"Okay, tonight, I am going to make something awesome," Daryan declared, tossing his jacket onto the table and strolling into the kitchen.
"I thought you cannot boil water," Machi commented quietly. He was trying to read a book Klavier had loaned him to pass the time, but most of it was going right past him, the English too colloquial and beyond his grasp.
"Yeah! That's why I'm going to do it!" he bellowed.
"You are going to disturbing Lamiroir and Klavier."
"Eh, they can't hear me. That little studio is soundproofed. The first thing that will clue them in that anything out of the ordinary's going on will be the delectable odor of créme brulee assaulting their nostrils," Daryan said. He never sounded like he doubted a single word that came from his own mouth. Machi was unsurprised to find Daryan as ostentatious and melodramatic in the kitchen as everywhere else. He did not think "assaulting" sounded like the way one would describe their encounter with a presumably pleasant aroma, but perhaps it was a result of his weak English. Daryan could be so strange.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Daryan set a bowl on the counter and took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. "Get in here and help me."
"Huh?"
"That's right. Get in here, you little punk. I'll put an apron on you so you don't mess up your frilly clothes, so don't get your panties in a twist," Daryan waved him over impatiently.
Without any solid objection to the demand, Machi awkwardly rose and came over to join him. "I know nothing about how to cooking..." he volunteered as Daryan engaged in some manhandling, tying Klavier's white and purple to fit him somewhat securely. It was long like a smock on someone Machi's size, but would do a good job protecting his outfit. "You are allowed just cooking in Klavier's kitchen without asking him?"
"Pssh," Daryan ran a cocky hand along his enormous pompadour, "Klavier and I are like family! I could practically live her if I wanted to. ...Okay, let's get started." He washed five eggs off under a stream of water in the sink. "Crack these into the bowl. Don't make a mess."
Machi picked up one egg and turned it around in his hand, wondering at the best way to handle this task. It felt cold. He tapped it softly against the metal rim of the mixing bowl, but nothing happened.
"Harder," Daryan urged him, standing behind him, looking down over his shoulder.
Machi bit his lip, telling his face not to flush, although it would not be good enough to listen to him. He flicked his wrist, rapping the chilled egg against the metal. This time it gave way underneath his hand. He scrambled to dump its contents more into the bowl than on the table.
"That one broke a little prematurely, huh?" Daryan snickered.
"You...you would know little about that," Machi fought back in spite of the redness coloring his cheeks.
Daryan recoiled slightly from the force of the accusation, but returned to himself snarling. "That was just that one time when you got me all excited, okay? You better practice safe cooking and pick out any shell fragments that got in there." He fidgeted with irritated anxiety. "Break the rest of those eggs right and put the eggshells in the trash. I'll measure out the sugar."
Machi couldn't understand all that Daryan was muttering to himself as he got the sugar out of the cupboard and poured it into a plastic measuring cup, but most of it sounded like just more of his usual profanity. He followed it up by taking out the milk, cream, rum, and some exotic-looking pods. He took a swig of rum straight from the bottle before measuring it out. Machi finished with the last egg and grimaced. Yuck.
Daryan caught the look out of the corner of his eye. He loved it. "I'm turning on the stove now. Don't do something stupid like burn your hand."
"I am not child. I know stove is hot."
"Move over. This part's too complicated for a novice like you to handle," Daryan pushed him aside, pouring the eggs and sugar into a pot and setting it on the right front burner. "Watch the master, kid," Daryan suggested, haughty with superiority as he added the ingredients he had collected to the concoction, stirring and adjusting the temperature with care. "Klav's gonna love this," he smiled, continuing to look sly and possibly manipulative even as he spoke of his friend.
"But don't worry," he told Machi, voice full of condescension, "We can tell your mommy that you helped."
"Do not call her that," Machi spat. Lamiroir was no party to any of the illegal dealings between he and Daryan. She was not the one sullying her career as a musician with smuggling and other things she would probably regret a year or so down the line, even assuming no one got caught.
"Aww, does it make you feel dirty when I talk about your precious Lamiroir?" Daryan mocked him, "Is it because you don't want to mix her pure image of you with the dirty brat that sucks my dick? Heh heh, I know you for who you really are, Machi. You're a selfish prick, only in it for yourself- just like me."
Unable to think of words to express his feelings in English, Machi clenched his fists, sure his face was practically fuchsia from this potent mix of humiliation and frustration.
"Okay, I need you to help me with this part. Grab the sieve."
It must be convenient, Machi thought, to be able to point so effectively with one's hair.
"Now hold it over this one I'm setting in the sink. I've got to strain the soup."
Machi handled the sieve gingerly by its edge.
"You've gotta hold it tighter than that or you're gonna drop it," Daryan snapped, in a (at least for him) lighter manner. "I'm not gonna burn you, okay?" he lifted the soup, using two multi-colored pot holders, "That'd be freaking idiotic, and, anyway, I told you, I'm good at this."
"I do not trust you."
"Too late for that," Daryan laughed, beginning to pour anyway. Machi watched the warm liquid spill through the metal grid, leaving the vanilla pods to collect in the bottom of the sieve, and thought of how applicable that statement was to their entire relationship.
"See, I told you it'd be fine," Daryan announced as the last dregs of soup dripped into the collecting pot.
Machi said nothing, but happily set the sieve down. Daryan preset the oven. He had to look through a few cupboards before he found the appropriate bowls for ladling the concoction out into. "Klavier musta moved them since last time," he explained. Machi noted that they were unique bowls. He had not seen them used on any previous occasion at Klavier's residence. "Here," Daryan put the ladle against Machi's palm, pushing his fingers closed over the metal stem. "Fill 'em all up so I can put them in the oven."
"Is actually complicate," Machi observed. Daryan didn't appear to be following any recipe either. Even if this was the only recipe he knew, what he'd said about knowing how to cook couldn't be considered a complete lie.
"After these things are in the oven, you'll get a break, sous-chef. I'll even let you lick the bowl."
"iSue/i-chef?" the Borginian wondered aloud, distracted before he had the chance to react to the licking the bowl comment (Undoubtedly an appeal from Daryan's twin desires to sexualize and treat Machi like a child, just one of those many combinations present in some individuals that did something more complicated than disgust Machi, but could be used to his advantage. If only Daryan would treat him more like an equal, he would-).
"It means you're the assistant," Daryan set the timer. He ran his finger along the inside of the bowl and licked the dripping concoction there. "Nice." He picked up the bowl and held it out to Machi, "Go on and take a taste. Don't kids do this back where you come from?"
Machi accepted the bowl, just looking into it, with a dull lack of curiosity. "I do not know. I never involve in this sort of thing back home."
Sheesh. Sometimes Daryan could see that maybe it wasn't like Machi had just decided to become a little adult. He wasn't some spoiled American kid. Was that cute? What was it he wanted from Machi anyway? ...What did Machi want from him? Other than the money, all of that stuff was confusing.
He decided to ignore it. He dipped his finger back into the dregs of the mixture, tracing the bottom of the bowl. "Go on," he held it out to Machi, unable to blink as he watched Machi tentatively lick it. One drop fell to the floor.
"It is sweet. Strange," Machi pushed his dark glasses onto his head and looked up into Daryan's eyes. "After is baking, what part is next?"
"We add sugar on top of them and use a burner to toast their tops. It's pretty neat."
"Do you learn this from Klavier?"
"I've learned a lot of things from Klavier. ...I've learned some things from you too.
...Heh heh, you're blushing."