Fudging the Recipe 1/?
anonymous
October 11 2009, 05:03:34 UTC
Hmm...no sex, but some established relationship cooking fluff for you. I hope you enjoy!
--
When Germany arrived home in the evening, all he wanted to do was sit down with a cold glass of beer, perhaps read a newspaper or throw the ball around for the dogs. It had been a long day of highly stressful meetings while reigning in his temper, and now he felt tense and on edge.
But only seconds after he'd walked through the door and hung up his coat, he heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Of course, it could simply be that Blackie had jumped up to steal food off the counters again, something that would only take seconds to deal with before he'd be allowed to relax, but he'd had long experience with his own luck, as well as the highly disruptive people who were in his life.
"Bruder, is that you?" he called, setting his briefcase down next to the coatrack and walking purposely towards the kitchen. It was hardly unusual to find his drunk brother getting into some sort of mischief around the house while he was away. But as he got closer to the kitchen, the sound of cheerful humming told him the source of tonight's trouble was going to be courtesy of his second guess.
"Italy!" Finding out there'd been an Italian invasion while he'd been out for the day was also nothing unusual. And, well. Frequently the company was not, by any means, unwelcome. But as he opened the door to the kitchen and heard another loud clattering of pots and pans, he felt his temper rise up again. "You'd better not have made a-- what on earth do you think you've been doing?!"
He took in the sight of the kitchen-- dirty pots and pans everywhere, including on their side on the ground, the refrigerator standing wide open, egg shells and used measuring cups littering most of the counter space, a torn bag of flour spilling all over the floor, and a suspicious dark smear of a handprint on one of the cabinets, and in the middle of it, a surprised country in an apron and chef's hat.
"Germany! You're back early..." He glanced at the clock. "Oh! It's late! Where've you been, Germany? But I lost track of the time..."
His fists were clenched and trembling with the effort not to start shouting; it was important to watch his temper, Italy surely hadn't meant any harm and there was no reason to take out his bad day on him, and it would be bad for international (and personal) relations to make him cry. So he counted to zehn before speaking, through gritted teeth.
"I expect you to clean up after yourself if you choose to use my kitchen to make yourself pasta. Do you understand?"
"But Germany..." Italy began, and Germany considered dispensing with international relations and controlling his temper for the time being, when he noticed what was actually in the pot Italy was holding (not to mention smeared all over his apron and on his face). It wasn't pasta, it was something rich and liquid and dark.
He closed the door behind him and stopped focusing on how irritated the mess was making him feel, and instead focused on Italy. He walked over and looked at the various pots and pans and the pre-heated oven, and the recipe book that was lying open on the counter.
"...Kuchen?" he asked, surprised. Italy made desserts sometimes, but usually preferred something light after a big dinner, not rich dark chocolate from a German recipe.
"For you and Prussia, for this weekend!" It was a testament to just how hard he'd been working lately that it took him a few seconds, before he realized the date that was coming up. "Ve...but it's not coming out right..." Italy added, looking disappointedly at his pot full of batter. Germany could see that many of the other pots seemed to be filled with half-made cakes that had been abandoned.
"Hmm." He put his finger into the pot, and the brought it to his mouth and licked off the batter. The flavor was rich and sweet with just a hint of bitterness. It would be hard to find a better chocolate cake in most bakeries the world over, in fact, and yet, there was something about it that was not quite right.
Fudging the Recipe 2/?
anonymous
October 11 2009, 05:04:45 UTC
"It's good," he said, but Italy's skeptical expression told him that of course an infamously picky eater had also noticed that it wasn't the same taste as when Germany baked his own cakes. "Did you follow the recipe?"
"Exactly!" Italy said mournfully. "And I never do that, but I tried really hard this time so it'd taste like a German made it..."
