“… Sky?” Silence is never a good sign.

But Angelo decides he prefers silence if the alternative is hearing Skyler say ‘scrambled eggs’ from the direction of the kitchen.

It doesn’t matter if it was on the other end of the ship or if time stilled so that it took longer than the few seconds to cross the length of the apartment; he’s never mentally prepared for the destruction he finds whenever the sailor and cooking meet in a head-to-head clash.

“Uh… You know. I’m not very hungry, I actually ate on the way here,” he lies as he follows the familiar path to the kitchen, only now picking up the scents of burning and a strange combination of cooked ingredients which had no business belonging together. Angelo walks a little faster.

Turns out the situation isn’t quite as trashed as Angelo had expected. Perhaps he’d been scarred after the last egg incident. It’s cluttered with ingredients and dirty pans, sure... but he has little time to survey the surroundings, not when there’s a burst of flames coming from Skyler’s pan.

Angelo’s hand comes to rest on the sailor’s hip as he stands behind her, reaching past to turn the temperature of the cooker down from the biggest flame on the dial to a more modest – and less explosive – medium heat.

“I actually have a better feeling about the next batch. That one's going to be the one.” There’s a curl on his lips as a wandering hand stretches towards a squishy pink Snubbull marshmallow; catching sight of a smudge of flour on her cheek. “Want some backup now I'm here?”

skyler dross

It’s his fault for hesitating. Skyler leans back against his chest and although Angelo can’t help squeezing the hand on her hip in return, it’s the glint of silver he catches in the corner of his eye that gives him pause – drawn in. His marshmallow is swiftly pinched from under his nose, claimed by a mischievous smile.

“I’m on the road all day. I need all the energy I can get,” he responds with a narrowing of ocean blues, not sounding even slightly offended. “And extra, if someone keeps inviting me over. It’s not a quick commute, you know.” Lips, quirked playfully, brush close to the flour on her cheek. Angelo doesn’t mention that the smudge still lingers.

While Skyler inspects her handiwork, the courier pops a marshmallow into his mouth, chewing as he peers over her shoulder to take a curious peek himself. She had said she was making scrambled eggs, right? “What did the Gulpin do to you?” It was around that shade of green, he noted.

She slips away from him then and Angelo disposes of the latest batch of ‘scrambled eggs’; almost missing the trashcan when a sudden pinch is directed at his butt. Angelo glances over his shoulder with a spark in his veins but Skyler has her head in the fridge, leaving him with a silent promise to get her back later.

Taking the offered beer, he cracks it open with a satisfying pop and sucks up the foam with a slurp, listening as Skyler explains her latest culinary attempts. It would be easier to order a pizza, safer too but there’s something in her determination that makes him want to encourage her to persevere. At least he can supervise to stop a potential food poisoning.

“Well, I think there’s one or two more pans that haven’t been vandalized... Let’s give it another shot,” he hums, already moving towards the cupboards where the pans were stored to pull out a fresh one, passing it over. Decision clearly made.

“You can keep the apron on. Suits you better than it does on me.” It’s a flirtatious comment as much as it is a teasing dig at the horrendous state of it – it used to be violet.

skyler dross

Maybe Angelo put entirely too much faith in Skyler's culinary skills. Or perhaps he simply underestimated her capacity to plough through the most foolproof of recipes and still end up with something that resembled a horror movie prop. Either way, his easy agreement pulls a smile from Skyler's lips, beer momentarily put aside to reach for the pan. The way she eagerly holds onto it makes it somehow look like less of a cooking utensil and more like a bludgeoning weapon.

Skyler Dross was ready for a fight.

His comment about her apron has the blonde looking down, a frown quickly crossing her features before she raises her eyes to meet with Angelo's, her own narrowed slightly. "I thought you liked me better with fewer clothes on, Angel?" The captain doesn't give him an opportunity to reply; she's already turning on her heels to dive into the pantry. A couple of curses later, Skyler emerges, victorious, with another apron in hand. The words 'Kiss the Cook' are boldly printed on it.

