Dessert

Jun. 11th, 2016 05:18 pm
i_am_tl_dr: (hand in hand)
[personal profile] i_am_tl_dr
Title: Dessert
Characters: Quentin Kinley, Tyler Jordan Graham
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1285
Notes: I needed to set something up, and then the boys got distracted. Like they do.


Timeline: July 2015


"Want to take a trip with me?" Tyler Jordan asked, stealing a piece of chicken off Quentin's plate. He winced at the spiciness when he popped it in his mouth.

"I thought I already was," Quentin said, feigning a stab at Tyler Jordan's hand with his fork. "Aren't we going to Canada?"

"I didn't mean with the band, I meant with me. Well, with me and my sisters and my dad."

"Where are you going with your sisters and your dad?"

"Massachusetts."

"Why?"

"It's my grandparents' 60th anniversary and they're having a big party."

"You want me to meet your grandparents?" Quentin sounded doubtful. Tyler Jordan nodded, taking Quentin's hand.

"Yeah. You said you never met anyone that stayed in love. I want you to see what it looks like for real. And I love you, of course I want you to meet them."

"Won't they care that I'm a guy?"

"Have you met my family? I'm fourth generation liberal. My grandmother wanted Paul to come there to get married before it was federally legal. The only person who might talk shit because of it is my uncle, if he even shows up. Last time my family was all in the same place, Dad broke his nose for calling Paul a faggot, and that was like... ten years ago. Yeah, it was ten, because it was around their 50th."

"Your dad the pacifist did that?"

"Did it right in front of my grandmother, even. Uncle Jack had been talking shit for a while at that point but as soon as that word came out of his mouth Dad snapped." Tyler Jordan grinned. "Said if he ever called Paul that to his face, he'd fucking ruin Jack's life. I don't know what was more shocking, seeing my father do something violent or hearing him use that language."

"Your dad is really defensive of you guys, isn't he?"

"He just wants us to be happy." Quentin shook his head, not really understanding, and Tyler Jordan shrugged. "His relationship with Jack was worse than yours with Orly."

"That's pretty fucking atrocious," Quentin said. "I wouldn't try to break Orly's nose. He'd kick my ass and then Paul would kick my ass again. No thanks."

"Oh, good, you do have a sense of self-preservation. Do you want to come with? We bought our tickets in January and then Paul moved away, so his ticket can be for you, if you want."

"I've never been on a plane before."

"I know. And you've never seen the ocean. And you've never had Portuguese food. And you've never gone fishing. There's a lot of shit you've never done before that you'll do if you come with me."

"I do love letting you introduce me to things. And I really do want to see the ocean."

"So you'll come?"

"When are you going?"

"Leaving July 30th, coming back August 8th. Their anniversary is the 3rd. We can even hit NYC for a day or two, if you want.... catch a show on Broadway, maybe?"

"You don't have to cheat, I'm already going to say yes," Quentin said, and Tyler Jordan laughed, shifting closer to nudge Quentin's shoulder with his own. "Yes. Absolutely yes. Bring me with you. Show me everything."

"You're going to have so much fun," Tyler Jordan said. "My sisters might want to tag along to some places."

"I don't mind your sisters. We're not going to have to babysit Olivia, are we?"

"Nah. She'd hit you if she heard you say that, you know. I meant probably Wendy, when we go to New York."

"Wendy's cool." Quentin looped an arm around Tyler Jordan's neck, pulling him close for a kiss. "I'm just going to have to quit at Walmart, they'll never give me the time off."

"Weren't you planning on doing that anyways?"

"I wasn’t gonna do it until right before we left to go on tour, but fuck it, they're getting my two weeks’ notice and I'm out. I'll worry about it when we get back."

"That's the spirit! I'm rubbing off on you, aren't I?"

"You may have had an effect on me," Quentin said dryly. "I don't know how noticeable it is."

"Mm, I dunno, I could always rub off on you some more," Tyler Jordan said with a smirk.

"I'd rather have you do other things to me, honestly. If you're taking requests."

"Always. Just tell me what you want, Q, you know I love giving it to you."

"At least let's finish dinner before we jump each other? I’m in the mood for you to be sweet tonight, though.”

“Oh, good. You can have me for dessert.”

“My favorite, sweet and spicy boyfriend a la mode.”

“If you want to put ice cream on me, I’m not complaining.”

“Well, we do have to do laundry this weekend anyways… do we still have that hot fudge sauce?”

“Oooh, you know I love temperature play.”

“Of course I know. And it’s been a while since we’ve done it. You wanna?”

“Uh, yes, yes please.” Tyler Jordan stole another piece of chicken off Quentin’s plate. “Eat faster. Now I’m impatient.”

“If you’re that impatient, go put the fudge sauce in the microwave,” Quentin laughed, feinting at his hand with the fork again. “Stealing my food is a poor way to motivate me.”

“Okay, okay! Food aggressive much? You finish your General Tso’s and I’ll get ready to be your sexy sundae.”

“That’s probably the weirdest sentence that’s been said in this apartment this week…”

“But only this week.”

“Last week you made a joke about turning into a merman and hanging out with your fish.”

“Okay, that’s true.”

“And the week before that--”

“No, the week before that you were the weird one, asking how long I thought it would take to eat an entire person.”

“Come on, we were watching Hannibal, it’s not that weird of a question in context.”

“I reject your defense. And I also reject your premise that sriracha human jerky would sell well on the internet.”

“You never know until you try.”

“Stop arguing and eat your food,” Tyler Jordan said, picking up his plate and going into the kitchen. “Your dessert is getting more impatient.”

“Given the trajectory this conversation took, is that still how you want to refer to yourself?”

“I will bite back.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Hurry up!” Quentin snickered as he stabbed the last couple of pieces of chicken and stuffed them in his mouth, coming into the kitchen to find Tyler Jordan microwaving the jar of fudge sauce. “You get the ice cream and I’ll meet you in the bedroom?”

“Make sure you’re not going to get burned from the fudge,” Quentin said, dropping his plate in the sink and pausing to kiss the back of Tyler Jordan’s neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Tyler Jordan promised. “I don’t want you to hurt me either. Just to be sweet.”

“Well, it’ll be easier to be sweet with ice cream and fudge than it was with ice cubes and candle wax.” Quentin grabbed the ice cream and a spoon. “And you thought that was pretty sweet anyways.”

“I like contrasts. But I really like your mouth on me. So this should be pretty excellent.” The microwave beeped, and Tyler Jordan stirred the fudge and dipped a finger into it, then grinned and sucked it clean. “Perfect. Shall we?”

“Take off your clothes and tell me where you’d like me to start,” Quentin said, following him into the bedroom already making plans for where he wanted to lick sticky sweetness off his boyfriend’s skin.
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