Archive of Our Own

— Present day evening —

“What’s got you so frustrated?” Souma grabbed Erina’s jacket front to stop her short. She’d managed to get him riled up enough that he was almost ready to throw hands, girl or not. 

Behind him the staff they’d hired to help cook for the Nakiri family Reunion shifted uncomfortably. He’d just stepped between them and a tongue lashing from Erina. 

“You’re questioning my judgement.” She slapped her towel down on the prep counter.

“Yeah, I am.” He frowned at her. “Because whatever is up your ass has nothing to do with them. Just back off.” 

She glared at him but subsided. She knew he was right. 

Souma turned around. “You all did fine.” Souma smiled at the beleaguered staff. He ushered them out. “We’ll deal with the clean-up.” He closed the door behind them. He heard them retreat down the hall and before they left earshot—

“Just working next to those two is fucking exhausting.” 

“They never stop fighting.”

He snorted softly and locked the door to the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” Erina asked.  “You just gave us hours of extra work.”

Souma sighed. “This argument isn’t about the substitution, Erina. Why don’t you tell me what’s really frustrating you?”

“Everything.” Erina wiped her hands on her apron and stalked over. “You’ve been a half beat behind all evening—“

Without preamble he caught her shoulders and slammed her up against the wall, his hand clutching her throat while he kissed her. Pouring all that raging tension they’d built up between them back into her. 

###

Many people thought Souma was impulsive, but his choices were almost always the result of meticulous observation. The only thing rash about them was the moment he chose to implement them; He left that up to his gut. 

Watching Erina’s choices in boyfriends over the past fifteen years after the Blue cooking competition, Souma realized she chose men because she didn’t love them. In fact she couldn’t love them.

In trying to free his daughter and wife from the curse of the God Tongue—a perfect palate able to discern the flaw in any dish and its inevitable refinement into being unable to stomach any food at all—Azami had managed to imprison Erina in a very different cage. In their high school years together Souma and his friends had managed to break her out once, made her realize the importance of friends, rivals, personal connections… something outside of the cold drive to succeed, to master, to tame the storm, to become the world’s salvation. To make food Erina’s mother could eat.

It was only when she grew up, became a world famous chef with all of the temptations that came with it, that the second and more entrenched cage became apparent. 

He’d watched Azami—Erina’s father—quietly seethe at Erina’s choices. Souma found it darkly amusing since Erina’s boyfriends invariably followed the same pattern—dark eyes, dark hair, tall, handsome, cold and aggressive—and it was obvious why Azami hated them. They reminded him of himself at his worst. He said nothing, however, because of the past between him and his daughter. Any kind of controlling behaviour would strain their already strained relationship. 

Not that it mattered. Erina never lasted with any of her boyfriends. The relationships all ended the same way: with both parties in a stalemate behind stony walls of contempt.

Souma was also sure that Erina was attracted to him. And that scared him more than if she wasn’t. Attraction without affection was the trap all her other men had fallen into.

Erina, like her father, could have sex without love. This was one thing Souma learned about himself very quickly. He couldn’t. Every encounter he’d been in, he’d loved them. Maybe not a final love, maybe it wouldn’t end in marriage, but he loved them. When it was over they remained friends and he helped them in whatever way he could to be happy. He’d catered two weddings of former lovers and, afterward, would never meet up with them again except as a couple out of respect for the happiness they’d found.

If anything in Souma was a match for Erina’s overwhelming passion, it was his competitive drive. It was his one dangerous quality. He would be the one to break through that wall of contempt. He just had to… figure out how. 

But by the time he’d lost to Erina in the Blue competition Souma was quite certain that he was in love with her. And that made the stakes terrifyingly high. 

She was the one storm that could sweep him away. 

—One Month Prior—

“He doesn’t cook.” Erina said when Souma had asked about her latest. “Having two chefs in a relationship is a disaster.”

Souma stopped short, he’d been chopping vegetables. They’d been working together to prepare a test dish for the Nakiri family reunion a month out. It was funny. Whenever Erina was in a relationship their arguments in the kitchen ended and they worked in silent, subdued harmony. He closed his eyes. “Not always.” He started up again before she could comment. “What does he do?”

“He’s a businessman. Insurance.” 

