Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [1/4]
anonymous
May 28 2009, 17:51:00 UTC
Haha, first France/Germany. Hope you enjoy, anon. :D ___
Turn on your oven and set it to 375 degrees. As it heats up, take a roll of parchment paper and cut four 12-inch by 12-inch squares. Smooth them out, take time to relish the waxy feeling beneath the pads of your fingers. Let it help you get into the mood to cook as you set them aside with thick, whispery rustles.
Emil’s bark greets Francis’ hip as he nudges the door open, balancing the paper bags in his arms. “Hush, you,” he says to the dogs, even as he smiles when Emil quiets down and pants at him. He walks past Emil and into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the counter. Lena stays curled in her corner, her ears pricking up as Francis quirked a corner of his mouth at her.
“Where’s Jacques, girl?” Francis asks, hoping maybe it would prompt Ludwig’s spoiled Rottweiler to lead him to his poodle.
Lena’s yawn told him she was not in an accommodating mood. Francis scowled at her, shook off Emil’s tongue from his hand, and started looking around.
“Jacques?” he calls, whistling once, twice. “Jacques, where are you -”
He turns into the bedroom and stops in his tracks, just staring. His body relaxes, and he leans against the doorframe and smiles.
Jacques is still young, but he’s getting bigger. It’s easy to see when he’s sprawled out next to a fast-asleep Ludwig. One of Ludwig’s great, strong hands is threaded through Jacques’ fur; the other clasps papers that threaten to slide from his fingers. Francis’ eyes flicker up to his face, and he notices that he’s wearing reading glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose.
Francis walks in, slow and quiet, around the bed. Jacques watches Francis, tongue lolling out as he reaches down and removes Ludwig’s reading glasses with a gentle tug. He plucks the papers out of Ludwig’s fingers before setting them down on the bedside table and setting the glasses on top.
He spends a moment smiling down at Ludwig, fluffing disarrayed, stiff hair with fingertips before glaring at Jacques. (Ludwig will let the dogs sleep on the bed but won’t let Francis put his clean boots up on the couch? He will have to speak with him about that.) “Jacques, off,” he says, clicking his tongue and pointing his finger for emphasis. Jacques seems to debate a moment before standing, shaking his fur out, and jumping off the side of the bed.
Francis contemplates Ludwig for a moment more, considers molesting him on principle. He decides against it, though, since dinner needs to be made, so he pulls the comforter up instead, up and over Ludwig’s relaxed body.
Ludwig shifts, and Francis pulls away and almost curses himself for ruining Ludwig’s nap. But Ludwig just sighs and rolls over, his back to Francis, inhaling and exhaling in a deep, satisfied sound.
It makes Francis smile, and he bends over and kisses Ludwig’s temple, slow and soft, and runs his fingers over Ludwig’s hair one last time before standing and making his way to the kitchen. The day is drawing to a close, and the urge to cook and concoct gathers on his fingertips and hands, an electric charge he is helpless to deny.
Once the fillets are defrosted, soft but still cold, season them with salt, pepper, herbs, and zest. Some people like to measure out their seasonings. That does not mean you must be like them. Flick your wrist. Let things fall where they will and let them stay there. Some fillets may taste overseasoned; others may taste too bland. That is how you learn. Let your tongue and time guide you until you get it just right.
Francis is in the kitchen by the time Ludwig stumbles in, rubbing his eyes and frowning at the taste in his mouth. Napping always makes his mouth taste odd, so he doesn’t do it often.
Still, he’s not complaining at the sight that greets him - Francis’ back to him as he focuses on his skillet, cooking something that smells full and rich on the stove. His hair is bound back with a simple light blue ribbon, but it still shines even in their horrible kitchen light.
Ludwig walks in, quiet, obscure. He places his hands on Francis’ waist and kisses the nape of his neck.
Re: Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [2/4]
anonymous
May 28 2009, 17:52:38 UTC
“Have a good nap?” Francis asks, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of Ludwig’s head.
“Mm.”
Francis stirs the sauce in the pan with his spatula. “You’ve been working work entirely too hard lately.”
“Have to.” He kisses just below the collar of Francis’ shirt, feels a shiver underneath his fingers. “The economy and foreign relations won’t fix themselves.”
