[Secret Santa] What You Need for a Perfect Christmas [4/5]
Title: What You Need for a Perfect Christmas
Author:
mizu_from_kumo
Recipient:
bioniceye
Genre: Romance/General
Pairings: USUK
Rating/Warnings: T-ish...Just to be save, lots of fluff I believe
Summary: It's Alfred and Arthur's first Christmas together, and they want it to be perfect.
AN: Thanks to
usako_minamino for being my beta reader!
Fourth: A nice dinner
Arthur Kirkland does not possess horrible cooking skills, he just never learned from a proper source. His mother loved him dearly, but she was a firm believer of a woman cooking. Of course when Arthur came out, she did accept him, but Alfred could cook like a mad man, he practically blew her off her feet with a meal the cooked for her when they first met. She had happily leaned over to Arthur and politely told him he did not need to worry about knowing how to cook. However, Alfred’s hours can be odd and unpredictable; that’s why sometimes Arthur wishes he knew how to properly cook something.
Of course when Alfred had gone for Thanksgiving with his family, Arthur decided he’d best learn how to cook. Besides, Alfred needs a break, and Arthur doesn’t mind being a bit domestic. Alfred was a little worried about that (Arthur always managed to burn his toast in the morning, and he had stared a fire once), but he doesn’t mind. Telling Arthur a straight ‘no’ usually got a good blow to the face. Besides, Arthur learned enough that he could cook simple things.
His cooking class had managed to not go up in flames, even if the teacher was French. Aside from throwing a wooden spoon at Arthur and attempting to feel up every woman in the class, the man was a good teacher- a very good, flirty, annoying, French cooking teacher. Arthur couldn’t make everything the Frenchman wanted them to, but he knew enough of the basics to feel like he could make it through one dinner.
So there he was shoving Alfred out of the small kitchen to make a nice dinner. It was Christmas Eve and Arthur had gotten everything he needed a few days before. He had been heavily buried in cook books for a while, he premeasured everything that morning. He could cook; Alfred needed a break from the kitchen.
“You sure you don’t need any help?” Alfred asked as he held the door frame of the kitchen.
“Alfred, I can handle it. It’s not French cuisine, and I’m not going to start arguing with some annoying frog.” Arthur snapped with one final shove at the American’s back.
The younger sighed, but left him, plopping down on the couch and watching something on the television. Arthur got to work, following the cook book to the letter, reading it twice before doing anything. He wanted the meal to be perfect, it was rather small compared to the dinner his mother would make but it was only for two people, though it might as well be considered three, because Alfred likes to eat.
Cooking wasn’t really that hard. It was a lot of leaving things alone in the oven, or at least what he was cooking. The turkey, though small, was going to take a few hours. Arthur grinned to himself, he was rather proud nothing had gone wrong yet. He joined Alfred on the couch. He had a timer set and his ears were open for it. He curled up on Alfred as the man watched some Christmas love story, carefully predicting who was going to fall in love with whom.
“I’m telling you Arthur, she’s going to fall for him.” Alfred said when Arthur asked him why he was so sure. “I’m telling you, walking in on someone wrapped in a towel usually means someone’s going to fall in love in America.”
Arthur gave a small chuckle. “You spilled coffee on me and proceeded to rip off my shirt, I can somewhat agree with that statement.” The sound of a ringing told him the pie was done.
He forced himself off the couch and hurried to the kitchen. Arthur grinned as he pulled the pie out of the oven. It’s a heavenly looking brown color and almost identical to the picture on the box. Arthur placed the pie carefully in the corner to cool, praying it would be the right temperature when they actually sat down to eat. He turned his attention to the turkey.
“I don’t think glaring at it makes it cooked.” Alfred teased, causing Arthur to jump and glare at him. The American held his hands up in surrender, waving his empty cup to show his reason for being there.
“Do you know how to cook a turkey?” Arthur asked with a sigh.
“I thought you didn’t want help?” Arthur’s glare hardened and Alfred laughed. The American glanced at the turkey then shrug. “Not a clue. You usually make me cook a roast, not a turkey. It has to be like chicken right? Just bigger?”
Arthur groaned, but he had nothing else to say. Why didn’t his cooking teacher cover cooking a turkey? He figured it shouldn’t be that hard. It was on a pan already and that seemed like enough to cook it. Arthur slid the thing in the oven and closed the door, praying nothing would go wrong.
“How long do think I should cook it for?”
“It’s not that big,” Alfred said taking a drink as he stood there and thought. “I’d say two hours. Come on and join me on the couch.” Alfred grinned and went bounding back to the living room. “Rudolph is on next.”
Green eyes rolled as Arthur set the timer and joined Alfred on the couch again.
---- ---- ----
If the smoke coming out the kitchen and Arthur’s springing up from the couch with a mouthful of curses, didn’t alert Alfred something was wrong, the smoke alarm did. Alfred had been rather caught up in Rudolph, despite how many times he had seen it before, that he hardly noticed anything around him till it demanded his attention. Alfred scrambled off the couch and rushed into the kitchen.
