Chapter 461 - 462: He Wants Him.

Chapter 461: Chapter 462: He Wants Him.

​"...If it were me, I’d want something that tasted like home," is what Loac says with a shrug, completely, blissfully unaware of the heat rising in Khobi’s cheeks.

​This guy, sometimes ...

​It’s when he says stuff like that that it isn’t so hard to believe that Khobi fell in love with him.

​So they make meat bread. Khobi’s got the hang of the best way to cook it and which meats work best, so he focuses on getting that ready, and (with a measure of apprehension) leaves Loac to the vegetables.

He keeps waiting to hear the usual curses that indicate he’s cut himself or knocked over his bowl or is getting frustrated that his slices keep coming out uneven, but none of it comes.

He’d be concerned by the silence but he can hear the knife somewhere across the other side of the bench, steadily, slowly, carefully working away, and when he glances up, just to make sure everything’s going okay, he finds him with his brow furrowed in earnest, like he wants to make sure he gets it right.

​And he does.

​Perfect, actually. And gods maybe he should praise Loac more often because the way he lights up when he offhandedly tells him so is really something to behold. "Thanks, Loac," he adds, and really means it.

​Loac chews at his lip, clearly trying to hide a smile, but his ears turn red and give him away.

​"No problem," he replies, trying to play it cool and really, totally failing at it. "...Dough next, right?"

​Khobi grins, feeling optimistic enough to tell him, "Go right ahead."

​He probably should have supervised because Loac still gets flour everywhere, but this is hardly his first time on dough duty and he’s gotta admit that despite the mess, he’s really getting the hang of it.

​It’s nice. Really, really nice, actually. And Khobi’s not even all that surprised. After all, he likes cooking with Loac; the guy still cuts himself when he’s not careful but he’s come a long way since the first time Khobi roped him into helping.

He’s more careful now, although he still catches his elbows on absolutely everything and makes a mess with anything he touches.

But that’s part of the fun of it now; those little moments where his supernatural graces fail him at every turn and Khobi gets to see that too-cool facade of his slip away.

The mess and the cut thumbs are a small price to pay to see that signature smugness of his light up with pride when he knows he’s gotten it right.

​Loac finishes up with the dough before Khobi finishes up with the filling, and eventually pulls up a seat across the other side of the bench so that he can watch him at work.

Contemplative; that way he does, just watching him like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather have his eyes on, and saying nothing.

Khobi understands it now, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still make heat crawl up over the back of his neck. If anything, it’s worse .

​"What?" he finally asks, when the filling is on the fire and all that’s left to do is clean up and wait for it to finish cooking. Usually this is when he’d start on the dough, but Loac’s already finished that.

Instead of answering, Loac’s stool scrapes across the stone as he stands up and sidles around the bench. Khobi pauses, midway through cleaning off a knife –because as much of a help as Loac has been thus far, he draws the line at cleaning, apparently –and waits to see what exactly he’ll do.

The moment Loac’s attention starts to wander is typically the most dangerous part of any kitchen experience, and Khobi tenses, already anticipating having him wipe his messy hands in his hair or give him a floury slap on the ass.

​What he’s not expecting, is for him to come up behind him and simply wrap his arms around his waist.

​"...I’m holding a knife," Khobi warns, when Loac gives him a light squeeze and leans into him; chin resting into the dip of his shoulder. Undaunted, Loac just lifts a hand, pries the knife away from Khobi’s grip and sets it down on the bench.

He could’ve stopped him –cleaning up is part of the process, too –but he’s starting to get it, a little.

That this is probably just Loac’s way of asking for attention.

​( How hadn’t he seen it sooner?)

​It feels a lot like I missed you .

​"I thought you were helping me," he murmurs, raising an eyebrow as Loac’s nose nudges against his neck. He obligingly tilts his head just so –just enough that he can get to his skin with his lips instead.

So that he knows that Khobi missed him too.

​"I was," Loac replies, and a sigh leaves Khobi’s lips both from the way his arms tighten around his waist and from the open-mouthed kiss pressed against his skin.

The last time he went this long without feeling Loac’s heat like this feels like a distant memory. "...I was real helpful. You said it yourself."

​He did, didn’t he?

​"...But I’m bored now," he snickers, mischievously nipping at his ear and dipping his voice to that dangerous, low pitch that he knows does terrible things to him, "...

Entertain me, Khobi ."

​Khobi can’t think of any reason good enough to not indulge him. They’ve got time before the meat finishes cooking, and the servants will rescue it in the event they get carried away.

So he turns in Loac’s arms and flips their positions; crowding Loac up against the bench and springing a kiss on him. A muffled gasp leaves Loac’s lips like he hadn’t been expecting it, and Khobi takes advantage of having caught him by surprise to push his body between his legs; bearing in on him and reaching up to graze his fingers up his cheek.

​They haven’t really gotten much time alone together since the other night.