“If you say so. Did you do the laundry?”
“Just put the last load in. Did you take the dogs out?”
“Yes, yes, I put Lena on a leash, like you told me to. Being scolded by you once is enough for me.”
Ludwig winces a little. “I’m sorry for yelling at you about that. It’s just…she’s in heat, and if a dog were to come by -”
“I understand, dear heart,” Francis says. He puts the lid on the saucepan, turns in Ludwig’s arms, and kisses him, firm and sweet and brief. They part and sigh against each other’s lips. “You were tired and cranky and it was early. It is forgiven.”
Ludwig’s fingers twitch and curl against Francis’ hips and he has to bite his cheek to keep his face neutral. To have earned that from Francis, this easy forgiveness after all this time, is something he has come to treasure.
Francis’ lips quirk up at Ludwig before he turns back to the saucepan and starts stirring again. “Now I have to keep stirring this or else it will stick to the saucepan and be a pain to clean. Would you mind getting the plates out? Oh, and the avocado and tomato salad are in the refrigerator.”
“Oh, are you starting to trust me in the kitchen when you cook now?” Ludwig asks, and chuckles when Francis lifts his spatula to swat him.
“Do not press it, or you shall never set foot in this kitchen again,” Francis says, but Ludwig sees the edges of his lover’s lips glimmer into a small, hidden smile.
Top the fillets with vegetables and butter, then place each one a little off-center on each of the pieces of parchment paper. Do not worry about being precise with your measurements or placement - cooking is a learning process, and no recipe is ever perfect, because humans are not that way. Contemplate the ways that the way you cook might be different - think of small, insignificant things - as you wrap, crimp, and fold the parchment paper over the fillets. In the end, those little things will be your mark, your taste.
Thunder purrs in the distance as dark clouds gather over Verdun, and clouds darken the already-dark evening sky. Francis taps his fork against the edge of his plate and waits for Ludwig to come to the table so that they can eat.
A few moments later, Ludwig walks in and takes his seat across from Francis. “Sorry about that. There was something I had to tend to before dinner.”
Francis raises an eyebrow, but Ludwig simply digs into his dinner with a large bite; Francis shrugs and follows suit. The snapper is moist and delicate, soaked in its own juices, and serves a perfect counterpoint to the tomato salad.
“I noticed you put the awning up when I came back,” Francis murmurs, and Ludwig’s eyes flick up to meet his.
“Is that inconvenient for you?”
“No, no, it’s just…don’t you think it’s a little early?”
Ludwig swallows his salad, dabs his mouth with his napkin. “The days are getting warmer again. I doubt we’re going to have any more really heavy snows.”
Francis quirks an eyebrow, but lets it slide. “Also, I found Jacques’ extra water and food dishes outside. Was Emil playing with his dishes again, or -”
Ludwig clears his throat and ducks his head. “You did a good job with the snapper,” Ludwig says, quick and quiet.
Francis blinks. “Thank you,” he replies, quiet and gentle, and tries to see through Ludwig’s blue eyes into the secret he’s hiding.
Place the wrapped fillets on a hot baking sheet - be careful not to burn yourself - and slide the sheet into the oven. Shut it, and you’ll suddenly find yourself with nothing to do for seventeen to twenty minutes. You may choose to fill it by making side dishes, by sitting and letting thoughts come and go as they please, by sitting on the couch with your lover and a glass of wine. Whatever you choose, make sure you spend it wisely, in a way that will help you remember each single, precious minute as they slip by.
Re: Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [3/4]
anonymous
May 28 2009, 17:54:04 UTC
Ludwig sighs and listens to the news in the other room over the sound of rain pounding on their roof. He puts the last dish back up, but he doesn’t take his glass of after-dinner wine and go to join Francis. Instead, he takes a little bit of fish he set aside during dinner and opens the glass door that leads out to their porch.
The rain falls in sheets beyond the awning, but the wood is dry and smooth beneath his feet as he kneels and scrapes the fish into the food bowl. He’s already filled the water dish with fresh water.
He’s done all he can.