And he laughed, because how could he not laugh at that? Italy gave him a reproachful look for it, though; clearly to him, not being able to cook something well was no laughing matter. Unfortunately, being pouted at by a cute country in a chef's hat with chocolate all over his face didn't do anything to make the situation less humorous. But he tried to stop himself from laughing and instead licked his thumb and index finger and began to wipe at the chocolate smear that had somehow gotten on the tip of Italy's nose.
"Yes, yes, normally. But not when I make kuchen." Italy had stopped pouting to giggle, presumably because he was always so easily ticklish. Germany shook his head and continued wiping at the little bits of chocolate on his cheek, on his chin, and most surprisingly, perhaps, on his left eyebrow. Italy's face now chocolate free (the rest of him was a lost cause), he let go and pat him on top of his stupid hat. "If you clean some of these pots and pans, I'll show you how to do it."
"You shouldn't have to make your own cake," Italy said, but he started picking up some of the pans from the floor. Germany busied himself with gathering some ingredients from the refrigerator while checking to make sure nothing had melted while Italy had left it open.
"It's no problem." He glanced over at Italy about to dump the contents of the most recent pot down the sink. "Put that in a tupperware, there's no reason to waste it. I enjoy making them."
He made sure the tupperwares of batter made it into the refrigerator, and made a mental note to cook them later; even if Italy would never be satisfied with them, perhaps Prussia, his boss, or some of the children at the festivities would be less picky. Italy halfhearted scrubbed away a little of the mess and filled the dirty pans with warm water, and Germany decided that was good enough for now. Even if his kitchen was still a disaster, if he tried to make Italy clean all of it, he'd only have to reclean after him anyway.
"Why don't you separate the egg whites, and I'll make the chocolate." He put out the eggs for Italy and tried to ignore him as soon as he saw him breaking the eggs on the counter and dripping gooey yolk everywhere. Instead, he began melting some blocks of chocolate he'd had in the refrigerator with butter. "You need to use the best kind of chocolate, and I always put in quite a bit more than called for..."
"Mm, I should have known," Italy chirped, picking yolk off the counter with his fingers and dumping it in a bowl before brushing some hair out of his eyes-- ah, so that was how he'd gotten it on his eyebrow. "You really like sweet things, huh?"
The first response Germany thought of was something too embarrassing to ever say, so instead he sighed, and wiped the yolk off Italy's face. "I do. You may add the yolks to the chocolate now, and stir."
Italy could follow the rest of the recipe now with only minimal guidance, so at first, he simply attempted to follow him around the kitchen and wipe up after him. But when Italy dropped an entire carton of milk, causing it to burst and flood all over the floor, with only an 'oops!' before moving on to the next carton, Germany only half-heartedly sponged it up before giving in. Italy seemed to be on a one-man kitchen destroying mission today, and Germany was somehow not as inclined as he might normally be to prevent it. Instead, he began stirring the mixture as Italy added ingredients and offering gentle corrections.
Fudging the Recipe 3/3
anonymous
October 11 2009, 05:05:29 UTC
"Ah, not so much milk, just add more cream, it will be better."
"Yessir!" Italy saluted, getting batter on his forehead and in his hair as he went. Germany ignored it this time, and continued stirring until the mixture was thick and dark.
"Are we done?" Italy asked him, finally. Germany nodded, and Italy dipped his finger into the batter and popped it in his mouth. "We did it!" he said, eyes widening. "It's really good!"
"Is that right?" asked Germany, and before he could say unhygienic, Italy put the finger he'd just licked right back into the batter, swirled it around, and then held it out.
"Try it, try it!" Germany knew he was blushing, because he always blushed at times like these. But he took Italy's hand and licked the sweet batter off his finger. When he pulled away, Italy was smiling softly up at him, cheeks flushed with happiness. "Well, what's the verdict?"
He smiled back. "Mmm. We did it."
Italy clapped his hands. "Hooray! And now I can make it, too! Let's bake it!"
"No." Germany opened one of his drawers and found a few tubes of icing in various colors, which he handed to Italy. "You need to decorate it first."
