AUTHOR: always krissy
DISCLAIMER: This movie belongs to Disney, not me. I don't claim to own it at all. Although I'd love to. :D
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the first fic, let alone slash fic, for this movie. One of the only ones, I'm sure, but the movie is so cute and it will go under appreciated, just like all the others. But I will obsess, just the same. *grins*
FANDOM: Eddie's Million Dollar Cook-Off (July 2003's Disney Movie of the Month)
PAIRING: Eddie/DB [SLASH warning]
RATING: PG-13, at the highest, but more PG-ish
ARCHIVE: If you want it, please take it. :D
"I just don't get it."
Eddie stared down at the cake box, and sighed. It wasn't that hard . . . Was it?
"DB," Eddie said carefully, "it isn't hard to do." He picked up the colorful Betty Crocker box, and handed it to his friend. "It's simple, I promise. Just read the directions and do it slowly." He cast a weary glance at the mess in the sink. Of course, he'd dealt with worse during his own escapades, but just the idea of it all. Who woulda thunk that too much vegetable oil and eggs would destroy a cake mix? "I know you can do it," Eddie added. It was almost like reassuring a five year old, he jokingly noted to himself, as he watched his friend begin adding the ingredients into the bowl. It was such a simple project, but it was costing nearly as much as a store bought cake. DB had already messed up on three boxes of cake mixes before calling him.
'Mom's birthday is today,' he'd hastily explained, 'and I wanted to surprise her with something. And I can't afford to buy something big, so can you please help me?'
It had been an immediate yes. When couldn't he turn down DB? They'd been best friends since they were three, and had done practically everything together. Except when high school had started. Eddie had immediately signed up for the Home Ec courses; DB, and their friend Frankie, had both gone into computer classes. Eddie had expected it, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. They'd had so much fun in their cooking class in Junior High that he'd hoped they'd be interested in continuing it. Guess not. It wasn't like they couldn't have separate lives, of course, but a part of him wanted to share this with DB. To cook with someone was always so much more fun than doing it alone. This was something he'd started to learn.
"...EDWARD THOMAS!"
Eddie blinked at the use of his full name. Whoa, he thought distractedly, he sure does a good impression of dad. For some reason, that idea was highly unappealing. Shuddering to himself, he turned his (undivided) attention back to DB.
"What?"
"You're 'Drifting' again."
'Drifting' had become the term for getting lost in thought. According to DB, he did it in three situations, all the time.
When he liked someone, when he was thinking about cooking (or actually doing it), and baseball.
"Sorry," he apologized, and forced a grin onto his lips. "So," he eyed the cake batter, "how're you doing?"
"Horribly," DB muttered, glancing down at the clear mixing bowl. It was slopped against the sides, and there was still dry powder on top of the mixture. "See?"
"Aww," Eddie's grin broadened. "I think you're doing okay." He took one last glance at it, and then noticed the wooden spoon he was using to stir it. "Where's the hand mixer?"
DB opened and closed his mouth, "Uh."
"I'll find it," Eddie hastily said. He began to rustle through the cupboards, content with his snooping as he looked. Spices, flour, sugar, seasonings, Kool-Aid... Finally he found a cupboard with cooking utensils, and the hand mixer was easily found. The white contraption would stand out anywhere. "Do you know how to work it?" he asked, handing it to him.
"Geez," DB said, his eyes widening into a glare, "I'm not THAT much of an idiot."
Eddie just nodded, biting his tongue. No, he wouldn't start anything. Not today.
"Right, right," he agreed. Uncurling the cord, he plugged it in, and stood back to watch the show. He knew there would be one.
"ACK!"
Eddie ducked the flying cake mix, and was relieved, for the most part, that it flew above his head.
"You were saying?" Eddie's lips began to twitch as he stood up, dusting off his blue t-shirt and jeans. The cake might have missed him, but the floor had been covered in white flour.
"Yeah, yeah," DB said, frowning, as he took in the state of the kitchen. "Geez, why did you have to go giving me that mixer?!?"
"You said you knew how to use it!" Eddie retorted.
"Since when should you believe what I say, anyway?"
The expression on DB's face was too much, and Eddie couldn't stop the bubbles of laughter.
"You...you..." He couldn't stop the croaking words as his laughter turned into girly giggles. It was just too much. Plus DB hadn't done as good a job avoiding the air borne food. Batter covered his face and shirt. The white goop was everywhere.
"Okay," DB rolled his eyes, "I think we know it's funny now. Stop laughing."
"I can't," Eddie rasped out, although his laughter was calming considerably. Finally the giggles turned into hiccups, and he could get actual words out. "You have batter on your face."
Disdainfully, DB swiped at his head, missing it entirely.
