The saying went, what happens in Mexico, stays in Mexico. Or something like that, Andrew thought. Weeks of living on the run from a truck driving magic mama had finally settled down into an uneasy peace and truce between him and Jonathan. Being able to use magic and summon any number of demonic creatures had turned out to be rather profitable in the southerly region, so the apartment the two shared overlooking the square in a town he couldn't pronounce was rather nicer than either of them could have afforded in Sunnydale.
Or would have wanted to, he thought, dark thoughts turning his guts greasy and churning. Under the dubious leadership of Warren and an ill-timed moment of boredom, he and his best friend had gotten themselves into something they couldn't control. It was definitely all fun and games until someone lost their free will, like Katrina, or – he recalled guiltily, Jonathan. Had he really wanted power and acceptance that much that he had thrown the other boy to the wolves? Yeah, yeah, he definitely had, and it made for a twisty tummy. He blew out a long breath and adjusted the knot that held the thing that was so not an apron around his waist.
Today was their month anniversary of not dying, and summarily escaping, and he really, really wanted tonight to be good for Jonathan. He had started cooking tamales wrapped in banana leaves this morning and they were pretty much smelling like the Jedi temple – heaven.
Now he was frying batches of something Jonathan had come to love, buñuelos. His hands shaped the dough into flat squares and he set them gently into a sizzling iron skillet filled with oil. The delicious smell of frying dough was what met Jonathan's nose when he came in ten minutes later from a long hard day of making quick and dirty spells for the village.
The shorter man dropped his stuff by the door and came into the open kitchen and paused. "Andrew? What the – what are you doing?" he managed to get out before his mouth was full of warm sugary buñuelo and he was forced to stop and chew, then swallow with a look of bliss. The food distracted him momentarily before his attention was diverted again, his hand opening up the steam pot to let the hiss of cool air versus hot into the room.
"Tamales too? Christmas come a month early or what?"
Andrew paused in his coating of the latest group of buñuelos and bit his lip. "No, I just…" Ugh. There went his traitorous heart and stomach again. He couldn't say it, he just couldn't. Jonathan was his best friend, and maybe, just maybe more, but it had only ever come up in jokes, and god, Andrew wanted so much more than to be a joke to the dark haired man in the doorway. So badly he could taste it.
Or that could be blood from his lip. Damn it. He turned suddenly into Jonathan, who was much closer than he had been. "Andy, you're bleeding." He noted, lifting a clean flour sack towel to his friend's mouth.
"Yeah, well, you know me, big girl and all," he replied, his hand coming up and pressing the cloth and Jonathan's own fingers against his mouth, which only made everything so much worse, with the butterflies and if this is what Anakin felt, Andrew was definitely understanding the character more now that he had firsthand experience. Or maybe second, considering that he was no Jedi that had rebelled against the Order and subsequently gone dark and what was he talking about again?
"Andrew!" Jonathan said, more firmly, this time.
"What, what?" Andrew's eyes snapped to meet the insistent gaze of his friend, who had pushed up against him and pulled the towel away.
Jonathan grinned and kissed him lightly. "The buñuelos are burning, Padme."
Andrew's eyes flew wide and he turned around with a yelp of dismay and dark mutters of retribution.
After dinner, of course.
END