He goes in, scratches Emil’s head as he closes the door behind him - just the screen door, because the air smells so sweet. Only then does he pick up his glass of wine and join Francis in the living room.
“Anything interesting?”
“Mm.” Francis puts his glass down, scoots over on the couch so that Ludwig can sit down and kick his shoes off. “Apparently GM is going bankrupt. They’re making plans.”
Ludwig groans as he swings his legs up onto the couch. Francis smiles, small and gentle, and leans back into Ludwig’s grasp, crossing his arms over his waist. Ludwig’s hands come to rest over Francis’ as Francis kicks his own legs up.
It is dark in their living room, the only light coming from the flickering television. It is comfortable and warm like that, lying there, watching the television.
“Looks like GM is preparing to file for bankruptcy after all.”
“That’ll be troublesome.”
“Mm.”
“You’re not going to watch the French open?”
“Non, I - wait, did you hear that?”
Ludwig cocks his head as Francis puts the television on mute. He only hears the thrum of water and Lina’s claws on the kitchen floor.
“No, I don’t hear anything. Maybe you just -”
And then it comes; a high, pathetic squeaky sound, something he can barely hear over the thudding rain.
Joy and horror rise in his chest in equal measure - joy that he managed to find his way here, but Francis stands and makes his way to the kitchen and Ludwig stumbles after him. “W-wait, Francis, I don’t think that -”
Francis slides open the screen door, steps outside, and stops. He stands very straight, and Ludwig knows he’s seen.
Francis bends down and gathers something into his hands, turns back to Ludwig. Francis can’t define the look in those blue eyes.
“Ludwig,” Francis says, “is this why you put up the awning? And why Jacques’ extra dishes are out there?”
Ludwig feels his face grow hot. “Y-yes.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“…about four months.”
Francis looks at him for a few more moments, and then drops his gaze to his hands. The kitten mewls and squirms in his hands, threatening to spill over.
Francis sighs and shakes his head. “He’s wet,” he says, and Ludwig drops his eyes, squeezes them shut. He hears footsteps on the linoleum; two fingertips lift his chin and soft lips graze his own.
“We should take him to the bathroom,” Francis whispers, and Ludwig’s eyes open to see Francis smile. “We’ll towel him off there.”
When it’s done, don’t take the fillets out instantly. Turn off the oven and let them soak a bit more in their own juices. Be patient; crack the oven door, so that the heat can escape and not burn the fillets. When they’re done, take them out, and use a spatula to slide them onto the plates. This takes practice. You might want to ask for help, if this is your first time.
When Francis emerges from his shower, he finds Ludwig already stripped down to his boxers, the kitten curled up on his stomach. Francis slides into bed next to him, watches Ludwig’s large finger stroke the little white stripe running from his nose to his head. The kitten’s eyes are closed, and Francis can hear the telltale little purrs if he strains his ears.
“You’ve been feeding him for four months?” Francis asks, reaching down and lacing their fingers together.
Ludwig shifts and blushes, his contented look fading.
“I’m not mad. I’m just…why didn’t you tell me?”
Ludwig’s blush deepens. “I…we already have three dogs. I thought you wouldn’t want another one.” His blue gaze flickers back down to the kitten. “But he was starving. I couldn’t let him….”
Re: Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [4/4]
anonymous
May 28 2009, 17:55:24 UTC
Francis reaches down and runs his fingers along the kitten’s spine. He can barely feel the bumps of its spine - how thin had he been before Ludwig started feeding him?
“Well,” Francis says, throwing an arm over Ludwig’s shoulder, “it’s true. Three large dogs is a lot - with the walking, and the feeding, and don’t forget when Jacques was a puppy.”
“I miss that couch,” Ludwig murmurs.
“Plus we’d have to buy entirely separate food, and toys, and we’d have to figure out a way to keep your dogs from eating him whole until he’s big enough to fend for himself. All in all, Ludwig, it’s highly impractical.”
He looks up at Ludwig, sees the pain and sadness there. “I understand,” he says, his voice odd and gentle as he looks at the kitten.
Francis watches Ludwig’s face. Though they’ve been together for years, it’s still surprising to see how open Ludwig’s face can be when they’re alone, and he treasures these rare, raw pieces of emotion. He drinks down the image of Ludwig like his - his love for animals so sharp it hurts - and then leans up to kiss his cheek.
