Egg Whites and Blue

Chapter 2-2

“Dom. Get up.”

Kiko sounded annoyed. Dom rolled over, not surprised, but not wanting to deal with it. When he had finally gone to bed the night before it was to find Kiko asleep naked, the light still on, having drifted off waiting for him. Dom knew exactly what he’d been waiting for, and it would have made him irritated too. But he didn’t like being the guilty party in such events, so he scowled into his pillow.

“Half day,” he groaned.

“Yeah, the second half of the day,” said Kiko. Cold enveloped Dom as Kiko yanked the blanket down, and the sudden sting on his ass as Kiko smacked him completed waking him up. “Your own fault you stayed up half the night.”

“Did not.” Dom rolled over and squinted at Kiko, who was buttoning up his shirt. The man looked good in the morning light, boxers just peeking out from under the shirt, socks already on. Dom very much regretted not going to bed sooner.

“How did you get up in the morning before I became your alarm clock?”

Dom rolled out of bed and stalked over to the bathroom, leaving Kiko to finish getting dressed while he speed-showered. When he got down to the kitchen his coffee was already poured, and Kiko was wrestling with Mother and a fresh diaper. It was just like every morning, except Dom had overslept a little longer than usual. He yawned.

“Sorry,” he muttered, snatching up the coffee and taking a large gulp. It had gone cold while he’d showered.

“I think you should set your own alarm,” said Kiko, knotting a red, white, and blue striped tie. Dom finished his coffee, not wanting to point out to Kiko that he had been apologizing about coming to bed so late.

“But how else will I get you to spank my ass?”

“You could try coming to bed earlier,” said Kiko, straightening the tie. Dom crossed to the kitchen counter and set his mug down hard next to the sink before swallowing. What he was really irritated with was that Kiko was right. And that Sander was in town and might drop by Yolks on You at any point. But that was what his pie was for.

He turned to Kiko, intending to give him a hug, but the man was already holding Mother, and the goose was glaring at Dom. He decided against physical affection, not when he suspected Mother was just biding time before tearing him apart in his sleep.

“Kiko,” he said instead, “I’m sorry. Really.”

Kiko stared at him a minute, then sighed and leaned forward. Dom did his best to kiss him without disturbing Mother.

“Good luck with your pie,” said Kiko and was out the door.

Dom grabbed up his keys and followed, locking the door behind him. Kiko used to leave his entire house unlocked—most people did here—but since the incident over the Eggstravaganza weekend when a murderer had let himself inside with the intention to kill them, Kiko had become insistent that the doors and windows always be locked. Sometimes, Dom caught him rechecking the door, though he never said anything about it.

Though work was half as long it dragged slower than ever for Dom. He itched to get out and get his pie ingredients, to drop by Yolks on You briefly. It would show Kiko he cared and also serve the purpose of seeing whether Sander was hanging around the place. Since the judging of the food wouldn’t start until tomorrow, he figured the chef had a little free time, and he didn’t particularly care for Sander to spend it hovering over Kiko.

But when he got out of work, there was a surprising line at the store. By the time he had bought his supplies and was on the way home, he decided it was better just to skip the stop by Kiko’s shop. Instead, after he had unlocked the door and let himself in with his supplies, he sent Kiko a text.

Hey, he typed.

How’s the pie going? responded Kiko.

About to start. Your day?

Sander hasn’t been by, Dom.

Dom frowned at his phone.

Wasn’t asking, he sent, then set the device aside. Sometimes Kiko seemed to know him too well. They’d only been together a few months, and it wasn’t like they spent a large amount of time together. Kiko was at Yolks on You nearly every day of the week, and usually from open to close, and Dom’s job near Madison meant he had a bit of a commute, not to mention the overtime hours he usually took. He wondered if he was really so obvious, so predictable. He still felt like he was getting to know Kiko.

It didn’t matter. He could still surprise Kiko. He pulled out his ingredients: premade graham cracker pie crust, cherry pie filling, blue instant gelatin, a tub of whipped topping, patriotic sprinkles. He could imagine Kiko grumbling about how he should be making all these things from scratch, but he didn’t really have the time, and he had always believed assembling a dish counted as homemade.

The gelatin was the tricky thing. The cherry pie filling was easy to spread on the bottom of the crust, but pouring the boiling gelatin mixture over it was difficult. Still, Dom managed, and popped the pie in the refrigerator to firm up the gelatin. The extra he dumped into a glass bowl and also stuck in the refrigerator to chill.

While waiting he sat down at the breakfast nook with a leftover burger from the night before and had lunch, nose stuck in festival articles. He wanted to know what kind of competition he was up against. Last year an apple pie won—maybe very American, but not very interesting. Plus, this year the woman who had entered the pie, Beverly Hoskins, was on the panel of judges, and therefore couldn’t submit any other food. Dom took that as a good sign for his own chances.

He ended up poking the gelatin four times before the consistency felt right, at which point he removed the pie from the fridge and plopped on the whipped topping. He gave up trying to make it smooth; anyway, choppy looked artistic and fancy, he decided. A generous helping of sprinkles later and he was sick of cooking.

Done, he texted Kiko, who replied back with only one word.

Laundry?

Dom swore and stalked off to deal with the full hamper.