Hank tossed the skillet in the sink as he listened to Connor reading the latest review. Bland? Tasteless? Those were words that had never been used to describe his cooking. Connor flinched at the loud crash, pausing part way through with wide hazel eyes. It wasn't unusual for Hank to be angry; he was a chef after all, but it was rare for him to throw things. Hank ground his teeth as he looked across the cluttered kitchen, waiting for Connor to continue. Connor swallowed, quietly grateful they hadn't started service for the day and the stoves were still cold.

"I-in conclusion, although the staff are undoubtedly friendly and doing their best, the under seasoned food is disappointing. Well-cooked though it may be, each dish is crying out for flavour. The chef would be well served by being a little more liberal with the salt." Connor hid himself behind the paper as another pan went flying. Part of him was a little amused. It was rare for Hank to get poor reviews, so when he did, he took it personally. It was also true that Richard Perkins was hard to please, and well known to be a picky eater. He considered himself lucky that his attentive service had been given such a glowing review.

"More salt? That little-I'll give him more salt if I get my hands on him!" Connor smiled sheepishly, knowing that anything he said could stir Hank up even more. It seemed Hank finally noticed how he had pressed himself up against the serving station to avoid any flying pans and the way he kept his hands raised to ward off any injuries. Hank sighed and ran a hand through his grey locks. Being just a small family business, with Connor running service while he cooked most nights, he couldn't afford to run him off. "Sorry, Connor." It wasn't fair to take it out on him. He was only delivering the bad news.

"It's alright...Maybe he'll try us again sometime and you can change his mind." Hank scoffed at the mere suggestion. If that asshole came back, he wasn't sure what he'd do. Maybe he'd tip the whole salt pot in next time. That would serve him right! "I-I'll go and start setting up." That was probably for the best. It wasn't the first critical review he'd ever gotten, but he couldn't deny the sting of it. Who even is this Richard Perkins? Being busy in the kitchen, he hadn't had the chance to see. Looking over his shoulder to check that Connor was out of sight, Hank pulled out his phone to do a little digging.

Richard Perkins, a forty-three-year-old food critic from Detroit well known for his scathing reviews and impossible standards. Throughout his seventeen year career, there have been only a handful of establishments that have escaped his wrath, with even the most respected names ending up in the gutter. Seemed like an accurate description. Looking at his picture, Hank was surprised he looked so normal. He'd expected him to look pompous and overweight, but he was actually sort of weedy. So, you're Richard Perkins, hm? Ferrety little asshole! He had sharp, rodent-like features that were just a little too soft to be rat-like. His hair was dark brown, kept neatly brushed to one side, and his eyes were a deep chestnut, looking hard and unfriendly. With an attitude like that, he probably doesn't have any friends. He probably wasn't getting any either. Maybe that was half the problem. Hank snickered to himself as he put his phone away, comforting himself with such thoughts as he started prep for the day.

Things went well to begin with. Their lunch service was flawless, just him and Connor doing what they did best. While Connor graced the front with his friendly smile and winning charm, Hank put his all into the homely dishes out back. Steaks, burgers, lasagne, spaghetti, pizza. It was all good, simple food. Since it was Friday, he had a little more help in the evening. Nines and Gavin helped at busy times like the weekend, Gavin in the kitchen and Nines out front. Much as Connor hated it, Nines' relationship with Gavin had turned out to be a pretty good thing for the business. It meant Hank wasn't stretched so thin.

"Yo Gramps!" Though his attitude could do with an adjustment.

"Hey asswipe!" They both snickered as Gavin shrugged out of his leather jacket and headed through to grab his chef whites. Nines followed with a withering look, already tying the small black apron around his waist. "Put your hat on!" Hank reminded, tossing the black cap Gavin's way as he entered. Gavin took it with a grumble and pulled it on before appearing beside him on the line. It was a little cramped, which is why they split the space down the middle. Hank handled meat and sides while Gavin covered salads, desserts and the pass, as well as the main oven with the lasagnes and pizzas.

Everything was going smoothly. Connor was calling in orders while Nines mostly handled the bar and helped with plates. They worked like clockwork, all four of them. Gavin never got in Hank's way and was always ready. Connor was efficient in bringing and calling orders, and Nines balanced the bar and service well. That all stopped though as Connor hurried through looking worried, glancing from the paper in his hand to Hank as he flipped a burger.