"You're missing it," he said, painfully aware at how funny his friend looked. His hands itched to touch DB's face; his brown hair, to rake his fingers through the strands, and remove the mixture himself.
Frustrated, DB sighed loudly. "You get it then."
Nodding, Eddie covered the distance between them, and stood directly in front of his friend. Gently, he ran the pad of his thumb across his forehead, wiping the vanilla cake mix off of him. His thumb traced its way across the smooth skin, skimming lightly. He suddenly noticed how silent it had become, and how he could hear the loud pounding of his heart. And how warm DB's skin was against his fingertip.
"I got it," he said, lamely, and jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned. His arm fell to his side, and he started to back away, not even noticing how he was stumbling on the slick floor.
"Are you okay?" DB stared at his friend, concern written all over his face.
"Yeah, sure, great!" Eddie forced an energetic smile onto his face. "So! Shall we make another cake?"
DB cast a funny glance at him, and shook his head, after giving the kitchen one last once over.
"Nah," he decided, "I'll just fork over the cash to dad and let him buy a birthday cake. I guess even my mom doesn't deserve this punishment." He blanched at the mess on the counter, and sink full of dishes of his own attempts.
"Oh. 'Kay. Right." Eddie nodded. He wasn't sure what he was really agreeing about, just that he was. "I guess I'll be going then."
"Yeah," DB agreed.
"See you at school tomorrow, right?"
"Um," DB was concerned, "tomorrow's Sunday, remember?"
"Oh," Eddie thought about that, "Right. Well, bye!" Without a second glance, he hurriedly left, before DB could say another word to him.
---
Nothing was going right.
He couldn't concentrate on anything.
His homework was untouched.
The meatloaf recipe he had to prepare for Home Ec had flopped. It did not require being burned into charcoal. He had to remind himself of that several times.
Even his attempt to make Eddie Dogs for his brothers had flopped.
Everything was just wrong.
When his mother had questioned him, he just brushed it off, claiming to feel sick.
She didn't believe him, but he knew she wouldn't. His mom was too smart for that.
A small part of him, though, felt sick.
He couldn't stop remembering the sensation of DB's face against his hand, to see the look in his friend's eyes as he touched him. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but when he reflected, all he could remember was a surprised start, and just a tiny hint of fear. And . . . maybe . . . Longing? Or maybe it was just longing to stop it.
"Okay," Eddie didn't bother to look up at the sound of his mother's voice. His face was pressed down into one of the pillows on his bed, and he was almost near a sobbing fit. Almost, being the key word. "You have flopped on every attempt at cooking today," there was a hint of disbelief lining her words, "and baseball season is over. So who is the girl?"
"There's no girl," he muttered, but it was muffled into his pillow.
"Hmm," she paused for a moment, "a guy, then?"
Eddie's head shot up and he stared at her with wide eyes.
"I was just joking, dear," she laughed, and he calmed slightly. Yeah, like she'd know that. "I want to know what's bothering you, dear," she told him kindly, "you shouldn't keep things bottled up. It's unhealthy for you, and," she added, attempting another light joke, "the others that you cook for."
"Maybe I'll tell you someday," he muttered, "but I can't, not today."
She opened her mouth to say something, but sighed. "Alright. Just remember that I'm here when you need someone."
"'Kay," he nodded, and she left, and he was left to his own thoughts again.
Maybe he should just pick a girl and moon over her. Even if he decided what he felt for DB, he could never tell him. What were the chances he'd feel the same?
---
DB and Frankie exchanged looks, and then looked at Eddie again.
Something was wrong. DB could feel it. He would barely look at either of them, and was continuously lost in thought, and his Home Ec teacher had railed on him, when he had no homework completed. Any other day he would have found it funny to listen to Eddie's teacher yell at him during lunch time, but today . . . It wasn't. He didn't understand so much about his friend anymore.
Or about himself.
Why he had to constantly get his friend's approval of what he did.
Why he wanted to see him every day, even during the weekends.
Why he felt jealous when Frankie invited Eddie out, but didn't invite DB, himself, with them.
Why he'd felt butterflies in his stomach when Eddie had touched his face on Saturday.
So much was changing and he didn't understand why.
He didn't know if he wanted to know why, but something told him that if he found out, he'd find out what was wrong with Eddie, too.
"So," DB said, attempting for the fourth time to make conversation. "What is everyone up to this week? Any plans?"
"Homework," Frankie answered, shaking his head. "Can't do anything anymore because I'm so bogged down with it all."
"I know it," DB agreed. His older sister had told him that freshman year of high school would be their lightest year, and so far, DB had to agree. He saw the amounts his sister did every night. He was dreading junior year now. He looked at Eddie, who said nothing. He was stirring the bowl of corn on his lunch tray. Nothing had been eaten, just played with. "Eddie?" he asked, concerned. "You okay, man?"
