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madomens · 1 year ago

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Face It (Chapter 3)

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, ANGST

“I know my timing isn’t the best but I don’t think I could admit it sober,” I pick at my nails, not daring to look up at him yet.

I feel Noah shift slightly without saying anything.

Oh god I fucked up. Why would I say that at a party no less? I’m such an idiot.

I peek up at him, heart beating out of my chest. “I’m sorry that was so stupid. Can we pretend that didn’t just happen?”

“No I’m sorry I just wasnt expecting that,” he gives me a smile.

Thankfully, everyone is too into beer pong at the moment to realize what’s going on in the living room.

“Noel I’m sorry.” My shoulders drop as soon as the words leave his lips. Noah grabs my chin to force me to look at his face. “I really like you. Fuck, I like you a lot. But with the touring and everything I wouldn’t be able to give you the time and attention you deserve.”

At least he’s honest. With slightly shaky hands, I take another long sip of my drink. Patting myself on the back for doing this tipsy or I would be in tears right now.

“Yeah I understand. I hope this doesnt make things weird between us. I just needed you to know how I feel.”

He gives me a sad smile and kisses me on the cheek, not caring if anyone sees.

“I think about you all the time, Noel. I wish things were different and I know we would be perfect.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and wrap him in a hug. This isn’t the way I wanted it to go but hey, he feels the same I guess.

“Noah, Noel! Come do some shots and stop being so antisocial!” Haley drunkenly yells at us.

I thank her in my head for breaking the weird tension between Noah and I. Noah stands up and holds his hand for me to grab and we walk to the table where everyone has their own shot.

Nearing 1 in the morning, I started getting a bit tired so maybe another shot would wake me up. Nicholas hands Noah a shot and Talia pours me one.

I thank her and glance at Noah, who keeps giving me sad eyes. I definitely should have waited to tell him how I feel.

“Okay I know I just met most of you tonight but I haven’t had this much fun in forever. Thank you Noel for inviting us and for being such a great host,” Talia raises her shot.

I smile and raise mine as well, everyone else following along.

“To beauty, to honor, if you can’t cum in her, cum on her,” Chris says and we all take our shots.

The burn is so good compared to the feeling I have in my chest right now so I pour myself another shot and down it without waiting for anyone else.

Folio gives Noah a knowing look and pats his shoulder.

The night goes on until around 3 am when people finally start leaving.

“I love you oh my god we have to do this every weekend,” Talia’s friend, Cam tells me.

I love drunk people.

“Yes that would be so fun!” I give her a hug and continue the goodbyes until it’s just me and the guys.

“Who wants to watch a movie?” Folio suggests.

“I hate to be a party pooper but I will pass out during the first ten minutes if I try,” I laugh. “I have an extra bedroom and the couch is a pull out bed. I love you guys, don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

“Booo Noel doesn’t want to hang out with us anymore,” Jolly drunkenly states.

“Love youuuu!” I call back walking to my bed room.

Not even five minutes later I feel my bed dip on the other side. Turning over I see Noah crawling in next to me.

“Hi,” I smile, head still on the pillow.

“Hi. Thought you might want some company.” He says as he slides the strap of my tank top and kisses along my shoulder and up my neck. Noah lightly bites my pulse point, sending a shock of pleasure through my body.

“Noah, what are you doing?” I ask breathlessly as his hands travel up and down my body. “My plan was to make you cum, you know I’m going to miss you when I leave tomorrow.”

Noah’s hands continue their path across my abdomen, leaving my skin on fire. The sting of his earlier rejection fades as he trails more kisses down my neck towards my chest. He pulls the straps of my top down further, exposing my hardening nipples and takes one into his mouth. Sucking and my drunken mind is now fully empty aside from all things Noah and his deliciously talented mouth.

“Ah!” I gasp out when he bites down lightly, moving to the other rosy bud. Sliding my top down past my waist he settles in between my legs and mouths at my cloth covered center, licking over the existing wetness. “Fuck, I love how fucking wet you get for me.” he mumbles against me.

When he finally pulls my underwear to the side and licks against my bare skin I can’t help the loud “fuck!” that escapes my mouth. He knows what to do with his tongue and I’m completely at his mercy. “You taste so fucking good Noel, I’ll miss the taste of you.” he looks up at me before moving his attention to my clit.

Once he starts gently sucking my body lifts off the bed the euphoria takes over quickly, “oh god yes, Noah right there” I mewl out, and when he eases a finger into me, my climax takes over and a gush of fresh release meets his awaiting tongue. “I need you to sit on my face, please,” he purrs out and palms his hardening cock through his pants.

Quickly adjusting our positions I start hovering slightly above his face as he licks into me. “I said sit Noel,” he gripes and pulls me down to fully sit down. After a few minuets I’m grinding down as he sucks and fucking into me with his tongue, lost to the building orgasm. I moan out as I feel the growing pleasure. When it finally hits I call out his name loudly, “Noah, oh god yes!”

Laughing darkly and wiping his mouth on my discarded top he pushes me further down on the bed and pulls down the front of his pants. “You want me to fuck you now Noel?” His voice is deep and sexy and I nod and arch my back pushing my ass even closer to him. “Words baby, I need you to use your words.” Ugh this fucking bastard is going to make me beg for it. “Yes, please fuck me.” I say desperately.

“Mmm thats a good girl.” he says, sliding the head of his cock along the seam of my pussy, teasing me by sliding in a little bit and then pulling out again. “Please, Noah. Please, fuck me.” I say again and without warning he completely bottoms out and I almost cum again just from the way he perfectly fills me.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” he groans before pulling out and slamming back into me. “Oh!” I moan and he continues thrusting into me sharply, the slapping sounds of our skin filling the room. Noah fucking into me and I feel my eyes rolling back at the intense feeling of bliss filling my body. I dont know if its the alcohol or that Noah is just this good at fucking.

Suddenly he pulls out and grabs my hips, flips me over and quickly eases his cock back inside. “I wanted to watch you cum this time.” he says and leans down to kiss me, pushing his tongue deep inside my mouth and I can taste myself.

He keeps up his deep thrusts for a while but soon he's hunched over with his head buried into the crook of my neck whining softly as his own climax sneaks up on him. He’s now just grinding into me and the pressure is building on my swollen clit, he circles his hips a few more times and my orgasm rocks through me. My wet core pusles around him and he empties himself inside of me. Thank god for birth control.

After a few minutes of catching our breath, Noah breaks the silence.

“I want you to know nothing will change between us. I care about you so much it’s insane.”

“Noah, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I get it,” I sigh, pulling my blanket over myself.

He gives me a small smile and kisses me sweetly, pushing my hair out of my eyes. His dark eyes stare through mine like he wants to say something but decides against it.

I go to the bathroom to clean up and when I come back, Noah is sound asleep, slight snores coming from him. I get back into bed and stare at the ceiling, my mind going a million miles a minute until I eventually drift off to sleep.

“Noel.. Noel..”

“Mmm what?” I ask, putting my head under my pillow. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost 10,” Noah says taking the pillow off my head. “I got you some tylenol and water.”

I sit up rubbing my eyes and take the tylenol from him. God my head is killing me. “Thank you.”

“Jolly made breakfast if you’re hungry,” he says scratching the back of his neck. “He said it’s the least he could do since you let all of us crash here last night.”

“That’s sweet,” I smile, getting up to put some clothes on.

Walking into the kitchen, I’m immediately greeted with “Oh Noah!! Right there!!” by Folio.

“Ha ha very funny. At least one of you got laid last night,” I say grabbing a mug for some much needed coffee.

“Why are me and Jolly catching strays?” Nicholas asks, pretending to be hurt.

Noah pats him on the shoulder and grabs a piece of bacon. He hasn’t put a shirt on yet, just in his black sweats and I’ve never seen a more beautiful human being.

I don’t think our conversation should have ended the way it did last night so I plan on talking to him today, sober this time.

After cleaning up the kitchen and putting things back where they belong, Jolly, Folio, and Nicholas decide to go out and do whatever it is they do. I’m sure it was an excuse to get me and Noah alone but we need the alone time anyway.

“Listen I know we kind of talked last night but something has been bothering me. You said nothings going to change but I’m not sure I want that,” I sit on the couch next to Noah.

He sighs, probably knowing where I’m headed with this conversation.

“Are we always going to just hook up whenever you’re in town? Because I’m not sure I can handle only having a part of you.”

Noah fidgets with his chain trying to think carefully about what to say. “I understand where you’re coming from. But I can’t give you all of me the way you want me to. This band is literally my life and I can’t just put it on pause.”

“I never asked you to put anything on pause for me. I just need you to know that if all we could ever be is fuck buddies then I don’t want it,” I scoff.

“So what does this mean Noel?”

Tears start to form at the corner of my eyes knowing this could be the end of whatever this is. Do I really want that?

“I guess it means this is where we part ways,” the tears fall before I can stop them. “I deserve more than what you can give me.”

He puts his head in his hands and rests his elbows on his knees.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you last night. I’m sorry Noel I really am.”

“I think you should go Noah,” I let the tears fall freely and I could see tears forming in Noah’s eyes.

“Is this what you really want?” He stands slowly, waiting for my answer.

“No. But I need time right now. This isn’t how I expected this conversation to go.”

He gathers the things he brought and walks to the door, looking back at me one more before leaving.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Huge thank you to @spicywhenspeaking for helping with this chapter 🫶🏻🫶🏻 GO CHECK OUT HER WORK!!

I PROMISE NEXT CHAPTER IS GONNA BE BETTER❤️❤️

tags: ( @ebechnasheim @jilliemiw86 @whenthesummerdies ) lmk if you want to be tagged in future chapters🤭

#bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fic

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eirist · 3 years ago

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In the Heat of the Moment

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: For Day 3—Nami’s Day—of the ZoNa Days event (at @zonamievents). I’m already late but still posting it. It’s unfair if it’s only Zoro who gets an entry.

In the Heat of the Moment is by Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds. I still have The Umbrella playlist to thank for being such a good company.

Summary: "You're getting sappy witch. Sounds like you care about me."

The rain hadn’t let up from the moment it began to pour down.

Which should not have been a problem in the first place… the Straw Hats have their very own weather expert-slash-navigator extraordinaire after all.

If only said weather expert-slash-navigator extraordinaire didn't get distracted, arguing with a certain green-haired swordsman.

"This is your fault!" Nami complained, rubbing her arms with her hands in a poor attempt to keep the emerging chill away.

Somehow satisfied, she folded her arms across her chest as she sulkily glared at the rain which has now completely turned into a steady downpour.

Luckily she was able to pull the man with her towards an alcove in the town's wall before they got drenched. It was an uncomfortable fit, as they were almost pressed to each other, but it'll do.

Zoro was snarling beside her. "This rain is MY fault?" He huffed. "Right! It's my fault coz I absolutely can make it rain on a whim!"

Nami turned sharply towards him, glaring daggers. "If you hadn't gotten lost—"

"I DON'T GET LOST!"

"—like the idiot that you are," she continued ignoring Zoro's outburst, deliberately raising her tone and effectively drowning his retort with her shrill voice. "Then we wouldn't be stuck in here ZORO!" Her voice jumped another octave when she said his name. "In. HERE!" She repeated the words, making sure to emphasize them and hoping to drill it straight into his thick, dumb skull.

"Tch! Then you shouldn't have followed me!" The former bounty hunter groused.

"Besides, aren't you supposed to be good at predicting the weather?" He commented sardonically. "Shouldn't you have known that it’s going to rain today?"

Nami gaped at him disbelievingly. And heat rose to her cheeks.

She gave his shin a good kick for that.

"Ite!"

"I know that!" Nami practically shrieked at him. "That's why I followed you here to tell you about it! Is this the thanks I get from making sure you don't get your dumb self lost in this island while a storm is brewing?!"

"Again woman, I DON'T GET LOST!" Not the one to be deterred, Zoro raised his own voice to match hers. "And damn it! Stop kicking me!"

"Bullshit!" The ever-feisty navigator exclaimed. "That a load of crap and you know it!"

She angrily poked his chest with her finger. "If I leave you to your own devices... We. Would. Never. Find. You!" She punctuated each word with a prod on his torso. As if that would actually make the idea sink unto him. "I don't want Luffy and Chopper whining about how you are lost and that we should find you!

Zoro grabbed her hand to stop her from poking a hole in him. Grasping it firmly he all but shouted back at her. "I will be fine! I will find my way back to the Sunny!"

“Hah! Fat chance of that happening!”

They were almost nose to nose by this time; all the while scowling at each other, both waiting for the other to back down.

Now only the sound of the rain falling heavily down the soaked earth can be heard as they continued their stare off. Along with the sharp intake of breaths coming from the two of them because honestly, their shouting matches can be quite arduous.

As the glowering continued; Zoro thought he caught a glint, a spark from behind Nami's eyes before those warm brown orbs widened.

In what could only be a realization that their current position is leaning towards… precarious. It was also not helping that his own eye had darted all over her face, taking in the flush on her cheeks. Despite it coming from indignation, she still looks...

... pretty.

He almost choked at his thoughts. When did he turn into that shit cook?

Zoro inhaled sharply and realized what a wrong move that was. He caught a whiff of Nami’s signature scent. Sweet with an undertone of zestiness that reminds him of her mikan fruits at their peak of ripeness—that certain moment that makes you want to steal one so you can taste them...

The color on her face deepened and Zoro wasn't sure if it was because she was getting angrier and angrier by the minute.

Or... If it was because she saw that his stare lingered for more than a second or two at her lips. "Screw this!" He grunted, instantly averting his gaze. He felt his face heating up and to get out of their rather 'awkward' situation, he immediately resorted to his favorite defense mechanism whenever he faces off against this orange-haired devil incarnate.

Losing his temper on her.

"You are not my keeper woman!" He snapped at her before immediately stepping out of their sanctuary and into the rain.

That made Nami snap to attention. "Hey!"

Without another word Zoro turn around and started walking away from her despite the torrential rain.

WALKING. AWAY. FROM. HER.

While it’s raining cats and dogs.

"Zorooo!!!" He heard Nami screeched his name, horrified that he would actually leave her alone. There was no way he was getting back in there with her. Not when it occurred to him that he was only a second away from grabbing her...

...and kissing her.

He walked in faster strides when she called him again. He had to get away from her. He needed to get away from her.

Far away.

Because honestly she was driving him crazy lately with all these thoughts of wanting to kiss her surfacing every moment whenever he was with her.

And who knows what the repercussions are? This is Nami they're talking about. She would probably sic ero-cook and even Luffy if he dared to even try. Or rat him out to either Robin or Usopp or both.

