CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS // UNDERAGE Prompt Post // November 1-15
This post is for ANY AND ALL UNDERAGE PROMPTS. This means any pairing where one or both persons are under the age of 18.
PROMPTS AND FILLS MENTIONING REAL PERSONS CURRENTLY UNDER THE AGE OF 18 ARE BANNED.
They can not be aged up or mentioned in passing. Use OCs or someone else to fill the void.
ART DEPICTING UNDERAGED PERSONS IN ANY SITUATION IS ( Read more... )
PROMPTS AND FILLS MENTIONING REAL PERSONS CURRENTLY UNDER THE AGE OF 18 ARE BANNED.
They can not be aged up or mentioned in passing. Use OCs or someone else to fill the void.
ART DEPICTING UNDERAGED PERSONS IN ANY SITUATION IS ( Read more... )
Jensen was in his Molecular Gastronomy class, which he could have taught. They were experimenting with foams, clouds and other similar things. He was working a recipe for a coconut cloud, which he planned to float over a passionfruit coulis in a kind of deconstructed pavlova. His instructor came up to him once the whipping process was complete.
"Jensen," he said.
"Yes, Chef?"
They always called their instructors chef, as a respect thing.
"The school was asked to nominate one student to travel to the Food Network Omega Invitational. Talking with the other instructors, our only choice was clear. So how about it? You want to fly to New York and compete? Unfortunately, the school can't help with travel expenses any, but there's no entrance fee. And I understand if you make the demi finals, you'll have at least some television coverage and the network reimburses for travel expenses. It'll be the toughest competition ever. You'll be going up against the kids like you, who slashed their way through the city and state competitions. But I think you're up for the challenge."
"I'll have to ask my parents," Jensen said, even though he knew already that hell yes he was going to New York. The Food Network Omega Invitational was the cooking competition. It was the best of the best. It was televised. The winner got a huge prize. It would be almost as good as winning Supernatural Kitchen.
"I'm sure you'll do us proud, Jensen."
***
Jensen stared at the pile of food stuffs, not quite able to believe what he'd been presented with and that would have to be incorporated into the next round of the competition. The first couple of rounds, the secret, required ingredients had been easy. The first round of the invitational had honey as the required element. The next round had had rice. The demi final round had been a little hairier. There'd been a camera in his face half the time and he'd had to figure out how to use different kinds of eggs, from huge green emu eggs to itty bitty quail eggs. The semi final had presented them with an aquarium's worth of various shellfish and other sea life, no fish though. Just weird stuff like sea urchins.
The final round was impossible. They'd been presented with a hamper and told, "The theme for this round is holidays. So you've been given a basket of typical American holiday foods, from a variety of holidays. Use as many of them as you can, as imaginatively as you can. All the hampers have the same ingredients, and as usual, you have equal access to the pantry and equipment. In an hour and a half, you'll need to prepare four courses- an amuse bouche, a soup, an entree and a desert. Go."
And in the hamper had been: a can of pumpkin, like people used for pies. Candy canes. Marshmallow Peeps- the bright yellow chicks. Dried ginger and cinnamon spices. A big box of matzoh. Chocolate. Those fried onions in a canister. Powdered gelatin. He decided he was grateful that it was plain gelatin and not artificially flavored Jello. And to top it all off, a couple of cans of jellied cranberry sauce.
He dug through the hamper, no clue what he was going to do, nearly at the point of panic as he saw that his competitors were already digging into the shelves of the pantry for other ingredients to round out the ones in the hamper. If he didn't get going soon, he'd be stuck with the dregs. They seemed to limit the amount of prime ingredients that would make anything taste good, like cream and butter.
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The desert course, super easy. He saw the matzoh and knew that he had to make something his Mom made every year called "Christmas Crack." Basically a cheater toffee with matzoh, caramelized sugar and chocolate. He couldn't stop there, of course. He was thinking a terrine of candy cane ice cream with layers of pulverized Christmas Crack. Served with a coulis of some kind, plus topped with a chocolate foam. He could instantly freeze the ice cream in nitrogen.
