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 Posted: Sun Mar 25, 2018 10:18 am
Twelve thousand, four hundred and ten days had passed since Robert John Banks came into the world, bawling and screaming with two delighted parents surrounding him, never prouder.
Twelve thousand, four hundred and nine days since his birth, Rob was all-too aware of the fact that this year for his birthday, he would once again be surrounded by no one and he was fairly certain that his parents had given up hope on ever being proud of him again. He was a wash-up. A sleazy 3am TV commercial, bus-stop-promoting ambulance chaser. A former-but-close-to-being-present alcoholic. A waste of oxygen.
The temptation to visit his favorite liquor store was growing more and more hard to resist as each hour passed by. From the moment he left work on Friday night, the thought was in the back of his head, beckoning him, luring him out. One small glass wouldn't hurt anything, right? He could control himself, surely. All things in moderation weren't bad....
It had taken some convincing (and two fresh nail indentations in his chair) for him to agree with himself that drinking would be a Bad Decision and that he needed to find alternative distractions for the anniversary of a day he sometimes wished never had bother happening.
Thus, the idea had been born.
When he'd been through the lowest of his low moments, K had been generous enough to stop by and bring some shitty chicken something-or-another in his ugly excuse of a tupperware dish. Rob had eaten it despite the appalling taste, coupled with the promise to one day teach the teenager how to properly cook.
Now it was time to bring that offer back onto the table. Preferably, the kitchen table.
He'd texted Kavinsky early Saturday afternoon, presuming he was either entertaining his ward or he was out doing a job. Either way, he hadn't expected a response to his Tomorrow night, first cooking lesson. You need to be able to make edible things now that you're a parent text but the Russian responded back surprisingly quickly, to his delight.
So that was how Robert Banks found himself on his twelve thousand, four hundred and tenth day on Earth: standing in a kitchen, surrounded by one tall, burly Russian and an ample amount of uncooked ingredients.
Tying the strings of his apron behind his back, he gave the younger man a confident smile. Cooking was one of his favorite things to do, despite the fact he hardly had a reason to bother with it anymore.
"I have an extra apron over there, if you'd like one."
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Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2018 7:17 am
Kavinsky agreed to what he viewed as an asinine cooking course with an egotistical lawyer for two reasons; one, free food and two, he had been planning on coming by anyway. In his jacket pocket was a measly gift card of a gift, something for the man's birthday because Mory had insisted that if you knew about the birthday and if you spent enough time with the person...
You had to give them something and while he had no intention of giving Banks any of the things she'd suggested, and he was mildly concerned that he needed to restrict her internet access <********>, providing some company and a gift card would be suitable.
Now, he was standing in a kitchen looking less than impress about the apron that was being tied upon the far too thin lawyer.
"I'll pass." He wore enough aprons when he was busing tables or doing dishes at one of his bar or restaurant gigs. Slowly he tugged off his jean jacket, intent on setting it over one of the dining room chair before he hesitated and fished out the small envelope.
"Mory and I got this for you." He held it out to the older man. "Happy birthday and s**t." Inside it was a chicken scratch scribble of a happy birthday and thanks for all the help with everything.
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Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2018 11:40 am
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, fully well knowing his offer would be rejected. While he preferred to keep wayward cooking supplies from dirtying his dress shirt, it probably took away masculinity points for anyone with biceps the size of ----
Nope. He wasn't going to think about that.
"Just don't expect me to wash your clothes if you get crap all over it," he teased lightly, moving to clear away some counter space for them to get started. "I doubt any of my clothes would be able to fit you at this point - god knows I don't need what shirts I still have to stretch."
Imagining broad shoulders straining to contain the pristine white shirts he had filed away side by side like documents in his closet was a humorous thought... well, among other things. It was ridiculous, plain and simple and he shook his head, doing his best to banish the silly mental image.
Thankfully, Kavinsky was already ready to unknowingly come to his rescue, a small envelope being fluttered in his direction. Slender fingers reached out, pressing fingertips against the surface to smooth out the creases before pulling the card out.
"You remembered?"
The brunette seemed genuinely taken aback. Of all people to remember... grumpy Kavinsky had seemed the type to treat a birthday as every other day that passed through the year. Knowing he cared enough to actually acknowledge the occasion was...
