Leo braced himself for Laurent's sharp gaze, the simmering resentment, the unspoken questions. He pushed open the heavy kitchen door. Instead of Laurent's familiar, tense silhouette, a stranger stood at the gleaming central island, effortlessly flipping a perfect omelet. Platinum blonde hair, almost white under the bright kitchen lights, fell in soft waves. He looked up, revealing startlingly blue eyes set in a face of sculpted perfection – high cheekbones, a strong jaw softened by an enthusiastic, utterly disarming smile. His frame was powerfully muscled beneath a crisp white chef's jacket, sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms dusted with fine blonde hair. The sheer handsomeness was almost jarring.
"Leo!" The man's voice was warm, resonant, brimming with genuine welcome. He slid the omelet onto a plate with practiced grace. "David Laurent. Cousin." He extended a hand, his grip firm and confident. "Laurent sends his apologies – urgent family matters back in France. He'll be gone a few weeks." David gestured around the vast, stainless-steel kitchen. "He asked me to hold down the fort. And," he added, his smile widening, "he specifically asked that *you* oversee things here. Report directly to Mr. Thorne each evening." David leaned against the counter, radiating easy charm. "He spoke highly of your instincts. Said you have a good eye."
Leo blinked, momentarily thrown. Laurent's absence was a relief, but the sudden shift was jarring. David's friendliness felt like sunshine after weeks of Laurent's storm clouds. "Oversee?" Leo echoed cautiously.
David chuckled, a rich, warm sound. "Relax. Mostly means tasting my creations and ensuring I don't burn the place down." He slid the plate towards Leo. The omelet was golden perfection, fluffy and steaming, filled with herbs and creamy goat cheese. "Breakfast? Laurent mentioned you appreciate good food." His blue eyes held genuine warmth, devoid of Laurent's simmering resentment or Thorne's unnerving intensity. It was disarming.
Leo hesitated, then sat at the stainless-steel counter. The first bite was sublime – light, savory, perfectly seasoned. "This is incredible," he admitted, surprised.
David beamed, leaning against the opposite counter. "Family recipes. Laurent taught me the basics years ago, but I prefer... less pressure." He gestured around the gleaming kitchen. "He said you have a good eye. Wants me to lean on you." His smile was easy, open. "So, consider us partners. For now."
The day unfolded with surprising ease. Other kitchen staff arrived – prep cooks, dishwashers – their initial wariness dissolving under David's relaxed authority and Leo's quiet competence. Orders flowed smoothly. David moved with fluid grace, delegating tasks efficiently, his laughter occasionally ringing out over the clatter of pans. Leo found himself drawn into the rhythm, focusing on plating desserts with meticulous care, ensuring sauces were perfectly tempered. David would appear beside him, offering a quick taste of a new reduction or a playful critique of his garnish placement, his hand brushing Leo's arm lightly. Each touch sent a jolt through Leo, a warmth pooling low in his stomach. He kept his eyes fixed on the plate, the chocolate curls, the spun sugar nest. He forced himself not to glance down at the way David's chef's trousers hugged his lean hips, the outline beneath the apron unmistakable. It was a constant, low hum of awareness beneath the busy surface.
Lunch service was a controlled frenzy. Waiters streamed in and out, calling orders, collecting gleaming plates. Leo worked the pastry station beside David, their movements synchronized. He felt David's gaze on him sometimes, assessing, appreciative. Once, reaching for a piping bag, Leo's hand accidentally covered David's on the counter. David didn't pull away immediately. Leo felt the heat radiating from David's skin, saw the faint flush rise on his neck. Leo snatched his hand back, muttering an apology, his own face burning. He focused fiercely on filling éclairs, the sweet cream trembling in the bag. He could feel David's presence beside him, a tangible warmth, a silent question hanging in the steam-filled air. Leo kept his eyes down, composing his features into careful neutrality, fighting the urge to let his gaze linger anywhere below David's waist.
The final dessert plate left the kitchen just after 10 PM. Exhaustion settled over the crew like a heavy blanket. The clatter died down, replaced by the rhythmic scrape of scrubbing brushes and the hiss of the spray hose. Dishwashers tackled mountains of pots and pans. Prep cooks wiped down stainless steel surfaces. Leo meticulously cleaned his pastry station, the scent of vanilla and burnt sugar clinging stubbornly. David moved through the aftermath, checking corners, ensuring everything met Laurent's exacting standards. His usual easy grace was tempered by fatigue, but his energy remained focused.
He drifted towards Leo's station, leaning casually against the immaculate countertop. "Quite the baptism by fire today," David remarked, his voice softer now in the quieter space. He watched Leo wipe down a piping bag nozzle. "You handled it beautifully. Laurent wasn't exaggerating about your instincts." His gaze lingered, warm and appreciative.
Leo kept scrubbing, focusing on a stubborn fleck of chocolate. "Thanks. It was... intense." He felt David's proximity acutely, the air between them charged with the day's unspoken tension. The accidental brushes, the shared glances – they hung thick in the quiet kitchen air.
David shifted closer, his hip bumping gently against Leo's station. "Intense is one word," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, intimate despite the lingering clatter from the sinks. He picked up a clean whisk Leo had just set down, turning it idly in his long fingers. "You know, I spent half the service trying *not* to watch you work." A faint blush crept up David's neck. "The way you focus... the precision. It's mesmerizing."
