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Taako's pretty sure he's breaking, like, some rules.
Like, technically nobody ever said this wasn't allowed, but also…
He sort of knows, in his heart of hearts, that this is… frowned upon.
But also, can anyone blame him? Kravitz is…
Well.
"You're so fucking hot, what the fuck, this is—this is illegal," Taako mutters as he tangles his hands in Kravitz's hair. Kravitz has him backed up against the kitchen counter, his hands on Taako's hips, his lips pressed against the elf's neck.
"Do you—do you want an apology?" Kravitz asks, but he doesn't stop, doesn't move, thank the gods. They don't have a lot of time before Lup shows up with Barry and the rest of the film crew, and then—
"Abso-fucking- lutely not, my dude," Taako replies, and he can feel Kravitz laughing.
It's ridiculous, really, how fucking fond Taako feels. He's known Kravitz for all of a week. He shouldn't—he shouldn't be having feelings. Taako isn't the feelings one, he's the practical one, the pragmatist one, the one who cries over cat videos and the most choice of goofs and nothing else, even though the viewers want him to show more emotional vulnerability this season or what the fuck ever.
Point is, he's not supposed to be mushy for this week's walking disaster. He's supposed to teach him how to cook a few meals, how to make a grocery list, how to meal plan, make a few jokes, and maybe spout some faux-philosophical wisdom-y bullshit about, like, life or whatever.
Probably he’s not supposed to make out with him in a hotel kitchen, but that ship done sailed, so.
"Krav…" Taako murmurs, because as nice as this is, they're supposed to be making stuffed mushrooms and blackened salmon with a raspberry glaze, and if they keep getting it on instead of getting on it , they're not going to be done in time, "Krav. Kravitz. Krav, baby, the fish."
Kravitz pauses momentarily and then sighs, resting his head against Taako's shoulder. He straightens up, then, and adjusts the cuffs of his blazer—if the gods care for Taako at all , Lup will be able to convince Kravitz it's okay to leave the house in less than a whole suit, and maybe later Taako will even get to see him with his sleeves rolled up.
"You—you’re right. Of course. Obviously," Kravitz says, clearing his throat. He rubs the back of his neck. He—shit. He looks so fucking chastised , even though he's, like, 200 pounds of 100% pure undead beef and could snap Taako in half like a godsdamn glow stick.
"Dude. Chill. Look, it's probably better that we delayed stuff a bit, now Barry can get some of that good good cooking footage instead of just, fucking—us moaning about how fucking good this shit's gonna be, y'know?" Taako says. He bumps Kravitz's shoulder with his own and maneuvers around the kitchen to grab a knife and a cutting board.
"So you're saying we made out in my hotel room kitchen for the greater good?" Kravitz asks, and it's a little bit snarky and a little bit rude and way, way more endearing than it has any right to be.
"Obviously, my man. Taako's always on his grind. Now get over here and grab a knife and some mushrooms. We've got work to do."
They'd been hesitant to take Kravitz on as a Hero, originally. There wasn't anything on his application that looked like it needed the help of the Fantasy Fab Five—he had a nice house and a good job, was well dressed and just excessively handsome, wasn’t suffering from any super obvious traumas or crises or struggles or anything. He seemed like he had his shit together.
And then…
"Fuck," Lup had said, "I think—guys, I think this dude is the Grim fucking Reaper."
"Um," Taako said, "I beg your fucking pardon?"
"Look! Bounty hunter for the Raven Queen— that's Death , isn't it? Like, capital-D Death ?" Lup insisted, shoving the paper under Taako's nose.
He read it with wide eyes, Magnus, Merle, Davenport, Lucretia, and Barry all looking over his shoulder.
"Holy shit," Magnus whispered.
"Who the—who the hell nominates Death for fucking Fantasy Queer Eye?" Merle asked.
Taako scanned to the bottom of the paper and sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Yeah, uh, I think we sorta have to take this one, gang," he said slowly. "Cos, uh, Jack Skellington here got nominated by goddess es , plural. Fuck."
There hadn't been much debate after that, and once they'd gotten to the tapes—which was, um, a little fucking bizarre , seeing two actual goddesses recording a fucking home video from the celestial plane , sitting on a fucking divine chez-lounge —things became startlingly clear.
Turns out Death?
A mess.
An awkward, socially inept, anxious, hotheaded, workaholic dork of a disaster who panics and occasionally speaks in a fake Fantasy British accent.
The dude has three chairs in his whole house, all of them from Fantasy IKEA, one of which had somehow been assembled backward.
And so now here they are, seven months and one weird as all hell week later, and Taako is making mushroom caps with Death, who he just finished making out with.
Shit's wack.
"Dude, dude. Dude. No," Taako says, snatching the blade from Kravitz's hands. "You're gonna—look, just because you're dead doesn't mean cutting off your fingers is, like, a stellar life choice. You gotta tuck your fingertips in, my man, or else you're gonna get Death Secretions all up in the mushrooms."
