havoc/fury fluff for spades. because spades is love. -fireun
Cain blinked. Of all the things he had expected upon returning home after a particularly long and rather drafty assignment a home cooked meal and a rather nicely dressed Jean had not even wandered through his more optimistic of fantasies.
And Jean wasn't smoking.
Hell, there wasn't even a tinge of bitter smoke anywhere in the apartment. Only the tempting aroma of what had to be some sort of chicken stew. Cain's mouth watered, politely reminding him that while field rations were filling they had the sensory appeal of stone.
"Welcome back." Jean greeted, nonchalant.
"…Wha?" To his chagrin, that was all the eloquence he could muster.
"Someone had to feed the dog. And the cat. Not to mention that weird turtle I didn't even know about. I gave it some chicken. I hope that is all right." Jean tossed a small set of keys into the air a few times, a cat-in-cream grin on his face. "Now, are you going to stand there like an idiot or do you want some dinner?"
"Sure…" more than a little unsteady, Cain made his way to the table and plopped himself into his usual chair with a very audible grunt.
"Oh, and did I mention I picked up a bottle of red?" Jean snagged a bottle and two glasses from the counter and set them in the center of the table with an almost comic flourish, leaving a rather overwhelmed Cain with the impression that there should have been some sort of brass ensemble sounding triumphantly in the background.
Then arms snaked around him from behind, bringing Cain out of his confused thoughts with a jerk. Jean rested his head on Cain's shoulder as he knelt and embraced him from behind. "Welcome home, little one."
It was a little while longer before they got around to having dinner.