#don't mind the zuccini

[annie-of-my-eye]

I'm just here to open your eyes to the magnificence of this video and it's creator, wherever they are

[wonda-fhr]

A short Chargestep story. From tongs, zuccinis and other shenanigans. All he wanted to do was cook. No warnings needed. Except about too much fun.

Read here or on AO3

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Slowly, you have made good friends with your wheelchair. As the pain has eased and you can sit more comfortably, you have become more mobile with your vehicle. Even though you can't walk yet, the urge to be more active is growing every day.

Sitting at the table chopping vegetables while Ric rumbles in the kitchen does nothing to offset your activated exuberance. Your mood is good, you had a restful night in strong arms, and there is significantly less painkiller flowing through your veins than there has been since the accident. A melody comes to your lips, to which you automatically adapt your cutting rhythm. At least you keep your mind and hands busy.

The handling of pots and pans in the kitchen ends abruptly. But you only realize that Ortega is watching you when he crouches down next to you, resting his head and hands on the armrest of the wheelchair. You stop your humming and give way to a free smile that your listener returns immediately. You press a playful kiss to his forehead and look at him with sparkling eyes.

"If you sit here, we won't get anything to eat today."

"If you're here, chopping vegetables and humming happily, how can you expect me to stand in the kitchen?"

"Go away. Shoo! Shoo! Into the kitchen with you. If you're so easily distracted, I'll have to cook for myself soon."

"Oh, once I really start cooking, nothing will distract me. Not a chance." Infamous last words, you think as Ortega slips back into the kitchen, unable to see your diabolical grin. You continue humming your tune, slicing the last of the peppers and rolling with them into the kitchen.

You could just put the board down and roll back out. Or, of course, you could put the board on the other side of the hobby cook and roll so close to him that your shoulder brushes his butt. You get a quick "hey" and a sideways glance before Ortega turns his full attention back to his pans.

Your eyes scan the kitchen for useful items that might aid your mission. While you put the peppers away and the small knife in the dishwasher, three items end up next to you in the wheelchair, without your victim suspecting the slightest thing.

Completely unsuspecting, you place yourself with your back to the kitchen counter next to the busy master chef and decide to use the grill tong first. Ortega is wearing only a loose old shirt under his untied apron, both falling loosely from his belly and allowing you free access. You wait with your plan until he lifts the pan of onions to toss the contents expertly. Carefully, you slide the tong under his shirt, fishing for the small bumps on his chest.

A brief twitch tells you that your attack has been noticed, but his concentration remains on the pan. When the pan suddenly finds its way back to the stove with a loud bang, you know that you've hit the right spot this time, and you have to let out a giggle.

"Sneaky troublemaker, do you really want to put your food at risk with these shenanigans?" The amused evil look he gives you from above doesn't discourage you in any way. Now he's warned, which only increases the challenge and your ambition.

"I'm not risking anything, you're far too professional to get distracted, aren't you?"

This time you don't wait long, you pull out the wooden spoon and slide it sideways across his ribs and lower back. You see the muscles twitch, but Ortega keeps stirring in the pan, ignoring you stoically.

You let the spoon explore his back some more while you take a close look at the position of his pants. Without interrupting the gentle strokes on his back, you turn the wooden spoon in your hand so that the handle is free. Once again, the spoon wanders around the sensitive area around the ports between his shoulder blades before you sink the handle deep into his pants between his cheeks.

"¡Dios mío! Now you're overdoing it."

This time he turns to you, hands on his hips, glaring down at you. Now you're facing him head-on, just as you planned. Without justifying yourself, your hand darts forward, presses the zucchini against his crotch, and begins to rub with light pressure. The moment he blinks for far too long is your confirmation that you have him completely off-balance. You know his defeat is certain when you hear his almost suppressed but far too sharp breathing.

He supports himself with one hand on the stove and pulls his hips back to escape your vegetable attack. Just as he meets your gaze and opens his mouth to say something, you take your helpful toy and slowly slide your tongue around the tip of the zucchini. Ric doesn't close his mouth again, no word escapes his lips as he stares at you as if mesmerized.

A slight narrowing of his eyes warns you early enough that it's time to make your escape. Laughing, you give up on the spoiled vegetable and quickly roll past Ric and out of the kitchen. He has already guessed that you want to run away and is on your heels faster than you can escape from him.

You only make it a few feet out of the kitchen and into the living room when a strong tug on the wheelchair causes you to lurch forward for a moment before you are tipped way too far back. With both hands, Ric tilts the wheelchair far enough that you are almost horizontal underneath him.

"I've got you under my control now, troublemaker." He leans over you and kisses you deeply. You enjoy him on top of you. How the beard on his chin tickles your nose and his tongue explores you in a whole new way in this unfamiliar position. You let him take control of this kiss all by himself. But he cannot control your hands. You slide them under his shirt until you can squeeze his nipples between your fingers on either side.

His sudden heavy breathing interrupts the kiss briefly, giving you a moment to deliver a whispered message. "Are you sure you're in control here?"

"What the hell is wrong with you today? I'm about to drop you. What have you done to my lovely, reserved David?" Now he's looking you straight in the eye, still bent over you, but smiling curiously.

"You broke him yourself by making it clear to him that you don't mind orange paint. Now I don't have to restrain myself to make sure you keep your hands off me."

"Ten cuidado, querido. I'm getting addicted to your happy you."

"That's my master plan." You grin mischievously, it's time for you to take back the control. He wouldn't drop you, not even when you pull his head down with both hands. First you kiss his forehead, then his eyes, his cheeks, and finally you get his lower lip between your teeth. You tease his lips a little more with your tongue before pushing him away a little to meet his eyes lovingly. "I guess you burned the onions, love."

He manages to get the wheelchair and you upright before jumping cursingly into the kitchen, leaving you laughing in the living room.