(no subject)
Title: Fur Pie
Rating: PG (language)
Characters: Nicholas and Danny
Summary: Nicholas and Danny find a productive way to spend their time.
Notes: Painfully domestic. I decided to write fluff fic, and this is it. There is pie, and kittens, and kitchen snark. There is no, y’know, reason for any of the above. I just like pie. And kittens. And projecting. And the 'sit down and smile, fuckers' meme.
Danny stood in Nicholas’ kitchen. Like all cottage kitchens, it was a little pokey, and the little window didn’t do enough to let light in. And, like all cottage kitchens, it had been painted butter yellow and given frilly curtains in an effort to hide this fact. Nicholas had been given no choice in the matter. All it took in Sandford was a ‘Hey, do you have any idea how to get rid of mould? It’s just that there’s some in my kitchen-’. Next thing, you were confined to the garden with Andy’s uncles painting up the walls and other-Andy’s aunt making you curtains.
Danny had learned to live with the mould.
Danny had also - in his many years as first a mummy’s boy, and then in many years with his own kitchen to destroy - learned how to follow a recipe. He was good at chicken (which was just as well, because Nicholas didn’t eat red meat), and he was quite good at the associated vegetables. And - with the right equipment, and the right ingredients, and the proper motivation to spend a whole damn day constructing the fucker - he could make a decent pie.
Nicholas was leaning on the other side of the kitchen counter, peeling and coring apples, and doing a very good job of pretending that Danny was not, in fact, swearing at the mixmaster.
“You sure these apples are good?” he asked.
“They’re apples,” Danny replied, taking a brief break from the swearing. “They come from trees. How can they not be good? Organic and stuff.”
Nicholas considered this. “But how do you know if it’s a good tree?” he asked.
“It not being dead is a good start,” Danny shot back. “Having fruit on it in the first place is a good sign.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes, and narrowly missed taking part of his thumb off. “I’m from London,” he said. “Fuck do I know about trees?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” Danny said, “the end with the roots goes in the ground.” Nicholas frowned, and threw an apple core at him.
“I’m serious though. This place was empty for how long?”
“Long enough,” Danny replied, “that anything unhealthy would have died off already. I mean come on, it’s not like there’s anything bad in the soil.”
“It’s Sandford,” Nicholas replied flatly. “I’m a little more concerned about there being someone’s lost aunt in the soil.”
Danny paused. He and Nicholas stared at the apple harvest between them. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he said at last. “New topic.”
Nicholas frowned in thought, more of his mouth pulled to one side than a proper frown. Forehead a little wrinkled, but not creased. Danny watched him from the corners of his eyes.
“The litter problem?” Nicholas suggested.
Danny shook his head. “Save it for the council meeting.”
“Crude e-mails going around the station?”
“You’ve never read any of them.”
“True. Doris’ boyfriend?” Nicholas tried.
“We’ll gossip when they’ve made it a week.”
“What the hell you’re doing to my mixmaster?”
Danny frowned. “It’s buggered.”
“It is not, you just don’t know how to use it.”
“I’m using it fine. Now where the hell’s your wooden spoon?”
“Second draw, mind the can opener. Do you know who has cats in the area?”
Danny argued with Nicholas’ kitchen drawer before convincing it open with a kick delivered to the poor bottom draw. Collateral. “Cats?” he asked, digging around in the drawer, and scratching himself on the aforementioned can opener. “This thing is medieval,” Danny said, fishing it out and dropping it unceremoniously in the sink. Another quest into the drawer, and he was victorious. “Wait, why cats?”
Nicholas shrugged, carefully transferring apple segments from the cutting board to a pot on the stove with cupped hands. “Cats,” he repeated. “In the neighbourhood. They keep coming around, and I’m wondering who they belong to.”
Danny snorted, mixing the thick pre-pastry with strong arms. “If you want to get rid of them, just use the hose.”
Nicholas frowned. “I don’t mind them,” he said simply. “I just worry about them.”
Danny paused. “Aren’t you busy enough worrying about the rest of the town without adding cats to it?”
