a work of art

chapter 27: a home

I wasn't used to making pancakes with gluten free flour. The back of the bag I'd found in Billie's pantry said, "Just like wheat flour!" I remained unconvinced. It had a strange smell. And in addition to the weird flour, I couldn't use cows milk, or butter, or eggs. My first batch burned.

I watched round two closely in the pan, waiting for bubbles.

Billie sighed dreamily again, and I glanced up at her. "Still?"

She was perched on a barstool at her large kitchen island while I worked across from her at the cooktop. She rested her chin on both hands, gazing at me adoringly. She sighed again.

"You're moving in with me," she smiled dreamily. It would be really fuckin' cute, except she'd said it about 47 times already.

I shook my head, testing a corner of the pancake with the flipper. "I take it all back, I'm not."

"Don't edge me, baby... we did that yesterday."

I looked back up to see her naughty smile, her head tilted to the side on her hands like a little angel.

"From now on, missionary only," I laughed, and pointed the flipper at her. "You're too freaky for me."

She jumped down off the stool and started slowly making her way over to me. She trailed a finger across the marble island as she walked. We'd only just gotten out of bed, and all she'd thrown on to come into the kitchen was a pair of panties and one of my t-shirts.

"That will not be happening..." she murmured as she made her way to me.

My mouth felt dry and I tried to swallow. She was making direct eye contact. The pancakes were on their own.

"Why not?" I managed to whisper.

She reached me and stepped behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Because, I love you, but I would die without some kink."

I let out a breath and a laugh with it. "Me too."

"Good," she said, kissing my shoulder through my t-shirt. "So why do these pancakes matter so much?"

I was watching them again, ready to flip. The first one was successful, the side I'd just lifted off the pan a perfect golden brown. I grinned, happy, vindicated. She tilted her head to look at my smile, and kissed the corner of my mouth.

"When I move in..." I said softly, shyly, testing the words out. "I'll need to make my girl pancakes all the time. And vegan gluten-free pancakes are tricky, Bill."

She squeezed my middle tight and made a little cooing noise in my ear. "Aww, that's so sweeeeeet."

"Oh, god, I knew I shouldn't have said that."

"My baby," she gushed in my ear, then kissed it. "The sweetest move-in baby."

I sighed, flipping the rest of my pancakes. "Ugh, I thought you were the badass chick who put a spider in her mouth for a music video."

She squeezed my ass and wandered off to the bedroom, shouting over her shoulder, "Still am, bitch!"

The pancakes were a success. Most ended up a warm, golden brown, and the rest... well.

Billie loved them, too much, eating 4 the size of her face before she remembered she was having photos taken at an interview in a few hours. She worried for about 2 minutes, clutching her bloated belly, before shrugging and belching in my face.