No, it was probably Mory - of course it was Mory - because why would he bother to even think of.....no, sweet child, he'd have to thank her later.
"You shouldn't - you two - shouldn't have."
The card was glanced at, then quietly pocketed into his back pocket as Rob turned back towards their organized ingredients. He was struggling to hide his pleased grin as fingers reached out and began tampering with the lids of various items.
"Thank you." The words were quiet, appreciation evident as the sentimental beast that wore Robert Banks's skin surfaced for a moment. Clearing his throat, one hand moved out to gesture the younger man forward. "Now c'mere - this chicken isn't going to cook itself."
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2018 1:36 pm
It didn't take a genius to take note that Kavinsky was mildly uncomfortable with the whole gift giving thing. The only person he'd ever regularly exchanged gifts with was Ellis, who always got him a cupcake and vice versa. Last year on his birthday he had provided his best friend with proof that he'd gone back and gotten his G.E.D because he knew the guy wanted him to.
Ellie was someone who'd never given up on him and for the longest time, Ellie was all he had.
Now?
Now he was uncomfortable because gift giving meant he cared and those people meant something to him. Somewhere along the way Mory had gotten under his skin and so had....Banks.
чертовски трахнуть.
Shrugging at the thanks, he stepped over to the space that Banks had created for him. "S'not a big deal, it's nothing much. Just something." He mumbled, nearly incoherent. "What bullshit fancy crap are we making?"
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2018 6:04 pm
The awkward moment was spared as the conversation moved forward, the focus now on the supplies sitting in front of them. There was rice, onions, corn, and various other ingredients spread out across the counter in their designated sections. One step over to the fridge and the chicken he'd purchased only hours before was soon sitting on the cutting board, waiting to be prepped.
"We're going to redeem your last attempt at cooking." he said confidently, motioning for the larger man to make his way towards the sink for a preparatory wash-up, "And make some Russian Plov. I assume you're familiar with it? It's fairly good for freezing and reheating, in case you get in late from jobs and Mory needs something to munch on."
At least, Rob hoped Kavinsky was familiar with it. He'd taken a great deal of time sifting through various recipe books and sites online for something that sounded both delicious and Russian. With any luck, maybe his "student" would be impressed with his efforts. He just didn't have to know that Rob had never actually made Plov before.
"I've got the rice already soaking in the pot - If you can cut the chicken into cubes, I can start getting the pan ready on the stove."
Pausing, he glanced towards the beanie-wearing teenager.
"I can show you how to do cubes, if you're not familiar with it."
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2018 9:08 am
"I can cook just fine," Kavinsky snapped, clearly offended that Banks would even suggest that he couldn't. "I don't make fancy crap like you do because it's not budget friendly."
When you could really only afford the bare necessities some canned chicken, cream of whatever, and rice was a pretty great feast of a meal. Easy on the stomach too, which Banks had needed after his benders.
The dish was announced and the Russian teen narrowed his eyes at the lawyer. "Did you ******** look up Russian meals in an attempt to impress me?" While the words are angry, he at least sounds amused.
"I ******** know how to cut chicken." He spits, taking the knife and proving just that.
He's worked in enough kitchens to understand the basics of being a line cook. His cubes aren't nice but they certainly could look ******** worse.
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2018 9:25 am
He flinched automatically at being snapped at, his somber mood keeping his own sass in check. It was hard to find amusement in things when all you wanted to do was make everything more numb than it already was. Inferring that he was rubbing his fancy crap in the other's man face only served to make him feel sheepish.
"I didn't mean to make you..."
His words trailed off, Rob shaking his head as he sighed and moved to the pan. Oil and heat were applied, hazel eyes trying to focus on what he was doing. His second hand moved out to steady the first, doing its best to tame the betraying tremble that decided to sneak its way into the lesson.
"Figured you were only showing up to be nice, so I thought maybe I'd do something that reminded you of home."
The tips of his ears grew red but he'd blame it on the stove's heat in a heartbeat. The chicken was scooped up and put on the pan, nudged around and shifted on the oil before the lawyer turned to the next ingredients on the list.
"I'll cut the onions if you take care of---" Remembering his tremor, he shook his head a second time and bit the inside of his cheek, "Scratch that, you cut the onions, I'll blend the carrots up."
