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Blood and Chocolate	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 15 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Based on my own predilections or not, this is still a work of fiction. by the way, you will get hungry reading this. Just, just just trust me on this.

Chapter List
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There was quite a bit of orange chicken and fried rice there on the table, a lot more than I had been suspecting before. I knew there was no way that Alex would be able to eat more than one helping, especially since he fretted over his own figure like a desperate supermodel before a pageant. It was oddly hilarious, but also made my heart sink when I thought about it. The poor boy obsessed over his own figure, complete with insecurities and everything.
And yet, I knew that I had cracked some sort of code with him, however: he had this look in his eyes once he laid them over the chicken and the rice, this bright little twinkle to those baby blue irises, as if he was a kid at Christmas.
Chuck handed the both of us a plate each, and we were both eager to serve ourselves some of that food, one right after the other.
There had to be a way, though: there had to be something that would make Alex eat more than he could usually handle. I knew that he could, too, especially since it seemed so obvious to me.
I took my seat at the little table right outside of the kitchen first, and then Chuck followed suit right next to me. Alex set down his plate right next to me, and then he doubled back out of there for something. I leaned back in the chair to wait for him, but he seemed to take a bit longer than anticipated. I thought of the way his skin felt underneath my fingertips: I thought of the shape of his body, the way that he smelled, and most of all, I thought about that slight, little curve underneath his belly button, as if he warranted the softest, most tender of kisses there later in the evening, perhaps right after dinner if I was feeling up to the deed.
I sipped on my glass of water and part of me wanted a beer for myself and for Chuck, who also sat there in anticipation of him, but he never returned to the table after five minutes.
“Alex, your dinner’s getting cold,” Chuck called out of the doorway.
He then said something, with that big voice of his floating through the kitchen doorway as if it was the voice of a spirit rather than of a young man.
“What did he say?” Chuck asked me, and I shook my head.
Alex then stepped into the doorway with his little red guitar pressed up to his body, as if to protect him from our wandering eyes onto his little belly. A part of me wanted to roll my eyes at that, but alas, I could not: not with Chuck right there. He then let out a soft little snicker.
“What’re you doing?” he asked Alex in a lower tone of voice.
“What’s it look like?” he retorted back with a straight face, completely unfazed by it. “I'm bringing my guitar to dinner because I—sort of thought of something.”
“You thought of something?” I asked him with a little bow of my head as if to show surprise. In a way, I was, especially since I was in no mood to think of any riffs: I would rather get down to brass tacks with the plate of dinner before me as well as that little belly behind the guitar body. He never let go of the guitar neck as he slid into the chair to my left, and all the while, he kept his gaze locked onto mine, as if he was trying to climb inside of my head as well.
“Yeah, it just kinda—fell into my head when we were—” He cleared his throat. “—in the back room there, Eric. It was something that I had to transcribe almost immediately.”
“Well, let’s hear it,” Chuck insisted: he nudged the plate out of the way and then he folded his hands over the top of the table, and nothing could deny the look of true, genuine interest on his face. I held still as Alex strummed the guitar for us: even with it being unplugged, I could tell where he was going with it, and I knew that I needed to add a little sauce of my own to it once all was said and done.
“I like it, it’s kind of—Zeppelin-ish,” Chuck said with a nod of his head. “Even with those metallic strings and without a shred of electricity through them.”
“I don’t really have a title for it as of yet,” Alex confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.
“That’s okay,” I promised him with a shake of my head. “We’ll worry about that later on.” I flashed him a wink, and he returned the favor with a little smirk on his face. He then reached around the guitar neck for his fork, and he picked up a bite of rice for himself. He took a little nibble of the rice and made a face.
“What’s the matter?” Chuck asked him.
“Eric, could you do me a solid and heat up my food for me, please? I don’t really wanna get up again.”
“Uh, yeah, I can do that.” I picked up his plate and bowed into the kitchen, towards the microwave and the cupboard up above the countertop there. As his plate heated up, I took a glimpse over my shoulder to ensure that they weren’t paying any attention to me: indeed, Chuck was more focused on Alex’s playing than anything else. And as a result, I returned to the cupboard to the left of me, and I opened it up to reveal the little jars of spices and the one of sugar right there right in front of me.
I took the plate out of the microwave with one second to spare on the timer, and I blew on the surface because I knew it was too hot.
