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Tsyatt drabble
Nov. 7th, 2019 04:25 pm Tseer showing Wyatt how to cook his favorite food
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"I didn't know you can cook."
Tseer pauses, bag of groceries in hand, and throws Wyatt an amused glance. "Just because I can eat food raw doesn't mean I like to." He sets the bag on top of the counter and begins unpacking it: rice, beef, vinegar, tomato sauce, onions, garlic. He gestures with a jar of olives. "And a bird can only stand so much take-out." Wyatt had a beautiful kitchen, but it hadn't seen a staple since at least its last tenant, so Tseer'd had to buy everything--even salt.
Unwrapping the knife from the paper the grocer had wrapped it in, Tseer grabs the back of the blade and passes it, handle first, to Wyatt. "Here, make yourself useful and cut the onions." He doesn't pause to see if Wyatt does as asked, and instead turns fluidly to the stove, lighting the gas with a practiced motion and starting a pot of rice. It isn't until he turns back from that to find Wyatt studying the onion on the counter, that he realizes something's amiss.
"Uh," says Wyatt, and there's a flush starting to creep up his neck.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't, uh--" Wyatt gestures towards the onion with the knife.
"You don't know how to cut an onion?" Tseer winces at the incredulity in his own tone, regretting it as soon as the question leaves his beak.
"Of course I do!" Wyatt snaps. "It's not like it's hard." There's a flash of hot air, and Wyatt pulls the onion towards him and begins attacking it with the knife haphazardly, his shoulders tense.
Dragging over a stool to stand on, Tseer steps up behind Wyatt and places his talons on top of his hands, stilling them. "You want to curl your fingers like this when you hold it," he says, voice gentle, as he shifts Wyatt's grip, "so that you don't cut yourself." He curls his right hand around Wyatt's on the handle of the knife. "And you want to cut in a rocking motion, like this." He demonstrates as he speaks. "It's funny, because it's easy to think that everyone knows how it works once you know how it works, but it's important to remember that it's a learned skill, just like anything else." Tseer stops cutting and rests his chin on Wyatt's shoulder, nuzzling just a little into neck.
Wyatt sighs and puts down the knife, turning in Tseer's arms to face him. With the stool, they are nearly--but not quite--eye to eye. Wyatt only has to lean down a few inches to press a kiss to the top of Tseer's beak.
"Will you show me how to do the garlic, next?"
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"I didn't know you can cook."
Tseer pauses, bag of groceries in hand, and throws Wyatt an amused glance. "Just because I can eat food raw doesn't mean I like to." He sets the bag on top of the counter and begins unpacking it: rice, beef, vinegar, tomato sauce, onions, garlic. He gestures with a jar of olives. "And a bird can only stand so much take-out." Wyatt had a beautiful kitchen, but it hadn't seen a staple since at least its last tenant, so Tseer'd had to buy everything--even salt.
Unwrapping the knife from the paper the grocer had wrapped it in, Tseer grabs the back of the blade and passes it, handle first, to Wyatt. "Here, make yourself useful and cut the onions." He doesn't pause to see if Wyatt does as asked, and instead turns fluidly to the stove, lighting the gas with a practiced motion and starting a pot of rice. It isn't until he turns back from that to find Wyatt studying the onion on the counter, that he realizes something's amiss.
"Uh," says Wyatt, and there's a flush starting to creep up his neck.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't, uh--" Wyatt gestures towards the onion with the knife.
"You don't know how to cut an onion?" Tseer winces at the incredulity in his own tone, regretting it as soon as the question leaves his beak.
"Of course I do!" Wyatt snaps. "It's not like it's hard." There's a flash of hot air, and Wyatt pulls the onion towards him and begins attacking it with the knife haphazardly, his shoulders tense.
Dragging over a stool to stand on, Tseer steps up behind Wyatt and places his talons on top of his hands, stilling them. "You want to curl your fingers like this when you hold it," he says, voice gentle, as he shifts Wyatt's grip, "so that you don't cut yourself." He curls his right hand around Wyatt's on the handle of the knife. "And you want to cut in a rocking motion, like this." He demonstrates as he speaks. "It's funny, because it's easy to think that everyone knows how it works once you know how it works, but it's important to remember that it's a learned skill, just like anything else." Tseer stops cutting and rests his chin on Wyatt's shoulder, nuzzling just a little into neck.
Wyatt sighs and puts down the knife, turning in Tseer's arms to face him. With the stool, they are nearly--but not quite--eye to eye. Wyatt only has to lean down a few inches to press a kiss to the top of Tseer's beak.
"Will you show me how to do the garlic, next?"
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