Title: Flambe Me
Summary: Some people should not be allowed in the kitchen
Warnings: Lemony lemons
Word Count:1824 - because of lemons
Prompt: Cooking Together
Author's Notes: Do not try this at home. Unless you have insurance.
Arthur walked into the kitchen one morning to find Merlin standing in the doorway, surveying the room, arms akimbo.
He put his hands on Merlin’s hips to gently move him out the way.
“This has to stop,” Merlin said.
“What must, my love?” He placed a kiss on Merlin’s neck.
“This!” Merlin waved a hand at the kitchen.
Arthur looked up and took in the small room. The centre was taken up by an old, wooden round table with four chairs. To the right was the sink, sitting below a large window that looked out over the parking lot of their block of flats. To the left was a serving hatch above a long counter, which housed Arthur’s ridiculous coffee machine.
That was where he had been heading when Merlin stopped him.
“You want to remodel the kitchen?” Arthur squeezed past Merlin into the room.
“No, this!” Merlin pointed at the kitchen table.
Arthur finally noticed the piles of take-out cartons littering the surface.
The sink was overflowing with even more take-out containers.
“We need to start cooking. All this take-out is going to kill us.”
Arthur blinked at him owlishly a few times. “You do realise the last time we attempted to cook anything in here, we had to call the fire brigade and repaint the walls.”
“That’s because you distracted me.”
“Am I no longer distracting?”
Merlin gave him a look. “Rajesh called me last night to ask when we wanted our order delivered. I hadn’t even ordered anything!”
“But it was delicious, you can’t deny that.”
“Of course, Rajesh makes the best vindaloo this side of Manchester, but that’s not the point.”
Arthur gave him a blank look.
Merlin sighed. “The point is that we need to start making our own food. You’re not going to keep this body if you keep eating take-out all the time.”
“So this decision is in my best interests?”
Arthur feels that had he at least had a cup of coffee in him before the conversation even started, he would have made a better decision.
“Fine,” he nodded. “We’ll start cooking our own food.”
It took until the following weekend for the boys to get the chance to try out their cooking skills.
They both worked long hours and often came home after dark.
Merlin had woken Arthur up with the promise of hot sex after they cooked a hot breakfast together.
“Right, so,” Merlin brandished an egg flipper around. “The internet said it will be really easy. Pass me the frying pan.”
Arthur looked around the kitchen.
“In the cupboard next to the oven,” Merlin pointed, using the egg flipper.
He opened the cupboard. It was bare.
“I don’t think we actually own a frying pan.” Arthur showed him the empty cupboard.
“How is that possible?”
“No, seriously, how do we not own a frying pan? What about all those hangover fry ups you made me?”
“I ordered them from Judith at the chippy.”
Merlin visibly deflated, the egg flipper now hanging impotently from his hand. “We can never call ourselves adults.”
“I disagree. That thing you did with your tongue last night was quite adult.” Arthur’s attempt at a joke resulted in Merlin flinging the egg flipper into the basin and storming past him up the stairs.
“Get dressed,” he called back at Arthur. “We’re going shopping!”
Arthur was more of an online, in his pants, on the sofa, drinking wine kind of shopper. But he had a sixth sense that if he didn’t go, his cock would not be touched by Merlin for a very long time.
Call him psychic.
If Arthur never saw a frying pan again, it would be too soon.
The selection at Ikea was overwhelming. Ceramic? Cast Iron? Teflon? Copper?
“It’s just to fry a fucking egg and some sausages. I don’t see why we can’t just grab one and go.”
Merlin was running his fingers over the surface of a large, speckled ceramic pan, his eyebrows furrowed as he read the label. “This one says its induction safe. Do we have an induction cooker?”
“I’m sure we have a gas range and I will happily put my head in it to not have to repeat this conversation.”
Merlin replaced the ceramic pan with a sturdy cast iron one.
“We’re not living in the dark ages. Just grab one that doesn’t let the eggs stick and let’s get out of here.” Arthur was on the verge of promising some very dirty promises despite the children running around if it got Merlin to leave.
“Fine,” Merlin put the pan back. “I can’t think with all the noise here, anyway.”
Arthur’s thank you blowjob when they got home was not met with much enthusiasm.
“The point of working your arse off is to afford a personal chef,” Morgana said wisely from behind a cloud of Marlboro light smoke.
She and Arthur were sitting in her garden, enjoying the late Sunday sunlight and a few bottles of rose.
“It would creep Merlin out. He’s a borderline socialist. You know, do for yourself and all that.”
“I could get Gulliame to make dinner for the two of you here and have it delivered.”
“That’s even worse.”
“Well, you wanted to date a political science major, so you’ll have to learn how to live with his quirks. Besides, Gulliame does proper home cooking. It’s hardly take out.”
