown sludge that his boyfriend presented to him.
“What’s this? Shite ye got from outside?”
Simon rolls his eyes, sitting on the bed beside Johnny, forcefully putting the plate on his lap.
“You’re a riot, Johnny. You know that? But no it’s pancakes. Got it from me mum’s book.”, Simon grumbled with folded arms, a still dripping spatula in hand.
Johnny chuckles, checking out the food. For as long as they’d stayed in their apartment, Simon rarely cooked, it being more of Johnny’s forte and even when the big lug did cook, it was all the basics: scrambled eggs; spaghetti; baked beans. Nothing extravagant, nothing complex, just like himself so pancakes were a welcome surprise. Shrugging, Johnny took an unwitting bite of the food eyes immediately going wide, the undercooked pile of poorly mixed flour sitting on his tongue. It was bad, really bad .
Simon eyes the other man, his usually dull brown eyes flickering with something foreign: excitement. Johnny’s expression sours slightly, guilt wracking his mind, fearful of the backlash of critiquing Simon’s horrific cooking.
With a pained swallow, Johnny grimaces, eyes watering from the overabundance of baking soda in the ‘pancakes’ . As the half-cooked monstrosity fought its way down his gullet, he gave Simon a strained, toothy grin with a shaky thumbs up, the larger man perking up at his approval.
“It tastes great.”, Johnny manages to choke out.
He gets up, hiding the remaining amount of pancake on his plate as he gave a smiling Simon a peck on the cheek.
“How ‘bout next time, I cook with ye?”, Johnny offers with a pat on the back.
“...I’d love that.”