[completed] Dusty Rose (Matty Healy/George Daniel)

Four

"Alright, well. Nearly done now, I'll let it cool a bit."

George set about mixing olive oil and spices and whatever else he picked out from the cupboard that Matty didn't really recognise, leaving Matty to look back and forth between the glass table with the posh chairs and the expensive sofas, trying to work out whether they'd be going for formal or not.

By the time George had the pasta on weird half-bowl-half-plates, Matty hadn't managed to solve this predicament and was standing half on his toes, looking at his feet. When George saw this, he frowned, unsure whether to laugh or ask if something was properly wrong, but stepped towards the sofa, aiming to place the dishes on the coffee table before coming back to see what was up with Matty, but he barely got two paces past Matty before a small hand wrapped around his elbow.

"Can we, uh- do you mind if we sit at the table? Don't want to, like, stain your sofas or anything. Look expensive."

George raised his eyebrows at the request, but made his way back to the table instead, placing the dishes down so that they were just around the corner of the table from each other. "Not like I wouldn't have the money to get the upholstery cleaned, love. You don't need to worry about that."

Matty half-smiled, but slid into the chair that George had pulled out for him nonetheless, and waited until George had picked up his cutlery to start eating. His eyes began to water the moment he realised just how spicy George had made the oil, and he swallowed the pasta as quickly as he could before sputtering out a cough. George swore before rushing over to the sink, pulling open a cupboard and filling a glass with water to shove in front of Matty, rubbing his back as he downed the glass, swirling the last gulp over his tongue before swallowing it.

"Fuck - I'm sorry, I'm not really used to spice, I guess. Christ, it's like I have some kind of, like, internal calling to embarrass myself, I swear."

"Don't worry about it, honestly." George tugged his phone out of his back pocket, wiggling it at Matty. "Want me to order you a pizza or something instead? There's a Domino's down the road that always puts mine through fast."

Matty felt a warm blush rise through his cheeks, and he stuttered slightly as he spoke, his words coming out in a bit of a shamble. "I - that's fine, honestly, I'm sure I can manage, like, I probably just need to adjust - and you made this lovely food, like, you put actual effort in, and that shouldn't go to waste, should it?"

George sighed a little, with a subtly amused smile on his lips as he bent over to wrap his arms around Matty's chest, leaning his head on Matty's shoulder and hoping to god that he was alright with affection.

"It's no problem, love. It's not like pasta's fine dining or anything, and I can still eat mine. I'll even eat yours if it makes you feel better about the waste."

Matty let out an indistinguishable breath before snaking his arms up and around George's neck as the older man's broad hands rubbed along Matty's spine.

"Does this mean we can move to the sofa then?"

Matty's lips widened into a grin as he held back a giggle, watching George's face as he pulled away from the hug, only to slide his hands under Matty's armpits and lift him off the chair. Matty gasped in reflex, trying to squirm away from the grip on his ribs. George had managed to dig his fingertips into a particularly ticklish spot of his, and Matty couldn't do anything but grip George's biceps and kick his legs out a little until George plopped him onto the sofa.

"I do have legs, and they do work pretty well, George."

George simply bit his lip and took a step towards Matty before placing his fingertips back on Matty's ribs, allowing them to dance across the small man's waist and over his belly. Matty wasn't far off of screeching from the contact, his legs contracting reflexively and his eyes beginning to water.