[FIC] The Art of Love and Cooking : Chapter Three : Saisir : part 1/3 - Puck/Kurt (ENG)
Title: The Art of Love and Cooking
Author: sevenswells
My betas. I love them: drgaellon and guilshad
Rating: This chapter will be NC-17! Holla~! Only this part is still R-ish
Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Puck/Kurt
Warnings/Spoilers: Food porn, and then some actual porn after that. No spoilers because it's an AU in which glee club didn't happen.
Comments: PLEASE DON'T KILL ME. This is part 1, part 2 and 3 will come later, 'kay? Again, this chapter is dedicated to my betas; they're really great and I can't thank them enough for the work they put in this. You rock, both of you. <3
In each part I try to put as much food and music (since this is still a Glee fic, yo) as I can, I feel there is a little less food and more music in this one. At the end of this post you will find a Youtube mix (just because it was simpler, never mind the videos that go with the songs, most of them are rubbish) with all the songs mentioned in here.
Word count: 4596 w.
The fuck if Puck knows how they've come to this. Never in a million years would he have imagined how much more fucked-up this situation could be. So far, everything had been going so great, too... up until the sleeping with Kurt bit. Now that was stupid, he'll concede, but Aurélien can't possibly know about it, now, can he? So why this whole giant mess, all of a sudden? Fuck.
Gill looks utterly lost and keeps searching Puck's face with her eyes, hoping he'll snap out of his speechlessness to finally take things in charge and start giving out instructions. Beatrix may or may not be having a panic attack somewhere inside the house, away from her employers' eyes. Kurt...
He wants to turn Kurt around so he can see his expression. All he sees is his tense back, arms brought up, suggesting Kurt may be hugging himself right now, or maybe just crossing his arms, pretending he doesn't care at all, watching his life, all his carefully laid-out little plans crumble in front of him, with the placidity of a statue.
Puck feels a pull, the strange need to reassure him, to tell him it's going to be all right. Except he isn't entitled to do that, not in front of an already thoroughly pissed-off Aurélien, anyway. Plus (as Kurt would agree, would even insist on it), what they did doesn't give Puck the right to take Kurt in his arms and kiss the pain away. It doesn't give Puck any rights at all, really.
Even if they had the possibility to go back in time, he wouldn't know how to fix this disaster.
A day is all it took for everything to come crashing down.
*******
Two park rangers were standing waiting as Puck and his team came out of their helicopter.
("By helicopter," Puck had repeated. "Seriously?"
"No motorized vehicles allowed on the park trails, which leaves us nothing but air transportation," Aurélien had replied, speaking rapidly, like a machine gun, ra-ta-ta-tat. "We'll be following the White Trail, which is a difficult path, so you won't be able to carry your equipment to the place where we'll be having lunch. Ergo, unless you have a better idea, by helicopter it is.")
The man, tall, brown-haired, fit, introduced himself as Tom, and the plump forty-something blonde beside him was Layla. They didn't seem too pleased to see them and Puck thought he might understand why; no-one could have imagined some rich, spoiled shithead would be eccentric and bratty to the point of exploiting a loophole in the park regulations and use two fucking helicopters for the sake of a simple picnic in the mountains. Add a little pressure from daddy's influence, and voilà! Six chefs with their equipment dropped of by air taxi to prepare lunch on the Chest of the Sleeping Giant, away from the official picnic areas that the plebs were usually content to use, a dozen noisy and obnoxious Ivy League wankers going on a hike with the hosting couple, and two pissed-off rangers specially dispatched to chaperone the mountain-climbing party and make sure the lamb that the chefs wanted to roast over the embers wouldn't set fire to the whole park.
In all honesty, Puck and his brigade weren't exactly trained for that kind of extreme set-up, and were he paranoid, he could have taken it as a deliberate attempt at sabotage. Except now that Puck, to his great displeasure, was starting to know the guy, he could testify Aurélien Marlowe was random enough come up with a plan like that without meaning anything to it: he'd wanted to do it just to show he could.
He wasn't completely right in the head, Puck could tell. It was subtle, and maybe Kurt and none of the others around him could see it, but it was there nevertheless; Puck recognized some of the symptoms Olivier used to display, only at a higher level. Most of the time, though, unlike Olivier, Aurélien could be trusted to behave properly around people, more or less. But the arrival of new guests, whom Aurélien knew from Yale, had him acting weirder than usual, like he was constantly verging on being hysterical.
As long as it didn't interfere with his job, Puck had decided it wasn't his problem. It was true that he and Kurt were getting along better since the engagement party, but he was a chef, not a psychiatrist: that would become Kurt's job after he married Aurélien. Until then, Puck would only have to fulfil his share of the contract and when they were done, he would never have to see the couple again.
The chefs had decided to arrive early because the lamb had to be cooked very, very slowly. Cissy and Gill were in charge of starting the fire under the watch of the two rangers, while Puck, Jeoff and Anthony were laying out the kitchen instruments and utensils they'd be needing on folding tables brought by the second helicopter. Additional tables and chairs were put up for the picnickers, who of course had to eat in the open air sitting on a chair, on proper plates and with proper cutlery; again, no matter what the plebs' picnic customs were, Aurélien and his posse obviously couldn't abide to sit their asses on the ground and eat finger food.
In no time, the improvised kitchen and picnic area were all set. The only technical problem the chefs had to face was putting back together the pieces of the Weber grill they'd brought along to roast the mini vegetables, but the intervention of their female grill experts quickly fixed that, after a few jokes about the male chefs tragically losing their masculine attributes.
Frédérique hadn't made a single move to help them, sulking as he was after the helicopter ride - Frédérique was afraid of heights, which also made him nauseous, and he was holding Puck personally responsible for his misery. He was usually fine with planes because he could knock himself unconscious with sleeping pills, but with a ride so short he'd had no choice but to suffer through it. He was sitting on the precious cooler boxes containing his latest creations, a few feet away from the comings and goings, looking too pale and too sick to be really angry.
