Fic: Lemon Meringue Wedding Pie (1/1)
Title: Lemon Meringue Wedding Pie (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Alan/Ian
Continuity: Jurassic Park I (1993)
Genres: Fluff, Humor, Romance, Slice-Of-Pie, er, Life ;)
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Ian decides to learn how to cook.
Date Of Completion: June 24, 2015
Date Of Posting: December 4, 2015
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Amblin Entertainment and Universal Pictures does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1096
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
“I would die for pie.”
Clark Kent
Pulitzer Prize-Winning
Reporter For
The Daily Planet
2003 C.E.
It all started with Ian’s determination to learn how to cook. Bake, too. Both of them could prepare simple dishes: soups and sandwiches, hot dogs and hamburgers, and all kinds of salads, supplemented by fast food. They ate different food out on digs or in the college cafeteria, but one day Ian threw down his plastic fork in frustration. “I’m learning how to cook!”
Alan blinked as he looked up from his Salisbury steak. He was visiting Ian at Harvard and they were eating in the busy cafeteria. “You already know how to cook.”
“I mean real cooking, like chicken and fish and vegetables. And maybe a pie or two.”
“What’s got you all hyped up?” Alan took a sip of lemonade.
“Eating the same old foods.”
“You can’t cook here.”
“Oh, this cafeteria food’s all right.” Ian waved his hand. “I’m talking about at home.”
“Are you aiming for gourmet chef?” Alan asked in amusement.
“I could be!”
So Ian set out to learn how to cook new dishes. Alan was the guinea pig for the early disasters, like undercooked salmon or saffron rice stuck together. Ian steadfastly maintained that he could learn the culinary arts.
“After all, it’s just Chaos Theory with a spatula.”
“How do you figure that?”
“What’s more chaotic than cooking? A pinch of this, a dash of that…”
“But a restaurant specialty always tastes the same.”
“Yes, but they arrive at the results differently.”
“You’re full of it.”
White teeth flashed. “Just you wait.”
After the series of culinary missteps, Alan was glad to escape to his latest dig in the Badlands. Ian yelled, “Coward!” at his retreating back.
By the time Alan returned, Ian promised him gourmet goodness. The paleontologist entered the house.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!”
“I’m here in the kitchen, darling!”
Alan smirked. He waltzed into the kitchen. “Aww, you look so cute in your little apron.”
Ian was stirring a pot on the stove. He turned around with a smile. “Delicious.”
“The dinner or me?”
“Both.” Ian turned back again. “I took some cooking courses. I’ve got roast chicken in wine sauce, asparagus with hollandaise sauce and wild rice.”
“Gourmet, huh?”
“I’ll get there. Something simple to start with.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Alan grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. “I’m so hungry I could eat a boot.”
“Oh, this’ll be better than that.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Set the table, willya, babe?”
Alan smiled. “Okay, honeybunch.”
Ian swayed his lean hips. He opened the oven and checked on the chicken. Alan enjoyed the view.
Once the dining room table was set, Alan took a quick shower and was downstairs just in time as Ian carried in the hot dishes.
“Get the wine for me, will you?”
“Right.”
Alan brought in the bottle in a silver bucket of ice. The dining room was modest with maple table, chairs, and sideboard. The one extravagance was a small crystal chandelier. Sunlight streamed in through the window as Alan poured the wine. He lifted his glass.
“To you, Ian. May those cooking lessons have worked!”
“Smart-ass much?” Ian drank his wine.
Alan set his glass down after drinking. “Hey, I’m only going by prior research.”
Ian cut through his chicken and took a bite. “Okay, Smartypants, you’ll have to eat your words.”
“I thought I was Smartyhat.”
“Okay, Smartyhat, you’ll have to eat your words.”
Alan felt happy. Bantering with Ian was one of his favorite pastimes. He took a deep breath and ate a piece of chicken. His sky-blue eyes widened.
“Hey! This is good!”
Ian smugly picked up his wineglass. “Toldja, Smartyhat.”
Alan tried the asparagus and rice next. “Your cooking teachers are miracle workers!”
Ian scooped up some rice with his fork. “I’ll overlook that dig due to your brains being fried in the Badlands sun.”
“I’ll ignore that dig since I’m in no danger of needing my stomach pumped.”
“Oh, brilliant riposte, lover boy.”
