Ambrosia - Part 1

[sunmontue]

Title: Ambrosia

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/David Karofsky
Rating: R17 
Word count: ~3,500 words
Warnings: None.
Summary: Complete AU. Dave is a chef and Kurt is a diner with many and severe food allergies.


                       
            “Day-vey! We got a tricky one!”

            “Hit me!” It’s slower than usual in the restaurant and he always likes the challenge that a tricky customer brings. He’s never had a dissatisfied customer yet and it’s a record he’s not only proud of, but intend to keep.

            “He’s asked for the pork belly main, but with the pork belly entre sauce. Here, he gave me a card with his list of food allergies…”

            He takes the card from Rachel’s fingers and scans down the list.

            “Tomatoes? The guy is allergic to tomatoes?”

            “The acid or something?” Rachel says, hazarding what is clearly a guess, but she’s a vegan, and he’s cooked for her enough times to know she’s probably right.

            Dave grimaces, because he can’t imagine not being able to not eat tomatoes. Or dairy. Or… wow. A lot of stuff. Gluten. Peppers. Some onions. Strawberries.

            “And this guy is actually brave enough to try eating out?”

            “Apparently, although he doesn’t look too happy about it. Sounds like it was all his dinner partner’s idea.”

            “Right. Well, go and ask him if he’s okay with coconut cream, coriander, sweet potatoe and soy. I’ll happily make him something from scratch, but it’ll take a while.”

            He flicks through the other orders, making sure that everything is on track for timing and waits for Rachel to return.

            “He said he’s more than happy to wait, seemed pleasantly surprised the chef was so accommodating actually. He’s cute. Just your type…” Rachel winks.

            He rolls his eyes and sets about starting a new sauce from scratch, making a conscious decision to use the gluten-free soya sauce after rewashing the pan carefully to remove any traces of gluten or dairy. Maybe he’s being over cautious, but he doesn’t know how bad this guys allergies are, he might keel over and die, and that would be extremely bad for his reputation.

            When he sends the dish out he’s happy with it, a mildly spiced creamy coconut sauce, in which is settled the pork belly, garnished with curls of carrot and sprigs of cress, freshly steamed spring vegetables on the side. He hopes that the customer will be happy and he chances a quick peek through the doors as Rachel walks toward a table near the front. He can’t see anything and he shrugs and goes back to work.

AMBROSIA

            Kurt goes home fully expecting to have stomach cramps. At least. If it’s just stomach cramps then he can deal with it. Curl up with some water, an antacid and hope that it passes quickly. If it’s worse, well, he doesn’t exactly want to think about it. Worshipping the porcelain throne from both ends is just unappealing on every level, which is why he avoids eating out. Usually. Except Blaine had asked, begged, and he’s not about to say no to his oldest friend.

            Except he doesn’t have cramps. Or anything else. His skin doesn’t even rise in the slightest rash and he can’t help but be filled with stunned delight. Days later the memory of the food, falling apart in his mouth, creamy sauce contrasting with the slight bitterness of the cress, the vegetables all blanched perfectly. Well, it’s been a long time since he’s enjoyed a meal so much and not lived to regret the days following it.

            The waitress had been friendly and accommodating, not something he comes across a lot when it quickly becomes apparent to them that he’s one of those customers. Instead he had felt valued, his health issues taken seriously. It had surpassed his expectations, which he admits had been low to start with. Now, well, now he wants to go back. Wants to find out if it was simply luck or whether he might have just found somewhere where he can eat, enjoy his food and not have his body wracked with pains and skin covered in rashes for days following.

            He walks in, even earlier than last week, it’s quiet and it’s the same waitress as last week, her face breaking out into a friendly smile as she heads toward him.

            “Hi. Welcome back. Are you after a table?”

            “Yes. Just for me this time. I just… really enjoyed the meal last week, and I hope your chef doesn’t mind me coming back, but I’ve been thinking, dreaming, of that meal ever since I ate it.”

            “He won’t mind at all. He likes a challenge. And anyway, he’s used to cooking for me.” Kurt’s not quite sure how to take that, just smiles a little tightly. “I’m a vegan. I live with Dave. The chef.”

            “Oh,” he says, nodding in understanding, smiling. “I’m Kurt. I think I’m on the slippery slope of becoming a regular here.”