"O-order in! One spring soup...It's a critic's table." Hank's head snapped around at the warning, and even Gavin paused. Connor never usually warned them about things like that. Don't tell me..."It's Richard Perkins." That ferrety little fucker? The one from last week who-Rolling up his sleeves, Hank stalked his way around the counter, much to Connor's shock and horror. Gavin yelled after him, launching himself across to the grill to save the meat with a click of his tongue. Hank didn't care. He wanted to see him. He wanted to see that ferrety little asshole and-

"The Viognier? Certainly." Nines was already handling the drink order with expert precision and charm, lips curling politely as he walked off without even writing it down. Hank's blue eyes thinned as he got his first in-person look at the man and felt a pit in his stomach open. He was tiny! Barely more than five feet tall, which meant he'd barely reach his chest if he stood. He was also thin, literally half as wide, like a twig he could snap. The most horrifying part of seeing him in-person was the way his cock twitched. Oh, fuck no! That little ferret had ripped his food a new one. No way was he dropping it because he happened to be maybe-sort-of cute.

The restaurant was busy that night, but Richard had managed to secure the best table. It was right by the window overlooking the bustling street below, with a view over the Plaza square. Outside was dark, so the streetlights were lit, the city glistening in the distance. It was sort of romantic. Richard seemed content to watch the city as he leaned his chin on his hand and stared out, foot swinging as he crossed his legs. He was sort of handsome, in an unremarkable sort of way. Had a bit of a nose, but that just gave his otherwise plain face a little character. As Nines returned, his smile revealed some dimples in his cheeks and a set of straight teeth.

"Hank?" Connor murmured hopefully, glancing around to see how many people had noticed. A few had spotted Hank in the doorway, but few really took note. It wasn't unusual for the chef to step out and see how things were going. The thing that really made Connor's heart stop was when Nines left Richard's table and he caught Hank's eye. His lips curled into a smirk that was almost predatory, and Hank's returning glare didn't go unnoticed. Connor stepped back, aghast as Richard raised a hand and waved him over. "H-Hank, maybe I should-" It was too late as Hank strode across the room with a look of forced politeness.

"Hank Anderson?" Richard greeted as he approached. He turned away from the window and moved to cross his legs the other way as he sat back and appraised him. Hank knew he must look quite beastly. His hair was grizzled and grey, much like his scruffy beard, and he was both tall and broad. Big and burly. His chef's jacket was mercifully clean and uncreased, it being so early in the evening. "You cooked for me last time?" It wasn't unusual for there to be more than one chef in the kitchen, but his last visit had been on a weekday, so Hank knew it had been him.

"I did." The answer was a lot more curt than intended, but Richard's smirk told him he was used to it. He hummed thoughtfully, dark eyes daring him to mention it, but Hank didn't need Connor there to remind him that rising to it was a bad idea.

"Do it again." The purr went straight to Hank's cock, and as Richard bit his lip, he began to think the little prick was playing with him on purpose. There was just something in those dark eyes that had him captivated. Connor appeared at his elbow with a jug of iced lemon water, putting on a stiff, beaming smile that begged Hank to keep his temper.

"Happy to." Hank watched Richard swallow at the low growl in his voice, chestnut eyes filling with heat. Gritting his teeth, Hank returned the look, indignation ripe in his gut as he turned heel and stormed into the kitchen just as Gavin was setting two burgers on the pass. He didn't dare ask what the fuck crawled up his ass when he looked like that. He put his head down and got on with shit. Hank got started on the soup, as Gavin knew he would since it was for a critic. He kept himself out of the way, green eyes glancing over warily as Hank leaned over the stove and sipped the broth. Perfect. It was perfect. Feeling smug, he rang the bell and sent it out.

Feeling better about himself, Hank returned to the grill, quietly thanking Gavin as he moved out of the way to let him work. They were both surprised as Connor walked in barely two minutes later, looking worried and sheepish. Gavin had never seen anyone send back Hank's food before, though it occasionally happened with his own if he wasn't careful. Hank joined Gavin at the pass, feeling more than a little peeved as Connor gently placed the bowl of soup back on the counter.

