fabala_fic1: (Solace in a stairwell [Grace])
[personal profile] fabala_fic1
Title: One Vacant Chair
Fandom: RPS
Characters: Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Christian Kane
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is 100% pure fiction.
Word count: 869
Notes: Written for [livejournal.com profile] poisontaster's Jdmmmm fic fest. My prompt was Jeff/Chris, comfort food.

Chris doesn’t bother knocking, since he’s had a key for almost as long as Jeff’s lived in this house. Jeff hears Bisou barking, and then Chris saying hi to her, telling her how pretty she is, and Jeff knows without having to see that Chris is probably crouched on the floor with Bisou licking the side of his face. Aside from Jeff, Chris is one of Bisou’s favourite people in the world, and she likes to prove it as often as she can.

"Where’s your dad, huh, baby? Why’d he leave you all alone out here?"

Jeff wipes his hands on a dishtowel and calls out, "Dad’s in the kitchen making dinner, and she’s out there pouting because I wouldn’t give her any more cheese."

"You’re so mean, you know that?" Chris says as he walks in. He drops his keys on the corner of the counter, next to a pile of clean dishtowels. There’s a pot of something bubbling on the stove and Jeff’s cutting thick slices off a loaf of crusty bread. Jeff gives him a mock dirty look when he grabs the little end piece and pops it into his mouth. "I bet you’re not even gonna give her any leftovers after dinner."

Jeff laughs and nods towards the oven. "Grab the tray and give that stuff another toss around would you? There’s extra garlic butter if you think it needs it; second shelf down in the fridge. Beer’s there, too, if you want. And don’t worry about my girl, because she’s getting her own."

Chris looks out the kitchen door just over Jeff’s shoulder. The charcoal grill on the patio is smoking away happily under three huge steaks. Chris doesn’t want to think about what they cost, especially since he knows that Jeff tries to buy organic as often as possible, and that he sometimes buys meat directly from a buddy who’s a four-star chef. Jeff’ll make a call at 9 o’clock at night, and by 8 the next morning, he’s in the kitchen with a carving knife, turning fifteen pounds of sirloin into half a dozen steaks. Chris sometimes has no idea why Jeff chose a career in front of the camera over a career in a kitchen.

"Is there an occasion for this feast, or did you just get bored?" Chris asks, grabbing the pepper grinder from beside the stove. The last time Jeff got bored when Chris was around, Chris took something like ten dozen cookies back to set.

"You started a two month hiatus yesterday, and I don’t have to even audition for another three weeks, let alone be on set. You need a better reason?" Jeff finishes shredding the cheese and wipes his hands on the towel next to him. He grabs another beer from the fridge, twisting off the cap and taking a long swallow. Chris shrugs and picks at the label on his own. "Okay, here’s another reason. I figured you could use a little downtime. Real downtime, the kind where you can fall asleep on the couch without next week’s script in your hand, sleep until noon without having to get up for a night shoot, or spend eight hours at a gym training for a fight on your supposed day off before going right to a sound check at Dante’s? I mean, shit, Chris, since you started filming, when was the last time you got more than five hours of sleep a night?"

"Monday night," Chris says, turning the knife in his hand end over end. "Just about six hours."

Jeff steps out onto the patio. As he flips the steaks, he calls back over his shoulder, "You’re the one who called me and wanted to come up here, and not for nothing, but I’ve been in this business a little longer than you have, and while I might not have as many hours racked up on my call sheets, I have learned a thing or two."

When Jeff comes back in, he slides onto the kitchen barstool next to Chris, reaches over, and rubs his thumb across the back of Chris’ neck. He’s not surprised to find it feeling like marble. "When you’re not working, don’t work. If you do, sooner or later you’re gonna forget who you are. Everyone will admire the hell out of your work ethic, but they won’t know a damn thing about you. See what I’m getting at?" He applies a little pressure in tight little circles, and mentally congratulates himself on a job well done when Chris exhales heavily and curls his hand a little tighter around the neck of his beer.

"Yeah," Chris says. Jeff lays his hand flat on Chris’ back, and Chris leans back against it, just a little. "Yeah, you’re right."

"I know," Jeff smirks. He grabs a plate and brings in the streaks, setting them on the counter as he goes to the stove. By the time he’s drained the pasta, piled it in a bowl and topped it with sauce, Chris has set out plates and silverware. Another minute, and Jeff has the vegetables out of the oven and tossed into a bowl with a little more salt and pepper.

"Let’s eat."

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August 2011


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