He headed for the equipment pantry first, so he could get dibs on the tools he'd need. The only equipment of their own that they'd been allowed to bring was their knife set. He grabbed a cart. First, he found the only canister of liquid nitrogen that was available, just moments before another Omega reached for it. Then he had to make sure to get a couple of the whipping canisters, plus an extra nitro cartridge, just in case. He grabbed a garnishing set, and just because it was right in front of him, a set of mini cookie cutters, not sure what he would do with them.
By the time he got to the food pantry, it was kind of depleted. He managed to get his hands on some salmon though. There was a lot of goat cheese left for some reason. He decided on his amuse bouche when he saw it- goat cheese panna cotta, making use of his gelatin. He could garnish it with a thin slice of the cranberry jelly, cut with the little cutters. There was no butter left, but he found walnut oil. Cream, thankfully, was available, but not much. He'd have to keep it for the chocolate foam and ice cream, and use something else for his soup. By the time he got to the meat and fish cooler, all that was left was a kind of sad looking piece of salmon. He grabbed everything else he could and got back to his kitchen. The clock was ticking and he didn't have much time to make four courses.
***
Jared hated these kind of things. Sitting at a desk under the hot lights for hours, trying bite after bite of food from dozens of indifferent plates. Yes, the food was uniformly good. It had to be at this level of competition. The competitors were Omegas who'd had years of cooking competitions at varying levels under their belt. Most had gone to culinary school since they were young. Almost everything was glaringly, boringly competent.
But very little of it was special. Nothing stood out. Much of it was bland, as if the cook was afraid to over spice. Or alternatively, all he could taste was the salt. There was one very unfortunate dish where the boy had tried to make a 'turkey steak au poivre" that just burned his sinuses with the pepper.
Next to him Ina and Giada, the other celebrity judges, politely took little bites of the various dishes in front of them, made notes on the forms. They were very serious and if the cameras were put their way, they made polite little comments on the subtle way the dish used the ingredients.
But the camera was put into Jared's face just the instant he took another bite of the unfortunate turkey au poivre and discovered that the competitor had added both the ginger and cinnamon to the crushed black peppercorns. He forced himself to swallow it down, because Jared didn't let any food get the better of him, especially not on national TV, but he coughed and had to grab for a glass of water.
"It's wretched. I'm not sure what to do with myself," he said. "This is normally the point where I start throwing things and shouting."
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Giada didn't know him. She said, "That's frightening. Anyway, the dish is very unique."
"It does only make use of two of the ingredients in the basket," Ina pointed out.
"It's rubbish," Anthony pointed out. Jared might have hated Anthony, but at least they saw eye to eye on a lot of things. The restaurant business was an Alpha world and they both made no bones about that. Anthony might have thrown a pot or two in his day too. "Garbage. Worst dish I've tasted in this competition."
They all finished tasting the other dishes and marking their forms. Then the production assistants scuttled onto the stage and bore away the remnants of the dishes.
"So, find your Omega yet?" Anthony asked. "You're getting a little long in the tooth to be waiting for the perfect one."
"And I want to take mating advice from you why?"
Anthony was infamous. He'd made and broken four mating contracts in the last ten years. He was still alone and as he might have pointed out, a good bit longer in the tooth than Jared. The last one was with a ten year old boy from Thailand.
Finally, the production assistants brought the last cart with another hopeful Omega's dishes, the last of the six competitors left at this stage of the contest. The plating, at least, was flawless. It appealed to the eye immediately, with precision, contrast and color. The first dish, the amuse bouche, was a little white bombe, flecked with a fine mince of green chives. The Omega had taken the jellied cranberry sauce, sliced it thin then made a small cut out in a flower shape to decorate it. Nothing further was needed to decorate. Anything else would have been overdone.
