As he walked by the stereo, Ben stopped to turn up the volume on the jazz CD which was playing. A soothing holiday song filled the apartment. He entered the kitchen only to find Michael standing in front of the stove holding a saucepan. In his other hand was a package at which he was staring.
"Michael, aren't you done yet? We need to leave in an hour."
Michael didn't turn around, still concentrating on the package in his hand. "I'm not quite finished yet. Don't worry. I'll be ready."
"Okay. I'm going to take a shower. Join me?" Ben's naughty grin was completely missed.
"Nah. I wanna finish this first."
"It's not going to boil any faster with you standing over it. Come on. Let's do our part for water conservation."
"I really can't right now."
"Okay. Your loss." Ben headed to the bathroom to shower and get dressed. Thirty minutes later, he walked out of his bedroom. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and tucked the tail into his slacks carefully. He walked into the kitchen again and found Michael still standing at the stove. The kitchen was a little messier now, with spilled sugar on the counter and a splash of water on the floor. Michael had a cranberry stem stuck in his hair behind his right ear.
"I didn't think it took that long to make cranberry sauce. Maybe we should just buy some of the pre-made stuff on the way over. It's not like we're going empty handed. I already baked an apple pie."
Michael turned around partially, still keeping one eye on the saucepan. He shook his head. "I promised my mother that I would cook something this year."
Ben raised his eyebrows at that. "But you don't know how to cook."
"I do too know how to cook!" Michael crossed his arms in indignation, silently daring Ben to contradict his statement.
Ben dared. "Name one thing you've ever cooked." He leaned back against the counter across from Michael and waited for an answer.
Michael didn't have to think long to come up with a response to the challenge. "Don't you remember that time when we spent the weekend at Myrtle Beach?" He puffed up with triumph. "I made dinner the first night."
Though Ben was charmed by the chin which was raised in stubborn smugness, he was forced to shake his head in disagreement. "I don't think that macaroni and cheese and a salad really counts as 'cooking'."
Michael thought for a moment. His face brightened suddenly. "I made breakfast the next morning, right?"
"Fruit loops and milk don't count either."
"I made the cake for Emmett's birthday last month."
"Nope. That was cake mix out of a box."
Michael paced in frustration, then whipped around to face his opponent. "Fourth of July. I baked an apple pie!"
Ben sighed in disappointment. "If you think back, you'll remember that 'I' baked the pie, not you. In fact, it's the same recipe I used today."
Michael's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Oh yeah. I forgot." He walked back to the stove to stir his cranberry sauce. "How could anyone learn to cook at my house? My mother's always in the kitchen. My uncle is practically a master chef... I never HAD to cook."
Ben levered himself away from his perch and went to stand behind his lover. He leaned his head on Michael's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. "But you haven't lived at home for years, Pumpkin."
Michael shrugged. "Emmett and I do some short order cooking, but mostly we eat take out or eat at the diner... And like you said, cold cereal and milk isn't cooking."
Ben nibbled at Michael's neck. "Doesn't matter to me. I don't mind doing the cooking."
Michael turned in the solid arms which surrounded him and placed his hands on the broad, warm chest. "Why don't you teach me? After all, you ARE supposed to be some kind of professor aren't you?" Michael arched one eyebrow, glad to be able to return the previous challenge.
"Mm. I don't know."
"Are you saying you can't?"
"Oh no. I don't concede that easily. But a good teacher lets the student do most of the work."
Michael looked at Ben in disbelief. "I can't say I'm familiar with that philosophy of teaching 'Oh Great Master'."
"Listen and learn." He reached behind Michael to rifle through the mess. Finding the empty cranberry package, he handed it to Michael while still holding him. "What does the recipe tell you to do first?"
Michael read from the package. "Step one: Measure out one and a half cups of water."
Ben reached behind Michael again with his right hand and found the measuring cup. There was still a little water remaining in it. His kept his left arm gripped firmly around Michael's waist. He dipped a few fingers of his free hand into the cup. When he withdrew them, they were wet.
"It's always a good idea to taste the water first. You don't want to use stale water in a recipe do you?" Michael slowly shook his head, eyes wide. Ben brought his fingers to Michael's lips. He gently traced the plump lips with damp fingers, circling several times to moisten them completely. "How is it?"
Michael gulped slowly. He couldn't draw his eyes away from the face before him. His tongue darted out to taste the water. Ben smiled with fond memories of what that tongue could do under the right circumstances.
