Food For Thought
Title: Food For Thought (one-off/four drabbles)
Author: deepseabed
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nothing. Or, maybe something... ;)
Disclaimer: It's all fantasy. It happens only in my dreams.
Feedback: Anything will be loved. ♥
This consists of four Belldom drabbles about food. I hope you like them. :)
#1
If you ask him what he wants for dinner, He'll probably say, "I don't mind."
However, don't take him at his word. Otherwise, you'll have to learn your lesson. Or maybe, possibly, he really means it. Unless the person who asks him that question is me.
For me, he's always been thoughtful enough to offer various sorts of replies. Various sorts of rejections, I mean. Such as, "I'm not in that mood," "that restaurant should be packed" or "I'm too knackered to go anywhere," and so on and so forth. Usually, with a kind of facial expression which makes me feel quite worthless.
So, in the end, I always have to cook for us, just like this precise moment.
As I'm preparing our meal, he stares into the pan, eyes sparkling and nose twitching like that of a rabbit. This is his favourite pasta, mine too. I secretly know that he's been trying to make this sauce himself, but as far as I know, it's been fruitless despite his best efforts.
I hope he will never be successful, though. So that I can keep and feed him for ever.
#2
I don't know who the hell suggested this. A member of our tour staff, perhaps? Anyway, it'd better not be Matt, because it'd make me want to kill him.
On the table are several dishes, full of different sorts of… Yuck. Just thinking of those nouns makes me feel disgusted. Don't get me wrong, I'm the best of the three of us at treating this kind of thing. I wouldn't mind touching them if they were alive, or at least not on a dining table. When we were younger, it was me who kindly put baits on their hooks. You should know how girlish Chris could be, despite his physique. Had it not been for me, they couldn't even have gone fishing.
My plate is empty, and I'm perfectly content with it. I'd rather starve than eat. So, I decide to stick to drinking, and reach out for a bottle of wine. But just before my fingers can touch it, Chris snatches the bottle.
"Sorry, mate."
He smiles apologetically, and tries to fill my glass first, but I decline with a wave of my hand, casting a knowing glance at him. I take pity on this man, who's been awfully quiet all evening.
My glass is filled again, and just as my lips touch the rim, I think I've seen something in my peripheral vision.
Something rather disturbing. Something plump and cream-coloured. In front of me. On my plate.
I look up, and stare at Matt over the rim of my glass. With a nonchalant air, in spite of the fury inside. Even though he's pretending to be absorbed in chatting with Tom, I can clearly feel his attention focused fully upon me.
It's a good job that I know how to punish him.
#3
A small silver spoon disappears, irritatingly slowly, between thin lips. For several seconds, it remains inside, moving back and forth, in a pornographic way. And then, it reappears, a velvety red tongue tasting the inside of the spoon.
I'm fully aware of what he's doing. What he's trying to do. And yet, I keep flipping through the pages of the Sunday colour supplements.
"Matt?"
"…Umm?"
"Why are you taking so long? Just eat your ice cream quickly. It's melting, and making a mess on the table."
His eyes narrow into slits, his lips set in a pout.
His pout is so cute and dramatic that I barely manage to stifle a chuckle, feeling as if I was living with a five-year-old child. Seriously, if he wants to seduce me, it's really not difficult. The way he does it is just wrong. So wrong. All he has to do is to put on one of those tight, short-sleeved white tee shirts. And maybe, ruffling his hair a bit, sitting in front of the piano, and playing some beautiful tune would do the job, perfectly.
In one swift movement, I dip my fingers into his tub of minty ice cream, and smear the sticky stuff over his neck. He's caught completely off guard, his jaw dropping. With a blank expression, he looks round-eyed at me, then down at the impressive, pale spots on his black tee shirt.
"I think I've just come up with a rather interesting use of that ice cream..."
I lick the remnants of the ice cream off my fingers, putting them into my mouth, making sure those blue eyes are following the movement. Once I see him bite his bottom lip, I know that it's done.
It's always been so easy to turn him on. And, turn myself on. Simultaneously.
#4
This is the first time that I've seen that skinny boy by himself, around the pier. He usually hangs about with a bunch of those kids who you should never be friends with. The only reason I recognise him is that I saw him playing the piano at the school talent contest, a couple of months ago. It was pretty impressive, and I thought he was worth remembering.
Among summer tourists, he's wearing a shell suit, in this hot air. It looks downright ridiculous. Besides, I haven't the faintest clue why he's feeding his crisps to seagulls, like some brainless holidaymaker.
"That's a nice flavour."
He stops, turning his attention from the seagulls to me. I lean nonchalantly against the railing, pointing at the small packet of crisps in his hand.
He looks quizzically at me for a couple of seconds, and then, thrusts his arm towards me, as if offering me his crisps.
"Want some?"
"God, no! I'm not a seagull."
"You're too big to be my pet, actually. I'm feeding them, 'cos I want to tame them. Like, the birds you use for hunting?"
Whatever I expected his reason to be, this is beyond the reach of my imagination. Leaving me speechless, he starts emptying the crisps onto the concrete, as if he's lost interest. And then, throws the packet away.
"I'm going home to listen to the radio, before my friends come here. They don't understand what music is at all."
He smiles mischievously at me, making himself look totally different. And suddenly, I know that I will soon get to like him.