Souma glanced over at her. He wanted to tell her this new one was the worst one yet. That she could do better. But was he really? Souma frowned, his hands moving through the motions of chopping without him focusing on it. Maybe the real problem was that this one wasn’t the worst. He’d actually seemed… decent.  

Souma met up with Erina’s new boyfriend—Kaito—for the second time in the hallway after he’d finished cleanup in the Nakiri mansion kitchen. The man was tall, dark, and handsome—of course—and he had a three year old girl glued to his hip. His daughter from a previous marriage. Souma had already met her; a shy little thing that never strayed more than three feet from her father. He’d apologized for having brought her unexpectedly—apparently her nanny was ill—and spent a good portion of the evening focused on entertaining her until Souma had intervened and started showing the girl magic tricks; allowing Kaito and Erina sometime to themselves.

“I’m looking for the—“

“Bathroom? It’s a bit of a maze. I’ll walk you to it.”

“Sorry about this.” Kaito said again. Third or fourth time Souma figured, darkly. “I didn’t know what was the best thing to do. Cancel or bring her. You had to change the menu last minute. That must have been annoying.”

“It’s fine.” Souma smiled, making a face at the girl, who stared back at him with wide eyes as she ate a fistful of her black hair. “I was raised in a family diner; I’m used to kids.” He turned the corner. 

“Are you friends with Erina?” 

Souma stopped, staring at Kaito. Kaito was fishing for some explanation for their closeness and Souma felt the strangest moment of sympathy as he realized Kaito thinking the exact same thing as himself: “how much of a threat is this man?” Except Souma was very aware he had no right so he turned away and shrugged. “We went to Totsuki together.” And then because he felt bad, “My girlfriend and I were both in the top ten when Erina first became Dean. All of us are friends.” 

At the mention of the word “girlfriend” Kaito seemed to relax. The little girl started to squirm, shouting “Daddy, I have to go!” and Kaito looked up at Souma with more urgency. 

“It’s the third door down on the left.” Souma pointed. Kaito rushed off.

Souma watched him scurry down the hall. Dammit. He’s decent. With a sinking feeling he realized in five years he’d likely be watching Kaito cart his and Erina’s child off to the bathroom in that very same hallway.

##

“You’re jealous.” 

“Uhm.” Souma ruffled Ikumi’s hair. 

The tan blond rolled over, propping herself up on Souma’s chest. They’d been friends and lovers for years; Ikumi being the one person who handled his travel lust with the least resentment. But Eizan was finally noticing Ikumi after his rather excruciating divorce and Ikumi had been carrying a torch for Eizan since she’d worked with him to bust a poaching ring. Souma sensed his relationship with her would end soon too.

If he was honest, it hurt to watch other people find happiness. Always second best.  

“You’re jealous.” Ikumi repeated. 

“I’m sorry.” Souma said.

“Why?”

“Is it fair to you?” 

Ikumi laughed. “I always knew you were in love with her.” She blushed. “I sort of love her too you know.”  

“Jealous.” Souma repeated. He didn’t like the feeling, it was dark and unpleasant. 

“She really chooses winners, doesn’t she?” Ikumi chuckled.

“Technically they do qualify as winners.” All high powered businessmen, all driven and successful, controlling and… if not cruel, capable of it. And now Kaito. Souma frowned. He should feel glad for Erina, she’d finally might have found a man who embodied the best parts of Azami and not the worst.

“Yeah, but they suck.”

Souma sighed, he looked away, propping his head on his hand. “Eh… they don’t all suck.” He wanted to be fair. Maybe because his jealousy was making him dislike himself. And as much as he felt for Erina, he also felt sorry for the men Erina chose. He watched them get walled out by that contempt, respond with confusion, wooing, anger then aggression and finally just match her contempt for contempt and the relationship was over. Kaito was likable enough that Souma didn’t want to see him go through that; Erina was not a completely innocent party. 

“Alright. They suck for her.” Ikumi amended. “Poor Erina. If you won’t save her I will.”

“From herself?” Souma asked. “Besides, this one is actually nice.” 

“Ah, so that’s why.” Ikumi traced circles on his chest. “You feel threatened.”

Souma frowned, pressing his fist to his lips. That dark, ugly feeling was gathering in his chest. His competitive urges translated themselves through his chef’s knife into something beautiful; this one seemed to want to translate itself through his fists into something bloody.