"Um... It's fine." Michael's voice was bit quavery.
"Step two?"
"Huh?"
"Step two of the recipe, babe."
"Oh." Michael glanced at the package again. "Measure out one and a half cups of sugar." His voice was a little steadier.
"I always like to taste the sugar. You don't want to use sugar that's not sweet enough." Michael was too entranced to argue with that statement. This time, Ben reached around and dipped his still moist index finger in the cup of sugar on the counter. He brought the sugar coated finger to Michael's mouth and waited for permission. Red, moist lips opened and accepted the offered finger. Michael let his eyes flutter closed as he sucked the sugar off Ben's finger. After a minute he opened his coal dark eyes again. "Well?" Ben asked.
Michael released Ben's finger and cleared his throat, but his voice was still a little hoarse. "It's sweet enough."
"Step three?"
"Step three... Add the sugar and water to a saucepan and bring to a boil." He looked at Ben in expectation.
"In order to bring them to a boil, you have to add a little heat." At that statement, Ben brought his face closer to Michael's and pressed their lips together. After one soft kiss, he nibbled and licked at the sugar water that had been created moments ago.
His tongue moved to the fine sheen of perspiration which covered Michael's upper lip and softly licked that too. He kept his hands occupied by gradually lifting Michael's tee-shirt and stroking the smooth pale skin beneath. His hands didn't miss an inch of the sleek chest and back. After long moments of stroking and petting, he leaned back. "Step four?"
Michael stopped panting for a moment and tried to remember how to read. When his sensibilities returned, he whispered. "Add cranberries and return to a boil."
"I don't know where we're going to find more cranberries. You used most of them... You even spilled some on the floor." He waited while Michael's eyes desperately scanned the kitchen for more cranberries. "You know... sometimes when I drop things, they slip into the folds of my clothes." He unbuttoned the top button of Michael's fly and reached inside the loose jeans. "Ah... there we are." He watched as a flush spread from Michael's neck to his cheeks. "What's step five?"
Michael had read ahead and answered without looking this time. "Reduce heat to low." His voice was faintly audible.
Ben regretfully pulled his hand out of the jeans and let the tee-shirt fall back into place, but he continued to caress Michael's back with a whisper-soft touch. Without being prompted, Michael continued, "Simmer seven minutes or until cranberries pop." He could barely hold his eyes open.
With an uncharacteristically devilish smirk, Ben reached for the zipper and began to tug. He took the package out of Michael's loose grip, glanced briefly at it, then tossed it over his shoulder. "Serve hot." He nearly stumbled when Michael grabbed at his shirt and ruined the arranging and tucking which had been done with such care earlier.
Neither man noticed the pot still boiling on the stove.
"I told you we were going to be late!"
"I think those were my words. Don't worry, Michael. I bet they didn't even notice."
They both painted on bright smiles when the door opened and revealed Debbie, wearing a festive orange top and burgundy slacks. The tiny turkeys embroidered on the hem of her top seemed to dance in the breeze. To top it all off, she had a poinsettia tucked in front of one ear.
"Happy Thanksgiving! You're both late. Where the hell have you been? Everyone's inside already." She reached out to give each man a hug, barely allowing them a chance to answer.
"Sorry Ma. It was my fault."
Debbie waved away his apology as unnecessary. Noticing their packages she clapped her hands in glee. "Great! You brought dessert!" Realizing there were two packages she looked at her only son with admiration. "You actually made something honey?"
While Michael was mumbling words that sounded strangely like "Not exactly" Debbie opened the dish. She looked up in puzzlement. "You obviously didn't make this."
"Of course he did." Ben threw his arms around Michael's shoulders and squeezed. "He opened the can all on his own."
Michael gave Ben a look which clearly said "Shut up" and turned to his mother to explain. "I tried, but I kind of ruined the first batch. There wasn't time to make a second."
"How the hell do you ruin cranberry sauce? It's practically idiot proof."
"SOMETHING distracted me." Michael rolled his eyes without looking directly at the source of his distraction.
Debbie walked to the kitchen holding the dishes. She shook her head as she talked over her shoulder. "Michael, honey, you've always been useless in the kitchen."
They followed her to the kitchen where the rest of the family was gathered. Only Michael heard Ben's whispered comment. "Obviously she's never seen the way you cook."