Keeping his chin high, he brushed past the larger man to pluck up the bag of carrots, making a beeline towards the food processor.
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2018 10:34 am
The harshness of his expression softened, Kavinsky feeling mildly guilty when Banks seemed to shrink into himself. Silver eyes watched as he moved, like a child who'd just been scolded by a parent and was afraid they'd make another mistake, and he huffed a sigh.
"I'm not that nice." He offered then hesitated. "Thanks." He grumbled in a I guess sort of manner.
The thought was touching, if Kavinsky was the type of person who liked that sort of thing. Or was capable of being a receptive thoughtful gift recipient.
But, alas for one Robert Banks, he was neither of those things.
"Do I need to cut them any specific way?" He asked, plucking an onion up and peeling off the outer layer.
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2018 10:56 am
The carrots were promptly dumped into the mixer, Rob having already prewashed the food prior to Kavinsky's arrival. He searched out a measuring cup to fill with water, one hand hovering beneath the overfilled cup as he shifted towards the mixer.
Glancing back towards the Russian with the very sharp, pointy knife, he thought back for a moment as to what the instructions called for. "Uh - halves and then slicing horizontal would be fine, I don't think it matters too mu--s**t."
The water missed the mixer, his attention having been directed elsewhere as he'd tried to multitask. Water splashed down across both apron and shirt, the lawyer cursing at the cold that had already begun seeping through to his skin. The remaining water was dumped into the mixer, measuring cup soon discarded on the counter as the apron was next to be removed.
"Sorry. I guess I'm all thumbs today."
Despite the sogginess of his shirt (thanks for nothing, apron), he returned to the mixer and placed lid on top, holding down the machine for a few seconds until the carrots had been mauled appropriately into their orange state of mush. He proceeded to dump the contents into the colander in the sink before hands moved up to begin unbuttoning his shirt.
"I'm going up to change - toss the onions into the pan and stir for a bit? I'll be right back."
If it wasn't for the fact they'd already made a decent headway into the meal, he'd have considered nixing it all for pizza. They should have done something more simple, probably - him and his desire to impress were going to be the death of him.
Or his clothes, it seemed.
Putting on the best smile he could muster, the third button popped free as he turned on polished heels and made his way for the staircase.
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2018 2:00 pm
Once the instructions were received, Kavinsky did exactly what he was told to...if exactly meant the onion was cut in half and chopped up unevenly but decently enough. He wasn't a fancy cook and he didn't spend a lot of time refining his culinary skills.
Plus, he didn't really care as long as whatever he made was edible.
His head lifted, knife paused in a half cut when his companion cursed. A white brow was arched and he tilted his head. "You nervous or some s**t?" The teen had thought they were past the intimidation stage of their tentative friendship.
Of course, Banks hadn't exactly been himself the last few times.
The man was thinner than he used to be, more prone to flinching, definitely had some tremors...It took a lot of conscious effort, but Kavinsky had tried to be softer if it was even possible for him.
Calloused fingers gathered up the chopped onions and he added them to the pan like he was told. "Yeah, yeah. No promises I won't burn s**t."
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2018 3:23 pm
“Nah, just a ******** up,” he called over his shoulder, trying to make his voice sound lighter and more playful.
Trying to, at least.
Putting on another pair of slacks and a nice shirt seemed futile, especially if he was just going to spill more crap all over himself. Only problem was, none of his jeans actually fit anymore.
After some digging, he managed to locate an old pair of sweatpants, the drawstrings pulled together tighter than they'd ever been pulled before to keep the material from falling off his hips. An old t-shirt replaced the dress shirt, some throwaway rag more or less that ended up swallowing him.
s**t, had he really lost that much weight?
At least the shirt hung over the waistband of his sweats, hiding his shameful attempt at knotting them to keep from falling down.
Running his hands through his hair to fluff up his hair (because what was the point of having perfect hair when you looked like you were about to Netflix binge for days?), he finally descended the stairs, bare feet padding across the wood back towards the kitchen.
“Alright, technical difficulties worked through, let's add the cumin, onions and carrots and let this puppy sit for a bit, shall we?”
He kept the garlic in cloves, not wanting to risk the knife, and didn't even comment about how the onions looked rushed through or uneven. Hands kept somewhat steady as he dumped them and the cumin into the pan, making a playful attempt at hip-bumping his companion out of the way to make room for his workspace. He stirred the pot for a bit before adding in the mush of carrots to the collection.
