The Finer Arts
Pairing: F/S
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Slash.
Summary: In which Frodo proves to be culinarily challenged.
"So?" Frodo finally ventured, eyes shining at Sam. "How was it?"
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo," Sam groaned, "it was a good try and all, but..."
Frodo frowned. "But? Since you've added 'Mr.' as a prefix, I'll assume that this is a bad thing." He leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. "Well, go ahead and tell me."
"I appreciate the effort, really I do," Sam continued
determinedly, "and don't take this the wrong way, but-" and here he
clutched his stomach- "you've killed me."
Frodo's shoulders sagged. "You didn't like it?" His voice sounded
small. "But I followed the recipe meticulously."
Now, now, Frodo-dear," Sam soothed, immediately
penitent. "Your Sam was just exaggerating. It wasn't that awful,
not truly." He made to cross the room and comfort Frodo, but as soon as he
stood, his face blanched. "Ah- I think I stood up too fast. I'd best sit
down for a while." He fell heavily back into his seat.
Frodo arched his eyebrow. "You're lying, Sam. It was that horrible,
wasn't it?" He sighed. "My poor Sam, having to suffer through
botulism just to appease me." He walked over to Sam and hugged him
gingerly from behind. "You know, you didn't have to eat it. If you'd
thought it was volatile just by appearance, you could have, say, dumped it on
the floor and made it look like an accident. I wouldn't have minded."
Sam chuckled, ignoring the hearty protest from his stomach.
"I would never! It'd be an unkindness to the floor, to be sure. And it
would've made a right nasty mess for me to clean up later." He leaned his
head back and smiled at Frodo. "If you want, I could take some of...
that ... to Lobelia for Yule."
Frodo wryly smiled back. "So you're saying it's deadly." His smile
faded slightly. "I wish I were as skilled as you are in the kitchen, Sam.
I wish I could make your mouth sing the way mine does whenever you cook for me.
I'm hopeless, really." He reached for the plate on the table and brought
it over to the sink, desperately trying to scrub the stuck bits of food off of
it. He suddenly felt arms wrap around his waist.
"Oh, but you do make my mouth sing," Sam murmured in Frodo's
ear, "because if I recall correctly, you're skilled in other areas that
put food to shame." He kissed the ear lightly. "Now, if you'll leave
that sorry plate alone, you can redeem yourself and give me something
more delectable to savor."
Frodo dropped the plate. "What about your stomach? I don't much fancy the
thought of wearing my defective meal. You should lie down quietly for a
while," he dictated, stressing quietly.
Sam turned Frodo around and kissed him softly. "I think I can handle it,
Frodo-love," he said, grinning wickedly. "You'll take my mind off of
it soon enough." He touched his lips. "See, already the taste is
fading. All I can taste now is-"
"That's quite enough from you, my dear bard," Frodo said, laughing.
"I really should cook more often, if this is the response I'll receive."
Sam took Frodo's hand. "Leave the cooking to me, love. Speaking of
leaving- we should let the kitchen air out for a while. Let's explore your
other area of expertise."
The wilted flowers in the kitchen window breathed easier.