Of Brownies and Pie (A MBU Short Exchange)
Title: Of Brownies and Pie
Rating: PG-PG-13
Warnings: Some language, previous hetero pairing, M/M innuendo, and one drug reference.
Setting: Inside The Wall, S4
Word count: Short.
Summary: Peter makes a gesture; its just the wrong medium.
A/N: A (possibly-future) canon for More Between Us mini-exchange initiated by Game_byrd.
Peter examined the box for directions, but he didn’t read them too closely. He’d made these before and they were always good. They were awesome, in fact - food of the gods. He had all the ingredients, so in a very short while, he slipped the dish into the preheated oven and crouched in front of it, looking in. There wasn’t much to see, really, but he had nothing else to do. It wasn’t like he was going to leave, anyway, and risk it burning.
The idea of warm, rich, gooey brownies with that flaky, crumbly thin top layer filled his mind and made him salivate. They were perfection when hot, not so good when cold. He wasn’t much of a fan of them after they cooled off and got sort of stiff and crunchy, dried out and unpleasant to eat. But hot! He’d have a whole pan of them!
Hm, an entire pan. That’s a lot. I think if I ate an entire pan, I’d be sick. Maybe I should just eat half. Even half will be a carb and calorie overload. And probably make me hyper. But whatever. I’ll just eat half. And … I don’t really want the rest. Maybe I could just throw it out? It’s not like there’s a big shortage of brownie mixes around here. I could toss the rest and make new any time I wanted them. Huh, you know, I should have just divided the recipe. Hm. Maybe next time.
He stared in as the mix bubbled very slowly, like chocolate magma. I should have put nuts in it. A few more seconds passed and he shifted his weight to avoid his calves getting sore. I don’t really like the idea of throwing out half the dish. That’s kind of wasteful. Even … even if we’re here, where waste doesn't really matter, I'd still rather not put it in the trash. … ‘We’. Hm. He took in a deep breath and let it out, leaning forward slightly, peering even more intently inside the oven.
Later …
I feel like an idiot. I’m sure he’s going to take this the wrong way. I can’t imagine how to explain this. Peter shook his head, wishing he could shake away the nagging thoughts. He raised one hand, the other holding the wrapped pan of brownies, and knocked on Sylar’s door.
XXX
Sylar frowned and looked up from his watches at the knock on his door. What on-? What’s he done now? He set down his precision tools and the delicate pieces he was working on and stood, staring at the door.
Blinking he shuffled slowly over to the door, peering through the peep-hole to see an antsy-looking Peter. Who else? He told himself firmly with a shake of his head, smoothing out his expression somewhat, but he couldn’t figure what the man needed unless Peter had forgotten how to tie his shoes again. Or Sylar had somehow stepped on one of those goddamn conversation bear-traps and Peter was just now coming to deal him some death.
He opened the door and looked down the few inches into Peter’s face. Initially he didn’t see the pan the other man held, but the foil caught his eye quickly enough and his eyes bugged out as he caught the smell of brownies.
Oh no fucking way in hell. No way. Just no. Shocked and horrified brown eyes flashed up to Peter’s, who now looked confused. Sylar snarled, pulling back into his apartment with a jerk and slamming the door shut in Peter’s face, locking it for good measure.
YOU MAY HAVE MY MEMORIES, YOU SON OF A BITCH, BUT I LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES, he thought viciously, thudding his forehead to the bloody handprint of his door, his hands fists against the wood, ignoring Peter’s fuss from outside.
The Company’s reach could only extend so far. First a beautiful, blonde, rather nubile angel to tempt him into sin and murder. Said angel was the daughter of the Company’s sugar daddy, both of them agents. Now, he got the second, almost throw-away son of the Company’s directors. Peter Petrelli, the good-looking, moralistic-if-simple hero who owned Sylar’s most well-guarded memories and was now using them for some unknown Petrelli reason.
The Nathan inside him, piped up to say that Peter might just be trying to get him high with an insanely ironic joke of “Special Brownies”.
FIRST PIE, NOW BROWNIES? DO YOU THINK I’M A FOOL?!?!