Open-air, live-fire cooking was definitely a challenge, but the chefs were ready to embrace it. They'd jumped through many hurdles since the engagement party dinner: Kurt's press conference cocktail (Anthony's petits fours stole the show that time), Senator Marlowe's official brunch (Puck had had a trick up his sleeve for that one: zucchini and ginger jam, as well as a green tomato and cinnamon jam he had tasted many years ago at Paris's annual agricultural fair which he'd reproduced; along with his scones, it was a winning three-pointer), not to mention the more intimate and less official dinners and lunches they'd also had to cater for. So this picnic, as extravagant as it might be, had no reason not to be a success too.
The menu this time was somewhat simpler; squash and garlic flowers tempura, lamb shoulder with spring herbs cooked over the campfire, grill-roasted mini-vegetables and cauliflower couscous, and for dessert, apricot tarts and Frédérique's killer honey ice-cream sprinkled with caramel powder. The tarts had Frédérique's special twist to them, too: ground pistacchio in the pie dough, which added texture and a smooth nutty taste, which balanced the touch of acidity in the apricots.
The dessert constituted the only infringement upon Kurt's "seasonal and sustainable" request, since apricots were a summer fruit and June had barely even started, but they'd strictly been playing by the rules up until then, so Puck figured Kurt might forgive them for this little stretch, especially after he'd tasted the tarts. Aurélien did bitch about the tempura when they planned the menu, though, saying it was not typically French; Puck quickly shut him up by pointing out that vegetable flowers dipped in batter and fried were a hundred percent traditional in France - the tempura batter simply made them lighter and crispier than the traditional French crepe-style batter, nothing to put anyone's panties in a twist. He could feel Aurélien ready to throw a fit at that point, and he suspected Kurt's subtle influence in the fact that Charming finally gave in without too much of a scene.
As they were waiting for the hikers to arrive, the chefs kept busy with no particular rush. The sun was slowly rising to its zenith, shedding a pure, bright light on the mountain. As it gradually got higher, the light got harsher, forcing Puck to don his aviator sunglasses. Never missing an occasion for insolence, Gill started quoting a few famous lines from Pitch Black and The Chronicles of Riddick, causing Frédérique, still hunched on top of his cooler boxes, to snigger feebly. The whole brigade had watched the two movies at the three male chefs' house the night before, while eating pizza - not even homemade; it had been vile, frozen stuff, but they hadn't cared one bit. It had felt like a night off, and all in all, it had been a pretty good idea (Jeoff's, against all odds: the sauté cook was a total action movie geek and he had been positively outraged when the majority of the brigade admitted they'd never seen any of the Riddick movies).
As far as they were concerned, and thanks to the relaxing evening they'd had with Vin Diesel, the chefs were already having a good day. The temperature was not exactly warm but not cold either, just fresh and crisp enough to be called "invigorating". Aurélien, the lucky bastard, would actually get ideal weather for his stupid picnic - it seemed divine retribution was an overrated concept after all. The meat was roasting nice and slow, and Puck had made amends with Tom and Layla by sharing a few beers with the two rangers, along with Anthony. (Jeoff and Cissy didn't like alcohol, and Frédérique was feeling a bit better by then, but still glowered when Puck innocently offered him a bottle. For some reason, Gill refused too, although she usually wasn't one to turn down booze.) The atmosphere was good, like a little field trip of their own. It almost felt like a rude interruption when the guests finally appeared, and the fact that they'd arrived earlier than expected was a little annoying, since the chefs weren't ready to serve.
At the head of the pack was Aurélien, and Puck realized that Kurt had fallen a bit behind the group, which was odd: usually when he was in Kurt's presence, Aurélien rarely stood further than three steps away. Puck's mind quickly put that observation aside and went back to the main problem at hand: the food. The guests were looking hungry after their walk, and the meat was still roasting, so he gave orders to start the tempura, in order to partially fill their stomachs and keep them waiting. There would be a substantial gap in time between the entrée and the main dish, but it couldn't be helped; at least they wouldn't be dying of hunger. Puck left managing the front-of-house to Gill and Anthony, and as they served the dishes and explained to each table how to use the ponzu sauce that went with the tempura, Puck's attention went back to Kurt. He couldn't help but notice something was off in Kurt's interaction with Aurélien's friends; it was almost imperceptible, the way Kurt seemed left out of most conversations. He would open his mouth now and then, say something, smile, nod, but there was no sustained exchange with anyone around him, no dialogue per se.
When all the tempura disappeared, alcohol kept being poured in quantities that seemed endless, to the chefs' relief: the drunker the guests got, the less they were likely to complain about the tardiness of the main dish.
Kurt didn't drink, a fact that seemed to reinforce his isolation even further. At some point, he caught Puck looking at him and left his table to join the chef behind the Weber grill he was trying to light up.
"Hey," Puck said when Kurt was beside him. "How was the hike?"
"It was okay, I guess," Kurt replied airily, then his face broke into a smile as he changed the subject. "What's with the Riddick look?" .
"Oh no, not you too," he grumbled, rolling his eyes behind the tinted glasses, then paused. "Wait... you actually know who Riddick is?"
"What, I'm too gay to have seen Pitch Black, is that what you're trying to say?"
"Whoa, whoa, easy. Not trying to say anything. Dude, why so bitchy all of a sudden? I thought you and I were cool."
Kurt closed his eyes and took a breath.
"Forget that," he said, suddenly looking younger. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little..."
"It's okay, I get it. Never mind. Want a beer?"
"Thanks, but no. I'm not convinced that high altitude and alcohol mix together well. How's the cooking going?"
"Well, the lamb's coming along, and it shouldn't be too long before we serve. And thanks to the mix of alcohol and high altitude -" Puck pointed at the inebriated guests with his chin "- nobody's noticed that it's not on their plates yet."
From the corner of his eye, he caught a fleeting expression on Kurt's face, when he looked where Puck was pointing. Something that looked a lot like disgust.
