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Apr. 29th, 2009 12:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
notaballadDesmond rubbed his hands together, a gleefully nervous expression on his face as he looked over the circular table he’d set for two. It was covered by a deep wine red linen cloth and the centerpiece was a three-armed brass candelabra, with three champagne-colored taper candles in it. There were also two fine china dinner plates edged with gold filigree and decorated with a broad navy blue stripe around the rim. Polished silverware rested on crisp, white linen napkins and crystal wine goblets stood at the ready beside the plates. He nodded in satisfaction, pleased with the way the table was set; everything appeared to be perfect, which was exactly how he wanted the evening to go.
He turned away from the table to check on the meal he was preparing -- pasta primavera made with angel hair pasta, mushrooms, onions, red bell peppers and fresh spinach, and garlic bread. The sauce for the primavera was simmering and the bread was just about ready to come out of the oven. He stuck a spoon in the sauce and then brought it to his mouth, grinning at the taste. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad cook after all.
The timer for the bread dinged just as there was a knock at his door. He felt a rush of giddy excitement and called out “Be right there!” as he shut off the oven and pulled out the tray with the garlic bread. The tray was sat down on top of the stove, and then he exited the kitchen, checking his reflection in the hall mirror. His dark bangs, he brushed back out of his eyes and then grinned -- he was handsome and totally presentable. He wore a pair of black slacks and a light blue dress shirt, the sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to the middle of his forearms. The top two buttons were left undone, revealing just a hint of skin beneath his collarbone. He was freshly shaven and wore a light touch of cologne, just enough to enhance his own natural smell. Dressed to kill was how he felt and looked.
He grinned as he opened the front door, drinking in the cup of tall, dark and gorgeous standing in the hallway outside his apartment. “Hey, you,” he said as he placed a gentle kiss on Michael’s cheek before moving back so the other man could enter the apartment.
Michael grinned, looking equally sharp in a pair of black slacks, matching Italian loafers and a burgundy dress shirt. He returned Desmond’s kiss lightly and stepped into the apartment. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to bring anything or not, so I brought a bottle of Pinot Noir, just to be safe,” he said sheepishly, offering the bottle to Desmond.
Desmond laughed and took the bottle, carrying it into the kitchen. “I’ve actually got the wine covered but maybe we’ll drink this one later,” he said as he put the bottle in the fridge.
Michael laughed as well and then sniffed the air. “Planning to get me drunk, huh? What’s that delicious smell?”
Desmond beamed brightly as he began to slice the garlic bread. “That is pasta primavera and garlic bread, all made by moi.”
“It smells wonderful, Des,” Michael said as he took a seat on the couch. “Do you need any help?”
Desmond shook his head, grinning through the open divide between the kitchen and living room. “Nooo, you’re my guest here, Michael,” he said. “It’s almost ready, just sit back and relax.” He grabbed a remote off the counter and aimed it at the stereo in the adjoining dining room. Depressing a button, he switched it on and soft jazz began to play at a low volume. He grinned and set the remote down and then set about getting dinner ready. He drained the pasta and then dumped it in with the sauce, mixing it all around, and then carried that and the bread to the table.
“Bon Appetit!” he said with a proud grin.
Their dinner conversation was light, nothing too serious, just two people enjoying a comfortable dinner. Desmond ended up doing most of the talking, telling amusing stories about growing up with a twin, but Michael didn’t seem to mind. He looked perfectly content sipping his wine and eating his pasta, listening to Desmond reminisce. He seemed to be fascinated by Desmond and wanted to get to know him better.
They eventually moved into the living room to share dessert -- an assortment of fruits dipped in chocolate -- and by now, they’d gone through Desmond’s bottle of wine and were just opening Michael’s. Their shoes had been shucked a while back, Michael’s collar loosened a little, and Desmond was sitting lengthwise on the couch, his legs draped across Michael’s lap.
“I didn’t just invite you over here to listen to me talk about myself all night, y’know,” he said matter-of-factly as he grinned at Michael. “I had something I wanted to ask you.”
MIchael chuckled and grinned, taking a sip from his glass. “Oh?” he asked, giving Desmond a curious look. “Ask away.”
Desmond blushed and cleared his throat, swinging his legs off of Michael’s lap and sitting up straight. He leaned in toward Michael and licked his lips. “Okay, here goes nothing. I’ve been thinking about you and me, Michael,” he said,” and I know that we haven’t really known each other that long, but I can’t help but think about how well we get along.”
Michael nodded, taking another casual sip of his wine. “I can’t argue with that.”
Desmond chuckled. “We make good conversation, we’re comfortable around each other and, quite honestly, the sex ain’t too bad either,” he said with a smirk.
Michael smirked into his wineglass before taking a sip. “I definitely can’t argue that,” he said as he lowered his glass and winked.
Desmond smirked. “Exactly, so I was thinking -- how would you like to be my boyfriend? Officially?”
He held his breath and nervously waited for Michael’s reaction.
