Credit: http://afangirlstreehouse.tumblr.com/post/79514303536/preference-10-you-cook-together
Ashton: "I don't understand why you don't just do it," the blond grumbles, spooning through the cracked eggs for any traces of shell. Ashton snorts as you explain your reasoning. "Why do I need to learn when everyone else does it for me?" He dodges your slap, falling silent as he continues to follow your instructions. Fifteen minutes later, he pushes a plate towards you triumphantly. "See? I can cook, I just choose not to. Now, can I have a reward for being a good boy?" You press a kiss to his lips, laughing at his petulance.
Calum: "Can you pass me the salt, please?" Calum hands you the correct ingredient, his swinging legs lightly thumping the cupboards as he sits on the bench. He mostly stays out of the way whenever you cook, choosing instead to hand you whatever you asked for or stirring, as well as occasionally asking questions. The brunette opens his legs so you can step between them, pecking your head as it rests against his chest. "I think I should probably start helping out a little more," he says after a quiet moment, "it's not fair that you get stuck with it."
Luke: "You're getting more of it on the bench than in the bowl," you giggle, pushing Luke's hands a little further over the bowl. The blond pokes his tongue out, dipping his finger in the flour and swiping it across your forehead. He laughs as you slap him lightly, leaning over you to check the recipe. "Am I doing it right, mum?" Luke teases as you wrap your arms around him, watching his movements from his side. "You're doing okay," you reply with a giggle, "obviously you're not as amazing as me, but you've got potential."
Michael: "Do you know how difficult it is to cook anything when you keep molesting me?" you tease, relaxing into the brunette's arms as his lips run along your neck. He mumbles something in response, slipping his hands under the hem of your shirt. "Michael, seriously," you huff softly, knowing you need him to stop but not wanting him to, "let me make dinner first. I'm all yours after that, okay?" He grinds his hips against yours one more time before releasing you, taking the items from your hands and carrying them over to the bench.
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