            “Well Kurt, I’m Rachel. Would you like your regular table or would you like to start with a new table to join you on your slippery slope?”

            He laughs and agrees that a smaller table, one meant for a single person would be ideal and he lets her lead the way.

AMBROSIA

            Last week he’d done a glazed confit duck with orange and ginger, with wilted Asian greens set on a sweet potato puree. He’d deliberately left one of the duck breasts to the side, glazing it a bit differently in the hope that he’d get to work with it. The week before that he’d repeated the pork belly dish, because it had apparently made such an impression the first time, at least that’s what Rachel had told him, eyebrows wiggling enthusiastically.

            He’d made the passing comment to her that he hoped next time he came in he’d have free-reign to make him something new. He hadn’t meant for Rachel to fucking tell the customer that, but she had and goddamn that woman has the biggest mouth, although he only knows she told him because she’d come back in to the kitchen laughing, eyes crinkled and told him that next week he gets free reign and then winked.

            He’s tried peeking out to catch a glimpse of him, because when Rachel tells him a guy is his type he knows he will be. Rachel has never steered him wrong but he’s pretty sure scoping out potential guys while at work is incredibly unprofessional so he only chances it once, and the back of the guys head is all he sees. He grumps to Rachel about how she could have at least sat him on the side facing the kitchen and she’d laughed and pinched his cheek.

            So tonight is the fourth time he will be cooking for him, and he’s actually been thinking about it all week, creating something that isn’t even vaguely on the menu, unlike the last three weeks. He’s ordered in some salmon, because he’s been working on developing the summer menu, but tonight it’s cold out, and he needs Rachel to go and do some fact checking.

            “I need to know if he’s okay with citrus.”

            “He was okay with the orange last week…”

            “Yeah, but that was sweet and reduced. What I’ve got planned has both lemon and lime in it. With fish. Make sure he can eat fish!” He calls after her as the door swings shut. The lemon-scented risotto is already halfway done, and he’s made it for Rachel as well to eat when she can have her meal just before the rush starts, and he likes that this guy comes in earlier, whether it’s out of consideration or if it just suits him, he appreciates it.

            “Fish is fine. Citrus is fine unless you’re planning on sending out a lemon on a plate. And here, I copied his food-allergy card for you so you can keep it as reference.”

            He takes it, and then looks at the name scrawled on top in Rachel’s overly flowery script: Kurt. So he has a name now, and he nods absently, not really needing the piece of paper because he remembers nearly all of it from the first time, but he files the name away in his mind.

            “I’m making him crispy-baked salmon on lemon scented risotto with micro greens and caramelised lime, drizzled with chive infused avocado oil. Double check with him that the chive is okay, it’s part of the same family as the onion.”

            Rachel gives him a mock salute, muttering ‘yes chef!” at him under her breath before leaving again and he grins. He loves his job.

AMBROSIA

            He strolls through the market stalls – he knows what he needs, and actually eating out has taught him a few new ways of cooking some of the lesser bought vegetables he sees around him. He used to enjoy cooking before it became the chore that it is now, having to carefully read every ingredient label and know what can and can’t be substituted. He feels sort of rejuvenated having been fed amazing meals for the last four weeks, and Tuesday night has now become his favourite night of the week.

            Sundays he comes here and buys his fresh produce for the week. It’s not convenient, but the food is the freshest he’s found, and he’s been coming here for nearly two years, long enough that all the store owners know him, calling out his name in greeting and he enjoys the almost festive atmosphere that the new season brings. Even though he can’t eat a lot of the produce he can still enjoy the scents, and some of the stall owners seem to take him as a personal challenge. He knows he can get goat cheese feta and camembert now, along with some amazing home preserves and baking.

            Coming here used to be his weekly treat, a sense of homecoming, but Tuesday night has taken that place in four short weeks and he wonders if Blaine had any idea when he begged that they go and try Ambrosia. He’s so glad now that he gave in and agreed. He waves at Michelle, turning toward the stall where he can get a loaf of gluten free bread and he feels the icy-cold slime-feeling on his hand and he grimaces, looking first at his hand, then at the destroyed ice-cream-cone and then up to the startled face of a man who looks more than a little sad that his ice-cream is dripping off the fingers of a stranger and also smeared on his shirt.

            “That was a really good frozen yoghurt.”

            “I’m so sorry, let me buy you another. Was it Leigh’s stall?”