"Is the lamb kosher?" Kurt asked out of the blue, the question incongruous enough for Puck to cock an eyebrow at him.
"I... dunno. Maybe. You didn't tell me you had Jews among your guests, so I didn't..."
"Oh, no, none of them is. I was just curious about you."
"You mean, if I'm okay with handling non-kosher meat in my cooking? Wouldn't be worth shit as a chef of French cuisine if I did take Kashrut seriously, would I? It'd be like a supermodel who refused to pose naked no matter what."
"I don't know. You could have... principles, and stick to them no matter what."
Puck didn't answer right away; he waited for the flame to catch in the coals, then shrugged.
"I do have principles; I don't have to be a bigot to be able to afford them. Also, have you ever tasted authentic Jewish food, I mean, the strict thing? It's terrible. Like you would have hired me if I dared serve you any of that."
Kurt laughed a little, conceding a point.
"Excuse me for asking, but you did date the Fashion Police's most wanted criminal, Miss Rachel Berry, in high school, and the word got around that you only did it because she was Jewish, too. It sounded pretty extreme to me at the time, even if now you don't seem too big on religion anymore."
Puck grimaced.
"I thought we weren't suppose to mention all the stupid shit I did as a kid."
"I don't remember agreeing to anything of the sort."
"Anyway," Puck continued, ignoring him, "when you're studying cooking in France, you're not allowed to say you won't cook and taste pork products because of a petty excuse like 'religion'. Man, my teachers would've cut me. Some of the chefs there... believe me, they could make a grown man cry."
He actually felt a shiver remembering Chef Boisserie's memorable 30-minutes long rant about how Puck was a failure as a chef and worth less than garbage, just because he couldn't get the hand-turn and the timing right, the first time he ever made poached eggs.
"Did they manage to make you?" Kurt asked with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Who do you think you're talking to? I'm badass, man."
Kurt's mouth formed a perfect "o" of surprise.
"Oh my gosh, they did, didn't they?"
"Yeah, okay, it's because there was this chef once... Hey, stop laughing, Kurt, I'm serious. You wouldn't have believed that guy's level of bitchiness; leagues over yours, you'd look downright cuddly next to him."
"Oh, that bad, huh."
"Yeah. But the teachers weren't the worst part, actually. Their job was to kick our asses, after all. It was the other students that made it harder than necessary for me. It's bad enough when you're alone in a foreign country, you barely speak the language and you're always broke - you really don't need people calling you 'McDonald's' and saying stuff like 'just put ketchup and barbecue sauce on everything to make it taste better, what do your people know about cuisine anyway?' when you're trying your hardest on top of that."
He didn't look at Kurt, pretending to concentrate on the flames, which was never hard to do, but he still heard shock in the silence that followed.
"So what you're telling me is you've been... bullied," Kurt said slowly, as if trying to wrap his head around the idea.
"Karma's a bitch, right?" Puck snorted. "If it was still high school, I guess I could've thrown some punches. Only there, it wasn't my turf. It was just words, but... Never really knew how to defend myself against those," he added with a self-deprecating smile, then lifted his eyes to look right at Kurt when he said: "I guess I know a little how you felt."
"Zis fucking guy," said a cheerful voice behind them. "Every time I leave him alone for two fucking seconds, when I come back I catch him trying to get into somebody's pants instead of doing his fucking work. I wonder how he even made it as a chef. My guess is, must have flirted his way to ze top, no? Ze lamb is ready, chef, and we," said Frédérique as he suddenly popped by Puck's side and bowed down with a flourish, "are awaiting your orders."
"Right," Kurt said in a voice so cold Puck could picture it like in a comic book, with icicles forming down his speech bubble. "I better go back to our guests. If you'll excuse me."
Puck cast a dirty look at the French pastry chef, who managed to look perfectly innocent as he cried, "What?"
*****
At the end of the meal, Kurt and Aurélien got into a heated conversation that ended up as a fight. Kurt screaming "you'll break your fucking neck! Are you out of your mind?" had the chefs and the rangers, who had been sitting down in a circle a little further away to eat their own lunch, stop all conversation and stare. Strangely enough, the other guests didn't seem to pay it much attention as they were gathering their stuff for the return walk. Either because they were too drunk to care or... maybe because they'd been expecting this, Puck mused. Tom got up with a resigned sigh, "I have the feeling I need to go see what this is about. Be right back."
When Tom walked up to the couple, inquiring what the problem was, Aurélien turned briskly and started talking very rudely to the ranger, who at first tried to calm the brat down, before his own tone of voice transformed into barely-restrained anger. Kurt explained something to Tom that seemed to make things worse; where they were sitting, the chefs couldn't exactly make out the words, but Puck saw Tom's stance go more and more rigid as the conversation went. The ranger kept raising his hands in front of his chest in a placating gesture as he explained something, then crossing them as a sign of prohibition, with vehement chin movements from left to right, but Aurélien was having none of it. He made menacing gestures with his index finger right under Tom's nose, speaking in a low voice that made him sound more dangerous than when he was shouting, then he looked like he expected an answer from Tom. The ranger held Aurélien's stare for a few seconds, then lowered his head and turned to march back to the chefs and his colleague, literally steaming with rage on his way. Kurt followed right after, hugging himself and looking very upset as he walked quickly behind the ranger.
"Layla," Tom barked to the blonde. "Come with me. We have a problem. Apparently, the pr... Mr, Marlowe wishes to go bouldering on the Chin with his friends."
"He what, now?!" Layla exclaimed, immediately getting on her feet.
"I know," Tom said with a sour look on his face. "There's no stopping him, and believe me when I say I tried. The little f... he's gonna do it anyway. Just contact HQ. We have no choice but try and keep all of them as safe as possible, until maybe the cavalry arrives."
Puck got up in turn, "Is there anything I can do?"
Tom took a moment to consider Puck's proposition and what it implied, taking in Puck's height and muscles, but then shook his head, running a hand through his hair in annoyance.