"What's this?" Jared asked, reaching for the card. Goat cheese panna cotta with a garnish of chives and cranberry jelly. He was doubtful, but took a spoon to it. The instant it hit his mouth, he knew he'd found something magnificent. Goat cheese could be kind of chalky and astringent, but this was smooth, silky, yet keeping the tartness of the goat cheese. The cranberry jelly was just the right amount of sweet and tart. An amuse bouche was never more than a bite or two. Some people portioned them too large, making them into outright appetizers. But this, this was just the right amount to flirt with the taste buds. Jared scraped the plate clean, then reached for Anthony's portion and nearly got a fork in the hand for his trouble. Luckily, Ina was nowhere near as fast and he snaked her's over to his side of the table, thanking God for his long reach. She'd taken one small, polite bite and was still mulling it over when she realized what he'd done.
"It is delicious, isn't it?"
"It truly stands out," Giada added.
"I'm not convinced," Anthony said. "It's a tease, a slutty little come on with no substance."
Next came the soup. "Pumpkin bisque with a garnish of cinnamon chocolate mole and walnut cranberry ice cream," Jared said, reading from the card.
"I normally hate this molecular gastronomy shite," Anthony said, but he dipped a spoon into his small bowl and he was quiet for a long time after that.
Just like the amuse bouche, the soup was outstanding. At first, he thought maybe it wanted some crunchy garnish, but then his spoon hit the swirl of ice cream. It wasn't, as he thought it would be, a sweet touch to the soup, but a savory one. There were small nuggets of perfectly toasted walnuts with slight hits of smoked salt, made bright by the tinier chunks of sweet tart cranberry jelly. The light texture made Jared think it had been frozen by liquid nitrogen, not an ice cream maker. The soup itself had none of the heaviness you normally expected with pumpkin. It had been lightened somehow. It was just gorgeous, the contrast between the hot soup and the frozen cream.
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Giada had greedily emptied her small bowl already and scribbling furiously on her form. She never had more than a bite or two of the food put in front of her.
Jared started to think that this Omega might be the one. The one who could cook circles around him. The one who he wanted to mate. The one whose food he wanted to eat when he came home from a long evening in front of a hot stove and bright camera lights.
He knew for sure when they were presented with the entrees.
It was a deconstructed, or reconstructed, or whatever you wanted to call it, version of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Sort of. But it was anything but traditional. There was a tournedos of salmon, with a ginger miso cranberry glaze, a timbale of, well, green bean casserole, with a persillade of fried onions, shallots and matzoh, garnished with a spherification of cranberry jelly, and a sweet potato foam, stabilized with gelatin, with a twist of brulee'd Peep.
Jared ate in stunned silence, letting the melange of flavors wash over his tongue. The cranberry spheres popped between his teeth, bringing a flash of sharp sweet to the smooth unctuousness of the timbales' eggy custard. The salmon was perfectly cooked, grilled crosswise, the glaze a flood of umami and spice. The sweet potato foam was a cloud of perfection, lightly spiced with cinnamon, just enough to warm the flavor.
Somehow, the food spoke to him of home and comfort, of holidays past and futures hoped for. It was like the Omega was speaking directly to him, somehow, about tradition and love. It wasn't a meal, it was a dialog.
He didn't even bother waiting around for the final course- the dessert. He stood up and said, "Where are this boy's parents? I want to offer a mating contract."
"Are you even serious? You haven't even seen the boy," Anthony said. "He's in the senior division in competitions according to his bio. He's probably a total troll. You don't get to senior division unmated without something very wrong with your looks."
"Perhaps you're being a bit impulsive, Jared," Ina said.
"No, not impulsive. I've been waiting for this moment for years. And yes, I'm serious. I don't care what he looks like. Anyone who can cook like this is an angel as far as I'm concerned."
They had to stop filming for a while, for the director to talk Jared into finishing up the judging and not head off looking for his soon to be mate right away. Between takes, he grabbed a quick call to his attorney, to draft up an mating contract and have it ready before the end of the shooting day. Then he addressed himself properly to the dessert his future mate had prepared.