Ikumi watched him, her green eyes crinkling with amusement. “All those jerks she was with and you just shrugged and said ‘she can handle herself.’ And now she’s with someone nice and you’re getting pissed?” 

“I’m nice.” Souma rubbed his eyes. He sounded petulant and he felt anything but nice at the moment. 

“No, you’re not. You’re kind, sure. But you certainly have a mouth on you and you can be a real domineering bastard too.” 

“What?” He looked at her skeptically.

“That haughty look when you’ve totally owned someone with your cooking. Not just your opponents either, you look like that to the people you serve food too. Isn’t that why you like serving disgusting things? Because you cause such an overwhelming reaction even if it’s negative. Especially because it’s negative. It’s sadistic.” Ikumi laughed. “Well, maybe there’s a word for a sadist that likes to overwhelm people with pleasure. That’s you.” 

“A sadist that overwhelms people with pleasure.” Souma repeated. He grinned at Ikumi. “Seriously?”

“I’m not complaining.” She bit her lip. “You’re really good at it.” 

###

As it was, Kaito turned out to be no threat at all. Within a few weeks he’d broken it off with Erina because he felt like it was too soon to bring another woman into his kid’s life.

And then Eizan made his move on Ikumi, even though Eizan was aware Souma and Ikumi were sort of together. Souma had seen it coming so it was no shock.

“What’d he say?” Souma asked Ikumi as she picked up her things from his place. 

Ikumi smiled. “‘Leave the boy. You need a real man.’” 

“You kidding me?” Souma laughed. “What a fucking asshole. Looks like I’m going to have to put him in his place again.” 

Ikumi’s smile dropped. “Are you going to be okay?” 

Souma brushed his fingers over the side of her face. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. You know me, I’ve always been a bit of a loner.” 

Ikumi frowned. “That’s not what I want to hear.”  

Souma didn’t answer, he breathed out slowly. 

“If you’re afraid of getting your heart broken, I think it already is.” Ikumi searched his eyes. “Go get her.”

—Present Day morning —

When he stood in front of the mirror to shave before showering and heading off to the Nakiri mansion kitchen, he realized that he could barely see his mother in his face. The shape of his nose and eyes maybe, but the rest—the shape of his face, his cheekbones, his colouring was his dad’s. He felt a pang of loss at the recognition; but at the same time a possibility opened to him.

He was already playing against type—with his light auburn hair and gold eyes—he was glad for his height and strong build. Likely that alone kept him in the running. That and his resemblance to Erina’s childhood hero, his father. 

Azami wasn’t the only man that had left his mark on Erina as a child.

—Present Day evening—

Souma had never been particularly aggressive in bed. He was more likely to keep things light and affectionate, which was why he had lasted as long as he had with Ikumi who was also—despite her gruff exterior—sweet, kind and cuddly. 

But he knew his opening gambit had to meet Erina more than half way. And he was fairly certain that Erina liked to be dominated. Or at least she needed that attempt at being dominated. So that she could respond in kind. 

He broke off the kiss, leaving her flustered, then irate. “Souma—“

He kissed her again and then, in the face of her anger, ran his fingers down over her lips to her chin and walked away abruptly. He hid his shaking hands by wiping them in his apron and picked up a kettle to fill it with water. He busied himself finding a pot and cups for tea.

Erina rushed over to him. “That was unprofessional.”

He smiled to himself. If that was her only complaint, then they were off to a good start. “So is screaming at each other for hours in front of staff.” He turned towards her, a cocky grin on his face. “Didn’t you enjoy that kiss more?” 

A blush spread over her cheeks. She blinked, lifting her hands to her chest. “I never thought... you liked me that way.” 

Souma watched her. He didn’t know what he’d expected. But bashful was not it. His expelled his nervous energy by tapping his fingers against the panel below the counter. He was feeling dangerous which surprised him. He thought he’d have to run to keep up and now he’d sprinted past Erina and she was behind him.

He thought of the intense dreams he’d had about her all the time he’d known her. No matter how many lovers he’d had, his subconscious always seemed to go back to her. Over and over again; his dreams showed her gasping, limp against his touch… over and over until it occurred to him that he just wanted to overwhelm her with pleasure and that there was more than one way to do it.

