In celebration of Fox's announcement that Kitchen Confidential will return to the schedule November 14, a thing I wrote over lunch. It's 323 words, so I'm not even going to cut-tag it. I am a self-centered whore.
Jim’s asleep on the couch in the back room again, and Jack has just spent an inordinate amount of time carrying produce to the refrigerator, after having spent an inordinate amount of time carrying meat to the refrigerator, and after tonight, Jack is going to start spiking Jim’s cappuccinos with No-Doz.
Jack leans against the wall and looks around the kitchen. His kitchen, and thank God for it. He can’t see outside from here, but he knows it’s the purple time just before dawn.
Which is why it’s a surprise when Steven sneaks in around the corner. He can’t see Jack, so Jack watches Steven try to sidle up to the door to the back room, only it’s more of a shambling roll, which means Steven’s about fifteen minutes from passing out.
“Jim’s already sleeping back there, you know.”
Steven jumps back against the wall. “Fuck! What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Unloading the deliveries. And you?”
“Going to have a bit of fun.”
Jack goes over and throws his arm around Steven’s shoulders and steers him away from the back room. “Leave him alone, man.” A kid who made himself puke in the alley because he thought it was part of the restaurant-opening rituals deserves to sleep in peace.
“All right, then, Jack, I’ll have to focus on you instead.”
“I’m not sure you can focus on anything right now.”
“Oh, I think I can.” Suddenly Jack is against the wall with Steven’s tongue down his throat and an overwhelming Altoids smell in his nose. They’ve never done this sober, or half-sober, or whatever it is when one person is sober and the other one is kneeling on the floor.
“Steven, not here….”
“Shut up,” Steven says, and then he pulls down Jack’s pants and takes him in his mouth. Jack rests his hands on Steven’s head and grits his teeth to keep from waking Jim.
Steven can be a real shit sometimes.
(Cross-posted to my LJ.)