“So if you want to keep him, you’d better get a litter box and some food, and schedule an appointment to fix him. All right?”
Ludwig turns a wide-eyed look to him. “But - but you just said -”
“I was merely warning you that it’s impractical.” A hand reaches up to cup Ludwig’s cheek. “I did not say it cannot be done.”
They lay like that, the air heavy and significant between them. In the silence after the rain, Francis feels as though he can reach out and touch whatever this is.
He leans forward and tilts his head, dovetailing into a gentle kiss as he reaches out to take hold of this gentle, obscure thing, this warmth and stability he has come to adore.
This dish makes four servings. Eat two, and save the others for later. Savor what you’ve made with a glass of wine, and for once do not worry about which type will go best with the fish. Eat and enjoy with your beloved, for cooking is a little piece of yourself, a secret to share with the one you love the most. ___
The recipe I used was for Snapper en Papillote (http://frenchfood.about.com/od/maindishes/r/snapperpacks.htm). I’ve chosen to embellish it a little, and my way of writing the recipe was heavily inspired by How to Make an American Quilt by Whitney Otto.
As a fun note about the dogs (because I can’t remember which ones Ludwig canonically has - let me know, and I’ll try to fix it when/if I out myself), Jacques is technically a German dog - the poodles were bred by the Germans as hunting dogs, but the French took the breed and developed it to what it is today. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poodle).
Hope you enjoyed that, anon, thank you for reading.
Re: Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [4/4]
anonymous
May 28 2009, 23:42:42 UTC
So much love in each sentence ;o;! And your writing style,anon! Wonderful! It hits directly in the heart <3~ This fill really made my day. Thank you!!! *just has to reread it again*
Re: Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [4/4]
anonymous
May 29 2009, 00:06:16 UTC
This is wonderful. You write very well, and manage to put a lot of feeling into the mundane scenes here. I particularly liked the details on the dogs (:
Re: Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [4/4]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 00:02:06 UTC
Oh, wow! This was all so sweet, and the modified recepie was just so...Francis! I could imagine him using that description in teaching others how to cook; it was just so smooth and romantic!
LOL LUDWIG AND TEH ANIMALS. I say he should have all the pets he wants!
You win, hands down, and you should feel proud of yourself. ^^
Re: Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [4/4]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 15:36:16 UTC
Aww, that was really cute. ♥ Extra points for writing this from Francis' perspective. I think most France/Germany fics are written from Ludwig's POV so this is a nice change.
Re: Snapper en Papillote in Six Steps [4/4]
anonymous
June 2 2009, 06:48:03 UTC
This was just so sweet... I think I'm shipping France/Germany. '~' Love how you worded the recipes and inserted them into certain parts. Your description and writing style is just so lovely.
Thank you anon for this wonderful fill... <333333333
___
Turn on your oven and set it to 375 degrees. As it heats up, take a roll of parchment paper and cut four 12-inch by 12-inch squares. Smooth them out, take time to relish the waxy feeling beneath the pads of your fingers. Let it help you get into the mood to cook as you set them aside with thick, whispery rustles.
Emil’s bark greets Francis’ hip as he nudges the door open, balancing the paper bags in his arms. “Hush, you,” he says to the dogs, even as he smiles when Emil quiets down and pants at him. He walks past Emil and into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the counter. Lena stays curled in her corner, her ears pricking up as Francis quirked a corner of his mouth at her.
“Where’s Jacques, girl?” Francis asks, hoping maybe it would prompt Ludwig’s spoiled Rottweiler to lead him to his poodle.
Lena’s yawn told him she was not in an accommodating mood. Francis scowled at her, shook off Emil’s tongue from his hand, and started looking around.
“Jacques?” he calls, whistling once, twice. “Jacques, where are you -”
He turns into the bedroom and stops in his tracks, just staring. His body relaxes, and he leans against the doorframe and smiles.
Jacques is still young, but he’s getting bigger. It’s easy to see when he’s sprawled out next to a fast-asleep Ludwig. One of Ludwig’s great, strong hands is threaded through Jacques’ fur; the other clasps papers that threaten to slide from his fingers. Francis’ eyes flicker up to his face, and he notices that he’s wearing reading glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose.