There's an unholy light in her silver eyes as she approaches Angelo, raising her arms to get the apron over his head. Her hands go around his sides, unhurried, pulling on the apron's strings with a brusque and deliberate motion that brings the two of them closer. Even as her hands tie the apron strings - effortlessly, she's a sailor after all - the knowing smirk on her lips gently brushes over the corner of Angelo's mouth. Teasing.

Then she's stepping away, the intimate warmth between their bodies replaced by cold air. "Well, what now Chef Vestri?" Skyler gestures to the chaotic mess that is her kitchen. "Kitchen’s all yours."

The can of beer that she holds to her mouth isn't quite enough to disguise the smug, wickled gleam in her eyes.

Apron strings fall away from Angelo's fingertips as she pulls away; the sea captain noticing with a teasing quirk of an eyebrow that her apron is falling loose around her body, untethered. Something warm coils low in her stomach at the sight, catching his considering expression before it is wiped away - and a slow, lazy smile spreads across her lips, invoking images better left between rumpled bed sheets. "I thought you liked the apron?" Her voice curls around the words with deliberate intent. "Maybe next time you should start with the shirt, Angel."

An inelegant snort escapes her at his next words, knowing fully well how much of a disaster she was in the kitchen. Not that Skyler would ever let that stop her, should she be determined enough - and she always was, for good or ill. Her hands work on tying her apron as he speaks, fingers swift and efficient.

Silver eyes narrow at the sarcasm in his voice. In a flash a wandering hand has snatched a whisk from the sink - some of its wire loops veering off into odd directions for some reason - and points it at Angelo in a decidedly threatening manner. "Careful, Vestri. I might be your assistant here, but everywhere else I'm your captain." Despite the serious, menacing cadence of her voice, her eyes shine with something warm. Inviting.

A gulp of beer later, Skyler's frowning in concentration as she takes an egg from the halfway empty carton. The way she holds onto the egg is - hilariously gentle, as if any sudden movement could be enough break it. In fact, she's barely breathing as it hovers over the mixing bowl.

For a few seconds nothing happens.

And then Skyler hoists her arm up and slams the egg into the edge of the mixing bowl, splattering white and yolk in all directions, along with the cracked remains of what was once an egg shell. Some of it splatters onto her apron and the sleeve of her shirt and - somehow there's a little bit of cracked egg shell on the tip of her nose.

Looking as if nothing out of the norm has happened, Captain Skyler Dross reaches for a second egg, balancing it gently on the palm of her hand.

angelo vestri

She does, in fact, step away from the egg. Or rather, the egg is taken away from her by a gentle, yet firm grip. Skyler follows its path with her eyes, brows furrowing in apparent annoyance that her very first task has been interrupted midway through.

There's still a small piece of egg shell on the tip of her nose, which she suddenly notices and flicks away with her finger. She would've been more annoyed with the whole situation, except for the fact that Angelo's laughter smooths out the sharp edges of her temper - until it's slumbering under the surface. 

The 'babe' that slips from his lips also helps - and brings forth a lopsided, affectionate smile.

Following the movements of Angelo's hands, Skyler watches attentively as the courier taps the egg against the rim of the bowl -  effortlessly spilling the yolk and the white into it. No mess involved. The captain immediately scoffs, even as her hand reaches out to grab a third egg, eager to try. "That isn't nearly as fun, Angel. You sure you're a chef?"

His teasing is rewarded with a another dose of butt pinching, though this time the blonde's hand lingers just for a few seconds. When Angelo turns to look at her, however, the last remnants of her annoyance have been washed away by something wholly angelic and innocent. It might've worked better if not for the devilish curl of her lips, silver eyes dancing with something akin to self-satisfaction. "I'm perfectly fine, Chef Vestri. I'll get these scrambled eggs done in no time. You'll see." Her arm automatically rises up until she stops herself, unintelligible grumbling following the motion as she does her best to stick to Angelo's instructions.

