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“Are you sure that goes in the recipe, Loki?” Stephen skeptically stares at the celery that Loki was chopping. “Because I don’t remember tasting celery in that cake.”
“Oh, Stephen. You should trust in a God’s palette, my dearest,” Loki turned his head to grin at Stephen, and continued dismembering the celery. The amount of glee in his face should honestly be concerning, if it wasn’t so endearing. “If I say it has celery, it definitely has celery.”.
“But Loki, remember last week? When you wanted to recreate that curry you liked from the Thai place? You added that–”
“Hush!” Loki waved his knife, “We don’t like to talk about that. How was I supposed to know that durian tastes different on Midgard?”
“Which brings me back to my point – are you sure that celery tastes the same here as in Asgard?”
Loki turned to level an unamused stare at him, and crossed his arms. His knife hand tightened, as if resisting the temptation to hurl a knife at Stephen, which was a very probable outcome. Quite highly probable, actually. Even after they started dating, Loki had never really stopped throwing knives at him, just, instead of aiming for his person, he started aiming for a hairsbreadth from his person. So as long as Stephen stands still, he’s clear.
He’d probably lose a couple strands of hair, but they are willing sacrifices to the tempestuous God of Mischief.
Honestly, it's like Loki got off on trust or something. But the hand relaxed and laid the knife down on the cutting board. He seemed thoughtful, before taking on a poorly concealed mock-concerned expression as he reached out a hand to Stephen’s shoulder to say, “Stephen, know that I will still love you no matter what,” Loki said in a serious tone.
“O-okay?” Stephen said as his brows pinched in confusion. “I love you too, but what does that have anything to do with celery?”
The wrinkle between Loki's brows grew as he frowned. “Stephen dearest, do you know what cake it is?” he asked.
“Uh. Not celery?” Stephen raised his brow, “Ginger maybe?”
Loki just rolled his eyes and said, “Clearly your memory is lacking, my dear. What happened to your ‘photographic memory’? Do we need to go to your Midgardian doctors?”
Stephen looks at Loki, really looks at him, and says, “Babe, I have a photographic memory, not a magic tongue,” then waggles his brows and smirks, “Although you could probably say otherwise.”
“Perhaps after our dinner tonight,” Loki waves him off. “Anyway, it’s a ginger-celery cake,” he returns to chopping the celery.
“Huh. Didn’t expect that.”
“Yes, now be a dear and pre-heat the oven, will you?”