He turned away from the table to check on the meal he was preparing -- pasta primavera made with angel hair pasta, mushrooms, onions, red bell peppers and fresh spinach, and garlic bread. The sauce for the primavera was simmering and the bread was just about ready to come out of the oven. He stuck a spoon in the sauce and then brought it to his mouth, grinning at the taste. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad cook after all.
The timer for the bread dinged just as there was a knock at his door. He felt a rush of giddy excitement and called out “Be right there!” as he shut off the oven and pulled out the tray with the garlic bread. The tray was sat down on top of the stove, and then he exited the kitchen, checking his reflection in the hall mirror. His dark bangs, he brushed back out of his eyes and then grinned -- he was handsome and totally presentable. He wore a pair of black slacks and a light blue dress shirt, the sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to the middle of his forearms. The top two buttons were left undone, revealing just a hint of skin beneath his collarbone. He was freshly shaven and wore a light touch of cologne, just enough to enhance his own natural smell. Dressed to kill was how he felt and looked.
He grinned as he opened the front door, drinking in the cup of tall, dark and gorgeous standing in the hallway outside his apartment. “Hey, you,” he said as he placed a gentle kiss on Michael’s cheek before moving back so the other man could enter the apartment.
Michael grinned, looking equally sharp in a pair of black slacks, matching Italian loafers and a burgundy dress shirt. He returned Desmond’s kiss lightly and stepped into the apartment. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to bring anything or not, so I brought a bottle of Pinot Noir, just to be safe,” he said sheepishly, offering the bottle to Desmond.
Desmond laughed and took the bottle, carrying it into the kitchen. “I’ve actually got the wine covered but maybe we’ll drink this one later,” he said as he put the bottle in the fridge.
Michael laughed as well and then sniffed the air. “Planning to get me drunk, huh? What’s that delicious smell?”
Desmond beamed brightly as he began to slice the garlic bread. “That is pasta primavera and garlic bread, all made by moi.”
“It smells wonderful, Des,” Michael said as he took a seat on the couch. “Do you need any help?”
Desmond shook his head, grinning through the open divide between the kitchen and living room. “Nooo, you’re my guest here, Michael,” he said. “It’s almost ready, just sit back and relax.” He grabbed a remote off the counter and aimed it at the stereo in the adjoining dining room. Depressing a button, he switched it on and soft jazz began to play at a low volume. He grinned and set the remote down and then set about getting dinner ready. He drained the pasta and then dumped it in with the sauce, mixing it all around, and then carried that and the bread to the table.
“Bon Appetit!” he said with a proud grin.
Their dinner conversation was light, nothing too serious, just two people enjoying a comfortable dinner. Desmond ended up doing most of the talking, telling amusing stories about growing up with a twin, but Michael didn’t seem to mind. He looked perfectly content sipping his wine and eating his pasta, listening to Desmond reminisce. He seemed to be fascinated by Desmond and wanted to get to know him better.
They eventually moved into the living room to share dessert -- an assortment of fruits dipped in chocolate -- and by now, they’d gone through Desmond’s bottle of wine and were just opening Michael’s. Their shoes had been shucked a while back, Michael’s collar loosened a little, and Desmond was sitting lengthwise on the couch, his legs draped across Michael’s lap.
“I didn’t just invite you over here to listen to me talk about myself all night, y’know,” he said matter-of-factly as he grinned at Michael. “I had something I wanted to ask you.”
MIchael chuckled and grinned, taking a sip from his glass. “Oh?” he asked, giving Desmond a curious look. “Ask away.”
Desmond blushed and cleared his throat, swinging his legs off of Michael’s lap and sitting up straight. He leaned in toward Michael and licked his lips. “Okay, here goes nothing. I’ve been thinking about you and me, Michael,” he said,” and I know that we haven’t really known each other that long, but I can’t help but think about how well we get along.”
Michael nodded, taking another casual sip of his wine. “I can’t argue with that.”
Desmond chuckled. “We make good conversation, we’re comfortable around each other and, quite honestly, the sex ain’t too bad either,” he said with a smirk.
Michael smirked into his wineglass before taking a sip. “I definitely can’t argue that,” he said as he lowered his glass and winked.
Desmond smirked. “Exactly, so I was thinking -- how would you like to be my boyfriend? Officially?”
He held his breath and nervously waited for Michael’s reaction.
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ooc
Date: 2009-04-29 05:50 pm (UTC)Re: ooc
Date: 2009-04-29 06:00 pm (UTC)Re: ooc
Date: 2009-04-29 06:07 pm (UTC)Re: ooc
Date: 2009-04-29 06:10 pm (UTC)Re: ooc
Date: 2009-04-29 06:13 pm (UTC)Re: ooc
Date: 2009-04-29 06:19 pm (UTC)Re: ooc
Date: 2009-04-29 06:21 pm (UTC)Re: ooc
Date: 2009-04-29 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-29 06:27 pm (UTC)But he also knew he couldn't say "no". Something inside drew him to Desmond, a part of himself that he didn't fully understand. "I would like that," he answered softly, the tone of the innocent Doll sneaking its way through his voice. "I would like it very much."
no subject
Date: 2009-04-30 03:30 pm (UTC)