            “Uh, it’s okay. Really. It was already my second one, I just couldn’t decide between my two favourite flavours.”

            “No, I insist. At least a voucher for next time you come. Just let me go and wash my hands –”

            “I’d offer to lick it off, but that would be a little forward. Wow. Ignore me. That was seriously inappropriate of me. Sorry.”

            He lets out a bark of laughter, because it’s been a while since a guy has actually been suggestive and apologetic in equal parts. In fact, he doesn’t know if he’s ever met a guy like that and he winks, equal parts amused and turned on. It’s been a while.

            “If it wasn’t seriously inappropriate, I’d let you.”

            He gets a surprised laugh it response, and he doesn’t miss the flare of interest as he walks back toward Michelle, her stall has running water and quickly rinses his hands. He feels a little flushed, because he had actually meant that, and he’s out of practise with the whole flirting thing because it’s been so long, but it feels pretty good. And despite his earlier protestations the guy hasn’t voiced them again. He wipes his hands on his jeans to dry them and turns, smiling and gesturing toward Leigh’s ice cream and sorbet truck near the start.

            “I’m Kurt. And I really am sorry about your frozen yoghurt. And your shirt.” A shirt which the guy has taken off, tucking it in the back-pocket of his jeans, revealing a black t-shirt which is stretched over a thick chest and around muscled arms and he swallows as his mouth fills with saliva.

            “It’s no problem. Really. I’m David. Dave. So… you come here often?” He laughs again, because it has to be the oldest pickup line in the book, and the guy is looking a bit sheepish but not overly apologetic.

            “Every Sunday. You?”

            “First time. My roommate forced me to come, she was raving about the ice-cream place actually. They do really good soy ice cream apparently.”

            “Yes, they do. Although I’ve never tasted their dairy equivalents. I’m allergic.”

            That makes Dave stop, and he steps to the side, glad he’s in such a public place if the guy suddenly turns out to be a serial killer, and the way the guy is kind of grinning at him, like there’s been this huge revelation…

            “Wow. That… that’s too much of a coincidence. I believe I’ve cooked for you. I’m the head chef at Ambrosia.”

AMBROSIA   

            The look of surprised delight on Kurt’s face at his declaration makes him smile wider. Rachel was right. He is his type.

            “Oh. Well then, I hope Rachel always passes on my compliments. I’m a big fan…” the word trails off, and he silently adds ‘of your cooking’ in there, but he also knows that with that flirting tone he could take that to mean whatever the hell he wants. His job doesn’t exactly lend itself to meeting possible new people so it’s rare that he actually meets someone that seems to tick all his boxes. And then some, because boy does he tick them. He’d feel bad at the intense look he’s giving Kurt, but he can feel it being returned ten-fold and holy shit he’s glad Rachel isn’t in the vicinity because she’d be making sly innuendos about getting rid of sexual tension with a knife and…

            “She never has actually. She’s terrible at passing on compliments, especially to me. Thinks my ego is big enough when it comes to my cooking…”

            “Oh, I’m sure it’s more than big enough.”

            Dave laughs out loud, shaking his head but not letting his eyes leave Kurt’s face. The comment is thrown out like a challenge, eyes sparkling with amusement and attraction, and he can only guess that he’s paying him back in some way for his offer to lick his fingers clean. He can only blame his lack of brain-mouth filter which apparently disappears when faced with… Kurt. He’s never that forward unless he’s had a couple of glasses of wine, except with Kurt. Fortunately for him Kurt is responding in kind.

            “I haven’t had any complaints from any of my diners yet.”

            “Oh, you call them diners do you?”

            “Well yeah, it is a meal that’s meant to be savoured. You’d agree wouldn’t you?”

            “Definitely.”

            They stare at each other and he can feel the sexual energy twanging between them like an over tight string on a guitar and he’s never wanted to just reach for someone and kiss them so badly. To his knowledge there’s nothing stopping him, except…

            “Can I kiss you?”

            “I don’t know. Can you?”

            He rolls his eyes and snorts.

            “I’ve been eating strawberry yoghurt. How bad are your allergies?”

            “Not that bad…”

            And then he’s being kissed, warm dry lips dragging across his cooler ones and he can’t believe he’s kissing a guy he just met. He lets his hands go to lean hips, tugging him closer, feels the scrape of stubble over much smoother skin than his own, then a hand sliding and grabbing his ass and he smiles into the kiss, can’t resist nipping a little before reluctantly pulling back. In the middle of a market isn’t the place for an exploratory make out session with a guy he barely knows.