Or charge him more than what his current bounty is.

He winced at that.

For now he needed to get away and calm himself so he can reflect...

There was no warning as something collided at his back, almost making him stumble down the wet ground.

Did someone just attack him?

But the presence wasn't threatening, even if its arms were wrapped around his neck in a chokehold, throttling him.

"YOU DID NOT JUST LEAVE ME ALONE THERE RORONOA ZORO!" Nami deliberately yelled at his ear, probably making his ear drum shatter and rendering him forever deaf. In a split second the Supernova realized that Nami… had jumped him.

"Hey! Get off witch!"

"No!" "Get off!" "I said no!"

"Get off now or I'll--"

Her hold around his neck tightened. "Or you'll what?" Nami hissed right in his ear in a tone so dangerously low that an actual chill ran down Zoro's spine. He gave her arm a light slap, a silent gesture to loosen her hold because she was cutting off his air. When she didn't relent, he effortlessly bounced her up his back.

With a squeak of surprise, her arms slackened and he was able to finally draw in some air.

Nami’s hands grabbed at his shirt in an attempt to prevent herself from slipping from his back. Zoro tried to shake her off him. But the cat burglar swiftly clung onto him by locking her legs around his waist.

His remaining eye widened at that.

"Nami!" "Stop trying to shake me off Zoro!" Nami protested as she held on to him tightly. Her knee knocked against his katanas and he scowled. "Then stop strangling me damn it!" "You deserve it you ass! Leaving me alone like that! Wait until the others hear about this you brute!" Zoro muttered an expletive under his breath. Nami is a real witch!

He can feel her sliding down his back again. She was having a hard time clinging onto him because his shirt and her arms and legs were all wet from the rain water.

"I'm charging you for all these Zoro!" She muttered against his ear, her breath hot against his skin… a stark contrast from the cold rain water falling down on them. "The hell you are!" He managed to retort. She was speaking from his blind side and even as he tilted his head, he cannot see her face or her expression.

The next thing he knew… her fist had descended on his head.

“The hell! Why did you hit me?!”

“Because you are a moron.”

“That’s it get off me!”

“No!!”

They continued struggling against each other, right in the middle of the rain that was soaking them to the bone.

And Zoro realized then and there that Nami was quite nimble. She had quickly managed to change her position from his back to his side with her legs still locked around him.

He really didn't know what to do with that information, except it's going to be really handy once he gets the chance to...

Fuck! She had hit him on the head with her fist again. That’s twice already. Why are her punches hurting him so much? Was it clad in haki?? "Argh! Nami stop it!" He tilted his head towards her so he can growl and glare at her all at the same time.

She just gave him a haughty serves-you-right grin.

In retaliation he bounced her against him again.

Which was a wrong move. Because all it did was rubbed her breasts against him and press her closer to him.

It was a good thing the rain was drowning them. Though it did made her yelp in surprise. He’s good with that.

"Argh! Stay still Zoro! I swear if you drop me down I'm going to—"

“To what?” His steely eye met hers. This time it was his turn to challenge her.

Nami’s hold around his neck tightened, probably because her grip on him was slipping again because she was just as wet as he is and also because she still wants to choke the shit out of him for leaving her alone earlier.

She lifted her chin slightly so she could gaze back at him even as the rain water continued trickling down her face.

Was it just him or Nami’s quite comfortable where she is right now?

He knew she was trying to give him the evil eye. But it was hard to do that when the droplets of rain keep clinging to her lashes and she had to blink them away in a manner that affects him greatly.

And there was it… that familiar glint, that spark he saw when they were back in the alcove taking shelter from this rain.

“Look Zoro,” she finally sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you will come back to the Sunny in one piece and not get stranded in this weather."

Zoro blinked. He was not expecting that.

Then his face broke into a smirk. "You're getting sappy witch. Sounds like you care about me."

“Y-y-ou!” She stammered.

He grinned at her as she sputtered, her face turn absolutely and adorably red.

To think, he actually high-tailed it out of there earlier with his tail between his legs all because he can't face the realization that he wanted this woman.

But there was no denying it now. Amidst this rain it was very clear. That was all he needed.

He finally decided to take a chance instead of running away from it like a coward.

He tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. "You can punch me or charge me later Nami," was all he said before he pressed his lips on hers.

Her body jerked in surprised. His arm instantly wrapped around her waist to secure her as one of her hands grasp at his shirt tightly.

He swore he heard and felt her murmur 'oh fuck' against his lips before she deepened their kiss.

They pulled apart slightly for air. Zoro hauled her up a little and Nami was about to lean down to for another kiss…

“A-choo!”

They looked at each other in surprise. Nami’s hand automatically covered her mouth as her face turned red again… this time for a very different reason.

“Ehem!”

They both turn their heads towards the sound and saw an elderly man standing a few feet away from them under an umbrella.

He was shaking his head as he looked at them.

“You youngsters should just get a room you know. You risk getting sick doing things out here in the open that should be done privately.”

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zona fanfiction #zoro nami fanfiction #ZoNa Days #zonamievents #zonamieventstumblr #roronoa zoro #nami

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samwinchestersgf · 4 years ago

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spn christmas bingo!

two coats

prompt: broken down car

pairing: sam x reader

warnings: none

i cover my ears, giggling profusely. “sam, stop!”

“noel, noel, noel!” he scream-sings at the top of his lungs.

“this... this is an abomination.” i shout over the radio.

“what do you mean? i’m classically trained!” he shouts back.

“being in your middle school’s production of our town doesn’t make you professionally trained.” i argue, turning down the radio.

“well, i say it does.” he turns and smiles at me cheekily. “and you have to deal with me for the next hour until we get to bobby’s house.”

“i should’ve rode with dean.” i roll my eyes.

i’m lying. even if sam’s screeching threatens to make my ears bleed, i wouldn’t trade this car ride for anything. i enjoy spending all the alone time with sam i can get, which isn’t a lot. it’s especially rare when that alone time isn’t plagued with loss and despair.

“you don’t mean that.” he scoffs and kisses my cheek quickly before returning his attention to the road.

“you’re right, i don’t. my ears do, though.” i tease.

“you’ll grow to appreciate my voice. it-“ he’s interrupted by a very loud popping sound. “it-“

the popping sound cuts him off again. we share a look of concern, and before we can even mention it, there’s another loud pop and our car slumps down to the left. sam flings his arm over my chest are he pulls his into the shoulder to keep me from jerking forward.

once we’re safe on the side of the road, he gets out of the car. i unbuckle my seatbelt, but stay still. i watch as he leans down to look at our tires.

he smacks the roof of the car, “god damnit!”

“what happened?” i ask, refraining from biting my nails.

“the tire completely blew.” he pinches his nose.

“what the hell?”

“come look,” he beckons.

i climb out of the car and out into the freezing december air. it bites at the surface of my skin as i lean down to look at the tire. i took my coat off a while ago in the car because it got too hot.

“holy shit.” i widen my eyes. “do you know how to change a tire?”

“yeah, thank god. can you go grab my coat out of the trunk?” he sighs.

“sure.” i nod.

i hand him his coat and put on my own as he goes through the process of changing the tire out. i sit outside on the ground to keep him company, even though my body is begging me to go start the car and sit in the warmth.

i pull out my phone. “uh, sam? how much longer do you think this’ll take?”

“maybe 10 minutes.” he grunts. “why?”

“the chance of that snow storm we were talking out before we left just jumped up to 90%.” i tell him.

“no way.” he wipes the sweat from his forehead and sits up to look at my phone. “we’ll have to drive during a snow storm, then, i guess.”

he hurries through the last few steps in changing the tire, and we both rush to the warm car. sam gets in the driver’s seat, puts the keys in the ignition, and puts the car in drive. i watch as his eyes go wide.

“y/n, look up directions to the nearest gas station.” he directs me.

i start doing as he says, “why?”

“we’re almost empty.” he tells me.

“um, it’s 20 miles away.” i swallow.

he slams on the wheel, “we only have 5 miles worth of gas.”

“i- oh my god...” i gasp as i look out of the windshield.

thick snowflakes start pouring from the sky. sam pulls out his phone, and the next thing i know, i’m hearing dean’s voice through the phone.

“hey, you guys almost here? the snowstorm’s coming through.” he asks.

“our car broke down, dean. we need you to come get us.” sam responds. “y/n, text him our address.”

i pull out my phone and send my location to dean, who sighs: “i’ll try my best, but it might be a few hours.”

in frustration, sam hangs up the phone. he sighs, “get ready. we’re in for a cold one.”

one hour later

we still have enough gas to keep the heat on, so, so far, i’m doing okay. i turn to sam in the seat next to me, who is tapping on the steering wheel.

“can you stop?” i ask.

“huh?” he raises an his eyebrows.

“the tapping,” i elaborate. “you’re driving me nuts.”

he laughs. “well, i’m bored.”

with a sudden idea popping in my head, i reach up and grab a book of the dashboard. sam had gotten it for me a few weeks ago, and i haven’t gotten a chance to read it.

i hand it to him. “read to me.”

three hours later

i hug my knees inside my coat and turn my head towards sam. he, surprisingly, isn’t shivering. “any word from dean?”

“no,” he shakes his head. “you cold or something?”

“yeah, and you’re not?” i question.

“i’m not that cold.” he chuckles lightly.

“you should be!” i argue, hugging myself.

he smiles. “c’mere.”

i scoot across the bench in the front seat, closer to sam. he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me onto his chest. i get as close to him as i can, absorbing his natural body heat.

god, dean better get here soon.

four hours later

a light rapping on the window makes me stir in my sleep. my eyes open ever so slightly and i see dean, knocking on the window. i look up and see sam, still sleep. i realize that he took off his coat and wrapped it tightly around my shoulder. i smile.

“wake up, lovebirds.” dean calls. “your knight in shining armor is here with some gas.”

sam wakes up and does a little stretch. “hi, dean.”

“get out here, it’s cold.” dean shakes his head, rolling his eyes at him.

sam opens the door and the cold air smacks me in my face. my jaw chatters as i stop sam. “your coat.”

“keep it on, i’ll only be out here for a second.” he insists.

“sam, put your coat on.” i extend it out to him.

he shuts the door instead of grabbing it, giving me a cheeky grin. “no.”

dean helps him fill up the gas tank, and then he returns to the car. the engine roars and the hot air comes out of the vents. i sigh with relief.

“oh, that’s nice.” i put my hands in front of the vents.

“here in a few minutes, you won’t need two coats.” he laughs.

“i wanna keep yours,” i blurt. “it smells nice.”

#sam and dean #sam winchester #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester one shot #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #supernatural #spnchristmasbingo

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whindsor · 4 years ago

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gbbo au pt 2

wellp, here we go! i’m technically not back on my bullshit cause i was never actually off of it.

p.s. would it be weird to actually name the judges/hosts of the show as paul/prue/noel/matt? or should i just keep it generic? or does it not matter and i should do whatever i want?

week 1: cake week

week 2: biscuit week

No matter how many years he lived in the UK, it still took Bucky a minute to remember that the biscuits were not the same as they were when he was growing up. They weren’t exactly a staple in his New York diet - they had bagels for that - but he did manage to stumble into a southern style diner or two and order a plate of biscuits and gravy. The biscuits were thick, and light, and tender, and tasted so good after a bit too much whiskey.

But those weren’t the biscuits he was dealing with this week. Well, except for his showstopper.

Florentines were an absolute beast. Sure, it sounded easy enough: a thin, lacy “biscuit” (cookie) with nuts and fruit and a base of some sort of caramel. But here was the kicker: they weren’t supposed to bend, they were supposed to snap. And that was the part that was going to send him home.

It was the day before the competition was set to begin. He’d woken up even earlier than usual, intent on getting in one last attempt at his Signature and one last practice run of his Showstopper. Plus, it helped that he got a nice PTSD-induced nightmare to get the blood pumping first thing, where he was back on the battlefield, except the battlefield was the tent, and he had no cover except for the flimsy benches.

He ran further and faster than usual that morning, his lungs and legs burning when he slowed to a walk outside the building. He’d been trying to solve his problem the whole run, and thought he might have a fix...if it didn’t work, he’d be out of options. He was distracted by the sound of a door opening, and looked up to see Mika on her balcony, a baggy flannel thrown over her pajamas and a cup in her hands. She looked half asleep still, her hair tousled all around. She was still pretty...not that he’d ever say anything, of course.

“You’re up earlier than usual.” she said in Romanian. The few encounters they had over the week, she always spoke to him in the other language; it was probably a comfort for her, and he didn’t mind the distraction.

“Early bird gets the worm.” he replied in English, knowing the phrase didn’t quite translate. He switched after that, since she looked like her brain wasn’t ready for a second language. “You’re up early too.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Want some coffee?” she asked, jerking her head back toward her apartment. He checked his watch; breakfast wouldn’t be open for another hour, and coffee did sound good.

“Thank you. Let me shower and I’ll be over.” he said. She nodded, telling him the flat number before going back inside. He supposed he should feel nervous about visiting a new friend in her apartment, but with all the other anxiety-inducing activities going on, this one was actually a relief. By the time he made it to her door, she had managed to get out of her pajamas and wrap her hair into a braid. He thought she might have put on a bit of mascara, but couldn’t be sure.

“Milk? Sugar?” she asked, going to the (beautifully full) coffee pot and pouring some into a mug with flowers painted around the outside. He went to the stools on one side of the island, taking a seat.

“Just black.” he said, earning a suspicious look from her. It fell a second later, as if something dawned on her.

“Right. No sweets.” she said, filling the cup a little more before handing it to him. Her kitchen wasn’t quite as neat as his was, and had the appearance of quickly being cleaned a few moments before. Not that he minded; it almost made it more comfortable, knowing that the space was lived in. “So tell me. How does someone who doesn’t like sweets end up a baker?”

“It was something to concentrate on.” he said with a shrug, taking a sip of coffee. Her question was definitely more loaded than she realized, and he had to try and figure out how to answer without making things more somber than they needed to be. “After I got back, the therapist recommended I find an activity that gave me a physical product at the end of it. I’ve never been good at art, and I wasn’t about to try and figure out sewing, so baking was the next best thing.”

“What’s your favorite thing to bake then?” she said, leaning her elbows onto the counter of her kitchen island. He could see a little white trail of flour on her sleeve.

“You’re just trying to figure out my strengths.” he teased.

“I am not!” she said. “I’m making conversation, like a normal human.”

“Uh huh.” he said, as if he didn’t believe her. “You have to promise to keep it a secret.”