"You're shitting me!" Gavin's disbelief was as palpable as his own, and Hank watched as he grabbed a spoon and tasted it for himself. "The phck? There's nothing wrong with this!" It was nice to be validated by Gavin, at least. It was also touching that Gavin seemed set to go on the warpath to defend his honour, going so far as to whip his apron off and roll up his sleeves. Hank snagged his jacket on the way by and pulled him back with an affectionate huff. Gavin grumbled but stayed where he was as Connor wrung his apron, hating to be the bearer of bad news. "What did he say?"

"H-he said it needs more salt." Gavin scoffed in disbelief.

"Bullcrap! Hank, it's fine!" Hank knew it was fine. He'd tasted it, and Gavin had tasted it. If there was something wrong with it, one of them would have caught it, and he was confident in his own tastebuds. Is he fucking with me? He had to be. In that case, Hank was going to let him reap what he sewed. Laying a hand on Gavin's shoulder, he turned his attention to Connor. Gavin wouldn't rat him out, but there was no way Connor would let him get away with it.

"Tell him I'll do it again." Connor balked. This had never happened before, and it didn't bode well that Hank was suddenly so calm. Gavin was looking at him like he'd grown two heads. Why was he catering to this asshole? Did his reviews mean that much? "Go and tell him. I'll ring when it's ready." Connor nodded stiffly and hurried out to do as he was told.

"Are you phcking serious?"

"Of course...All he wants is a little more salt." Hank smirked, watching the penny drop as Gavin's mouth fell open.

"Hank! You can't do shit like that; you'll get shut down!" Nervous green eyes darted to the doorway to make sure Nines wasn't hovering within earshot. Hank joined him briefly. He wouldn't want either of his sons to catch wind of this. Connor in particular would never let him hear the end of it.

"Who's going to know if you don't say anything?" Gavin cursed under his breath, looking up to see if he was serious before grinning. Hank knew he could count on him. "Watch the pass for me. I think I need to grab a little more salt from out back." Gavin snickered, unable to believe what Hank was doing as he grabbed the bowl and left the hot kitchen. Licking his lips, he shuffled through the storage area to the small break room. He wouldn't dare do this anywhere in food storage, and the bathroom would be even more unhygienic.

Setting the bowl on the small round table, Hank turned and locked the door. Unlikely as it was, he didn't want to risk one of the boys walking in on him. Am I really doing this? It was risky. Gavin wasn't joking when he said he could be shut down for it, though they'd have to prove it first. His reviews were largely positive, and they were a pretty small business. It was unlikely anyone would really believe it. Besides, that ferrety little fucker deserved exactly what he was about to get. The thought made Hank's cock twitch as he ran a hand over the bulge in his slacks.

"Fuck." That little fucker asked for more salt, so more salt he'd get! Popping the button, Hank reached into his pants and pulled out his cock. Licking his lips, he thought back to the moment he first saw him. The first thing he remembered was how small he was, which would be a fine thing if he ever got his hands on him. He liked them small. Small meant they were light, and light meant he could toss them around a fair bit. Hank grunted at the thought of getting that pert little ass in his hands and feeling Richard's ankles lock at the small of his back. Fuck, I bet I could make that fucker squeal! He fucking wanted to after that review. He'd make him eat his words! Watch him choke on them the way he'd choke on his cock.

A grunt slipped out as he tightened his fist and pumped. Fuck, what would it feel like to have those nasty little lips stretched around his cock? He'd bet anything Richard was a screamer. The little bitch would moan around him like a ten-dollar whore as he fucked his throat. Hank rested a hand on the table as he fucked his fist, remembering the heat in those chestnut eyes and knowing they'd gaze up at him the same way once he had him on his knees. Fuck, that would be nice. The hand on the table fisted as he imagined gripping his hair and snapping his hips for all he was worth. As he spilled, Richard pulled off with a smirk and gazed up at him.

"Do it again."

"Fuck!" Hank could feel his cock throbbing, opening his eyes to aim as he finally came. Moving his hand faster, he held on, watching his cock spurt into the bowl and milking for all he was worth. He wouldn't want it to go to waste. Panting, Hank hurriedly grabbed a few paper towels to clean up and wipe the table. Am I really doing this? It wasn't too late to turn back, not even as he tipped the bowl into a saucepan and reheated it with a few extra herbs. He wouldn't want it to be under seasoned. Gavin glanced at him as he hit the bell, looking shifty as he put his head down and focused on his salad. You know what...It wasn't fair to get Connor in trouble. Richard was bound to explode once he got a taste.

