You Can't Make An Omelet (without make-up sex) (Completed)

The Week of the Omelets!

'The Week of the Omelets' started on a lazy Sunday. Arthit was waking up slowly, stretching out his limbs, rolling across the bed towards the table to grab his pink milk (that Kongpob always left for him after his morning jog) when he smelt something.. strange.. and sat up.

At first he thought he must be seeing things, so he blinked twice and tried to make the image go away. But it didn't, so he rubbed his weary eyes, cocked his head to one side and decided that it must be real.

Kongpob, standing at the foot of the bed, spatula in hand, apron wrapped around his waist and a delighted grin stretching his cheeks as he held out a begloved hand towards Arthit, brand-new frying pan clasped in it.

"I made breakfast, P'Arthit!" His voice was edging on hysteria and as Arthit inched along the bed towards him, he could see that the delighted grin was actually more like something maniacal and strained.

"Oh?" He asked, unwilling to look into the pan to see what his boyfriend deemed 'breakfast' (especially since the smell was making his stomach turn).

His reluctance must have been clear, because within a second Kongpob's entire face deflated and he turned away and back towards the hot plate that was taking up the entirety of Arthit's work surface.

Wait, hot plate? When did they get a hot plate? It hadn't been there the night before, surely? Arthit wasn't so distracted that he wouldn't have noticed the enormous shiny rectangle.

But then he remembered how Kongpob had been waiting impatiently for him when he had been so late home the night before. How Arthit's apologies had been swallowed by eager kisses and how frantic fingers had tugged him into the bathroom. And now the ache in his lower back makes total sense too.

Not that he couldn't remember their love making, the way that Kongpob had enthusiastically 'washed' his back and how they'd had to change the sheets after. It was all there, fresh in his mind as his brain woke up properly. On the other hand, this giant hot plate was not something he could recall.

Frowning, Arthit rose and smoothed down the oversized shirt he was wearing (Kongpob's), then stepped up behind his boyfriend and slid his arms around his waist, "Sorry," he whispered against his skin and then pressed a kiss there when there was no resistance from Kong.

"I thought I would surprise you.." Kongpob sounded sad, like Arthit might be disappointed in him, and it's just about the most awful sound in the world since Kongpob usually had the most positive and enthusiastic approach to life.

"You did!" Arthit tried to lift the mood, still avoiding looking down into the pan of, whatever it was Kongpob had made. "See?" He tilted Kong's head and gave him a wide smile, showing his teeth, "Surprised!"

Kongpob's eyes lit up, and though he tried to maintain his grumpy face, he couldn't. His mouth broke into one of his trademark grins and he leaned in and kissed Arthit.

For a moment, Arthit got lost in Kongpob's kiss, deepening it and sliding in his tongue. They end up with Arthit pressed against the counter as Kongpob slid a line of kisses down the tendons of his neck, working a bruise into a patch that would be hidden from prying eyes, just below the collar of his shirt.

Arthit had a hand firmly in Kongpob's hair while the other one was sliding over the soft skin of Kong's waist. He'd just dipped his hand lower to slip under the waistband of his shorts, when the edge of the hot plate dug into his hip and he let out a sharp cry.

"What is it?" Kongpob was on instant alert, lifting his head, hands checking Arthit for injuries.

"This thing!" Arthit stepped away from the counter, pulling Kongpob with him, indicating the new item of kitchen equipment behind him.

"Oh, my hot plate?"

"Your hot plate? When did you acquire a hot plate?"

Arthit stepped away, eyes flickering over the shiny frying pan, the sickening aroma of burnt 'something' drifting through the air.

"Oh," Kongpob fiddled with the strings of his apron and Arthit's heart thumped hard, desire rushing through him at how gentle and handsome his boyfriend was managing to look.

"I thought.. I mean, you mentioned that P'Earth was bringing you breakfast sometimes, and that P'Tod brings you snacks, and that P'Durian brought you dried fruit, and P'Som-O gave you those biscuits and P'Danai shared his noodles.. and I thought, well, you know, if I made you a proper breakfast here every morning, then you wouldn't need everyone's snacks because you'd be.. well.. full?"

Arthit ducked his head to hide his smile, aware that Kongpob was being quite serious. "So you made me.." he waved a hand at the pan, wondering what exactly it was supposed to be.

"Omelets!" Kongpob said with a bright grin, "I thought, they would be a good start. After all, eggs are very healthy and filling, right?"

Arthit wondered on which earth exactly that thing in the pan could be called an omelet. But of course, he didn't say that. Instead, he took a cautious step forward and let Kongpob show off his hard work.

"I know it's a bit overcooked and perhaps there might be some tiny bits of shell in there, and maybe I used a bit too much oil? But, I think it will taste better than it looks?" He sounded so hopeful that Arthit tentatively opened his mouth as Kong held out a forkful.

And better than it smells? Arthit wondered ruefully and then mustered a proper smile, the one his boyfriend deserved for being so kind and caring and thoughtful.

Swallowing the salty, gritty, burnt tasting mush took him a long moment and he couldn't help the grimace that formed on his face as he forced it down.

Kongpob watched him for a long moment, concerned, but he didn't say anything, just looked down at the pan and then up at Arthit before he burst into messy tears.

"I'm so sorry, Arthit!"

It took three long hugs, a plethora of kisses and a very messy blow job before Kongpob was convinced that he hadn't poisoned Arthit.