Tulio is smug.

He's waiting for Cillian Quinn. Arms crossed, leaning against his doorway, radiating that aura only men over fifty seemed to have. Teasing, from Tulio; not a reflection of negative impulses Gavin may be more accustomed with.

"Is it finally that time?" He laughs, deep and loud, Temp's laugh only older and richer. Then he winks and steps inside, motioning for Gavin to follow.

"Norm can make this with his eyes closed. Why not ask him?" A little pot is ready, sitting over that same hole that Gavin had eaten at the first time he was here. Tulio speaks as if he doesn't already have some idea of why Gavin didn't ask his boyfriend.

"Time?"

Gavin blinks, expression a little distant like he's broken from some daze. Maybe it could be chalked up to the afternoon sun glaring into his eyes, making him squint, but in actuality it's his mind's attempt to rectify his image of fathers with the warmth that Tulio greets him with.

Arceus, will he ever get used to that?

You'd better, considering. And his stomach flutters around the thought.

Granting himself but a second to steel his nerves, Gavin follows Tulio into the house. The question posed to him when he gets inside is expected, yet still it takes Gavin a moment to answer. He clears his throat.

"Want to do something nice for him," is the explanation given. "Special occasion."

With Valentines coming up, perhaps that's not so shocking.

Tempest Quinn

"Time." Tulio repeats back, a mockery of feigning innocence between them. A woven basket is pulled from the water, a Corsola poking her head out of the water to peer up at Cillian Quinn. She recognized him from the crossing some months ago, before him and Temp were a couple, just flirting and edging around feelings.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with my I was stuffed to the gills with some Galarian stew for a week, would it?" While not unpleasant to not worry about dinner, having the same thing for days at a time was... well. Next time would still be too soon was one way to put it.

A jagged knife as taken out, hooked spikes and a sharp, backwards arch of a curve. Wooden handle, made of bone but clean as a pin. Tulio held it out for Gavin to take.

"You ever used one of these before?" The basket was opened, a wriggling fish plucked out by the tail. Tulio moved a grate over the hole into the water before offering Gavin the fish as well. "You'll need it for this lovely lady."

Lips press together; Gavin's curious, but he won't ask again. Instead, he focuses on the Corsola that pokes her head up from the water and smiles gently as he nudges one of her spines affectionately.

A sharp, surprised laugh bubbles in his chest.

"So that's how he got so good." A warmth spreads through him as he realizes the effort Temp must've gone through on his behalf. His cheeks flush red, stark against his fair skin. "Told me he just got lucky."

But he doesn't seem upset, not at all.

The knife is taken delicately in hand, adjusted in his grip for comfort. The edge is tested lightly against his finger — sharp, good.

"Not often, but yes." These days he could buy whatever fish he wanted already de-boned and filleted, but that hadn't been the case in Kanto. "Been a while..." He'll be a bit rusty, he thinks, eyes narrowed with concentration.

He accepts the fish, as well, gripping tight so it doesn't wriggle free.

Tempest Quinn

A soft chuckle. "Knew he'd do something like that." And Tulio clicks his tongue. Another fish is taken from the basket, laid on the ground. A muttered prayer is given before he chops it's head off.

A bowl is put between the two of them.

"This dish ain't one you can make all the time- cause of this." The fish Tulio beheaded, he uses another jagged knife the same as Cillian Quinn's, and slices the belly open. He reaches inside like it's nothing, pulls out ropes and cords of pink, round eggs which he drops into the bowl. "You're lucky we can make it now, actually. Would have hated to turn you away if you came any earlier."

He glances over at Gavin, waiting for him to copy him.

Though the prayers are unknown to him and not echoed, Gavin beheads his own fish with only a slight mark of hesitation on account of how long it's been. Cooking is a bit like playing a sport, or riding a bike. You might forget the subtle nuances but the basics stick.

The next part he's not so experienced with. Eggs. His brows arch.

"Ah, I'd have settled for second best," he says, because it was important that he have something to serve for the upcoming special occasion. "But m'glad I wasn't too early, or too late."

He copies this step slower, more careful than he'd been before, fingers slippery with fish guts but held steady through force of will.

Tempest Quinn

Tulio's eyes watch closely, appraising, but there is not sharpness there. People learn by doing, not by scolding or yelling, and Cillian Quinn's effort is good enough for him.

"Spawning season lasts a while yet if you need more." A gentle encouragement in his own way. Water is added to the bowl so the eggs can soak; any guts or gore float to the surface while the eggs sink. "Just be-bone as normal from here. Special care is only taken for the eggs."

