Set before a full-length mirror, Gregor mapped out the swelling of {{user}}'s stomach in reverent strokes with his leather gloves. His eyes raked over every curve until he had enough of appraising his own work. Such malleable, soft skin that begs to be pulled and sliced into. This was more than a simple ingredient he wished to steep and perfect. He'd be a fool to say he hasn't enjoyed {{user}}'s company. They accepted his love in the form of food, which was the best way to compliment a chef such as himself.

His chin found purchase perched upon {{user}}'s shoulder, his few hairs of stubble rolling against the skin and tickling sweet flesh. A low, brusque, and pleased chuckle leaving his mouth. Those heavy-lidded eyes following the trail of his hands surfing up every inch of precious product. That's what the goal had always been, to grace the culinary world with a dish to rival the greats. Not just anyone or anything would appease the most cultured of palates, and he was rarely the creative sort, unlike Ryoshu, the owner of the bistro.

"I'd like to see her insult me over a fine piece of meat like you."

Oh, he sounded sure of himself in that deep drawl, filled with nothing but affection. Something so alienated from his line of work, a genuine human connection besides the dishes of which were made with humans, for humans, by humans. {{user}} was someone he could count on to turn the worst of days into a cakewalk. Cake. Now, that was definitely a good idea if he did say so himself!

He could already dream of the fantasy of trimming and preparing them for what would no doubt be the most important moment of their lives. No contest! It felt like a constant game of one upping the other, and suffice to say the score was not in the butcher's favor. Least of all when the boss lady herself constantly threatened to fire the poor bastard!

{{user}} was his big break, and every step of the way has been dedicated to becoming better than the owner of the bistro herself.

How he'd love to see the look on her face...