Silver and Gold - 2. Chapter 2

Feldspar looked around the kitchen of Silver’s home in a hollowed out treetop, feeling completely out of his element. As soon as he had arrived Silver had turned into an unfamiliar, domineering taskmaster. First he’d put him to work washing pots and pans. Then he’d barked at him about wiping the counters down until they sparkled. Now, Silver was pulling jars and canisters helter-skelter from his cabinets and putting them all over the freshly cleaned countertop.

“We need rosemary, tomatoes, zucchini, summer squash, thyme, and mozzarella. No — parm. No — yes. Just get all the cheese. I don’t know what I have in there,” Silver called out, as he rooted through another cabinet.

Feldspar dutifully opened the cold storage. Every shelf was packed to the brim, food containers stacked precariously one on top of another. He looked dubiously at the shelves, trying to decipher what organizational system Silver had employed while trying to remember at least one or two of the ingredients he’d been tasked with finding.

“You’re letting the cold out,” Silver said. Feldspar grimaced but when he looked up he saw a teasing smile on Silver’s face. Feldspar snorted and gestured at the impenetrable maze of containers. He had no idea how to find anything in the completely stuffed box.

Silver told him to check the drawers and sure enough they were full of fresh herbs and vegetables. Feldspar remembered tomatoes and rosemary, so he pulled those out first. He debated over which of the yellow squashes was summer squash and eventually put them all on the counter next to the safer ingredients. For good measure he pulled out a few other things he thought might have been on the list.

Silver had apparently finished his own ingredient hunt and came to see how Feldspar was doing. He chuckled and reached around him to deftly retrieve the missing ingredients and put back the spaghetti squash Feldspar had mistakenly taken out.

Feldspar looked out the window. The sun was already low in the sky. He’d spent all afternoon at Silver’s tree and they hadn’t even cooked anything yet. “I thought my cooking lesson would perhaps involve… cooking.”

“This,” Silver said dramatically, “was the most important cooking lesson you could have. Mise-en-place, Feldspar. Mise-en-place.” Silver looked at him with an infuriating and adorable mix of satisfaction and mischief.

Feldspar hated to give him the pleasure of admitting he had no idea what he was talking about, but there was nothing for it. He let out a long exasperated sigh, matching Silver’s level of theatricality. “What’s mise-en-place?” he asked dryly.

“It’s French for ‘put in place.’ You can’t cook if everything isn’t prepared. Tools and surfaces need to be clean. Knives need to be sharp. You’ve got to have all your ingredients prepped and ready. It’s the foundation.”

He pulled a worn piece of paper from his apron pocket with a flourish. “Now, we can get cooking.”

He handed the well-loved recipe to Feldspar to read, and then set about showing him how to chop each vegetable and measure each ingredient. Despite all his years wielding a sword, dicing was a completely different skill. Each time Silver reached over to correct the position of his hands as he chopped Feldspar’s stomach fluttered. An hour later he was putting ratatouille into the oven, filled with pride at having done almost everything himself. It didn’t matter one bit that it didn’t look quite like the picture printed on the fraying recipe page.

“Now what do we do?” he asked.

“The best part,” Silver said. He held up a bottle of wine as he made his way across the small room to the couch. Silver’s tree wasn’t nearly as large as the one Feldspar and his roommates shared, and he’d used almost all of this level for his kitchen. The leftover space had only a small coffee table surrounded by cushions on the floor.

Silver took a swig from the wine bottle and passed it to Feldspar. He commented on the vintage and the small town in France where he’d picked up the bottle. Feldspar took a long pull and savored the flavor, trying to taste the notes of blackberry, charcoal, and oak that Silver had mentioned. His descriptions were so vivid that Feldspar felt like he was tasting something wholly new. He couldn’t help but think that usually someone who was that precious about their wine would be annoying, but Silver just wasn’t. He wasn’t putting on airs about the wine.

By the time the ratatouille was ready to come out of the oven they’d finished two-thirds of the bottle. Feldspar burned his tongue on the first bite, and it was worth it. He looked up and saw that Silver was patiently letting his first bite cool down. Silver chewed the bite slowly, eyes closed to savor it. Feldspar’s chest tightened as he waited for the chef’s verdict. His eyes drank in the look of gratification on Silver’s face and the way his usually tidy silver hair fell over his eyes. His cheek had had a red smudge from cooking and Feldspar had the strongest urge to wipe it off his face just for the excuse to touch him. He looked unstudied and beautiful.

“It’s good,” Silver said at last. Feldspar beamed. The praise meant something coming from him. With each bite Silver commented on the flavor or texture, sprinkling littles bits of praise on Feldspar until he felt like he would burst with pride. The fact that lots of people could make ratatouille did nothing to diminish his sense of accomplishment.

When they’d finished their plates Silver popped over to his kitchen and returned with herb and cheese stuffed mushrooms, bruschetta, olives, several kinds of cheese, and a bowl of fruit. Feldspar’s eyes bulged as he took in the sheer amount and variety of food in front of him.

He went for the mushrooms first, groaning loudly in delight at the savory morsels. “I’ve had these before,” he exclaimed mid-chew. He moaned theatrically again and popped another in his mouth.

Silver blushed and grinned. “I know,” he mumbled. “I’ve brought them to gatherings at the Meeting Tree and you’re pretty damn over-the-top about how much you like them.”