“Of course. What happens in the back row stays in the back row.” she said, leaning in a bit closer. He couldn’t help but lean slightly away; it wasn’t that she made him uncomfortable, he’d just gotten used to people being a certain distance away from him during the pandemic. She seemed to realize this discomfort, and quietly slid back again.

“Patisserie.” he admitted, making the conversation go on and hoping he hadn’t made her feel bad. Luckily the answer was enough to distract her, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline.

“I did not expect that.” she admitted. “Patisserie? Really?”

“I like the details. And I have a steady hand.” he said, realizing the unintended joke a moment later. Mika pressed her lips together, as if determined not to laugh. “See? I told you it happens all the time.”

“I never realized how often hands get talked about.” she said, humor in her tone. “Well, you’ll kick my ass if I make it that far. I’m terrible when it comes to things that require artistry.”

“I thought you did fine last week.” he offered. She scoffed.

“You saw my peak last week.” she said.

“What’s your specialty then? Don’t tell me biscuits, my pride isn’t ready for that.” he said, making her laugh.

“No, no I’ll be scraping through this week as well.” she said, and he realized that she genuinely meant it. Did she not realize how good she was? “But bread is my favorite. So as long as I can make it to bread week, I’ll be happy with whatever outcome.”

Bucky gave a low, appreciative whistle. He was decent as bread, but could never get the texture just right. “Well, you’ll beat me there for sure.”

She blushed deeply, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know about that.” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. Hers was a nice caramel color, lightened by the milk. Speaking of which...

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to pick her brain a little bit, to see if she could solve the bending problem.

“Almost, but not quite. The Showstopper is giving me problems.” she said with a sigh. “I’m probably trying to be too ambitious.”

“Not always an issue.” he said, though there was one contestant that got that feedback on both of his bakes the week prior. “If you get a snappy florentine, you’re already ahead of me.”

She looked surprised at that. “What’s your ratio of sugar to cream?” she asked. When he told her, she shook her head. “Less cream. More butter.” she said confidently. He let out a sigh of relief; that had been his last (and only) idea.

“That’s what I was thinking.” he nodded. “What’s your meal for the showstopper?”

“Hmm. Trying to get ideas?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Of course. I have no idea what I’m doing.” he said. He sounded a bit more serious than he meant to, so she looked at him for a long time before shaking her head.

“Full of shit.” she muttered. “I wanted to actually put beer into the pitcher or the glass, but I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Make it a mousse.” he said. She looked surprised for a minute, the looked away into the great beyond.

“Beer mousse...so crazy, it just might work.” she said. “Are you doing something similar?”

“Me? No. Whipped cream as gravy, that’s about it.” he said, and she nodded again.

“Beer mousse.” she said again, more to herself this time. She stood up suddenly, going back to the coffee pot. “Going to need more of this. You?”

He glanced at his watch; he really needed to get a move on if he was going to get everything done today. He gave her an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I have to go practice. Less cream, more butter.”

“And beer mousse!” she said, holding her mug up in a cheers. He laughed, saluting with his empty one.

“And beer mousse. Thank you, for the coffee and the company.” he said. They said their goodbyes, and he made his way back to his own flat to get to work, definitely more calm now than when he first awoke. Maybe, just maybe, he could make it through this.

The next morning, he made sure to get up early enough to get his run in, though he was definitely a little sore from the morning before. It was also a little chilly that morning, making the stump of his arm ache. When getting dressed, he thought about how hot it felt last week working in the tent, and decided to go ahead and just wear a tshirt with his jeans. Of course, after the tshirt, he put on his special shoulder cap, which would help the sensitive nerves that still gave him trouble sometimes if they spent too much time in open air. He then grabbed the little spiral hair tie, tipping his head over so that he could pull the majority of his hair into a little bun away from his face.

The interviews were still uncomfortable, but he was good at pretending to be at ease. “I’m a little nervous this week, but at least now I kind of know what to expect.” he said when the interviewer asked. “Does that mean I’ll make it out the weekend? That still remains to be seen.” Across the grass, Mika was laughing and smiling. She’d seemed nervous last week, but was much more relaxed this week. Impressive, really, how she adapted.

They went into the tent, and while they weren’t at the back of the class this time (which added another layer of nerves), at least they were still across the aisle from each other. Mika made a dramatic pout at their bench assignments, giving Bucky a wink before paying wrapt attention to the hosts and judges. Bucky tried not to think about how that little sign of affection made him feel. He’d been honest about his last relationship - how it ended amicably, how they were just in different places - but he had failed to mention that it had happened before he lost his arm. His best friend Steve constantly tried to get him to go out, but considering a friendly wink from a cute girl just threw him for a loop, Bucky reckoned he needed to remember how to be friends with people first.

“Bake!” the host said, startling Bucky into action. He started organizing his bench, putting everything exactly where he needed it before getting to work on the caramel. Almonds went into the food processor, and when that was done, he started making quick work of the sour cherries, which was of course the best moment for the judges and hosts to come to him.

“Florentines, James. What have you got for us?” the male judge asked. It was still weird that technically he was James for the show, but he would have to get used to it. Or maybe he would be sent home before then, who knew.

“Well, I’m not big on sweets, so today I’m combining almonds and sour cherries with star anise and some really dark chocolate.” he said, not looking up from where he was working with a very, very sharp knife.

“Now that’s not something I expected. But you do like to try different spices, don’t you?” the female judge asked.

“Spicy James. That has a good ring to it. Like a bar drink.” the host commented, making them laugh.

“Just remember not to overdo it.” the male judge commented, and Bucky nodded.

“I’ve practiced it a lot. It should be right this time.” he said. The judges smiled and nodded, moving on to the next bench, but the host and cameras stayed for just a moment.

“A Spicy James. What kind of drink would that be?” he asked, making Bucky laugh. He put the knife down to think.

“Probably whiskey with hot sauce in it.” he said, the grossest thing he could think of. The host took it in stride, nodding philosophically.

“Just burn everything. Really warm you from the inside out, just like the sight of your man bun.” he said, making Bucky laugh again before he took up his knife. “And now that you’re holding that, I’m going to fly away. Goodbye!”

Bucky shook his head, not minding the brief reprieve as he got back to work. He wetted a tea towel, rolling it up and nestling his mixing bowl full of ingredients into it. Then he was able to add his caramel, the towel (and his stomach) holding the bowl in place as he stirred the thick mixture. From there, he used an ice cream scoop so that he could place perfectly portioned cookies onto the baking sheets, making sure to leave enough space for them to spread in the oven.

He took a deep breath and let it out before checking his watch. So far, he was right on time. He chanced a glance over to his accomplice, who looked a bit stressed but overall handling things. She was also pretty from this angle. Dammit, Barnes, focus. It was time to temper chocolate.

Even though it would have been some sort of illegal not to let him bring his adaptive equipment, he was still very thankful to have his clip thermometer. Usually he could make the whole one-hand thing work, but stirring chocolate and monitoring the temperature was definitely a two-handed ordeal, and he had to make do. The timer for the cookies went off just as the chocolate almost reached temperature, which left him caught between the two. Finally, he had to make the choice, putting down the spatula to pull the cookies out of the oven. He nearly threw them onto the counter, quickly going back to the chocolate and barely pulling it off the heat before it went over the temp. He lost a few pieces of the seed chocolate when he dumped it in, but it was a welcome sacrifice to keep things under control. Cool it down, heat it up, cool it down, and then let it stay at a working temperature. Easy, right?

He held his breath as he moved to the florentines. They were cooled enough to work with...but would they bend, or would they hold? He carefully peeled one from the silpat; so far, it was holding, and the caramel underneath felt more solid than his other attempts. He pulled the rest, laying them out so he could go through the messy business of coating one side in chocolate. He pulled out his secret weapon - chopsticks - and thanked chef David Chang before getting to work. The camera men, noticing his odd tools, of course came to ask about it.

“It’s hard to keep the chocolate on one side if I use my fat fingers.” he said, hoping to earn a laugh and distract from any unwarranted pity at his situation. “I stole the idea from an American chef, who made the point that these are much better than tweezers or tongs.”

Mika apparently had noticed his chopsticks as well. “Can you teach me how to use those?” she asked, making him almost drop the florentine he was coating. He looked up in surprise.

“You don’t know how to use chopsticks?”

“No! That wasn’t a thing where I’m from!” she said, laughing. Romania had probably changed since she’d been there last, but her family had never been ones to invest in the skill.

“Fine, fine, I’ll teach you later.” he said, not noticing the grins between the producers.

“Thank you!” she sang, going back to her bake. After all, they only had five minutes left. Bucky swore under his breath in Russian, deciding that was the safest language for the British viewers, and quickly went to make a piping bag. He made a mess dumping the chocolate into it, and an even bigger mess trying to cut the smallest corner from it. Then, it was on to the small concentric circles on each of the biscuits. Bucky was glad he had a steady hand; it made this work significantly easier.

He technically finished the last circle after the time call, but no one seemed to notice. He tossed the pastry bag back into the cup, the chocolate oozing out of the bottom of it. He wasn’t sure if this was going to be good, but he hoped it was good enough.

His back ached already as he left the tent, his forearm definitely feeling like he worked it. Next week, he’d have to remember not to practice too much leading up to the competition days, lest he fatigue again. If he even made it to next week. Mika immediately walked up to him, her eyebrows already up in a question.

“So? How do you think it went?” she asked. She crossed her arms over her stomach, apparently cold underneath the shade of a tree. Bucky wished he hadn’t left his jacket back in the tent, otherwise he could give it to her.

“So far it was my best one,” he said with a shrug, “but whether or not it snaps remains to be seen.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” she said, waving his concern off. “They looked beautiful. I can’t wait to try them.”

“It may not be sweet enough for you.”

“It’s food, I’ll enjoy it.” she replied.

“What flavors did you end up going with?” he said, changing the subject. He didn’t want her to think that he only cared about his own bakes, plus he was curious. He’d caught her in the communal kitchen a couple times, always trying a new combination.

“Pistachio and apricot. It felt right.” she said, as if that was something that people came up with every day. “Even though it doesn’t look particularly appealing. Hopefully that doesn’t count too much against me.”

“Just mention ‘jewel tones’ and they’ll praise you for it.” he replied, earning a surprised look from her.

“And where does a man like you hear about ‘jewel tones,’ hm?” she asked. “Let me guess: another ex?”

“Actually, asshole best friend is an artist.” he said, referring to their earlier conversation. Mika put a hand on his arm, and though the movement initially startled him, he found he really didn’t want her to pull away.

“You’re joking.” she said. “Asshole sister is an artist too.”

“Oh my God they were made for each other.” Bucky said, a little more dramatic than he’d been in a long time. He was suddenly glad that Steve made him sign up for this; at the very least, he got to have fun and act like a human again after slowly becoming more and more hermit-like after his accident. They were denied further socializing by the producers calling them in, instructing them to return to their now clean benches and wait for their judging.

Judging maybe made him antsy, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say he was nervous. He was nervous about making a fool of himself, about saying the wrong thing or being too candid about the trauma he’d been through. He was nervous that he would disappoint his friend. But getting critique from people that knew baking much better than he did? He’d gotten an arm blown off. A couple judges did not make him nervous.

“Alright, James, let’s see how this goes.” the male judge said, rubbing his hands together and picking up two florentines from the plate. The female judge turned it over, admiring the dark chocolate along the bottom.

“Beautifully tempered. Look at that shine.” she said, impressed. He felt like he could breathe a little easier after that praise. The male judge went to bend the biscuit; the chocolate gave with a satisfying crack, but unfortunately the rest of the cookie bent like a green tree branch.

“Ah, no snap.” he said, shaking his head.

“Damn.” Bucky agreed, making them laugh. To further ease the tension, one of the hosts grabbed a florentine, and immediately tried to fit the whole thing in his mouth.

“Something snapped.” he said around the mouthful.

“Your molars, likely. Or your brain.” the male judge said, though he was clearly amused by the joke. He then took a bite of the florentine, chewing thoughtfully. “I was hesitant about your flavors, but you have managed to make something with a lot of bitter elements, and balance those out with the right amount of sweetness.”

“It tastes like the last of winter, just before the turn of spring.” the female judge said, earning a hearty “oooooh” from the host. “I enjoy those flavors a lot.”

“Thank you.” Bucky said with a nod, turning back to the male judge.

“Shame about the snap, though.” he said, wincing appreciatively.

“Shame indeed.” Bucky agreed, bidding them goodbye as they moved on. He let out a breath and let go of that part of the competition; there was nothing he could do about it now. He glanced over at Mika, who looked like she thought that went rather well. He wasn’t sure he agreed, but he’d pretend to for now.

She was much more relaxed when the judges arrived compared to last week, but he could tell by the tightness in her shoulders and the tapping of her thumb that she was still anxious. And of course, it didn’t help when the male judge said, “That looks a bit like what the dog coughed up.”

“That’s just cruel.” Mika cried, covering her face with her hands. The female judge smacked him and the host chastised him, and Mika laughed, though a blush was covering her neck and chest.

“Honestly. You’re terrible.” the female judge muttered, picking up florentines for the both of them. “The chocolate looks good, and despite the unfortunate coloring, you do seem to have a good spread of fruit and nuts.”

“I was going for a jewel tone.” she said, her eyes flicking over to Bucky for a split second.

“Don’t know many jewels like that.” the male judge remarked. He was still clearly joking, but Bucky could see Mika chipping away at her nail polish underneath the edge of the bench. The judges went to break the biscuit in half, and it broke with a satisfying crack.

“Now there’s a snap.” the female judge said, and Mika’s smile became more genuine, the blush receding slightly. They bit into it, and even from here Bucky could tell she’d gotten the texture spot on. “That is...exquisite.”

“It isn’t something I would’ve attempted.” the male judge started. “And I’m not sure it’s something I’d pick out if I saw it on a menu. But the ratios of your ingredients, and the way you’ve mixed them and have the perfect caramel...yea, that’s well done, that.” he said with a decisive nod. “Perhaps just needs a bit more thought on presentation.”

“Right, yea,” Mika agreed. “Thank you.”

The judges nodded and moved on to the next person. Mika looked to Bucky, making an exaggerated face and wiping imaginary sweat off her brow. He mimed for her to take a deep breath; besides the look of it, they’d given her a glowing review. Considering some of the other things he’d heard, even in his own judging, he didn’t think she had anything to worry about.

