The Silence Of Metawin.

Dinner and Dessert

Extra 1

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The doorbell sounded a dark metallic chime, as Win Metawin stood awkwardly outside of Bright Vachirawit's front door. He shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably for a moment or so until the door opened to reveal Bright impeccably dressed, as always. His purple plaid three-piece suit fit him to a T, and his hair was immaculately styled in order to make his facial features more prominent.

"Ah, Win. Come in," Bright stepped aside and let the bunny into his house before closing the door. "You look wonderful."

Win rolled his eyes, looking down at his black jeans and navy shirt. Briefly he made eye-contact with the older man before looking away and saying, "You're such a liar."

"My dear Win, why would I lie to you?" Bright placed a hand on Win's stubbled cheek and turned his head ever-so-slightly so the other man couldn't look anywhere but his face. He slowly pressed his lips to Win's, moving his hand to his neck and holding the younger man in place. Their kiss was rhythmic and soon turned into a war of teeth and tongues, making Win pull away and press his forehead to Bright's, gasping for air.

"So what's for dinner?" Win questioned, still a little breathless.

"You'll see," Bright trailed the hand on Win's neck down his arm before entwining their fingers together and leading him down the hall into the kitchen.

Letting go of Bright's hand, Win leaned against the counter as he watched Bright slip on his apron and begin cooking. He rested his chin on his hand as he became engrossed in Bright's ways. Cooking was an art to the other man, and watching him in action was something of a privilege.

As Bright began cutting various things, Win focused on his fingers. They moved so elegantly and fluidly, never faltering or second guessing their movements. Soon his thoughts wandered to what else those fingers could do, especially to him, and he felt something inside of his pants twitch involuntarily.

A voice broke him out of his half-thinking, half-observing state. His eyes floated around the room for a moment, not really seeing, "yes?"

"Win, I'd like your help," Bright turned away from him, hands in the sink, apparently washing something.

"Me? Bright you know I can't cook."

"I'm not asking much of you. Just come stir this," he pointed to a metal bowl filled with what looked like butter.

Win walked around the counter and gently took the metal spoon from Bright, and began to carefully stir whatever was in the bowl. He had learned long ago not to question what ingredients Bright used in his dishes, purely because Bright was so secretive about them to begin with. Whenever asked, he would give vague answers or blow you off completely, so Win was content simply stirring the mystery liquid and herbs.

"Why do you need me to stir this anyways?" Win asked after a few moments, sparing a glance at Bright, who was walking over with a tray of a thinly sliced purple vegetable.

"I didn't," Bright smiled warmly at Win, "I just wanted to keep you busy."

Win chuckled and gifted Bright with one of his rare smiles, causing Bright to lean in and give the man a quick peck on the cheek. Despite his knowing how Bright never liked to divulge his ingredients, Win felt the strong need to ask about the light purple vegetable.

"It's a purple sweet potato," he replied nonchalantly.

"And you're putting butter on it?" Win asked with a puzzled expression blatant on his face. As a child he'd never been introduced to 'finer dining,' it was always Grandma Opas-iamkajorn's recipes and the occasional microwave dinner.