#01 - Parfait
Jun. 21st, 2024 06:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
peach_jelly111Title: Your Kisses Taste Like Cyanide
Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail
Prompt: Parfait
Summary: As the Red Right Hand and Yes-Man of a powerful mafia family, Gallagher enjoys all kinds of perks like owning his bar without having to pay up or expect trouble...and secretly dating the eldest son who happens to be a haughty angel with intimacy issues.
The bar's last call of the night goes smoother than Gallagher expects it to and he closes down without a hitch. Security heads out even after he's still wiping down the counter and putting glasses away for tomorrow. Once they're all gone for sertain, he saunters to the back of the bar and to the kitchen for a midnight snack.
"Should I spike it?" he asks himself whil constructing the tall parfait in a pretty, decorative glass. He hums while adding a few lady fingers to the cream in the bottom, "Could make for a more interesting night."
While he finishes the top with some strawberries and blueberries, he hears the front door unlock and the bell ring.
Checking his watch, he chuckles. "Dead on the mark as always. Damn."
"Gallagher!"
Laughing again at the clear, regal voice ringing towards the kitchen, Gallagher swipes a spoon on his way out to the floor once more. At the bar stands the object of his disdain and desire both, garbed in a gray suit with a turtleneck, and looking quite pissed off, is the trust fund baby he's become entangled with.
"Evenin', angel," Gallagher greets him with a curt nod and sets the parfait on the counter. "How's the backstabbing business these days?"
The 'angel' rolls his eyes and waits for Gallagher to sit down before approaching him. He grimaces down at the man's thighs, covered by an apron, and silently orders him to remove the dirty, offending thing with a wave of his hand.
"Your throne awaits," Gallagher teases him and pats his leg, "and a treat with it for bein' such a well-behaved birdie lately. A sundae for my Sunday."
Sunday perches delicately upon Gallagher's left knee and crosses one leg over the other with effortless poise. "If only bad taste were currency. You'd be the richest man in the city."
"Aw, come on. Throw a tired, old dog a bone, eh?" Taking the parfait from the counter, Gallagher holds it out to the younger man and just shakes his head as Sunday glowers back at him. "You seriously expect me to...? D'ah, fine."
Smiling now, Sunday scoots a little closer to his chest and opens his mouth as Gallagher offers him the first bite topped with fruit. The barkeep knows better than to deny him anything, particularly his heart's desire, and what a good dog he's being tonight.
Too good.
"Wait, wait, wait," he mutters before the second spoonful can touch his pouty lips. "I'm being far too trusting of you. Thus, the next bite is all yours."
Gallagher shrugs and scoops a huge hunk of the parfait onto the spoon and wolfs it down in one gulp. He licks his lips clean in an unsavory display meant to make his beloved squirm and grins haphazardly back at him.
"See? No special ingredients."
Sunday squints at the parfait through the glass and sees that the cream has not curdled or any other telltale signs of drugs. Satisfied, he settles onto Gallagher's legs once more and clears his throat to signal that the plebian may continue to spoonfeed him.
"I'm glad that you've chosen to use fresh instead of frozen fruit this time," he remarks after the sixth or seventh bite. "The taste and texture are wholly different."
Gallagher nods. "About as different as a warm and cold body, if you catch my drift."
Sunday perks up a little and smiles at him. "Oh, did you find our wayward moneylender, then? I do hope you taught him a lesson and...sent a similar message to his colleagues about trying to cheat The Family out of what's ours."
"Signed, sealed and delivered by Yours Truly, angel," Gallagher says with a lazy smile and a snap of his fingers. "Course, I expect proper compensation for services rendered."
Huffing, Sunday leans over and pecks his cheek. "At a later date, perhaps. Be thankful that my family allows your disgusting dive to exist at all within our fair city."
With a sigh, the older man digs into the bottom of the glass to break up the lady fingers that he layered in earlier and offers it to Sunday with dollops of cream atop them.