"Thanks man, but we'll handle it, Layla and I. Although... yeah, thanks, anyway."
Puck gave the ranger a short nod, then turned to Kurt who was standing nearby, trembling like a leaf.
"Hey," he said softly, putting a light hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"May I join you?" Kurt asked, looking up from the ground. His eyes were very wide and very blue. "Obviously, I'm not going with them, and I'd like to go back with you when the helicopters come to fetch you, if that's not too much of an inconvenience. In the mean time, is it okay for me to..."
"Sit down," Gill interrupted with a warm smile and a friendly hand gesture. "No need to be so formal around us. Puck was going to get his guitar out to sing a few songs while we're waiting for our ride back. I hope you don't mind a little blood trickling out of your ears. Nah, just kidding, he's not that bad."
Puck took the hint and went to fetch his guitar as Kurt sat down with the rest of the chefs. Aurélien and his friends were departing, accompanied by the rangers, and Kurt purposefully chose to sit with his back to them, not even sparing a look over his shoulder.
"I never knew Puck played the guitar," he told Gill.
"One of my many talents," said Puck, sitting back down. "Chicks loved it, back in Ohio. That, and my pussy-eating skills."
"Ew. Gross." Then Kurt blushed and he quickly turned to Gill. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."
"That's okay sweetie," Gill cut in cheerfully. "I know it's not about vaginas, I find him gross too."
Puck snorted as he quickly tuned his instrument. He started out with “Scar Tissue,” which he considered a classic for afternoons like these, softly crooning "with the birds I'll share this lonely view". “Your Arms Around Me” by Jens Lekman came naturally afterwards, another favourite of his, although the high notes of the chorus were a bitch for his range. At the end of the song, Frédérique complained that Puck was trying to put them all to sleep with his ballads, so Puck retaliated by singing Noir Désir's “L'Homme Pressé.” He rapped the verses in French almost as fast as the original singer, which made Kurt wide-eyed with astonishment. Puck secretly pleased at Kurt's reaction, even though he still stumbled upon a few words here and there. Frédérique joined him during the chorus, shouting more than singing, "Qui veut de moi et des miettes de mon cerveau?". Then Puck decided to keep on with quick-paced songs, and when they recognized the intro to U2's “Desire,” the girls squealed, as they were huge fans of the band - one of the many common points they'd bonded over when they were working in Florida. Puck aced it, and followed with “Havana Affair” for Anthony, who was more of a Ramones fan. From bits and pieces he'd gathered from Anthony's anecdotes, Puck knew the British cook had lived quite a dissipated youth before becoming the respectable-looking man he was today, but his love of punk rock was still going strong. After that, although he hadn't really rehearsed it before, Puck tried his hand at a “Tainted Love”/“You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)” mash-up, which came out pretty decent. However, Kurt still had some valid remarks to help improve it a little and he shared them with Puck once the song was over. Next came Johnny Cash's “Jackson;” to Puck's surprise, Kurt stepped in unannounced as he was about to skip June Carter's part. Their voices blended together beautifully, and Puck was even more surprised to find out he was enjoying himself singing with Kurt. The other chefs broke into enthusiastic applause when Puck stopped playing.
"So," Puck said to Kurt. "Far be it from me to imply anything, but... you know Riddick, you know your Johnny Cash... What the hell?"
"Please," Kurt replied with a roll of his eyes. "I saw Walk The Line just like everybody else and I simply bought the soundtrack. I mean, Joaquin Phoenix? Hot!"
"True enough," Puck conceded good-naturedly. Kurt threw him the same strange, unsettled look he'd had a few days ago in the Marlowes' kitchen, when Puck had admitted having more experience in the gay area than Kurt himself.
"Sing something else together," Cissy asked. "It's nice."
"Agreed," Gill chirped.
"Okay, one last song, then," Puck said. "Only, no show tunes."
"Damn," Kurt said. "That narrows my choice down to almost nothing. Kidding," he added when he saw Puck's eyebrows rising.
"Coldplay?"
"Oh, no," moaned Frédérique, dramatically dropping his forehead on his knees. "Now you want to put us to sleep again."
"Shut up, Frédo," Puck said. "So?"
"Which song?" Kurt asked.
"'In My Place?'"
Kurt giggled at that.
"You wish. A song with a message, how corny of you. You want to tell me something?"
"Maybe I do," Puck smirked.
"Okay, no. And not 'Trouble' either. How about, er... Do you know 'Swallowed in the Sea?'"
"Yeah, I think I do. Give me a minute to remember how the chords go..." Puck mouthed them silently, eyes staring into nothing for a minute, then, "Okay, we should be good to go."
As soon as they started singing, Puck realized it was a bad idea. The song didn't particularly describe anything he and Kurt had been through, but on some level, it felt too... intimate. Although he had to admit some of the lyrics did fit. Singing "I can only blame myself, you can only blame me", their eyes locked somehow, and Puck held Kurt's stare instead of looking away, held it until the very last lines:
You belong with me, not swallowed in the sea
Yeah, you belong with me, not swallowed in the sea
As the last notes of the guitar died out, there was no applause, only an appreciative silence amongst the chefs, which Gill was the first to break.
"It's a shame, though," she said thoughtfully, addressing Kurt. "That you won't be performing as a singer anymore. Are you really sure about that? It's so sad!"
Puck made a mental note to remind Gill to stop putting her big foot in her mouth so much when he saw Kurt's face shut down and heard him say, noncommittally, "I suppose so. But I had to make a choice. We all have to at some point in life, don't we?"
After that, the ex-singer didn't utter another word.
**********************************************************************************************************
Chapter Three part 2/3
:::::
Back to Chapter One part 1/2
Back to Chapter One part 2/2
Back to Chapter Two part 1/2
Back to Chapter Two part 2/2
:::::
Bonus to Chapter One: First amuse-bouche
Bonus to Chapter Two: Second amuse-bouche
***********************************
Bonus: Sleeping Giant Mix (on Youtube)
(this is not a real fanmix or anything, the songs aren't really meant to go together. It's just, you know, FYI, if you don't know the songs.)
