Temp grunts in answer at first, bones still jelly after what he was given. It takes a moment for him to stretch out, sit up. Much like in the future at his place, his hair was down and loose, ruffled from what they had been doing before. His own feet are unsteady when he follows for much different reasons.

He feels no shame in his nudity as he follows Cillian Quinn though his home.

It's hot, Hoenn's summers are always hot, but he still half presses against the other man's side when he gets closer. He kind of misses how his sheets smelled. Too bad Gavin was stubborn and wouldn't let them both take a nap.

"That's bad for you after strenuous activity, you know." His throat is a little sore and voice rough. Still, he clears it and smirks. "Gotta rehydrate."

Hot though Hoenn's summers were, Gavin's air conditioning fought an uphill battle against the humid climate. It's pleasant, now, against skin still hot from their so-called strenuous activity, but most accustomed to Hoenn's tropical climate would find the resting temperature far too cold for their liking.

"I do plenty of shit that's bad for me."

Like smoking, for example; he'd reached for a cigarette almost immediately after the deed was done. The scent of it clings to him still.

Subsconsciously, Gavin leans into Tempest Quinn's touch.

"I'm not an alcoholic, dude, I've got more in the kitchen than booze."

An Alcremie greets them as they enter said kitchen, her rainbow cream spotted with bright green clover-shaped treats. She offers one to each of them, and Gavin pops one in his mouth and tucks it against his cheek. It warps his voice as he says, "They're mints. She likes to feed people."

He's taken to subconsciously calling her 'Clover'.

"You want water?"

He reaches for a couple glasses, filling them with ice from the fridge door.

The cold is bracing and makes him shiver. Thankfully, there's a warm body with plenty of spare heat to share. He sticks close to Cillian Quinn even if normally it might be a bit uncomfortable. Sticky, bare skin wasn't always what you wanted to feel.

There is the vague urge to sink his teeth against his throat, cover one of the love bites he left behind with his lips. Maybe another day he would have. Right now he's sated and tired and aching in that nice way.

"Yeah? What do you have, then?"

When they pass into the kitchen, Temp turns a bit pink of all things when the Alcremie is out. Hands cup his junk, as if to hide it from the pokemon. Pokemon were pretty much animals and always naked but it was just- weird to him. He didn't enjoy being naked in front of them. They were too smart for their own good.

Shyly, he takes the mint and pops it in his mouth with a tight smile before inching away.

"Water's good."

"What, you want a list?" He scoffs a laugh. "Vitamin water, berry juices, milk..."

Then there's the booze, of course. He nudges the cabinet open with his foot to show off the collection of bottles. There are several bottles of scotch, a half-bottle of rum, an unopened bottle of tequila. In the back, expensive wines await a special occasion.

Gavin grabs one of the vitamin waters from the fridge; Tempest Quinn being a health nut like himself, Gavin figures he'd appreciate it.

He cracks open his own and pours it over the ice, taking a refreshing sip.

It's then that he notices Temp's sudden shyness and laughs aloud. "It's nothing she hasn't seen before. You think I walk around with my clothes on in this climate? Fuck no."

He's relaxed and unashamed in comparison, nude and leaning against the kitchen island like he's posing for a magazine.

The pink stays on his cheeks from both the Alcremie's presence and Cillian Quinn's teasing. It's good natured, Temo's unable to keep a small grin away even if he wants to pout. He hides it by taking a sip of his offered water; straight from the source, no ice. He was cold enough.

"You got more liquor than a college party, looks like." And one bottle of it was probably just as expensive.

He did give one last apprehensive look to the Alcremie before looking away, shifting his body a little so she wouldn't be in his direct line of sight. If Gavin let him come over again, he'd need to remember to bring her a treat as his own apology for making her look at his dick.

There is only a slight wince as he plops himself on one of the stools, leans on the counter. He would need to work the soreness out of his lower back before it cramped.

"Kitchen's nice. You cook much in here?" Man, this much counter space would be a blessing.

"Had some of it for years," he shrugs. "Some's for guests."

He wasn't one for tequila and only rarely indulged in the rum. Expensive wines reminded him of an expensive childhood and lavish parties filled with fake smiles and false compliments. It was kept for special occasions that never seemed to arrive.

