A Cookie Is A Cookie
Rating: PG (language)
Warnings: Spanking, Crack!fic
SAM/DANIEL
summary: After a team night, drunk!Sam and drunk!Daniel have fun in the kitchen; cookies, peanut butter and booze are involved.
Co-Authored by: Papillon-denuit
No cookies were harmed in the making of this fic, though they were consumed in excess...not really "harming" so much as them fulfilling their purpose in life.
As soon as their plan got into action, Daniel realized that perhaps cookies weren't such a good idea after all. For starters, Sam, despite her plethora of chemistry and physics knowledge, couldn't bake anything to save her life (with the possible exception of a soufflé, which Daniel still insisted must have been a fluke), and Daniel was far too intoxicated after the third beer Jack had forced on him earlier that evening to be operating a gas oven... or even a wooden spoon. However, once Daniel had escorted Jack and Teal'c out his front door, he staggered back to the kitchen where he found Sam wielding a wooden spoon with an intent and mischievous look in her eyes. She smiled at him; the kind of smile that always scared Daniel.
"Did you know that the force required for a perfect slap on the ass is inversely proportional to the dimensions of the object used...for example, a wooden spoon."
Daniel looked at Sam for a moment before breaking into a terror-stricken and somewhat drunken run to the next room. As he looked behind him to check for Sam in pursuit he ran into a floor lamp and fell flailing head-first into the sofa. As he attempted to pry himself out from between two sofa cushions, Sam walked calmly into the living room, spoon in hand. She then gave Daniel a somewhat amused look and continued with her analyses of the complex physics involved in ass-whacking. Daniel looked up, surprised that he wasnt being beaten, and smiled in a way he hoped would appear attentive rather than drunkenly confused.
...you see, the larger surface area of this spoon correlates perfectly with its curved counterpart in the human gluteus maximus. It allows the pressure of impact to be evenly distributed over the skin!
If Daniel had drunk even one less beer that night, he may not have been so easily duped. But as things were, he was lulled into a false sense of security by Sam and her distinct lack of aggression. He stood to prop the lamp up, and proceeded to collect some of the empty beer bottles that had accumulated on his end-tables. He glanced up every few moments to reassure Sam that he was listening conscientiously to her explanation. But as he had just achieved an armful of bottles, he looked up only to find that Sam wasnt standing in the doorway anymore.
He was busy frowning concernedly and thus had little time to react to a swift smack in the ass that came from behind. A girlish squeal escaped his lips and a giggle from Sam followed. He dropped the beer bottles on the couch and turned to face her. Sams lips were curved in a big grin and her eyes flashed cheekily. Daniels mouth was agape in surprise. This pleased Sam immensely, and she proceeded to give Daniel an encore slap on the ass. But despite all of her combat training, Daniel somehow managed to disarm her. She attributed this to his drunk luck.
He then retaliated with equal and perhaps greater force and she had no choice but to retreat to the kitchen, sniggering uncontrollably. She found herself pinned against the counter, hands out in front of her in self-defence as Daniel reached around her for one final smack. Sam closed her eyes as his arm extended backwards, but was surprised when the impact never came. She peeked one eye open and saw Daniel staring in wonderment at the spoon. She broke his concentration when she spoke,
Why did you stop?" she asked in puzzlement.
" I think I want...cookies" said Daniel dreamily as he staggered off to look in his pantry.
Sam was still recovering from her playful beating when a long groan emerged from Daniel. He came from the pantry looking dejected and answered Sam's question before she could utter a word, "No cookies", he sadly declared. She then took pity on Daniel after a look at his big baby blues and remembering his inebriated state. Daniel had the munchies, and she would indulge his cravings.
"Why don't we make some?" Sam said, having in her own drunkenness forgotten her culinary shortcomings. Daniels eyes brightened and he replied,
"OOOOOOOOO!! That's a GREAT idea! I bet I have peanut butter!"
Sam squealed in glee, "I LOVE peanut butter cookies!!"
"Peanut butter it is." Daniel made his way back into the pantry and emerged with 2 jars of peanut butter, each with little more than a couple of tablespoons of butter. He glanced at the recipe on the side of the jar, "hmmm, need a cup."
"Wait!" Sam jumped into action, " I could swear I saw..." And she emerged from the dark (and moldy) depths of Daniels fridge a few moments later wielding another jar of peanut butter, this one nearly full.
"This should do it!" She said with pride as she lined the third jar on the countertop alongside the others.