Francis walks in, slow and quiet, around the bed. Jacques watches Francis, tongue lolling out as he reaches down and removes Ludwig’s reading glasses with a gentle tug. He plucks the papers out of Ludwig’s fingers before setting them down on the bedside table and setting the glasses on top.
He spends a moment smiling down at Ludwig, fluffing disarrayed, stiff hair with fingertips before glaring at Jacques. (Ludwig will let the dogs sleep on the bed but won’t let Francis put his clean boots up on the couch? He will have to speak with him about that.) “Jacques, off,” he says, clicking his tongue and pointing his finger for emphasis. Jacques seems to debate a moment before standing, shaking his fur out, and jumping off the side of the bed.
Francis contemplates Ludwig for a moment more, considers molesting him on principle. He decides against it, though, since dinner needs to be made, so he pulls the comforter up instead, up and over Ludwig’s relaxed body.
Ludwig shifts, and Francis pulls away and almost curses himself for ruining Ludwig’s nap. But Ludwig just sighs and rolls over, his back to Francis, inhaling and exhaling in a deep, satisfied sound.
It makes Francis smile, and he bends over and kisses Ludwig’s temple, slow and soft, and runs his fingers over Ludwig’s hair one last time before standing and making his way to the kitchen. The day is drawing to a close, and the urge to cook and concoct gathers on his fingertips and hands, an electric charge he is helpless to deny.
Once the fillets are defrosted, soft but still cold, season them with salt, pepper, herbs, and zest. Some people like to measure out their seasonings. That does not mean you must be like them. Flick your wrist. Let things fall where they will and let them stay there. Some fillets may taste overseasoned; others may taste too bland. That is how you learn. Let your tongue and time guide you until you get it just right.
Francis is in the kitchen by the time Ludwig stumbles in, rubbing his eyes and frowning at the taste in his mouth. Napping always makes his mouth taste odd, so he doesn’t do it often.
Still, he’s not complaining at the sight that greets him - Francis’ back to him as he focuses on his skillet, cooking something that smells full and rich on the stove. His hair is bound back with a simple light blue ribbon, but it still shines even in their horrible kitchen light.
Ludwig walks in, quiet, obscure. He places his hands on Francis’ waist and kisses the nape of his neck.
Reply
“Mm.”
Francis stirs the sauce in the pan with his spatula. “You’ve been working work entirely too hard lately.”
“Have to.” He kisses just below the collar of Francis’ shirt, feels a shiver underneath his fingers. “The economy and foreign relations won’t fix themselves.”
“If you say so. Did you do the laundry?”
“Just put the last load in. Did you take the dogs out?”
“Yes, yes, I put Lena on a leash, like you told me to. Being scolded by you once is enough for me.”
Ludwig winces a little. “I’m sorry for yelling at you about that. It’s just…she’s in heat, and if a dog were to come by -”
“I understand, dear heart,” Francis says. He puts the lid on the saucepan, turns in Ludwig’s arms, and kisses him, firm and sweet and brief. They part and sigh against each other’s lips. “You were tired and cranky and it was early. It is forgiven.”
Ludwig’s fingers twitch and curl against Francis’ hips and he has to bite his cheek to keep his face neutral. To have earned that from Francis, this easy forgiveness after all this time, is something he has come to treasure.
Francis’ lips quirk up at Ludwig before he turns back to the saucepan and starts stirring again. “Now I have to keep stirring this or else it will stick to the saucepan and be a pain to clean. Would you mind getting the plates out? Oh, and the avocado and tomato salad are in the refrigerator.”
“Oh, are you starting to trust me in the kitchen when you cook now?” Ludwig asks, and chuckles when Francis lifts his spatula to swat him.
“Do not press it, or you shall never set foot in this kitchen again,” Francis says, but Ludwig sees the edges of his lover’s lips glimmer into a small, hidden smile.
