He's better at this angle, and if Silver was off work he'd absolutely ask if the other is aware he's statuesque himself. He does value his job, however, and he's certain the other is fairly straight, and it's unbecoming to flirt his first day here.
He does slide the tray into the oven once it's pre-heated and ready, and the moment that happens he immediately sets about prepping the meals--other than a few stumbles with where the pots and pants are, he's chopping at lightning speed, quick and precisely--despite the sharp knife he's glancing over at Benedict, extremely comfortable with it. It helps that he can't look away from the other's little crooked smile.
"I work with a girl who's an artist. Fairly good at it, too--I can't pretend to understand half of what she talks about. Something about colour theory." He shrugs.
Benedict can't even imagine being so skilled with knives. He tries to remember the last time he actually tried to cook, and how mincing garlic had proven to be harder than it seemed. He even buys mangoes and watermelon pre-sliced to save himself the hassle.
He wonders if Silver likes to listen to her talk because he likes her. He won't ask, of course, that's rude.
"It's always nice to listen to someone talk about what they enjoy. Do you do something else besides cook for hopeless socialites?"
"Three jobs," he answers simply. "I don't really have time for hobbies." He doesn't mind, either--it's better to keep busy, and all said jobs are what he loves to do. He works like a dog and his leg acts up occasionally, but it's pretty ideal considering I where he's come from.
"I suppose if I admit I like rum far too much you'll label me a troublesome alcoholic?" He winks at that, unable to help himself, smirking.
"I'd label you a man who deserves a bit of rum after spending the week working three jobs," Benedict replies, looking equally amused.
He honestly can't fathom it. Mostly because he's never actually worked a day in his life - he's done school, sure, but that's not really the same as a job, is it? Even Anthony has something of a job, though most of his job involves sitting in an office now and then and signing papers and going to meetings. But three seems excessive, particularly when Benedict imagines that being a personal chef is a lucrative business.
"Anyway, some of the world's greatest men were troublesome alcoholics."
Compassioinate, too. Silver actually stops chomping carrots momentarily, gaze on Benedict, and his smile widens into something genuine. He's almost flattered, and he has to remind himself that he's on the clock and that Benedict's making conversation.
"Your artists?" He asks casually, though he knows damn well most kitchen staff have one hell of a love for either alcohol or cocaine or both. "Isn't that the big commonality?"
"I think they say Alexander The Great was an alcoholic."
It's such a bizarre turn in conversation and Benedict's sort of delighted by it. He'd been worried the whole thing was going to be awkward and he'd sit in the other room while a stranger cooked for him, but it turns out his mother may have been on to something here.
"Was he?" Silver sounds surprised, though it's more that he's surprised the other is actually interested in this sort of thing. He begins to actually cook, and in a short matter of time as he continues the conversation, all of the burners will be going with various pots and pans.
"Wasn't really much for history. Alice Cooper was for the longest time," he offers, wondering why the hell he's listing alcoholics in front of an incredibly beautiful man. He's certainly not complaining, stealing glances every now and then. He's got gorgeous brown eyes.
"This might shock you, but I studied art history in uni."
The crooked grin is back, and Benedict ducks his head, feeling a bit foolish about it. He keeps thinking he might go back to get his masters, and then maybe he can also get a job, but he's aware that now he's not only a rich boy who can't cook. He's a rich boy who can't cook who had the luxury of studying something frivolous in school.
"It makes me a very good filler on a pub trivia team."
There it is. Silver's smile matches the other's grin, bright and despite himself. He seems almost bashful about it, despite the playful tone of voice, something Silver finds weirdly endearing.
"A Bridgerton plays pub trivia."
He's probably overstepping, but he can't help the surprise. Besides, he's too distracted by the way the other had ducked his head earlier.
"I know, we're dreadfully normal. Sorry to disappoint you."
He laughs, then, enjoying that Silver doesn't seem to mind joking around about it. A part of Benedict had been worried that he'd have to be tediously proper, and that Silver would be more concerned about not offending him.
It's a refreshing interaction.
"My older brother gets incredibly competitive about it."
Silver whistles. "I thought you were the eldest," he says casually, attending to a pan as he talks. He begins tossing the vegetables, less to show off and more out of complete habit.
"I'm afraid I don't really pay attention to things like that--not that I think your status is bad, or anything." he's quick to add it, chuckling to himself. He's surprised the conversation is coming so easy. It occurs to him that it sounds like he's fleecing him now, acting like he's somehow "not like the others" to gain his trust. That's laughable.
"All I really know is you're rich, you large family, and your mother would prefer you eat less carbs."
“If you take away my carbs I’ll waste away. She’s just upset that my ideal meal is bread slathered in butter. Maybe with some cheese on the side.”
Benedict leans on the counter, resting his elbows against it.
“I don’t quite understand the fascination, honestly. There’s this blog that’s come out recently by someone calling themselves Lady Whistledown. It’s not much better than a tabloid but everyone I know is so obsessed, she seems to know everything about everyone but no one knows who she might be.”