With the jars in a perfect line, she was satisfied and returned to the fridge to check for eggs. The moment her back was turned Daniel compulsively stacked the jars forming a tower. Stacking was one of Daniels favourite pastimes...when he was too intoxicated to use his brain for anything else; this was unfortunate seeing as when Sam came whirling out of the fridge with a carton of eggs she sent the jars flying onto the floor. Daniel chased after the crunchy and the smooth on his hands and knees under the table while Sam searched for the jar of unsweetened. They both emerged a couple of minutes later after hitting their heads on the underside of the table. Daniel scooped the remnants out of the crunchy and smooth jars with his favourite spoon while Sam was preoccupied with the label on the unsweetened butter.
"What are you looking at Sam?" Daniel asked as he licked the spoon clean.
"What year is it?"
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Nor does that mine..." They stared each other down for a moment before Sam continued," I think this peanut butter is expired."
"Peanut butter doesn't expire." Daniel countered.
"This jar has an expiry date on it."
"Peanut butter doesn't expire" Daniel repeated.
"By my calculations, this peanut butter is old enough to be in grade school."
"Peanut butter doesn't expire, Sam."
She thought for a moment trying to scientifically rationalize how this could be construed as safe, or at least non-lethal. But being drunk, she decided that her reason of "It seemed like good idea at the time" would be a perfectly valid excuse the next morning when her stomach was giving her grief. Besides, peanut butter cookies were peanut butter cookies; how could she refuse?
"Sounds good. Scoop some into the bowl, will you?"
"This recipe doesn't have flour" Daniel was confused.
"But they're cookies," Sam said, "don't cookies usually have flour?"
"In that case..." Daniel scrambled in the cupboard and pulled out a bag of dusty and underused flour, "we'll add some!"
"Okay...but let's add butter too, and another egg...you know, to even things out." She had no idea what she was talking about, but it sounded pure genius to drunken Daniel.
"And SPICES!!" Daniel suggested over-excitedly as he found some cinnamon and nutmeg in the pantry. Sam was busy adding a generous amount of butter and brown sugar to the bowl, mushing it against the sides with the spoon.
By the time they got to rolling balls of cookie dough onto the baking sheets, they were covered from the waist up in flour and it was nearly 1am. Sam picked a piece of dough out of her hair and tasted it. "mmmmm" she said. "I vote we just eat the dough and skip the whole baking thing...ovens and I don't see eye to eye." Daniel giggled and said,
"teehee...ovens don't have eyes..."
Daniel eventually persuaded Sam that baking would be ok if they set the timer. True to his word the cookies emerged twenty minutes and two bottles of beer later, perfectly golden. Sam tested one eagerly, burning her tongue in the process. Her nose wrinkled and she took a good long look at the remaining bit of cookie in her hand, "I think we should have stuck to the recipe..."
Daniel took the cookie from Sam's hand and shoved it into his mouth with gusto, expecting but certainly not receiving deliciousness. It didn't taste great, but to Daniel, a cookie is a cookie is a cookie, and cookies are always good. The logic was undeniable. He leaned over one of the trays of cookies and began to eat each one, from left to right.
"UGH, they're awful, Daniel!"
"And...you're point being?" He retorted eloquently as he spat bits of cookie in her direction. He then attempted to explain the concept of "A cookie is a cookie is a cookie" logic to Sam but somehow the words were lost upon her, and he gave up, quelling his failed attempt with more cookies. Sam picked up her second cookie and tried to explain herself, "I was never very good at..." she waved her left hand in the air vaguely. Daniel plucked the cookie from her hand as she continued her train of thought, "cookie...relations"
Daniel grinned, "I'm good at inter-cookie relations! Just talk to it Sam! Let it know how you feel."
Sam gave Daniel a Teal'c eyebrow-raise and Daniel rambled on,
"Inter-cookie relations are my specialty! I speak twenty-three languages, including cookie." Daniel smiled at his own brilliance, "That's why they sent me to negotiate with the Russians!"
Sam wasn't sure if she followed the logic behind the Russia concept, but found the idea of Daniel speaking cookie throughout the galaxy to be incredibly humorous.
"Inter-cookie-lactic relations!" blurted Sam half-laughing
"No! That's only if we have them with milk." Daniel said with all seriousness. He was a linguist after all, even when inebriated.
Sam and Daniel's cookie discussion continued long into the night, but was eventually abandoned in favour of sleep. Daniel awoke the following morning to find Sam in his bed covered in cookie crumbs and smelling vaguely of booze and peanut butter.
Wandering into the kitchen later on, they discovered a sink full of dishes and half a tray of cookies on the counter.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time..." Sam suggested hopefully as she looked through Daniels kitchen drawers for a paper bag. Daniel didn't even have to ask; he handed her a big black marker, she scrawled in childish capital letters on the bag, "JACK". Because Jack understood that a cookie is a cookie is a cookie, even when sober.