Nicholas shrugged, doing things with sugar and cinnamon. Nicholas was a rare kind of person who understood herbs and spices. It was also bloody annoying when you were trying to cook for him, and he kept trying to add rosemary to things. “If they don’t have homes they’re eventually going to go feral,” he said reasonably. “I can’t keep feeding all of them.”
Danny fought back the urge to groan. “You’re feeding them?”
Nicholas shrugged, stirring the pot with one hand, and gesturing vaguely with the other. Danny mentally added an apron. Blue gingham. “They come around when I’m making dinner,” he explained.
“And if you keep feeding them,” Danny said logically, “they’ll keep coming around. They’re just milking a second dinner out of you.”
“Well,” Nicholas said, and then realised he had nothing to add. He made up for it by sniffing carefully at the apples. “It’s just… there are these kittens.”
“Kittens,” Danny repeated flatly.
“Kitten,” Nicholas corrected. “It looks kind of scrawny.”
“It’s a kitten,” Danny replied. “It’ll grow into itself.”
Nicholas looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “You’re an expert on both trees and kittens now?”
Danny leant back against the counter, mixing idly as he returned Nicholas’ look. “More’n an expert than you, city boy.”
Nicholas pulled a face. “Are we going to have ice cream for this thing when it’s done?”
“I dunno,” Danny replied. “It’s your house.”
Nicholas frowned, reaching over to open the freezer section of his fridge and refusing to step down from his stirring duties. Danny watched him stretch, tilting his head a little in line with the twist of Nicholas’ back.
“We’re good,” Nicholas replied, slipping back into place by the stove. “Do you think I’m stirring this too much?”
“Definitely,” Danny replied. “Put down the spoon, and step away from the cooktop.”
Nicholas flicked the spoon at Danny, missed entirely, and then spent a few minutes struggling to get stewed apple off the wall by the back door.
“It’s just really tiny,” he said at last.
“What? The ice cream?”
“No,” Nicholas said. “The kitten.”
“Well. Kittens are meant to be little, it’s part of the definition. I think this is mixed enough, did you butter the pie dish?”
“Buttered and ready,” Nicholas replied. “How much butter is there in a pie anyway?”
“It’s all butter,” Danny replied. “The rest is just a garnish.”
“This pie is going to kill me,” Nicholas said resolutely.
“I’m sure the kitten will understand,” Danny replied lightly. And then he caught a look at Nicholas’ face. “Uh, I mean, ‘what a way to go’?” Nicholas kept staring at him. It was that kind of hurt look with the big eyes and the eyebrows going all pathetic and his mouth determinedly trying not to look hurt. And it never failed to get to Danny.
“Look, the pie isn’t going to kill you,” he said reassuringly.
Nicholas kept looking at him.
“It’s a cat, Nick. It’ll be fine.”
Nicholas kept looking at him.
“Nick,” Danny whined.
Nicholas kept staring at Danny. His bit at his bottom lip, like he was trying to keep it from trembling.
“You fucker,” Danny exploded. “You absolute cock. Fine. Feed the cats, feed them all. Give them names and collars with bells and spend your evening knitting them tiny little demeaning jumpers.”
Nicholas grinned, the heartbroken look vanishing like it was never there. “You’re so emotional, Danny,” he chided. “You’re probably right though. Most of those cats look like utter freeloaders.”
Danny frowned as he introduced pastry to pie dish. “Most?” he asked cautiously.
Nicholas gave him a look.
“You can’t go kidnapping someone’s kitten,” Danny replied flatly. “Some little schoolgirl is going to be heartbroken.”
“If she’s properly heartbroken, she’ll put signs up and I can return it,” Nicholas said promptly.
“How about you just stop feeding the lot of them, and if any still come back, you’ll know that they’re either very dedicated or homeless.”
Nicholas gave Danny a dubious look. “Wouldn’t that be punishing the homeless cats then?”
Danny sighed. “You’re only doing this because you’re becoming a crazy old man,” he said. “That’s what this is about. You just want something eccentric to write into your will.”
Nicholas leaned his hip against the counter, watching Danny pat the pastry into the pie dish. “I don’t think I could ever find anything more eccentric than you,” he said, bumping Danny with his elbow.