He thought of the string of reprobates she’d dated with him not caring beyond wishing she wouldn’t torment herself with resurrected demons from her childhood… but the moment she found a man she could have a future with, he’d realized that he could be left behind. He knew Kaito would be followed by a sequel, Kaito II: Kaito Perfected.

That terrified him. Terrified him enough that there he was, about to give her everything he could to convince her to let him be her future despite also being terrified that he’d give her everything he was and she’d simply flick her hair and dismiss him as disgusting. 

And then he’d be left with nothing of her; not even their monthly meet ups to test each other’s skills.

He poured two cups of tea and offered one to her. He sipped his. She sipped hers. He noticed there was a slight tremor in her fingers. He folded his arms over his chest in an attempt to contain that dark feeling inside him. “Yes. I do.” 

She didn’t look at him. “How long?” 

“Since Blue.” 

“Fifteen years?” Erina gasped. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You seemed otherwise occupied.” It wasn’t a lie. Her family drama had consumed her during the Blue competition and after; he’d gotten the impression there was no room for more complexity in her life. And he’d left. Then he’d come back to that succession of stupid boyfriends—sequel after shitty sequel of that same drama. “Didn’t you realize that I made that final dish at Blue for you?” 

“Yes. To make me say it’s delicious.” She didn’t look at him, she set her tea aside and let her hands drop limply at her sides. 

Souma closed his eyes. “No. I wanted to get rid of that horrible face you were making. I wasn’t even thinking about winning. I just wanted to see you smile again.” He couldn’t parse her stillness. It felt like the worst possible reaction. He forced a laugh and turned around, slapping the towel over his shoulder down and leaning against the counter on his sweaty palms. “Maybe just…” Souma stopped himself. He’d been about to tell her to forget it. He’d never fought a battle like this and he was shocked at his own cowardice. He didn’t know if he was more scared of being rejected or what that dark feeling inside him would do if he wasn’t. She hovered by his side and her closeness sparked his frustration. “I’m done cooking for you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He turned and stared down at her as she looked up at him with innocent confusion. Ikumi had said ‘you are a real dominating bastard’ and he realized how right she was. A dark mix of possession, jealousy, lust and competition was raging inside him. He realized Kaito had somehow managed to reverse uno this situation. My god, I am one of her assholes.  “I mean, we either move forward together or we split. Because I can’t take watching you stagnate anymore.” Put it all on the line, one final gamble. All or nothing. You will be mine or we’re through completely.   

Her violet eyes went wide. “You think it’s you—“

He gave her his haughtiest look. “Yes. I think it’s me.” 

She stared back. Then something shifted in her eyes. There it was. That dark dangerous hunger in her; like a Tigress stalking its prey. Her eyebrow quirked. Prove it.

He met that look of dangerous hunger with another cocky grin, then the grin dropped. “I’ve just endured eight hours of you shouting at me.” 

“You were shouting too.” 

“Because you’re so damn stubborn.” He grabbed her under her hips, lifting her up. He was head and shoulders taller than her now. Erina wasn’t exactly light, being voluptuous and athletic but he managed the feat without much effort. She squeaked in surprise and clutched his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist. He took that moment to kiss her, prodding her lips open until their tongues met. Her thighs tightened as she grabbed his neck, kissing him back greedily.

He bodily carried her to the cleanest flat surface—or where he remembered it was—barking his knee on a metal table leg in the process. The pain registered distantly. He dropped her down. Making space between them while she mewled unhappily and tried to grab him back. “Eight hours of you shouting, slamming pots and pans, terrifying the staff and second guessing everything I was doing.” He leaned on his palms on the prep table so that she had to lean back just to be able to focus on his face and words. “Are you going to finally admit what it is you find so frustrating about me?” 

She stared at him steadily from under her dark blonde brows, breathing hard through her nose, and offering no explanation. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck again, tangling her fingers in his hair. He let her pull him close and kiss him. He pushed her forward as he returned her kiss, until she was flat on her back on the prep table, her legs still wrapped around his waist, her hair slipping over the metal surface like silk. 

She caught the hem of his shirt, pulling it up until he helped her and pulled it off. The kitchen air was warm from cooking but he still shivered under her scrutiny: she looked at him like he was an ingredient. “Erina,” he warned. 