"You said that last week, ya know."
Sunday nibbles on the last bit of the parfait to savor the taste as it slides down his throat and that's when he realizes too little too late; that sweet, delicate balance of flavor is off with the last few bites. He'd been too busy dodging Gallagher's attempts at flirting and those big hands on his waist to notice.
"You..." he starts in a desperate voice and clutches at the lapels of Gallagher's vest to steady himself. "Why, you sneaky son of a..."
"Language, princess, language," Gallagher playfully teases him and wraps a sturdy arm around his waist to support him. He tips Sunday's face up by the chin and stares into those pretty eyes of his as he continues, "You really left me no choice if ya think about it. Been askin' for weeks and you keep turning me down because you're so shy about everything still."
Sunday grits out through his teeth as the room starts to tilt and teeter around him, "I-I have a righteousness and a dignified image to...How could you possibly understand? You...Ugh."
Gallagher catches him as he slumps against his broad chest and groans. He runs his fingers through Sunday's soft, feathery hair and gently scratches his scalp to set him at ease.
"I'd never take advantage of you," he explains in a quiet voice. "Just wanted to get you alone for a night without your stooge bodyguards gettin' in the way of things."
Sunday knows what a stupid romantic his informant-turned-lover can be and the thought churns his stomach so much that it almost feels like butterflies.
"Relax. I didn't give you enough to leave a hangover when you wake up."
His head feels so fuzzy and Gallagher is so warm.
"That's it, angel. Drift off to Dreamland," coos the older man as Sunday finally slips into silent repose. He continues to pet the lad's head and starts peppering in little apologetic kisses in between all along Sunday's eyes and nose. "Shh..."
The front door opens suddenly and in walk the aforementioned stooges in search of their boss.
"Hey, what's going on in here?!"
Gallagher makes a face and grunts back at them, "I don't think that's your business, fellas. Angel is coming home with me tonight."
They look to their employer for confirmation only to find him out cold in Gallagher's arms. The taller of the two puffs his chest out menacingly and barks, "Unless he says so himself, we'll be taking him back to the manor ourselves, barkeep."
Not bothering to point out that the guy's legs are quaking, Gallagher stands with Sunday carefully tucked into his embrace and eyes the bodyguard from across the room with a pop of his neck.
"Really don't wanna muss up the place with any unnecessary gore," he says in a loud voice and frowns. "I doubt that your brains combined are enough to paint the entire wall anyhow. Gotta be consistent with the decor."
The smaller man claps a hand onto his friend's shoulder and regards Gallagher more cautiously, asking, "What time should we inform the young Mistress that he will be returning? She'll be...worried."
Gallagher hums while he thinks, "Some time tomorrow. Dunno when but you can assure Miss Robin that I'll have him back safely by nightfall."
"Come on," whispers the smaller bodyguard as he tugs on the bigger one's arm. "W-We'll hold you to your word, barkeep."
Gallagher nods. "Scout's Honor, fellas. No hard feelings, eh?"
They leave with grumbles and more hushed warnings between them. Once their car slowly pulls away from the curb and takes off, Gallagher breathes a sigh of relief. He walks Sunday through the back and towards the rear exit where his own jalopy of a car awaits.
"Maybe we can order out and watch a sappy movie?" he suggests to no one in particular. "I know how much you like those shitty romantic period pieces and how they get you all starry-eyed afterwards, huh Angel? You're so cute."
Sunday's breaths escape him in gentle and rhythmic rises of his chest. He looks positively adorable while sleeping so soundly and Gallagher prays that he gets to wake up in bed with that same beauty nuzzled up against his bare chest later on.
"I'll take good care of you tonight, sweetheart," he promises with a whisper and leans down to set Sunday comfortably in the backseat. Retrieving his coat from the passenger side, he drapes it over Sunday instead. "God, you look pretty just lying there. Heh."
