It has, of course.
I wonder if it will always feel like we’ve waited for so long for each other.
I finally break away for air, resting my forehead against his as we both breathe in each other.
“Let me cook you dinner,” Zan murmurs.
Not exactly where I thought we were going, but:
A dragon in the kitchen where he wants to belong.
An act of care for a mate.
He’s the one who needs to go slow, but as long as we’re still moving toward the same place, I can wait for him.
Not idly, though.
“Okay.” I smile. “I guess I’ll just have to make more ice cream to take the edge off.”
Dryly Zan says, “I’ll prepare the sink for a siege.”
This time I’m the one who kisses his forehead. “Put the lock on the door first?”
A boundary; a statement that we are anus, and that this isoursanctuary.
Zan’s eyes flash, and he kisses me again.
Weeventuallymakeitinside, and as threatened, I make more ice cream while Zan cooks.
I’m happy with my blackberry ice cream, but that just means I want to trymoreice cream. Since blackberries are still the ingredient I have for that, though, I’m experimenting.
Zan told me I can use eggs in ice cream, too, and that it might make it creamier, like the vanilla ice cream I tried at Nomi’s house.
(He helpfully cracks them for me, since I am evidently still hopeless at that even when not pissed off at him. For now!!)
Eggs are a ridiculous food, I decide. That they can be a savory omelet or the basis for ice cream is unbelievable.
Then again, here I am, as the Sage of Wrath, trying to create joy.
Maybe eggs and I will find common cause yet.
I stir constantly, lest my ice cream become scrambled eggs, and add more vanilla but fewer blackberries, including them as chunks of berry deliciousness rather than straining them for syrupy goodness.
Not sure it will work, but I’m trying.
And if it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else, and Zan will help me crack those eggs, too.
When I return from placing the bowl in the ice house, Zan has set the table for us, with a spread of salmon, seaweed, and crushed blackberries for sauce.
“Seaweed dishes aren’t as common here as they once were, with all the new vegetables available in this era,” Zan tells me. “But I still like it.”
My chest aches.
He’s sharing something personal of himself with me, without me pushing for it.
“I’m not sure if you will, but I thought—”
I take a bite. Hmm.
