Work Text:
With John's back facing him as the man in front of him is working the kitchen like he's in the damn army—maybe because he was in the damn army—Bob can't help but smile endearingly at the man across from him as he's resting his forearms on John's kitchen counter.
They've had these nice, quiet evenings when John's shift on the construction sites was done—he's the best construction foreman this side of the state after all (or so he deems himself)—and when Bob's shift at a local bookstore was done and he's taking a break from artist commissions, a skill he picked up during his rehab days that he turned into a small business.
John, the ever-master cook that he was, was very focused on the task at hand. The sleeves of his faded blue long sleeves were rolled up to show corded forearms, hair a bit tussled from moving about, a gray kitchen towel on his broad right shoulder, and with a good view of his ass as he’s wearing Bob’s favorite jeans on him, Bob thought.
After a minute or two, the warm, spicy aroma of Cajun seasoning fills John's apartment as the big pot of gumbo simmers on the stove, while rice steams in a separate pot. John gets a bowl and ladles a hefty serving of gumbo in it as he turns around to serve it to Bob, who is already smirking like a man about to cause trouble.
John gently places the bowl in front of him alongside a smaller bowl of rice. "Voilá, there you go, Bobby. Chicken and andouille sausage gumbo. An old family recipe that I had to make from scratch, mind you, 'cause my damn family won't say it to me," he says, smirking proudly at his work as he leans forward a bit, resting his palms on the counter.
Bob hides his smirk and leans in with a more serious expression and sniffs, "Are you sure you did this right? This smells like... a spicy swamp."
John's expression snapped from proud to shocked and offended. "Spicy swamp?! Bobby, this gumbo could win awards and I haven't even perfected it yet!" And he could be serious about that too. John's cooking skills are nothing to scoff at—he's learned from his childhood through his army days, and now he's the relegated group chef whenever they get together with their friends.
Bob can be a little shit sometimes though. He shrugs innocently as he lifts his spoon smoothly. "I’m just saying, if I close my eyes, I can practically hear frogs croaking." He closed his eyes and acted like he just heard something from his right. "Real immersive dining experience."
That earned an offended glare from the other man. "Just taste the goddamn gumbo so I can know what it needs."
Bob finally takes a spoonful and chews thoughtfully like he's dissecting the taste and flavor of the food. "Hm, interesting. Texture’s… soup-adjacent."
"Wh—Soup-adjacent?! It’s not soup, Bobby, it’s gumbo. Gumbo has depth, layers, a roux that took me an hour of stirring so it wouldn’t burn!" John explained, his hands waving about in the air animatedly.
Bob's expression stayed serious and unyielding as he picked up another spoonful and raised it towards his face to examine it. "Hmm..." he hummed thoughtfully as he entered the spoonful into his mouth. "Hmm..." he drawled out as he kept strong eye contact with his boyfriend, squinting a bit as he nodded to himself like he was having a secret conversation with the food. "Hmm..."
"'Hmm'? What's 'hmm'?" John demanded.
"The roux... it's a bit... secretive."
John's face fell in disbelieving shock of 'what the fuck are you talking about?'
"Secretive?" John's brows furrowed. "What does that even mean?!"
"It's not giving up all its secrets," Bob explained with mock seriousness, keeping eye contact—he's loving this. He took a small taste again. "It's holding back its full flavor, playing coy. I respect the mystique, but is it what we want from a roux?"
John took a deep, centering breath. "Bobby, the roux is perfect. It's dark and has a deep nutty flavor with a little bit of a spicy kick. That's the point."
Bob chewed thoughtfully, his gaze falling on the gumbo. "I dunno. I think it could have been a little more... forthcoming. Less of a closed book, y'know, like it could have showed me what it tasted like rather than telling me."
John stared at him like he was crazy. "What the fuck are you talking about?!" he said in a higher-pitched voice.
He continued ignoring John and pointed his spoon at a piece of andouille. "And this sausage... did it run a marathon before it got here? It tastes like it's had a long, hard journey, and frankly, it's exhausted."
John threw his hands up in exasperation, his voice getting higher and higher. "I literally just got it from the local butcher right by Alexei's store this morning! It's as fresh as it can be!"
"A long journey from the smoker to the butcher," Bob murmured, a twinkle in his eye. "It's the little details that matter, babe." He finally took a large spoonful, a mix of everything, and a soft sigh escaped his lips.
John sighs, calming down as he watches Bob eat another spoonful and sigh at the taste. "For someone with a lot of shit to say about the food, you sure are gulping it down."
Bob smirked at him like he missed the joke, and John stared at him for a second before he finally, FINALLY, got it and threw the kitchen towel on his shoulder toward Bob's face.
"You little shit, you're just riling me up, aren't you?"
Bob set the towel aside, still smirking. "Maybe... Definitely."
John laughed while shaking his head lightly, his tense posture melting, replaced with a small, pleased smile. "You're unbelievable." He lifts his head to face Bob. "But how is it though, really? Is it good?"
Bob looked at him, his expression suddenly soft. "It's delicious, you idiot."
John smiled brightly at that; if anything, he loved impressing Bob with his talents. He grabbed another bowl, ladled his own, and walked around the counter to sit right next to him, bumping his shoulder into Bob's playfully.
"You're a menace," Bob hummed teasingly at that, mouth full of gumbo.
"But I'm still not entirely sure about the secretive roux. We'll have to have a long talk with it later." John just rolled his eyes, a stupid grin spreading across his face. "Shut up and eat your food."
"You're a genius and this is great," Bob said with every ounce of sincerity in his body. "Seriously, this gumbo's the best I've ever eaten. Don't let it get to your thick head. I know you can improve this, I just don't know how."
John smirked as he stirred his bowl. "Too late, it's already great because you said so, Bobby."
Bob could only lovingly roll his eyes at that.