Gallagher can't resist sliding his calloused fingertips along Sunday's cheek and his skin is just so damn soft. It's like stroking a feather and those lips are whole other experience, too. Softer than his cheek and so kissable. He tilts Sunday's face up just enough so that he can lean down and press a few kisses to them.
"I have no idea how you do it," he whispers into Sunday's hair and tucks the coat around his body, "but you're sexy while you're sleeping."
He leaves it at that and catches a strand of silver hair between his fingers to caress it before closing the back door shut. It isn't a long drive back to his apartment and the small amount of sedative that he slipped his birdie wouldn't last long, so time is of the essence.
Sunday whimpers when he starts to come to about an hour or so later and he rolls over to find himself on a familiar sofa with a coat covering him that smells heavily of tobacco.
Stupid, wretched hound, he thinks with a little shiver. Why does he have to complicate things for me?
"Hey, beautiful," comes a deep voice somewhere above him as his vision starts to clear and focus. Gallagher stands over him with a soft smile and a cigarette between his fingers. "Angry with me?"
Sunday purses his lips and pulls the coat tighter about his shoulders. "S-Shouldn't I be?"
"Are ya cold?" Gallagher asks with genuine concern as he kneels in front of Sunday and takes his hands into his own, cigarette caught between his teeth now. "Hm...Your hands are a little chilly. Here."
Tremors jerk through Sunday's core as his on-again, off-again lover blows his warm breath onto his hands in an attempt to warm him up. He tries to look away from the handsome man and spots the romantic dinner set out on the coffee table instead, pizza and wine with some kind of cheesecake, he assumes.
Lame, he muses, if it were anyone but Gallagher.
Man had a hold over him like no other, and as much as he hated it, he loved the big, dumb lummox even more.
"Gallagher," he finally says and assumes a haughty defensive to keep the proverbial beast in front of him at bay. "The next time you want to ask me on a date, simply do so. D-Don't drug me ever again or I will kill you."
Grinning, Gallagher lays the side of his face on one of Sunday's thighs and purrs, "Is that a promise, angel? Wouldn't mind biting the big one if it was by your hand."
Sunday rolls his eyes so far back into his head that he swears his optical nerves are gonna snap but he rewards his beast with a few caresses along his jaw, enjoying the scratchy texture of his stubble. He shyly urges Gallagher to lift his head so that he can lean down and kiss him at last. Bastard's tongue is rough as fuck from all the cigarettes he smokes but he knows how to put it to good use. He tastes like sugar and bourbon.
"D-Did you at least inform my sister of my whereabouts or did that slip your horny mind, too, when you decided to drug me?" he gasps after they pull away. "Stop laughing, you dolt! A-Answer me!"
Gallagher raises his hands in surrender. "Of course, I did. Can't have Miss Robin crying or anything. She's too sweet a gal to be treated that way."
Relieved, Sunday pats the spot on the sofa beside him and Gallagher dutifully sits down. The pizza is sliced and subsequently offered to him with a glass of white wine while Gallagher settles for a beer.
"Next time," he murmurs between nibbles of his pizza, "I get to select the menu."
Gallagher nods. "You have a more refined palate so I don't mind. Anything you choose will be good."
"This is..." Sunday hesitates and blushes well into his ears. "This is nice, though. Cozy, even."
Smiling, the barkeep pulls his angel closer with a huge arm around his shoulders and he chomps down on the piece of pizza offered to him.
"You like it? Really?"
Sunday smiles shyly and shrugs. "Shut up. You're interrupting Mr. Darcy."
Chuckling, Gallagher leans over to kiss Sunday's temple and plates a piece of cheesecake for when he wants it. He's also content to hold onto it until Sunday finishes with his pizza.
There are a thousand and one things that Sunday wishes he has the courage to say but his stubborn righteousness keeps his mouth clamped shut. He lets his actions say it for him by snuggling into Gallagher's side and letting the older man hold him close.