"Of course! How could I forget?" Italy took the tube and got to work on the cake. Germany took the opportunity to start scrubbing at one of the precarious piles of soaking pans, until Italy tugged on his sleeve. "Do you have any blue?" He put down the pot and wiped off his soaking hands on a dish towel, and glanced over at the cake. He'd meant for Italy to make some sort of pretty pattern, but instead he appeared to be doing an extremely impressive Black Forest landscape in icing.
"Oh, of course," he said, quickly finding him some blue food coloring to mix with the white icing so he could finish. The dishes were cast aside while Germany watched Italy put the finishing touches on it.
"There. All done! Now can we bake it?" Germany opened the oven door as an answer, and Italy placed the pot inside. Germany closed the door behind him and set the oven timer to an hour.
He turned and smiled again at Italy, only to see that he was wringing his hands and looking nervous. "What's wrong?" Germany asked, concerned.
"Um...does this mean I have to clean up now?" he asked, twisting his apron between his hands.
Germany glanced up, and took in the kitchen, still covered with dirty pots and pans that were at least mostly in the sink, spilled milk and flour and eggs and batter all over the floors and the counter, chocolate handprints now on several cabinets, all in all the kind of mess guaranteed to reduce him to a fit of rage. He wondered exactly where in the process they'd started making even more of a mess than Italy had made on his own.
He laughed, circled his arms around Italy's waist, kissed the chocolate off his temple. "Mm. Why don't we leave that for later?" And Italy's smile as he gazed at him told him what he already knew, that the offer was as good as a 'You can conveniently disappear later so I'll just do it all myself.' He didn't really care. There wasn't chocolate on Italy's lips, but Germany kissed them anyway. In his arms Italy was warm and just a little sticky, and he smelled like cake. And his smile was a mirror of the love that surely Germany displayed in his own expression. "I can think of nicer things to do."
Re: Fudging the Recipe 3/3
anonymous
October 12 2009, 04:38:24 UTC
That.
Was.
ADORABLE!
It was just simply amazing! I love it so much...Italy covered in chocolate batter, all dressed up as a baker...that's such a cute image. No one could get mad at a face like that, not even Germany! ^^
--
When Germany arrived home in the evening, all he wanted to do was sit down with a cold glass of beer, perhaps read a newspaper or throw the ball around for the dogs. It had been a long day of highly stressful meetings while reigning in his temper, and now he felt tense and on edge.
But only seconds after he'd walked through the door and hung up his coat, he heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Of course, it could simply be that Blackie had jumped up to steal food off the counters again, something that would only take seconds to deal with before he'd be allowed to relax, but he'd had long experience with his own luck, as well as the highly disruptive people who were in his life.
"Bruder, is that you?" he called, setting his briefcase down next to the coatrack and walking purposely towards the kitchen. It was hardly unusual to find his drunk brother getting into some sort of mischief around the house while he was away. But as he got closer to the kitchen, the sound of cheerful humming told him the source of tonight's trouble was going to be courtesy of his second guess.
"Italy!" Finding out there'd been an Italian invasion while he'd been out for the day was also nothing unusual. And, well. Frequently the company was not, by any means, unwelcome. But as he opened the door to the kitchen and heard another loud clattering of pots and pans, he felt his temper rise up again. "You'd better not have made a-- what on earth do you think you've been doing?!"
He took in the sight of the kitchen-- dirty pots and pans everywhere, including on their side on the ground, the refrigerator standing wide open, egg shells and used measuring cups littering most of the counter space, a torn bag of flour spilling all over the floor, and a suspicious dark smear of a handprint on one of the cabinets, and in the middle of it, a surprised country in an apron and chef's hat.
"Germany! You're back early..." He glanced at the clock. "Oh! It's late! Where've you been, Germany? But I lost track of the time..."
His fists were clenched and trembling with the effort not to start shouting; it was important to watch his temper, Italy surely hadn't meant any harm and there was no reason to take out his bad day on him, and it would be bad for international (and personal) relations to make him cry. So he counted to zehn before speaking, through gritted teeth.
