Bakery!AU : Profiteroles [G - D+Leon - PSoH]
An unpolished bit from the Bakery!AU.
Timeline notes: Leon's 17, and has just started his apprenticeship at the bakery where he's been doing odd jobs since he was 15.
Title: Profiteroles
Fandom: Petshop of Horrors
Pairing/Characters: Leon, D preslash
Rating: G
Words: 200
Leon squinted as he put the finishing touch, a thin criss-crossing drizzle of chocolate syrup, on the profiteroles.
Polite applause and a girlish titter greeted his efforts, and he nearly dropped the tray.
Count Freakin’ D. Of course.
Leon’s cheeks burned.
The Count was wearing that sugar-sweet smile of his, the one that Leon knew was fake but all the same made him feel alarmingly off-balance. He scowled.
“What do you want?”
The Count extended a creepily pointy painted nail towards the tray of still-warm cream puffs.
“Those are just for practice! I can get you one of Mrs. Reynold’s from the display case.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Apprentice,” the Count said, eyes sparkling with evilness, “I’d rather try yours.”
Leon’s face felt even hotter, but he placed one of the profiteroles onto a dessert plate and dropped a scoop of vanilla ice cream beside it.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he grumbled, “It’s your own fault if it doesn’t taste any good.”
He turned away and scrubbed furiously at an invisible spot while the Count took a dainty bite, determined to not watch for the reaction. His eyes flickered traitorously to the storefront anyway.
Hammers to the head in the form of grammar, structure, flow, or characterization will be joyfully accepted. Just try not to get any blood on the carpet.
Timeline notes: Leon's 17, and has just started his apprenticeship at the bakery where he's been doing odd jobs since he was 15.
Title: Profiteroles
Fandom: Petshop of Horrors
Pairing/Characters: Leon, D preslash
Rating: G
Words: 200
Leon squinted as he put the finishing touch, a thin criss-crossing drizzle of chocolate syrup, on the profiteroles.
Polite applause and a girlish titter greeted his efforts, and he nearly dropped the tray.
Count Freakin’ D. Of course.
Leon’s cheeks burned.
The Count was wearing that sugar-sweet smile of his, the one that Leon knew was fake but all the same made him feel alarmingly off-balance. He scowled.
“What do you want?”
The Count extended a creepily pointy painted nail towards the tray of still-warm cream puffs.
“Those are just for practice! I can get you one of Mrs. Reynold’s from the display case.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Apprentice,” the Count said, eyes sparkling with evilness, “I’d rather try yours.”
Leon’s face felt even hotter, but he placed one of the profiteroles onto a dessert plate and dropped a scoop of vanilla ice cream beside it.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he grumbled, “It’s your own fault if it doesn’t taste any good.”
He turned away and scrubbed furiously at an invisible spot while the Count took a dainty bite, determined to not watch for the reaction. His eyes flickered traitorously to the storefront anyway.
Hammers to the head in the form of grammar, structure, flow, or characterization will be joyfully accepted. Just try not to get any blood on the carpet.