Danny smiled. “See? You don’t need a cat, you’ve got me around.” He leaned a little closer to Nicholas, inhaling the scent of raw pastry and stewed apples and Nicholas’ deodorant.
Nicholas leant against Danny, shoulder to shoulder. “I dominate enough of your time as it is,” he pointed out. “The neighbours are starting to talk.”
Danny grinned. “They’d be talking if you wasn’t dominating me. That’s what neighbours do.”
Nicholas shrugged, his upper arm rubbing against Danny’s, and shifted awkwardly. “You’re my best friend Danny,” he said honestly, the words sticking a little in his mouth. “But I think I just… I need more.”
Danny’s heart raced. “Yeah?”
Nicholas nodded. “Yeah.”
Danny leaned in closer. “Really?” he breathed.
Nicholas nodded, focusing on a stray strip of apple peel. Danny took a gentle breath, and tilted his head a little, mouth open.
“I’m getting a cat!” Nicholas said, slamming his fist down on the counter. Danny jumped, the pie dish rattled, and the moment was lost.
“Great,” Danny said, rolling his eyes. “I can feel the stirrings of jealousy already.”
Nicholas laughed, and took the apples away from the heat of the stove. “What do you think I should call it?”
Danny eyed off the pie crust. “’Main course’ seem like a good idea.”
Nicholas swatted at him with the tea towel. “I can see you’re going to be a big help,” he said. “Wait, hold still, you’ve got some… by your…” Nicholas had that intense frown on his face as he swiped his thumb at Danny’s lower lip, cleaning up some flour and butter. He slid his thumb in his mouth, and sucked it clean. “Mmm,” he said, eyelids lowered. “This is going to be a good pie.”
Danny leaned forwards, and pressed his lips to Nicholas’. “Tastes good to me,” he said - a little shakily - as he pulled back.
Nicholas blinked, and then grinned. Danny was nearly blinded by it. “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s get this pie on. And then we’ll have to find some way to kill time while it cooks.”
Danny grinned back.
Needless to say, the pie got burnt.
Rating: PG (language)
Characters: Nicholas and Danny
Summary: Nicholas and Danny find a productive way to spend their time.
Notes: Painfully domestic. I decided to write fluff fic, and this is it. There is pie, and kittens, and kitchen snark. There is no, y’know, reason for any of the above. I just like pie. And kittens. And projecting. And the 'sit down and smile, fuckers' meme.
Danny stood in Nicholas’ kitchen. Like all cottage kitchens, it was a little pokey, and the little window didn’t do enough to let light in. And, like all cottage kitchens, it had been painted butter yellow and given frilly curtains in an effort to hide this fact. Nicholas had been given no choice in the matter. All it took in Sandford was a ‘Hey, do you have any idea how to get rid of mould? It’s just that there’s some in my kitchen-’. Next thing, you were confined to the garden with Andy’s uncles painting up the walls and other-Andy’s aunt making you curtains.
Danny had learned to live with the mould.
Danny had also - in his many years as first a mummy’s boy, and then in many years with his own kitchen to destroy - learned how to follow a recipe. He was good at chicken (which was just as well, because Nicholas didn’t eat red meat), and he was quite good at the associated vegetables. And - with the right equipment, and the right ingredients, and the proper motivation to spend a whole damn day constructing the fucker - he could make a decent pie.
Nicholas was leaning on the other side of the kitchen counter, peeling and coring apples, and doing a very good job of pretending that Danny was not, in fact, swearing at the mixmaster.
“You sure these apples are good?” he asked.
“They’re apples,” Danny replied, taking a brief break from the swearing. “They come from trees. How can they not be good? Organic and stuff.”
Nicholas considered this. “But how do you know if it’s a good tree?” he asked.
“It not being dead is a good start,” Danny shot back. “Having fruit on it in the first place is a good sign.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes, and narrowly missed taking part of his thumb off. “I’m from London,” he said. “Fuck do I know about trees?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” Danny said, “the end with the roots goes in the ground.” Nicholas frowned, and threw an apple core at him.
“I’m serious though. This place was empty for how long?”