She blinked, glancing at him. There was a deep flush on her cheeks as licked her chops—little flicks of her tongue over her teeth and lips. She looked so cute it erased all his irritation. He chuckled and ruffled her hair.  

She gave him another predatory smile and started to kiss his neck. He got to work on her chef’s jacket, popping the buttons, pulling it open and then stripping it off her. As he worked on the hooks to her bra, he felt her nestle against his chest, her nose pressed into his throat. 

“I can taste everywhere you’ve been.” She whispered. “Grenoble, Morocco, Dharmasala, Java. Blu cheese, mint, coconut milk, lemon grass, pandan leaves and cinnamon. I can taste everything.”

He stopped, looking down at her. The itinerary of his latest tasting trip. In reverse order. 

“Delicious.” She breathed. And then her eyes widened; She looked at him. “I don’t mean your cooking!”  

He stared down at her, flummoxed. “No, you mean me.” His brow drew. “Do you get this with every guy?” He didn’t like himself for asking but that pesky jealousy was eating at him. 

She shook her head, “This is the first time. Mostly they just taste muddy. But every taste is so clear with you.”  

He snorted and leaned back, gesturing at his chest. Unlike most chefs, he hit the gym for stress instead of the bottle. Because of that he was broader and more defined than the last time she’d seen his naked chest as a scrawny teen. He smiled down at her with his best shit eating grin. “Dig in.” 

She trailed nibbles down his chest, interspersed with dainty licks. As she moved lower she was getting more breathless and flushed. Watching her explore with such unselfconscious delight lit him on fire. He fisted his hands to stop himself from interrupting her. When she got to his lower stomach, she was moaning and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He pulled her back up and kissed her; he mimicked her, trailing kisses down her neck and chest, squeezing her ample breasts, teasing her nipples with his fingers. He moved his mouth lower—

“Stop.” She said. She pulled him up and kissed him. “I need to taste you.”

“Alright.” He hesitated. This was new territory for him, he’d never had any partner so focused on his body. Erina went back to her slow exploration of his skin and the absolute bliss on her features as she did so fed some deep hunger he’d never known he had. He blushed and felt young and awkward for the first time in years. Eventually his fingers itched to do something so he trailed his hand down her stomach and under her pants. She offered no further resistance, apparently he could do what he liked as long as she got to taste him. 

He got his fingers under her panties and started to work her in small circles; She gasped and broke out of her reverie. “Does kissing count as tasting?” He asked.

She nodded meekly. He kissed her again, one hand down her pants, the other at the back of her neck. Within seconds she was writhing against his hand and tongue; apparently the sensation of being fingered as she tasted him was overwhelming. He kept going until she convulsed against him, panting his name, “Souma!” 

In the aftermath she looked done in; shaking, crying, gasping for breath in small hiccups, whimpering and flushed. He wrapped a steadying hand around her waist, worried that she might pass out. “I haven’t even got my pants off yet.” He smiled and he could feel his arrogance leak into his smile as he looked at her undone by him to the point of nearly fainting. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of this.” He grinned, that dark energy roiling around in his chest. “Makes me want to push it even further.”

“Mhm.” Erina roused from her stupor. “Oh. Sorry. That was selfish.” She reached for his pants. His insides contracted as her fingers brushed his lower stomach. 

He caught her hands. “Are you sure you can manage that?”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Souma. I’m not letting you win by default because I did nothing.”

“This isn’t a competition.” Souma grinned. “Okay maybe it sort of is. But I have a serious advantage here.” 

“It’s not fair.” She pouted, unbuttoning his pants. “You’re using the God Tongue against me.” 

“Aw.” He covered her mouth with his hand. “Feel free to keep your tongue to yourself. I’m not forcing you to use it.” 

Her nostrils flared. She jumped off the counter and stripped his pants off his hips with force and knelt in front of him.

As soon as she started, he realized—she’s done this before. He felt a surge of jealousy and irritation. Then the way she moved her hand and tongue made him decide to set context aside. Within minutes she had him approaching completion; He bowed over Erina, his fingers convulsing in her hair. 

“Erina stop.” He pressed her shoulder. He didn’t want their first time to end with this. It wasn’t intimate enough. Maybe it was a competition, but he didn’t want it to be just that. “Erina, please.” 