A mystery in the upper elite. Silver continues to listen as he works, pleased he just has to look up to see the other--it's nice. The only thing that's missing is two glasses of wine and it could be a friendly date.
Jesus, Silver has to get laid.
"Probably one of the hired hands," he guesses. "You'd be surprised what I'd hear."
Benedict knows how indiscreet people can be when they think no one is listening. He suspects that Silver’s got enough gossip to sink and entire household if he wants to.
“Fortunately, I never find myself caught up in it, and I find the whole thing too silly to pay as much mind to it as everyone else does.”
Sure, Benedict’s popped up a couple times, but never for anything juicy or scandalous. He’s apparently the least interesting of his siblings and he’s perfectly fine with that.
"I make a habit of immediately forgetting," he assures, and strangely enough, he feels almost bad for lying to Benedict. He's very well aware of what happens with rich people, and while he doesn't pay attention to gossip, he sure as hell pays attention to what's being said around the elite's table. Always helps to smoothly talk his way into something.
This job is a prime example.
"Do forgive me if you find my conversation tiresome--but I dare say you're one of the friendliest clients I think I've ever had. It's refreshing."
"I should be apologizing for myself, really. I'm not exactly of the etiquette when it comes to a personal chef, but I assume if you didn't want to talk, you'd have told me so. I just assumed it'd be strange to be in the same space but pretending the other doesn't exist."
But something inside Benedict preens a little, proud that he's somehow a standout among the many faces that Silver likely sees.
"I'm a hard man not to like," he admits, and maybe it's a little arrogant, and maybe still it's because he's flirting, but he finds it's easy to be almost himself around the other. It's quick, too... The only thing that's missing is a glass of wine and some proper music and it really would be an ideal date for him.
"I prefer it when I can have a conversation, but it's certainly not required. It depends on what you as a person would like--but I tend to just be interested in other people. Nosy, if you will." He's smiling softly, though, clearly joking about the nosy part.
Benedict looks amused and then laughs at his own joke, which he realizes isn't very cool at all, and then he realizes that he's stupidly flirting with a man who isn't interested in him at all. Silver's just polite.
"If I see on tomorrow's blog that it says exactly what I ate for dinner, then there'll be no denying it."
Silver's response is to curtsey, complete with a hand twirl. It's overdramatic and a touch ridiculous, but he's trying to see that crooked smile that had surfaced when the other laughed at his own joke.
He can't help it.
"You've caught me," he teases. "Whatever will I do, now that I'm at your mercy?"
The flat is starting to smell impossibly good with all of the things Silver is cooking. Benedict realizes for the first time all day how hungry he is. Apparently tea and cheerios isn't enough to fill him up (how odd), and he's sort of delighted that he won't have to order fish-and-chips for the night.
"I should hope so, or I've been lying on my resume."
Silver's chuckle is real, loud and pleasant as he continues to fuss over the pots and pans. It's mostly about the timing, especially when it comes to meal preperation. Silver's fairly decent and getting everything done with alacrity so he can either start his next job or get out of the place if it's an unpleasant clientele.
Maybe he'll slow down just for a little, but he also wants to impress Benedict. Just a little.
“God, no. Not in any big ones, I mean. I’ve got one in a smaller showing - my friend, Henry, owns the gallery so it’s more of a kindness than a great accomplishment.”
If he were more satisfied with his work as of late, Benedict thinks he’d have asked Silver if he wants to see something. But that’s a bit childish, he decides, like a kid who wants to show off a drawing, and he doesn’t think he has anything particularly good right now anyway.
"Humour me," Silver says instead, offering an easy, relaxed smile as a timer goes off. One brow quirks up, keeping eye contact for as long as he can before he has to grab the oven mitts and take Benedict's dinner out.
Benedict isn't sure if he's blushing, but he certainly feels like he is.
"If you're certain. Before you go, I can show my studio - I've got a painting drying, actually." And it's by no means great, he thinks, but it's perhaps more impressive than a simple sketch. "But being interested in my hobbies isn't a requirement, you know."
"If you'll show it, I will see it." Silver can't help his smile--it's mostly because he's positive the other is blushing, and there it is, that little crooked smile that Silver has decided to make his mission going forward to tease out of the other in any way possible.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He does slide the tray into the oven once it's pre-heated and ready, and the moment that happens he immediately sets about prepping the meals--other than a few stumbles with where the pots and pants are, he's chopping at lightning speed, quick and precisely--despite the sharp knife he's glancing over at Benedict, extremely comfortable with it. It helps that he can't look away from the other's little crooked smile.
"I work with a girl who's an artist. Fairly good at it, too--I can't pretend to understand half of what she talks about. Something about colour theory." He shrugs.
"It's nice to listen to, though."
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He wonders if Silver likes to listen to her talk because he likes her. He won't ask, of course, that's rude.
"It's always nice to listen to someone talk about what they enjoy. Do you do something else besides cook for hopeless socialites?"
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"I suppose if I admit I like rum far too much you'll label me a troublesome alcoholic?" He winks at that, unable to help himself, smirking.
