[popslash]
Nov. 22nd, 2006 05:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raynedanserwritesAs promised to M.
Popslash / Ricky/ Tony / When Good Plans get Gooey / 604 words
A golden cloth is spread over the large table and candles glow from where they stand in a silver holder. The chandelier over the table is turned down low, so that the candles are the primary light. Glistening silver on burgundy napkins twinkles and white china plates shine in their places. A steaming turkey on a large white platter dominates the center of the table and smaller serving dishes are filled with various vegetables, baskets hold rolls and a large silver gravy boat is nearly overflowing with steaming gravy.
Ricky’s in the kitchen, getting some of Mrs. Arbuckle’s homemade cranberry sauce out of the jar she’d packed it in for him and dumping it into the last serving dish he could find. He watches over the counter as Tony moves around the dining room, touching the silver flatware lightly with his fingertips and scraping cooled wax off the table cloth.
When the timer on the stove dings, Ricky grabs two discarded potholders from the counter. The room fills wonderful smells when Ricky opens the door and he breathes deeply as he takes the casserole dish out. Tony comes into the kitchen as Ricky rips open a bag of marshmallows and dumps them onto the contents of the casserole dish, his hand lightly resting on the small of Ricky’s back.
“Is that enough?” Tony asks.
Ricky sets the empty bag aside and nods. “Should be good,” he answers as he picks the dish back up with the potholders and tucks it back in the oven. A short time later, smoke fills the kitchen and the smoke alarm bleats loudly. Ricky quickly pulls dish the out of the smoking oven and groans then lets loose a long string of curses. As he swears some more, he can hear Tony in the other room talking with the alarm company, assuring them that everything is ok.
Ricky sets it on the counter and glares at the offending dish. Melted marshmallow has dribbled down its sides and onto the base of the oven, resulting in the smoke and alarm. He’s also done a fantastic job of getting it all over his jeans and hands. He’s sucking some of the hot marshmallow off his palm when Tony comes back into the kitchen.
“You’re supposed to eat it, not wear it,” Tony informs him in amusement. Most people would have withered under the glare that Ricky throws in his direction, but Tony only smiles back sweetly. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he laughs as he tugs Ricky back towards the bedroom.
Tony doesn’t close the door – they’re home alone and company won’t come in without ringing the doorbell first. He unfastens Ricky’s jeans and slowly pushes them down, fingers brushing lightly over Ricky’s legs. He kneels in front of Ricky and carefully guides Ricky’s bare feet out of the pants and leaves them in a pile on the floor. There’s things he wants to do, Tony thinks as he looks up and meets Ricky’s gaze, but there’s no time. So he settles for standing up before he forgets the clock and the company they have arriving anytime and the table covered with food.
Tony leans in and kisses Ricky, one hand at the back of his neck, the other sliding down Ricky’s belly, just lightly enough to tickle and resting on his hip. When Ricky lets out a frustrated groan, followed quickly by the doorbell, Tony chuckles.
“And that, querido, is why I didn’t do anything else.” Tony pulls away and smacks Ricky’s ass. “Now get dressed, we’ll finish this later,” he promises with a wink and a smile.
Popslash / Ricky/ Tony / When Good Plans get Gooey / 604 words
A golden cloth is spread over the large table and candles glow from where they stand in a silver holder. The chandelier over the table is turned down low, so that the candles are the primary light. Glistening silver on burgundy napkins twinkles and white china plates shine in their places. A steaming turkey on a large white platter dominates the center of the table and smaller serving dishes are filled with various vegetables, baskets hold rolls and a large silver gravy boat is nearly overflowing with steaming gravy.
Ricky’s in the kitchen, getting some of Mrs. Arbuckle’s homemade cranberry sauce out of the jar she’d packed it in for him and dumping it into the last serving dish he could find. He watches over the counter as Tony moves around the dining room, touching the silver flatware lightly with his fingertips and scraping cooled wax off the table cloth.
When the timer on the stove dings, Ricky grabs two discarded potholders from the counter. The room fills wonderful smells when Ricky opens the door and he breathes deeply as he takes the casserole dish out. Tony comes into the kitchen as Ricky rips open a bag of marshmallows and dumps them onto the contents of the casserole dish, his hand lightly resting on the small of Ricky’s back.
“Is that enough?” Tony asks.
Ricky sets the empty bag aside and nods. “Should be good,” he answers as he picks the dish back up with the potholders and tucks it back in the oven. A short time later, smoke fills the kitchen and the smoke alarm bleats loudly. Ricky quickly pulls dish the out of the smoking oven and groans then lets loose a long string of curses. As he swears some more, he can hear Tony in the other room talking with the alarm company, assuring them that everything is ok.
Ricky sets it on the counter and glares at the offending dish. Melted marshmallow has dribbled down its sides and onto the base of the oven, resulting in the smoke and alarm. He’s also done a fantastic job of getting it all over his jeans and hands. He’s sucking some of the hot marshmallow off his palm when Tony comes back into the kitchen.
“You’re supposed to eat it, not wear it,” Tony informs him in amusement. Most people would have withered under the glare that Ricky throws in his direction, but Tony only smiles back sweetly. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he laughs as he tugs Ricky back towards the bedroom.
Tony doesn’t close the door – they’re home alone and company won’t come in without ringing the doorbell first. He unfastens Ricky’s jeans and slowly pushes them down, fingers brushing lightly over Ricky’s legs. He kneels in front of Ricky and carefully guides Ricky’s bare feet out of the pants and leaves them in a pile on the floor. There’s things he wants to do, Tony thinks as he looks up and meets Ricky’s gaze, but there’s no time. So he settles for standing up before he forgets the clock and the company they have arriving anytime and the table covered with food.
Tony leans in and kisses Ricky, one hand at the back of his neck, the other sliding down Ricky’s belly, just lightly enough to tickle and resting on his hip. When Ricky lets out a frustrated groan, followed quickly by the doorbell, Tony chuckles.
“And that, querido, is why I didn’t do anything else.” Tony pulls away and smacks Ricky’s ass. “Now get dressed, we’ll finish this later,” he promises with a wink and a smile.