"Huh?" he stared dazedly at his friend, "Yeah, I agree with whatever you say."
Frankie sighed loudly, "Okay, Eddie, you have to tell us now, so we won't have to spend all week guessing."
"Tell you what?" Eddie asked, confused. DB rolled his eyes. How could anyone be so dense?
"Who you like, doofus," DB explained, and Frankie nodded his agreement.
"Yeah," Frankie grinned a little, "you're mooning over someone. So, who is she?"
"There isn't a girl," Eddie retorted, his face darkening, "why does everyone keep asking that?! And it isn't some guy, either," he added, after shooting a sideways glance at DB.
Frankie, with wide eyes, held up his hands in an 'I surrender' gesture. "Whoa, sorry man, I didn't mean anything by that. I just assumed . . . And I never said anything about a guy, either," he added, in afterthought. Although, it made some sort of sense, if a guy was involved. Now that he thought about it, DB had been awfully quiet today, too, compared to usual.
"Yeah, sorry," DB added, also staring with wide eyes at his friend. He'd caught the look, and part of him wanted to know what it meant, more than anything.
"It's okay," Eddie muttered, a blush lighting his cheeks, "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have snapped. I'm just really stressed at home. I'll be okay later, I promise."
Frankie seemed satisfied with the answer, but DB wasn't. If he knew his friend, and he'd like to think he did, he wouldn't be 'okay' until everything was sorted.
"You sure?"
Eddie nodded, and flashed a bright, fake, smile, "Yep, I'm sure. Dad's just been after me practicing baseball with him, is all. He still doesn't mind my cooking, but wants me to keep all my options open."
"Are you okay with that?"
"Oh yeah," Eddie's grin turned energetic. "Baseball is still my life, even if it's shared with cooking now."
"Hmm," DB made a sound of slight agreement, but couldn't take his eyes off that grin. It was so fake that it was almost funny, but he seemed to be the only one that noticed.
"Hey," Frankie's voice interrupted his train of thought, "I need to jet. Gotta go talk to Mr. Thompson about bio class. I didn't understand the homework and he said I could stop by at lunch and have a chat with him. "See you guys later?"
"Yeah," DB waved at him, and listened to Eddie's loud exclamation of "BYYYYE!" It was so obvious he was trying to be cheerful that it was pathetic. "You're a dork, you know," DB said, once their friend was gone. The cafeteria was starting to filter out. Only the slow eaters remained, or the ones that had no where else to go, like himself and Eddie.
"Gee, thanks," Eddie said, sarcastically. "Can always count on you for a compliment."
"You do kinda look like a whale's--"
"DON'T finish that train of thought," Eddie warned, his lips curling in distaste. "Please don't. I'm trying to eat," he gestured at his lunch tray.
DB snorted, "Right. Sure you are."
"I ate my corndog," Eddie countered, "well it was more like a hot dog in brown bread, and the stick was added as an extra, but still!"
"No," DB pointed at the tray, "you took three bites of it and the rest is on your plate, shredded into tiny pieces. I watched you do it."
Eddie cocked his head to the side, "Why were you watching me?"
"Uh . . ." DB shrugged, eyes blinking rapidly. "No reason, really," he said, grinning. "I just was. Nothin' else to do."
"Oh."
Was it just him, or did Eddie look . . . disappointed?
"Why . . . Do you want me to watch you?" It was meant to be a joke, but he inwardly cringed at how serious sounding it came out.
"I . . . Of course not!" Eddie tried to look appalled at the idea of it, but he couldn't exactly get it across. "Well . . ." It came out in a slow rush, and DB could barely understand it, but he did. "Maybe, kinda . . . Part of me do want you to stare at me. 'Cause I like you, you know."
And he excused himself so quickly after admitting it, that DB couldn't even respond.
"Well," he said out loud, to an empty table, "that went well."
---
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
Eddie had never felt as stupid as he did right now.
He couldn't believe what he'd told DB. That he'd actually said it out loud! Of course it was true, but he couldn't just admit it. . . . Could he? No! Of course not. It was just wrong and demented, and DB would probably think he was sick, and probably did now, thanks to Eddie's fabulous, wonderful idea.
He slouched against his bedroom wall, glad to be home. It had been hard avoiding DB for the rest of the day after lunch. But he'd managed it. He'd seated himself in the front row, in the seat that always went empty, next to the nerds, in math class. He paired up with Frankie during gym class, and had gotten a pass to the computer lab during study hall. And then, instead of riding the bus half way home from school, like usual, he just walked the whole way. His mother had asked him why he didn't call for a ride, but he just said he wanted to walk. Which had been true, kinda . . . Well, he wouldn't do it again by choice, but he was certain it was better than sitting next to DB in uncomfortable silence.