“He’ll see it as the same.” Arthur was running out of ideas to help Merlin with his cooking mission.
“So,” Morgana exhaled a plume of smoke. “What’s the inside of an Ikea like?”
Sometimes Arthur wonders how he has lived as long as he has, given how utterly moronic he could be on occasion.
The answer was right there. On the internet. Where most of life’s answers are.
He spent an obscene amount on Jamie Oliver cookware and had it delivered. He then signed up for a meal kit service.
It was, in fact, a brilliant idea.
Merlin pushed through the heavy front door and was instantly alert.
There was a strange smell coming from inside the flat. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said it was the smell of actual cooking.
He dumped his bag and coat on the foyer table and hurried towards the sounds of pots banging and Arthur swearing creatively.
Inside the kitchen, chaos reigned. Pots were bubbling on the stove, chopped vegetables scattered across the kitchen table and a rather pissed off Arthur running his fingers under the tap.
“And this?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask.
“Dinner.” Arthur closed the tap and turned towards Merlin. “Or it should be. Those meal kits are lies.”
Arthur shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “It was a thing. I thought I would try it.”
Merlin crossed the kitchen, stopping to turn off the stove on his way, and pulled Arthur into a hug.
“This...you…” When words failed him, Merlin kissed Arthur in a way that stole Arthur’s breath.
Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin, pulling him even closer. He pulled at Merlin’s jumper, ripping it over his head and dropping it to the floor. Unfortunately, it was also where he had spilt some soya sauce earlier.
He didn’t care.
Merlin was making short work of Arthur’s belt, pushing the apron he wore up and out of his way. The belt clanked loudly on the kitchen tiles.
Arthur hummed against Merlin’s neck as he unbuttoned his shirt just enough to pull it up and off. The shirt landed on the table behind them, right over the greek salad, soaking in the feta juices.
With his trousers and pants pushed to mid-thigh and an apron bunched around his waist, Arthur didn’t have much flexibility. Not that Merlin cared. He wrapped his hand around Arthur’s cock and gently began to jerk him to fullness.
“I didn’t realise seeing you in an apron was something I’d find a turn on instead of funny.” Merlin sucked a red mark into Arthur’s neck.
“I’ll have you kn...ooooohhhhh” Arthur abandoned his plans for Merlin’s trousers and grabbed onto his shoulder instead. He was fully hard by now and his hips snapped a sloppy rhythm into Merlin’s hand.
Merlin kissed Arthur with tongue and teeth, sloppy and overwhelming. He suddenly let go and turned Arthur around to face the sink, revealing his perky arse. Merlin stepped up and pushed himself against Arthur from behind, grinding his groin against Arthur’s arse.
Arthur let out a whine that, had he been aware of it, would have blushed with embarrassment. Only Merlin could do this to him. Flay him with a whisper, expose him with a touch and turn him into a blubbering idiot with his cock.
Merlin reached around and wrapped one hand around Arthur’s cock while undoing his trousers with the other hand. Unhooking his pants and pushing them down took more effort than he wanted to spend on such a simple action, so instead, he pulled his cock out through the front of his pants.
Usually, this was where Merlin would reach for the conveniently located lube, which was in their bedroom. Next to the bed.
His fingers dug out a knob of butter from the dish on the table behind him, slathering his cock with it before pushing it between Arthur’s butt cheeks. Merlin was impressed with how close it was to lube.
Arthur leaned back to rest his head on Merlin’s shoulder as his hips pushed his cock through Merlin’s fingers then ground back against Merlin’s cock against his arse. He turned his head and ran his lips against Merlin’s cheek in an approximation of a kiss.
The heat of the kitchen made it hard to breathe, or maybe that was just the way Merlin was holding Arthur up against him, apron flapping against his hand with every upstroke in a comedically obscene way.
Merlin shifted slightly, stepped on a tomato slice and fell, taking Arthur with him.
“Ow. Fuck.” Arthur crawled over Merlin and kissed away any further expletives, lining up their cocks and taking them both in hand.
So close. So so close.
...And there it was.
That edge. The end of the line. The full-body clench and blissful release.
Merlin lay on his back, ignoring the carrot slices pushing into his skin and took a deep breath, inhaling Arthur, butter, come, sweat and smoke.
Arthur, for his part, was still rebooting his brain and wasn’t very eloquent at this point.
“Do you smell smoke?” Merlin nudged his shoulder.
Arthur kissed him.
“Shit!” Arthur broke the kiss and scrambled to his feet. “The roast!”
They didn’t have to call the fire brigade this time, but Merlin did end up signing them up for cooking lessons with a friend of Will’s who was the sous chef at the Ritz.
Arthur eventually just paid the chef to send them dinner every night.