The egg still explodes, though thankfully not with the same kind of aplomb as its predecessor, its shell cracking open with too much force to keep its integrity. Small bits and pieces of egg shell start slipping down into the bowl and Skyler's eyes widen. "Oh shit! Shit shit shit... No! Get back up here, you slimy bastards!"

Fingers scramble to get all of the shell pieces and the captain ends up with more of the egg spread over the palm of her hand than inside the bowl.

But hey, at least it hasn't gone as far as her apron this time. Progress.

angelo vestri

A flash of temper follows Angelo's goading words, and if the growl that escapes Skyler's throat is any indication, then the bright flash of thunderous silver that glares at him for a second - a silent promise of retribution - is a clear warning of her surfacing temper.

While her hand is slippery with egg white and she's scrambling to get all of the eggshell pieces out of the mix, Angelo leans his hip against the countertop, looking smug and... annoyingly compelling, ocean blue eyes glittering with amusement down at her. She stops her scrambling for a second, and a gooey finger is pointed in his direction accusingly. "Go do something useful, Vestri, before I take it upon myself to make sure you're busy." It isn't quite clear whether this is a threat or - an invitation, though by the slight quirk of her lips it might've possibly been both.

A slight tug when Angelo walks past catches her attention, and when her clean hand goes to her back she finds that the strings of her apron have come undone. The culprit, much to displeasure (and probably on purpose), has his head buried in the fridge and out of sight. Skyler is left to glare at a bright white door, even as something deliciously warm coils low in her stomach. Bastard...

When Angelo comes back, her apron has been thrown over the countertop and Skyler's in the process of removing her sweatshirt. It, too, is thrown aside somewhere, kicked away with a mindless movement of her leg.

By the time he's standing in front of her, the captain's apron is in its rightful place, tied around her bare midriff and over her sports bra. Silver eyes meet his ocean blues head-on, sparkling with a familiar challenge. Her hands reach out for the fork, determined, calloused fingertips brushing over the skin of Angelo's hand.

"I think I can handle a bit of whisking, Angel." The fork is snatched from his grip. "Although I usually prefer a different utensil." And it seems, at least in this, that Captain Skyler Dross has things in hand. Quite literally.

For a minute or so everything is fine - until her enthusiastic whisking causes some of the egg inside to slosh out of the bowl and onto the upper part of her apron. "Ah! Sh-!" A string of curses follows, growing especially foul at the feeling of something cold and slimy sliding down her chest. 

Maybe she should've kept the sweatshirt after all.

angelo vestri

The warmth that spreads through her veins and brings a subtle flush to her cheeks has nothing to do with the cooker flames that burn hot under the pan. Angelo's drifting attention presses over her skin like a physical thing - she can feel every moment of his greedy blue gaze as it brushes over the dip of her waist, the criss-cross pattern of her scars, the lean curve of her neck. Perhaps it is this awareness, more than anything else, that ends up distracting her and having her be the victim to her own over-enthusiastic whisking.

Silver eyes flare with inviting heat at his words, the frown previously pinching her brows relaxing into something a lot more mischievous. "Maybe you will," the captain replies, tipping the bowl dangerously in her direction, yet not enough for it to spill over. "It would make for a far more pleasurable dinner." The unsubtle provocation in her words is made all the more evident by the devious delight in her eyes. 

The rest of her words die a quick death before they ever leave her mouth when a thumb presses itself over the skin at edge of her apron's fabric and draws a teasing, burning path up to her collarbone, taking a fair amount of egg with it. Skyler doesn't even notice that Angelo wipes the goo on her apron; breath held in her throat, pupils dilated. Automatically, her tongue comes out to lick her suddenly dry lips. Tension crackles, hot and electric, in the air between the two of them. 

Somewhere, very far away, the hiss of melted butter could be heard, the smell quickly enveloping the kitchen. 

Skyler's chin tips up defiantly. The bowl of egg goo is left on the countertop, momentarily forgotten as the blonde boldly steps up to Angelo, molten silver eyes never straying from his. Daring him. "I'm afraid you didn't get most of it, Angel." 

They were still cooking. Right?

angelo vestri