He was itching to get out of the tent by the time lunch came around. Like the week before, they had a sandwich spread for them, and he collected his food and his book before going out to the fire pit. He didn’t know if Mika would join him this time, but he certainly hoped for it. He sat and got himself arranged, getting a few pages in before he heard boots on the gravel, looking up to see his new friend smile at him and settle into the next chair over, content to sit on her phone while he sat with his book. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. So far, he’d managed to have multiple conversations with her without doing something completely off-putting, and the more he could stay silent, the better his record would be. Plus, it was just nice to sit with someone besides Steve and not have to stress about conversation.

They passed lunch in silence, only acknowledging each other once they were called back into the tent for the technical challenge. If he was honest, technical challenges were the part that made him most uneasy; everyone got the same ingredients, and the same tools. He didn’t want the judges to make any special arrangements for him, but just the nature of the challenge put him at a bit of a disadvantage. Of course, that also made him get a little riled up, wanting to prove that he could do anything with one arm that the other bakers did with two.

When the hosts announced that macaroons (not to be confused with macarons) would be the challenge, he figured that it would be easy, that he would totally have this in the bag like he did with the last technical challenge. Then he read the instructions, and everything promptly fell to shit.

First, cutting out circles? Why on earth did they need to cut out circles of parchment? Why not just outline the circles like an efficient person?

Then, make a curd. Fine. He could make a curd. He just couldn’t do anything else while he was making the curd because of the whole “continuous stirring” thing. They had hand mixers, but apparently they were only supposed to use that for the egg whites. Well, it was implied, not explicitly stated, so he was going to bend the rules a little bit.

Getting the coconut mixture right and in the pastry bag wasn’t the hardest part, except that he was currently low on time because of the whole parchment circle thing. So he had to try to rush, not knock the air out of the egg whites, and also manage to pipe perfect little coconut discs. Easy. So easy.

Oh, and chocolate! They had to make chocolate too! Fine! Easy! So easy!

Far too much time had gone by the time he actually got the macaroons into the oven, and he cursed himself a little bit. When he baked at home, he had all the time in the world and all the information he could need to set himself up for success. When applying, he hadn’t thought about the time constraints as much as he should have. Well, he was thinking about it now, and he was definitely going to start working on that for next week. If he made it through to next week.

The macaroons took even longer in the oven than he thought they would, and when he finally gave in a pulled them out, they still seemed too pale. He’d seen pictures of these things before, but he’d never tasted one, let alone made one.

“Those don’t look quite right, huh?” he asked the camera man filming him. He rested his hand on his hip, trying to decide if he had enough time to put them back in the oven or if he should just let them cool so he could put the curd in the little welled ones.

“Five minutes left!” the host yelled, making a couple of the bakers jump. Mika was definitely calmer than she was the week before, peeling the parchment layer from her cooled macaroons. Bucky sighed; the time call answered his question for him. He carefully turned his macaroons and tried to quickly and carefully peel the parchment from the bottom; since they were still warm, they were all too willing to lose their shape or leave coconut bits on the paper. He didn’t have time to worry about it, he just had to get something presentable on the plate. His wells were a little shallow and he had some chocolate leaking from the bottom of some, but when the host called one more minute! he was at least working on spooning the curd into them. They might be the worst macaroons the judges had ever seen, but at least they’d be finished.

Mika claimed the seat next to him, which was a welcome comfort. They’d only known each other for a week, but it still felt good to know that someone was in his corner. He eyed the biscuits behind her picture, noticing that they were perfect golden brown with bright yellow curd and no chocolate smudges in sight. Ugh, she was the worst.

“This one got away from me.” he murmured before the judges came in.

“I’m sure you did just fine.” she said, patting his hand. The judges eyed the plates, questions on their faces that they didn’t quite dare to say out loud. Bucky noticed, with some relief, that his didn’t look the absolute worst.

“Right. Let’s get started.” the male judge said, going to the end of the table and picking up the first one. One by one they went down the line, the same process that they did last week and all the other weeks in the seasons before this one. And yet, there was still something foreboding about it. With no one staring directly at them, the judges were free to be more ruthless in their assessments.

“Oh dear,” the female judge said as the male judge picked up one of Bucky’s macaroons, the biscuit breaking in half before he could set it down. “Not a good start.”

“No, this one needed more time in the oven, and more time to cool.” the male judge agreed, licking chocolate off his thumb where it escaped. Luckily, one of the mango curd ones stayed together as he moved it. They took their bites and chewed, the female judge making a noise of surprise.

“It’s further baked than I thought.” she said. “And the flavor is very good.”

“It’s barely baked, a few more minutes would have done it well to get that golden brown layer. But the curd is perfect.” the male judge said. Bucky relaxed slightly, and Mika looked like she wanted to pat his hand again, but held herself back. The reviews for her macaroons were far brighter, their only complaint being that she hadn’t ground the coconut as fine as she needed to. But at least hers stayed in one piece when they put it on the plate.

In the end, Bucky got eighth out of eleven, which was a big downturn compared to the previous week. Mika, the cheeky knave, smiled her way into second. He didn’t particularly want to do the end of the day interview, but that was part of what they signed up for, so he put on his blank face and waited until they set up the camera and got their warm up questions out.

“No, today didn’t really go the way I wanted it to.” he said, adding a self deprecating laugh so that he didn’t sound so bitter. He’d forgotten how competitive he could be - actually wasn’t really sure he had a competitive nature anymore - and the two losses today awoke a part of him that had been asleep for a long time. “But that just means I have to come back with a vengeance tomorrow, right?” He should have stopped there, and almost did, but then had to be a little bit of a turd and add, “But those parchment circles. That was nonsense.”

Luckily they ended the interview quickly so he didn’t have time to make any more Salty Disabled Veteran comments, which was probably for the best. He’d signed up for all this, and he’d made it through the preliminary rounds, so clearly he was good enough to be here. Like every other time in his life, it was time to adapt and overcome.

But first, he was hoping Mika would meet him for another drink.

“Fire pit?” she asked as they walked out, as if she read his mind.

“It might be a two glass night.” he sighed. She tossed an arm around his shoulders, giving him a comforting squeeze. He was very proud of himself for not flinching, and borderline enjoying the affection.

“Cheer up, daisy. You did fine today.” she said, making him smile.

“I think you mean, ‘cheer up, buttercup’.”

“All flowers look the same to me. See you soon!” she sang, going towards her wing of the building. He shook his head, going to scarf down some food and shower before heading back outside, whiskey and glasses in hand. The fire was going again, a welcome source of warmth now that the sun was down. He’d brought his book in his back pocket just in case, but Mika was already waiting for him, a blanket around her shoulders. He handed the glasses to her, and she held them so he could fill them.

“Well, start digging my grave. Dead man walking.” he said, leaning into the chair and sighing heavily.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” she said, waving him off. “You’re going to be fine. You’re not going to get star baker, but you’re not going home.”

“You have much more confidence in me than I have in myself.”

“Well the first challenge wasn’t as bad as you thought. And the technical was bullshit.” she said. “Your flavors are spectacular, and tomorrow you’ll wow them with whatever you make.”

“And what about you? Did you get beer mousse figured out?” he said, switching the attention to her. He was used to having his one cheerleader (Steve) and he wasn’t sure how to handle another one. She barked out a laugh.

“Not in the slightest. I’m just going to try tomorrow, but not tell them about it, in case it doesn’t work out.” she said with a shrug.

“Tricky tricky. I think that’s cheating of some sort.” he teased. His glass was only half empty, but he wanted to refill it already. He pushed down that desire, knowing that it would not end well.

“It is not! It’s just...equivocating.” she said with a wry grin.

“So full of shit.” he laughed, shaking his head. “Have you talked to your sister since last weekend?”

She nearly choked on her drink, her cheeks coloring for some reason. He patted her back as she coughed, clearing her airway. “Yea, yea I have. She was very impressed by you.”

“And what about you?”

“She was glad I didn’t get sent home. Mum was mad that I wore a leather jacket and said I need to get my nails done, which is her way of saying I didn’t completely shame the family.” she said. “What about you? Did you talk to your friend...?”

“Steve. Yea, he said I needed to loosen up a little.”

“You? No.”

“Hush, not you too.” he said, finishing his drink. If he’d drank it a little faster, perhaps he would loosen up, but he and Mika were still just acquaintances, and they were in a massive competition. He could self medicate better tomorrow. Mika wasn’t close to finishing hers. so he simply put his glass down.

“I thought it was a two glass night?”

“Nah.” he shook his head. “Two glasses leads to the whole bottle leads to things I’ll regret in the morning.”

“Oh, that sounds like it has a story.” she said, leaning towards him. “Spill.”

“Not so much a story as multiple data points.” he said. “After...well, you know...I uh, didn’t handle things so great. There was a lot of poor choices trying to put myself back together.”

“But you did.”

“Huh?”

“You did put yourself back together. You fought through it all. And you’re amazing for it.” she said. Something in her tone made him think something - or someone - particular was on her mind, but when she didn’t offer the information, he didn’t pry.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” he said softly. Sure, Steve had told him the same thing a thousand times, but it was different hearing it from someone else.

“You’re welcome.” she said with a smile, reaching out and patting his hand. “Now, chin up. I can’t have my bench buddy leaving so soon. You haven’t even gotten to the best one yet!”

“Patisserie? I know.”

“No! Bread!”

“Bread is only the best to you.”

“...Maybe.” she said, smiling and laughing. He couldn’t help but join in; God, he had an honest-to-goodness friend in her. Perhaps he should have done this whole “socializing” thing sooner. Either way, he was glad to have her in his corner.

The next day, they all scarfed down a nervous breakfast and made their way down to the tent, the sunny weather laughing at their anxiety. This challenge was going to be tough; but before they started, Mika threw a wink and a thumbs up his way, helping to bolster his confidence. She was right, he could do this. He didn’t need to be star baker, he just needed to not be the worst. He’d been thinking about what to do for this week’s Showstopper challenge, and after having a mess of a time the day before, he decided to just go all out. The judges wanted a table setting from a memorable meal, but made out of biscuit. And that’s what they were going to get.

He went to work quickly, knowing that it was going to take him longer to shape his biscuits than the other contestants, and that he had probably given himself a little too much to do.

“Right, James, what shall we expect from your place setting?” the male judge asked as the crew sidled up to his bench. Bucky couldn’t afford to stop and chat to them, so he continued measuring and mixing as he spoke.

“I’m making the setting of a traditional New York diner. It reminds me of the times we used to stay out too late and partake a little too much.” he said, grinning at the judges.

“Oh, what’s the best meal for that? A big burger?” the host asked, getting excited. Bucky shook his head.

“Oh no, burger’s too heavy. Today it’ll be biscuits and gravy.” Bucky replied. The male judge laughed, but the female judge paused.

“Not real gravy, I hope.” she said, so suspicious he almost said that it was. But he didn’t think he needed to lose any points right from the get-go.

“No, no. I’ll be making American-style buttermilk biscuits, but with lemon zest, and vanilla whipped cream for the gravy.” he explained. The male judge raised his eyebrows.

“And what will the rest of the display be made out of?”

“Homemade graham crackers, which is really just left of gingerbread.” he said with a shrug. He’d struggled with how to make his display different than the others, and that was the best he could come up with. “They’ll be flavored with honey and a pinch of cinnamon, with a very, very thin layer of white chocolate to make it that diner-ceramic.”

“Just a pinch of cinnamon, eh?” the female judge asked, looking over the rims of her glasses.

“Scouts honor.” he said, acutely aware that they had told him multiple times that his bakes were overspiced. “And then we’ll also have a coffee flavored biscuit for the carafe and mug.”

“So you’re making two types of biscuit?” the male judge asked, one grey eyebrow raised.

“Yes.”

“And American-style biscuits?” he continued.

“...Yes.”

“That’s a lot to do. We’ll let you get to it.” the female judge said, patting his hand and shepherding the male judge away. The host stopped for a moment, leaning towards Bucky.

“What’s in an American-style biscuit?”

“A lot of butter.”

“Excellent!” he said, pumping his fist once before following the judges to the next bench. Bucky took a deep breath to center himself. He knew that he’d probably done too much, but he needed to go all out if he was going to stay in the competition. His performance yesterday was not what he wanted.

And so he got to work. The dough was easy enough to pull together, though rolling it out and shaping it on the molds was tougher. He had to be very careful, because if he used too much of his strength, he’d rip the dough and have to start all over. So he carefully rolled it onto the back of a pie plate, trimming the excess and setting it aside. That was the easy one. The hard one was the coffee mug, which went around the outside of a single serve cake tin. He’d purposefully chosen one with rounded corners even if it wasn’t visually accurate, and when he was able to shape it the first try (and nearly pass out from holding his breath) he found he had no regrets. The carafe was easy enough; he’d just do the hexagonal percolator that diner’s used ages and ages ago. Then, after awkwardly fumbling with some foil to make molds for the handles, everything went into the oven. He now had sixteen minutes to make biscuits.

Biscuits themselves weren’t difficult to make, but when one had to rub butter into the flour with only one hand, it tended to take a little longer. Then, when one had to zest a lemon with only one hand, that added some time too. There was a minute left on his timer when he went to add the buttermilk, and he decided he just had to wait for that part so that the rising reaction didn’t take place too soon.

That’s when he remembered the chocolate. He muttered a curse, in what language he didn’t know, and started weighing out white chocolate to temper. He should have done this earlier, so that as soon as the other biscuits went into the oven he could get started on it. Shit. He didn’t bother chopping the chocolate to weigh it, instead breaking off bits with his hand until he had the right weight. He tossed it in a bowl just as the timer went off, and he plumb forgot to put a mitt on to grab the tray out of the oven. Turns out, things in a 350 degree oven were also 350 degrees, and he had to force himself not to drop it despite the fact that he was probably burning his whole hand off. He nearly pushed the tray off the back side of the bench in his haste to put it down, and he had to step back and shake his hand, red welts already appearing on his fingers.

And the plate was still in the oven.

Mika was by his side in an instant, her own oven mitts on as she reached into the oven and pulled the plate out, setting it much more carefully on the bench. “Are you alright?” she asked, her brows pinched. She reached out, her hands still covered, and took in the damage. The pads of his fingers were bright red and raw; that was going to suck this week. Unless he got eliminated, then the pain in his pride would probably eclipse it.

“I’m okay. Thank you, for saving that.” he said, gesturing to the plate.

“Do you need anything? How can I help?” she asked, tenderly touching his hand. It looked silly with her big oven mitts, but the sentiment was the same. The medic in the white polo was weaving his way through the tent, carrying the tackle box full of supplies.

