#shipattack

Chad’s not much of a chef, not particularly, but he’s pretty good at following recipes and that’s enough for him so when he comes across a recipe for squid ink pasta, he gets an idea, a grand sort of idea that makes him grin big, almost smirk and rub his hands together.

(It’s not to say that he’s scheming or anything, but Craig’s always so bland with his food choices, and Chad and the others always try to get Craig to step outside of his comfort zone when it comes to food—but Craig’s a hard man to please when it comes to new things, new food, usually only trying them when there’s alcohol or a camera involved.)

He makes a list and heads out early on a Saturday morning, sending Craig a text, a brief sort of text that says hey come over later, got something new I want you to try before he shoves his phone in his pocket and goes down to the local supermarket.

(Finding squid ink proves to be hard, but he does eventually, at a small Asian market on the other side of town, they sell it in jars of all things, which isn’t what Chad’s expecting but he grabs it and tosses it in the basket along with a few other ingredients he couldn’t find before he goes to pay for it.)

Craig shows up around eight that night, an hour early, but he’s known to do that sometimes so Chad doesn’t really pay any attention to his presence until Craig’s leaning over him, What’s that smell?

Pasta, Chad says, he’s being vague on purpose, not sure how Craig would react to squid ink being in front of that, I saw the recipe online, figured I needed a taste tester and honestly what better person than my good buddy Craig, right?

Craig laughs at that, rests his chin on Chad’s head and watches him stir sauce in the pan, refusing to comment on the color of it, I see, he says, And you’re only feeding me some noodles tonight, huh?

Chad scoffs, No, he says, There’s bourbon chicken too, if you want that, and then Craig’s pulling away from Chad with a loud, Ah-ha! You’re trying to get me drunk James, I knew you had ulterior motives here.

That makes Chad turn around and then he’s staring at Craig like he’s grown a second head, You do realize I could have just offered you beer or something right? Besides, the alcohol’s cooked out so it won’t really do anything.

Craig still looks suspicious of Chad’s motives but he doesn’t say anything else, just goes back to watching Chad until Chad’s turning away to finish the sauce up, Alright, he says finally, Let me know when the food’s ready, I guess.

When Craig leaves, Chad snorts softly and shakes his head, a fond little smile on his lips as he stirs the sauce a few more times before letting it simmer.

(He loads a plate up once the food’s done, loads it half up with the pasta, half with the chicken and grabs a beer for Craig before he’s heading out of the kitchen and into the living room—the lights are low and the television’s on, it gives the room a sort of romantic atmosphere that Chad tries not to look too far into.)

That for me? Craig asks, eyeing the plate piled high but Chad passes him the beer first, lets him pop it open and take a long, slow draw from it before placing it on the coffee table in front of him, Alright pretty boy, lay it on me, he says, reaching out for the plate.

Chad’s not really nervous but there’s something hesitant in his stomach as he watches Craig dive straight in for the pasta, there’s shrimp in it too, shrimp and squid ink and when Chad tasted it, it was fine, but he worries that Craig’s not going to like it (and as nearly the only one who cares about Craig’s wellbeing when it comes to feeding him, Chad feels like it’s his responsibility to feed him something good.)

It’s different, Craig says around a mouthful of noodles and shrimp, he’s got a little bit of sauce on his lower lip and Chad’s ignoring the sudden urge to reach out and wipe it away with his thumb, with his own mouth as he watches Craig chew thoughtfully, eyes half closed like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

(Feeding Craig was always a sort of show, a dinner and a show, Craig, who eats with everything he is, always willing to show his appreciation to whoever’s feeding him and—and Chad needs to stop there, needs to tamp down the thoughts before they branch into inappropriate territory, although, feeding your coworker, your boss on a Saturday night should be inappropriate as it is. But their work relationship was never a normal sort of thing anyway.)

What’s in the sauce, Chad, Craig finally asks when he’s eaten a good portion of the pasta, and Chad figures, if Craig hated it, he wouldn’t have demolished half of it so the words slip out of his mouth as he watches Craig pick a noodle up with his fingers, head tilting back, eyes closed as he drops it into his mouth and chews, Squid ink, he says, distracted, watching how Craig licks the sauce off of his fingers with a little hum.

Craig doesn’t say anything for a few minutes after that, it’s just silence but it’s not the heavy sort but it still has Chad on the edge—does Craig not like it now? Chad’s sure it happens, a person eats a food they don’t know the contents of and when they find out they suddenly don’t like it.

Hey look man, if it’s too much, you don’t have to eat it, Chad says with a little shrug, he’s backpedaling, I saw the recipe and like, thought it could be good maybe? I dunno, but you don’t gotta eat it if the squid ink’s too…weird.

Craig looks over at Chad, he’s still got sauce on his lower lip and Craig must notice his stare because he’s licking his lips, pink tongue sliding over his lower lip, catching the bit of sauce there and Chad has to hold back a moan, It’s, it’s not bad Chad, not bad at all, not really what I expected either? But it’s, it’s, good? I think? He glances down at the plate, I’ll have to eat more for uh, proper experimentation.

The relief that settles in Chad’s stomach is mixed with something else, something between arousal and pride because he’s done that, he’s made Craig something that he likes, that he’s eating and that’s the best sort of feeling ever.

(Craig eats more, eats his way through the bourbon chicken and Chad tries to ignore the urge to kiss the spicy bourbon sauce off of Craig’s mouth when he gets a little too eager and goes for a larger than normal forkful of the chicken and then suddenly he’s getting up off the couch and going into the kitchen—it takes him a few minutes and when Chad’s just about to get up and go check on him, Craig comes back out, another plate full of the pasta this time, just the pasta and another beer.