"Hank?" Connor glanced at Gavin worriedly as Hank circled the pass and took the bowl.

"I want to deliver this personally." There was a little too much smugness in his voice to be wholly innocent. Connor shot a demanding look at Gavin, who balked. It was impossible to lie to Nines and Connor.

"Wait, Hank!" He knew something was up, even without Gavin saying anything, but it was too late to stop him as Hank strode across to Richard's table and placed the soup in front of him. Richard, who had been daydreaming and looking out of the window, started as the bowl appeared. Chestnut eyes darted up, anticipation swirling in their depths as he met Hank's haughty gaze. Connor didn't dare get too close, choosing to grip Nines' arm and stare in horror instead. Nines, who was utterly oblivious, looked at Connor before noticing Hank and Richard. Thinking Connor was just nervous about the review, he patted his head in comfort.

"Your soup," Hank drawled, watching as Richard lifted his spoon and stirred the steaming broth. It looked a little different from before. Cloudier, thicker, and with more herbs. Licking his lips, Richard scooped up some of the broth and raised it to his lips. Something in Hank's gut tightened, bringing with it a sick feeling. He almost made Richard stop as he blew the broth to cool it, and then he sipped. Chestnut eyes widened as he paused, cheeks dusted pink as he met Hank's gaze. He knows! This was it. Any minute, he'd spit it out, leave his chair, and call the health inspectors. They'd shut him down and he'd never be allowed to cook again. Horror gripped his chest, but then Richard swallowed. He paused, spoon swirling the soup in thought.

"Did you think of me when you made this?" Hank's chest stuttered for a whole new reason this time as he took in Richard's knowing smirk.

"I did." The truth came out without a second thought, and then it was his turn to blush as Richard hummed and took a second sip. Chestnut eyes watched with more than a hint of smugness. That fucker...He knew! He knew, and he was eating it! Over at the bar, Connor seemed utterly bewildered, but somehow calm. They weren't fighting. In fact, Richard looked pleased. Hank must have made it perfectly this time. "Can I get you anything else?" Hank was pretty sure he was pushing his luck. There's no way Richard would trust him with anything else.

"Steak." Hank blinked as Richard's eyes sharpened.

"What cut?"

"Rump." Ah, an ass man. Hank could respect that. He was partial to ass himself. Rump was also the most flavourful cut. His respect for Richard would very much depend on his next answer.

"How would you like it?"

"Medium rare. Perfectly medium rare. I want to see pink in that meat." Fuck, now he was talking! Hank's mouth watered at the prospect. He'd give him a steak that was so medium rare he'd never find another like it. He'd fucking char the outside, barely cooking the outer layer and leaving it moist and pink the whole way through.

"Sauce?"

"No sauce." If he'd had the energy, Hank's cock would have stiffened at the words. This was a man who liked to taste his meat. He wanted to appreciate the rich, full flavour as his teeth sank into the perfectly grilled flesh. Their eyes scorched as they stared at each other, each waiting for the other to blink.

"Sides?"

"Surprise me, but I want a baked potato." Hank nodded. He could manage that. Hank's cock gave a dull twitch as he watched Richard butter some bread and dip it in the soup. The little fucker was still eating it! "I'll look forward to it." Hank was mesmerised as Richard raised the sodden bread to his lips and bit, keeping eye contact the whole time. He still couldn't figure out if he was fucking with him or not. Was he secretly going to call the health inspectors once his back was turned? Was this a sick little game? Fuck, it was a game of his own making though.

"Shall I take that for you?" Surely the game had gone on long enough.

"I'm going to eat every bite." Hank was pretty sure his ears turned red at the purr in his voice. Is he serious? The way Richard scooped the next spoonful made him think he was absolutely serious. Jesus-Mary-Mother of God! He'd never wanted anyone on their knees so badly before. "Send the tall one. I'm running out of wine." Hank just about managed to choke a response before returning to the kitchen. What the fuck had he gotten himself into?