Top the fillets with vegetables and butter, then place each one a little off-center on each of the pieces of parchment paper. Do not worry about being precise with your measurements or placement - cooking is a learning process, and no recipe is ever perfect, because humans are not that way. Contemplate the ways that the way you cook might be different - think of small, insignificant things - as you wrap, crimp, and fold the parchment paper over the fillets. In the end, those little things will be your mark, your taste.
Thunder purrs in the distance as dark clouds gather over Verdun, and clouds darken the already-dark evening sky. Francis taps his fork against the edge of his plate and waits for Ludwig to come to the table so that they can eat.
A few moments later, Ludwig walks in and takes his seat across from Francis. “Sorry about that. There was something I had to tend to before dinner.”
Francis raises an eyebrow, but Ludwig simply digs into his dinner with a large bite; Francis shrugs and follows suit. The snapper is moist and delicate, soaked in its own juices, and serves a perfect counterpoint to the tomato salad.
“I noticed you put the awning up when I came back,” Francis murmurs, and Ludwig’s eyes flick up to meet his.
“Is that inconvenient for you?”
“No, no, it’s just…don’t you think it’s a little early?”
Ludwig swallows his salad, dabs his mouth with his napkin. “The days are getting warmer again. I doubt we’re going to have any more really heavy snows.”
Francis quirks an eyebrow, but lets it slide. “Also, I found Jacques’ extra water and food dishes outside. Was Emil playing with his dishes again, or -”
Ludwig clears his throat and ducks his head. “You did a good job with the snapper,” Ludwig says, quick and quiet.
Francis blinks. “Thank you,” he replies, quiet and gentle, and tries to see through Ludwig’s blue eyes into the secret he’s hiding.
Place the wrapped fillets on a hot baking sheet - be careful not to burn yourself - and slide the sheet into the oven. Shut it, and you’ll suddenly find yourself with nothing to do for seventeen to twenty minutes. You may choose to fill it by making side dishes, by sitting and letting thoughts come and go as they please, by sitting on the couch with your lover and a glass of wine. Whatever you choose, make sure you spend it wisely, in a way that will help you remember each single, precious minute as they slip by.
Reply
The rain falls in sheets beyond the awning, but the wood is dry and smooth beneath his feet as he kneels and scrapes the fish into the food bowl. He’s already filled the water dish with fresh water.
He’s done all he can.
He goes in, scratches Emil’s head as he closes the door behind him - just the screen door, because the air smells so sweet. Only then does he pick up his glass of wine and join Francis in the living room.
“Anything interesting?”
“Mm.” Francis puts his glass down, scoots over on the couch so that Ludwig can sit down and kick his shoes off. “Apparently GM is going bankrupt. They’re making plans.”
Ludwig groans as he swings his legs up onto the couch. Francis smiles, small and gentle, and leans back into Ludwig’s grasp, crossing his arms over his waist. Ludwig’s hands come to rest over Francis’ as Francis kicks his own legs up.
It is dark in their living room, the only light coming from the flickering television. It is comfortable and warm like that, lying there, watching the television.
“Looks like GM is preparing to file for bankruptcy after all.”
“That’ll be troublesome.”
“Mm.”
“You’re not going to watch the French open?”
“Non, I - wait, did you hear that?”
Ludwig cocks his head as Francis puts the television on mute. He only hears the thrum of water and Lina’s claws on the kitchen floor.
“No, I don’t hear anything. Maybe you just -”
And then it comes; a high, pathetic squeaky sound, something he can barely hear over the thudding rain.
Joy and horror rise in his chest in equal measure - joy that he managed to find his way here, but Francis stands and makes his way to the kitchen and Ludwig stumbles after him. “W-wait, Francis, I don’t think that -”
Francis slides open the screen door, steps outside, and stops. He stands very straight, and Ludwig knows he’s seen.
Francis bends down and gathers something into his hands, turns back to Ludwig. Francis can’t define the look in those blue eyes.
“Ludwig,” Francis says, “is this why you put up the awning? And why Jacques’ extra dishes are out there?”
Ludwig feels his face grow hot. “Y-yes.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“…about four months.”
Francis looks at him for a few more moments, and then drops his gaze to his hands. The kitten mewls and squirms in his hands, threatening to spill over.
