2p Kitchen Time!
Oliver and Allen Make a Cake
Allen stared, dumbfounded, as he watched his lover almost literally fly around the room, taking and putting and moving things so swiftly they almost seemed to float in midair with him. "Slow the fuck down." Was the only thing he was able to say as he saw things assemble and dissemble in front of him as if from thin air. Oliver stopped immediately in all of his movements. He clutched a whisk and a spoon in one hand and several small glass jars containing a variety of ingredients in the other. His body was tensed in an awkward position, both arms pointing in different directions and his feet ready to take him back to the cabinet. He glared intensely at Allen, refusing to move. Allen gave a deep sigh as he thrust his hand into his pocket and began to fish around for a couple of quarters before he shoved them harshly into a glass jar labeled 'Swear Jar'. A jar that Oliver insisted on keeping around him at all times setting down whenever he came into a room. Oliver huffed, satisfied, before continuing, throwing all the ingredients in the bowl that already held the beginnings of cake batter. He turned to look at Allen in the eyes while his hands continued on their own, measuring perfectly calculated amounts without even having to look at what he was doing. "Because your statement contained profanity I should not recognize it, but I will anyways because that's how much I love you. I will not slow the 'bleep' down. I am already going much too slow just so you can understand the recipe, now listen you will need cocoa powder, some flour, sugar obviously, baking powder, baking soda, salt, eggs, vegetable oil and sour cream plus vanilla extract. You put the dry ones first, mix them and then stir the liquids in, preferebaly in the order I told you." All in a single breath while suddenly grabbing the whisk and mixing the contents so quickly that his hand was a blur to Allen's eyes. "Okay, now you can start making your own cake batter over there I already set out the ingredients for y- NOT THAT MUCH SUGAR!" Oliver yelled. He reached over and snatched Allen's arm which had roughly grabbed the sugar and nearly poured the entire jar. Oliver had not even been looking that way before determining that Allen was messing up his cake recipe. With his hand still whisking away stretched the farthest Oliver could, he used his other hand to measure out the ingredients for Allen. After everything had been set perfectly for him, Allen was given a whisk as Oliver returned to his own batter that looked even and smooth. Allen began stirring the contents with an unsure hand as he peeked out of the corner of his eye at Oliver who still continued at a lighting fast pace. "Now after the batter is properly mixed- a little faster, dear- we're going to set them in the oven at a temperature of 350 degrees Farenheit for exactly thirty two minutes with forty seven seconds. I will leave it up to you to take the cake out at precisely that moment because I have to clean the house, alright?" Allen breathed out uncertainly, thinking of the inevitable disaster to come. For as wonderful and majestic as Oliver was in the kitchen, he was every part as clumsy and awkward outside of it. "You sure you don't wanna finish up the cakes and let me handle the cleaning?" He asked, awkwardly holding the whisk as he tried to copy the same fluid movements that Oliver had used to steer his own batter. "Why would I do that, dear?" Oliver asked, completely oblivious to Allen's attempt at insinuating that their house might catch fire and it wouldn't be because of the cakes. Allen winced as he continued in his most gentle tone, which he barely ever used. "Well, you know, sometimes you can get a bit clumsy and disastrous- just a bit, don't get angry!" Allen quickly said, recognizing the murderous look in his lover's eyes. Oliver huffed. "No, I actually would not like for you to clean. The whole point of bringing you into the kitchen was so that you could learn how to cook something. I can clean my own house, thank you very much, dear, I'm sure the vacuum will cooperate this time." Allen sighed, knowing there was no way to rescue his house now that his lover had set his mind to the task of cleaning. "What time am I taking them out again?" He asked, already forgetting the instructions. "Thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds." And with that Olive set his batter down, snatched the whisk out of Allen's hand and finished mixing the contents for Allen. He took a bowl in each hand and poured them both into molds at the same time. He looked at the both critically before scrapping off a bit more batter with a spoon and dolloping it on top of both. Satisfied he placed them in the oven, set the temperature and the time. "Now, this is very important. Thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds. The timer on the oven doesn't allow for single digit minutes, much less seconds, so when it dings it's still missing exactly two minutes and forty-seven seconds. Are you listening?" He crossed his arms and pouted when he saw Allen give him a blank look. "What's three minutes going to change?" He asked, itching to hit something with his bat, to let out some of the growing frustration. Oliver looked indignant. "Two minutes and forty-seven seconds, firstly, and, secondly, it makes all the difference between the perfect cake and a half-baked one." Oliver giggled at his lame joke while Allen tried to contain his groan. "Alright then, I'll be off. Remember Allen, two minutes and forty-seven seconds after the bell dings. I'll go clean now." Allen sighed, wondering why he out up with Oliver. Oh right, he was a fucking slut in bed. He took a deep calming breath, not feeling like getting a thirty-two minute and forty-seven second lecture from Oliver on his failure as a partner and lover and support. Nor the one twice as long whenever he broke something in the house using his favorite relaxation method, smashing the shit out of things. He wondered why he couldn't leave the kitchen while he waited but something about the way Oliver gave the instructions made it clear he was not to leave the kitchen until the cakes were done. He spent the entire thirty minutes doing breathing exercises, as he was not known for his patience, and wincing every time he heard a crash or similar noise of destruction from the inside of his house. It did not help that the kitchen kept getting warmer and warmer, to the point where Allen wondered if he had finally made his way to hell. He had repeatedly counted to ten enough times to forget which number you were supposed to start on and his hands literally itched for his bat. His eyes twitched slightly and his hand spasmed. He had to leave. He had to leave right now. Allen walked to the door, with only a few seconds left ticking on the inner bomb waiting to explode. As soon as he closed the door behind him he let out a caveman yell that could've made a grown T-rex cry for mama. He grabbed the first thing he could reach, one of Oliver's stupid fucking pink lawn chairs, and snapped it in half. He took one of the halves and brought it down on the table with all his might, effectively breaking both. He took a deep breath, the desperation of only moments before gone. He almost smiled to himself as he flexed his fingers. Before he could though, an unearthly screech pierced the air, with the capacity of being heard over at Matt's place. Allen's eyes went wide and his face pale. Only one thing on earth could make a sound like that. "Allen L. Jones, YOU ARE EFFING DEAD!" Allen went stiff for only just a second before he took off like lightning, feet pounding to take him as far away from Oliver as possible. With the smell of burnt cake on his nose and his psychotic lover's shrieks in his ears Allen fled for his life.