Silver snuck a look at Feldspar. He didn’t seem weirded out by the fact that Silver had watched him closely enough to know his favorite foods. It was mortifying, but something about the way Feldspar enjoyed his food drove him wild and always had. Silver forced himself to look away as Feldspar moaned in bliss, completely oblivious to the effect he was having on him.

“You’re the one who makes these?” Feldspar asked, finally coming back to himself after plowing through half the plate of stuffed mushrooms.

“Yup,” Silver said, pink-cheeked.

“Can’t believe I never knew that. I should have become friends with you years ago,” Feldspar mumbled around a bite. The rest of his praise was unintelligible, mixed with exaggerated sounds of delight as he continued devouring the mushrooms. “This must be what you pour all your magic into."

Silver scoffed. “Nah, man. My magic is like MSG. I just sprinkle a bit here and there to punch up the flavor.”

“I don’t buy it. These taste like pure magic.”

Silver laughed as Feldspar pretended to orgasm from one of the mushrooms. “Whatever dude. My magic’s keeping the food fresh, that’s about it. I’m not really that powerful. I’m practically a human.”

Feldspar swallowed his bite and gave him an exaggerated once over, his eyes lingering pointedly on his silver hair, ageless, slightly iridescent skin, and gently pointed ears. Silver shrugged in response. “Hecka humans don’t notice. I guess I just give off ordinary vibes.”

Feldspar snorted and shook his head. “Well if they’re not magic, I guess there’s some hope I’ll be able to make them someday. I’m all muscle, no magic.”

Silver touched his hand and smiled. “I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.” Feldspar felt like he was glowing and stuttered out a noncommittal response. He took a long sip of wine to cover how flustered the other faery made him. He wasn’t even sure what Silver had said that touched him so deeply. Perhaps it was just the certainty Silver seemed to have that Feldspar was more than just a body. He looked at him like he was somebody.

The rest of the evening sped by as they made their way through the seemingly limitless dishes Silver produced from his kitchen. It was deep night by the time Feldspar started making noises about going. He was stretched out on the rug, his head propped up on one of the floor pillows. He felt pleasantly full and completely relaxed.

“You can’t teach me to make those next,” Feldspar said, breaking the sleepy silence they’d both been enjoying.

“Huh?”

“The mushrooms. You should save those for when I’m proficient enough to master them. Teach me something else next time.”

Silver chuckled. “They’re not hard, dude.”

“They deserve perfection.”

Silver laughed in earnest now. “Okay, whatever. I’ll save them for later, when you’ve earned your first tattoo.”

Feldspar sat up and looked over at Silver, running his eyes curiously over his tattoos. “How did you earn yours?”

Silver sat up gestured to Feldspar to join him. Feldspar sat crossed legged next to him and Silver placed his arm in the other faery’s hands, letting Feldspar examine the intricate designs.

“This is my favorite,” Silver said, pointing at a whisk. “It’s a whisk — “

“I know what a whisk is,” Feldspar cut in.

“Damn, excuse me Mr. Man-of-the-World,” he spit back, laughing. Feldspar snorted, which turned into an embarrassed laugh. Silver bumped his shoulder against Feldspar’s, and warm happiness flooded Feldspar.

“You might know what a whisk is, but you haven’t heard how you earn it,” Silver said.

Feldspar lifted an eyebrow in challenge as he traced the lines of the whisk inked on the underside of Silver’s left forearm. His competitive nature was instantly intrigued by the challenge Silver had issued.

“You have to whip egg whites into stiff peaks with nothing but a whisk —” He waited for a reaction. When Feldspar gave no sign of being appropriately impressed Silver pushed on. “— using your left hand. No magic, no machines, just stamina and technique.”

Feldspar made a noise of approval that was so obviously faked that Silver had to laugh. “Never mind,” he said, still laughing. “The next time we get together we’ll make meringue and then you’ll get it.”

At the end of the night Feldspar found himself lingering in the doorway. He was exhausted, stuffed, and slightly tipsy, but for the first time in the long time he felt good. He’d felt happy and light all night. He hadn’t thought about Mal once.

“I enjoyed tonight,” he said. Silver grinned and Feldspar was almost bowled over by how good it felt to make the other faery smile. He wanted to run his fingers through Silver’s messy hair, to push it back from his gray crystalline eyes. Feldspar’s stomach flipped and his heart constricted as he found himself unable to look away from Silver’s eyes.

“Me too,” Silver said a beat too late. His eyes flicked down to Feldspar’s lips and then back up to his eyes. He licked his lips. Feldspar leaned in slightly. He wondered what Silver’s lips would feel like against his. Would kissing him be as good as he remembered? His lips looked more luscious than anything he’d ever seen, pink and slightly parted. There was a charge between their bodies that grew stronger the closer Feldspar leaned into Silver.

Without warning Silver cleared his throat and straightened. “We should get together again sometime,” he said, breaking the tension.

“Right,” Feldspar said, shaking himself slightly, confused by Silver’s sudden change in mood. “Until next time, then.”

As Feldspar walked home over the rope bridges that connected the faeries’ treetop homes he reviewed the evening’s events. He thought about the not-kiss goodnight. Up until that point he’d been positive that Silver wanted him, now he wondered if he was letting himself get carried away. Irritation burned within him at his foolishness. He had blindly believed Mal could love him despite all signs to the contrary. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.