“I’ll be fine. I just need a quick clean and a glove. You need to finish your bake.” he said. She looked doubtful for a moment, but the medic pushed his way between them, and she had no choice but to go back to work. She kept glancing his way ever so often, and after the medic patched him up, he sent a quick smile her way before going back at it. He was now way, way behind.

His tunnel vision returned as he mixed the buttermilk biscuits, cutting out two of them and throwing them in the oven. From there he started tempering the white chocolate, which was finicky even at the best of times. He wouldn’t know until he coated everything if it was tempered correctly, and between now and then he had to pull the biscuits from the oven and make his whipped cream.

“Fifteen minutes left, bakers!” one of the hosts called, and Bucky let out a low noise of frustration, quiet enough that the cameras and the other competitors didn’t pick up on it. His hair was starting to slip from its tie, but he couldn’t pay attention to it. He had fifteen minutes to put literally everything together.

Paintbrush for coating with chocolate. He didn’t have time to make it perfectly smooth, but at least it was all covered, and shiny, and looked like it was right.

Caramel, to start sticking together the pieces. This was the most difficult part, and if Mika wasn’t bent over her bench with a piping bag of royal icing and an intense look of concentration he might have asked for help. But now it was just him and the biscuits.

“One minute left!”

The whipped cream!

He poured it into the mixer and turned it on high, splashing in some vanilla paste and sugar as it mixed. He got everything on the tray just in time, and as the hosts counted down the last ten seconds, he managed to stop the mixer, grab a huge spoon and add a few dollops of whipped cream on top.

Through some kind of miracle, he finished.

“Take a break, bakers!” the producers called, shepherding everyone out so they could get the benches clean and set up for the judging. Mika’s plates and cups were expertly decorated in a mismatched way, and he saw that she was able to come up with something that resembled beer mousse. Damn, she was quickly becoming his biggest competition (and his biggest ally). Bucky schooled his face back to neutral as he exited, the sun feeling just a little too warm. He grabbed the edge of the rubber glove with his teeth and peeled it off, his hand disgustingly sweaty underneath it. He was just stuffing it into his pocket when Mika came up, grabbing his wrist.

“How is it?” she asked, looking at his hand as if she could see through the bandaids.

“Just stings a little.” he said. It was the truth, but he’d admit he was putting on a little more bravado than necessary. “Not the worst I’ve ever been through.”

Mika gave him a dark look, clearly not amused. “Well, good thing is, your bake looked amazing.”

“Not as good as yours.” he said with a raised eyebrow. This time it was her turn to shrug.

“I’ll admit, it turned out better than I thought it would.”

“I sense a star baker in your future.”

“Oh absolutely not. I just need to make it through.”

“I think I’m the one living on a prayer at this point.”

“You’ll be fine.” she said, waving him off. But uncertainty was their constant companion in the tent, and even Mika couldn’t completely hide the doubt of possibility in her voice. She was saved from overexplaining anything by the producers calling them in, sending them back to the now-clean benches. Bucky eyed his set up, letting out a breath of relief just at the fact that it was still standing. The judges followed soon after, their eyes drifting over each and every showstopper before the male judge clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s get started.” he said. He called the first person up and immediately ripped them to shreds, harshly judging their design, their execution, and how overworked the biscuits were. Bucky took a deep breath and reminded himself that no matter what, he’d been through worse. He glanced over to Mika, how seemed a little pale after the first display, and when he finally caught her eye he gave her a smile. Hers really did look good, and he had no doubt that she would get at least a little praise for it.

“James, let’s see yours.” the judge said a few times later, gesturing for him to come front and center. One of the hosts came to his bench, holding one end as Bucky carried the other. He could have managed if he needed to, but he’d learned approximately three months into his recovery that it was not deadly to ask for help. They placed the setting in front of the judges and he stepped back, slipping his hand into his pocket.

“American biscuits, hm?” the female judge said, looking at him over her bright blue glasses. He couldn’t help but giver her a grin.

“Cheeky, I know.” he said.

The judge laughed appreciatively, then gestured to the sculptures. “And the rest is graham, yes?” he asked, gesturing to the sculptures.

“Yes.” he said with a nod. They slid the edges of a fork along the chocolate, and Bucky was supremely happy to see that it held.

“Excellent chocolate work.” the female judge said as the male judge broke pieces off for them to try. They took delicate bites of the various biscuits, the silence thick as they tasted it.

“That’s good, that.” the male judge finally relented. They took their forks and tried the buttermilk biscuit, the female judge laughing as she did.

“It’s rather like a cake, isn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve had them before, but this is different. The layers and the butter...I might think they’re pretty good.”

“This was a good execution. Well done.” the male judge said, nodding towards him. Bucky gave them another smile and a nod.

“Thank you.” he said, glad to finally hear something good this weekend. The host, before grabbing his end of the tray, made sure to take the rest of the buttermilk biscuit and shove it into his mouth.

“I like that.” he said, mouth full. The room tittered with laughs, and Bucky just gave him one of his flirtier smiles.

“They’re even better when you’re hungover.” he murmured, keeping his voice low enough that the cameras couldn’t pick it up. The host made an intrigued sound.

“Do you often cook for your guests the morning after?” he asked, and Bucky did not miss the insinuation - or Mika looking at them with a quizzical look as they walked by.

“Every time.” he said, not minding if she heard him. He definitely hadn’t performed as well as he wanted to this weekend, but he was hoping that he’d done well enough to stay. Mika gave him a brilliant smile once he was settled on his stool - one that quickly dropped whenever they called her name. She brought her set up to the table, holding her hands behind her and chipping at her already very chipped nail polish.

“Tell us about this setting, Mika.” the female judge asked.

“It’s from my favorite pub back in Romania. They have the best drinks and atmosphere and is where I had my last birthday party before moving here.” she explained. They nodded, asking her questions about the biscuit flavors and construction. He was impressed that she’d managed to recreate the shape of a Guinness glass out of biscuit, and based on the reactions after their first bites, the judges were impressed with her flavors.

“This is good. You’ve definitely stepped up from last week.” the male judge said, acting as if the compliment pained him a little. Mika rose up on her toes a little, then rocked back on her heels.

“Thank you.” she said. She picked up her display and brought it back to her bench, giving Bucky an exaggerated face as she sat down. He waved off her dramatics; she was very clearly going to make it through. The rest of the contestants went with varying degrees of success, and in a blink they were back outside as the judges deliberated.

“I don’t know.” Bucky said, shaking his head and stuffing his hand in his pocket. Mika looped her arm through his, gently guiding him on a little stroll around the perimeter of their waiting area.

“You’re going to be fine. They gave you excellent feedback on your bake.” she said, rubbing his arm.

“But the first two were...subpar.” he said. “Not like yours. You’re in the clear.”

“Don’t say that, you’ll jinx me.” she said, pinching his elbow. “Trust me, it’s going to be fine. I matched your payment from last week so that they’d put you through.”

“I didn’t pay them anything last week.” he reminded her.

“Exactly.” she said, as if that solved the problem. It didn’t increase his chances of advancing, but it did make him laugh, which was almost better at that moment. “You’re not going home. I need to see your patisserie!”

“I better not, I still haven’t tasted your bread.” he said. She shrugged.

“You can try that any time. I’ve always got some.” she said. “I’ll give you coffee and breakfast after your run next time. Unrelated, I’m very impressed that you’ve managed to keep up your exercise routine.”

“Come with me in the morning.” he said, making the offer before he realized he was doing it.

“You still have to be there for that.” she pointed out. “So sure, I will. I’m slow, but I’ll go.”

“Slow is fine.” he said. The producers called from the door of the tent, but Mika didn’t let go of his arm. She kept them linked all the way to the line of stools, even holding his arm as they announced star baker. He couldn’t help but clench his fist when they paused to announce the person going home, and even Mika grew still as the host paused dramatically.

Bucky was a little surprised not to hear his own name. The only way he knew for sure it wasn’t him was because the other bakers were saying goodbye to the person who’d been cut. Mika collapsed against his shoulder for a moment before giving his hand a hearty pat, shaking her head.

“Dammit. Now I have to go running in the morning.”

#gbbo au #week 2 #biscuit week

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years ago

Text

Finger Painting

Author: MyChosenWords

Year: 2009

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Mike/Dave

The entrance to Dave’s flat is unexpectedly dark as Mike steps through the front door. He dumps the pile of borrowed CDs on the table and tucks Dave’s spare key into his pocket. From the basement he can hear the strains of what he can now confidently identify as Led Zeppelin. Grabbing two beers from the fridge he makes his way to the stairs.

“Dave!” he cries, not wanting to startle his friend.

“Hey Mikey!” Dave responds, “Bring us a beer would ya?”

“I’m way ahead of you mate,” Mike replies as he reaches the bottom step.

Dave is stood in the middle of the basement staring at a big white sheet that almost covers the entire floor. Cans of paint are scattered around the room along with an assortment of paintbrushes.

“Modern art this time? Very nice,” Mike comments, lifting one finger to his lips and tapping it in an exaggerated display of thoughtfulness, “I love how you’ve really captured the essence of nothingness. The absence of the paint is a great mirror for the absence of colour in our pathetic, meaningless existence isn’t it?”

Dave elbows him playfully and grabs his beer. “Fuck off.”

“What are you actually doing?”

“I’m supposed to be creating a backdrop for the live show. Noel had this idea about making these massive scrolling backdrops so we’re each painting one as a prototype.”

“So why aren’t you getting on with it? I mean, how hard can it be to paint a couple of trees and a hill?” Mike asks. Dave looks at Mike in a way that makes him once again curse the fact that Noel got all the creative talent and all he has is a lisp and the ability to stare at things for a long time without blinking. He’d give almost anything to be able to have a conversation with Dave about art and perspective and shadows without resorting to jokes or stupid questions but he’s completely out of his depth. Luckily Dave once again proves that he can read Mike like a book and begins to explain.

“Basically before I can start painting anything I need to know where we are going to be in relation to the backdrop. The size and position of the mountains is affected by whether we are close to them or far away.” Mike nods slowly in understanding.

“Want to help?”

The only thing stopping Mike from agreeing immediately is an overwhelming fear of somehow fucking it up. He has always enjoyed the company of the older man and usually jumps at the chance to spend time with him but Noel has been exceedingly grumpy lately and Mike doesn’t want to Dave to get the blame for something Mike has messed up. Dave picks up a paintbrush and wiggles it in Mike’s face.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he urges. With a sigh, Mike takes the offered paintbrush and turns to the tins of paint.

“Where do we start?”

Dave draws a rough outline on the sheet, pours some of the blue paint into a tray and puts Mike to work painting the sky. They work solidly for a good half an hour, Dave singing along to the music and Mike concentrating on not going too far outside the lines Dave has drawn. It’s actually quite relaxing and Mike can finally accept why Noel used to spend hours shut away listening to music and drawing. He finishes the last of the sky and is just about to stand up to admire his handiwork when his elbow catches the tin of green Dave was using for the trees and it tips over. He scrambles to pick up the tin but it is too late. Mike can only watch in horror as the green puddle slowly spreads across the sheet. Ashen-faced he turns to apologise to Dave but the other man is blinking tears of laughter out of his eyes and cackling. Dave’s amusement increases momentarily at the look on Mike’s face before he eventually softens.

“Don’t worry about it Michael, it’s only a practice.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“But you’ll have to do it all again!”

Dave shrugs. “So? It’s hardly a masterpiece Mike.”

“Fine. But let me clean it up. You can go get some more beers or something,” Mike insists.

Noticing that the paint is about to spill off the edges of the sheet, Mike rushes to his feet. In his haste he plants his foot firmly in the blue tray. Flecks of blue paint fly up into the air, raining down on Dave’s hair, face and clothes. Groaning, Mike covers his face with his hands and flushes a bright, burning red.

“Oh god, that’s it. I give up. I am fucking useless.” There’s a bitter note in his voice that quells the snigger that was bubbling inside of Dave.

Mike hears movement in front of him and the next moment Dave’s hands are peeling Mike’s away from his eyes.

“Hey, come on Mikey, it’s fine. I always wear old clothes when I’m painting anyway. And besides, it was pretty funny,” Dave soothes. Impulsively he leans in and plants a soft kiss on the tip of Mike’s nose.

When Mike finally opens his eyes Dave is grinning at him, the bright spots of paint highlighting his blue eyes. Despite his embarrassment Mike laughs. “Matches your eyes,” he remarks.

Dave studies him for a long moment and there’s a mischievous gleam in his eyes now. Very slowly he dips his finger into the brown paint and begins to draw on Mike’s cheek. Mike remains briefly still until he realises what Dave is drawing.

“Hey!” cries an outraged Mike. “That’s a bum. You’re drawing a fucking bum on my face!”

Dave collapses into childish giggles. Mike smudges the crude drawing until it’s just a brown blob. All sense of guilt or embarrassment forgotten, he bends down, drags his paintbrush through the escaped green paint and flings it at Dave. It hits him square on the chest and begins to run down his jeans. Mike yells in triumph but is quickly silenced when a splatter of red paint collides with his shoulder. Dave jumps out of the way as the green paint from Mike’s brush splatters against the wall.

Paintbrushes are soon abandoned in favour of more aggressive tactics. Dave chases Mike around the room and manages to plant a bright green handprint on his black hair. In retaliation Mike slaps a blue handprint onto Dave’s arse. Dave dips both his arms into the yellow paint and hurls himself at Mike. Unprepared for the impact, Mike falls, bringing Dave down with him. Dave attempts to get away but the paint is so slippery he simply falls unceremoniously on his arse. Mike is laughing so hard he can hardly see. When he finally calms down enough to take a good look around he is surprised by how strangely beautiful it is.

There is paint everywhere; on the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling. The colours have mixed together and now there are oranges and purples and pinks as well as the colours they started with. In the middle of it all sits Dave, with bright purple hair and clothes drenched in every possible hue. Mike’s own clothes aren’t much better. There are two yellow lines underneath his arms from where Dave tackled him and the rest of his shirt is a garish polka dotted nightmare the likes of which even Noel would claim was ‘a bit much’. Mike gazes fondly at Dave, whose ability to make light of any situation has once again spared Mike from hours worth of angst and self-esteem issues. Dave shuffles closer to him and for a moment Mike thinks it might be time for round two but the other man merely wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into a hug.

“Feel better now?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Mike replies.

Dave scans Mike’s face, looking for an unblemished patch of skin. He finds it at the corner of Mike’s left eye and kisses it.

“Good.”

