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You were currently living with your partner, Hawks, in an old camping cabin in the middle of the woods. He had become a little unhinged since moving here, but you didn't rightly mind. Life was good here.
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Eating seemed to have become your new favorite pastime as of late.
When you didn't have much to do, you tended to find yourself in the kitchen, chewing numbly at anything your stomach thought edible at the moment. You didn't have much else to do, anyway.
You had the freedom to move about the cabin as you pleased, as long as the curtains were drawn, and whatever you're doing wasn't too terribly loud. Hawks only allowed you outside when he was around, and that was okay with you. After getting bored of the lake, there weren't too many things out there besides trees, and shrubs, and poison ivy, and sticker bushes, and mosquitoes, and eugh. You were okay with being indoors.
Hawks insisted that it was because you were safe inside, with a roof above your head, but outdoors, anyone could see you. Anyone and anything. The amount of drones that he has sniped from the sky so far is pretty funny. After tossing their tracking chips or whatever location pinpointers they had installed in them, Hawks allowed you to fiddle with them. You weren't some engineering whiz, who could make something useful out of them, you just thought they were neat. And heavy. Hawks found out that they sold for the prettiest pennies in the underground market, so that was cool.
But, we're getting off track. In general, there wasn't too much to do here. Hawks was still struggling with the internet issue, and you've been helping him set up a tv in his free hours. Some days, it feels like he's busier than ever. His promise to relax once he has everything sorted out and in working order was what you clung to whenever he was absent for one too many hours.
Today, thankfully, was a slower day for him. He's been lying on the ugly magenta couch all day, staring ambiently at the ceiling. If you were in the room though, he'd watch you instead. You were his favorite show, after all.
Right now, you were in the kitchen, throwing together a rustic chicken alfredo for dinner. Tossing in carrots and peas just to see what the end result would end up being. Keigo was watching you, more than he was watching what you were doing. His eyes laser focused on the swing of your hips as you moved your body to reach for things. His lurid gaze continued to rove your shape as you poured your pastas into mismatched bowls with a beat up spoon. He was so caught up in his daydream, that he had almost not noticed when you had come up to him with the bowls.
"What did you make?" He asked.
You were a tidbit confused at his question, considering that you could have sworn he was watching you the whole time, but, eh. Maybe he was just daydreaming in your general direction.
"Chicken alfredo." You reply proudly. It had turned out pretty well, in your unprofessional opinion.
"Ooooh…" He hummed his satisfaction as you handed him the hot bowl. He loved anything chicken, you knew this very well, so he ought to enjoy this nicely.
You dug into your serving quickly, eating like some starved stray animal. You had already eaten several times in the last few hours, but a decent, hot meal made you feel nice on the inside. You had already gleaned your bowl, barely leaving any of the sauce behind. You were a bit disappointed that you had eaten so fast. You hate leftovers, so you try to cook in small portions that could be cleaned up the very night it was made. Therefore, there was not any leftover in the pot you cooked the alfredo in.
You glanced over at Keigo, wondering if he had also finished. He had always taken an enjoyment in eating in general. He always looked so happy when he did. You would've never asked aloud, but you often pondered if he enjoyed to eat so much because food was never readily available when he was a child.
Looking at him, you realize he had barely touched his food. His spoon was sitting still in his mouth, you can tell by the way his jaw moved that he was poking at it with his tongue. He starred in the direction of the television. Or, rather, where it was supposed to be, on the chest in front of the window. He's been spacing out all day, you wonder what he's thinking so hard about.
"Keigo?" You muse.
He jumps, the convulsions in his chest almost throwing the bowl and its delectable contents onto the floor, but he caught it, thankfully.
"Yeah?" He coughs awkwardly.
"Do you… not like it?" You ask. It sounded a little more dejected than you had intended it too. His eyes widen and he stutters to explain.
"No, no! It's good! You know I love your food." He shovels a few spoonfuls into his mouth before speaking again, mouth full. "'M jush dishtracted ish all." He mumbles through his food. You see his jaw slow in its chewing as he slips back into the aforementioned distracting thoughts.
You sit and stare at him for a moment, your brains cogs beginning to speed up in their cranking. You pluck the bowl and fork from his hands and stick a healthy portion of the pasta on the fork until finally shoving it in your mouth.
"Gwwuhmf!?" He tries to protest, but chokes on his forgotten, half chewed mouthful. As he tries to speed chew his food so he can protest correctly, his eyes land on your facial expression.
He watches as you thoroughly chew your mouthful with a wistful expression. Seemingly enjoying the food more than you really should have been. You swallow slowly, and huff through your nose afterward. You play with the fork in your mouth, coating it in saliva before pulling it tantalizingly from your lips as it drips from the fork.
Keigo has frozen completely. His entire lower lip is inside his mouth, really complimenting his silly flushed cheeks and knit eyebrows. He has locked his gaze onto your saliva covered fork, or rather, what was his, now saliva covered fork.
"Would you eat if I fed you?" You purr.
---
Keigo had been laid across the couch, his head supported by the arm. His wings had spread out in a sign of his contentedness. His left wing was completely spread out, falling over the side in a curtain like way. His right one was pressed against the face of the couch, half of it arching over your head as you laid on the other half.
You had started feeding Keigo his pasta dish. Plucking small bites from the bowl to make it last longer. When he closed his mouth around the fork and you moved to slowly pull it out, he always pressed his tongue on the bottom, sliding it across the prongs. He was a tad embarrassed to admit that he really really liked this. He hummed shyly as you gave him another fork full. As he was chewing that bite, he had realized that, at this point, your saliva was definitely no longer on the fork.
He had insisted that you didn't wipe it off, and instead use it to coat the first bite with. Dare he say he enjoyed the flavor of your saliva better than the taste of the chicken. When you had accumulated another bite for him he spoke suddenly, in that dazed, somewhat needy voice he always spoke in whenever he thought too hard about you.
"Take a bite." He says pleadingly. "It's your turn now, take another bite, please."
He sighs hotly as you drop your quirked brow to eat the bitty on the fork. Just to tease him, you slather the fork in your drool again, because he apparently really liked that. He whines a little for you to hurry and serve him the last few bites while your spit is still on the fork.
He groans as he feels it lather his tongue. Some part of his brain told him to be repulsed, but that feeling was overridden by the unbearably warm feeling he got in his liver, that's probably not healthy, whenever he got to interact with any part of you.
Pulling loose hairs from your brush or straight from your head, just to put into a box later. Collecting the fingernail clippings you shed that were easily spotted on the dark wood floors. Hoarding any scabs that had fallen off naturally or that you had accidentally picked off while scratching. Even if it was no longer a part of your body, he would collect it if possible, and keep them stowed away where he could touch them if you were ever unavailable.
This was the same for him. He couldn't preserve your saliva, as much as he wanted to, so he had to opt for collecting it within his own stomach whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Before he knew it, the bowl was empty. Thus, he took an extra moment to savor the food in his mouth before swallowing.
"Thaaaank you." He purred, leaning into your chest.
You set the bowl and fork down on the floor and press into him welcomingly. Your right hand pets his hair while the other lovingly strokes his belly. He huffs uncomfortably.