His thoughts wandered back to Saturday afternoon, and he was so lost in thoughts of DB, that he didn't hear the knock on the door downstairs, or the pounding of feet on stairs.
"Hey, Eddie, can I come in?"
His thoughts came to a screeching halt at the sound of the knock, and DB's voice. What was DB doing here?
"Um," he said, stalling, "no."
Exasperated, "Why not?! I just want to talk to you."
". . . I'm naked." It was the first thing that came to mind.
"Uh."
"I spilled Coke on my clothes downstairs," he said, of forced explanation.
"Oh," there was a slight silence, "that's a funny tale, when your mom said you came rushing by, only saying like five words to her."
"I grabbed a Coke on the way."
Another soft silence and DB sighed. "I know you're lying to me, and while I don't get why you are, I just don't care. I want to talk to you."
"Talk from there."
Eddie didn't want to listen to some sap story about how he was sorry he couldn't like him back, or look at him in that way, or that he thought he was some sick pervert, or whatever else DB could come up with. Maybe he should just forget everything about romance, of any kind, and concentrate on being a famous chef. Then he wouldn't have to worry about it. He'd be famous and people would pay him to go out with him. And then it wouldn't even matter their gender.
"I don't think this is the kind of thing I should say out here, but okay . . . I guess. Well," DB cleared his throat. "You know that thing you told me earlier?"
". . . Yeah."
"I, uh, kinda feel the same way."
There was a long silence. Eddie just stared dumbly at his door. He . . . what?
"What?" he croaked.
"Can I come in now?"
"Oh, uhm, sure I guess." Eddie reached over and twisted the doorknob, and pulled it open. They just stared at each other for several seconds, before Eddie turned quickly away, and threw himself on his bed. DB sat on the corner of the bed, not saying anything, just watching him.
"I'm, uh, serious, you know."
DB's voice was soft and vulnerable, and Eddie rolled over, staring at him.
". . . You are?" His voice was still laced with disbelief, and DB didn't really blame him. It was kinda amazing to think that Eddie would think that about him, to begin with.
"Yeah." DB thought for a minute. "Since last year, I guess, if I were to admit it. When you got into cooking."
"Why then?" Eddie asked, eyebrows rising. That had not been the best time between them. He could still remember the awful feeling of rejection when DB wouldn't take him serious, and made him choose between cooking and baseball. And then this elated feeling when DB had told him it was okay. That they could win the game without him. That he had his blessing to cook.
"I was jealous," it was muttered, and Eddie had to strain to hear it. "You found something else to love, and that I couldn't be a part of it, not really, and I thought you were going to get all cooking, all the time, and forget about your friends, and baseball and I was just a mess."
Eddie hid a grin at the light blush that crept up DB's neck, and continued onto his cheeks.
"I think I've liked you since forever," Eddie said, grinning slightly, "but I only realized it on Saturday."
"Yeah," DB said, "that was a day of realizations, alright. The day I got a 'thing' for my best friend, and the day I learned I really do suck at cooking."
"You don't suck," Eddie chided, "you just need to practice. I'll help you, if you want." It came out almost shyly, and he felt like berating himself again. Since when was he shy? That was so unlike him.
"Sure," DB easily nodded, and then the silence fell between them again.
"So, what now?" Eddie asked, blurting the first thing that came to mind.
"I think we like kiss, or something," DB said, a funny expression crossing his face. "That's what they do in all my sister's romance movies. They admit to firing passion, and then vow with sex, that they'll never part."
Eddie grinned, and sat up, bouncing slightly as he moved. He wasn't sure what to do, exactly, so he just did what came naturally to him. He reached over, and grabbed his right hand, lacing their fingers together.
"I guess I can make the first move," DB said, laughing nervously. He closed the distance between them, and tentatively leaned forward, waiting for Eddie to do the same. When he did, he surged forward, tackling him against the mattress, and laughed at Eddie's shocked expression. Inspired, he leaned down and kissed him, and it was such a horribly wonderful first kiss. Their mouths weren't lined right, and teeth clacked against teeth, and it was such an awkward position, with one of Eddie's legs twisted into a slightly bent angle, and there was hair in front of DB's eyes, so he couldn't see his expression. He pulled back with a gasp, taking in deep breaths, and listened as Eddie did the same thing.
"Well, that was interesting," Eddie commented, and DB had to agree with a slight giggle. "Let's try again."
"Later," DB murmured, shaking his head, and lowering himself into the crook of Eddie's arm. He was suddenly exhausted.
There would be time later to practice, and to talk, and discuss what they were going to do. The idea of just lying there, and basking in the idea of that there would be a 'later,' sounded so much more appealing.
They had all the time in the world.
He would make sure of it.