charisstoma | FYI ----- Frogs of War's "Night Club Cat" --- Go read

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Haha good timing - I needed a post to ninja. I've been cooking and cake decorating again, and you know what that means . . . .

Ren and Drew! YUSS!

"Ren wandered into the kitchen to begin overseeing the plating of the desserts he'd made earlier in the day just in time to hear Drew curse and slam a plate down on the pass noisily. It broke and Ren paused - Drew was anything but one of the yelling, swearing, hot headed chefs you saw on TV. He must be really *pissed*. He looked across the kitchen to his assistant, Selena. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged her shoulder in the direction of the saucier's station.

Ahh, that explained it. The usual saucier was absent, and Mitchell, one of the commis chefs, had taken his place.

Mitchell, who had a degree from one of the best culinary schools could buy (and his father obviously had bought it), who was hypersensitive about rank and seniority in the kitchen, and who could cook mac and cheese even if it came out of a packet.

No wonder Drew was yelling only an hour into service and - Ren's next thought was proven as one of the servers came through the kitchen door with a plate of food being sent back - Mitchell was wreaking havoc on the sauce section.

Ren sighed. He hated making sauces - his palate preferred sweet so he tended to under season (whereas Mitchell was obviously over seasoned if the whispered words of the server into Drew's ears were anything to go by), but unlike Mitchell he was willing to get his colleagues help him out by tasting.

He sauntered over to his lover and leaned in, giving him a peck on the cheek. It was a measure of Drew's anger that his lover didn't respond, but the muscle in his jaw was twitching involuntarily. Drew hadn't spoken in the face of this last disastrous plate, just gestured the server to scrape it in the bin, and then curtly nodded at one of the porters to remove the mess he'd made on the pass.

"How much do you love me?" Ren asked, winking saucily at the sous chef who was studiously trying to avoid her boss' eye and ire.

"Not the time, Ren," Drew answered tightly.

Ren was not at all deterred, and he leaned in again, this time to whisper in Drew's ear. "Blow jobs every night for a week. Even if I eat Natalie's chilli again," he murmered.

Drew glanced down, intrigue breaking through his anger - if Ren was asking for ongoing sexual favours, he must have something good to offer in return. "What?"

Well, it was better than the anger.

"Selena," he called to his assistant, knowing that, despite her incredible talent with desserts, she was also highly strung and highly anxious, and had been aware of his every move since he entered the kitchen.

"Yes Chef?" She hurried over to him.

"You better get busy plating those desserts before the orders come in . . . you'll be flying solo tonight."

"Chef. . . ?" Selena replied, obviously split between exultation that she was being trusted to run the dessert service - and sheer terror that she was being trusted to run the dessert service.

"You'll be fine - just don't over do the chocolate garnish on the cheesecake."

"Yes Chef!" She gave him a snappy mock salute, turned on her heel, and rushed back to their shared station to begin plating the cheesecake.

"Oh I do love you," Drew beamed, a broad smile splitting his face.

"I know," Ren grinned back, then lowered his voice. "But seriously, Drew - fire Mitchell tomorrow, because I won't be doing this again." He gave his lover another peck on the cheek, then headed purposefully to the saucier's station, where Mitchell was lording it over two of the commis chef's while he sweated profusely and ground too much pepper into the mushroom sauce.

"Move, Michael," Ren said loudly enough for the entire kitchen to hear, and knowing Mitchell hated it when Ren got his name wrong.

"What? No! Fuck off!" Mitchell protested as Ren shouldered in front of him at the stove, pushing him bodily out of the way.

"Hey! Listen here, you powdered pastry puff, you might be in the bosses pants, but I'm the senior commis chef . . . "

It was on the tip of Ren's tongue to point out that Patissier trumped commis chef any day, but Drew beat him to it.

"Mitchell, out!" He snapped.

"What? You can't be . . . "

"I SAID GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN! You're fired!" The words were bellowed as Drew strode angrily over to the sauce station. He nodded to the two kitchen porters who had coincidentally chosen to appear at that very moment, neither of them looking at all unhappy as they positioned themselves either side of the disgraced commis and began shuffling him to the door. Despite Mitchell's loud protests and threats of "You'll be hearing from my father's lawyer!" no one else in the kitchen seemed particularly disturbed either.

Mitchell had not been well liked.

"No one insults MY lover. No matter what he does to get in my pants," Drew mumbled, tilting his head to give Ren a quick kiss on the lips.

"Oh I do love you!" Ren responded as Drew waved his kerchief at him in salute and walked back to the pass.

"Right!" Ren looked around at the two commis chefs assigned to him. "Lets get this crap poured out and the pots to the dishwashers so we can start over, yes?"

"Yes Chef!"

Yes Chef!

*grins* It was the video of the Christmas cake dressed up in red ribbon fake frosting that's rolled out, cut to shape and placed on the cake, that did it, wasn't it.

Yeah Mitchell needs to be fired 'cause it's Ren & Drew's livelihood on the line.

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FYI ----- Frogs of War's "Night Club Cat" --- Go read

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