Tokyo Babylon, Subaru/Seishirou, what's for dinner -- "Butter and Onions"
Seishirou’s naked under that apron.
Subaru’s face is pinker—and probably hotter—than the tuna on the skillet.
The ‘ma’ part of ‘tadaima’ goes…somewhere not here. Um. Yes.
“Okaeri, Subaru-kun,” Seishirou trills, working a spatula under one of the, um, tuna steaks and flipping it over like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he picks up the lid from one of the pots with his other hand, a wave of steam trundles out and whacks against his glasses, fogging them white. He turns a—aside and coughs a little into the wrist with the spatula. “Yikes, might’ve made the cauliflower a little spicy there,” he chuckles apologetically, fanning and shouldering away the steam and um, Seishirou has really nice shoulders. Smooth-looking shoulders. His skin is sweaty and a little bit gold. “You can handle spicy, though, right, Subaru-kun?”
The smile under those foggy wet glasses makes Subaru want to faint. Or, um. Something—is it really that foggy in here? Everything smells like butter and onions and water and heat—
“Whoa, hold on there!” There’s a clatter, a lid, the sound of bare feet padding on tile and something wraps around Subaru, something bare and burning and even warmer than he is. Arms. He looks up dazedly. Seishirou’s…glasses aren’t that foggy. They’re very close to Subaru’s face. He’s—he must be holding Subaru up which means that Subaru must have fallen down, almost, which means, um, Seishirou’s still naked under the apron.
He thumbs at Subaru’s hair, takes Subaru’s hat off. “Was it really that hot?” He frowns a little, and instead of helping Subaru up he sinks down to the kitchen floor, kneels over Subaru’s legs—he did almost faint—oh—and sets the hat down on the tile beside them.
He has really nice hips, too, on the other side of the apron. They—they make Subaru’s ache.
“You’re, um. Not wearing any clothes,” Subaru finally manages to say.
“Of course not,” Seishirou says, the words—his mouth—so very close to Subaru’s now. “I’m trying to seduce you, Subaru-kun.”
“Seishirou-san—”
There’s—there’s a little stubble around his mouth, wet, grating, brushing against Subaru’s cheek. Butter and onions and cigarette smoke and something else that sends needles through Subaru’s skin, everywhere, especially his hands, sweating so much—
He—Seishirou puts his mouth on Subaru’s chin— “Is it working?”
Subaru’s legs tighten on Seishirou’s knees. Bare. Hot. “…Dinner?”
“No, Subaru-kun. Seducing you. Is it wo—Darn,” Seishirou murmurs and cocks his head when the kitchen timer starts beeping away—
--
—which is actually Subaru’s alarm clock, but, but, but, um…