It was a chocolate trio- three small deserts, one hot, one frozen, one room temperature. There was a small demitasse of hot chocolate flavored with cinnamon, ginger and pulverized smoked ancho peppers, topped with another twist of brulee'd Peep. There was a mini walnut, chocolate and cranberry tart. Finally, a candy cane cheesecake semifreddo with a crumb crust made from what was described as "Christmas Crack" dust and a ganache sauce. Normally, he hated the fancy plated multi sweet desserts. They were fussy and never as good as a whole as each component was. But this was different.
He groaned out loud as he ate, something he never did, but it was just that good.
"Do you need to be alone with your dessert, Jared?" Anthony asked.
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"This isn't love, darling," Anthony said. "It's pure lust and because Jared is the freak he is, he's getting a boner over chocolate and spice instead of supple limbs and pretty faces like he's supposed to."
"Perhaps we could focus on the contest," Ina said. She tapped the edge of her plate with the tine of her fork. "I have to admit, this is clearly superior to anything else put in front of us. I'm not sure I believe it was all prepared in such a short time by a teenager. A professional would be hard pressed to assemble a meal like this."
"He's from Texas," Giada said. "The Omega cooking competitions down there are brutal. They start them young. It can be like a pressure cooker at times. They're worse than beauty pagents."
"So our winner seems pretty obvious," Ina said.
"I don't know," Anthony said. "I was more impressed with the rissoles with chili cranberry-tamarind sauce. Competitor number three. They reminded me of street food in Indonesia. They had a very fresh, very authentic taste."
"Mine was burned and had had the burned parts scraped off, mostly. Parts of his meal were excellent, but overall it was a very uneven presentation. The plating was weak. Messy," Jared said, going over his notes.
"You don't get a vote anymore, Padalecki."
"No, he has a point. Yes, there were individual dishes here and there by other competitors that far exceeded each individual dish in competitor six's meal," Ina said. "But as the whole package, number six is it for me. Presentation, creativity, technique, use of the required elements, even keeping to the theme- its all there."
"I agree," Giada said. "I think the winner is obvious."
They had another break in filming, at least their segments. It looked like they were getting footage of interviews with the competitors. Jared made his way back to his dressing room to wait. By this point, Jared's attorney, Jeff Morgan, had made it to the soundstage where they were shooting the competition. He presented Jared with a standard contract and pre-nup.
He started explaining the contingencies, how Jared could back out and the consequences and then if the Omega or his family backed out. Once the mating would happen, if it broke up, regardless of the reason, the Omega wouldn't get much for the first couple of years, a hundred thousand per year of mating, plus child support for any pups born in the mating. Once they hit the five year mark together, the amount grew to a million, then, by the time they hit ten years, it was a equal division of property.
"So, he must be great beauty, to get you to agree to be tied down like this," Jeff said.
"I don't really know. But he cooks like a demon. Like he made a deal with the devil."
"I should have known you'd be brought down low by your stomach eventually."
Jeff laughed at him, but pushed more and more papers at Jared until they were all signed. "I'll go find his father and present your offer."
Eventually, Jeff returned, a couple of middle class, middle aged people in his wake, obviously the parents of competitor number six. The Alpha of the pair was clutching a bundle of papers, the mating contract.
"You're the Alpha that wants to mate my youngest son," the Alpha said. It wasn't a question, though it was implied that there was a chance Jared wouldn't measure up to what the man called an Alpha at all.
"Are the terms not acceptable?"
"I'm an attorney and I know boiler plate when I see it. My son is not a boiler plate Omega."
Jeff answered for him, thankfully. "Mr. Ackles, then you know this isn't a final offer. It's the first volley in a negotiation. Every mating contract ends up being unique as the individual's mating. Now, shall we determine what particular clauses are not acceptable, as is?"
"There needs to be a courtship period. We are not leaving our youngest son half way across the country in the custody of a man so much older and more powerful than him, who he's never spent so much as a minute alone with."