Craig’s a little more eager after that, he eats with no abandon, mouthfuls of noodles and shrimp, all darkened with the squid ink sauce and Chad watches in amazement, arousal, awe as Craig demolishes plate after plate of the pasta and then the bourbon chicken until he’s stuffed full, four beers and about five plates of pasta and chicken later, he’s lying on the couch, head on Chad’s thigh and the urge to rub Craig’s stomach is there, the feel the smooth roundness of his belly catches him, grabs a hold of him and he does, he reaches out and rests the flat of his palm on the part that’s the roundest—the noise that comes out of Craig’s mouth is something of a purr, maybe a moan and Chad can’t help himself anymore, he leans over and seals his mouth over Craig’s, kisses him slowly, deeply.

There’s the taste of squid ink and the spiciness of the bourbon under it and it’s an interesting sort of taste, along with the beer, but Chad doesn’t care, he chases the taste, kissing Craig until Craig’s turning his head away with a little gasp, Woah there little buddy, he says, voice sounding somewhat wrecked, a little tired, Don’t wanna get something started now do we?

Chad does, actually, he does, he wants to get Craig shirtless, wants to touch the soft skin himself, wants to rub Craig’s stomach while he’s mouthing at the bulge of his dick through his underwear, he wants to show his appreciation in so many ways.)

Craig must know what he’s thinking, because he sits up slowly, a soft, sort of pained groan leaving his mouth when he jostles himself too much, all warm and full of beer and good food, but he lets Chad pull his shirt off and press a kiss to his shoulder, sighs and relaxes back against the couch when Chad’s hand starts rubbing slow slow slow, tracing around his bellybutton with light touches before rubbing his entire palm over where it hurts.

Chad keeps his hand on Craig’s stomach even as he’s sliding off the couch, his knees landing on the carpet with a soft thump that draws Craig’s attention, makes him slide down on the couch more so Chad can fit between his legs, Hey there, Craig mumbles, You come here often?

Chad laughs a little and nods, not wanting to say anything to ruin the moment and by now he’s gotten to where he can easily unbutton Craig’s jeans and the sigh Craig lets out is somewhere near pornographic as the pressure’s released and he’s sinking even more into the couch cushions until Chad can tug down his jeans easily with one finger through a belt loop.

I know where this is going, Craig comments sleepily, his eyes half lidded as he peers down at Chad and Chad notes with some bit of pride that Craig’s at least half hard in his underwear, his dick twitching each time Chad’s thumb passes over the skin of his stomach.

He doesn’t wait too long, pushes himself up on his knees so he can press a dry sort of kiss under Craig’s bellybutton and then one at the band of his underwear before he’s settling back down and pressing an open mouthed kiss to the bulge of Craig’s dick, looking up at Craig through his bangs as he does—and he delights in the way Craig opens up, lets his head drop back against the back of the couch, eyes falling shut as he moans, a soft, happy sort of sound.

Chad teases him for a while, just open mouthed kisses between each pass of his palm along Craig’s stomach trying to soothe the pain there but eventually, Craig gets a little impatient and so does Chad and Chad’s other hand finds Craig’s dick, rubbing him through his underwear until Chad’s hooking fingers into the band and tugging them down enough so Chad can get his mouth on the head of Craig’s dick.

Craig never lasts long when he’s got a full stomach and Chad teases him about it, says it’s because Craig gets off on this as much as everyone else does—and well, Craig won’t deny it but he also won’t confirm it either, not out loud at least, but Chad’s mouth has always been his favorite, so warm, soft, his tongue insistent against the head of his dick and while Chad won’t swallow all the time, the way his free hand goes for him, jerks him off with his underwear still half on, it’s well, it’s sort of hot.

He’s coming soon after, already at the point where he’s whispering Chad’s name over and over like a litany of some sort, like Chad’s name is sacred to him (and god, maybe it is) and when he comes, Chad has to bite back his own moan because Craig’s beautiful like this, all tense and arched as he comes, white stripes up his stomach and chest (sometimes on his chin, depending on the intensity) and when Craig’s shaky and overstimulated, Chad’s hand disappears, his mouth finds the soft skin of Craig’s inner thighs and he sucks a large sort of bruise there, a weak moan leaving Craig’s mouth.

Gee buddy, Craig says when Chad’s done, still kneeling between his legs, still rubbing his stomach slowly, now at the side, where there’s no come (not that he hasn’t well, rubbed Craig’s own come into his skin before in the heat of the moment).

Gee buddy, Chad mocks as he pushes himself up, knee coming to rest on the couch between Craig’s legs as he leans over him to kiss him slowly, softly, Don’t you have more to say? He whispers into his mouth.

Craig hums and leans into it, lets Chad kiss him for a few minutes before he pulls away enough to say, I think you could have done better, six outta ten, a lazy sort of grin on his lips, eyes half open.

Chad huffs softly, See if I feed you anymore, he says and then he’s getting up, ignoring Craig’s whine, Come on now, we need to get you cleaned up and then to bed. I’m not carrying your ass to bed if you fall asleep on my couch again.

You wound me, Chad, Craig says, but he lets Chad help him up and into the bathroom and grudgingly, Craig showers while Chad finds the pajamas he left here last time and by the time he’s done and dressed, he’s feeling warm and tired, full of food and relaxed and the feeling magnifies when he settles into bed and Chad curls around him from behind, hand coming to rest on his stomach.

You’re only the big spoon ‘cause I’m too tired to object, Craig says around a yawn and Chad hums, rubs Craig’s stomach until Craig sighs and leans back into him, Okay fine, he finally mumbles. You win, James.

Chad grins against his shoulder, pressing a kiss there, Go to sleep Craig, I’ll make breakfast in the morning, yeah?