"I expect you to clean up after yourself if you choose to use my kitchen to make yourself pasta. Do you understand?"
"But Germany..." Italy began, and Germany considered dispensing with international relations and controlling his temper for the time being, when he noticed what was actually in the pot Italy was holding (not to mention smeared all over his apron and on his face). It wasn't pasta, it was something rich and liquid and dark.
He closed the door behind him and stopped focusing on how irritated the mess was making him feel, and instead focused on Italy. He walked over and looked at the various pots and pans and the pre-heated oven, and the recipe book that was lying open on the counter.
"...Kuchen?" he asked, surprised. Italy made desserts sometimes, but usually preferred something light after a big dinner, not rich dark chocolate from a German recipe.
"For you and Prussia, for this weekend!" It was a testament to just how hard he'd been working lately that it took him a few seconds, before he realized the date that was coming up. "Ve...but it's not coming out right..." Italy added, looking disappointedly at his pot full of batter. Germany could see that many of the other pots seemed to be filled with half-made cakes that had been abandoned.
"Hmm." He put his finger into the pot, and the brought it to his mouth and licked off the batter. The flavor was rich and sweet with just a hint of bitterness. It would be hard to find a better chocolate cake in most bakeries the world over, in fact, and yet, there was something about it that was not quite right.
Reply
"Exactly!" Italy said mournfully. "And I never do that, but I tried really hard this time so it'd taste like a German made it..."
And he laughed, because how could he not laugh at that? Italy gave him a reproachful look for it, though; clearly to him, not being able to cook something well was no laughing matter. Unfortunately, being pouted at by a cute country in a chef's hat with chocolate all over his face didn't do anything to make the situation less humorous. But he tried to stop himself from laughing and instead licked his thumb and index finger and began to wipe at the chocolate smear that had somehow gotten on the tip of Italy's nose.
"Yes, yes, normally. But not when I make kuchen." Italy had stopped pouting to giggle, presumably because he was always so easily ticklish. Germany shook his head and continued wiping at the little bits of chocolate on his cheek, on his chin, and most surprisingly, perhaps, on his left eyebrow. Italy's face now chocolate free (the rest of him was a lost cause), he let go and pat him on top of his stupid hat. "If you clean some of these pots and pans, I'll show you how to do it."
"You shouldn't have to make your own cake," Italy said, but he started picking up some of the pans from the floor. Germany busied himself with gathering some ingredients from the refrigerator while checking to make sure nothing had melted while Italy had left it open.
"It's no problem." He glanced over at Italy about to dump the contents of the most recent pot down the sink. "Put that in a tupperware, there's no reason to waste it. I enjoy making them."
He made sure the tupperwares of batter made it into the refrigerator, and made a mental note to cook them later; even if Italy would never be satisfied with them, perhaps Prussia, his boss, or some of the children at the festivities would be less picky. Italy halfhearted scrubbed away a little of the mess and filled the dirty pans with warm water, and Germany decided that was good enough for now. Even if his kitchen was still a disaster, if he tried to make Italy clean all of it, he'd only have to reclean after him anyway.
"Why don't you separate the egg whites, and I'll make the chocolate." He put out the eggs for Italy and tried to ignore him as soon as he saw him breaking the eggs on the counter and dripping gooey yolk everywhere. Instead, he began melting some blocks of chocolate he'd had in the refrigerator with butter. "You need to use the best kind of chocolate, and I always put in quite a bit more than called for..."
"Mm, I should have known," Italy chirped, picking yolk off the counter with his fingers and dumping it in a bowl before brushing some hair out of his eyes-- ah, so that was how he'd gotten it on his eyebrow. "You really like sweet things, huh?"
The first response Germany thought of was something too embarrassing to ever say, so instead he sighed, and wiped the yolk off Italy's face. "I do. You may add the yolks to the chocolate now, and stir."