Satisfied with the smell thus far, he slid the cover over the pan, clapped his hands together and turned his back to the counter.
“We've got a little bit of time to kill - would you like something to drink while we wait?”
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Posted: Thu Mar 29, 2018 10:28 pm
When Banks returned he was wearing some s**t that Kavinsky never imagined seeing him in or rather, something so ******** ridiculous that he had no idea it was even possible that the wannabe fancy-pants lawyer to own let alone wear. His silver-eyed gaze lingered longer than he meant it too and the pan hissed at him, reminding him that he had ingredients to tend to.
Banks's hip bump was ill-timed and it caused K to drop the spatula even as he moved out of the way without a word. Something about seeing the lawyer in such casual clothing confused him, unsettled even and he was struggling to hide what was throwing him off.
"I'm good," he retorted easily, shifting until he could rest back against one of the counters. He couldn't keep from taking in the sweatpants that looked impossibly baggy or the way the shirt hung too loosely on the man's frame.
"How long are we waiting?"
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Posted: Fri Mar 30, 2018 4:54 am
If he noticed the spatula fumble, he didn't comment on it, choosing instead to turn and add several of the measuring cups and dishes into the sink by the colander. Satisfied that enough counter space had been cleared off, he turned to the fridge, padding his way over to the stainless steel device and yanking the door open.
A bottle was retrieved from the depths of the bottom shelf before he turned around and bumped the door close.
“I’d offer you a beer but uh…” Hands nervously twisted open the bottle of water as he laughed softly, eyes averting themselves over to the pot nearby, “It's not something I keep stocked very regularly anymore.”
Glancing down at his watch, his head tilted as he did the math in his head. “I'd say thirty, thirty-five minutes - give or take a few depending on how the chicken looks?”
Taking a sip from his water, his backside found its home against the countertop again, rocking softly as hazel eyes returned to his burly guest.
“So I take it Mory was alright with you skipping out on her tonight?" The lawyer's grin returned. "I feel lucky, getting to share her Dad for the night.”
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Posted: Mon Apr 02, 2018 10:42 am
Standing uncomfortably in the kitchen, Kavinsky found a counter to lean against as he crossed his arms across his chest. It was hard not to watch, to let his silver-eyed gaze linger on the way the pants barely clung to Banks's hips even with being tied as tightly as possible.
"Shouldn't be offering that s**t to me anyway." He grunted, diverting his gaze to the bottle of water in the lawyers hand. "Underage remember?" He paused, tongue sneaking out to wet his lips. "S'good though, you shouldn't be drinking that s**t anyway."
His gaze flicked over towards one of the windows.
"Don't need you drunkenly breaking s**t just as an excuse to get me or somebody to come over." It'd only happened once, maybe twice for Kavinsky, who knew what other poor saps were subjected to Banks's drunken shenanigans.
"Mory can handle herself. She just needs something stable. Reliable." And Kavinsky was reliable as ********. "Should feel lucky, I don't really do birthdays but...we appreciate you. You don't have to help out how you do but you do. So, thanks."
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Posted: Mon Apr 02, 2018 4:47 pm
Eyes rolled as the teenager chastised him for offering him alcohol; he was probably one of the only ones who'd actually point out the problem in his offer instead of jumping at the chance for easy access to liquor. Those same eyes paused in their exaggerated movement when the Russian licked his lips, almost as if....
Anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he laughed sheepishly as his own gaze dropped to the back of his hand. Fingers flexed, the scars from the glass still a faint, pearl colored series of lines. They were constant reminders of a night he'd never forget anytime soon, whether he wanted to or not. Raising it up, he held it out in offering, showing the young man the physical memory.
"What, you mean you didn't have a good time?"
His dry sense of humor was accompanied by a snort as he turned to stare at the scars again. "Not my finest moment. Haven't had many of those lately."
The mention of Mory had his attention snapping back, his grin a little lopsided at the begrudged gratitude. It was amusing, hearing the frumpy young man grind out a thanks when words like <********> and s**t seemed to draw themselves out so much easier from his vocabulary.
"Hey, that's what a sugar daddy is for, right?"
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