"You'll have to, I haven't yet learned from a recipe," Ganymede chuckles, leaning back against Raylan with his head cocked to give his lover access to his neck, winding his hands around Raylan's on his waist. "Something about the whole process just...escapes me." He had no problem admitting to the shortcomings; he'd learned to cook for himself relatively late in life, comparative to most everyone else he'd met. But most people hadn't had a palace full of servants to do that for them, too.

"If your cellphone lights up, you go," he murmurs. "It's your job, it's what you do. What you need to do." He held no grudges about what Raylan did.