He had to use leverage to get her to stop, her grip on his hips was so strong. He braced himself against the floor, and when he managed to pull her off she was weeping in need. Like it hurt for her to stop. He knelt and pulled her into his arms, holding her against him, the back of her head cradled in his hand. He was shocked, intrigued and aroused by her helpless desperation. She continued to lick and nibble his neck like she was dying of thirst and drowning at the same time.

“Please don’t stop.” She begged.

He wasn’t about to. He was at the point of losing himself to this madness if he didn’t find some kind of conclusion. He lowered her to the floor on top of her chef’s jacket and groped between them to guide himself into her. She was sopping wet; Slick and firm, friction with no resistance, and once he was inside, she made a sound between a squeak and a scream, biting her knuckle against pleasure that seemed to now be bordering on pain.

Souma watched her, that dark part of himself couldn’t help but ask, “How much further can I take her?” Even if she was in agony, even if the sensations he was giving her were so intense they’d started to feel like a storm of glass shards. How much further?

He started to thrust into her. She moaned, bit her knuckle harder, eyes still screwed tight, and rocked her hips up to meet his thrusts, her strong thighs wrapped firmly around his waist he probably couldn’t escape if he wanted to. He held her and kissed her.

He was so fascinated by her responses—and distracted by the battle within him between protecting her and driving her further—he was blindsided by the rising pressure and heat of his own climax building inside him. He’d been on the edge the entire time. 

When it came it was just an appetizer for what followed. The instant the first burst hit her, she exploded, somehow climbing him so that she was on top and rocking down into his hips, impaling herself on him and kissing him so violently his lips stung and he tasted the tang of copper. That sent her into even more of a frenzy; she started to claw and bite him, moaning like a wounded animal. Around them the cabinets burst open, cooking gear spilling out over the floor, the racks upending in showers of ladles, spoons, pans—a small scale reenactment of the gifting at the Blue. He weathered the insanity with mute astonishment; holding her as tightly as he could.

“I can taste you.” She gasped against his ear when the kitchen’d calmed down and she’d calmed down and stopped trying to flay him alive. “I can taste you in me.”

“Okay.” He said, at a loss for anything snarky or funny or even vaguely topical. He sat back against the cabinet, letting her slide off his legs. “Ouch.” His knee had started to throb from being barked and then rocked on concrete. He stretched his legs out in front of him. His back stung from her scratching but he was too tired to sit up without the assistance of the cabinet. He settled on, “Glad you enjoyed it,” with a smirk.

She tried to crawl back into his lap. “I want to taste you again.”

“Nooo… no no.” He put his hands up. “I’m going to need some physio first.” His dad had warned him: watch out, your thirties is when you get fat, blow out your knees and slip a disc. He was feeling like he’d possibly done the last two. If this was going to be their new normal he figured he’d be pretty safe from the first. “Damn what a mess.” He glanced over the kitchen. It was like a tornado had come through; cooking implements and pans everywhere. At least the fridge and freezer hadn’t disgorged their contents all over. He shook his head at the chaos, chuckling. He rubbed his eyes. “I think you just gave me a second first time.”

Erina settled against his side, she started to nibble his shoulder. He shook his head, pushing on her. “For real. Stop that. Time out.” 

“Oh.” She pulled back a bit. “You’re bleeding.” 

He wiped his mouth. His fingers came back bloody. 

“I’m sorry.” Erina looked crestfallen. 

“It’s okay.” His lips quirked. “I barely noticed when you did it.” 

She stood up, unsteadily he noticed, and staggered over to the first aid kit on the wall. She popped it open and took out some disinfectant. She hesitated over the bandages. 

“That’s unnecessary.” He said, pulling on his underwear and pants. He lifted his t-shirt. “Shirt’s black. Blood won’t show.” 

She staggered back. 

His brow drew as she grabbed the counter and lowered herself down to his side. “Are you okay?” 

“Aftershocks,” she said, pouring some disinfectant on a cotton swab. “I feel wobbly.”

“Still?” He leaned forward so she could tend to his back. It seemed to be something she needed to do to make amends for shredding him. He grinned. “Wow I did a number on you.” 

“Hmph.” She swiped one of the scratches on his back with the cotton ball and he hissed from the sting. As she worked she frowned but the expression of reproach was absolutely ruined by her nakedness. When she was done she threw out the bloody cotton ball and soaked another, giving him an evil smile. “A number on me? You should see the other guy.”  