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"I know enough," Jared said. "I know I would eat this cooking every day for the rest of my life and I would be happy because of it. Jeff, whatever concessions they want, I'm pretty sure I'm on board with."
There was a knock on the door frame and then the production assistant just slid into the open door.
"Mr. Padalecki, you're needed back on set."
Jared didn't bother looking in the mirror. There was someone who would see that his hair was just so before he stepped onto the sound stage. "Jeff, you''ll get this nailed down for me, right?"
As they headed to the sound stage, the P.A. filled him in on what they would be shooting. The votes from the four judges had been tabulated and they'd be awarding first, second and third prizes. The first prize winner was number six, of course. Jared's heart did a little flip flop in his chest, a sign of nerves he hadn't had for years. He was going to lay his eyes on his intended for the first time. Back in the other room, hopefully Jeff would be hammering out the details and getting things worked out.
First there was the prepping and someone fixing his makeup and hair, then the director explaining what was expected from the next segment. Jared hardly listened to a minute of it. Then the third and second prizes were awarded and Jared said some things on camera and other people said things, but whatever they were, they slipped out of his memory right away.
Finally, his intended was brought out, squinting a little because of the bright lights. And he was beautiful, just like Jared knew he would be. You didn't cook like he had without being beautiful, just like Rembrandt's paintings were always beautiful. It was something that came from the soul, something beyond mere prettiness.
But the boy, Jensen was his name apparently, was pretty too. His eyes stood out first, big, deep and sparkling. He was a slender waif of a boy, almost overwhelmed by his white chef's jacket, a few tendrils of light brown, almost blond hair escaping from his black head wrap. His lips were lush and pink. He blinked in the direction of the judges and smiled slightly, just a little shy.
Not surprising he was a little reticent and shy. The competitors weren't told who their celebrity judges were until this point. Jared found himself liking it a little, that shyness. He wouldn't have said he'd wanted a submissive Omega, but one with a mild manner like this was appealing. Not that Jared would ever have wanted to go back to the days when Omegas were owned and sequestered only in the household, but he did like an Omega who behaved like an Omega. He wondered if Jensen had been told about the mating contract offer yet.
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I don't usually read WIP's and I didn't realize it was a WIP until I got to the end of what you've posted. I was very disappointed there wasn't more!!! That's a good thing though ;)
Great job and I'll be waiting patiently for more!
I do also have to say that I rarely read abo fics. Sometimes I'll take a peek just to check out the dynamics...and the cooking part of this prompt had me curious. I like the dynamics you chose with the omega able to refuse contracts and getting a say in their mates and that Jensen's parents advocated for him too despite who Jared was and his celebrity status.
I think a lot of what turns me off about some abo fics is that there is no choice, no say for the omega...they are at the mercy of nearly any alpha in all aspects. There's no mutual respect. I liked that that wasn't the case here.
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Jensen knew he must have won some kind of prize. They only paraded the prize winners in front of the celebrity panel. When they started talking at him about food, how the flavors in his dishes stood out, how his techniques were outstanding, he suddenly realized, he hadn't won just a prize, but the prize. He'd won. The days in a row, because he'd been cooking in this competition for nearly a week now at various levels, of hot lights and not enough rest, of being too nervous to eat or sleep, caught up with him suddenly. He started to feel lightheaded. Then the tunnel vision came. He could feel his knees grow week, then there was nothing, just dark.
When Jensen came to, he was lying on the floor of the set. His head was on a pair of legs and when he looked up, it was right into Chef Padalecki's face. He was lying with his head on Jared Padalecki's lap. He almost fainted again right then. He was mortified. He'd collapsed because of just the slightest amount of pressure, right in front of the man he idolized most. And now he was lying, head in his lap.
"Hey, you'll be okay. The set medics are on their way," Jared said. Jensen's head wrap had fallen off and Jared pushed the hair out of Jensen's eyes with a surprisingly gentle touch. Jensen was suddenly very okay with having fainted, because it had gotten him into the lap of this amazing Alpha. He was so huge and smelled so good. Jensen never wanted to leave this lap.