Alan smirked while he ate.
& & & & & &
After dinner was over, Ian cleared the dishes. Alan relaxed in his chair. “Should I light a cigar and pour a snifter of brandy?”
Ian spoke from the kitchen. “You don’t smoke, and coffee goes better with dessert.”
“Homemade or bought at Giovanni’s?”
“I took baking lessons, too.”
“So, what’s the confection of the day?”
“You’ll see.”
Alan waited. The sun was setting, creating a beautiful rainbow of colors in the sky. This house of Ian’s was perfect for their needs: not too fancy but comfortable as befit a successful celebrity scientist. Ian’s lecture fees alone were lucrative, and he now had a contract to teach at Harvard for the semester, all of which was enough to keep him in cooking lessons for years.
Crazy guy, going off to learn how to cook. Alan smiled. He’s special, all right.
What was best was that big, comfortable double bed that he was looking forward to using tonight.
Ian appeared with two cups and a coffeepot. He plugged the pot into an outlet, placing the pot on a trivet on the sideboard. He returned to the kitchen while Alan poured the coffee. He took a sip. Ian had never needed a lesson to make coffee.
“All set. Here comes the piece de resistance.”
Alan’s eyes widened as he saw what was on the two plates Ian had carried in. Ian set the plates down.
Alan’s mouth watered. He picked hp his fork and took a piece of the dessert and ate it.
The taste of lemon filled his mouth with just the right amount of tartness. Light, airy meringue melted on his tongue. He closed his eyes in bliss.
My favorite. And so good!
“Marry me,” he breathed.
“Okay.”
Alan opened one blue eye. Ian was smiling as he ate his pie.
Let’s think this out logically. Ian could be joking, but he is rather fond of marriage. He doesn’t want kids. He’s already got three. We speak the same general scientist’s language and are learning each other’s fields. He looks sexy in an apron and he’s a great cook and baker. And he bakes a perfect lemon meringue pie!!!
He opened his other eye and poked his fork into the pie again, lifting a generous piece in salute. “To us!”
Laughing, Ian copied him. “To us!”
Maybe he would end up a future ex-Mrs. Malcolm, but he would worry about that if and when it happened. He ate his pie.
Maybe we can have it as our wedding cake.
web counter
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Alan/Ian
Continuity: Jurassic Park I (1993)
Genres: Fluff, Humor, Romance, Slice-Of-Pie, er, Life ;)
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Ian decides to learn how to cook.
Date Of Completion: June 24, 2015
Date Of Posting: December 4, 2015
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Amblin Entertainment and Universal Pictures does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1096
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
“I would die for pie.”
Clark Kent
Pulitzer Prize-Winning
Reporter For
The Daily Planet
2003 C.E.
It all started with Ian’s determination to learn how to cook. Bake, too. Both of them could prepare simple dishes: soups and sandwiches, hot dogs and hamburgers, and all kinds of salads, supplemented by fast food. They ate different food out on digs or in the college cafeteria, but one day Ian threw down his plastic fork in frustration. “I’m learning how to cook!”
Alan blinked as he looked up from his Salisbury steak. He was visiting Ian at Harvard and they were eating in the busy cafeteria. “You already know how to cook.”
“I mean real cooking, like chicken and fish and vegetables. And maybe a pie or two.”
“What’s got you all hyped up?” Alan took a sip of lemonade.
“Eating the same old foods.”
“You can’t cook here.”
“Oh, this cafeteria food’s all right.” Ian waved his hand. “I’m talking about at home.”
“Are you aiming for gourmet chef?” Alan asked in amusement.
“I could be!”
So Ian set out to learn how to cook new dishes. Alan was the guinea pig for the early disasters, like undercooked salmon or saffron rice stuck together. Ian steadfastly maintained that he could learn the culinary arts.
“After all, it’s just Chaos Theory with a spatula.”
“How do you figure that?”
“What’s more chaotic than cooking? A pinch of this, a dash of that…”
“But a restaurant specialty always tastes the same.”
“Yes, but they arrive at the results differently.”
“You’re full of it.”
White teeth flashed. “Just you wait.”
After the series of culinary missteps, Alan was glad to escape to his latest dig in the Badlands. Ian yelled, “Coward!” at his retreating back.
By the time Alan returned, Ian promised him gourmet goodness. The paleontologist entered the house.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!”