God, he thinks with another giggle, we really are pathetic.
Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail
Prompt: Parfait
Summary: As the Red Right Hand and Yes-Man of a powerful mafia family, Gallagher enjoys all kinds of perks like owning his bar without having to pay up or expect trouble...and secretly dating the eldest son who happens to be a haughty angel with intimacy issues.
The bar's last call of the night goes smoother than Gallagher expects it to and he closes down without a hitch. Security heads out even after he's still wiping down the counter and putting glasses away for tomorrow. Once they're all gone for sertain, he saunters to the back of the bar and to the kitchen for a midnight snack.
"Should I spike it?" he asks himself whil constructing the tall parfait in a pretty, decorative glass. He hums while adding a few lady fingers to the cream in the bottom, "Could make for a more interesting night."
While he finishes the top with some strawberries and blueberries, he hears the front door unlock and the bell ring.
Checking his watch, he chuckles. "Dead on the mark as always. Damn."
"Gallagher!"
Laughing again at the clear, regal voice ringing towards the kitchen, Gallagher swipes a spoon on his way out to the floor once more. At the bar stands the object of his disdain and desire both, garbed in a gray suit with a turtleneck, and looking quite pissed off, is the trust fund baby he's become entangled with.
"Evenin', angel," Gallagher greets him with a curt nod and sets the parfait on the counter. "How's the backstabbing business these days?"
The 'angel' rolls his eyes and waits for Gallagher to sit down before approaching him. He grimaces down at the man's thighs, covered by an apron, and silently orders him to remove the dirty, offending thing with a wave of his hand.
"Your throne awaits," Gallagher teases him and pats his leg, "and a treat with it for bein' such a well-behaved birdie lately. A sundae for my Sunday."
Sunday perches delicately upon Gallagher's left knee and crosses one leg over the other with effortless poise. "If only bad taste were currency. You'd be the richest man in the city."
"Aw, come on. Throw a tired, old dog a bone, eh?" Taking the parfait from the counter, Gallagher holds it out to the younger man and just shakes his head as Sunday glowers back at him. "You seriously expect me to...? D'ah, fine."
Smiling now, Sunday scoots a little closer to his chest and opens his mouth as Gallagher offers him the first bite topped with fruit. The barkeep knows better than to deny him anything, particularly his heart's desire, and what a good dog he's being tonight.
Too good.
"Wait, wait, wait," he mutters before the second spoonful can touch his pouty lips. "I'm being far too trusting of you. Thus, the next bite is all yours."
Gallagher shrugs and scoops a huge hunk of the parfait onto the spoon and wolfs it down in one gulp. He licks his lips clean in an unsavory display meant to make his beloved squirm and grins haphazardly back at him.
"See? No special ingredients."
Sunday squints at the parfait through the glass and sees that the cream has not curdled or any other telltale signs of drugs. Satisfied, he settles onto Gallagher's legs once more and clears his throat to signal that the plebian may continue to spoonfeed him.
"I'm glad that you've chosen to use fresh instead of frozen fruit this time," he remarks after the sixth or seventh bite. "The taste and texture are wholly different."
Gallagher nods. "About as different as a warm and cold body, if you catch my drift."
Sunday perks up a little and smiles at him. "Oh, did you find our wayward moneylender, then? I do hope you taught him a lesson and...sent a similar message to his colleagues about trying to cheat The Family out of what's ours."
"Signed, sealed and delivered by Yours Truly, angel," Gallagher says with a lazy smile and a snap of his fingers. "Course, I expect proper compensation for services rendered."
Huffing, Sunday leans over and pecks his cheek. "At a later date, perhaps. Be thankful that my family allows your disgusting dive to exist at all within our fair city."
With a sigh, the older man digs into the bottom of the glass to break up the lady fingers that he layered in earlier and offers it to Sunday with dollops of cream atop them.
"You said that last week, ya know."
