When You're Ready

[robinauts]

Title: When You're Ready
Fandom: The Adventure Zone
Pairing: Taako/Kravitz
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,538
Summary: Of all the places for him to realize it, it's a god damn grocery store. (Taako makes dinner and is happy.)

Notes: Originally posted to my AO3 1/17/2017. See more detailed notes at the end!


-

Of all the places for him to realize it, it’s a god damn grocery store.

The grocery store in particular is the Stater Brothers right by Taako’s house, the one he usually buys all his food from. Kravitz has been there approximately twenty million times for an assortment of reasons (usually because he's accompanying Taako, or because Taako has ordered him to fetch something, and once or twice because Taako’s shit car wouldn’t start and he was stranded in the parking lot with six cartons of walnut swirl ice cream that had cost Merle an arm and a leg. That had been an interesting evening, but at least one with non-liquified snacks). The reason this time is what is gonna be the absolute best broccoli quiche to ever touch this shit earth - this shit wet earth, because it is raining like nothing else. The five minute journey to the good old Stater Bros had been hazardous, both in terms of people forgetting how to drive and that Taako’s hair has deflated. Horrible.

Since he’s the one who’s in control of this broccoli quiche, Taako’s in charge of gathering the finest of ingredients. And sure, he’ll admit he’s been darting around from refrigerator to aisle to a different side of the store and should probably, like, let Kravitz keep up since he’s the one handling the grocery cart and having to navigate around the commonfolk. He'd almost waited by the produce as Kravitz edged around some poor man with three screaming children, but he needs the real good mozzarella in the back fridge and he doesn’t feel like waiting. He always returns to him to drop off his prizes, anyway, so Taako definitely has the leg up on that potential argument. But Kravitz never starts that much shit over petty stuff. The dude knows how to be chill.

As he’s peering at the labels of two different brands of cheese, trying to figure out which is worth his money and (more importantly) his cooking skill, the metal grate of the shopping cart brushes up against his hip. He flicks over a glance to see Kravitz lift up the back wheels and scoot it against the refrigerator case, getting it just a bit more out of the aisle.

Taako can’t help but let out a snort at this tiny act of conscientiousness that he never would have done, are you kidding? Who gives a shit, people can like, swerve around the inch or two their cart juts out. Not his problem. But Kravitz does his best to be polite to strangers, and it’s… tolerable. It’s not Magnus, who always wants to know the Wendy’s cashier’s life story (because oh my god they are just getting a burger can you chill for like a second with the making friends shit), and it’s not Merle, who will go up to any poor minimum wage worker to interrogate them about whether their produce is genetically modified (that’s not even how that shit works, please stop believing every article in your new age magazines that says they’re putting frog semen in cantaloupes to make them more orange). Kravitz - again - knows how to be chill. He’s also just generally chill. Chilly. The guy needs at least ten blankets to stay room temperature.

Taako decides to get the more expensive mozzarella (it costs that much for a reason, right? probably) and sticks it in the kid seat with the eggs and some other squishy stuff. Kravitz examines the price tag and pulls something of a face. “Not to limit your culinary vision,” he says, leaning on the handlebars of the cart, “But are you paying for this or am I?”

“Well,” Taako hums, “Who pays for the meal - the chef or the guy who eats it? Can’t have a dine-and-dash on my hands, now can I?” He starts walking down the relatively uncrowded aisle adjacent to the butcher’s counter, even though a broccoli quiche doesn’t really need chicken breast. He likes to window shop, what can he say. If Kravitz and the cart can keep up with him this way? All the better. Taako has a certain reputation with these butchers that has them stuttering out niceties, giving him the best cuts of meat, and shitting their pants - having some tall-dark-and-handsome arm candy adds to his already substantial fear factor.

“You’re not going to eat your own quiche?” Kravitz replies, dodging around a lady with a yowling infant in tow. “You’re just going to lurk over my shoulder and exile me to the couch if I say a word against it?”

“The ideal date,” Taako says. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went on Cutthroat Kitchen? That’s how I lasted two rounds with like fifty sabotages.”

Kravitz laughs. It’s vain (not that Taako is ashamed of his vanity - he embraces it, because he is so right), but one of the things he likes about Kravitz is that he laughs at his jokes but doesn’t make a big deal about them. And he can play along, so Taako gets to hear gems like, “You threatened Alton Brown with blue balls? Should I be worried?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Taako replies. “He’s a total otter. And those Good Eats dollars should keep me fat and happy long after I order his death and take his riches all for myself.”

