crescentview | a catchall through the end: fall and winter

[ Judging only by the look in Kaspar's warm and drifting gaze, Steinbeck might as well be dressed just as formally. This suited him, his pleased expression says, as one hand escapes the rough hand over his. Warmed sunlight against his own skin, chilled by autumn, heats his face like a summer afternoon. The kind that bleeds across hours, tangled limbs, and calm pools; letting the scent of summer hang between them.

Kaspar's look is subtle as usual, naturally so, as his escaped hand reaches for Steinbeck's bouquet hand in turn. Eyelids dropping halfway, he leans in to guide both flowers and man smoothly a measure closer. Kaspar pauses to inhale, hand remaining in Steinbeck's turning in his hold to thread their fingers. Appreciation, seen only by those close enough to find it beneath white blond lashes in light grey pools pouring over petals.

His exhale is a pleased sound, moving to work his fingers alongside the other man's and ease the flowers from his grasp so he can dip to press his lips briefly to Steinbeck's cheek. That does nothing to help his flush, calm as he is in accepting its warmth on his face.

Softly, he admits with a small smile. ]

... I did.

[ He turns, then, playfully hiding his smile behind his flowers, to face their destination. A lean towards him, one hand still in his, Kaspar's wet eyes linger off in the ocean and his mouth speaks into the minature garden clutched at his chest. ]

Did you pick these?

[Kaspar may not say anything about his looks, but the expression on his face, paired with that wonderful dusting of color over his cheeks like red pollen against bright petals, is enough to say it for him. Its something new to Steinbeck - he's never thought of his own looks like that, more accustomed to people seeing the round cheeks and bright eyes and calling him cute.]

[His fingers interlace with Kaspar easily, standing obediently as the other leans up to kiss his cheek - he lets out a light huff of a laugh, charmed. The flowers in his hand are easily taken, a wild bundle of flowers seen here and there in the forest and along the farms. Nothing too grand, but a bouquet nevertheless.]

Yeah, I sure did. I hope you like them. I think flowers suit you.

[He says, grinning, as he swings their conjoined hands a little.]

Are you excited for the date?

[ Cute is a thought too, but it feels too limiting a word after everything between them. A paragraph would barely do justice for his well of emotions and thoughts on Steinbeck's appearance, a manifestation of the soul and the depth beneath round cheeks and bright eyes. Far too many expressions to keep Steinbeck's roots confined to a single pot. There are still too many people lingering, lowering Kaspar's voice and reducing his words. Not that Kaspar is much for them when others are around.

So, he makes another soft, pleased sound. Instead of words, he nods instead. To which sentence of Steinbeck's? Probably both.

Blinking his eyes dry at the swing of their hands, he is already taking a step towards the ship when he glances warmly back to him. Using their intertwined fingers as leverage, letting their connection stretch if Steinbeck delays, he takes some more. But he has no intention of losing his grip on him. Kaspar's palm is too warm, well after his flush starts to fade yet refuses to fully die.

With a tilt of his head-- ]

What first?

[Kaspar's hand feels so firm in his - its a nice reminder that this, all of this, isn't just some dream concocted for him in some weary break from a road trip. The man is here, and they'll enjoy themselves for the day. Its something Steinbeck wants to linger on for a good long while, until bittersweet reality pokes its dark little sprout through the soil.]

[Happy with the answer, he keeps his grip firm and reassuring as he walks along, ignoring everyone else.]

Food first, I think! I heard they've got some good stuff to offer.

[And he isn't wrong - after they make their way to the buffet, and Steinbeck has only broken his grip momentarily just to pile his plate high before waiting for Kaspar to do the same. After that, he'll gladly take them to a table, before beaming over at him, warm as anything.]

I didn't expect this much! I think I could eat enough for several days.

[Which seems like a casual comment, but there's a little bittersweetness to it, all the same.]

[ Kaspar's hand remains warm in Steinbeck's, warmer still when he steps closer and his free hand joins the first. Though eventually it seeks to rest up his arm comfortably as they go. There is a warm relief, in being able to dull the feeling of eyes as if Steinbeck's were the pair on him.

The smell of food is the first thing to draw his gaze away, to unwind his hold and loose his fingers in favor of grabbing a plate. There are so many things that catch his eye, but he pauses at the food from his home in all of its pale and slimy glory nestled among moss garnishes and displayed on platters.

His plate is simple, one eyeless, worm like fish a half moon filled in with the vibrant colors of whatever else caught his eye. Smaller portions, no piling, but no judgment as he lets Steinbeck guide him to their table.

