Once A Tale (MXM, BXB)

Cap-o'-Rushes: Bonus Short

When Sixte returned home, he paused in the doorway. A odour crept through his home and, unbidden, his sensitive nose wrinkled up. It smelled like—well, it smelled like burning. Burnt food.

At once, he knew what was happening.

With a wry smile, he fluffed his hair back into place over his eyes, hung up his coat, and walked quietly to the kitchen. Usually, when he returned home, Braxton would greet him first with a hearty, bombastic 'welcome home, my darling!' and seize him in a kiss that melted Sixte right down to his toes.

When he wasn't at the door, that meant...

As he suspected, when he peeked in the kitchen he found Braxton. The red-headed man was determinedly scraping at a pot with a circle of iron wool, occasionally taking a moment to sigh a loud, forlorn sigh of disappointment.

"No luck?" Sixte asked his dejected back gently.

Braxton's head snapped up and he turned, wide-eyed, to look at Sixte over his shoulder. "Oh! Welcome home!" he yelped, hastening to put his things aside. He bounded to meet Sixte, throwing his arms around his waist and nestling his face promptly into his chest into a tight squeeze of a hug. None of the higher-born peoples or nobles Sixte had ever encountered possessed Braxton's sheer love of physical contact.

They also didn't particularly possess his eccentricities and quirks, but that was all right by Sixte.

He combed both of his hands through mussed red hair, kissing the crown of Braxton's head. "So?" he prompted, to his unanswered question.

Braxton sighed into his chest, his fists clenching in the back of Sixte's shirt. "No luck," he lamented. "As usual, these hands of mine are a curse when it comes to the culinary arts! I was born under a bad star, truly. I'll never get it as long as I live."

Sixte hummed sympathetically.

They'd been over this a number of times. Even when Sixte hovered by his side and tried to instruct him, something managed to go wrong. Braxton would get distracted by something, he'd mix up the spices, he'd turn up the temperature too high or too low, he just—had no attention span for the kitchen, rather than no culinary aptitude. He was too easily distracted and, Sixte thought, suited the act of partaking in a fine meal far more than he did preparing it.

"I think some day you'll get it," Sixte reassured him and swept his hair from his forehead, leaving a kiss on his temple next. Braxton peered up at him under the sharp slashes of his eyebrows, inscrutable, then a familiar smile appeared on his face.

"Some day, if I don't mangle absolutely every piece of cookware you own," he said, in a bright yet apologetic way as he eased from the hug. "I think I kept from ruining your pot this time!"

He had, thankfully, Braxton at least was quick to spot fires—though Sixte worried sometimes about said fires.

Sometimes, more like a lot of times.

"I'll get something started now," Sixte said, chest warming as he saw the familiar excited twinkle in Braxton's eyes. For someone like Sixte, to have Braxton love his food so wholeheartedly and anticipate it so greatly was really his favourite thing when he came home.

But, to his surprise, Braxton shook his head in a grandiose manner, planted his hands on Sixte's back and propelled him back to their living space. "Not yet!" he declared, strong-arming Sixte over to the couch. "You just got home. First—"

Two hands fell firmly upon Sixte's shoulders from behind and he jumped.

"A massage, for the hardest-working man of the house," Braxton finished with an authoritative sniff.

"Br-Braxton—"

"I'll hear no arguments on the matter," Braxton cut him off firmly. "I may not have culinary expertise, but I'm certain I can work some of these knots out." He pushed his thumb against a tightly corded piece of shoulder muscle and Sixte sucked in his lips, eyes clenching tightly shut. "My god, man. Actually, this may take a while if all of you is like this..."

"I-I'll just—"

"Ah! No! Sit." Braxton pushed him back down firmly when he attempted to flee, ignoring or oblivious to Sixte's beet-red face and stammering words. "You sit, you relax."

Braxton really had no self-awareness, Sixte lamented with growing embarrassment as he felt breath ruffle his dark hair. His hands were warm and strong, gripping with a too-familiar surety that made the tips of Sixte's ears burn. Braxton was humming to himself behind Sixte, of course unaware of the effect of his presence, thoroughly set upon his task.

When he could take it no longer, Sixte swallowed thickly, tilted back his head to meet Braxton's eyes and whispered, "Braxton."

Braxton stared at him, lips parting with surprise—and then he flushed bright red. An unusual event, for his face to match his hair, but thankfully he could be swift on the uptake if Sixte just gave the right, er, indications.

"Ah, oh, uh, I—" he spluttered, eyes wandering, before he gulped and tightened his hands.

He leaned over Sixte's face and kissed him upside-down, his fingers sliding down to splay over Sixte's chest. He kissed roughly, eagerly, and Sixte sighed in satisfaction, the coil of frustration in his stomach unwinding.

Perhaps this was his favourite thing about coming home.