Kravitz chuckles, just a bit, bowing his head so that the golden bands woven around his dreads gleam in the gross as fuck fluorescent lights of this Fantasy Embassy Suites kitchen, but he rolls his fingers so that there's no longer any threat of dismemberment. "Like this?" he asks, and he sounds so sincere and it's like a punch in the gut.
"Yeah, uh, yeah. That's—that's loads better, Krav. Look, here, take this, and I'll—" he passes Kravitz the knife, watches him grip the handle like a fucking scythe , and sighs. "Okay. Okay. Jeezy creezy."
And then he's wrapping his hand around Kravitz's, and at this point, it's not even weird that the dude's body temp is, like, 50 fucking degrees, and he's positioning Kravitz's fingers so that he's holding the knife like a sane person and not a psychopath axe murderer , and then he's guiding Kravitz through the motions of slicing the stems off of a shit ton of mushrooms.
(Merle would call it a shiitake ton, and Taako hates that he knows the dwarf well enough to know that.)
"You know, for a guy who uses, like, a blade on a long-ass stick all the time, you've got fucking terrible knife skills," Taako says, desperately trying to ignore the pit of something bubbling in his stomach.
This is so fucking dumb. They've kissed! They were just fucking kissing ! They—he—a little unintentional hand-holding shouldn't make him feel like a kid's birthday balloon, floaty and held down by a single, weak-ass ribbon.
But still, it's nice because Kravitz is nice. He's nice and sweet and hot and maybe a little bit of an asshole but definitely a grade-A doofus and—
And in two days, Taako is going to be gone and Kravitz is going to be here and it's going to be over , blown away like dandelion puffs in the fucking wind.
Taako doesn't notice he's crying until a tear lands on the cutting board.
Which is… the worst .
Like, actually, 100%, literally the worst. Taako cannot physically think of a shittier way this scenario could have possibly played out. He's fucking Taako from TV . He's hot as hell, famous as fuck—shit, he's even got his own Fantasy Audible promotion code! He doesn't cry over stupid flings, even if said stupid fling does have absurdly firm pecs and a ridiculous, captivating laugh and dumb nerd glasses and a way of genuinely caring that shakes Taako to his fucking core.
Taako does not do emotions—he's fucking good out here , please and thanks.
"Taako?" Kravitz asks, twisting his hand out of Taako's grasp and setting down the knife. "Taako, darling, are you alright?"
It's too much. It's too godsdamn much. Kravitz is—Taako doesn't love him, it's still far too early for that, but there's something, something about the way he takes Taako's hands and says his name and looks into his eyes that makes the elf think that maybe, just maybe, with time, he could get there.
And instead, he has to leave.
"I'm good," he says, clearing his throat and wiping his eye with the back of his hand. "Must be—must be the onions."
Kravitz doesn’t look like he believes him, but he nods, and they get back to work.
**
It’s Friday, and the gods must hate Taako because Lup has succeeded in getting Kravitz in less than a full three-piece. Instead, he’s wearing a dark grey button-down with a fucking red floral print and the top two buttons unbuttoned underneath a leather jacket, and Taako’s pretty sure he just lost fifty years off his life just looking at him.
“So?” Lup asks, perched on the armrest of Kravitz’s new leather couch (she’d quickly learned that her old perch of across Taako’s lap with her feet up on the coffee table wasn’t going to fly after the first time Magnus had glared at her for getting footprints on his hand-crafted furniture), “What’s the verdict, Skeletor?”
“It’s… nice,” Kravitz replies, tugging at the collar of his new jacket. He grins wide, showing off perfectly white, slightly pointed teeth. “I think it looks good.”
“ I’ll fucking say,” Taako mutters, and then clears his throat and looks aware, desperate to not be caught staring on actual television .
Davenport gives him a Look TM and he flips him off. This is partially his fault, anyway. He’s the one who convinced Kravitz to put those bands in his hair, to line his eyes with that brilliant metallic gold, and now Taako is suffering.
“Do you feel good, kid?” Merle asks, even though Kravitz is, like, a thousand years old. “That’s the important thing. All of this—the house, the clothes, the fancy hair shit and whatever the hell it is Taako does, it’s all well and good, but it doesn’t mean jack shit if you don’t use it, if you don’t take advantage of it. There’s more to life than death, y’know? All of—we did all of this so that you can reconnect, can grow, can, pardon my language, live a little . You’ve gotta choose to get out there and have experiences , or else you’re never gonna feel any joy.”
It’s the kind of hippy-dippy life guru crap that Merle specialises in, all choose joy and live for the moment and shit, but…
Damn it.
Damn it .
What the fuck is wrong with Taako this week? Why is Merle fucking Highchurch getting to him?
“I… I think I understand that better, now,” Kravitz replies, and his smile is smaller but no less sincere, and for a second Taako thinks Kravitz is looking at him but then the moment’s over and he continues, “Or at least I’m starting to.”
“That’s—that’s good, buddy,” Magnus says, and he sounds like he’s crying, and it’s fine because Magnus always cries, that man is a fucking water spout, no joke, but Taako still pulls a few tissues from the Fantasy Kleenex box and hands them to him.