Arthur threw open a window, allowing some the smoke to escape. Alfred turned his attention to the oven which was sputtering out flames. There was no doubt it was due to Arthur’s attempt to see what was wrong The American stared for a split second then jumped into action. He kicked the oven door closed and quickly turned it off. Turning to Arthur he found the Englishman staring at him wide eyed.
“Don’t kick the oven.” Arthur said flatly. With all the smoke lingering in the air, the window allowing cold air in, and the buzzing sound of the smoke alarm going off, Arthur still have the amount of control to yell at him like that. Alfred lost it, leaning on the fridge for support. “Don’t laugh either!”
Alfred just laughed harder at the comment, earning a sharp glare. He attempted to get his laughter under control. “Sorry, Artie,” Alfred chuckled a bit, “it’s just that with everything that is going on, you yell at me to not kick the oven door.”
“You’d break it!” Arthur snapped.
“You’d rather burn down the whole building than having me kick an oven door, which I do all the time.” Alfred said, just to see the horrified look on Arthur’s face. He burst out laughing at the sight; and it obviously didn’t help him calm the Englishman down.
“You bloody git!” Arthur said holding a metal spoon in a prime whacking position. Alfred paled at the sight, because Arthur can go carry out a threat without thinking much of it. Then Arthur started laughing as well. “It almost burned off my eyebrows.”
Alfred lost it at that (again). He sunk to the floor in a laughing heap, and Arthur followed him as well. Alfred got up after awhile and walked over to the smoke alarm and took the battery out before returning. He found the Englishman lying on the floor in a fit of giggles. The American happily joined him on the floor, planting a small kiss on the other’s cheek.
“We’re a bunch of bloody fools.” Alfred made a sound of question. “The turkey juices spilled over and caught fire in the oven.”
“So no turkey then?” Alfred asked.
“I don’t think so.” Arthur sighed out; Alfred could tell Arthur had wanted to make this something to remember.
“Well, we still have some things we can eat…like corn, the wonderful looking pie, and left over pizza.” Alfred said gently causing Arthur too look at him. “Hey, it’s still food.”
Alfred got to his feet and walked to close the window, winter was started to enjoy the warmth of their house a little too much. He helped Arthur to his feet, and set the table with what they could.
AN: Yeah, another part done. It's become a headcannon off mine that Arthur never learned how to cook and there for his food is rather horrid. However he can handle things with the microwave and specific measurements like a cup or something like that and not a pinch. That and Alfred is a handful of attention needing. Hope you all enjoyed.
Author:
mizu_from_kumo
Recipient:
bioniceye
Genre: Romance/General
Pairings: USUK
Rating/Warnings: T-ish...Just to be save, lots of fluff I believe
Summary: It's Alfred and Arthur's first Christmas together, and they want it to be perfect.
AN: Thanks to
usako_minamino for being my beta reader!
Fourth: A nice dinner
Arthur Kirkland does not possess horrible cooking skills, he just never learned from a proper source. His mother loved him dearly, but she was a firm believer of a woman cooking. Of course when Arthur came out, she did accept him, but Alfred could cook like a mad man, he practically blew her off her feet with a meal the cooked for her when they first met. She had happily leaned over to Arthur and politely told him he did not need to worry about knowing how to cook. However, Alfred’s hours can be odd and unpredictable; that’s why sometimes Arthur wishes he knew how to properly cook something.
Of course when Alfred had gone for Thanksgiving with his family, Arthur decided he’d best learn how to cook. Besides, Alfred needs a break, and Arthur doesn’t mind being a bit domestic. Alfred was a little worried about that (Arthur always managed to burn his toast in the morning, and he had stared a fire once), but he doesn’t mind. Telling Arthur a straight ‘no’ usually got a good blow to the face. Besides, Arthur learned enough that he could cook simple things.
His cooking class had managed to not go up in flames, even if the teacher was French. Aside from throwing a wooden spoon at Arthur and attempting to feel up every woman in the class, the man was a good teacher- a very good, flirty, annoying, French cooking teacher. Arthur couldn’t make everything the Frenchman wanted them to, but he knew enough of the basics to feel like he could make it through one dinner.
So there he was shoving Alfred out of the small kitchen to make a nice dinner. It was Christmas Eve and Arthur had gotten everything he needed a few days before. He had been heavily buried in cook books for a while, he premeasured everything that morning. He could cook; Alfred needed a break from the kitchen.
“You sure you don’t need any help?” Alfred asked as he held the door frame of the kitchen.
“Alfred, I can handle it. It’s not French cuisine, and I’m not going to start arguing with some annoying frog.” Arthur snapped with one final shove at the American’s back.
The younger sighed, but left him, plopping down on the couch and watching something on the television. Arthur got to work, following the cook book to the letter, reading it twice before doing anything. He wanted the meal to be perfect, it was rather small compared to the dinner his mother would make but it was only for two people, though it might as well be considered three, because Alfred likes to eat.