            “Tuesday. I’ll se you Tuesday. Can you wait until I finish up?”

            Kurt nods, licking his lips and he wonders if Kurt could taste the strawberry on his lips.

            “I look forward to it. It’s my favourite day of the week.”

            “Good, you can buy me dessert.”

            “I don’t know about buy, but I’ll definitely take care of dessert.”

            The look in Kurt’s eyes are filled with promise and he swallows, grinning.

            “And I look forward to that.”

  AMBROSIA  

            He’s not nervous, but he wouldn’t exactly describe himself as collected and calm either. It’s Tuesday and he’s come home to change before heading to Ambrosia. Not something he normally does but today is not normal. He doesn’t know what really came over him on Sunday, apart from the intense level of attraction he’s not really felt since — well, since he was a teenager and couldn’t control his hormones. He’d thought, for a short while after saying goodbye to David on Sunday, that maybe he was just long overdue some sexual release with something other than Mr Palm and his five sons. But even after a particularly thorough session in the shower involving his hand and favourite dildo he’d still twitched at the idea of Dave’s hands on him.

            He looks around his apartment, it’s tidy and clean and he’s stocked up on certain essentials he hasn’t needed for far too long. They’d expired. The condoms his dad shoved into his wallet when he was a teenager didn’t even have that dubious claim to fame. He’s just been busy. The last time he’d bought condoms he’d been quietly optimistic. This time he’s pretty sure there’s no optimism involved, it seems much more like certainty, promise. For both of them. He’s pretty confident that Dave’s behaviour was equally out of character as his, at least from what Rachel has said in passing. That is the only slightly reassuring fact that maybe he affects him just as much. Fuck he hopes so.

            Leaving the light beside his bed dimmed low he pats his pockets, wondering if he needs to take anything with him. He has no idea what time Dave finishes up, but he guesses it will be late. He has a book he’s reading on his tablet, along with a journal article, but he’s always thought of people sitting alone at tables reading look very alone and he huffs. Rather be thought alone than be bored for several hours. It means taking a satchel though, and he’d prefer to have his hands free and the filthy places his mind goes with that thought are automatic and incredibly arousing. He takes it anyway, telling his traitorous body it can afford to wait.

            A bit later than his usual time, he holds the door open for a couple already leaving and the smile on Rachel’s face is flattering. It’s nice to have someone so apparently happy to see him.

            “Kurt! I thought you were going to ditch us tonight when you weren’t here at six.”

            There is nothing in her tone that suggests she knows that him and Dave have now met, that they have sort-of-plans tonight and he sits down and places a drink order. It’s something he’s not done before and it causes her eyes to widen slightly and he shrugs, telling her he feels a little adventurous tonight. It’s an understatement, but it also elicits nothing but another smile and that confirms that Dave hasn’t told her, and he feels a little worm of doubt wiggle in his stomach. Why wouldn’t he tell her?

            “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Dave has been asking if you’ve turned up every time I go into the kitchen. He has another dish he wants to try out on you.”

            He bites back the smile at the memory of Dave saying a meal is meant to be savoured, and maybe Dave was afraid he wasn’t going to turn up for whatever reason.

            “I look forward to it,” he says brightly to Rachel.

            She returns the smile and then goes back to her job, stopping by his table frequently enough, checking his water and refilling his wine before bringing out what looks amazing.

            “It’s corn fed chicken breast, wrapped in streaky bacon, filled with crushed chickpeas, diced parsnips, olives & fresh herbs,” she states, placing the dish down. There’s the side of freshly blanched vegetables and his mouth waters at the scent of everything.

            He thanks her and sets about eating, enjoying the salty crunch of the bacon coupled with the soft tenderness of the chicken, balanced by the crumbly tangy contrast of the inside. He finishes and his plate looks, as always, as if he’s licked it clean. Rachel appears and reaches for his plate, and now that he knows his compliments aren’t reaching the kitchen he’ll try something else, and hope Dave doesn’t take it personally.

            “Tell him it needs improvement.”

            “Oh, I will,” Rachel says, seemingly delighted with his comment.

            He grins and sits back to wait, drawing out his tablet and wondering how long he has to wait.

PART 2