afabulouskilljoy | (no subject)

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Date night means an empty - or at least quiet - house. It's not a rule or anything, but sharing all this space with other people makes privacy a precious commodity. Especially now that Paul is also hanging around. He seems like a nice guy, Poison's glad Jillie has someone to hang out with.

He just wants time with Jack.

He also doesn't want anyone to witness a potential culinary disaster, so. Yeah.

Poison's in the kitchen, jeans and a t-shirt, and he's got a recipe on his phone that he's following. Maybe he's cheating a little with pre-made pasta, but he doesn't think he could make a tortellini to save his life and he wants dinner to be edible. He's avoiding meat for Jack's sake, but at least he can use real cheese. He's pretty sure his ancestors would fucking haunt him somehow if he had to cook an Italian meal without cheese.

For an aching, hollow moment he thinks of Ghoul. He could do this with a blindfold.

He pushes through it and checks on the cooking pasta and the sauce. He at least made that from scratch. Tortellini primavera sounded pretty good when he'd looked it up.

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Jack's sitting at the kitchen table, drawing while Poison cooks. His life-drawing is still a work in progress - as always, as ever - so he sketches his boyfriend standing at the stove, his hair pulled back, the way his jeans sag slightly across his ass.

"That smells amazing."

"Hopefully it tastes amazing," Poison groans. He has to just let the pasta cook a bit so he makes himself walk away. "You want anything to drink, baby? Do I need to stay still while you sketch me?"

He grins a little, knowing that Jack wants to work on his life drawing.

"You can stay still later while I finish that naked one that I started this morning" he says, grinning as he works on a line. "I would love a beer, baby. If we've got any."

"Pretty sure the only time you will ever get me to stay still is if you draw me while I'm sleeping. Or while I'm working on something." But even then Poison tends to move something: bouncing his leg, shifting restlessly, fussing with his hair.

He grabs a bottle of beer out of the fridge and delivers it to the table, along with a kiss to the top of Jack's head. "You're getting a lot better."

"You're probably right," says Jack, looking at the sketchbook in front of him, a little critical. He wrinkles his nose. "Yeah? You think it looks like you?"

Poison smiles and looks at the image on the page. "You caught the way I pop my hip out when I stand," he says, reaching to let his fingertip trace over the curve his spine as he leans his hip into the counter. As he lifts his hand again he catches Jack's chin, holding him for a light kiss.

"You're doing a lot better, baby."

"Easy when I've got someone as beautiful to keep practicing with," says Jack, tilting his head back for another kiss. "And dinner smells amazing. I always have this really hard time equating you and Italian in my head."

Poison grins. "Is it because I'm lily white? Years of avoiding the sun, my man. I used to tan like that." He snaps his fingers before draping himself over Jack's shoulders. "Also the last name I used to have is Scottish or English or something. So there's that."

Jack knows that last name, like a secret, and he nods.

"I think Vincent's Italian, maybe. Somewhere along the line." He grins. "Maybe if I saw you with your natural hair colour more often. Hell, if you shaved down there, I don't think either of us would have any idea what it is."

Poison just grins. "Sounds Italian, but you seem all WASP, my love." He kissed Jack's neck. "Just be glad I didn't get it in my head to try to dye my public hair."

He squeezes around Jack's shoulders before he pulls away. "Dinner'll be ready in a minute. Pasta should be done now."

"Hey. My father is intensely freaking proud of his working class routes, okay?" says Jack, grinning. "As well as the work he's done with the immigrant and LGBTQ community. I can give you the whole spiel if you want." He rolls his eyes. "The pasta smells amazing."

"Bet seeing you with me would give him a stroke," he quips as a wicked little grin appears. Poison grabs a big serving bowl and dumps the drained pasta into it. He adds the sauce, mixing it carefully to avoid breaking up the tortellini.

"Come grab the salad, Mayor Vincent."

"Don't call me that," he says, remembering Bex's mother, how she'd smiled and called him Prince Vincent. He gets up from the table, though, grabbing the bowl of salad from the counter.

"Sorry, Jack." Poison leans close to kiss Jack's cheek. "I got a hundred better things to call you, love." He sets the bowl down so both hands can hold Jack's face, anchoring him for a sweet kiss.

"Either of those is fine," says Jack, sliding into a seat at the table, surveying the food in front of him. "This really does look amazing, baby. i might have to, like, chain you to the stove or something."

"That's a sure-fire way to get us all killed. This is like, a one-time fluke. You're talking to a guy that spent a lot of time eating really questionable things out of cans."

Poison sinks down into a chair and immediately tangles one of his legs up with Jack's.

"Powerpup. I remember," says Jack, nodding as he leans across to start serving pasta for both of them. "I'll bear that in mind. Find some other room to chain you up in instead."

"I hear I'm amazing in the bedroom," he quips, grinning like an idiot as Jack serves him. Poison plucks up his bottle of beer and takes a slow drink.

"I might be working on something new. I don't know yet, but I've been kicking it around."

"You know, that's what I hear about you to," says Jack, flashing a broad grin. He settles into his own seat, raising his eyebrows in question as he reaches for his fork. "Oh, yeah?"

Poison bobs his head. "Yeah, uhm. I mean I don't have anything to even call it other than: Poison attempts to actually cope with shit in a vaguely healthy fashion. Not a great title."

"Yeah, no, that's definitely not going to catch on, babe," says Jack, taking a bite of his food and making a soft and appreciative sound. "What does it feel like. Do you know that, yet?"

"Dark," he answers, looking at his food in contemplation. "It feels dark. I'm a little worried Sunny might want to tap out at some point? But she seems okay so far."

"Dark how?" asks Jack, nudging, knowing that Poison'll stop him dead if he pushes too far. "I can't imagine Dee tapping out of anything you're involved in. She'd follow you anywhere."

Poison shrugs a bit helplessly. "I don't know, just... dark. I'm trying to work through some shit, I guess. I can pull something up after dinner if you want?" Kav had sent him a copy of one of the more successful studio sessions.

"Yeah, I'd like that," says Jack, nodding. He chews his food thoughtfully. "What kind of shit? You know I'm happier when you talk to me about it. Even if it's shit."