finally....united fic!!!
Title: Five Things Gerard Pique and Anderson Tried to Cook (and failed)
Rating: PG ish, nothing too bad at all. Mostly crack.
Disclaimer: Don’t own, obviously. If I did, I’d have them running around naked all the time.
Characters: Gerard Pique, Anderson, Cristiano Ronaldo, Darren Fletcher, with mentions of Cesc Fabregas, Wayne Rooney, Gary Neville, and Alan Smith
A/N: I wrote this sometime last year and just found it laying around. I decided to type it and finally post. And here we go!
1.
Toast. Whoever thought making simple toast would be so hard? Anderson had even had Cristiano in the kitchen with him to make sure he didn’t mess up. (It was the one item the Portuguese could make by himself after all.)
So when he pulled the blackened bread out of the machine, he’d been shocked.
"Is not so bad. Just needs preserves..."
Anderson watched, eyes wide, as Cristiano carefully scraped the burnt layer into the trash can before opening the fridge. He shook his head as the winger spread strawberry jam onto the bread and took a big bite.
"I need a cooking class," he moaned after Cristiano wrinkled his nose and threw the rest of the toast in the trash.
2.
"I can teach you to cook!" Gerard announced as they made their way home after training one day.
Anderson stared at his teammate, skeptical.
"No, really!" Gerard insisted, "I can cook!" He grinned as he stopped his car in front of the midfielder’s house. "Stop by my place in an hour. I’m making paella for Cesc."
"Fabregas?"
"Yes." Gerard kept grinning and Anderson swore his teammate was now blushing. "We used to train together at Barca..."
"Oh."
"My place. In an hour," Gerard repeated before speeding down the street.
And that was how Anderson found himself standing in Gerard Pique’s kitchen an hour later, oven mitt in one hand and spatula in the other. Feeling ridiculous, he watched as Gerard waved off the smoke coming from his stove top. Carefully, (Gerard had said that all the utensils he’d bought had been very expensive) he laid down the spatula and joined his teammate in staring at the blackened mess currently occupying the skillet.
"I think it is done."
Gerard nodded in agreement, eyes never leaving the stove.
"Um..." Anderson shifted from one foot to the other, biting his lip. "Your friend is coming over when?"
"Oh shit." Gerard’s hands flew to his head, grabbing at his hair. "Cesc! He loves paella and now I have none and this is going to be a disaster! Quick, grab a phone book and-"
Gerard’s doorbell rang, cutting him off mid-sentence. Jaw dropped, he stared at the young Brazilian. Anderson could see the panic building in his eyes, and that was one thing he wanted to avoid at all costs. A panicked Gerard Pique was not a pretty sight. He quickly grabbed the Spaniard’s shoulders and guided him to the front door before he could say anything else.
"You take care of Fabregas and I fix food." He shoved. "Go!"
Gerard followed orders, eyes still wide with impending panic. Anderson sighed before squaring his shoulders and looking around for Gerard’s phone book.
Twenty minutes later saw Anderson carrying a large plate of steaming hot paella into Gerard’s living room. He stopped in front of the couch as he noticed the Spaniards were locked in a tight embrace. Interesting.
Face blank, Anderson set the plate on a side table and walked out.
3.
Gerard waved off his teammate’s glare.
"Relax," he advised, "It will go better this time. We can bake a cake for Gaz! It’s much easier than paella!"
Anderson only glared harder.
"I promise!" Gerard grinned and added, "Plus we get to lick the spoons..."
"Hmm."
"We’ll make it chocolate!"
Anderson’s eye twitched as his glare softened. He did enjoy chocolate cake. Everyone knew that.
"Okay. I will be by your house later."
"Great."
"Um, I think we should have used a bigger pan..."
"I think you are right, Gerard."
The two young men stared forlornly at Gerard’s oven as cake batter bubbled over the pan and all over the oven rack. Gerard sighed and reached out to grab the pan.
"Is it okay?"
"Maybe. It’s not burnt at least..." Gerard answered. He held out his free hand. "Knife, please."
Anderson handed over the utensil as he gazed at the cake.
"Gaz will like it, yes?"
"Sure. He’ll eat anything."
4.
"I need help."
Gerard looked up and into the wide innocent eyes of Darren Fletcher. He sighed. Nothing good ever came of Darren starting a conversation with a phrase like that. He finished lacing up his shoes before responding.
"With what?"
"Smudge is coming to visit this weekend and I want to cook him dinner," Darren explained, "And Ando said you’re ace at cooking so..."
Gerard watched as Darren stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Ace at cooking? Where had Anderson been the past few times they had cooked together? Gerard bit back a smile and threw his arm around Darren’s shoulder.
"I’ll try my best."
Darren grinned before pulling the Spaniard into a very tight hug.
"You’re the best!"
The weekend came too soon and Gerard found himself fiddling with the buttons on Darren’s stove. He wasn’t nervous, but his last two times cooking with Anderson had made him a bit more cautious in his approach. As he dumped a can of sauce into a pot, he let out a small sigh of relief. Anderson wasn’t anywhere near so he should be okay. Cooking at Darren’s house should be much easier.
Wait. Darren. Gerard’s shoulders slumped as he stirred. So far he’d been Darren-free as he cooked, but he hadn’t had much luck lately.