"I do," he says of the kitchen and, before he can think the words through, "Why, you hungry?"

He realizes his mistake immediately but doesn't take it back.

He can't help it; it's in his nature to care for those who'd shared a bed with him. No matter how many times he tells himself that this isn't a relationship and that casual, fun sex didn't come with all the benefits and drawbacks of commitment, his instinct comes back to bite him.

The mint gifted by Clover is crunched between his teeth.

Cillian Quinn internally has a mini meltdown and some degradation for himself.

Temp, thankfully, is fully prepared to smash right through that. He can't read minds and even with his skill set titled 'Read Gavin Like A Book', it's not like he knows exactly what's going on up in that noggin. It's more-so just a mixture of coincidence, good nature, lack of shame, and picking up something is a little off even if he doesn't know what.

"A little! You got some veggies and eggs? I can fix us a bomb quiche."

If Gavin was worried about pumping his load and then saying 'bye' to his guest, he was wrong. Gavin wasn't just some lay or means of pleasure. He was Temp's friend. Sex or not, he wasn't about to run out the door on him.

His stomach's twisted itself into so many knots he can barely tell if it's relief brought on by Temp's offer to cook.

"Course," he says of the ingredients, then, "I can cook if you'd rather relax."

But Gavin's exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and lead in his veins. What Temp's suggesting sounds like heaven; he hadn't been thinking of his stomach but as the taste of mint spreads across his tongue his stomach growls treacherously.

A little 'pah!' and Temp waves Cillian Quinn's offer off. He's already opening his fridge and rustling around.

"You just get me a pan and show me where the utensils are. Then you plant your ass down. Chef Rararie is on the job!"

He's already grabbed a few things and was placing on the counter. He was already counting out how much of each thing he would need, brows furrowed as he tallied on his fingers.

"Is there anything you don't want in this? I'll go crazy if you let me."

This time, he correctly identifies the flood of relief as the weight of even such simple responsibility is lifted from his shoulders. He's an underboss, a leader — it's not often people look out for him.

"Pans are there," he says, gesturing to a rack that hangs above the island. They're top quality and well-cared for. "Cutlery and utensils in this drawer."

He steps across the kitchen to tug open the aforementioned drawer, revealing a neatly arranged assortment of cutlery. There are also spatulas and ladles and other assorted kitchenware. On top of the normal knives, forks, and spoons, there are salad forks and dessert spoons and a few other oddities he still remembered the specific uses for on account of his snobby Galarian upbringing.

Some knowledge never left, not even if you wanted it to.

"Go as crazy as you like," he says, waving a hand as he sits down at the island. "If it's in my fridge, it's something I'd eat."

A little bit of rattling around and Temp had what he needed lined up. A wash of the hands, counter cleaned off, and the pan and oven were heating up. Vegetables were being chopped.

"Hmm..." Garlic and onions sizzled in the pan but the larger vegetables he paused over. After a moment, there was another grin before he started cutting again, slower than before.

"Want to see something cute?" A few careful slices into a carrot and he was making small star shapes. A couple mushrooms into hearts. Flower shapes, then the lengthy process for one very ambitious teddy bear head that ended up lopsided.

"I forgot this was easier to do with fruit." Still, it was all added to the pan to soften up before his next step. A few spare carrot-stars were slid to Cillian Quinn and 'Clover' as he munched on one himself.

Even the simple aromas of onion and garlic are enough to set his empty stomach growling, mouth watering with anticipation. He accepts another mint from Clover to tide him over, savoring this one rather than crunching it.

Tempest Quinn's antics get a shake of his head, fond.

"Dork."

He picks up a carrot star and delicately snips one of its points with his teeth.

"You cook a lot?"

A return of the earlier question, laced with genuine curiousity rather than the bland note of small talk.

"Yeah! Only way to make sure your food is good for you. You know how much sugar and salt is in the processed shit?" When he had been a kid, something like a candy bar or canned meat had been a rarity and a treat. Now, he looked at the stuff and couldn't stand it. He just didn't understand why someone would willingly put that shit in their body.

A little bit of spinach was added to the pan to wilt before the cheese and eggs were added. When he turned back, he flicked a mushroom stem at Cillian Quinn.

"I used to know how to make dolphins and little pirate skulls, too. My mom taught me when I was a kid."