Their eyes meet and before Mike can wonder what the hell he’s doing he closes the gap between them. Dave is quick to respond, chapped lips sliding leisurely over Mike’s. The paint has made their hair slippery and Mike has the deeply disturbing thought that this is kind of like what kissing Old Gregg would feel like but then Dave growls and Mike is jolted back to reality. He can’t imagine Old Gregg ever making such a masculine sound. Breathing eventually becomes a problem, forcing the two apart. They stare at each other with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“So...,” says Dave eventually, “This is new.”

“Yeah,” Mike exhales. His fingers are itching to reach out to any part of Dave they can reach but he can’t bring himself to do so without knowing, absolutely, that Dave wants this too.

There’s a splash of purple on Mike’s lower lip and Dave brushes it away with a surprisingly clean thumb. He leans in and kisses Mike so slowly it feels like time has somehow been manipulated.

“Good though,” Dave whispers as he pulls back to meet Mike’s eyes.

Mike can only nod mutely in response. He feels as though he’s travelling very fast through a dark tunnel. Everything around him is blurred but for Dave’s face. He is dimly aware of the music in the background and the smell of the paint. Dave is smiling at him affectionately, like you would a kitten playing with a ball of string, and Mike thinks that won’t do at all so he gets to his knees and turns so he can straddle Dave’s thighs. There’s a flash of lust in Dave’s eyes and he wraps his arms around Mike’s waist and pulls him down. For the first time Mike can feel how the situation is affecting Dave and it sends his head into even more of a spin.

“Mike,” Dave pants as Mike begins to softly grind himself down into Dave’s lap, “I know this is probably the worst idea I’ve ever had but I swear if I don’t have you right now I’m going to go insane.” He rounds off the statement by biting down on Mike’s earlobe, prompting the shorter man to yelp in pleasure and in pain.

“So take me,” Mike murmurs before nipping at Dave’s jaw. In a flash Dave’s hands are tangled in Mike’s hair and they are kissing again and Dave is thrusting up now and the room is filled with moans and breathless names. Dave shoves Mike off his lap but before Mike has a chance to complain he’s flat on his back with Dave’s body covering his own.

When they were younger Noel used to come home with an assortment of bruises and a filthy grin and Mike could never understand how he got off on something that was clearly painful. But here in Dave’s basement with an unusually sharp paintbrush digging into his back and Dave pressing onto him from above Mike was starting to really enjoy the exhilaration of losing control. The moment their lips had touched Mike had forgotten all about the fact that Dave was his older brother’s best mate, or that they worked together and that things would undoubtedly change from that point on; all that mattered was that Dave didn’t push him away.

Mike’s hands work frantically at the buttons on Dave’s shirt. When they finally reach the last one he reluctantly breaks their kiss to allow Dave to sit back on Mike’s hips and shrug the shirt off his shoulders. Dave hurriedly pulls the shirt off his arms and throws it behind his head. His hands now tug at the hem of Mike’s shirt and Mike raises his upper body slightly to allow Dave to slip it over his head. The shock of bare skin underneath their paint-stained clothes causes Mike to chuckle. Dave looks at him curiously but the look soon fades to desire as his gaze falls on the trail of dark hair leading down into Mike’s waistband. With a careful, cautious finger he traces a line down Mike’s chest before lavishing caresses on Mike’s nipples and hipbones. Mike bucks and whimpers beneath him and Dave can’t believe how good it feels to be the cause of such obvious pleasure. His fingers make quick work of the buttons on Mike’s jeans and pretty soon they break apart again to shed their remaining clothes.

Forgetting about his earlier bouts of clumsiness, Mike attempts to crawl seductively over to Dave. His right hand lands in a puddle of orange and slips quickly out from beneath him. As his chest crashes into the wet sheet he can hear Dave’s hysterical laughter and he feels himself blushing again. Mike rolls over onto his back and finds his body once again covered with Dave’s.

“You are absolutely the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” Dave whispers, stroking his fingers through Mike’s hair.

“I’m a clumsy git,” Mike grumbles, though he does turn his head to nuzzle Dave’s hand.

“You’re perfect,” Dave shoots back and then he’s kissing him again.

Dave’s tongue urges Mike’s lips open as his hips begin to move. The first brush of their naked erections elicits a moan from both men and Mike thrusts upwards to increase the pressure. If this were a different time and place Mike would take great pleasure in memorising every inch of Dave’s skin but they’re sliding all over the place as it is and Mike is so hard it hurts and if he doesn’t get some kind of relief soon he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Dave’s tongue maps every crevice of Mike’s mouth as his thrusts become less and less controlled.

“Fucking hell Mike,” he groans roughly into Mike’s ear.

“I’m close Dave,” Mike replies and is rewarded with a nip on the earlobe.

“Me too. Come with me?”

Mike nods and Dave buries his face in Mike’s neck, kissing his collarbone through the layers of paint. Mike arches his back as Dave’s hips slide once more over his own and then he’s coming hard onto Dave’s stomach. Dave is a mere second behind, panting Mike’s name like a mantra as he shudders above him. Still breathless he collapses on top of Mike.

“Fuck,” Mike sighs happily. Dave rolls over onto his back and grins.

“Not quite,” he retorts. “Maybe next time.” Mike wants to turn his head to check if Dave is pulling his leg but he can’t muster up the energy required so he merely lays back and hopes. The CD has stopped now and the only sound in the room is their shaky breathing as they attempt to regain normal breathing patterns.

It’s almost an hour later when Dave finally sits up. Mike’s eyes are closed, his mouth stretched into a soft smile, and he looks so relaxed that for a moment Dave thinks he’s fallen asleep. As soon as Dave stands up though Mike’s eyes flutter open and he gazes up at Dave contentedly. Dave’s face splits into a grin as he studies the mess they’ve made of the sheet.

“Check this out,” he says, motioning for Mike to stand up.

He does so, and laughs warmly at the sight. There is the distinct outline of Mike’s body smeared into the paint, Dave’s handprints on either side of his head and a series of smudges from where they had slid across the slippery sheet.

“Now that’s what I call modern art,” Dave remarks smugly. “You know, I’m thinking it could be part of a series.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Dave replies. “I’ve got plenty more sheets where that one came from.”

“Does this make me your muse?”

“Paintbrush more like.”

“It’s not quite as glamorous as being a muse but I suppose I’ll take it.”

“Hey Mike, get us a beer would ya?”

Mike turns obediently towards the stairs only to receive a playful slap on his still-bare bottom. “And don’t be too long,” Dave insists, “We’ve still got a backdrop to paint.”

Mike is standing in the queue at the supermarket when he gets the call. He hasn’t spoken to Dave for two days but that’s not unusual when they are preparing for a new tour. Dave is involved on so many different levels; he probably gets less sleep than even Noel or Julian. The rest of ‘That Afternoon’ passed without incident; they finished painting the backdrop and parted ways as if nothing had ever happened. He still isn’t sure whether they’ve completely ruined things between them or not. It doesn’t feel like a horrible mistake. In fact, it’s one of the best things to ever happen to Mike, but whether Dave feels the same or not Mike has no idea.

“Hi Dave,” he says, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder whilst attempting to balance his armful of groceries.

“Hey Mike, how’s it going?”

“Not too bad. Yourself?”

“I’m alright thanks mate. Listen, have you got time to pop round tonight? I was hoping you could help me out with something.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Call it 7:30? There’s beer and wine in the fridge and I’ll rustle us up a pasta,” Dave suggests.

“Sounds great,” Mike replies. Dave’s been on his mind constantly since the other day and he’s both nervous and excited at what might happen the next time they are alone together. Plus, Dave is quite a good cook and this is likely to be the best meal he’ll eat all week.

The woman at the cash register smiles at Mike as he dumps his groceries on the counter. “Hot date?”

“Could be,” Mike replies with a wink.

Dave answers the door with bare feet and a wide grin and wraps Mike in a hug. “Good day?” he asks as he ushers Mike through the front door.

“Not bad. You?”

Dave runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Average. We met with the stage managers today.”

“And?”

“Total disaster. We tried the backdrops but the sheet keeps catching on all the other shit we need on the stage. Nearly ripped Noel’s to shreds.” Dave runs a hand over his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Ah. So no scrolling backdrops then?”

“Not at this stage,” Dave replies, “Beer?”

Mike follows Dave into the kitchen and grabs one of the free bar stools. Dave grabs two beers out of the fridge and slides one over to Mike. Garlic and onions are sizzling in a pan on the stove and Dave busies himself with preparing the other ingredients whilst chatting to Mike. They discuss their days in greater details and enthuse over the plans for the tour. Mike sets the table and puts some music on. It’s the kind of domestic familiarity you usually only see in the movies and Mike hadn’t realized he craved.

The pasta is simple but delicious. During the meal they fall into reminiscing about the last tour and it suddenly occurs to Mike that whatever does or does not happen between them, they will more than likely be sharing a room again for the duration of the tour. Julian has already announced his intentions to make frequent trips home to visit his family, prompting Noel to suggest that he share a room with Rich instead so that Julian can have one to himself. Julian was extremely grateful, and as Dave helpfully pointed out, Noel wouldn’t be spending much time in his room anyway. The conversation leads them to the Australia tour and their memories of their first night performing as part of The Boosh. Mike admits that he’ll never be able to repay Noel for the opportunity he gave him that night and Dave reassures him that his constant support of Noel is more than enough.

“You don’t realise how much he cares about you Mike and how much your opinion matters to him. He’s always looking out for you,” Dave insists.

“I know. I should tell him more often how much I appreciate him.”

Mike finishes the last of his wine and pushes the empty bowl of pasta into the middle of the table. “That was fantastic Dave. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” says Dave.

The conversation continues to flow easily and it’s nearly half-past nine when Dave finally pushes his chair away from the table and stands up purposefully. “Now...about that favour. Come on.”

Dave leads Mike to the stairs and motions for him to go in front. Suddenly nervous, Mike steps slowly down the stairs and into the basement. His stomach lurches as he steps into the room. The paint splatters have been cleaned off the walls and ceilings but they still litter the floor and Mike notices that the cans of paint have been gathered together on an old brown table. In the middle of the room, spread across the floor, is a large red sheet.

“See the thing is, I’ve still got all this paint left over,” comes Dave’s voice from just behind Mike’s ear. A hand, that trembles slightly though Mike doesn’t know it, reaches out and slides around his waist. “Paint with me?” Dave asks softly. Mike’s only answer is to press back into Dave’s embrace. That one simple question is the answer to all the questions that have been swirling through Mike’s head for the past couple of days. With that simple question all of Mike’s nerves disappear and he smiles warmly up at Dave in agreement.

Dave puts some music on and opens the tins of paint. Not even bothering with the charade of paintbrushes, he plunges a finger into the blue and begins to trace strange and intricate patterns on the sheet. Mike soon joins in, his yellow lines swirling and crisscrossing Dave’s blue. He can’t believe how easy it is to just sit and revel in the joy of finger painting. He feels like he’s five years old again, without a care in the world; except that a five-year-old boy surely wouldn’t notice the way Dave’s thin white shirt clings to his arms, or the way his tongue slips out to moisten his lips when he’s concentrating. They catch each other’s eye occasionally and there’s a tension building that they are both doing their best to nurture. There is none of the urgency of their last encounter; Mike knows he won’t be going home tonight so he promises himself that he will take the time to savour every moment.

It’s almost forty minutes later when Dave makes the first move. The edges of the sheet have been covered with various blue and yellow patterns but the centre is still bare. He waits until Mike is looking at him and then slowly he tips the blue tin so that a little puddle forms in front of him. He plants both hands firmly in the paint before crawling over to Mike on his hands and knees. He stops just in front of the dark-haired man and waits. Mike smiles warmly at Dave and smoothes his hand over Dave’s forehead before leaning in and kissing him. Dave’s blue hands clasp Mike’s head as they kiss and Mike’s lips fall open under Dave’s eager tongue. When they part Mike knocks over his own tin of paint and pushes Dave so he’s laying in it. Dave laughs and pulls Mike on top of him, wrapping his arms around Mike’s waist and pressing their bodies together. Already Mike is rocking his hips into Dave’s erection, desperate for the friction. Dave’s hand squeezes his hip firmly as he matches Mike thrust for thrust. Afraid things might be going too fast, Dave flips them over and settles himself on Mike’s hips. Warm fingers wriggle under Mike’s shirt and Mike sits up so Dave can remove the offending garment. He dips his finger into the spilt paint and draws a big smiley face on Mike’s chest.

“So pretty,” Dave murmurs reverently.

“Shut up,” says Mike, blushing. He pushes up so that Dave slides off his hips and he can sit up, before pulling Dave’s shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Dave’s head tips back and he squirms in delight as Mike bends his head and gently bites down on his nipple.

Eager fingers make quick work of their remaining clothing. Dave lies back and tries to pull Mike on top of him but the younger man bats his hand away. Dave’s confusion turns to surprise as Mike’s hands close around his cock. Mike’s tongue licks at the juncture between hip and thigh before making its way to the head of Dave’s cock. Hands fly to Mike’s hair, urging him on and Dave cries out Mike’s name as he is engulfed in the heat of Mike’s mouth. He can’t help himself from thrusting up but Mike doesn’t seem to mind. He merely looks up at Dave through those long, dark lashes and continues his ministrations. One hand grips Dave’s hipbone firmly, trying to control his thrusting, and the other trails through the paint pooling at Dave’s side. He raises the finger to Dave and carefully traces a letter onto the lower part of Dave’s stomach.

Dave is uncertain of where exactly Mike is going with this but enjoying the sensation all the same.

Mike trails open-mouthed kisses up and down Dave’s cock before covering the head once more.

Fingernails dig into Dave’s thighs hard enough to mark him and that thought only causes him to shiver and thrust himself further into Mike’s waiting mouth.

Dave’s hands twist into the sheet as Mike rolls his tongue over Dave’s right testicle. Mike leaves a small gap before beginning the next word.

Mike places one last kiss on Dave’s cock before raising his head so he can watch Dave’s reaction as he draws the last letter.

“Fuck me,” Dave recites, “Mike...do you mean that?” He gazes questioningly at Mike.

“Please,” Mike whispers. Dave’s hands grab Mike and haul him up so he can kiss him. Mike’s tongue darts into his mouth and Dave moans as he tastes himself on the other man’s tongue. Mike’s hands sweep across Dave’s sweaty forehead, brushing the hair back as he kisses across Dave’s hairline.

“I want you so bad right now,” Dave pants in Mike’s ear, his voice husky with desire. His hands run up and down Mike’s bare back, sliding down to cup Mike’s arse and squeezing experimentally.

