Ficlet: Over Easy
Title: Over Easy
Author: Unequivocally
Pairing,Character(s): Puck/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 650
Spoilers: None
Summary: There's a big difference between baking and cooking.
Author's note: Merry Christmas! Have some fluff. Don't say I never got ya nothing.
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Little known fact: Rachel Berry can't cook.
Oh yes, she can bake. Boy, can she bake. He's tasted it; apple pies and marble caked slathered in homemade frosting; gooey chocolate chip cookies with giant gobs of chocolate. And her cheesecake, Jesus. He's not going to lie: he loves her baking.
Whenever she mentions baking something for the Glee club, he is sure to visit her house that day and offer his assistance--and by assistance he means sitting on the counter, licking the bowl when she is done. And sometimes the spoons, too, when she's not looking (it always gives him a nasty smirk when he sees Hudson orgasming over her brownies and thinks of how many times he dipped his fingers into the batter when her back was turned).
But there's a fine line between baking and cooking. There's a difference between measuring and mixing a bunch of shit into a giant bowl and then popping it into the oven for 20 minutes at 350 degrees, and standing over a frying pan with a spatula in hand, watching delicious looking sausage wither away into chunks of burnt meat.
"You gotta turn em, Berry."
"I'm trying," she huffs, struggling to maneuver the utensil under the links; she groans as another sausage rolls away from her spatula petulantly. "How is it that they're all landing on that one side?"
"Dunno," he mumbles noncommittally, making no attempt to help her, "but one side is black and the other is pink, you gotta even them out. Can't eat that shit."
"I can see that, Noah, thank you very much."
"Is breakfast ready?" Sarah calls from the living room, and Rachel all but passes out at the reminder of her failings as a Domestic Goddess.
"Uh, almost!" She calls back, throwing him an Oh God Help Me Please look, and he almost takes pity on her.
Instead, he says, "Your yolks are over-cooking," and points to the second skillet where their over-easy eggs were slowly hardening, "Sarah likes hers runny, remember."
She panics and brings her spatula to the eggs in a hurry, but in her desperation she loses all coordination and she struggles to get the egg onto the utensil. "Why won't they come up?" She groans, more to herself than to him.
"Be careful, you're gonna break the yolk."
He watches the eggs in boredom as she attempts to maneuver it into her grasp, and when she eventually does break the yolk and whispers "Fuck," under her breath, he decides it's time to step in and help her before she loses her shit--once Berry resorts to the F-word, a breakdown of epic proportions is never far off.
"Stand back, Berry. I guess I'll have to show you how it's done." He plucks the spatula from her grip and shoos her from the space in front of the stove, taking over the task of Saturday morning breakfast with ease before calling into the living room, "Sarah, turn off the fucking TV and get your ass in here."
"Noah--"
Before Rachel can even admonish him, Sarah is beside her brother, staring at the food with her face scrunched. "You broke my yolk, you moron."
"No, I didn't."
"I'm looking--"
"Do you want to eat or not?" He says as he starts shoveling food onto her plate, grumbling under his breath as he does so. "Unappreciative brat."
After he has shooed her from the kitchen, plate in one hand in ketchup in the other, he turns to Rachel to find her eyes watery and her lower lip trembling slightly. Oh Christ, she's not crying over this, she better not be.
"I'm a terrible cook," she chokes out before an actual fucking sob escapes her mouth, and she covers her face with her hands. Is she kidding him?
"Oh God, Berry," he says, pulling her towards him and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "You are shit-awful at cooking."
-----
Author: Unequivocally
Pairing,Character(s): Puck/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 650
Spoilers: None
Summary: There's a big difference between baking and cooking.
Author's note: Merry Christmas! Have some fluff. Don't say I never got ya nothing.
-----
Little known fact: Rachel Berry can't cook.
Oh yes, she can bake. Boy, can she bake. He's tasted it; apple pies and marble caked slathered in homemade frosting; gooey chocolate chip cookies with giant gobs of chocolate. And her cheesecake, Jesus. He's not going to lie: he loves her baking.
Whenever she mentions baking something for the Glee club, he is sure to visit her house that day and offer his assistance--and by assistance he means sitting on the counter, licking the bowl when she is done. And sometimes the spoons, too, when she's not looking (it always gives him a nasty smirk when he sees Hudson orgasming over her brownies and thinks of how many times he dipped his fingers into the batter when her back was turned).
But there's a fine line between baking and cooking. There's a difference between measuring and mixing a bunch of shit into a giant bowl and then popping it into the oven for 20 minutes at 350 degrees, and standing over a frying pan with a spatula in hand, watching delicious looking sausage wither away into chunks of burnt meat.
"You gotta turn em, Berry."
"I'm trying," she huffs, struggling to maneuver the utensil under the links; she groans as another sausage rolls away from her spatula petulantly. "How is it that they're all landing on that one side?"
"Dunno," he mumbles noncommittally, making no attempt to help her, "but one side is black and the other is pink, you gotta even them out. Can't eat that shit."
"I can see that, Noah, thank you very much."
"Is breakfast ready?" Sarah calls from the living room, and Rachel all but passes out at the reminder of her failings as a Domestic Goddess.
"Uh, almost!" She calls back, throwing him an Oh God Help Me Please look, and he almost takes pity on her.
Instead, he says, "Your yolks are over-cooking," and points to the second skillet where their over-easy eggs were slowly hardening, "Sarah likes hers runny, remember."
She panics and brings her spatula to the eggs in a hurry, but in her desperation she loses all coordination and she struggles to get the egg onto the utensil. "Why won't they come up?" She groans, more to herself than to him.
"Be careful, you're gonna break the yolk."
He watches the eggs in boredom as she attempts to maneuver it into her grasp, and when she eventually does break the yolk and whispers "Fuck," under her breath, he decides it's time to step in and help her before she loses her shit--once Berry resorts to the F-word, a breakdown of epic proportions is never far off.
"Stand back, Berry. I guess I'll have to show you how it's done." He plucks the spatula from her grip and shoos her from the space in front of the stove, taking over the task of Saturday morning breakfast with ease before calling into the living room, "Sarah, turn off the fucking TV and get your ass in here."
"Noah--"
Before Rachel can even admonish him, Sarah is beside her brother, staring at the food with her face scrunched. "You broke my yolk, you moron."
"No, I didn't."
"I'm looking--"
"Do you want to eat or not?" He says as he starts shoveling food onto her plate, grumbling under his breath as he does so. "Unappreciative brat."
After he has shooed her from the kitchen, plate in one hand in ketchup in the other, he turns to Rachel to find her eyes watery and her lower lip trembling slightly. Oh Christ, she's not crying over this, she better not be.
"I'm a terrible cook," she chokes out before an actual fucking sob escapes her mouth, and she covers her face with her hands. Is she kidding him?
"Oh God, Berry," he says, pulling her towards him and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "You are shit-awful at cooking."
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