From beneath it, at the bittersweetness, Kaspar extends his foot to try and gently nudge his date's. Leaving it there to rest against him, Kaspar leans over to ask about one section of Steinbeck's pile. ]

... what is that?

[Steinbeck's not picky - of course he's got some stuff from home, with some sort of casserole and pie and other things, in addition to a whole bunch else he doesn't know - but he's eying the other's plate with interest. Its definitely nothing quite like what he's seen before, and he glances between it and Kaspar's face a little curiously.]

[The other beats him to the punch, though, and he colors a light pink at the nudge. The bittersweetnes abates a little, like a reversing tide, and he picks up a little spoonful of the mashed potatoes to offer to the man.]

Its potatoes. You ever had some? [And now, a nudge in return, like a little answer.] They're real good, especially with butter and gravy.

[ Kaspar takes the offered bite without hesitation, and without taking the spoon into his own hand first. There is no shame in being fed or in closing his eyes to happily consider the taste of it.

The nudge blinks his eyes open for a quiet response. Actually, he isn't sure if he's had them, but he nods slowly anyway. ]

... They're very good.

[ In return, Kaspar slices a piece of his white fish, offering a piece of its white belly speared on a fork. It has the rubbery looking inside, taste, and consistency of scallops in clear water. Only the filmy skin is far more slimy and adds a hint of mineral and moss. ]

... Fae fish. It is, good with many things.

Edited (Work tagging, man dhfh) 2023-02-10 13:30 (UTC)

Mm.

[He'll do the same, simply leaning over to take it into his mouth, giving it a few thoughtful chews before swallowing. It reminds him of a river, somehow, something keen and natural to the taste, unfiltered from the touch of human hands.]

Its nice! [A little hum, as he reaches over with his own fork to take another piece.] Did you catch them a lot at home?

...

[ Kaspar nods, letting Steinbeck steal a piece without moving back. It is pleasant, the closeness, and he can almost still pretend they are the only two people in the universe.

But the questions pulls his gaze back the poor eyeless fish. A distant look passes, supplanted by warmth. ]

... my father did. He would mail them sometimes, pickled.

[ With that, he takes another bite and quiets himself as the brief wave of nostalgia crashes and he moves on to steal a piece of his own from Steinbeck's plate.

By his movement, it is sort of clear he does not know what he is putting in his mouth. ]

[He notices the distant look, his eyes narrowing ever slightly with a tinge of concern welling up in his eyes - maybe its the closeness, the heat of the food, the atmosphere, but he almost has an urge to pull the man close. He doesn't act on it, but he doesn't pull out of the personal bubble either.]

Pickled fish. That's a thought. [And he feels Kaspar leaning in - the next urge he doesn't ignore, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the side of his mouth.] Haha, careful with that one. It's pepper steak. Might be spicy.

[ Kaspar is in the mood to relish the invasion of his personal bubble, at least by Steinbeck. His eyes, the only ones that matter, and Kaspar is so lost in his stealthy bite stealing that the kiss has him blink and almost laugh right into into it. It is soft and breathy under a warmed gaze, just before he pops the steak into his mouth. The warning leaves the other man, but it wouldn't have stopped his curiosity anyway.

Ah.

He has somehow avoided anything this spicy before. Kaspar eats it, letting it linger like he does with most new foods. But his face heats red and his expression fights against caving in to his slightly watery eyes and pin pricked tongue. The sound he makes when he swallows isn't as pitiful as a whimper, and not as high pitched as a whine. Mild distress, stifled in his slightly heated throat. It is a sound no one has heard from him before, and quiet as it is, Steinbeck remains the only witness.

Now he really doesn't want to talk. Even when amusement blurs the edges. Like the pain of laughing too much or being tickled too mercilessly. ]

Edited (Phone.... ) 2023-02-10 22:16 (UTC)

Oh my...oh my god.

[Sorry, his eyes are crinkling in sheer amusement as he sees the spice hit, and it makes him endeared all the more. Kaspar, sensitive to spice? More likely than you think!]

Here, here, drink water! Come on! [Because as much as he's trying not to laugh, he doesn't want Kaspar to choke, either, reaching for a glass to offer to him. His other hand goes to pat the other on the back, lightly.] Breathe, Kaspar, breathe-!

[ Kaspar takes the glass and a very long drink, tipping his head back. Whether it was Steinbeck's or his, it is empty by the time he sets it down again. Cool relief is temporary, but the lingering warmth spread by his drink is bearable.

Eyes still watery, Kaspar reaches for another bite of pepper steak. But with a smile he offers it to Steinbeck's lips instead. His eyes linger on them. ]

a catchall through the end: fall and winter

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