YGMM: Apron Animus

JournalWord: That straight-jacket feeling.

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"You are cooking?" she asks in disbelief. Tristan grins when Chris pulls the strap of her messenger bag over her head and drops it beside the doorway to the kitchen.

Jones picks up the orange book on the counter and waves the pages in the air. "Yup. We bought a cookbook."

Tristan twirls in his flour splattered apron. It's a sunny-yellow apron with smiley-faces decorated everywhere. Jones has his own apron; a cobalt blue apron with fluffy grey clouds. Chris notes that Jones has been spared from the spilled flour.

"You've got everything," she realizes, taking in the colorful array of bowls and matching cooking utensils strewn over the counter tops and cluttering the sink. 

Chris settles herself on a stool, relieved to see that the new stove hasn't been destroyed.

"Oh!" Tristan says, rifling through one of the plastic bags on the counter, "We got you something too!" 

She bristles when Tristan pulls out a lacy pink apron with red hearts out of the bag, tag still attached. "Now we'll all match!" he exclaims, ripping the price tag off.

Tristan tugs Chris off of the stool and turns her around so he can slip the apron over her head. The apron certainly isn't like the others. The boys have the average cotton apron that covers from full-body exposure and almost touched their knees. Chris's, on the other hand, is a totally different story.

"It's lingerie." She states bluntly. 

Tristan just keeps on smiling. "It's an apron," Tristan reassures, ignoring the glare sent his way. 

Jones just picks up the cookbook and scans the page they are on.

"Tristan, I'm not wearing this," Chris says, tugging on the hem of the lacy garment, but it wouldn't stretch from its mid-thigh length. Hell, it shouldn't even be considered clothing.

"Come on!" Tristan pleads, wrapping his arms around her, "You look absolutely delicious."

At that moment, the whole kitchen is silent at the sound of Tristan's husky growl. 

"Okay," Chris nervously starts as Tristan's face buried itself in her neck, "I really have to take this thing off." Chris frantically pulls on the bow behind her, struggling with the knot. "What the hell did you do to this stupid thing? Tristan!"

Tristan just lightly laughs, and smiles at her scrunched eyebrows, utterly amused by her sharp cry. 

"Tristan. Get this thing off of me," she commands, breathing slowly, humiliated that she had resorted to screaming. 

Tristan is ignorant to her still present, hostile expression, and gently rocks them left and right, his arms still around her. "Nope," is his stubborn reply.

Chris has had enough of his games and struggles out of his constricting hold. "Jones, put the damn book down and help me." Chris still tries to wrench the bow off while attempting to back away from Tristan. 

"Jones!" she yells just as Tristan starts running his hands up her sides, erupting an explosion of shrieks. 

"Oh!," Tristan says excitedly, a mischievous sparkle brightening his eyes, "Chrisy is ticklish!"

"Jones! He's going to rape me!" she screeches through a patch of giggles.

Chris and Tristan twist and turn, much to Tristan's pleasure and to Chris's displeasure. "Tris! Stop!" Abruptly, Chris jumps when Tristan pokes her in the side, causing them to lose their balance and topple over. 

Tristan ends up on the floor alone. Jones gives Chris an apologetic smile. "You still breathing?" he asks, letting go of her arms. 

Chris glances from Jones's apologetic but amused smile and Tristan's pleasured grin. "You should join me on the floor, Chrisy," Tristan proposes, leaning back on his hands to invite her in. "I swear I'm comfy."

Chris inches away from his sexual aura and sticks her tongue out at him. Jones's eyebrow raises. "That was very adult."

"I don't care," she pouts. Her hair is splayed around her face and her face is still flushed from the giggles. "I just want to get out of this wretched thing."

Jones gently turns her around and works out the tangled knot. Behind her back, Jones sends a returning grin at Tristan. Tristan watches from his place on the floor, admiring his handiwork being unraveled

. 

"You know, that was going a little too far, Tristan," Jones says conversationally, although Tristan remembers his unabashed and intrigued stare when Chris was calling for help.

Tristan openly ogles at Chris, who is purposely avoiding his stare by turning her gaze to the left. He can still make out the blushed cheeks she is trying to hide with her straight, black hair. She really is a headstrong lass.

"I'm sorry Chrisy," he repents, an apologetic smile directed her way. She nods, but doesn't flinch from her still position

.

The knot finally comes undone, and Chris immediately strips off the pink apron and tosses it in Tristan's direction without a glance. "It's all yours," she says breathlessly.

Tristan's smile never fades. "That's fine. I'll just find another way to get this beauty worn." He twirls the skimpy attire around his finger.

She glares at him, but her attention is pulled to Jones, who has suddenly disappeared. "Jones?"

"Just a sec," Jones calls from the hall, and he emerges from the hallway, a plastic bag in his hand. He reaches for the green apron in the bag and tosses it her way. 

Chris straightens it out and sucks in a breath. "It's perfect," she says, a light smile gracing her lips. Chris instantly dons the fabric, swiftly tying the back with an absently tied loose bow. She smiles at the green checkered print. "Thank you Jones." 

"Hey, what about me?" Tristan intervenes. "Where's my thank you?"

"What about you, Tristan?" Chris counters with a blank stare, hands on her hips.

"I got you an apron first. I deserve a hug."

"Not a chance."

Jones backs away to the kitchen and picks up the discarded cookbook. 

"What were you planning to cook anyways?" she asks, ignoring Tristan's whines, and walking to the counter. Tristan follows her to the counter, taking a seat on one of the stools beside her.

"Why don't you take a look?" he says, sliding the book across the counter.

Instead of cakes, roasts, and other regular recipes featured in cookbooks, this cook book is full of obscene concoctions.

"'The recipe of a Hate Cake. What?"

"That sounds scrumptious. What's in it?" Tristan leans forward on the counter.

"'First, mix together a handful of dried cat intestines and the blood of the suffering into a bowl.' Okay, I'm not reading anymore." Chris passes the book to Tristan.

"Come on. You haven't even seen any of the other stuff you can cook up," Jones prompts, trying his best to hold in a peal of laughter.

"You have gone nuts."

"Hey," Tristan calls, nose still buried in the pages of the book. "I need those for this one."

Chris shakes her head. "I know you guys make a lot of money now that you're working a lot of bookings, but don't spend it all on this.. crap." She waves her arms out to indicate the mess they've made in the kitchen, but pointedly flicks her wrist at the crumpled fabric on the floor.

"Save me some! I need two cups!"

Jones walks out of the kitchen and flops onto the couch. "You don't need to worry, Chris. We're huge hits." Jones flashes her a lounging pose with his signature smile. 

The smile didn't faze her since she has become used to its dazzle, but the exaggerated pose and concentrated pursed lips unconsciously perks a smile on her face. 

"Alright. It's your money."

Tristan leans sideways on his stool so he can holler into the living room. "Where the hell am I supposed to find a blushing virgin?"

::

I'm all over the place *sticks tongue out*

I just wanted to expel some of my YGMM obsession, and this is what ya'll got. 
This is set somewhere near the beginning of the timeline where the boys are fascinated and on a mission to figure out Chris.
Even if it requires making her scream.

Yeah... sexual innuendos are extremely prevalent in YGMM.. 

Keep cheery!
Mera!