“Well, now I’m worried for a different reason,” Kravitz says dryly. He probably would have continued to shame Taako for his glorious ambitions, had he not clipped a chips display with the cart and sent several party-sized bags of Doritos flying across the aisle. Kravitz’s eyes pop out a little and he scrambles to pick them all up, muttering apologies at randos who have to jerk to a halt or suddenly dodge him in his Dorito-saving crusade.

Taako sighs, rolls his eyes, and deigns to bend down and pick up a bag. He doesn’t exactly enjoy seeing the man who gives it to him good (so good) every weekend acting like an idiot, and would rather this be over as fast as possible. And he remembers his days as a day laborer at a miserable Ralph’s picking up after shitheads who weren't as nice and smart and hot as Kravitz is so like, yeah, it’s the courteous thing to do. Whatever. It’s one decision he’s making at this moment because he feels like it - he’s totally going to be rude to the next pedestrian that wants to cross the road before him. Get a car, idiot. Who even likes walking.

Still, the grateful look Kravitz gives him when he returns with his arms full of Doritos is worth the indignity of being nice. Taako even helps him put all the bags back into place, because he’s the best boyfriend ever, basically. “They really should’ve set that up more securely, I barely brushed it,” Kravitz mutters into his ear, and it isn’t even really a joke but Taako laughs quietly anyway. Kravitz gives him this lopsided little smile with a fond look in his eyes and brushes a hand through Taako’s hair (like he always does when he wants to express affection without making a scene), then settles back behind the handlebar of the cart and looks to him expectantly.

Taako feels something both light and heavy in his chest do a slow, easy turn. Something that feels like it’s been settled there for a while, something that’s been growing for the last seven months.

Oh.

As he leads Kravitz to the canned foods aisle, chatting on autopilot about his (correct and true) opinions vis à vis Dorito flavors, Taako engages in one of his least favorite activities: self-reflection.

He’s always known he’s slow to warm up to people, because people usually aren’t that interesting or cool or deserving of his time and attention. It takes some effort to get over that first hurdle; it takes even longer to get him to like, do that opening up shit -

(although something about Kravitz made him speed through that level, and though Taako likes to say it was his cheekbones, it wasn’t - it was probably the way Kravitz too had layers and walls that Taako always seemed to be allowed past; how Kravitz gradually showed him the softer more private parts of himself until now Taako knows him as this goofy dweeb who drinks too much coffee, and writes so many amazing songs on his old guitar but doesn't let anyone but his mom and Taako listen, and is lactose intolerant, and dissociates so severely he can forget he’s alive and who Taako is, and will eat anything Taako cooks for him unless it has onions in it, and, and, and)

- and then even longer to get to, well, the big bad word.

It’s like his whole schtick: Taako hangs back, especially emotionally. He doesn’t want to say something stupid and vulnerable and incorrect before he’s sure. Sure that it’ll be reciprocated, sure that he isn’t making a huge mistake (never fucking again), sure that he himself is sure.

On all three accounts, he realizes - well, maybe not realizes, but acknowledges - that he’s sure. Pretty damn sure. He doesn’t know if this makes him feel dread, irritation, or something stupid and swoopy and shaky that makes him feel giddy and fifteen years old. Probably the last one, but a guy can dream.

When they’re at the checkout, he bats his eyelashes at his beau and pointedly doesn't fish out his wallet. Kravitz gives a sigh for show, then swipes his card. “I call dibs on giving my membership info though,” Kravitz tells him and then quickly rattles off his phone number to the amused cashier before Taako can do anything - if he gave a shit. He doesn't, so he gives his own beleaguered sigh and waves his hand in a go ahead motion then resumes putting quiche ingredients on the conveyor. Kravitz can save those precious cents since he’s paying for Taako’s fancy cheese (and Stater Bros owes it to the guy after he cleaned up the fallout of their flimsy display design).

The quiche turns out to be absolutely choice (duh) and after dinner they make out on the couch for like a half hour. It’s awesome. But the weather is supposed to get even worse and Kravitz has work the next morning, so he pulls himself away and gathers his things with this look of total bereavement. After they have the standard goodbye kiss, Kravitz tells him, “I’ll let you know when I get home, okay?”

Taako finds he doesn’t want to give his usual response of why bother, you drive fine, if you wake me up I’ll block your number, because. He doesn’t want to, alright? It doesn’t feel appropriate after today’s batch of super gay thoughts and all that shit. So instead he leans up on his toes (mmmm, tall boyfriend, still very good) and gives him a kiss on the cheek and a shove on the shoulder and says, “You fuckin’ better, babe, don’t let some grandma who doesn’t know how to use her windshield wipers take your hot bod away from me.”