Cooking wasn’t really that hard. It was a lot of leaving things alone in the oven, or at least what he was cooking. The turkey, though small, was going to take a few hours. Arthur grinned to himself, he was rather proud nothing had gone wrong yet. He joined Alfred on the couch. He had a timer set and his ears were open for it. He curled up on Alfred as the man watched some Christmas love story, carefully predicting who was going to fall in love with whom.
“I’m telling you Arthur, she’s going to fall for him.” Alfred said when Arthur asked him why he was so sure. “I’m telling you, walking in on someone wrapped in a towel usually means someone’s going to fall in love in America.”
Arthur gave a small chuckle. “You spilled coffee on me and proceeded to rip off my shirt, I can somewhat agree with that statement.” The sound of a ringing told him the pie was done.
He forced himself off the couch and hurried to the kitchen. Arthur grinned as he pulled the pie out of the oven. It’s a heavenly looking brown color and almost identical to the picture on the box. Arthur placed the pie carefully in the corner to cool, praying it would be the right temperature when they actually sat down to eat. He turned his attention to the turkey.
“I don’t think glaring at it makes it cooked.” Alfred teased, causing Arthur to jump and glare at him. The American held his hands up in surrender, waving his empty cup to show his reason for being there.
“Do you know how to cook a turkey?” Arthur asked with a sigh.
“I thought you didn’t want help?” Arthur’s glare hardened and Alfred laughed. The American glanced at the turkey then shrug. “Not a clue. You usually make me cook a roast, not a turkey. It has to be like chicken right? Just bigger?”
Arthur groaned, but he had nothing else to say. Why didn’t his cooking teacher cover cooking a turkey? He figured it shouldn’t be that hard. It was on a pan already and that seemed like enough to cook it. Arthur slid the thing in the oven and closed the door, praying nothing would go wrong.
“How long do think I should cook it for?”
“It’s not that big,” Alfred said taking a drink as he stood there and thought. “I’d say two hours. Come on and join me on the couch.” Alfred grinned and went bounding back to the living room. “Rudolph is on next.”
Green eyes rolled as Arthur set the timer and joined Alfred on the couch again.
---- ---- ----
If the smoke coming out the kitchen and Arthur’s springing up from the couch with a mouthful of curses, didn’t alert Alfred something was wrong, the smoke alarm did. Alfred had been rather caught up in Rudolph, despite how many times he had seen it before, that he hardly noticed anything around him till it demanded his attention. Alfred scrambled off the couch and rushed into the kitchen.
Arthur threw open a window, allowing some the smoke to escape. Alfred turned his attention to the oven which was sputtering out flames. There was no doubt it was due to Arthur’s attempt to see what was wrong The American stared for a split second then jumped into action. He kicked the oven door closed and quickly turned it off. Turning to Arthur he found the Englishman staring at him wide eyed.
“Don’t kick the oven.” Arthur said flatly. With all the smoke lingering in the air, the window allowing cold air in, and the buzzing sound of the smoke alarm going off, Arthur still have the amount of control to yell at him like that. Alfred lost it, leaning on the fridge for support. “Don’t laugh either!”
Alfred just laughed harder at the comment, earning a sharp glare. He attempted to get his laughter under control. “Sorry, Artie,” Alfred chuckled a bit, “it’s just that with everything that is going on, you yell at me to not kick the oven door.”
“You’d break it!” Arthur snapped.
“You’d rather burn down the whole building than having me kick an oven door, which I do all the time.” Alfred said, just to see the horrified look on Arthur’s face. He burst out laughing at the sight; and it obviously didn’t help him calm the Englishman down.
“You bloody git!” Arthur said holding a metal spoon in a prime whacking position. Alfred paled at the sight, because Arthur can go carry out a threat without thinking much of it. Then Arthur started laughing as well. “It almost burned off my eyebrows.”
Alfred lost it at that (again). He sunk to the floor in a laughing heap, and Arthur followed him as well. Alfred got up after awhile and walked over to the smoke alarm and took the battery out before returning. He found the Englishman lying on the floor in a fit of giggles. The American happily joined him on the floor, planting a small kiss on the other’s cheek.
“We’re a bunch of bloody fools.” Alfred made a sound of question. “The turkey juices spilled over and caught fire in the oven.”
“So no turkey then?” Alfred asked.
“I don’t think so.” Arthur sighed out; Alfred could tell Arthur had wanted to make this something to remember.
“Well, we still have some things we can eat…like corn, the wonderful looking pie, and left over pizza.” Alfred said gently causing Arthur too look at him. “Hey, it’s still food.”
Alfred got to his feet and walked to close the window, winter was started to enjoy the warmth of their house a little too much. He helped Arthur to his feet, and set the table with what they could.
AN: Yeah, another part done. It's become a headcannon off mine that Arthur never learned how to cook and there for his food is rather horrid. However he can handle things with the microwave and specific measurements like a cup or something like that and not a pinch. That and Alfred is a handful of attention needing. Hope you all enjoyed.