Leo froze, the damp cloth in his hand dripping onto the stainless steel. He kept his eyes fixed on the counter, the sudden heat in his own cheeks undeniable. David's compliment wasn't just professional praise; it vibrated with something warmer, more personal. The accidental touches throughout the day flashed in Leo's mind – David's hand lingering on his shoulder when passing, the electric jolt when their fingers brushed reaching for the same lemon zester.
David leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter beside Leo. The clean scent of herbs and soap clung to him. "Laurent mentioned your... discerning eye," he continued, his voice barely above the hum of the dishwasher. "But he didn't mention how intense it could feel." He paused, letting the words hang. Leo dared a glance sideways. David's blue eyes held his, unflinching, a playful challenge mixed with undeniable heat. "Especially," David added softly, a small, knowing smile touching his lips, "when it wasn't just on the food."
Leo's breath hitched. He felt utterly exposed, pinned under that gaze. The damp cloth slipped from his fingers onto the floor with a wet slap. He didn't move to retrieve it. David chuckled softly, a warm, low sound. "Don't look so panicked. It was... flattering." He pushed off the counter, standing fully facing Leo now, invading his personal space deliberately. "And honestly," he admitted, his gaze dropping briefly to Leo's lips before snapping back up, "it wasn't exactly one-sided." The admission hung between them, charged and undeniable. "I found myself watching you just as much. Wondering."
David closed the remaining distance. He didn't ask. He simply lifted a hand, fingers brushing a stray flour smudge from Leo's cheekbone with startling tenderness. Leo's pulse roared in his ears. He should pull away. This was Laurent's cousin. His boss. Thorne's... something. But the warmth of David's touch, the raw honesty in his eyes, the magnetic pull of that effortless charm – it was a current Leo couldn't fight. He leaned infinitesimally into the touch. David's thumb traced the line of Leo's jaw, his gaze locked onto Leo's lips. The playful challenge was gone, replaced by pure, focused desire. "Tell me to stop," David breathed, his voice thick.
Leo couldn't. The word died in his throat. He tilted his head up, a silent surrender, an invitation. David's lips met his.
It wasn't tentative. It was immediate, deep, and consuming. David tasted faintly of espresso and something inherently *French* – rich, complex, utterly addictive. His hand slid from Leo's jaw to cradle the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer with an urgency that mirrored Leo's own desperate need. Leo kissed back with equal fervor, his hands finding purchase on David's hips, pulling their bodies flush. The lingering exhaustion, the chaos of the service, the shadow of Thorne – it all dissolved into the heat of David's mouth, the solid warmth of his chest against Leo's, the low groan vibrating between them.
David broke the kiss only to trail his lips down Leo's throat, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin beneath his ear. "*Mon Dieu*," he breathed against Leo's pulse point, his hands already working at the buttons of Leo's chef jacket. "I've wanted this since I saw you walk into Laurent's office." Leo gasped, his own hands fumbling with David's pristine white jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Fabric pooled at their feet, forgotten. David's lips returned to Leo's, hungry and demanding, while his hands slid beneath Leo's t-shirt, exploring the planes of his back, the dip of his spine. Leo arched into the touch, a moan escaping him as David's thumbs brushed over his nipples. The cool air of the kitchen hit Leo's exposed skin as David pulled his t-shirt off in one swift motion. David's own shirt followed, revealing a lean, sculpted torso that made Leo's breath catch. Their bare chests pressed together, skin slick with sweat and desire. David's hands moved lower, deftly unfastening Leo's trousers, pushing them and his underwear down his hips in one fluid motion. Leo kicked them aside, stepping out of the pooled fabric, utterly exposed. David's gaze raked over him, dark with appreciation, before he swiftly shed his own trousers and briefs.
David lifted Leo effortlessly onto the cool stainless steel countertop, the metal shocking against Leo's bare skin. He stepped between Leo's thighs, his own arousal pressing hard against Leo's hip. Leo's breath hitched, a flicker of old panic tightening his chest. It had been so long since he'd done this, truly *felt* it, not performed it. Memories of rough hands, impersonal grunts, the sharp sting of intrusion flashed unbidden. He braced himself, expecting force, expecting to be used. But David paused, his eyes searching Leo's face, seeing the tension there. "*Arrête*," David murmured, his voice thick but gentle. He cupped Leo's cheek. "Look at me." Leo met his gaze. "Are you alright? Tell me." The genuine concern in David's eyes, the tenderness beneath the raw hunger, disarmed Leo. He nodded, unable to speak. David leaned in, kissing him slowly, deeply, pouring reassurance into the touch. His hand slid down Leo's stomach, fingers tracing lightly, exploringly, before finally brushing against Leo's entrance. Leo tensed instinctively. David stilled. "Tell me," he breathed against Leo's lips. "Does this hurt?" Leo shook his head, a shaky exhale escaping him. "No. Just… careful." David kissed him again. "Always," he promised. He reached for a bottle of olive oil nearby – Laurent's expensive finishing oil – slicking his fingers generously. His touch was painstakingly slow, deliberate, focused entirely on Leo's reactions, on coaxing pleasure, not demanding entry. He watched Leo's face, murmuring soft French endearments, adjusting his touch until Leo was gasping, writhing, arching against his hand, the fear dissolving into pure, aching need.
*
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