“Long enough,” Danny replied, “that anything unhealthy would have died off already. I mean come on, it’s not like there’s anything bad in the soil.”
“It’s Sandford,” Nicholas replied flatly. “I’m a little more concerned about there being someone’s lost aunt in the soil.”
Danny paused. He and Nicholas stared at the apple harvest between them. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he said at last. “New topic.”
Nicholas frowned in thought, more of his mouth pulled to one side than a proper frown. Forehead a little wrinkled, but not creased. Danny watched him from the corners of his eyes.
“The litter problem?” Nicholas suggested.
Danny shook his head. “Save it for the council meeting.”
“Crude e-mails going around the station?”
“You’ve never read any of them.”
“True. Doris’ boyfriend?” Nicholas tried.
“We’ll gossip when they’ve made it a week.”
“What the hell you’re doing to my mixmaster?”
Danny frowned. “It’s buggered.”
“It is not, you just don’t know how to use it.”
“I’m using it fine. Now where the hell’s your wooden spoon?”
“Second draw, mind the can opener. Do you know who has cats in the area?”
Danny argued with Nicholas’ kitchen drawer before convincing it open with a kick delivered to the poor bottom draw. Collateral. “Cats?” he asked, digging around in the drawer, and scratching himself on the aforementioned can opener. “This thing is medieval,” Danny said, fishing it out and dropping it unceremoniously in the sink. Another quest into the drawer, and he was victorious. “Wait, why cats?”
Nicholas shrugged, carefully transferring apple segments from the cutting board to a pot on the stove with cupped hands. “Cats,” he repeated. “In the neighbourhood. They keep coming around, and I’m wondering who they belong to.”
Danny snorted, mixing the thick pre-pastry with strong arms. “If you want to get rid of them, just use the hose.”
Nicholas frowned. “I don’t mind them,” he said simply. “I just worry about them.”
Danny paused. “Aren’t you busy enough worrying about the rest of the town without adding cats to it?”
Nicholas shrugged, doing things with sugar and cinnamon. Nicholas was a rare kind of person who understood herbs and spices. It was also bloody annoying when you were trying to cook for him, and he kept trying to add rosemary to things. “If they don’t have homes they’re eventually going to go feral,” he said reasonably. “I can’t keep feeding all of them.”
Danny fought back the urge to groan. “You’re feeding them?”
Nicholas shrugged, stirring the pot with one hand, and gesturing vaguely with the other. Danny mentally added an apron. Blue gingham. “They come around when I’m making dinner,” he explained.
“And if you keep feeding them,” Danny said logically, “they’ll keep coming around. They’re just milking a second dinner out of you.”
“Well,” Nicholas said, and then realised he had nothing to add. He made up for it by sniffing carefully at the apples. “It’s just… there are these kittens.”
“Kittens,” Danny repeated flatly.
“Kitten,” Nicholas corrected. “It looks kind of scrawny.”
“It’s a kitten,” Danny replied. “It’ll grow into itself.”
Nicholas looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “You’re an expert on both trees and kittens now?”
Danny leant back against the counter, mixing idly as he returned Nicholas’ look. “More’n an expert than you, city boy.”
Nicholas pulled a face. “Are we going to have ice cream for this thing when it’s done?”
“I dunno,” Danny replied. “It’s your house.”
Nicholas frowned, reaching over to open the freezer section of his fridge and refusing to step down from his stirring duties. Danny watched him stretch, tilting his head a little in line with the twist of Nicholas’ back.
“We’re good,” Nicholas replied, slipping back into place by the stove. “Do you think I’m stirring this too much?”
“Definitely,” Danny replied. “Put down the spoon, and step away from the cooktop.”
Nicholas flicked the spoon at Danny, missed entirely, and then spent a few minutes struggling to get stewed apple off the wall by the back door.
“It’s just really tiny,” he said at last.
“What? The ice cream?”
“No,” Nicholas said. “The kitten.”
“Well. Kittens are meant to be little, it’s part of the definition. I think this is mixed enough, did you butter the pie dish?”
“Buttered and ready,” Nicholas replied. “How much butter is there in a pie anyway?”