He laughed and grabbed her head, shaking it. She batted his hands away and returned to cleaning his scratches. 

“Fifteen years.” Erina said. “All this time I didn’t notice. Alice even said…” She sighed. “‘He likes you.’ And I told her that there was no way. He just wants to beat me with his cooking. You knew I wanted you, didn’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s what was frustrating me.” Erina said. “You were ignoring me. I thought you didn’t like me.” 

Last card. Surrender to the storm. He closed his eyes. “I don’t like you, Erina. I love you.” 

Her hands stopped. 

He opened one eye, then the other. She had her arms crossed over her chest under her breasts; She was blushing, her eyes filled with tears. “I…I…” She seemed unable to form words. “I want to cook for you!” She blurted out finally.

“Okay.” Souma grimaced, looking at her with concern but also skepticism. This was her answer? 

“You said you didn’t want to cook for me anymore.” She tipped her head forward until her hair hid her face. “Let me cook for you.”

Souma sighed. He caught Erina’s shoulders, pulling her against his chest and ruffling her hair. He knew she had trouble articulating anything that had to do with her feelings.  “Sure, you can cook for me.” 

“You have a fifteen year head start. But I am a better chef. I probably can catch up in a month.” She said haughtily. “I can be as good at cooking for you as you are for me. Easily.” She leaned into his touch and her next words had no haughtiness whatsoever. “I want to cook for you. Just for you. I want to taste my food in you.” She hesitated. Then hid her face in her hands. “That sounded strange.”

“Nah. I get it.” Souma said. 

She moved her hands away and looked at him: her violet eyes searching. 

“It’s not strange.” He brushed the hair from her face and lifted her chin to kiss her. “But if you’re going to dedicate all your cooking to me, don’t you think you should marry me first?” 

Her eyes went wide and then she broke into a smile, the goofiest ‘kid with a giant lollipop’ smile Souma had ever seen. He realized he’d worried for nothing. She was his. She’d probably been his for longer than he’d ever imagined. 

With that thought a light flicked on inside him and that dark part of him turned out to be an old friend—himself in the kitchen, cackling over the next repulsive concoction he was going to force into his friends’ mouths. As Ikumi said, he was a sadist who wanted to overwhelm people with pleasure or even just sensation but as long as he was with someone who could never get enough, then what was the problem? He slipped his hand behind her neck. “Marry me, Erina.” 

Erina kissed him back, giggling. “Yes.” 

###

Erina and Souma walked through the hallway towards the Nakiri mansion’s sleeping quarters. She helped support him as he limped beside her through the hall. He’d managed to bust his left knee and he didn’t even remember clearly when. With the scratches and the cut lip and the limping he looked a bit like he’d been a fight. Erina was still unsteady on her feet so their progress was a little slow. 

Not that Souma minded any of it. The ache in his leg kept reminding him what they’d just done and the memory sent a spark of pleasure through him with every throb.

“Eh, Kaito was nice.” Erina grimaced. “Too nice. I felt like I had to hold myself back around him. And to be honest, his daughter was adorable but if I had a kid with someone…” She looked at Souma. “I’d want it to be his first kid too.” 

“I like kids.” Souma said. “Let’s have ten. We could have had twenty if we started fifteen years ago.” 

Erina gulped. “Twenty?” 

He grinned slyly at her. “Are you chicken?” 

“Hmph.” She lifted her chin and pursed her lips. “Twenty is absurdly low. Obviously we should have fifty.” 

“An army of god-tier chefs. I’m sure Azami would love that. I can feel him making plans already.”  

Erina stopped. Souma hopped to a stop with her. “What’s up?” 

“That way to my room.” She nodded down one hall. “That way to your guest room.” She nodded down the other. 

Souma waited for her to make her decision.

She turned towards the guest wing. She smiled, a possessive little quirk of her lips. “You’re mine, Souma. All mine. They’ll find out soon enough.” She started down the hall.

“Hey.” 

Souma and Erina stopped and turned, both blushing. They’d been caught.

Erina’s elder brother Asahi stood behind them in a bath robe and slippers, his hair wrapped in a towel. He glanced between them, his hands on his hips. “The hell happened to you two?”