Rating: PG-PG-13
Warnings: Some language, previous hetero pairing, M/M innuendo, and one drug reference.
Setting: Inside The Wall, S4
Word count: Short.
Summary: Peter makes a gesture; its just the wrong medium.
A/N: A (possibly-future) canon for More Between Us mini-exchange initiated by Game_byrd.
Peter examined the box for directions, but he didn’t read them too closely. He’d made these before and they were always good. They were awesome, in fact - food of the gods. He had all the ingredients, so in a very short while, he slipped the dish into the preheated oven and crouched in front of it, looking in. There wasn’t much to see, really, but he had nothing else to do. It wasn’t like he was going to leave, anyway, and risk it burning.
The idea of warm, rich, gooey brownies with that flaky, crumbly thin top layer filled his mind and made him salivate. They were perfection when hot, not so good when cold. He wasn’t much of a fan of them after they cooled off and got sort of stiff and crunchy, dried out and unpleasant to eat. But hot! He’d have a whole pan of them!
Hm, an entire pan. That’s a lot. I think if I ate an entire pan, I’d be sick. Maybe I should just eat half. Even half will be a carb and calorie overload. And probably make me hyper. But whatever. I’ll just eat half. And … I don’t really want the rest. Maybe I could just throw it out? It’s not like there’s a big shortage of brownie mixes around here. I could toss the rest and make new any time I wanted them. Huh, you know, I should have just divided the recipe. Hm. Maybe next time.
He stared in as the mix bubbled very slowly, like chocolate magma. I should have put nuts in it. A few more seconds passed and he shifted his weight to avoid his calves getting sore. I don’t really like the idea of throwing out half the dish. That’s kind of wasteful. Even … even if we’re here, where waste doesn't really matter, I'd still rather not put it in the trash. … ‘We’. Hm. He took in a deep breath and let it out, leaning forward slightly, peering even more intently inside the oven.
Later …
I feel like an idiot. I’m sure he’s going to take this the wrong way. I can’t imagine how to explain this. Peter shook his head, wishing he could shake away the nagging thoughts. He raised one hand, the other holding the wrapped pan of brownies, and knocked on Sylar’s door.
XXX
Sylar frowned and looked up from his watches at the knock on his door. What on-? What’s he done now? He set down his precision tools and the delicate pieces he was working on and stood, staring at the door.
Blinking he shuffled slowly over to the door, peering through the peep-hole to see an antsy-looking Peter. Who else? He told himself firmly with a shake of his head, smoothing out his expression somewhat, but he couldn’t figure what the man needed unless Peter had forgotten how to tie his shoes again. Or Sylar had somehow stepped on one of those goddamn conversation bear-traps and Peter was just now coming to deal him some death.
He opened the door and looked down the few inches into Peter’s face. Initially he didn’t see the pan the other man held, but the foil caught his eye quickly enough and his eyes bugged out as he caught the smell of brownies.
Oh no fucking way in hell. No way. Just no. Shocked and horrified brown eyes flashed up to Peter’s, who now looked confused. Sylar snarled, pulling back into his apartment with a jerk and slamming the door shut in Peter’s face, locking it for good measure.
YOU MAY HAVE MY MEMORIES, YOU SON OF A BITCH, BUT I LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES, he thought viciously, thudding his forehead to the bloody handprint of his door, his hands fists against the wood, ignoring Peter’s fuss from outside.
The Company’s reach could only extend so far. First a beautiful, blonde, rather nubile angel to tempt him into sin and murder. Said angel was the daughter of the Company’s sugar daddy, both of them agents. Now, he got the second, almost throw-away son of the Company’s directors. Peter Petrelli, the good-looking, moralistic-if-simple hero who owned Sylar’s most well-guarded memories and was now using them for some unknown Petrelli reason.
The Nathan inside him, piped up to say that Peter might just be trying to get him high with an insanely ironic joke of “Special Brownies”.
FIRST PIE, NOW BROWNIES? DO YOU THINK I’M A FOOL?!?!