“Dave,” Mike whines, rubbing their erections together impatiently.

Before he knows what is happening Mike finds himself on his back with Dave’s blue eyes boring into him. “Give me two seconds,” Dave says, placing a kiss on Mike’s cheek before leaping up and bounding up the stairs. He returns not long after with a bottle of lube and a condom and it hits Mike all of a sudden that this is really happening. Dave kisses Mike passionately as his fingers fumble with the wrapper. Mike helps him to slide it on with shaky fingers and an encouraging smile.

“You’re sure?” Dave asks as he unscrews the lube. Mike nods.

“Fuck me Dave,” he begs.

Dave squirts a generous helping of the lube onto his fingers before trailing one around Mike’s entrance. Mike keens into Dave’s mouth as the finger makes its way past the tight ring of muscle. Dave stretches him slowly, adding two more fingers and searching out Mike’s prostate. When he finds it Mike cries out in pleasure and bucks around Dave’s fingers. Dave captures Mike’s lips in one last, searing kiss before positioning himself at Mike’s entrance. He pushes carefully inside and gasps at the feeling. Mike is so tight and warm it takes all of his self control not to pull out and slam back into the tiny man beneath him. Mike is grimacing though and Dave doesn’t want to hurt Mike in any way. He waits for Mike to adjust to the feeling before slowly sliding out and in again. This time a small moan escapes Mike’s lips.

“You feel incredible,” Dave gushes. He leans down and kisses Mike again, tongue thrusting to the same rhythm as his hips.

Mike is thrusting back now, back arching and hands wandering all over Dave’s back searching for something to hold on to. Dave’s cock finds Mike’s prostate and Mike’s whole world flips upside down. One hand wanders down to his own cock and he strokes himself slowly, enjoying the slow build up to ecstasy. Dave nibbles the shell of Mike’s ear, moaning incoherent sounds punctuated with Mike’s name.

“Mike, I’m getting close,” Dave murmurs as his thrusts become more frantic.

Mike nods and meets Dave’s heated gaze with one of his own. He increases the pressure on his cock and is dimly aware of Dave crying his name out as his orgasm washes over him. The pleasure is more than he can bear and his small body shudders and bucks as he spills into his hand. Dave lets his weight drop onto Mike, unwilling to let go of the feeling of Mike surrounding his cock. He kisses every part of Mike he can reach and runs his hands through Mike’s hair.

“Wow,” Mike says as soon as he’s recovered the power of speech. “That was just...wow.”

“Mmm...” Dave murmurs in agreement. “You are amazing. I cannot believe how good that felt.” He slides out of Mike and pulls the condom off, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. He rolls over so he’s on his side and drops a kiss on Mike’s chest.

“You can talk,” replies Mike. “No one’s ever made me feel like that before.”

Dave lifts his head so he can look at Mike and smiles fondly. He inclines his head towards the sheet and raises an eyebrow. “Another masterpiece you reckon?”

Mike nods his head and allows Dave to pull him to his feet. Once again there is the clear outline of Mike’s body in the paint. The blue and yellow has mixed in places to form a bright, vibrant green but Mike can just make out the handprints from where Dave crawled over to him. Where Mike’s hand had just been there is a small splash of white that stands out starkly against the red of the sheet. Mike notices it first and blushes furiously. “I’ll just get that shall I?” he says, looking round for a cloth.

Dave’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. “Don’t.”

Mike stares at him.

“No one’ll ever know. And besides, I think it’s hot,” he punctuates the statement by placing a series of kisses along Mike’s neck and collarbone.

“What are you going to call it?” Mike asks.

Dave studies Mike for a moment and then looks back at the painting. “Heaven,” he says with a grin.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #dave brown #mike fielding #mike fielding/dave brown #mike/dave #real person fic #rps

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mountainana · 7 years ago

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Secret Santa Fic - All the Things You Are

Here is my gift to @marcuskaen for the prompt “Lucien x Jean + their first Christmas together”. 10,000 thank yous to @professortennant for the endless help. I hope you all enjoy the fluffiness.

Also at fanfiction.net

Christmas night. All the presents opened, all the company gone home, paper and ribbons cleaned away. It has been a lovely - if very warm and busy - day, and Jean finally has a moment to herself. She slips out of the house and into the back garden to catch the evening breeze. Her thoughts, as usual, turn to Lucien. And what a wonderful “first Christmas” they have had…

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Actually, it had started early in November. In spite of it having been a mild Spring day, the evening air was chilly. Lucien had poured a whiskey for himself and Jean, and then set about to build a fire. Jean took a sip of the amber liquid, and sighed as it’s warmth spread throughout her body. She had started to appreciate Scotch lately for that warmth, but now, watching her husband work, she began to wonder if the heat she felt was from the whiskey or her rising desire. His collar was unbuttoned, and his sleeves were rolled up, and watching the play of his muscles and the firelight on his skin had Jean mesmerized. Never taking her eyes from the sight of her husband, Jean moved across the room to stand beside him. She picked up his glass and ran a finger down his cheek.

“Lucien…” He looked up into her face and seeing the look in her eyes, stood without a word. She handed him his whiskey, signaling him to drink. Holding her gaze, he accepted her silent invitation and before he could form a coherent thought, she leaned in to taste the whiskey on his lips. The thought went through her mind that this was how she had developed her taste for Scotch. When he parted her lips with his tongue, she gladly deepened the kiss. Who needed Scotch? She was drunk on the taste and feel of her husband.Things were heating up quickly, but, alas, their old nemesis was about to strike.

”Rrri-i-i-i-n-n-g!!!!”

Jean sighed in frustration. “I’ll get it.” And straightening her hair, she went to answer the phone, sending him a look over her shoulder that said, ‘I’m not done with you yet.” But when she returned a few minutes later, she was shaking her head in disbelief.

“Darling, is everything alright? Who was on the phone?”

“It was Christopher. He has invited us to Adelaide next weekend for the Christmas parade.”

Lucien patted the space beside him on the couch. “Well, that’s wonderful news! Tell me what he had to say.

”Jean joined him and snuggled into his shoulder. “He said Amelia is so excited about Christmas this year that they decided the parade would be just the thing. And Ruby… Ruby (!)…suggested that we might like to join the fun.” She looked at Lucien and laughed. “Can you believe it?”

Jean’s happiness was infectious, and Lucien gathered her closer for a kiss. “Splendid! When do we leave?

”They arrived at the Beazley house late the next Friday afternoon. After a lovely dinner Jean took Amelia upstairs to get her ready for bed. They washed up and brushed teeth and got into pajamas. Amelia had chosen a story she wanted to hear, so Jean got her into bed and snuggled down beside her to read. When Lucien tiptoed upstairs to see how they were doing, the sight that greeted him brought tears to his eyes. Jean was reading as Amelia listened with rapt attention, looking at Jean with such love that Lucien couldn’t turn away. He took in the scene vowing to himself he would hold this memory forever.

The next morning, they crowded into Christopher’s car and headed downtown for the parade. Amelia could hardly contain her excitement as she sat on her daddy’s shoulders and took in all the bands and floats. It had been years since Lucien and Jean had been to a parade and they got caught up in the spectacle as well, but truth be told, they had the most fun watching Amelia. When Santa Clause came by she was so thrilled that Ruby, laughing, had to keep her from slapping Christopher’s head in her joy

.On the way back to Ballarat Jean scooted over on the seat to be close to Lucien and sighed with contentment. “This was just the perfect way to start our first Christmas.”

And now, in the fading light of this day she is thinking ‘Yes, but it was only the start’. She remembers that first Friday in December when she returned home from shopping and was met at the front door by Lucien.

Before Jean could say hello, he grabbed her around the waist and brought her in for a fiery kiss. As they came up for air she said shakily, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”Lucien just pointed above their heads to the mistletoe that hung from the doorway. “Well,” she smiled mischievously, “We certainly can’t let perfectly good mistletoe go to waste.” And she leaned in and gave as good as she got

.Lucien finally pulled back and said, “I’m so glad you feel that way.” He opened the door and stepped back to let her in the house ahead of him. Not two steps in, she stopped with a gasp and covered her mouth in surprise. Then she burst into delighted laughter. For there, in every doorway in the house, Lucien had hung a sprig of mistletoe. And, oh, they had a lovely time kissing their way from one doorway to the next!

Then there was the morning of December 5th when the not-so-newlyweds woke up to a driving rain. As the morning progressed, the weather continued to worsen and one by one each of Lucien’s surgery patients, not wanting to brave the storm, called to reschedule their appointments.

Now there are those who would curse the storm and consider the day ruined. But for two people like Lucien and Jean Blake, it was a gift of time. Time for quiet conversation and private jokes. Time for endearments. And caresses. And kisses. And…

The day wasn’t wasted at all.

The rain finally ended and gave way to what promised to be a beautiful sunset. “Come with me, Love. Let’s take a little walk.”

Hand in hand they walked out to the garden. Jean’s flowers were a riot of color and the air was heavy with their fragrance. The two made their way through the flowers in comfortable silence. Jean was filled with such a tangible feeling of contentment she thought she might burst. ‘I wonder if Lucien feels this way, too.’ The thought had no sooner entered her mind than Lucien stopped and kissed her hand - so gently, almost reverently. He lifted his gaze to meet hers and the look of love on his face made her breath catch. He tucked her hand through his arm and they walked back to the house.

When they got to the kitchen they realized how muddy their shoes had gotten. “Let’s just leave them here outside the door - we don’t want to track up your floor. We’ll clean them tomorrow.”

The next morning Jean went to bring her shoes in, but when she opened the door to get them she found a surprise instead. “Lucien! Can you come here, please?”

He came to the kitchen looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. “Yes, dear?” He was fighting hard to keep his grin under control.

“Can you explain this?” Jean asked with mock anger as she pointed to her shoes. There they sat - each one full of little gifts and treats

.“Um, well, it is St. Nicholas Day, Jean. But I can see why you might be surprised. I thought he only visited houses in France!

”“Oh, you!” She slapped his arm playfully.They brought the shoes in and opened all the gifts. Jean popped a sweet into his mouth and then enjoyed the sugar on his lips. She couldn’t stop giggling and Lucien was enjoying it almost more than she. After all was put away, Jean smiled to herself. Lucien’s little escapade had given her an idea of her own

.Oh, and the night they decorated the tree. It was so lovely, and, after all it was their ‘first’, so they put Ella Fitzgerald on the record player, and danced. Then they made love by the light of that tree.

And last night - Christmas Eve. Lucien once again moved her by his thoughtfulness when he suggested they attend Midnight Mass. The thought of going made Jean very nervous, but Lucien was so earnest in wanting to please her that she said yes. They slipped in the back and sat down. Jean reached for Lucien’s hand, took a deep breath, and let the silence settle over her. The familiar words and music wrapped around her like a comfortable old sweater. He was right - it was just what she needed.

The ride back home was quiet. “Are you alright, Love?”“Oh, my, Lucien. I am more than alright. I’m with you

.”When they got home, Lucien went to pour them both a night cap. Jean smiled and said, “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”She came in a moment later with something on a plate.

“What have you there?” Lucien asked, intrigued.

“La Buche de Noel” she said laughing. “I know I didn’t say that right” She looked at Lucien’s face as his smile disappeared and tears came to his eyes. Jean put the plate down and went to him, taking his face in her hands. “Oh, what have I done? Luicien?” I’m so sorry!

”He caught her hand. “No, Jean, it’s perfect. It’s just… I haven’t had one since my mother died. She made one every year - just for me. It was my favorite part of Christmas. And now, you….” He gathered her in his arms. “God, I love you. Thank you, my darling.”

And they fed each other the rich cake, kissing away the crumbs and cream

.-------------------------------------------------------------------------

What a wonderful time it had been. Sitting here in the fading light of this first Christmas, she’s a little sad for it to come to an end, but it’s late and she must go back inside.

As she passes the study, Lucien calls out softly, “Jean, can you come in for a moment?” He’s by his desk holding an old journal. Why does it look so familiar? She looks at his face and wonders why he seems suddenly shy. “I…um…I have one more gift for you. I’m afraid it isn’t wrapped. Do you mind?

”‘Do you mind.’ With those words the memory comes flooding back. She is the one holding that journal…and his sketches…my God! Those terrible images.

“Jeannie?” His voice brings her back to the present and away from that awful day. As she finally focuses on her husband’s face, she can see that he’s holding out the journal to her. “I…well…these are for you

.”With trembling hands she takes the journal from him and turns to sit. ‘What is he thinking?’ She closes her eyes and wills her hands to open her ‘gift’. With dread she opens her eyes to see what he has drawn. It’s…it’s…her! And Amelia. It’s the night she was reading the story, and Lucien has caught the expression on Amelia’s face perfectly.She looks up. “When?” she breathes

.Lucien smiles. “Do you like it?

But she can’t wrap her mind around this. Again - “When?”

“There are more,” he says

.She lifts that first sketch, and sure enough, there she is at the sink. And at the clothes line, beating a rug. And in the sunroom with a dirty apron and a smudged nose.

Sewing a button.

Sipping tea

Holding a test tube

Holding a patient’s hand.

Sleeping - tangled in the sheets with her hair loose and glorious

.“Lucien…”

“My sweet Jean. I have seen so much pain. And for so long it consumed me. I had to let it out somehow, and when drinking wasn’t enough, I put it on paper. The pain was all I knew. It was where I lived and what I breathed. I carried it with me as surely as I carried those sketches. And even when I felt the stirrings of a new life here, I couldn’t take that first step into an unknown future. The past was a terrible place to be, but at least I knew where I was.

“But as time went by, I began to realize that you were becoming my past. And my present. And now you are my future, too. I want my journal, my home, my life to be full of you.

”Lucien opens his arms and Jean goes to him. For a moment they just stand and breathe each other in. The Jean leans back and looks deeply into her beloved’s eyes

“But…WHEN?”

Lucien throws his head back and laughs. “Oh no, my love. A husband has to have some secrets!”

And with that, Jean is ready to let this first Christmas go. They will never have a first Christmas again, but there will be a second Christmas, and a tenth, and a twenty-fifth. They will each be the other’s past and future.

And each day a present. ��<�

#tdbmsecretsanta2k17 #@marcuskaen

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dgtully · 4 years ago

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Christmas Eve Worship Guide

Intro/Call to Worship

“The Christmas Scale”

Welcome / Opening Statement

Words of Invitation

Lighting of the Advent Candle

The Christ Candle

(If you have an Advent wreath, consider making use of it this evening. If not, but you have 5 candles available, light each one in turn along with us as we do so online.)