Author: sevenswells
My betas. I love them: drgaellon and guilshad
Rating: This chapter will be NC-17! Holla~! Only this part is still R-ish
Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Puck/Kurt
Warnings/Spoilers: Food porn, and then some actual porn after that. No spoilers because it's an AU in which glee club didn't happen.
Comments: PLEASE DON'T KILL ME. This is part 1, part 2 and 3 will come later, 'kay? Again, this chapter is dedicated to my betas; they're really great and I can't thank them enough for the work they put in this. You rock, both of you. <3
In each part I try to put as much food and music (since this is still a Glee fic, yo) as I can, I feel there is a little less food and more music in this one. At the end of this post you will find a Youtube mix (just because it was simpler, never mind the videos that go with the songs, most of them are rubbish) with all the songs mentioned in here.
Word count: 4596 w.
The fuck if Puck knows how they've come to this. Never in a million years would he have imagined how much more fucked-up this situation could be. So far, everything had been going so great, too... up until the sleeping with Kurt bit. Now that was stupid, he'll concede, but Aurélien can't possibly know about it, now, can he? So why this whole giant mess, all of a sudden? Fuck.
Gill looks utterly lost and keeps searching Puck's face with her eyes, hoping he'll snap out of his speechlessness to finally take things in charge and start giving out instructions. Beatrix may or may not be having a panic attack somewhere inside the house, away from her employers' eyes. Kurt...
He wants to turn Kurt around so he can see his expression. All he sees is his tense back, arms brought up, suggesting Kurt may be hugging himself right now, or maybe just crossing his arms, pretending he doesn't care at all, watching his life, all his carefully laid-out little plans crumble in front of him, with the placidity of a statue.
Puck feels a pull, the strange need to reassure him, to tell him it's going to be all right. Except he isn't entitled to do that, not in front of an already thoroughly pissed-off Aurélien, anyway. Plus (as Kurt would agree, would even insist on it), what they did doesn't give Puck the right to take Kurt in his arms and kiss the pain away. It doesn't give Puck any rights at all, really.
Even if they had the possibility to go back in time, he wouldn't know how to fix this disaster.
A day is all it took for everything to come crashing down.
*******
Two park rangers were standing waiting as Puck and his team came out of their helicopter.
("By helicopter," Puck had repeated. "Seriously?"
"No motorized vehicles allowed on the park trails, which leaves us nothing but air transportation," Aurélien had replied, speaking rapidly, like a machine gun, ra-ta-ta-tat. "We'll be following the White Trail, which is a difficult path, so you won't be able to carry your equipment to the place where we'll be having lunch. Ergo, unless you have a better idea, by helicopter it is.")
The man, tall, brown-haired, fit, introduced himself as Tom, and the plump forty-something blonde beside him was Layla. They didn't seem too pleased to see them and Puck thought he might understand why; no-one could have imagined some rich, spoiled shithead would be eccentric and bratty to the point of exploiting a loophole in the park regulations and use two fucking helicopters for the sake of a simple picnic in the mountains. Add a little pressure from daddy's influence, and voilà! Six chefs with their equipment dropped of by air taxi to prepare lunch on the Chest of the Sleeping Giant, away from the official picnic areas that the plebs were usually content to use, a dozen noisy and obnoxious Ivy League wankers going on a hike with the hosting couple, and two pissed-off rangers specially dispatched to chaperone the mountain-climbing party and make sure the lamb that the chefs wanted to roast over the embers wouldn't set fire to the whole park.
In all honesty, Puck and his brigade weren't exactly trained for that kind of extreme set-up, and were he paranoid, he could have taken it as a deliberate attempt at sabotage. Except now that Puck, to his great displeasure, was starting to know the guy, he could testify Aurélien Marlowe was random enough come up with a plan like that without meaning anything to it: he'd wanted to do it just to show he could.
He wasn't completely right in the head, Puck could tell. It was subtle, and maybe Kurt and none of the others around him could see it, but it was there nevertheless; Puck recognized some of the symptoms Olivier used to display, only at a higher level. Most of the time, though, unlike Olivier, Aurélien could be trusted to behave properly around people, more or less. But the arrival of new guests, whom Aurélien knew from Yale, had him acting weirder than usual, like he was constantly verging on being hysterical.
As long as it didn't interfere with his job, Puck had decided it wasn't his problem. It was true that he and Kurt were getting along better since the engagement party, but he was a chef, not a psychiatrist: that would become Kurt's job after he married Aurélien. Until then, Puck would only have to fulfil his share of the contract and when they were done, he would never have to see the couple again.
The chefs had decided to arrive early because the lamb had to be cooked very, very slowly. Cissy and Gill were in charge of starting the fire under the watch of the two rangers, while Puck, Jeoff and Anthony were laying out the kitchen instruments and utensils they'd be needing on folding tables brought by the second helicopter. Additional tables and chairs were put up for the picnickers, who of course had to eat in the open air sitting on a chair, on proper plates and with proper cutlery; again, no matter what the plebs' picnic customs were, Aurélien and his posse obviously couldn't abide to sit their asses on the ground and eat finger food.
In no time, the improvised kitchen and picnic area were all set. The only technical problem the chefs had to face was putting back together the pieces of the Weber grill they'd brought along to roast the mini vegetables, but the intervention of their female grill experts quickly fixed that, after a few jokes about the male chefs tragically losing their masculine attributes.
Frédérique hadn't made a single move to help them, sulking as he was after the helicopter ride - Frédérique was afraid of heights, which also made him nauseous, and he was holding Puck personally responsible for his misery. He was usually fine with planes because he could knock himself unconscious with sleeping pills, but with a ride so short he'd had no choice but to suffer through it. He was sitting on the precious cooler boxes containing his latest creations, a few feet away from the comings and goings, looking too pale and too sick to be really angry.