The room is quiet for a moment, a little awkward, a little tense, and then Barry clears his throat from behind the camera and Lucretia is making those come on, let’s go hand gestures of his, and Taako’s head snaps up because shit, yeah , it’s his turn, fuck.
“Yeah, yeah, the—the food. Yes. Fuck. Shit. Damn it. C’mon, Krav, let’s—food. In the kitchen. New kitchen, new ingredients, new—food,” he stammers, and he feels his face heating up as Lup narrows her eyes at him.
She’s probably figured it out by now, if not the whole thing, then at least that Taako’s got a crush on literal Death , which means she’s going to want to talk about it later, which. Ugh.
Kravitz furrows his brows as he follows Taako into the kitchen, clearly confused but not saying anything. Good, smart man.
“So, uh, we’re doing lemon chicken and veggies. It’s—it’s super fucking easy, no way anyone could mess it up, even, uh, even avatars of death who don’t know the difference between garlic salt and garlic powder —”
“They look the same!”
“That’s racist,” Taako replies easily, quickly falling back into the comfortable rapport he and Kravitz have developed over the past week. “Actually, it’s a miracle you can even eat garlic—”
“For the last time, Taako, I’m not a vampire —”
“Oh sure, sure, of course. That’s why you’ve got fangs and red eyes and a bunch of fancy silk cravats and a coffin upstairs—”
“I actually think Magnus got rid of the coffin—”
“Thank the gods , holy shit, how were you getting any action with that thing lying around—”
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Kravitz says cheekily, smiling from ear to ear. There’s something about the warmth in his eyes (it’s probably definitely not hellfire, but Taako’s not about to ask to confirm) that makes Taako feel undeniably safe , which is maybe not the best thing, seeing as Kravitz is, uh, literally the Grim fucking Reaper , but it’s where he’s at, emotionally, for better or worse.
Taako huffs but doesn’t argue because Barry and Luce and the cameras are right there , and his whole godsdamn family is in the next room, and if they continue along this line of conversation, one of them is going to say something they shouldn’t, and then everyone is going to have to get real cool about a bunch of stuff really quickly.
“So, step one, thaw the chicken, but lucky for you, I’m an actual angel and did that for you,” Taako says, pulling a bowl full of chicken breasts out of the fridge. “Now, this is a really simple recipe but it tastes fucking amazing , so it’s good for if you want to impress people—like, say, the actual, literal goddesses you’re having over for dinner later—but you don’t want to do a shit ton of work.”
“Sounds right up your alley, then,” Kravitz says, taking the bowl from Taako’s hands, and he doesn’t bat an eye as Taako kicks him in the shin.
“If you’re gonna be a dick, I can just leave,” Taako threatens, even as he grabs the asparagus, tomatoes, and lemon from the crisper. “I can go right now and take all my wonderful cooking knowledge with me, and then you’ll just be stuck here, alone in the kitchen, holding a bunch of raw chicken like a goober , and that’s not a look anyone is going for.”
Kravitz laughs, his head thrown back, and it’s the most beautiful sound Taako has ever heard, and someone once told him all imported cheeses were on sale.
And he stops, and he stares for a moment.
And he makes up his fucking mind.
“Barold, turn the cameras off,” Taako says.
“Huh?”
“Just—turn them off or leave the room or fucking something , I swear,” Taako insists as he puts the vegetables down.
Kravitz is looking at him, now, and there’s something like concern, something like hope in his eyes, and if Taako wasn’t hell-bent on his decision beforehand, he sure as fucking fuck is now.
“Taako, what are you—we have to finish filming—” Lucretia says, just as Barry says, “C’mon, man,” but Taako doesn’t hear them because right then Taako is grabbing Kravitz by the lapels of his new, rose-printed shirt tugging him down into a kiss.
It is, objectively, not a great kiss. Kravitz isn’t expecting it, for starters, and so he yelps as he’s pulled into it. He very quickly recovers, though, his hands automatically going to rest on Taako’s waist. He’s cold, so cold that Taako actually shivers, goosebumps popping up along his arms as he moves them to wrap around Kravitz’s neck. Their teeth clack and Taako can’t help but laugh, just a little, and suddenly they’re both smiling too much to actually be kissing, and so instead they’re just pressing their foreheads together and grinning like absolute fucking dorks .
It’s the best kiss Taako’s ever had.
Somewhere, someone (Taako’s bets are on Luce) is yelling—probably about inappropriate workplace behaviour and HR nightmares and holy shit, are they, like, a thing ?—but Taako doesn’t care.
All he cares about is the fact that Kravitz makes him feel in a way he hasn’t in ages, and it’s corny and stupid and ridiculous and real , and fuck all if Taako’s going to give that up.
“This is probably going to be an editing nightmare,” Kravitz whispers, puffing cool air across Taako’s face, and Taako giggles and buries his face in Kravitz’s neck.
“Sounds like a them problem, bubbeleh,” he says, and allows himself to just enjoy this moment, at least until Lup verbally and bodily kicks his ass.
Until then, he’s good right where he is.
**
Somewhere in the celestial plane, Istus is smiling.
Her dinner plans are ruined, but then again, she always knew they would be.
Sometimes, fate has a funny way of playing itself out.