As if on cue, Darren bounded through the door, grin plastered on his face.
"Gerard! Smudge loved the soup. Absolutely loved it!" he exclaimed, "Is supper ready yet?"
Gerard held back a groan as he slowly turned around to face the excited Scot.
"Not quite yet."
"Oh." Darren’s face fell for a moment, but quickly went back to a grin. "What are you making?" he asked as he tried to peer around Gerard.
"Pasta."
"I can help if you want me to!"
Gerard moved the spoons out of reach as Darren grabbed for them. There was no way he was going to let anyone help him-something bad always happened.
"You just keep Alan company while I cook."
"But I’m really good at stirring," Darren protested as he tried to step toward the stove.
"That’s okay."
"I can chop things up!" Darren continued. He reached inside the nearest drawer before Gerard could stop him and pulled out a knife. "Got anything?"
"No!"
Gerard pulled the knife out of Darren’s hand and turned him toward the doorway.
"I cook here and you-" Gerard stopped mid-sentence and sniffed.
"Smells like something is burning," Darren told him.
Gerard sniffed once more before bringing his hands to his head and groaning.
"Oh no! Not again!"
Darren stepped back to the stove and glanced into the pot. Still with a cheerful grin on his face, he turned back to Gerard.
"Think we should skip this and go straight to dessert?"
Gerard only glared at him in response.
5.
"I’m sorry...repeat that again?"
Anderson stared at his feet, mumbling a string of words together that Gerard was only barely able to hear. The Spaniard leaned across his kitchen table, ears straining.
"Wayne?"
Anderson nodded.
"Wayne Rooney?"
Another nod. Gerard paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"Well, I guess you could fancy worse..."
"So you will help me back him cookies?"
Gerard was about to say ‘no’. In fact, the word was on his lips and itching to be spoken. He looked into his teammate’s wide innocent eyes, however, and changed his mind.
"Yes," he heard himself answer, "When do we start?"
Anderson grinned.
"Now?" He waited a beat for Gerard to nod his head and then added, "I will get cookie pan then!"
Gerard watched as Anderson hurried around his kitchen, looking for all the necessary items to bake cookies with. This, he thought as Anderson dropped an egg on the floor, could only end in disaster yet again. With one rueful shake of his head, Gerard stood up to help his teammate.
Fifteen minutes later, and Gerard knew he was right. Somehow they had managed to get flour all over the counter and floor. Gerard rubbed at his cheek, his hand covered in the white powder. Not to mention, all over themselves. He laughed as he noticed Anderson had a perfect round circle of flour on the tip of his nose.
"What is so funny?"
"You have flour on your nose."
"Where?"
Anderson brought a flour-covered hand up to his face and rubbed. This only caused Gerard to laugh harder.
"It’s all over now!" he managed to say between giggles.
"Is not funny!" Anderson exclaimed. He pouted as he grabbed a towel and wiped his face. "I did not laugh when you have flour in your hair, did I?"
Gerard stopped laughing and brought his hands up to either side of his head.
"My hair?"
Anderson giggled at the worried expression on the Spaniard’s face.
"Is not bad."
Gerard sighed.
"And I just had Cristiano deep condition it, too."
"Oh."
Before either could say anything else, the oven time went off. Gerard grabbed his mitts and carefully pulled the cookies out.
Anderson peered over his shoulder, noting the golden brown color of the cookies.
"They look good, yes?"
"Actually, they do."
"You are surprised?"
Gerard raised an eyebrow.
"After everything else that happened, aren’t you?"
"We are good team." Anderson grabbed a cookie and took a big bite. "Ooh, hot!"
Gerard laughed as his teammate ran around before running to the fridge and grabbing a container of milk. Anderson took a long drink from the carton before sighing in satisfaction and placing it back in the fridge.
"You are supposed to blow on it first, "Gerard advised a bit too late.
Anderson pouted as an answer.
"Are they good?"
"Yes." Anderson swatted at Gerard’s hand as he reached for one. "No, these are for Wayne!"
"But you had one!"
"They are my cookies."
"That you baked in my kitchen!"
"Okay," Anderson relented, "You can have one." He watched carefully as Gerard selected the biggest cookie and took a bite. "Now we give the rest to Wayne. We need something to put them in."
Both men glanced around the kitchen, searching for a container to use. Anderson squealed in delight as he noticed a blue plastic container.
"This will work!"
Gerard laughed as Anderson bounded over and grabbed the bowl.
"Aren’t you going to write him a note and put it with the cookies?"
"A note?"
"Telling him how much you fancy him..."
"Oh, okay. How about, ‘dear Wayne, I fancy you ver much’. How is that?"
Gerard tried not to laugh. He reached for a pad of paper.
"What if I write it for you?" he suggested.
The next day, Anderson jumped on Gerard’s back as he walked into the locker room.
"Gerard! He loved the cookies and the note you write!" he babbled excitedly, grinning. "Is very good!"
Gerard untangled Anderson’s arms from around his neck and grinned.
"I’m glad. So, this means no more cooking right?"
"But we’re just getting good," Anderson protested, "And I tell Wayne I will make him dinner tomorrow night!"
Gerard only groaned and walked away.