Open-air, live-fire cooking was definitely a challenge, but the chefs were ready to embrace it. They'd jumped through many hurdles since the engagement party dinner: Kurt's press conference cocktail (Anthony's petits fours stole the show that time), Senator Marlowe's official brunch (Puck had had a trick up his sleeve for that one: zucchini and ginger jam, as well as a green tomato and cinnamon jam he had tasted many years ago at Paris's annual agricultural fair which he'd reproduced; along with his scones, it was a winning three-pointer), not to mention the more intimate and less official dinners and lunches they'd also had to cater for. So this picnic, as extravagant as it might be, had no reason not to be a success too.
The menu this time was somewhat simpler; squash and garlic flowers tempura, lamb shoulder with spring herbs cooked over the campfire, grill-roasted mini-vegetables and cauliflower couscous, and for dessert, apricot tarts and Frédérique's killer honey ice-cream sprinkled with caramel powder. The tarts had Frédérique's special twist to them, too: ground pistacchio in the pie dough, which added texture and a smooth nutty taste, which balanced the touch of acidity in the apricots.
The dessert constituted the only infringement upon Kurt's "seasonal and sustainable" request, since apricots were a summer fruit and June had barely even started, but they'd strictly been playing by the rules up until then, so Puck figured Kurt might forgive them for this little stretch, especially after he'd tasted the tarts. Aurélien did bitch about the tempura when they planned the menu, though, saying it was not typically French; Puck quickly shut him up by pointing out that vegetable flowers dipped in batter and fried were a hundred percent traditional in France - the tempura batter simply made them lighter and crispier than the traditional French crepe-style batter, nothing to put anyone's panties in a twist. He could feel Aurélien ready to throw a fit at that point, and he suspected Kurt's subtle influence in the fact that Charming finally gave in without too much of a scene.
As they were waiting for the hikers to arrive, the chefs kept busy with no particular rush. The sun was slowly rising to its zenith, shedding a pure, bright light on the mountain. As it gradually got higher, the light got harsher, forcing Puck to don his aviator sunglasses. Never missing an occasion for insolence, Gill started quoting a few famous lines from Pitch Black and The Chronicles of Riddick, causing Frédérique, still hunched on top of his cooler boxes, to snigger feebly. The whole brigade had watched the two movies at the three male chefs' house the night before, while eating pizza - not even homemade; it had been vile, frozen stuff, but they hadn't cared one bit. It had felt like a night off, and all in all, it had been a pretty good idea (Jeoff's, against all odds: the sauté cook was a total action movie geek and he had been positively outraged when the majority of the brigade admitted they'd never seen any of the Riddick movies).
As far as they were concerned, and thanks to the relaxing evening they'd had with Vin Diesel, the chefs were already having a good day. The temperature was not exactly warm but not cold either, just fresh and crisp enough to be called "invigorating". Aurélien, the lucky bastard, would actually get ideal weather for his stupid picnic - it seemed divine retribution was an overrated concept after all. The meat was roasting nice and slow, and Puck had made amends with Tom and Layla by sharing a few beers with the two rangers, along with Anthony. (Jeoff and Cissy didn't like alcohol, and Frédérique was feeling a bit better by then, but still glowered when Puck innocently offered him a bottle. For some reason, Gill refused too, although she usually wasn't one to turn down booze.) The atmosphere was good, like a little field trip of their own. It almost felt like a rude interruption when the guests finally appeared, and the fact that they'd arrived earlier than expected was a little annoying, since the chefs weren't ready to serve.
At the head of the pack was Aurélien, and Puck realized that Kurt had fallen a bit behind the group, which was odd: usually when he was in Kurt's presence, Aurélien rarely stood further than three steps away. Puck's mind quickly put that observation aside and went back to the main problem at hand: the food. The guests were looking hungry after their walk, and the meat was still roasting, so he gave orders to start the tempura, in order to partially fill their stomachs and keep them waiting. There would be a substantial gap in time between the entrée and the main dish, but it couldn't be helped; at least they wouldn't be dying of hunger. Puck left managing the front-of-house to Gill and Anthony, and as they served the dishes and explained to each table how to use the ponzu sauce that went with the tempura, Puck's attention went back to Kurt. He couldn't help but notice something was off in Kurt's interaction with Aurélien's friends; it was almost imperceptible, the way Kurt seemed left out of most conversations. He would open his mouth now and then, say something, smile, nod, but there was no sustained exchange with anyone around him, no dialogue per se.
When all the tempura disappeared, alcohol kept being poured in quantities that seemed endless, to the chefs' relief: the drunker the guests got, the less they were likely to complain about the tardiness of the main dish.
Kurt didn't drink, a fact that seemed to reinforce his isolation even further. At some point, he caught Puck looking at him and left his table to join the chef behind the Weber grill he was trying to light up.
"Hey," Puck said when Kurt was beside him. "How was the hike?"
"It was okay, I guess," Kurt replied airily, then his face broke into a smile as he changed the subject. "What's with the Riddick look?" .
"Oh no, not you too," he grumbled, rolling his eyes behind the tinted glasses, then paused. "Wait... you actually know who Riddick is?"
"What, I'm too gay to have seen Pitch Black, is that what you're trying to say?"
"Whoa, whoa, easy. Not trying to say anything. Dude, why so bitchy all of a sudden? I thought you and I were cool."
Kurt closed his eyes and took a breath.
"Forget that," he said, suddenly looking younger. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little..."
"It's okay, I get it. Never mind. Want a beer?"
"Thanks, but no. I'm not convinced that high altitude and alcohol mix together well. How's the cooking going?"
"Well, the lamb's coming along, and it shouldn't be too long before we serve. And thanks to the mix of alcohol and high altitude -" Puck pointed at the inebriated guests with his chin "- nobody's noticed that it's not on their plates yet."
From the corner of his eye, he caught a fleeting expression on Kurt's face, when he looked where Puck was pointing. Something that looked a lot like disgust.
"Is the lamb kosher?" Kurt asked out of the blue, the question incongruous enough for Puck to cock an eyebrow at him.
