cooking duties, a modern au Enjolras x Éponine drabble. just a teeny tiny drabble with surprise smut at the end. that's all.

Neither of them really enjoy cooking. Food is a necessity, not an indulgence. Meals are usually eaten over a book or in bed, with Enjolras constantly complaining about the crumbs all over the sheets. In between meetings and during those television shows that Éponine insists he be at home to watch with her.

Enjolras is a consistent cook, if anything. He'll crack open a cookbook and follow every single instruction to the letter. The penne will come off at 12 minutes exactly. There will be three teaspoons of fresh thyme in the marinara sauce and not a single leaf more.

In that sense, Éponine would say that Enjolras was decent cook. Everything turned out exactly like one would assume. Never worse, never better. Decent.

And he would somehow manage to get most of the dishes clean before even finishing. Before a fork would ever pass over a plate, every wooden spoon and salt shaker would be wiped down and tucked back into place.

It was Éponine who was the wildcard. Recipes were mere suggestion and she generally ate more food while she cooked than she ever managed to serve. Fine sprays and heavy swatches of sauce would be painted across the walls, puddles of milk and olive oil littered on every countertop.

"I cook by feel," she would explain to him. "The food tells me when it's done."

And he'd mutter back: "Maybe that's why your zucchini always turns into mush."

If an extra ounce of chicken stock finds its way into the soup, so be it. She'll just throw in some flour to thicken it up. Did the sausage get a little burnt? No big. Just scrape off the black parts and throw it in the gravy. Cheese and butter make a good substitute for milk, right?

As a result, every meal that Éponine cooks is either absolutely amazing or amazingly awful. And she always, always manages to sweet talk Enjolras into cleaning up the disaster she leaves behind.

But when they cooked together, well, that was always the biggest disaster of all.

They would begin with the best of intentions, but then Éponine would 'accidentally' sling the red wine vinegar on Enjolras' favorite nice shirt. And then when he would come back from the washroom, she would be pan-frying the vegetables with no pants on.

"It's hot in here. Too many burners on."

Or he would demand that she tie up her hair and then get completely lost in the delicate way her neck meets her jawline.

In any case, it would end with him bending her over the kitchen island, trailing his skillful fingers down her spine, taking her from behind until his legs were shaking and she was screaming his name and the balsamic vinaigrette had boiled into a tar.

Then he would lift her up onto the counter and use those skillful fingers to bring her to peak while ordering in their favorite Chinese take-out.

Which wasn't so much of a disaster, if you think about it.