Egg Hunt
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Getting John to talk about his childhood is like performing a non-invasive surgery. Everything is delicate and deft, you can't see very well, and one wrong move and it's game over. With Easter coming up, Dorian thought this might be a good time to casually probe for details. The human was reading his cell-o at the breakfast table, having downloaded the morning paper. He dribbled milk down his shirt and smeared it off with a napkin.
"Easter's coming up, John." Dorian measured his heart rate, watched his eyes move. They rolled.
"And?"
Determined not to let John freeze him out, Dorian persisted. "What do you usually do to celebrate?"
"I sleep in, stay home from work." John took another messy bite of cereal, his eyes never lifting off the cell-o. "Then I eat breakfast, read the paper, and enjoy not having to answer any dumb questions."
"Did your mom make a big dinner when you were growing up?"
Giving up, John flexed the cell-o off and slung it on the table. "Of course. She made a ham." He looked at the android, who was genuinely interested. "You know, I can smell it cooking if I close my eyes. She'd cover it in pineapple, candied cherries, and cloves. It made the whole house smell amazing." His mouth was watering. "I miss her cooking."
For once, Dorian didn't even need to prompt John; a captive audience was enough to send him down memory lane. He explained egg hunting, pined for jelly beans, and laughed about lost eggs rotting under the couch. Blissfully, the DRN logged all of this information, smiling at his animated boyfriend.
When John woke on Easter, it was to the smell of glazed ham in the oven. On his bed stand stood a colorful basket brimming with sugary snacks. Dorian he thought wistfully, inhaling the scent coming from the kitchen. He felt loved, indulged. That is, until he put his foot on the ground and crunched onto a hardboiled egg, smashing it into the rug.
"Seriously?" he drawled in annoyance, looking at the mess and allowing his mood to sag. Then, with horror, he looked around the room and saw hundreds of eggs. Each one intricately decorated, perched on every surface of the bedroom. It must have taken Dorian all night to do all this. That could only mean one thing…
"Look who's up!" Dorian practically shouted, walking in and dodging eggs in his path, pulling John into a rough embrace and kissing him passionately. "How's my sleepy detective? Oh you look so scruffy." Dorian rubbed a hand through John's bedheaded hair impetuously. John struggled for freedom and composure.
"Go charge," John said flatly, unraveling Dorian's arms from his person.
"Happy Easter, Baby." The DRN pressed his lips into John's neck and slipped his hand up his shorts.
"Dee, go charge." John squirmed away.
After giving John explicit instructions not to touch the oven or the ham, or go anywhere near the kitchen, Dorian finally went off to recharge. John, still cursing under his breath for oversharing the day before, set about collecting the eggs from all over the house, crawling around on his hands and knees to pull them from every nook and cranny. It took forever and he probably broke the record for filthiest cursing during an Easter celebration.
However, later, when Dee emerged refreshed and pulled the perfect ham out of the oven, John found a way to forgive him.