"I get that," Gavin hums. "Recipes don't exactly warn you that an old oven might have faulty burners or take twice as long to cook something."

Then there'd been the few months in his shitty Saffron apartment where his oven stopped working altogether and the landlord had ignored any attempts to request a replacement. He'd ended up fixing the damn thing himself.

"Nothing's broke in here, that I know of," he says of his kitchen, casting a lazy glance around the space. "Most of it's new."

The response tells Temp that Cillian Quinn doesn't really get where he's coming from. Temp's experiences are about two steps to the left. But, that's okay. No one ever really would understand his life unless they lived it. He would never be able to fully grasp gavin's even if the man sat down and recited every word of it. That, to Temp, was just how people were.

Some people might want to argue, to correct, to condemn or hold some pissing contest to feel superior. Temp didn't want any of that. He was just happy that Gavin made efforts for him. Not everyone did.

It made Temp want to kiss him. Something warm fluttered in his gut.

Must be hungrier than he thought.

The pan is moved off the stove and into the oven. Plates recovered. Forks readied.

Anything to force away the idea of Gavin's lips.

"You got all kinds of fancy stuff you never use in here? Seems like the kind of place to have it." Just a little fun poke.

"I use — most of it."

He's smirking in spite of a defensive tone.

"But not all," he admits. "I know what all of it's for, at least."

He steps up to the counter and gently slides a knife from the block next to the stove. It has a gentle curve and a thin, sharp point.

"This one's called a 'boning knife'," he smirks. "For cutting meats and shit. Not nearly as fun as it sounds."

He winks with the implication before sliding it back into place.

"I bet I can 'bone' better than it can." He wiggles and eye brow and winks. "Been picking out fish bones since I was a kid. You're standing in front of a master." A small chuckle.

Still, how eyes follow the sheen of the blade in the light, how it looks in Cillian Quinn's hands.

"Least that's useful. I'm talking more those... uh... I saw this little do-dad that you popped an orange in and turned it on. Supposed to peel it for you. That's all it did! No apples, bananas, nothing else... just oranges. Shop wanted a war price for it!"

"Mm?"

He doesn't miss the way Tempest Quinn follows the movements of his hands; he slides the blade back slow, deliberate, turns to his friend with a salacious smirk.

"Afraid I'm little more than an apprentice. You should give me some tips." He pushes off from the counter and steps close, presses a kiss to Temp's jaw before pulling away. "Some other time."

For now, there was food cooling in the stove.

He pulls it out to help plate it up as he listens to the gripe.

"You'd have died in my mother's kitchen."

Not that she did much of the cooking herself; they had staff for that, but she still lorded over the space as if she'd cooked every scrap that graced the table. Despite his jest, there's a furrow to his brow.

"I do have an apple corer. Does that count?"

He takes a bite of the quiche and hums low in his throat, approving.

The kiss had Temp beaming again. It gives him such a thrill to receive Cillian Quinn's affection. It felt... special. Warm. It was too complicated for him to dwell on it more than knowing he liked it.

It's almost as good as the little show with the knife. He's a little sad when it's not in Gavin's hand anymore. The other could do some real damage with it, Temp would wager.

"Nah, you can do more than one thing with an apple corer." Like use it on other fruits or even not for fruits at all, if you were crafty. "I mean more that stuff that... it only does one thing and that's it. All modern and wasteful for no reason. Don't like that stuff."

He wrinkles his nose at the idea, gathers their food and starts to slice it into wedges for serving.

"Saw this one thing... it was... a juicer? It had to be connected to the internet to work. Then you could only juice from these special bags you had to buy for that juicer. Each bag could only be used once... and you could just cut the bag open! All wasteful for no reason! Who does that help?"

Tempest Quinn has a nice smile. It coaxes his own, however brief.

He's not quite sure what the other's talking about until he deigns to give Gavin an example as their food is plated. Even the Circhester native with his royal relatives and his needlessly posh upbringing wrinkles his nose at the thought.

"That's dumb as fuck."

He had a juicer, currently sitting on the island, but it took actual fruit rather than specialized bags and it certainly didn't need to be connected to the internet to function. He flicks his gaze over to it, hums in his throat.

A few apples and a handful of leftover carrots are slotted into the press with some ginger and Gavin turns it on.

"So good," he says of the quiche, after taking another bite. "Gonna have to keep you around."

His neck prickles after the tease slips out.

There's another warm flush that lights up Temp's face. A quick bite is crammed in his mouth but he's smiling around his fork. Praise always feels nice, feels even better when he can coax it out of his friend, and the idea that Cillian Quinn wants to keep him around makes that same warmth boil over in his chest.

"Yeah? You thinking more in a maid outfit way or a little gold ring way? Both have pros and cons here, Gavvie." Even if he's pinker than he wanted to be, the urge to tease back can't be resisted. Either hypothetical is... well, he won't think about it too hard.

Poor Clover, having to witness this fumbling of these humans.

Well, at least he hasn't made it awkward.

Tempest Quinn seems delighted by the teasing, in fact, returning with a smart remark of his own. The mention of a ring makes his stomach knot at the thought of Emma, a thought that's quickly stored on a high shelf out of reach.

The whole point of this was to forget.

"I can't have both? Mm, you know what I'm like when I don't get my way."

He's a demanding lover, downright bossy.

The juicer provides a convenient excuse to turn away and sort out his churning stomach. Two glasses are filled with the homemade juice and he slides one over to Temp before taking a large swig from his own.

"Hm. Could've used more ginger, I think."

The glass is accepted, tipped back and half drained with no regards for taste. His tongue feels too heavy in his mouth.

It doesn't stop something stupid from coming out.

"Maybe if you ask."

Well, not exactly what he had wanted to say.

Temp had planned some saucy quip about his ass in a maid dress.

The rest of the juice is drained, too quick. He's aware something is making this awkward it just feels hard to change. This isn't what he wanted and it frustrates him.

"It tastes fine to me."

Gavin's neck flushes hot as he looks away, suddenly as preoccupied with his drink as Tempest Quinn had been.

It's not like it had been before when Temp had flirted with him and Gavin hadn't yet been comfortable enough to flirt back for fear of giving him the wrong idea. That had been a different kind of discomfort.

This was... he's not sure, but it makes him feel hot and cold and anxious.

He's never been the best at talking out his problems.

So, in the absence of words, Gavin sets his drink down on the island and steps up to claim the other with a reckless kiss, fingers applying pressure at his throat as he crowds him against the island.

It's the opposite scene of the shower. Temp backed into a corner and kissed this time.

He makes a small 'umph!' in surprise but gladly allows Cillian Quinn to explore his lips and mouth.

An arm is quick to be draped around Gavin's shoulder, loosely curled, the other going for his waist. Temp pulls back, just enough to break the kiss, get a little air.

"What's that for?" His own lips ghosting over Gavin's, a whisper between them.

It feels- hot and cold and Temp wants to stay here forever.

It aches cause he knows he can't.

He devours the sound with the force of the kiss, teeth dragging against lips in the hopes of pulling more from him. His fingers tighten their possessive grip around Tempest Quinn's throat, nails pressing into skin.

There's something wild in his eyes when the kiss is broken but beyond that, something vulnerable. Something Temp might be able to see.

"Do I need a reason?"

Whispered back, like a secret.

It's something desperate in his eyes, something lonely.