He's already at work as he says it. Bones removed, scales shaved, guts removed. The head is picked clean, too. Nothing will go to waste even if it's not eaten.

"My boy doesn't like too many sweets." Tulio speaks up, breaking the steady silence of their work. "But he does love this one thing you can make all year." Conspiratorial, between them, a a small upward quirk of the lips even if Tulio doesn't look up from his work.

Gavin's neck prickles under Tulio's scrutiny, but there is no sense of hostility beneath the older man's gaze as he watches Gavin work. It's strange. Uncomfortable only because Gavin isn't sure how to handle it and not for anything that Tulio himself was doing.

Different, he decides. It's different.

"I might," he admits, and before he can think to filter the words, "I want it to be perfect."

His cheeks turn red with the admission and he focuses on gutting and scaling the fish so as not to look at his partner's father. There's never any hesitation to display the gravity of his love when he's alone with Temp or even around most others, but there's something quite different about fawning over the man in front of his dad. Eggs are added to the bowl, and the movements of Gavin's hands speed up when he's told it's business as usual from this point on. That's good. He can handle that.

If he were a dog, his ears might've perked at the next words. Instead, the only hint to his curiosity is the way his fingers still in their work for a moment before resuming.

"Could I trouble you to teach me how to make it?"

Polite, formal, but at least he manages not to call him sir.

Tempest Quinn

Hook, line, sinker. Tulio was a fisherman for a reason.

His lips quirk up just a bit, sly; Temp had learn how to be a tease and a jokester from someone, after all.

"It's a coconut milk bar. The sugar will cut your teeth but he can never get enough of it." The tender white flesh of the fish is placed in a bowl, which Tulio leaves open for Cillian Quinn. Just boiling water and salt. For now.

"You'll owe me about six coconuts next time you visit, though." Tulio isn't going to hold Gavin to that promise but he still winks and gets up to rummage around the small storage. "Reach in the water there and grab Princess out for me. You'll know when you grab her."

Six coconuts seemed a small price to pay for such a valuable secret. He nods.

"You've got yourself a deal," he vows with all the solemnity of a greater promise. Tulio might not hold him to it but Gavin will be sure to return with the best bundle of coconuts he can find. Tulio is important to Temp and thus by extension important to Gavin; underboss of a criminal organization he might be, but Gavin wants Tulio to like him.

He reaches into the water, fearless, and then yelps sharply. Princess grabs him,, not the other way around.

Lifting his hand from the water with a Krabby dangling from it, he scrunches his expression against the pain. He can't exactly risk hurting her, so...

"Is there, ah... a trick to getting them to let go?"

His eyes are watering.

Tempest Quinn

Tulio can't fight back the startled laugh of seeing his Princess hanging onto Cillian Quinn.

"Pet her head and offer her some of those fish bones. She'll let go quick." Tulio waits for Gavin to do so, expecting the other doesn't want to lose a finger to a grabby Krabby. "Open up, girl." She blows bubbles and opens up her large claw- which Tulio fits the coconut inside of. She grumbles and clamps down. After a moment, it's sliced into two, clean, the Vicegrip better than raw force.

Tulio catches both halves and pours the milk into a bowl.

"Do that with the other five of those. Be careful not to lose any milk!"

Clenching his jaw through the pinching pain against his palm, Gavin uses his free hand to snag a fish bone and offer it up to the Krabby. True to Tulio's word, she lets go at once and seems amenable to Gavin stroking her shell.

"There you go. Much better than a finger, eh?"

He massages his sore hand to encourage the skin to return to its previous state.

There's a flicker of doubt in his expression before he schools it. He's never done this before — what if he fucks it up and drops one of the halves, or doesn't catch it in time? Then you'll owe the man another coconut. But anxiety breeds caution, and he treats each piece of coconut as if it contains the milk of the gods. His hands are steady. He's tortured with these hands, pressed a knife to a man's jugular just so and made sure that his finger doesn't slip.

So he doesn't slip, now, when it's milk would spill in place of blood.

He stacks the empty shells carefully, setting them aside.

Tempest Quinn

As Cillian Quinn stacks, Tulio picks up the half shells and starts to scrape out the tender flesh. Norman's boyfriend is pretty intense... but it's cute.

"You remind me of my wife, you know." A small and wistful chuckle. "Treated this stuff like life or death." Tulio wonders if that meant Gavin had some daddy issues, too.

"Put the milk over the fire and add as much sugar as you can. We're making coconut syrup." When he had said they were pretty much pure sugar he hadn't been kidding. He was pretty sure Temp liked them more for the fruit in it than the sweetness.