@ourstartingpoints requested Kurt invites Jane on a dinner he’ll cook, and this is what happened. Enjoy! I’m off to bed ;)
The drive to her safe house had been torturous. He drove like a mad man. The twenty minute drive taking him only ten because the phone call he’d gotten had been anything but comforting. Agent Weller, Sir, there’s a fire. The asset is still inside. The fire department are on their way.
All possible scenarios had played over in his mind, none of them comforting. He stopped his car in the middle of the road and ran towards the house, swerving around cops and firemen. And he finally breathed a sigh of relief when he found her standing outside, wrapped in a blanket.
He rushed to her, startling her as he grabbed her shoulders and studied her all over. “Are you ok?” he said, scanning her over, again and again.
She nodded, “yes, yes, I’m fine. Kurt, I’m fine,” she insisted when he looked her over one more time.
“What happened?” he looked up at her, studying her face, her skin covered in greys and blacks.
She bit her lip and blushed, her cheeks turning a bright red under the soot. “It was an accident,” she replied. He shook his head as he waited for further explanation. “I’m so tired of take out… I thought I’d try and cook something.”
He dropped his head and smiled, a heavy chuckle escaping his throat. “You burned down the place trying to cook? I’m gonna regret this…” he said, looking back at her, “What did you cook?”
She tightened her lips and shut her eyes, embarrassed as she replied, “Pasta.”
Kurt laughed. “You burned pasta? Is that even possible?”
She shrugged, “apparently it is.” He laughed again and playfully shoved his shoulder, “stop it! it’s not funny!”
“It’s very funny, Jane,” he answered her. He looked at her again, seeing how embarrassed she was, he stopped laughing. He brought his hands to her cheeks, gently wiping away the dirt that covered her face. “Come on, let’s go,” he said.
“Where are we going?” she asked him.
“Cooking lessons,” he smiled and took her hand in his.
“What?” she laughed, letting him lead the way to his car.
“You need to learn how to cook, it seems, and I suppose you still haven’t had dinner,” he replied, “Sarah and Sawyer are visiting dad. And I haven’t had dinner yet, either. So it’s a win win situation.”
Back at his place, he convinced her to clean up and change out of her smoky clothes and suggested she get something from Sarah’s room. She had other ideas. Heading into his room, she grabbed an old worn out college shirt of his. It was a little too big, her arms drowning in the length of its sleeves, but it was warm and smelled of him. And after the evening she’d had, it was just what she needed.
She met him in the kitchen, where he had two glasses of wine ready, and was standing at the stove, something that smelled fantastic already cooking. She grabbed one and took a sip. She placed it back on the counter and watched him work, the muscles in his back tight and visible through the shirt he wore. Like everything else he did, he was focused, concentrated, as he worked between the stove and the cutting board to his side. She walked up to him, stood right behind him, breathing him in as she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades. He stopped working. Tilting his head towards her slightly, a smile splayed across his lips. He snuck a hand through the loose sleeve and took hers in his. He lifted it up to his lips and she sighed.
“How am I supposed to learn how to cook if you start without me?” she said.
He dropped the spoon from his hand and turned around, his arms wrapping around her waist and he smiled looking at her, eyes warm, tender, “I thought after the evening you’ve had we can postpone the first lesson,” he said, “and even then, why bother learn to cook when your amazing boyfriend doesn’t mind doing every time?”
She lifted her head up and planted quick kiss against his chin. “Well you’ve got one thing absolutely right,” she smiled.
“That your boyfriend is amazing?” he replied playfully, dropping his head to steal a quick kiss.
“Hmmm… that there’s no need for me to learn if you’re willing to do it,” she teased, rising up on her tips toes to meet his kiss.
He chuckled lightly before kissing her back.
Fifteen minutes later, with her seated on the kitchen counter, and him between her legs, hands on each side of her, whatever had been cooking on the stove was long forgotten.
She pulled back, catching her breath, her palms on his chest, as it rose and fell rapidly. “This doesn’t look much like cooking,” she teased.
“No, it doesn’t,” he replied. His lips found her jaw, kissing her softly, he whispered, “what do you think about take out?”
Confession: I don’t like the black girls at my college. It makes me sad to say because I’m a black girl. I’m in school for fashion and everyone is so bougie and judgmental. Anti-blackness runs rampant here. From the black girls being outright ignorant and laughing at the white girls micro-aggressive comments to the racist white girls. It’s uncomfortable being a black girl that doesn’t tolerate shit like that and doesn’t have an anti-black bone in my body.
A lot of these girls I’ve had classes with in the past. I think a lot of them are mad because in my Early History of Fashion class I called out my white teacher for calling us “niggers” and I was the only person in class that went AWF. Our teacher was not only racist but Islamophobic, homophobic, racist and crusty.
Like WTF?! I talked to my Department Chair and she got fired. So I guess they have beef with me because I got their favorite teacher fired. I really think they are intimidated by me because I’m brave enough to call shit out and they just go along and laugh about it. Now that I think about it I’m glad they don’t like me because I don’t need people like that to like me.