Sunday nibbles on the last bit of the parfait to savor the taste as it slides down his throat and that's when he realizes too little too late; that sweet, delicate balance of flavor is off with the last few bites. He'd been too busy dodging Gallagher's attempts at flirting and those big hands on his waist to notice.
"You..." he starts in a desperate voice and clutches at the lapels of Gallagher's vest to steady himself. "Why, you sneaky son of a..."
"Language, princess, language," Gallagher playfully teases him and wraps a sturdy arm around his waist to support him. He tips Sunday's face up by the chin and stares into those pretty eyes of his as he continues, "You really left me no choice if ya think about it. Been askin' for weeks and you keep turning me down because you're so shy about everything still."
Sunday grits out through his teeth as the room starts to tilt and teeter around him, "I-I have a righteousness and a dignified image to...How could you possibly understand? You...Ugh."
Gallagher catches him as he slumps against his broad chest and groans. He runs his fingers through Sunday's soft, feathery hair and gently scratches his scalp to set him at ease.
"I'd never take advantage of you," he explains in a quiet voice. "Just wanted to get you alone for a night without your stooge bodyguards gettin' in the way of things."
Sunday knows what a stupid romantic his informant-turned-lover can be and the thought churns his stomach so much that it almost feels like butterflies.
"Relax. I didn't give you enough to leave a hangover when you wake up."
His head feels so fuzzy and Gallagher is so warm.
"That's it, angel. Drift off to Dreamland," coos the older man as Sunday finally slips into silent repose. He continues to pet the lad's head and starts peppering in little apologetic kisses in between all along Sunday's eyes and nose. "Shh..."
The front door opens suddenly and in walk the aforementioned stooges in search of their boss.
"Hey, what's going on in here?!"
Gallagher makes a face and grunts back at them, "I don't think that's your business, fellas. Angel is coming home with me tonight."
They look to their employer for confirmation only to find him out cold in Gallagher's arms. The taller of the two puffs his chest out menacingly and barks, "Unless he says so himself, we'll be taking him back to the manor ourselves, barkeep."
Not bothering to point out that the guy's legs are quaking, Gallagher stands with Sunday carefully tucked into his embrace and eyes the bodyguard from across the room with a pop of his neck.
"Really don't wanna muss up the place with any unnecessary gore," he says in a loud voice and frowns. "I doubt that your brains combined are enough to paint the entire wall anyhow. Gotta be consistent with the decor."
The smaller man claps a hand onto his friend's shoulder and regards Gallagher more cautiously, asking, "What time should we inform the young Mistress that he will be returning? She'll be...worried."
Gallagher hums while he thinks, "Some time tomorrow. Dunno when but you can assure Miss Robin that I'll have him back safely by nightfall."
"Come on," whispers the smaller bodyguard as he tugs on the bigger one's arm. "W-We'll hold you to your word, barkeep."
Gallagher nods. "Scout's Honor, fellas. No hard feelings, eh?"
They leave with grumbles and more hushed warnings between them. Once their car slowly pulls away from the curb and takes off, Gallagher breathes a sigh of relief. He walks Sunday through the back and towards the rear exit where his own jalopy of a car awaits.
"Maybe we can order out and watch a sappy movie?" he suggests to no one in particular. "I know how much you like those shitty romantic period pieces and how they get you all starry-eyed afterwards, huh Angel? You're so cute."
Sunday's breaths escape him in gentle and rhythmic rises of his chest. He looks positively adorable while sleeping so soundly and Gallagher prays that he gets to wake up in bed with that same beauty nuzzled up against his bare chest later on.
"I'll take good care of you tonight, sweetheart," he promises with a whisper and leans down to set Sunday comfortably in the backseat. Retrieving his coat from the passenger side, he drapes it over Sunday instead. "God, you look pretty just lying there. Heh."