"I... dunno. Maybe. You didn't tell me you had Jews among your guests, so I didn't..."
"Oh, no, none of them is. I was just curious about you."
"You mean, if I'm okay with handling non-kosher meat in my cooking? Wouldn't be worth shit as a chef of French cuisine if I did take Kashrut seriously, would I? It'd be like a supermodel who refused to pose naked no matter what."
"I don't know. You could have... principles, and stick to them no matter what."
Puck didn't answer right away; he waited for the flame to catch in the coals, then shrugged.
"I do have principles; I don't have to be a bigot to be able to afford them. Also, have you ever tasted authentic Jewish food, I mean, the strict thing? It's terrible. Like you would have hired me if I dared serve you any of that."
Kurt laughed a little, conceding a point.
"Excuse me for asking, but you did date the Fashion Police's most wanted criminal, Miss Rachel Berry, in high school, and the word got around that you only did it because she was Jewish, too. It sounded pretty extreme to me at the time, even if now you don't seem too big on religion anymore."
Puck grimaced.
"I thought we weren't suppose to mention all the stupid shit I did as a kid."
"I don't remember agreeing to anything of the sort."
"Anyway," Puck continued, ignoring him, "when you're studying cooking in France, you're not allowed to say you won't cook and taste pork products because of a petty excuse like 'religion'. Man, my teachers would've cut me. Some of the chefs there... believe me, they could make a grown man cry."
He actually felt a shiver remembering Chef Boisserie's memorable 30-minutes long rant about how Puck was a failure as a chef and worth less than garbage, just because he couldn't get the hand-turn and the timing right, the first time he ever made poached eggs.
"Did they manage to make you?" Kurt asked with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Who do you think you're talking to? I'm badass, man."
Kurt's mouth formed a perfect "o" of surprise.
"Oh my gosh, they did, didn't they?"
"Yeah, okay, it's because there was this chef once... Hey, stop laughing, Kurt, I'm serious. You wouldn't have believed that guy's level of bitchiness; leagues over yours, you'd look downright cuddly next to him."
"Oh, that bad, huh."
"Yeah. But the teachers weren't the worst part, actually. Their job was to kick our asses, after all. It was the other students that made it harder than necessary for me. It's bad enough when you're alone in a foreign country, you barely speak the language and you're always broke - you really don't need people calling you 'McDonald's' and saying stuff like 'just put ketchup and barbecue sauce on everything to make it taste better, what do your people know about cuisine anyway?' when you're trying your hardest on top of that."
He didn't look at Kurt, pretending to concentrate on the flames, which was never hard to do, but he still heard shock in the silence that followed.
"So what you're telling me is you've been... bullied," Kurt said slowly, as if trying to wrap his head around the idea.
"Karma's a bitch, right?" Puck snorted. "If it was still high school, I guess I could've thrown some punches. Only there, it wasn't my turf. It was just words, but... Never really knew how to defend myself against those," he added with a self-deprecating smile, then lifted his eyes to look right at Kurt when he said: "I guess I know a little how you felt."
"Zis fucking guy," said a cheerful voice behind them. "Every time I leave him alone for two fucking seconds, when I come back I catch him trying to get into somebody's pants instead of doing his fucking work. I wonder how he even made it as a chef. My guess is, must have flirted his way to ze top, no? Ze lamb is ready, chef, and we," said Frédérique as he suddenly popped by Puck's side and bowed down with a flourish, "are awaiting your orders."
"Right," Kurt said in a voice so cold Puck could picture it like in a comic book, with icicles forming down his speech bubble. "I better go back to our guests. If you'll excuse me."
Puck cast a dirty look at the French pastry chef, who managed to look perfectly innocent as he cried, "What?"
*****
At the end of the meal, Kurt and Aurélien got into a heated conversation that ended up as a fight. Kurt screaming "you'll break your fucking neck! Are you out of your mind?" had the chefs and the rangers, who had been sitting down in a circle a little further away to eat their own lunch, stop all conversation and stare. Strangely enough, the other guests didn't seem to pay it much attention as they were gathering their stuff for the return walk. Either because they were too drunk to care or... maybe because they'd been expecting this, Puck mused. Tom got up with a resigned sigh, "I have the feeling I need to go see what this is about. Be right back."
When Tom walked up to the couple, inquiring what the problem was, Aurélien turned briskly and started talking very rudely to the ranger, who at first tried to calm the brat down, before his own tone of voice transformed into barely-restrained anger. Kurt explained something to Tom that seemed to make things worse; where they were sitting, the chefs couldn't exactly make out the words, but Puck saw Tom's stance go more and more rigid as the conversation went. The ranger kept raising his hands in front of his chest in a placating gesture as he explained something, then crossing them as a sign of prohibition, with vehement chin movements from left to right, but Aurélien was having none of it. He made menacing gestures with his index finger right under Tom's nose, speaking in a low voice that made him sound more dangerous than when he was shouting, then he looked like he expected an answer from Tom. The ranger held Aurélien's stare for a few seconds, then lowered his head and turned to march back to the chefs and his colleague, literally steaming with rage on his way. Kurt followed right after, hugging himself and looking very upset as he walked quickly behind the ranger.
"Layla," Tom barked to the blonde. "Come with me. We have a problem. Apparently, the pr... Mr, Marlowe wishes to go bouldering on the Chin with his friends."
"He what, now?!" Layla exclaimed, immediately getting on her feet.
"I know," Tom said with a sour look on his face. "There's no stopping him, and believe me when I say I tried. The little f... he's gonna do it anyway. Just contact HQ. We have no choice but try and keep all of them as safe as possible, until maybe the cavalry arrives."
Puck got up in turn, "Is there anything I can do?"
Tom took a moment to consider Puck's proposition and what it implied, taking in Puck's height and muscles, but then shook his head, running a hand through his hair in annoyance.
"Thanks man, but we'll handle it, Layla and I. Although... yeah, thanks, anyway."
