Disclaimer: Pokémon isn't mine!

A/N: This pair; I love. :P Thanks for reading!


Day 3: Write about any pairing.
Pairing:
Siebold/Malva
Warnings:
Mentions of alcohol.
Word Count:
1,014 words


.: Sweet Spirits :.
~ He tastes exactly as imagined ~

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

She continues to stare at his back unabashed; legs crossed under the table and manicured nails tapping in a rhythmic fashion. He ignores her—as usual—but sooner or later, he will take notice of her; he always does.

Siebold keeps to himself as he minds the cooking area where he makes his 'art'. Sprinkling a blend of herbs and spices on the roast; whisking egg yolks in a bowl before adding it to the pot; and even chopping green onions for his soup base. It makes her wonder how he could do all that and still wear his chef's jacket under so much heat. Siebold was a culinary genius alright; even though she hates to admit it.

"Can I help you with something?"

Finally—a response. "I'm rather hungry, Siebold. Could you whip up a snack for me?"

"Do I look like your personal chef, Malva?" He glares over his shoulder with a hardened frown. "You're perfectly capable of walking to the fridge and making something for yourself."

"Yes, but you're already working your magic," Malva retorts, twirling a finger within the curly, pink locks that fall just above her shoulders. Smirking, she adds. "It's a waste of energy if I make something when you're right there."

"For your information, I am cooking today's dinner, so unless you actually want a plate at the table later, you will not bother me with your self-entitlement!" It's so funny how positively livid he gets while cooking. The Fire-type Elite watches as Siebold turns back around, muttering under his breath about 'unnecessary distractions', and wipes his hands on his white apron before heading towards the large walk-in pantry. He disappears for a few seconds, Malva's curiosity peaking when she hears glass clinking together, before Siebold emerges again; only this time, there's a bottle of brandy in his hands.

Malva hums with intrigue. Of course, Siebold is back to ignoring her, popping open the bottle and dousing a bit of the liquid on the roast. Once he's satisfied, Siebold opens the oven and leaves the roast to cook for at a few hours. He washes his hands at the sink, dries them with a clean dishcloth, and begins throwing the utensils he will not need any more into the dishwater. The way he moves…it's on par with that of a machine.

She laughs at her own joke, earning another annoyed look from the Water-type specialist. Siebold rolls his eyes before grabbing a pair of glass cups from the cupboards, holding both glasses in one hand and using his other to carry the bottle of brandy by the neck. He takes an adjacent seat at the table and begins filling a quarter of each cup with the liquid. Malva hums again, happily taking one of the glasses once Siebold twists the cap back on the bottle. "You're being thoughtful."

"Please; I'm only pacifying you for a moment." Siebold takes a sip of the brandy, sighing afterwards in displeasure. "I'd much rather have a glass of wine."

"Then why didn't you use it as a flavor enhancer instead?"' Malva asks, downing her drink straight and feeling the burn in her throat—it burns in a good way. She slides the glass across the table; her way of asking for a second round. "Hmm…then again, I'm not much of a wine person."

"That's almost funny."

"How so?"

"You're a Kalosian woman." Instead of pouring Malva another cup, Siebold places his unfinished glass in front of her. "I assumed you drank whatever you could get your hands on."

She raises an eyebrow, resting her chin on the back of her palm. "Then can we say the same about you? You're a Kalosian man and yet the thought of drinking brandy has you complaining."

"I never said I was opposed to it; wine is simply a preference of taste," he stubbornly proclaims. Staring at the liquor bottle, Siebold lets out an irritated hum and stands up, taking the bottle by the neck once more to properly put it away.

Malva frowns, dangling Siebold's glass in her hand. "You're putting it away already?"

"If you continue drinking in my kitchen, you're bound to set something on fire," Siebold answers. There's finality in his voice and Malva can't help but roll her eyes; he's not being funny at the moment. He continues. "You've had your drink, Malva. Now, can you leave me to work in peace?"

…Really—Chef Siebold is not very fun.

She pouts with a small grumble under her breath before finishing off the drink. There are plenty of reasons for why she bothers Siebold, but unfortunately, he fails to catch on to their collective meaning…or he has and simply ignores it. The latter sounds like the most plausible explanation and Malva loathes the conclusion. Letting out another sigh, Malva tucks a strand of hair behind her ear while standing up. Glancing in Siebold's direction again, the man is back to preparing his soup base, sipping out of the ladle to taste-test the broth. She can spot a thoughtful look on his face and suddenly, Malva harbors another wicked smile.

"Can I at least have one thing before I leave?" She's already making her way to his side by the time he turns around.

"What is it now—?" He's silenced when Malva takes the opportunity to effectively shut him up. He tastes like lemon basil with a hint of alcohol and it's simply divine. She smirks against his lips before pulling away slowly. When she looks up at him, it isn't surprising that he's glaring at her with everything he's got. Siebold stands tall, smooths down his jacket, and returns his eyes on the pot, stirring at a constant speed. "Satisfied?"

Malva withholds a giggle, walking away. "Very much so."

"I don't think I'll ever understand what goes through your mind," Siebold mutters; though if he is disappointed or annoyed, the Fire-type Elite can't tell.

With her hand on the entryway, Malva adjusts the sunglasses resting on her nose and simply shrugs; smiling in self-proclaimed victory. "And you probably never will."