Francis sighs and shakes his head. “He’s wet,” he says, and Ludwig drops his eyes, squeezes them shut. He hears footsteps on the linoleum; two fingertips lift his chin and soft lips graze his own.
“We should take him to the bathroom,” Francis whispers, and Ludwig’s eyes open to see Francis smile. “We’ll towel him off there.”
When it’s done, don’t take the fillets out instantly. Turn off the oven and let them soak a bit more in their own juices. Be patient; crack the oven door, so that the heat can escape and not burn the fillets. When they’re done, take them out, and use a spatula to slide them onto the plates. This takes practice. You might want to ask for help, if this is your first time.
When Francis emerges from his shower, he finds Ludwig already stripped down to his boxers, the kitten curled up on his stomach. Francis slides into bed next to him, watches Ludwig’s large finger stroke the little white stripe running from his nose to his head. The kitten’s eyes are closed, and Francis can hear the telltale little purrs if he strains his ears.
“You’ve been feeding him for four months?” Francis asks, reaching down and lacing their fingers together.
Ludwig shifts and blushes, his contented look fading.
“I’m not mad. I’m just…why didn’t you tell me?”
Ludwig’s blush deepens. “I…we already have three dogs. I thought you wouldn’t want another one.” His blue gaze flickers back down to the kitten. “But he was starving. I couldn’t let him….”
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“Well,” Francis says, throwing an arm over Ludwig’s shoulder, “it’s true. Three large dogs is a lot - with the walking, and the feeding, and don’t forget when Jacques was a puppy.”
“I miss that couch,” Ludwig murmurs.
“Plus we’d have to buy entirely separate food, and toys, and we’d have to figure out a way to keep your dogs from eating him whole until he’s big enough to fend for himself. All in all, Ludwig, it’s highly impractical.”
He looks up at Ludwig, sees the pain and sadness there. “I understand,” he says, his voice odd and gentle as he looks at the kitten.
Francis watches Ludwig’s face. Though they’ve been together for years, it’s still surprising to see how open Ludwig’s face can be when they’re alone, and he treasures these rare, raw pieces of emotion. He drinks down the image of Ludwig like his - his love for animals so sharp it hurts - and then leans up to kiss his cheek.
“So if you want to keep him, you’d better get a litter box and some food, and schedule an appointment to fix him. All right?”
Ludwig turns a wide-eyed look to him. “But - but you just said -”
“I was merely warning you that it’s impractical.” A hand reaches up to cup Ludwig’s cheek. “I did not say it cannot be done.”
They lay like that, the air heavy and significant between them. In the silence after the rain, Francis feels as though he can reach out and touch whatever this is.
He leans forward and tilts his head, dovetailing into a gentle kiss as he reaches out to take hold of this gentle, obscure thing, this warmth and stability he has come to adore.
This dish makes four servings. Eat two, and save the others for later. Savor what you’ve made with a glass of wine, and for once do not worry about which type will go best with the fish. Eat and enjoy with your beloved, for cooking is a little piece of yourself, a secret to share with the one you love the most.
___
The recipe I used was for Snapper en Papillote (http://frenchfood.about.com/od/maindishes/r/snapperpacks.htm). I’ve chosen to embellish it a little, and my way of writing the recipe was heavily inspired by How to Make an American Quilt by Whitney Otto.
As a fun note about the dogs (because I can’t remember which ones Ludwig canonically has - let me know, and I’ll try to fix it when/if I out myself), Jacques is technically a German dog - the poodles were bred by the Germans as hunting dogs, but the French took the breed and developed it to what it is today. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poodle).
Hope you enjoyed that, anon, thank you for reading.
Reply
Reply
And your writing style,anon! Wonderful!
It hits directly in the heart <3~
This fill really made my day. Thank you!!!
*just has to reread it again*
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LOL LUDWIG AND TEH ANIMALS. I say he should have all the pets he wants!
You win, hands down, and you should feel proud of yourself. ^^
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Thank you anon for this wonderful fill... <333333333
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I hope you don't mind if I took inspiration from your fic to draw this doodle ♥ It was very sweet, thank you.
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aksdfaljhsdfjahekKJHJKLj!!!! My GOD, that is BEAUTIFUL, anon! Th-thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!
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