Opening Prayer

Song of Anticipation

(“The First Noel”—Lynn Tully and Barry Lane)

Scripture Reading

Luke 2:1-20, read by the Rev. Dr. N. T. Wright, from personal translation

Table Talk

(Consider the following questions among those with you or for yourself, as we share our family’s thoughts on the birth of Jesus.)

What does it mean to you that we say, “Jesus’ coming is ‘good news’?”

What aspect or part of Luke’s telling of Jesus’ birth do you find stands out to you most? How does that connect to your life? Why do you think that is?

In the convolution and darkness of the world, God brings about the birth of his Son, Jesus, the Savior. God’s will is done. What do you make of the fact that God comes to us in the middle of our lives’ “mess?” What does that bring to / add to your life?

Prayers of the People

(Pray alongside us as we voice the prayers of the people. Pray aloud, in unison, The Lord’s Prayer below, at the appropriate time.)

. . . .

Loving God, we your children never pray alone, but only with all your saints in all the world. Therefore, we pray now as Jesus taught us:

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory; Both now and forever. Amen

Holy Communion:

With bread and Cup (juice or wine) before you, join in The Great Thanksgiving in preparation of receiving God’s grace through this sacrament (for which our resident Bishop has allowed clergy to consecrate online during this time, for participation at home) speaking what is in bold, or all should you desire:

Invitation

This is a night of awe. God-with-us has come to touch our world, our lives. God-with-us has come to bring us out of darkness into a glorious light. God-with-us invites us now to come to the table, believing in the promises of God fulfilled tonight. Here we hear angels, and see shepherds, and are transformed by a baby. Here love is offered, and love is found, in the sharing of bread and cup. Here we find our journey’s end and its beginning.

Confession and Pardon

Lord, we have lived far too long in dark places of our own making. We have walled ourselves in, shut the world out, and held ourselves captive to our fear and failings. Free us from this place, Lord. Return us to a life in your presence, where we may face the trials of this world with you by our side. Restore your light to our eyes, that we may behold anew your love in our lives. Hear us and help us, we pray. We wait in eager anticipation, for the glory of your salvation this night. Amen.

Rejoice and be glad: your burdens are lifted, your captivity is ended! The Lord’s great light pierces the darkness: breaching the walls of our prisons, revealing the way of true freedom. Light, love, and salvation have come to us this night. Christ is born, and with Christ, we are born anew! Amen.

The Great Thanksgiving

May the Lord be with us. We lift up our hearts to the Lord. Let us give our thanks and praise.

It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere to give thanks to you, Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth. And so, with your people on earth and all the company of heaven, we praise your name and join their unending hymn:

Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.

Holy are you, and blessed is your Son Jesus Christ. By the baptism of his suffering, death, and resurrection you gave birth to your church, delivered us from slavery to sin and death, and made with us a new covenant by water and the Spirit.

On the night in which he gave himself up for us he took bread, gave thanks to you, broke the bread, gave it to his disciples, and said: “Take, eat; this is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

When the supper was over, he took the cup, gave thanks to you, gave it to his disciples, and said: “Drink from this all of you; this is my blood of the new covenant, poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

And so, in remembrance of these your mighty acts in Jesus Christ, we offer ourselves in praise and thanksgiving as a holy and living sacrifice, in union with Christ’s offering for us, as we proclaim the mystery of faith.

Christ has died; Christ has risen; Christ is with us; Christ will come again.

Pour out your Holy Spirit on we who are gathered in your name, in this and all places your people gather in the union of worship this evening, and on these gifts of bread and wine. Make them be for us the body and blood of Christ, that we may be for the world the body of Christ, redeemed by his blood

By your Spirit make us one with Christ, one with each other, and one in ministry to all the world, until Christ comes in final victory, and we feast at his heavenly banquet.

Through your Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit in you holy church, all honor and glory is yours, almighty Father, now and forever. Amen.

(Share in the bread before you with the words, “The body of Christ, given for us.” Share in the cup before you with the words, “The blood of Christ, given for us.”)

Sharing in the Light

(Take an individual candle—one for each person with you—and choose one person to light their candle from the Christ Candle of the Advent Wreath. In turn, light one another’s candles with the following words):

“The light of God is given for you—given to you—and by you, it is given to others.”

Song of Fulfillment

(“Silent Night”—Lynn Tully and Barry Lane)

Benediction

May the light that began at creation, continued through the witness of the prophets, and has come to fullness at the birth of Jesus Christ, be in your hearts and minds this evening. As you go from this time and place may your spirits be filled with joy and hope; for God’s precious Light has been given for you. Go in peace and know that God’s peace always goes with you. AMEN.

__________________________________________________________________________

(Optional) Offering

We give in gratitude for God’s blessings and gifts in our lives.

Our offerings are a demonstration of trust in God’s ongoing care for our needs.

Mail a check to:

Fall Branch United Methodist Church

P. O. Box 86

Fall Branch, TN 37656

Online Giving:

Go to holston.org/churchoffering and fill in your contact information.

Select Appalachian District in the first pull-down menu. Select Fall Branch United Methodist Church—Fall Branch, TN in the second pull-down menu.

Click the blue bar at the bottom to be taken to a secure site to put in your credit / debit card information and the amount of your offering and submit. That’s it!—100% of your offering will go to the ministry of Fall Branch UMC.

Offering Prayer

(Offer this prayer in devotion to God as you choose to give):

Lord, you have blessed our lives in so many ways. Receive what we offer now and use it to bless this world which you have loaned to us to make light shine in the darkness and your wholeness and well-being an ever-increasing reality. We offer these gifts in Jesus’ name. AMEN.

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customknitfactory · 9 months ago

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pocket-anon · 8 years ago

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Operation: First Noel (5/7)

Well, @xhookswenchx, Day 5 is coming to you a tad late, but here it is, 1.6k of pure exhaustion-driven silliness. Seriously. There is really no substance to this whatsoever. But then, such can be said for many of the treats we consume during the holidays. :) Apologies for any typos. Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.

Find it on AO3. Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming. Canon Divergent. Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut. Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)

Requested tags: @optomisticgirl, @deathbycaptainswan. Want to be tagged on updates? Let me know!

Chapter 5: On Being Awesome at Christmas

“Merry Christmas Eve!”

Emma gapes and then laughs when her father opens the door to the loft wearing a Santa hat and a cheerful grin. “Very nice, Dad.”

He beams and steps back to let her, Killian, and Henry in. “Your mom thought it would be fun,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen.

Emma looks to see her mother standing at the sink in a pretty silvery cardigan with reindeer antlers perched adorably in her hair. Snow cocks her head playfully, her expression sunny. “Just getting into the spirit,” she tells them. “You weren’t kidding when you said Christmas was a big deal. The amount of neat Christmas-themed stuff we found on the internet is insane.”

“Yeeeah, well, it’s pretty big business,” Emma chuckles, handing David her cookie platter before Killian relieves her of her long wool coat. Her pregnant nose immediately picks up on the savory aromas wafting through the air. “Smells great.”

“Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, stuffing, and cranberry sauce as requested,” Snow announces, reading off a hand-written list that was sitting on the counter near her.

Henry, still in his coat and with a wolfish grin on his face, is already standing by the stovetop with his head almost directly over the pan of gravy that simmers merrily there. “Awesome.”

Emma looks impressed. “Wow, you really went all out.”

Her mother shrugs. “Hey, we promised to help give you guys a real Christmas, and we may not be Granny, but your father and I know our way around a kitchen.”

“Well, we brought Christmas cookies and pecan pie, since we know how you feel about apple,” Henry says proudly, setting his foil-wrapped dish to one side on the counter.

Snow arches an eyebrow at him. “A whole pie or half a pie?” she asks teasingly.

He gives a harassed sigh and rolls his eyes. “Come on, that was three months ago.”

“Just checking.”

Emma sends Henry back down to the Bug to get the gifts they brought for her parents and Neal, and she busies herself with helping Snow in the kitchen while David and Killian attempt to keep her energetic little brother in check while he chases his favorite rubber ball around the loft.

“What time is Regina coming?” Emma asks.

Snow glances at the clock. “She should be here any minute.”

Emma fixes her mother with a questioning sidelong look while finishing the mashed potatoes with a generous splash of heavy cream. “How does she feel about this whole Christmas thing?”

Snow pours the gravy through a strainer and smiles patiently. “Well, you know Regina. She’ll join in with the right encouragement, but she’s rarely the one to lead the celebration.”

“No, I meant since she’s the one who kind of… stole Christmas. Before.”

Her mother gives a little laugh. “You know she doesn’t actually have anything against Christmas, right? She’s just like the rest of us – it’s new to her,” she points out, pushing the last bits of gravy around the bottom of the strainer. “I mean, clearly she understands it's supposed to be fun, or else she wouldn't have withheld it from us and then given it back to Henry later. She gets it. I don’t expect her to show up wearing bells, but I’m sure she’s as open to enjoying it as we are.”

Emma grins wryly. “Well, if she isn’t, we can always spike her eggnog.”

Snow laughs. “What?”

“Eggnog. It’s a drink.” Emma tilts her head thoughtfully and goes to investigate the contents of the refrigerator.

“Is that like grog?”

“Is what like grog?” Killian asks interestedly, coming over to fish Neal’s ball out of the corner. He rolls it back across the floor toward the living room where Neal and David are now distracted watching Henry tuck presents beneath the Christmas tree.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Mention grog and a pirate appears,” she says, smirking at him affectionately.

He shrugs amiably and props his elbow up on the breakfast bar. “I am what I am, Swan. Now, what about grog?”

“Not grog. Nog. Eggnog,” Emma chuckles, pulling a jug of whole milk out of the refrigerator and setting it next to the cream before reaching for the eggs. “It’s something people drink at Christmas. It’s egg, sugar, milk, cream, and a little nutmeg. I’ll show you. You can spike it with rum or bourbon or whatever, especially at Christmas parties where the guests are unsuspecting. Makes for interesting stories.”

“A Christmas tradition involving rum, and I wasn’t told until now?” Killian tsks and angles his head at her reproachfully.

Emma grins, her lashes shielding her eyes as she glances down to locate her parents’ handheld mixer under the counter. “Admittedly, an oversight.”

He snorts. “I should say so.”

Regina arrives by the time Emma finishes whipping the eggnog mixture together. Per Snow’s prediction, Henry’s other mother appears to be in good spirits and doesn’t have a hint of bah humbug about her. The corner of Emma’s mouth quirks as she watches the woman cuddle Neal on her lap and entertain him by conjuring little dancing lights in the palm of her hand. She hasn’t doubted Regina’s ability to find redemption for a long time, but there’s still something heart-warming about seeing the woman who was once the Evil Queen now joining her family to celebrate a holiday like Christmas. Honestly, if Emma thinks about it, stories like Regina’s and Killian’s, stories about lost souls consumed by sadness and resentment who, through the love and forgiveness of others, found their good hearts and new beginnings – those are some of the most Christmas-y stories of all.

The eggnog chills in the refrigerator while they sit down to dinner, pushing another table end-to-end with her parents’ regular one in order to make room for all seven of them and the impressive spread. Everyone has too much to eat; they all do a double-take when even Henry slumps back in his chair and claims he’s so full he can’t move.

He does move, eventually, as do the rest of them, when Neal's bedtime rolls around. Emma's little brother hurries about giving goodnight hugs and kisses to all assembled before Snow shuttles him up the stairs. The rest of the party migrates to the kitchen. Henry joins Killian and David in clean-up duty, Regina seats herself at the breakfast bar, and Emma hauls the eggnog out and begins to ladle it into mugs.

Regina lifts the mug Emma hands her and studies the cold white concoction dashed with nutmeg inside. “What is it?”

“Eggnog,” Emma explains. “It’s a Christmas tradition.”

Killian sips from his mug tentatively and furrows his brow as he licks a trace off the bottom edge of his moustache. “It goes down well enough, love,” he comments, setting it on the counter and reaching for his flask, “But I agree it could use a little something.”

David, hands tied up in the sink, agrees to a little splash of liquor in his cup as well, and Killian turns next to Regina, brows raised. “Your Majesty?”

Regina eyes her eggnog again, unconvinced of its merits, before holding it out to him and nodding. “What the hell.”

Killian chuckles and pours her a healthy dose. He tucks his flask away, retrieving his cup and clinking it against hers. “Cheers.”

Regina’s forehead wrinkles as she drinks, and she swirls some eggnog around her mouth like a sommelier before swallowing. Her frown disappears, and she pooches her lower lip and shrugs. “Well, what do you know? I guess rum is good for something after all.”

Killian laughs and points at her approvingly, cup in hand. “Ah, you see? There may be hope for you yet.”

While they wait for the pie to re-warm and for their stomachs to recover enough to eat it, Henry convinces them to play a few rounds of dice, using sugar-coated peanuts to wager. Regina initially sniffs at the idea of participating in such a boorish activity, but she begrudgingly allows her son to teach her how to play. Once she shoots her first game, however, her competitive nature takes over and she proves to be quite aggressive, especially when pitted against Killian, who is, naturally, the most experienced player in the room. Her enthusiasm only grows after her second cup of eggnog, her cheeks becoming delightfully rosy and her laugh a little louder, and Emma and Killian share amused looks when she goads them into playing one last game.

“Why, Regina,” Killian quips, “Who knew you’d make such delightful company with a few shots of rum in you?”

“Shut up, Pirate, and place your bet.”

It’s a great night overall, but the highlight comes near the end, after they consume the pie, when Killian gets up to take the dirty plates to the kitchen and David, who’s preparing to wash more dishes, meets him halfway.

Regina, her dark eyes still shining and a little glassy, suddenly cackles and points. “Hook is under the mistletoe,” she sing-songs.

Killian looks up to see David’s share of the plant hanging from the wooden beam above them. He glances at the Prince and rolls his eyes as he begins to turn back to Regina. “Surely, you don’t expect me to—” His words are cut off when David, who’s also enjoyed a couple servings of eggnog, merely plants a big smacking kiss on his cheek and walks back to the kitchen sink as if nothing ever happened.

Regina snickers. Snow titters behind her hand. Emma laughs until tears sting her eyes and her diaphragm hurts and the baby begins to kick. And Henry looks around at their family with a grin almost wider than his face and declares that for people who have never done Christmas before, they’re pretty awesome at it.

Thanks for reading! Ready for more? Click here for the next chapter!

#gfss #gf ss #my writing #operation: first noel #cs fic #cs ff #cs christmas #cs christmas ff #ouat ff #ouat fanfic

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