“It’s all butter,” Danny replied. “The rest is just a garnish.”
“This pie is going to kill me,” Nicholas said resolutely.
“I’m sure the kitten will understand,” Danny replied lightly. And then he caught a look at Nicholas’ face. “Uh, I mean, ‘what a way to go’?” Nicholas kept staring at him. It was that kind of hurt look with the big eyes and the eyebrows going all pathetic and his mouth determinedly trying not to look hurt. And it never failed to get to Danny.
“Look, the pie isn’t going to kill you,” he said reassuringly.
Nicholas kept looking at him.
“It’s a cat, Nick. It’ll be fine.”
Nicholas kept looking at him.
“Nick,” Danny whined.
Nicholas kept staring at Danny. His bit at his bottom lip, like he was trying to keep it from trembling.
“You fucker,” Danny exploded. “You absolute cock. Fine. Feed the cats, feed them all. Give them names and collars with bells and spend your evening knitting them tiny little demeaning jumpers.”
Nicholas grinned, the heartbroken look vanishing like it was never there. “You’re so emotional, Danny,” he chided. “You’re probably right though. Most of those cats look like utter freeloaders.”
Danny frowned as he introduced pastry to pie dish. “Most?” he asked cautiously.
Nicholas gave him a look.
“You can’t go kidnapping someone’s kitten,” Danny replied flatly. “Some little schoolgirl is going to be heartbroken.”
“If she’s properly heartbroken, she’ll put signs up and I can return it,” Nicholas said promptly.
“How about you just stop feeding the lot of them, and if any still come back, you’ll know that they’re either very dedicated or homeless.”
Nicholas gave Danny a dubious look. “Wouldn’t that be punishing the homeless cats then?”
Danny sighed. “You’re only doing this because you’re becoming a crazy old man,” he said. “That’s what this is about. You just want something eccentric to write into your will.”
Nicholas leaned his hip against the counter, watching Danny pat the pastry into the pie dish. “I don’t think I could ever find anything more eccentric than you,” he said, bumping Danny with his elbow.
Danny smiled. “See? You don’t need a cat, you’ve got me around.” He leaned a little closer to Nicholas, inhaling the scent of raw pastry and stewed apples and Nicholas’ deodorant.
Nicholas leant against Danny, shoulder to shoulder. “I dominate enough of your time as it is,” he pointed out. “The neighbours are starting to talk.”
Danny grinned. “They’d be talking if you wasn’t dominating me. That’s what neighbours do.”
Nicholas shrugged, his upper arm rubbing against Danny’s, and shifted awkwardly. “You’re my best friend Danny,” he said honestly, the words sticking a little in his mouth. “But I think I just… I need more.”
Danny’s heart raced. “Yeah?”
Nicholas nodded. “Yeah.”
Danny leaned in closer. “Really?” he breathed.
Nicholas nodded, focusing on a stray strip of apple peel. Danny took a gentle breath, and tilted his head a little, mouth open.
“I’m getting a cat!” Nicholas said, slamming his fist down on the counter. Danny jumped, the pie dish rattled, and the moment was lost.
“Great,” Danny said, rolling his eyes. “I can feel the stirrings of jealousy already.”
Nicholas laughed, and took the apples away from the heat of the stove. “What do you think I should call it?”
Danny eyed off the pie crust. “’Main course’ seem like a good idea.”
Nicholas swatted at him with the tea towel. “I can see you’re going to be a big help,” he said. “Wait, hold still, you’ve got some… by your…” Nicholas had that intense frown on his face as he swiped his thumb at Danny’s lower lip, cleaning up some flour and butter. He slid his thumb in his mouth, and sucked it clean. “Mmm,” he said, eyelids lowered. “This is going to be a good pie.”
Danny leaned forwards, and pressed his lips to Nicholas’. “Tastes good to me,” he said - a little shakily - as he pulled back.
Nicholas blinked, and then grinned. Danny was nearly blinded by it. “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s get this pie on. And then we’ll have to find some way to kill time while it cooks.”
Danny grinned back.
Needless to say, the pie got burnt.