Disclaimer: I own very little.
A/N: One of the six 1,004 word fics I wrote for Atobe's birthday, which is today.
Domestic Familiarity
Banging the door shut behind him, Atobe only barely took the time to toe off his shoes and throw off his jacket as he walked right to the couch. Dropping down on the very expensive, very white leather couch, he buried his head in the heap of purple velvet decorative pillows piled in the other end, moaning quietly.
He sensed more than heard the person approaching him, the footsteps muffled by the thick carpet covering most of the living room floor. He did hear, however, the voice as he was spoken to.
"Had a bad day?"
"What does it look like?" Atobe hissed through gritted teeth. "My head's absolutely killing me."
"Hmm, poor dear." The sensation of closeness increased as the other crouched next to him, slowly stroking his arm in a soothing manner. "Any particular reason?"
"Aside from the fact I hate the world and the feeling's mutual?" Atobe still refused to take his head away from the pillows. They didn't really soothe his headache, but at least they closed most of the surrounding world off. Without seeing anything, there was only the calm voice and the warm hand that had moved from his arm to his back.
"Now, now, Keigo. You really should just calm down." The couch cushions shifted just a bit as his lover settled a knee on the edge of the couch to lean over him, now both hands stroking his back, up to his shoulders. "Gods, Keigo. No wonder your head's aching. Your muscles are so knotted up it's a wonder you have any circulation left here."
"It's hardly my fault if I have work," Atobe muttered. "Not like I can help it, anyway."
"Well, it's certainly not going to help the matters that you insist on being so tense all the time." The hands started kneading his muscles, sure and firm. The moan that now escaped his lips, drowned by the pillows, was still one of pain but very much mixed with pleasure as well. "Now, relax. I'll try and work this out for you."
Atobe did as instructed, hard though it was; he wasn't exactly in the frame of mind to just relax and lie down. However, as the tension gradually left his weary muscles, he sighed in sweet, sweet relief as he melted into the couch under him.
"Feeling better?" He could just hear the smile in the voice. However, he couldn't currently even be bothered to figure out whether the smile signalled any amusement at his expense. He was quite too busy feeling much, much better indeed.
Finally the hands left him, making him whine in disappointment in a rather undignified way. In response he merely got a light tap on his behind and the instructions to lie down until dinner was prepared. Too tired to even protest at the most unacceptable gesture, Atobe merely rolled onto his back, peeking out of his head's private purple pillow fortress.
"Why so nice all of a sudden?" he asked.
"Aren't I always nice?" his lover chuckled, then leant down to kiss him on the lips. "Of course, you can keep me company in the kitchen if you'd like, but I thought you'd prefer the couch."
"…I'll come along." Because tempting though staying on the couch was, he didn't want to risk falling asleep. Tired as he was now, he probably wouldn't have woken up until the next morning.
"Great." He reached his hands up, finding himself pulled right up to his feet. Leaning against the muscular chest, he enjoyed yet another kiss, fingertips just barely gracing his cheek.
"You know," Atobe said a moment later, curled up in his very own armchair in the corner of the kitchen – as by mutual agreement he wasn't allowed to actually touch anything – "if you'd just let me hire a cook, you'd save a lot of time."
"I know. You've told me often enough." He got a sideways glance. "And I've told you several times I'm not letting anyone else into my kitchen. I happen to enjoy cooking, Keigo."
"Oh, whatever you say." Atobe wrapped his arms around his knees. "I can't really understand why, though. It seems rather tedious."
"Maybe to you, Mr. Burns Even Water." And rolled eyes. He really didn't think he'd earned the rolled eyes for that. "Look, I let you have your way with the decoration and cleaning; at least let me have the kitchen to myself."
"I just told you I'll go with whatever you say, didn't I?" Atobe stretched his neck from side to side. "Oh, Lord. I'm not picking a fight here, Kippei."
"…I know." Tachibana's gaze was a bit softer this time. "Sorry. I just think I've told you the very same thing often enough."
"You knew what I'm like ten years ago," Atobe pointed out. "Certainly well before you chose to live with me."
"And you knew what I'm like," Tachibana replied calmly, turning to check the taste of whatever he was making. Atobe rarely could tell before it was presented to him on a plate. "I just don't see why you complain. I keep you well fed and let you take me out whenever you want to eat something fancier. You're certainly not starving even without a cook."
"Can't really deny that." Stretching his arms, Atobe yawned. "Can't you hurry it up? I'm falling asleep here…"
"It's not going to get cooked in a minute, Keigo." Tachibana sounded vaguely amused. "As you should well know by now. The only foods one can get ready on a moment's notice are the ones you won't touch with a ten-foot pole."
"Eleven," Atobe muttered, finally pushing himself up from the armchair lest he truly fall asleep in its comfort. "Are you making Japanese or Western? I'll set the table." That was one chore he was good at – he certainly knew table etiquette better than well.
"Japanese for today." Tachibana smiled. "…You sure are domesticated, aren't you?"
"Says the man in the apron," chuckled Atobe.
Miraculously, his head didn't hurt anymore.