Italy could follow the rest of the recipe now with only minimal guidance, so at first, he simply attempted to follow him around the kitchen and wipe up after him. But when Italy dropped an entire carton of milk, causing it to burst and flood all over the floor, with only an 'oops!' before moving on to the next carton, Germany only half-heartedly sponged it up before giving in. Italy seemed to be on a one-man kitchen destroying mission today, and Germany was somehow not as inclined as he might normally be to prevent it. Instead, he began stirring the mixture as Italy added ingredients and offering gentle corrections.
Reply
"Ah, not so much milk, just add more cream, it will be better."
"Yessir!" Italy saluted, getting batter on his forehead and in his hair as he went. Germany ignored it this time, and continued stirring until the mixture was thick and dark.
"Are we done?" Italy asked him, finally. Germany nodded, and Italy dipped his finger into the batter and popped it in his mouth. "We did it!" he said, eyes widening. "It's really good!"
"Is that right?" asked Germany, and before he could say unhygienic, Italy put the finger he'd just licked right back into the batter, swirled it around, and then held it out.
"Try it, try it!" Germany knew he was blushing, because he always blushed at times like these. But he took Italy's hand and licked the sweet batter off his finger. When he pulled away, Italy was smiling softly up at him, cheeks flushed with happiness. "Well, what's the verdict?"
He smiled back. "Mmm. We did it."
Italy clapped his hands. "Hooray! And now I can make it, too! Let's bake it!"
"No." Germany opened one of his drawers and found a few tubes of icing in various colors, which he handed to Italy. "You need to decorate it first."
"Of course! How could I forget?" Italy took the tube and got to work on the cake. Germany took the opportunity to start scrubbing at one of the precarious piles of soaking pans, until Italy tugged on his sleeve. "Do you have any blue?" He put down the pot and wiped off his soaking hands on a dish towel, and glanced over at the cake. He'd meant for Italy to make some sort of pretty pattern, but instead he appeared to be doing an extremely impressive Black Forest landscape in icing.
"Oh, of course," he said, quickly finding him some blue food coloring to mix with the white icing so he could finish. The dishes were cast aside while Germany watched Italy put the finishing touches on it.
"There. All done! Now can we bake it?" Germany opened the oven door as an answer, and Italy placed the pot inside. Germany closed the door behind him and set the oven timer to an hour.
He turned and smiled again at Italy, only to see that he was wringing his hands and looking nervous. "What's wrong?" Germany asked, concerned.
"Um...does this mean I have to clean up now?" he asked, twisting his apron between his hands.
Germany glanced up, and took in the kitchen, still covered with dirty pots and pans that were at least mostly in the sink, spilled milk and flour and eggs and batter all over the floors and the counter, chocolate handprints now on several cabinets, all in all the kind of mess guaranteed to reduce him to a fit of rage. He wondered exactly where in the process they'd started making even more of a mess than Italy had made on his own.
He laughed, circled his arms around Italy's waist, kissed the chocolate off his temple. "Mm. Why don't we leave that for later?" And Italy's smile as he gazed at him told him what he already knew, that the offer was as good as a 'You can conveniently disappear later so I'll just do it all myself.' He didn't really care. There wasn't chocolate on Italy's lips, but Germany kissed them anyway. In his arms Italy was warm and just a little sticky, and he smelled like cake. And his smile was a mirror of the love that surely Germany displayed in his own expression. "I can think of nicer things to do."
Reply
Good work, WriterAnon!
Reply
Was.
ADORABLE!
It was just simply amazing! I love it so much...Italy covered in chocolate batter, all dressed up as a baker...that's such a cute image. No one could get mad at a face like that, not even Germany! ^^
Much love for you, Writer!Anon. So much love.
Reply
AND I FUCKING LOVE GERMAN CHOCOLATE CAKE.
This is just awesome, no joke.
Reply
Reply
I love love looove especially how you described the baking scene... so detailed! :D And the description of the kitchen... Awesome XD!
Oh! And more love for writing this so quickly! Ahhhh, I'm so happy :)!
Reply
Leave a comment