The Dangers of the Kitchen
Dec. 12th, 2003 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
harahelI watched him cook. Fuck. Cooking. I blame the food.
I mean, when you're a college student, you just don't eat well, often enough. And he offered to cook. Just like that, in the most open, non-specically loving way possible. Thud thud thud.......thud...that's the sound of my heart skipping a beat.
And we were sleepy. Me him and Mike, there had been Jane, but she left early to eat. And now...I watched him cook. And he was wearing a worn tight green shirt, plaid zippered pants and his mohawk, fading orange showing the brunette underneath, wasn't spike up, falling around his face, framing it gently.
In any case, I stood behind him, watching him cook. Enjoying the quiet mostly. As he moved, I stared.... wide at the shoulders, tapered waist and his shirt rode up once and a while to show a strip of lightly furred skin. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And then...we ate. And he makes these tiny little happy, near sex, noises as he eats and too cute, too sexy, too random for words.
I hate cooking. He said he was going to make dinner again tommorrow. Gah.
I've known him all semester and had no idea until he made meatballs. In trouble again and the semesters almost over. Must ignore or silently enjoy. Doomed to silence.
I mean, when you're a college student, you just don't eat well, often enough. And he offered to cook. Just like that, in the most open, non-specically loving way possible. Thud thud thud.......thud...that's the sound of my heart skipping a beat.
And we were sleepy. Me him and Mike, there had been Jane, but she left early to eat. And now...I watched him cook. And he was wearing a worn tight green shirt, plaid zippered pants and his mohawk, fading orange showing the brunette underneath, wasn't spike up, falling around his face, framing it gently.
In any case, I stood behind him, watching him cook. Enjoying the quiet mostly. As he moved, I stared.... wide at the shoulders, tapered waist and his shirt rode up once and a while to show a strip of lightly furred skin. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And then...we ate. And he makes these tiny little happy, near sex, noises as he eats and too cute, too sexy, too random for words.
I hate cooking. He said he was going to make dinner again tommorrow. Gah.
I've known him all semester and had no idea until he made meatballs. In trouble again and the semesters almost over. Must ignore or silently enjoy. Doomed to silence.
