plaguedrat | (no subject)

Such sharp smells; ones he'd smelled vaguely when they'd eaten places, but nothing like this. Grey watches closely.

That - that Grey knows now is meat. What it was before it's this, he doesn't know. HOw will it taste, he wonders?

Very good, if Rat does this right. Honestly, the hardest part of this has been getting used to having a kitchen all his own with the space to accommodate a real stove. He breaks the beef down into chunks and sets them in the pan to brown the sides.

Once he's browned all the sides, he takes out the meat and throws in the onions and garlic to sweat down.

"It takes a while, but it'll be worth it."

Grey has nothing better to do, so he nods. But he does hold up his hand. Maybe Rat can help him clean up a little? He's had one bath since he's arrived; he doesn't think about it much.

Rat nods and holds out his hands for Grey's. With scissors, he cuts away the dirty bandage to inspect how Grey's hand is looking. It's healing well enough, all things considered, closed and kept fairly dry.

"Do you need to wash up before I cover it?"

Wash up? Oh, in the place where the water runs so freely. Grey shrugs, looking at Rat. Does he need to?

It might help. He's got plastic bags to wrap around Grey's cast to keep it dry. Chewing the idea over, he pours red wine and stock over the softened onion and garlic, adding in the vegetables and meat. Once it's hit a boil, he covers the stew at a bare simmer.

"It'll need an hour. Maybe two..." He nods toward the bathroom. "We can clean up."

But it's just now that things smell really good. Enough to make Grey's mouth water.

An hour or two? That seems a long time.

Cleaning up will pass the time. Grey nods.

Something about the look on Grey's face stirs frivolousness and impulsiveness in Rat and he leans over to kiss Grey's mouth. "It'll taste okay now, but when it's had time to simmer, it'll be even better," he promises.

The kiss is a good strategy. It changes Grey's focus. Another kiss? Yes?

Another kiss. Rat leans in and seals their mouths together, lingering in this one, before pulling back to run his fingertips along his cast.

"Let's wrap that up. Keep it dry?"

Feeling that warmth in his chest, Grey nods. Yes, all right. He'll do this, too, if it makes Rat happy.

"If the plaster gets wet, it might change shape and you won't heal right," Rat explains. He's always hated it, relying on patience in the process of regaining strength. He imagines Grey is the same.

Improvising, he seals a plastic bag over with medical tape on Grey's arm. He forces his fingers to be gentle, to ease the indignity, and then turns on the hot water.

Holding up his arm, Grey looks things over. Interesting. He can't wait to get the cast off. He wants the use of his hands back. He really does.

Rat's starting to agree, but for entirely selfish reasons. Supposing it will be easier, he stoppers the tub and pours soap under the flow to make it foam.

"...do you want me to join you?"

What's that?

Grey comes closer to peer into the suds. He got a scrub-down at the hospital. This is new.

But he nods. Yes, please. Join him.

Rat nods, stripping quickly and gesturing for Grey to get in first. It's for him, after all.

His clothes landing in a pile on floor, Grey leans forward. He can't see the bottom of the tub with the bubbles and he rests a hand on Grey's shoulder as he reaches in a foot.

The water is warm; it makes him shiver. Next foot, and he stands there, unsure of what else to do. He's never taken a bath.

Rat, meanwhile, is used to bath houses, sitting in the water after washing up. Many treat it as a social event, though he typically hadn't. Stepping into the water behind Grey, Rat sits against the back of the tub.

Sitting? All right. Grey crouches down into the water and sits. He shivers again, his cast, his bandaged hand in the air.

Leaning back, Rat soaks his hair and rinses it out, combing it back from his face. For a second, he just enjoys the lines of Grey's shoulders and the words inked along them before pouring soap into his hands and working it into a lather.

It's like the water Grey found Curtis by, but it was warmer and it had bubbles and Grey isn't sure what to do but sit here. He rests his arm on the side of the tub.

Rat spreads soapy hands along Grey's back, slipping his thumbs along tight spots and scars, washing him clean. It's more social than he was when he was at a real bath house.

It feels wonderful. Letting his eyes slip shut, Grey revels in the touch, soaking it up. The heat and Rat's hands.

"I can wash your hair," he says it with the obligatory attempt at indifference, well aware that neither of them is fooled.

If Rat wants to, Grey will not complain. He likes this very much. He likes baths. Baths with Rat. Yes; he nods. Please.