“I’m here in the kitchen, darling!”
Alan smirked. He waltzed into the kitchen. “Aww, you look so cute in your little apron.”
Ian was stirring a pot on the stove. He turned around with a smile. “Delicious.”
“The dinner or me?”
“Both.” Ian turned back again. “I took some cooking courses. I’ve got roast chicken in wine sauce, asparagus with hollandaise sauce and wild rice.”
“Gourmet, huh?”
“I’ll get there. Something simple to start with.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Alan grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. “I’m so hungry I could eat a boot.”
“Oh, this’ll be better than that.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Set the table, willya, babe?”
Alan smiled. “Okay, honeybunch.”
Ian swayed his lean hips. He opened the oven and checked on the chicken. Alan enjoyed the view.
Once the dining room table was set, Alan took a quick shower and was downstairs just in time as Ian carried in the hot dishes.
“Get the wine for me, will you?”
“Right.”
Alan brought in the bottle in a silver bucket of ice. The dining room was modest with maple table, chairs, and sideboard. The one extravagance was a small crystal chandelier. Sunlight streamed in through the window as Alan poured the wine. He lifted his glass.
“To you, Ian. May those cooking lessons have worked!”
“Smart-ass much?” Ian drank his wine.
Alan set his glass down after drinking. “Hey, I’m only going by prior research.”
Ian cut through his chicken and took a bite. “Okay, Smartypants, you’ll have to eat your words.”
“I thought I was Smartyhat.”
“Okay, Smartyhat, you’ll have to eat your words.”
Alan felt happy. Bantering with Ian was one of his favorite pastimes. He took a deep breath and ate a piece of chicken. His sky-blue eyes widened.
“Hey! This is good!”
Ian smugly picked up his wineglass. “Toldja, Smartyhat.”
Alan tried the asparagus and rice next. “Your cooking teachers are miracle workers!”
Ian scooped up some rice with his fork. “I’ll overlook that dig due to your brains being fried in the Badlands sun.”
“I’ll ignore that dig since I’m in no danger of needing my stomach pumped.”
“Oh, brilliant riposte, lover boy.”
Alan smirked while he ate.
& & & & & &
After dinner was over, Ian cleared the dishes. Alan relaxed in his chair. “Should I light a cigar and pour a snifter of brandy?”
Ian spoke from the kitchen. “You don’t smoke, and coffee goes better with dessert.”
“Homemade or bought at Giovanni’s?”
“I took baking lessons, too.”
“So, what’s the confection of the day?”
“You’ll see.”
Alan waited. The sun was setting, creating a beautiful rainbow of colors in the sky. This house of Ian’s was perfect for their needs: not too fancy but comfortable as befit a successful celebrity scientist. Ian’s lecture fees alone were lucrative, and he now had a contract to teach at Harvard for the semester, all of which was enough to keep him in cooking lessons for years.
Crazy guy, going off to learn how to cook. Alan smiled. He’s special, all right.
What was best was that big, comfortable double bed that he was looking forward to using tonight.
Ian appeared with two cups and a coffeepot. He plugged the pot into an outlet, placing the pot on a trivet on the sideboard. He returned to the kitchen while Alan poured the coffee. He took a sip. Ian had never needed a lesson to make coffee.
“All set. Here comes the piece de resistance.”
Alan’s eyes widened as he saw what was on the two plates Ian had carried in. Ian set the plates down.
Alan’s mouth watered. He picked hp his fork and took a piece of the dessert and ate it.
The taste of lemon filled his mouth with just the right amount of tartness. Light, airy meringue melted on his tongue. He closed his eyes in bliss.
My favorite. And so good!
“Marry me,” he breathed.
“Okay.”
Alan opened one blue eye. Ian was smiling as he ate his pie.
Let’s think this out logically. Ian could be joking, but he is rather fond of marriage. He doesn’t want kids. He’s already got three. We speak the same general scientist’s language and are learning each other’s fields. He looks sexy in an apron and he’s a great cook and baker. And he bakes a perfect lemon meringue pie!!!
He opened his other eye and poked his fork into the pie again, lifting a generous piece in salute. “To us!”
Laughing, Ian copied him. “To us!”
Maybe he would end up a future ex-Mrs. Malcolm, but he would worry about that if and when it happened. He ate his pie.
Maybe we can have it as our wedding cake.
web counter