One of the first things Duo and I bought together, was a blender. Nothing fancy, just a standard unit. We had just shacked up together after the war, both freelancing for the Preventers and needing a place close to headquarters. When the topics of interior decorating, furniture and appliances came up, we argued. A lot.
We managed to compromise, which wasn't that easy. He's fond of clear-cut black and whites, but I wanted vibrant colors. I wanted the place to look more alive; black and white always results in a dim gray in my eyes. Duo disagreed. He argued we'd be what made the place lively and colorful, not the paint on the walls or paisley-patterned upholstery. As it turned out, he was right - but he settled for allowing me a black-and-white-framed rainbow of a living environment anyway.
On the other hand, when it came to appliances, I wanted the simple things, while he wanted any fancy doodad within sight. Again, we compromised. Our relationship, turbulent as it can be, survives largely because of those. Duo would probably joke about sex having something to do with it too.
Yeah, there is something special about make-up sex.
The blender was, oddly enough, not a compromise. We both wanted the exact same model. He wanted one for his fruit shakes, I for my power blends. The problems surface when we both want to use it in the morning, both needing our own special fix.
Lucky for me, I tend to wake up early.
Unlucky for me, untangling myself from Duo without him waking up isn't easy.
I won't tell you of the many fights we've had over who gets to use the bathroom first.
This morning, I had escaped his grasp unnoticed, and after finishing up at the bathroom, gone to the kitchen to prepare my wake-up call. After I sliced up the various substances - I won't tell you or anyone else which; it's my secret recipe - I put them in the blender and let it rip, and moved the contents to a glass pitcher when it was done.
On second thought, I might tell Duo, if he ever shows an interest - but other than that, the recipe stays with me.
As I poured myself a glass from the pitcher filled with the light brown liquid, I heard Duo finish in the bathroom. I felt generous this morning, so I washed and prepared the blender for his use after I was done with it. Only fair, given how much he gave me the night before.
Maybe that's why I escaped so easily; he was too tired to notice.
He yawns, mumbles the same in reply. Almost on automatic, he heads for the fridge, picks out the soft fruits of his choice, cuts and cleans them and puts them in the blender along with whatever else his improvised natural sugar rush is to contain this morning.
Needless to day, I can never figure out his recipe - he doesn't have one.
I smirk, put my morning paper down as he brings the jar of pink fluid to the table, along with his favorite mug - a white ceramic thing with a red heart containing the words 'World's Greatest Lover'. Who am I to argue? "Enjoying your 'Duo Mixwell Special'?"
Despite rubbing his eyes, he isn't that tired; he noticed. With a grin, he points to my glass. "And what about your 'Gooey Yuy Twist'?"
I chuckle. "It's fine, thanks - want some?"
His time to laugh. "Hell, no." He pours himself a cup of the thick, strawberry-tinted shake, and downs half of it in one gulp. "If it tastes as bad as it looks... Well, that thing doesn't look even remotely drinkable."
"It is." I demonstrate. "It's good for the body - it contains-"
Duo waves me off. "Yeah, yeah, yeah - so it's really wholesome - but with you, the more healthy something is, the worse it tastes. That fish dish you made last Saturday-" He shakes his head just before I start glaring at him. Lucky for him he decides not to reopen that argument. It had lasted for three hours - the extra hour I spent locked up in the bathroom venting steam afterwards not included.
Good thing it was a Sunday the day after.
"Anyway, you tailor those things for your own body, don't you?"
I shrug. "Not this time. This is the generic blend."
He gulps down more of his fruit shake, raises a brow. "You mean experimental, and you want me as a guinea pig?"
I chuckle again. "I've already had some."
His time to shrug. The mischievous smile returns. "A valued second opinion, then."
I pour up another glass, making a show of the substances not completely mashed as they float over the edge of the pitcher. "I suppose..." I push it over to him.
Duo grins, takes it as a dare, and chugs it down in one gulp. His face contorts immediately, part theatrical, part gut reaction. Or rather, taste bud reaction. It does taste better than it looks, in my opinion, but he doesn't seem to agree. He coughs, hits his chest once. "Uh, not that bad, but..." His jaw and tongue works a few times. "It's got a damn awful aftertaste. Yuck." He reaches for his own beverage, covering my version of healthy with his own.
Yeah, I can't deny that most of the stuff he puts in his potion is sensible. It's more the completely random mix of it that has me hesitant.
He pushes his mug over to me, heart side facing me. "Here, your turn."
I give a slight snort in amusement, and accept his offer. His fruit shake is sweet, and fairly thick. The strawberries have tinted the flavor as much as the color, but I think I also identify the bananas I saw him slice. I'm not sure if he added some whipping cream in addition to the milk, but it feels that way.
I put the mug down. "Well, the Duo Mixwell Special isn't half-bad, either, but-" And I suddenly realize Duo isn't sitting at the opposing end of the table anymore. I feel a tap on my shoulder, and face the grin. He places a finger under my chin, tilts my head a little and kisses me tenderly. I surrender to him this time, feel his tongue rake across my lips as he sits down in my lap.
Duo relents, bright eyes focusing on mine. "At least it has a lot better aftertaste."
Again, I have to agree, but beyond a slight smile, I don't say so.
He gives the tip of my nose a quick kiss. "You know, I hope that's the last time you try to use any of those 'cute' nicknames. You sound like a phone salesman getting the name all wrong."
I grunt, and smirk. "But your name lends itself to it so well - Mixwell, Maxwall, Maxtell."
He chuckles. "Gooey, Gluey, Bluey."
"Maxwool, Maxwill, Maxhell," I counter.
"Ha!" he states indignantly, before retorting. "Muy Yewwie, Suuey".
He grins. "Yeah - like the hog call."
Another grunt escapes me.
Laugh. "See? It works!"
I shake my head. "Mockswell, Saxwell, Maxfill." Yeah, I'm running short of good ideas.
He notices - but has the same problem, thankfully. "Dooey Blewie, Bob."
My turn to laugh. "Bob?"
He shrugs. "When all else fails, always turn to Bob." He ruffles my bangs, brushes them aside. The mischievous grin returns. He gives my forehead a quick kiss, before whispering in my ear. "Screwie..."
I can't help but grin at that. "Sexwell," I answer.
His eyes sparkle but inches away from mine. Sometimes, we think too much alike - not that I'm about to object.
Work has to wait a while that morning. Some things are worth even facing an irate Lady Une.