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He honestly can't fathom it. Mostly because he's never actually worked a day in his life - he's done school, sure, but that's not really the same as a job, is it? Even Anthony has something of a job, though most of his job involves sitting in an office now and then and signing papers and going to meetings. But three seems excessive, particularly when Benedict imagines that being a personal chef is a lucrative business.
"Anyway, some of the world's greatest men were troublesome alcoholics."
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"Your artists?" He asks casually, though he knows damn well most kitchen staff have one hell of a love for either alcohol or cocaine or both. "Isn't that the big commonality?"
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It's such a bizarre turn in conversation and Benedict's sort of delighted by it. He'd been worried the whole thing was going to be awkward and he'd sit in the other room while a stranger cooked for him, but it turns out his mother may have been on to something here.
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"Wasn't really much for history. Alice Cooper was for the longest time," he offers, wondering why the hell he's listing alcoholics in front of an incredibly beautiful man. He's certainly not complaining, stealing glances every now and then. He's got gorgeous brown eyes.
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The crooked grin is back, and Benedict ducks his head, feeling a bit foolish about it. He keeps thinking he might go back to get his masters, and then maybe he can also get a job, but he's aware that now he's not only a rich boy who can't cook. He's a rich boy who can't cook who had the luxury of studying something frivolous in school.
"It makes me a very good filler on a pub trivia team."
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"A Bridgerton plays pub trivia."
He's probably overstepping, but he can't help the surprise. Besides, he's too distracted by the way the other had ducked his head earlier.
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He laughs, then, enjoying that Silver doesn't seem to mind joking around about it. A part of Benedict had been worried that he'd have to be tediously proper, and that Silver would be more concerned about not offending him.
It's a refreshing interaction.
"My older brother gets incredibly competitive about it."
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"I'm afraid I don't really pay attention to things like that--not that I think your status is bad, or anything." he's quick to add it, chuckling to himself. He's surprised the conversation is coming so easy. It occurs to him that it sounds like he's fleecing him now, acting like he's somehow "not like the others" to gain his trust. That's laughable.
"All I really know is you're rich, you large family, and your mother would prefer you eat less carbs."
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Benedict leans on the counter, resting his elbows against it.
“I don’t quite understand the fascination, honestly. There’s this blog that’s come out recently by someone calling themselves Lady Whistledown. It’s not much better than a tabloid but everyone I know is so obsessed, she seems to know everything about everyone but no one knows who she might be.”
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Jesus, Silver has to get laid.
"Probably one of the hired hands," he guesses. "You'd be surprised what I'd hear."
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Benedict knows how indiscreet people can be when they think no one is listening. He suspects that Silver’s got enough gossip to sink and entire household if he wants to.
“Fortunately, I never find myself caught up in it, and I find the whole thing too silly to pay as much mind to it as everyone else does.”
Sure, Benedict’s popped up a couple times, but never for anything juicy or scandalous. He’s apparently the least interesting of his siblings and he’s perfectly fine with that.
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This job is a prime example.
"Do forgive me if you find my conversation tiresome--but I dare say you're one of the friendliest clients I think I've ever had. It's refreshing."
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But something inside Benedict preens a little, proud that he's somehow a standout among the many faces that Silver likely sees.
"You're easy to talk to."
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"I prefer it when I can have a conversation, but it's certainly not required. It depends on what you as a person would like--but I tend to just be interested in other people. Nosy, if you will." He's smiling softly, though, clearly joking about the nosy part.
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Benedict looks amused and then laughs at his own joke, which he realizes isn't very cool at all, and then he realizes that he's stupidly flirting with a man who isn't interested in him at all. Silver's just polite.
"If I see on tomorrow's blog that it says exactly what I ate for dinner, then there'll be no denying it."
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He can't help it.
"You've caught me," he teases. "Whatever will I do, now that I'm at your mercy?"
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The flat is starting to smell impossibly good with all of the things Silver is cooking. Benedict realizes for the first time all day how hungry he is. Apparently tea and cheerios isn't enough to fill him up (how odd), and he's sort of delighted that he won't have to order fish-and-chips for the night.
"I think it'd be a very delicious death, though."
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Silver's chuckle is real, loud and pleasant as he continues to fuss over the pots and pans. It's mostly about the timing, especially when it comes to meal preperation. Silver's fairly decent and getting everything done with alacrity so he can either start his next job or get out of the place if it's an unpleasant clientele.
Maybe he'll slow down just for a little, but he also wants to impress Benedict. Just a little.
"Do you have your art in any galleries?"
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If he were more satisfied with his work as of late, Benedict thinks he’d have asked Silver if he wants to see something. But that’s a bit childish, he decides, like a kid who wants to show off a drawing, and he doesn’t think he has anything particularly good right now anyway.
“Henry humours me, truly.”
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"If you'd allow it, anyway, I'd love to see."
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"If you're certain. Before you go, I can show my studio - I've got a painting drying, actually." And it's by no means great, he thinks, but it's perhaps more impressive than a simple sketch. "But being interested in my hobbies isn't a requirement, you know."
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"Do you drink wine, Mr. Bridgerton?"
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