Gallagher can't resist sliding his calloused fingertips along Sunday's cheek and his skin is just so damn soft. It's like stroking a feather and those lips are whole other experience, too. Softer than his cheek and so kissable. He tilts Sunday's face up just enough so that he can lean down and press a few kisses to them.
"I have no idea how you do it," he whispers into Sunday's hair and tucks the coat around his body, "but you're sexy while you're sleeping."
He leaves it at that and catches a strand of silver hair between his fingers to caress it before closing the back door shut. It isn't a long drive back to his apartment and the small amount of sedative that he slipped his birdie wouldn't last long, so time is of the essence.
Sunday whimpers when he starts to come to about an hour or so later and he rolls over to find himself on a familiar sofa with a coat covering him that smells heavily of tobacco.
Stupid, wretched hound, he thinks with a little shiver. Why does he have to complicate things for me?
"Hey, beautiful," comes a deep voice somewhere above him as his vision starts to clear and focus. Gallagher stands over him with a soft smile and a cigarette between his fingers. "Angry with me?"
Sunday purses his lips and pulls the coat tighter about his shoulders. "S-Shouldn't I be?"
"Are ya cold?" Gallagher asks with genuine concern as he kneels in front of Sunday and takes his hands into his own, cigarette caught between his teeth now. "Hm...Your hands are a little chilly. Here."
Tremors jerk through Sunday's core as his on-again, off-again lover blows his warm breath onto his hands in an attempt to warm him up. He tries to look away from the handsome man and spots the romantic dinner set out on the coffee table instead, pizza and wine with some kind of cheesecake, he assumes.
Lame, he muses, if it were anyone but Gallagher.
Man had a hold over him like no other, and as much as he hated it, he loved the big, dumb lummox even more.
"Gallagher," he finally says and assumes a haughty defensive to keep the proverbial beast in front of him at bay. "The next time you want to ask me on a date, simply do so. D-Don't drug me ever again or I will kill you."
Grinning, Gallagher lays the side of his face on one of Sunday's thighs and purrs, "Is that a promise, angel? Wouldn't mind biting the big one if it was by your hand."
Sunday rolls his eyes so far back into his head that he swears his optical nerves are gonna snap but he rewards his beast with a few caresses along his jaw, enjoying the scratchy texture of his stubble. He shyly urges Gallagher to lift his head so that he can lean down and kiss him at last. Bastard's tongue is rough as fuck from all the cigarettes he smokes but he knows how to put it to good use. He tastes like sugar and bourbon.
"D-Did you at least inform my sister of my whereabouts or did that slip your horny mind, too, when you decided to drug me?" he gasps after they pull away. "Stop laughing, you dolt! A-Answer me!"
Gallagher raises his hands in surrender. "Of course, I did. Can't have Miss Robin crying or anything. She's too sweet a gal to be treated that way."
Relieved, Sunday pats the spot on the sofa beside him and Gallagher dutifully sits down. The pizza is sliced and subsequently offered to him with a glass of white wine while Gallagher settles for a beer.
"Next time," he murmurs between nibbles of his pizza, "I get to select the menu."
Gallagher nods. "You have a more refined palate so I don't mind. Anything you choose will be good."
"This is..." Sunday hesitates and blushes well into his ears. "This is nice, though. Cozy, even."
Smiling, the barkeep pulls his angel closer with a huge arm around his shoulders and he chomps down on the piece of pizza offered to him.
"You like it? Really?"
Sunday smiles shyly and shrugs. "Shut up. You're interrupting Mr. Darcy."
Chuckling, Gallagher leans over to kiss Sunday's temple and plates a piece of cheesecake for when he wants it. He's also content to hold onto it until Sunday finishes with his pizza.
There are a thousand and one things that Sunday wishes he has the courage to say but his stubborn righteousness keeps his mouth clamped shut. He lets his actions say it for him by snuggling into Gallagher's side and letting the older man hold him close.
God, he thinks with another giggle, we really are pathetic.