Too soon though, men in uniforms, with kits and a stretcher pushed their way through the crowd and took over. Jared surrendered Jensen over to their care. They took Jensen's vitals and stopped him from getting up even though he protested that he was feeling just fine now.
"It's probably just vasovagal syncope," the paramedic told him. "But just to be safe, we're going to take you to the hospital, run a few tests, okay?"
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"You did it, Munchkin," his Dad told him as they were taking a cab back to their hotel room.
Jensen leaned against his Dad's chest and sighed. Even though he'd supposedly won the contest, he'd also fainted on a national TV show and the footage was captured for all to see. Never mind that it had happened in front of a huge studio audience. He'd humiliated himself. He'd acted just like the stereotypical Omega who couldn't handle the pressure. It was worse than if he'd broken down in tears in the middle of the show.
"Is it too late to get out of the show and not be on TV?" Jensen asked.
His mom, on his other side, said, "Oh, Sweetie. You couldn't help fainting. Anyway, the producers said they expect a few Omegas to pass out every year. You did so good. They loved you. People were talking about offering you a show. And of course, there's the cookbook deal you got for your prize. And something even better."
It was only then that Jensen realized they had gone past the hotel they were staying at and past the studio.
"We've got an offer for a mating contract," his dad said. "It's a very good one. Very generous. You would be well cared for your whole life. I got the Alpha to agree to an unlimited courtship, so you wouldn't need to leave home right away, not until you're ready. I know people let their Omegas go to be mated as young as ten, but I just couldn't see you leaving home yet, Munchkin."
"We're going there now, for you to read it and see. To meet your Alpha."
Jensen could have just about cried. That wasn't what he'd wanted. Now that he'd been near Jared Padalecki, taken in his scent, rested his head in Jared'd lap, he knew that he didn't want any other Alpha, ever. It was stupid to think that it was Jared offering a contract. An Alpha like that could have any Omega he wanted. He wouldn't want some old maid Omega who was too weak to not faint when the rubber hit the road, who collapsed under pressure.
He'd probably gotten a contract from some fat, ugly cooking show producer.
"Do we have to do this now?" he said, knowing he sounded peevish. "I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep."
"No, of course not," his dad said.
"But you do want to eat, right?" his mom asked. "We're at the restaurant already. You don't even have to look at the contract tonight. Just have dinner and talk with the man a little. I think you'll be surprised and pleased."
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Because he wasn't going to take this mating contract or anyone else's ever. He knew who his mate should be now and it was a man who was utterly unobtainable. So he was going to be an old maid, which meant going back to Texas and never leaving his parent's house, until they died and he had to go live with an Alpha brother.
"Okay," he said. "I'll meet this guy, but I'm not making any promises."
"No one's asking you to do anything but keep an open mind, Munchkin," his dad said.
They walked in, past the fancy awning and mirrored glass doors into a cool, dimly lit space. There were bottle green walls, jazz playing softly on a good stereo system and leather sofas all around. It looked like some particularly hip bachelor pad. Dad was about to step up to the walnut wood desk where a very thin woman in very high heels was obviously the hostess, but then suddenly, Chef Padalecki himself entered from the dining room and rushed to great them. He seemed terribly eager and happy to see them. If he'd been a dog, it would have been one of those golden retrievers puppies that jumps all over people, tail wagging all the time.
"Alan! Danny!" he said. "I'm so glad you could make it after all. And Jensen is doing fine after his little adventure?"
"Jensen is fine. After this, we'll want to get him to bed, but he's got a clean bill of health," Dad said.
"C'mon in," Jared said. "C'mon. I've got our best table waiting. Jeff is here already."
The dining room was like the bar and entry area, with leather upholstered banquettes and walnut wood panelling every place that wasn't painted dark green. The music turned out to be a jazz trio of piano, standing bass and soft drums. Jared ushered them to a round booth near a lit fire place. A dark haired man in a casual suit sat the booth already, a pint of beer in front of him. Was that the man who'd offered the contract?
