cooking up trouble - j2 - pg
Title: Cooking Up Trouble
Author: anamuan
Pairing: J2
Rating: PGish
Word Count: 615
A/N: why. very short drabble for roundaboutit.
"We're going to die, aren't we," Jared moans from the doorway as Jensen--wearing a manly black apron, somehow covered in white flour hand prints even though he wasn't cooking anything with actual flour in it--who was frantically and rather unsuccessfully beating an egg in a bowl with a fork. "You're going to kill us."
Jensen hmphed at Jared without turning around, pausing in his ineffectual sloshing of egg about with a fork to turn the heat on the burner down to '3'.
Jensen had flour on his face, a smudge up on the bridge of his nose where he'd have tried to push up his glasses, even though he was wearing contacts at the moment. Jared didn't even have to look at Jensen's face to tell. He knew. It was in the affronted tone in Jensen's voice.
"I can actually cook, you know."
The pause after Jensen said that held an ominous tone, waiting for Jared to fill the space with an agreement or else, said the silence threateningly. Jared didn't think it was wise to point out that omelets work best when the egg has actually been beaten or something like that, so he let the space glower at him on Jensen's behalf.
Plausible deniability. In the end, that's what it all came down to. "You sure don't look like you can cook" was an infinitely worse reply than not saying anything, so that's what Jared very wisely did.
Jensen hmphed again. Jared could see his chances of getting laid later dwindling fast, and that was possibly worse than dying in the kitchen doorway for opening his mouth around the wrong thing.
"I'm just not very good with the eggs, ok," Jensen amended grudgingly.
Jared kept his mouth shut in response to that too, because the only thing he could think to say was “clearly” and he was pretty sure that would not get him a result he would like. He wasn’t looking forward to dying by food poisoning from Jensen’s cooking, but he also wasn’t hoping to die by slightly eggy fork through the throat. At this point, the first was probable, but the latter was almost guaranteed.
Later, at the table, Jared had to admit the food looked edible. Jensen tucked into it with no apparent problem, but then again, he was probably used to his poison cooking. He'd built up an immunity or some shit, lulling Jared into a false sense of security until that first bite, when his taste buds would revolt and he would choke on his tongue.
Jared pushed his food around on his plate until Jensen glanced up and spitted him with a LOOK. The kind of look that said 'i know what you're doing and I can cook, thank you very much.' Jared had the first bite in his mouth before he even realized he'd lifted his fork. Damn self preservation.
And dammit, the egg was fluffy and perfect. How that was possible, Jared didn't know, because it didn't make sense. The peppers were tangy and sweet, just a little bit crisp still, and the ham. Dear god, the ham. It was, without a doubt, the best Western he’d ever eaten, up to and including his gran’s-though he was never going to tell her that. Or Jensen, for that matter-and Jared couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea, because, well, he’d seen Jensen in the kitchen earlier.
"Dead yet?" Jensen asked dryly.
"Not yet. Hasn't had time to hit my stomach," Jared drawled back, but something must have shown on his face, because Jensen looked positively smug. Jared frowned at him out of principle. "You still got flour on your face."
Author: anamuan
Pairing: J2
Rating: PGish
Word Count: 615
A/N: why. very short drabble for roundaboutit.
"We're going to die, aren't we," Jared moans from the doorway as Jensen--wearing a manly black apron, somehow covered in white flour hand prints even though he wasn't cooking anything with actual flour in it--who was frantically and rather unsuccessfully beating an egg in a bowl with a fork. "You're going to kill us."
Jensen hmphed at Jared without turning around, pausing in his ineffectual sloshing of egg about with a fork to turn the heat on the burner down to '3'.
Jensen had flour on his face, a smudge up on the bridge of his nose where he'd have tried to push up his glasses, even though he was wearing contacts at the moment. Jared didn't even have to look at Jensen's face to tell. He knew. It was in the affronted tone in Jensen's voice.
"I can actually cook, you know."
The pause after Jensen said that held an ominous tone, waiting for Jared to fill the space with an agreement or else, said the silence threateningly. Jared didn't think it was wise to point out that omelets work best when the egg has actually been beaten or something like that, so he let the space glower at him on Jensen's behalf.
Plausible deniability. In the end, that's what it all came down to. "You sure don't look like you can cook" was an infinitely worse reply than not saying anything, so that's what Jared very wisely did.
Jensen hmphed again. Jared could see his chances of getting laid later dwindling fast, and that was possibly worse than dying in the kitchen doorway for opening his mouth around the wrong thing.
"I'm just not very good with the eggs, ok," Jensen amended grudgingly.
Jared kept his mouth shut in response to that too, because the only thing he could think to say was “clearly” and he was pretty sure that would not get him a result he would like. He wasn’t looking forward to dying by food poisoning from Jensen’s cooking, but he also wasn’t hoping to die by slightly eggy fork through the throat. At this point, the first was probable, but the latter was almost guaranteed.
Later, at the table, Jared had to admit the food looked edible. Jensen tucked into it with no apparent problem, but then again, he was probably used to his poison cooking. He'd built up an immunity or some shit, lulling Jared into a false sense of security until that first bite, when his taste buds would revolt and he would choke on his tongue.
Jared pushed his food around on his plate until Jensen glanced up and spitted him with a LOOK. The kind of look that said 'i know what you're doing and I can cook, thank you very much.' Jared had the first bite in his mouth before he even realized he'd lifted his fork. Damn self preservation.
And dammit, the egg was fluffy and perfect. How that was possible, Jared didn't know, because it didn't make sense. The peppers were tangy and sweet, just a little bit crisp still, and the ham. Dear god, the ham. It was, without a doubt, the best Western he’d ever eaten, up to and including his gran’s-though he was never going to tell her that. Or Jensen, for that matter-and Jared couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea, because, well, he’d seen Jensen in the kitchen earlier.
"Dead yet?" Jensen asked dryly.
"Not yet. Hasn't had time to hit my stomach," Jared drawled back, but something must have shown on his face, because Jensen looked positively smug. Jared frowned at him out of principle. "You still got flour on your face."