Puck gave the ranger a short nod, then turned to Kurt who was standing nearby, trembling like a leaf.
"Hey," he said softly, putting a light hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"May I join you?" Kurt asked, looking up from the ground. His eyes were very wide and very blue. "Obviously, I'm not going with them, and I'd like to go back with you when the helicopters come to fetch you, if that's not too much of an inconvenience. In the mean time, is it okay for me to..."
"Sit down," Gill interrupted with a warm smile and a friendly hand gesture. "No need to be so formal around us. Puck was going to get his guitar out to sing a few songs while we're waiting for our ride back. I hope you don't mind a little blood trickling out of your ears. Nah, just kidding, he's not that bad."
Puck took the hint and went to fetch his guitar as Kurt sat down with the rest of the chefs. Aurélien and his friends were departing, accompanied by the rangers, and Kurt purposefully chose to sit with his back to them, not even sparing a look over his shoulder.
"I never knew Puck played the guitar," he told Gill.
"One of my many talents," said Puck, sitting back down. "Chicks loved it, back in Ohio. That, and my pussy-eating skills."
"Ew. Gross." Then Kurt blushed and he quickly turned to Gill. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."
"That's okay sweetie," Gill cut in cheerfully. "I know it's not about vaginas, I find him gross too."
Puck snorted as he quickly tuned his instrument. He started out with “Scar Tissue,” which he considered a classic for afternoons like these, softly crooning "with the birds I'll share this lonely view". “Your Arms Around Me” by Jens Lekman came naturally afterwards, another favourite of his, although the high notes of the chorus were a bitch for his range. At the end of the song, Frédérique complained that Puck was trying to put them all to sleep with his ballads, so Puck retaliated by singing Noir Désir's “L'Homme Pressé.” He rapped the verses in French almost as fast as the original singer, which made Kurt wide-eyed with astonishment. Puck secretly pleased at Kurt's reaction, even though he still stumbled upon a few words here and there. Frédérique joined him during the chorus, shouting more than singing, "Qui veut de moi et des miettes de mon cerveau?". Then Puck decided to keep on with quick-paced songs, and when they recognized the intro to U2's “Desire,” the girls squealed, as they were huge fans of the band - one of the many common points they'd bonded over when they were working in Florida. Puck aced it, and followed with “Havana Affair” for Anthony, who was more of a Ramones fan. From bits and pieces he'd gathered from Anthony's anecdotes, Puck knew the British cook had lived quite a dissipated youth before becoming the respectable-looking man he was today, but his love of punk rock was still going strong. After that, although he hadn't really rehearsed it before, Puck tried his hand at a “Tainted Love”/“You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)” mash-up, which came out pretty decent. However, Kurt still had some valid remarks to help improve it a little and he shared them with Puck once the song was over. Next came Johnny Cash's “Jackson;” to Puck's surprise, Kurt stepped in unannounced as he was about to skip June Carter's part. Their voices blended together beautifully, and Puck was even more surprised to find out he was enjoying himself singing with Kurt. The other chefs broke into enthusiastic applause when Puck stopped playing.
"So," Puck said to Kurt. "Far be it from me to imply anything, but... you know Riddick, you know your Johnny Cash... What the hell?"
"Please," Kurt replied with a roll of his eyes. "I saw Walk The Line just like everybody else and I simply bought the soundtrack. I mean, Joaquin Phoenix? Hot!"
"True enough," Puck conceded good-naturedly. Kurt threw him the same strange, unsettled look he'd had a few days ago in the Marlowes' kitchen, when Puck had admitted having more experience in the gay area than Kurt himself.
"Sing something else together," Cissy asked. "It's nice."
"Agreed," Gill chirped.
"Okay, one last song, then," Puck said. "Only, no show tunes."
"Damn," Kurt said. "That narrows my choice down to almost nothing. Kidding," he added when he saw Puck's eyebrows rising.
"Coldplay?"
"Oh, no," moaned Frédérique, dramatically dropping his forehead on his knees. "Now you want to put us to sleep again."
"Shut up, Frédo," Puck said. "So?"
"Which song?" Kurt asked.
"'In My Place?'"
Kurt giggled at that.
"You wish. A song with a message, how corny of you. You want to tell me something?"
"Maybe I do," Puck smirked.
"Okay, no. And not 'Trouble' either. How about, er... Do you know 'Swallowed in the Sea?'"
"Yeah, I think I do. Give me a minute to remember how the chords go..." Puck mouthed them silently, eyes staring into nothing for a minute, then, "Okay, we should be good to go."
As soon as they started singing, Puck realized it was a bad idea. The song didn't particularly describe anything he and Kurt had been through, but on some level, it felt too... intimate. Although he had to admit some of the lyrics did fit. Singing "I can only blame myself, you can only blame me", their eyes locked somehow, and Puck held Kurt's stare instead of looking away, held it until the very last lines:
You belong with me, not swallowed in the sea
Yeah, you belong with me, not swallowed in the sea
As the last notes of the guitar died out, there was no applause, only an appreciative silence amongst the chefs, which Gill was the first to break.
"It's a shame, though," she said thoughtfully, addressing Kurt. "That you won't be performing as a singer anymore. Are you really sure about that? It's so sad!"
Puck made a mental note to remind Gill to stop putting her big foot in her mouth so much when he saw Kurt's face shut down and heard him say, noncommittally, "I suppose so. But I had to make a choice. We all have to at some point in life, don't we?"
After that, the ex-singer didn't utter another word.
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Chapter Three part 2/3
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Back to Chapter One part 1/2
Back to Chapter One part 2/2
Back to Chapter Two part 1/2
Back to Chapter Two part 2/2
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Bonus to Chapter One: First amuse-bouche
Bonus to Chapter Two: Second amuse-bouche
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Bonus: Sleeping Giant Mix (on Youtube)
(this is not a real fanmix or anything, the songs aren't really meant to go together. It's just, you know, FYI, if you don't know the songs.)