The wait staff was fantastic, because someone came over right away, bearing a bottle of what looked like champagne. Jared himself put a flute in front of Jensen. Dad made disapproving sounds and Mom said, "He's only fifteen."
Jared said, "Just one glass. I figure this is a particularly important occasion."
Why was Jared here and why was he celebrating Jensen getting mated to this old guy in the suit?"
The old guy in the suit said, "Has Jensen had a chance to read the final contract yet?"
"No, I haven't even seen it yet," Jensen said, not touching his champagne.
"Jensen spent the larger part of the evening in the emergency room," Dad said. "We won't be signing tonight, I don't think. You understand. Maybe the morning might be better."
"Agreed, no need to rush into this," the man in the suit said. He held his hand out to Jensen and said, "I'm Jeff Morgan, Jared's attorney. I helped him and your father draft the mating contract he's offering you."
"Wait? Jared wants me?"
"Yeah, I do."
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"I knew this wasn't a good idea," his dad said. "Let's get him back to the hotel. We can talk in the morning."
"I'm fine," Jensen said, not putting his head up yet, but turning his face to look at Dad and beyond him, to Jared, who was looking worried, mouth pressed together, no longer so much the golden retriever puppy. "I just don't believe it. Why? You never even met me before."
"Your food. I always said I'd mate the Omega who could cook rings around me and I found him."
"And that's me?"
Jensen felt stupid for repeating, but he couldn't quite wrap his brain around it. Jared. Wanted him. Jared who smelled like deep contentment and home and mate. Jared, who he'd had an impossible crush on for about as long as he could remember. Jared wanted him and wanted him so much that he'd offered a mating contract that had been called generous and that had an almost unheard of unlimited courtship period. Most of the ones that Jensen knew about were a year or less.
"It's you," Jared said. "Look. You don't have to decide anything tonight. I'm just going to go into my kitchen and I'm going to cook for you. What's your favorite cut? Or do you not like steak? I can do salmon, or lamb, or even a pork chop. We do a fantastic pork chop here."
"Steak is fine," Jensen said. "Ribeye?"
"Good," Jared said and their eyes met. Jared had the most amazing eyes. They seemed to be many colors all at once, green and gray with warm brown near the pupil. "I'll be back soon."
Mom and Dad seemed to slip into conversation easily with Jeff, about the contract, about legal stuff that slipped right over Jensen's head. So he acted like he had to go to the bathroom and slid out of the booth, and found his way to the kitchen. It was easy enough to find, and no one stopped him as he walked right through the swinging doors into the well light, white and stainless steel space.
Jensen wasn't sure just what he was expecting to see, maybe Jared shouting at the line cooks and making everyone's life hell, just like he did on his tv shows. Instead, what he saw was Jared Padalecki in total concentration, working fast and efficiently. His line cooks and the other kitchen helpers moved smoothly around him, plating, grilling, sauteing. They worked as a team that Jared happened to be the captain of. He wasn't throwing any pans or berating people. When needed, he seemed to speak softy to his crew. A waitress came in bearing a plate, apparently a customer not happy with the meal. Jared took the plate in stride, spoke a few, calm words to the waitress and then set about making a new plate for the customer himself.
Somehow relieved, Jensen slipped back out of the kitchen before anyone noticed him and made his way back to the booth. He was relieved. Because sure, the cooking shows, especially Jared's, romanticized the idea of the high strung chef screaming at his staff until they got it right, but his experience at L'Auberge Saigon and at school told him that the best kitchens were run with respect.
"Mom," he said, just loud enough to attract his attention. "I think I want to get to know Chef Padalecki better. I think I might want to sign that contract."
END
(unless anyone expresses interest in a porny epilogue)
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this was such an awesome fill.
I am totally grateful to you for writing it. And would definitely not say no to a sequel, porny or otherwise ;-)
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