It was this golden opportunity that I never really saw coming. I picked up a pinch of sugar from the jar and sprinkled it across his orange chicken, and it dissolved into that orange sauce almost immediately. I then followed it up with a bit of Chinese five spice for his fried rice, which I knew for a fact had plenty of spices to begin with. Quickly, I put the jars back into the cupboard, and I bowed back out to the table there by the doorway. Alex set down the guitar next to him once I stepped into the room, and he mouthed “thank you” to me. I sat back down and dug in myself.
Indeed, it was rather delicious chicken, and the rice was spectacular, and given there was plenty for all of us, Chuck and I helped ourselves to more of both. But the big question was, would my gamble with the sugar and the spice and everything nice work on Alex. It was an absolute gamble once I really thought about it as I served up a second helping for myself.
He did in fact clean his plate, after all, and much to my surprise: another thing that surprised me was how he seemed rather relaxed there at the table, even if he seemed so adamant about hiding the middle of his body from us.
Maybe I did do something right by him in that back room, and maybe it was working.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he had finished that first helping of chicken and rice. His eyes hooded a bit, as if he was more than content with that one helping. And yet he remained in an upright position with his stomach pressed up against the edge of the table, as if he was about to get up and take his plate into the kitchen, which would have been very interesting to witness before us: usually, when we ate in the space like that, we would let the cleaning staff do our dishes for us, and they were happy to oblige as well.
Or maybe it was that tiny roll around his waist: I knew that when I started to get heavy myself, I wanted to eat more, just out of the nature of it all. But it was only a few pounds on his waist, however: hardly a difference.
He drummed his fingers on the top of the table, right next to the edge of the plate, and then he picked up the plate and took it into the kitchen. Once he was out of our sight, Chuck turned to me with his eyebrows raised.
“That’s new,” he remarked to me in a low voice.
“I know, right?” The best thing I could do was just go with it as if nothing significant happened. I kept on eating as Alex returned to the table with a second helping.
“You never get seconds,” Chuck said to him.
“It’s really good tonight,” he told us with a little smirk on his face. “A little too good, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, I'll say.” I kept on going along with it, but I wondered if he could see through it, however. The boy was smart, and he was able to slice through any sort of nonsense like a little white lie or the nonchalant expression on my face.
He was able to finish about half of both things in the end, and I knew that it was more than enough for him. At that point, it was just me and him there at the table: Chuck had gone into the next room with Greg to chat about something. Alex pushed the plate away from him and then he leaned back in the chair: from underneath his shirt, I caught a little glimpse of that roll around his waist, the tiniest little bump around his waist, and yet I could tell that he was full, more than full once I really looked at his little body.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I started it off.
“How did you do that?” he asked me in a hushed voice, to which I shrugged.
“Do what?”
“That thing you did. That thing you did that got me to have a second helping... and yet, I was unable to finish it at all.”
“Just a little bit of sugar added to the chicken,” I replied. “Plus, a bit more of those five spices to your helpings of rice.”
“Wow. I had—no idea we had spices in here.”
“I didn’t, either!” I said with a slight chuckle. “Not bad, huh?”
“Not bad? Eric, I made a pig of myself just now.”
“So?” I asked.
“So? I ate too much. I'm definitely feeling it right now.”
“I did it to make you eat more,” I told him. “I could rub your belly if you’d like.”
He snickered at that.
“What?” I asked him, puzzled, and he shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“No, what is it?” I insisted.
“Just...” He closed his eyes and chuckled. “It’s just the thought of you rubbing my belly is all. It's kind of funny when I think about it.”
“What’s so funny about it?” I asked him. “You have a really full tummy so the best way to digest it all is to give it a little assistance. It helps me when I know I've eaten too much, and when I have a stomachache.”
He then opened his eyes, and he peered over his shoulder for a look back at the doorway behind him. His guitar was still leaned up against the side of the table, still ready to play even with no amp around him. He then returned to me with a look of determination on his face.
“Not with Chuck and Greg nearby,” he said in a low voice. I raised my eyebrows at that.
“Where do you want to go?” I asked him.
“No clue,” he confessed. “Somewhere where we can be alone. You and me. Without any distractions.”
At the end of the day, he was the one in charge after all.
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Blood and Chocolate