Kravitz considers this change in script for a second with a look Taako can't totally understand but is fairly certain is good, then smiles and leans down to kiss him back. “I’ll miss you.”

For a moment Taako wants to say something bigger than miss you too, something he realized today that he could say and probably totally mean, but. He doesn’t think he can just yet. He needs some time, he needs a better moment, and he needs to grow comfortable with that big heavy emotion. He’ll express it at his own pace and on his own terms.

And he knows that Kravitz will let him take the time he needs, because he’s content to just be with him and make him as happy as he can. It’s one of those stupid qualities that made him feel this way in the first place, that caused him to let Kravitz stick around for the past seven months, and that resulted in him finding that he can’t complain about this situation in the slightest, because he feels the same way towards him.

So he says, “Well, you better dream about me then, handsome.” And Kravitz laughs, says goodbye again, then tears himself away from lingering and goes out into the freezing wet hell that is the walk between Taako’s front door and Kravitz’s parked car. Usually Taako slams the door immediately because holy fuck shit god damn piss fuck hell it’s cold outside fuck winter fuck rain fuck fuck fuck, but today he watches Kravitz buckle up and put the car in reverse. When Kravitz notices him still in the door frame he gives a big wave, and Taako shakes his head as a smile forces its way onto his face. As Kravitz pulls away from the curb Taako dramatically blows a kiss, and then grins even harder when Kravitz catches it and presses his hand to his mouth in order to fully receive it. What a dweeb.

When Kravitz turns the corner, Taako retreats back inside and washes his face, brushes his teeth, takes his meds, and crawls under the covers. For approximately the zillionth time in the last seven months, the bed feels too empty with just him in it - Kravitz has really wormed his way into his life, huh.

He involuntarily smiles. Since he’s by himself, it’s pretty late, and -

( - and he’s in love, and he’s so happy to be in love, and he’s so comfortable and secure and safe, and he trusts him so much, and it’s good and he's in love -)

- And he isn’t that emotionally constipated, he’ll let it slide for now.

He ends up lying awake for long enough that he just so happens to hear the buzz of his phone. The text reads, Made it home safe. Have you taken your meds?

Yeah after I brushed my teeth

Five different varieties of heart emojis.

You’re so gay

Better than the alternative. I’ve gotta go to sleep now, don’t stay up too late.

Yeah yeah yeah. U should dream about me in that little red dress from last Friday

I was planning on dreaming about us on a picnic, but that works too.

Sleep you big gay idiot

Every variety of heart emoji, as well as all the flower emojis.

-

(Of all the times for him to say it, it’s while they’re watching The god damn Bachelor.)

“God, I can’t stand watching this.”

“You say that every week, Taako.”

“It’s just! These ladies dropping the L-bomb way too early in the game. You gotta save that shit for mid-game. Nick hardly knows them yet, it’s just weirding him out.”

“Samantha’s doing her best! Her corn-fed, Iowan best.”

“Her best is shit! Just like the state of Iowa! Ugh. Doesn't even matter, these people are just forcing themselves to feel love as fast as they can so they can win, it’s fucking bizarre outside of the narrative or whatever.”

“Oh, and - and you know all about how love should go, is that what I’m hearing? Mister Love Expert?”

“... maybe.”

“Oh?”

“Wait ‘til the ad break and see, homie.”

-

Additional notes:

i've been listening to a hell of a lot of rose buddies lately (griffin and rachel's the bachelor fancast, which is amazing and so calming and good, please listen to it), which is where the title comes from. this fic was also caused because i'm VERY gay for my girlfriend, who called me out over google doc for projecting a lot into this fic. oh well.

this fic is almost UNBEARABLY set in southern california. stater bro(ther)s is based there, along with ralphs. they have the best butcher counter. also, the string of swears about the rain had everyone i know who read this saying "okay rob this was just you talking." and they're right. fuck the rain, it's been my enemy for many years.

thanks so so much as always to ol for ripping through this because they're the best beta known to man. thanks also to charlie (whose fic about the director chilling out you should have read already) for watching me write over google docs, and everyone who stopped in and gave me the push to write and complete this fic. thanks also to laura for prompting a bajillion gay thoughts in my heart that i could pour into this fic. you're the best, dear.

find me on tumblr at flovvright for more stupid sappy content! (here's the tumblr post for this fic if you wanna promo it, by the way ;3c)