Kevin & Jean-Paul, Friday Evening

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Kevin stops by to make dinner and finds Jean-Paul wrapping a present.


It had become something of an unspoken rule between them that knocking was a waste of time. It was pretty much Kevin's night to make dinner, which most nights were really, and he had everything for some amazing beef stroganoff in the paper bag he held in his hand. Not wanting to wake Jean-Paul if the man was asleep, Kevin opened the door to the Quebecois' suite slowly and quietly. His boyfriend wasn't asleep, however, he was wrapping something on the counter. With a small quirk of an eyebrow Kevin pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. "Who's birthday?"

"Hm?" Jean-Paul looked up from the brown paper wrapping he was taping. "Ah..." He glanced downward again and finished the project, then wrote the addressed it and slid it across the table. "No one's, really." It had been last week, after all. Nearly two weeks ago, if he was being honest. But that wasn't really answering the question and he could admit that. Frowning just a bit, he poked the package with one finger, then said, "My sister's."

His sister's? As in his twin sister's? Kevin tilted his head to the side a bit and gave Jean-Paul a curious look. "When's her birthday?" More importantly, why did he feel the need to dodge the question the first time around? It was just a birthday, after all.

In some sort of attempt to keep the pressure off Jean-Paul, Kevin went over to the counter to begin pulling stuff out of his brown paper bag. Then he started to pull out the pans he'd need to make dinner. Maybe, just maybe, if he didn't focus that intently on Jean-Paul he'd get answers to questions.

"The twenty-sixth of May," Jean-Paul answered, knowing Kevin would connect the dots. He moved through to the kitchen, propping his hip against the counter. "I am late with her gift."

"Why didn't you wanna tell me whose birthday it was?" Kevin wasn't sure if it was because Jean-Paul didn't want to bring up his birthday or because he didn't want to bring up his sister.

"She is not here," Jean-Paul said, looking at the ingredients rather than Kevin. "She is... not often where I am." That didn't precisely answer the question, though. "I do not speak of her, you see? It is... easier."

"So how come you never told me it was your birthday?" It seemed like a weird thing to not know about your boyfriend. There was a lot Kevin didn't know about Jean-Paul. There was a lot he did, but overall the Southerner supposed he knew less than not. He set the water to boil for the egg noodles.

"It was not so important," Jean-Paul answered, brows rising a bit in surprise at the question. And also, he hadn't really wanted to highlight - yet again - their age difference. Somehow turning forty made it seem like that much more of a stretch. "Simply another year... amongst many."

That made Kevin frown. "It's your birthday, how's that not important?" Kevin usually holed up on his own birthday, a stark reminder of his orphan status, but he understood that it was important. It wasn't happy but it was significant.

Jean-Paul shrugged, not entirely sure how to answer the younger man. "I would not have done anything differently, I think, had I told you the date. We had dinner, we watched a movie. These were the things I wished to do. People... they do special things with others when many people know. There are gifts and silly things. I did not need them."

Two fingers hooked in behind Jean-Paul's belt buckle. Kevin partly pulled the older man in closer and partly closed the distance himself. The kiss seemed to have no caution to it. It was familiar and easy for his lips to meet the Quebecois'. Words Kevin wasn't very good with, but kissing he was. When their lips broke from each other enough to speak the words, "Happy birthday," were whispered. Kevin leaned back a little farther and smiled. "Ain't 'bout gifts and 'silly things.' Just 'bout people remembering. Ah'd've remembered, y'know." The smile broadened. "And Ah'd've messed up tryin' to cook French food for you, too. Thought that counts."

Quirking a very small smile, Jean-Paul shrugged again, resting his forearms on Kevin's shoulders. "Oui, this is so. But I think it would be Quebecois food that you 'messed up,' as you say. They are very different, Quebecois and French food."

"No, Ah'd mess up French food 'cause Ah didn't know there was a difference. Whatever, you speak their language and wanna be your own country but their food ain't good enough for you?" Kevin tsked at him and shook his head.

"It is not so bad. It is just not what we make at home, oui?" Jean-Paul's smile grew a little. "But I would like to see you cooking something that is not fried in butter. It would be a very special day, would it not?"

Kevin actually stuck out his tongue. "Well, today ain't that day 'cause the beef for beef stroganoff gets fried in butter." Speaking of, Kevin let go of Jean-Paul's belt buckle so he could get the butter melting so he could fry said beef. "'Sides, French people fry stuff in butter, too."

"I think they are maybe not so enthusiastic as you Southerners..." Not that Jean-Paul was complaining. That would be foolish, after all, since he thoroughly enjoyed the butter-soaked meals Kevin prepared. But a bit of teasing never hurt anyone.

Kevin waved a hand dismissively at that. "They also eat snails. You tellin' me you trust them more'n me?" He scoffed, clearly offended. Or at least trying to sound as offended as possible.

"You Southerners at the balls of bulls and pretend that you are not by calling them something else, do you not? It does not lend itself to much more trust than snails," Jean-Paul said, tone reasonable as he picked up a glass and ran it under the tap to fill it. Then he paused and asked, "What would you like to drink?"

"That ain't us, that's them weirdos out west," Kevin told him. "Water's good. 'Sides, it's almost okay 'cause they fry 'em. At least Ah think they fry 'em. Are there unfried testicles going 'round tryin' to be eaten?"

Jean-Paul bit his lips on the subject of testicles being eaten, choosing to fill Kevin's glass of water as well and then set it on the counter near him. "Is there anything with which I can help?"

"You can look pretty?" Kevin grinned over at him and set the stew meat into the sizzling butter. "Ah mean, you could be helpful as eye candy. But then dinner might burn so maybe no. Go be less distracting!"

Quirking an eyebrow, Jean-Paul took a sip of water, then licked his lower lip. "Less distracting?"

Playing it up, Kevin flailed a hand in Jean-Paul's direction. "Yeah, go put more clothes on or a bag over your head or something. D'you got a potato sack?"

Jean-Paul reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, tossing it onto the counter before bending down to open the cabinet under the sink. "I do not know. I will look, though, since you ask."

Kevin smacked a hand over his eyes and shook his head. He wasn't quite so incapacitated by the sight of his boyfriend as he made it sound, but that didn't mean Jean-Paul wasn't really distracting. Especially not when he started to pull clothing off of himself. Checking on the water and the meat for a moment, Kevin then turned his attention back to the bent over man. The Southerner's head tilted to the side while he appreciated the view and the next thing he knew his hands were on Jean-Paul's hips. "That ain't fair and you know it."

Feigning surprise, Jean-Paul looked over his shoulder at Kevin. "But you asked for the potato sack." Smug was an expression he knew well. Though he was not quite so adept at hiding it as he might have been if he'd really put forth any sort of effort.

"Might need it if you don't want burnt dinner." Jean-Paul would eat it anyway, Kevin knew that. Hell, he'd eat it as well. Gloved hands slid up over skin and then came back down Jean-Paul's sides to his hips once more.