Chuck fiddled with the flower press. It had been Lucifer's idea. He wanted to buy it, to smash flowers—so he could glue them to the wall or something destructive, probably. But he'd immediately lost interest in them. So Chuck sat on the threadbare couch with a flower press in his lap, spinning the wingnuts between his thumb and forefinger. He loosened one, and tightened another, and so on and so on, just messing with them. There were no flowers in the press. He just liked the way wingnuts twirled.
The front door opened, and the floor creaked as someone entered the house. Michael, probably. Lucifer was never so quiet when he came home. Chuck looked up. Sure, enough, Michael walked into the living room, with a bouquet under his arm.
"Good afternoon, Chuck."
Chuck grinned. "Hi, Michael." He set the flower press aside and stood up. As he walked over to greet Michael with a kiss, he asked, "Are those for me?"
"Of course." Michael pushed the beribboned cluster of wild roses and violets into Chuck's hands. He kissed Chuck's face and smiled the slightest bit—a very Archaic kind of smile that nonetheless warmed his entire demeanor. "I would never buy flowers for Lucifer. He would only light them on fire, or something equally destructive." He shook his head. "Anyway, he doesn't deserve flowers."
"You're right." Chuck laughed and poked at the flowers. He sniffed one of the purpley-pink roses. He paused, and stroked one of the petals. "Does that mean I deserve flowers? Or did you just... just feel like buying some?"
Michael laughed quietly and urged Chuck toward the couch, with a hand at the small of his back, warm. They sat down together and he said, "You certainly deserve flowers." He kissed Chuck's neck.
Chuck blushed. "Th—uh... Thank you, Michael."
"You're welcome." Michael looped his arm around Chuck's waist. He noted the bolted-together pieces of plywood that made up the flower press on the side table. He reached for it, and fiddled with the screws. "One of Lucifer's forgotten toys?"
"Uh... yeah." Chuck's nose wrinkled. He spun one of the wingnuts with the tip of his finger.
Michael shook his head and plucked one of the roses and one of the violets from the bouquet in Chuck's arms. He fiddled with them, until satisfied—picked off any extra bits of stem. With a content, focused expression, and a little smile, he opened the flower press so he could set the blossoms on the lower board. Then he put it all back together. Twirled the screws until they held the boards together tightly. "In a while, we'll have some pretty dried flowers, hm?"
Chuck smiled and took the press from him. "We can put them in a picture frame or something when they're all dried out."
Michael nodded and pulled Chuck against his side. "Absolutely."
