3 – The Spatula of Seduction

Author's note: Yeah, so this one got away from me in the most hilarious way. Probably the naughtiest thing I've written here (no worries, it's still rated T). Enjoy.

"Mey-Rin." Bard rapped softly on the maid's bedroom door. "The house is asleep. The moon is up, the stars are out, and I've a hankerin' for something sweet. Let's do it."

He could feel the faint vibrations of her footfalls through the old wooden floor as she approached. The door opened a crack, just wide enough for him to see the glint of a single, un-spectacled eye and a lock of her red hair.

"I can't," hissed Mey-Rin. "We shouldn't. Sebastian'll hear an' it'll be all over for the both of us, it will."

"He won't hear. And if he does, he won't care. He didn't hear last time, did he?"

"That was one time, and it was months ago. I can't go pushing my luck like that, Bard. An' besides." Her tone darkened. "How could I ever face 'im again, if he caught us? I'd rather die."

"If he catches us, we invite him to join right in. Psychology, that." Bard leaned in at the door so that his nose nearly touched hers. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"Did Finny hear you leave? I wouldn't want him to feel, I don't know, left out or whatnot."

"Finny? Now you're bringing up Finny? This is our thing, Mey-Rin. A few pleasant hours in a life o' drudgery. You mention his name once more, and I'll go back to my own bed all on my own. You don't want that, do you?"

The door opened wider, and Mey-Rin leaned her head and shoulders out. She wore a plain nightgown with ruffled hem, and her feet were bare.

"Are you—are you still wearin' your apron, Bard?"

"'Course I'm wearing my apron. Goggles, coat, the whole bit. You rather I didn't?"

"No, it looks right lovely it does. But I…would you rather I put on my pinafore then?"

"Pinafore? No need to get fancy on my account. Just grab some shoes so you don't stub a toe. Then I'll be forced to carry you downstairs over my shoulder. But you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Mey-Rin didn't answer, as she had ducked back inside her room. When she opened the door again, she wore a pair of old ballet slippers and a dressing gown. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. "Sorry if I cling to yer arm too tight. I can't really see anything closer'n that far wall there. Stairs are beastly, they are."

"Indeed," said Bard, and flashed her a grin and swept her into his arms. " Lemme help you with that."

They descended the servant's staircase from the attic past the upper and main floors toward the cellar. Mey-Rin clutched Bards goggles and pressed her cheek against his neck. "Will you let me hold the spatula this time?" she murmured.

"Spatula? Did you want it last time? Why didn't you say nothing?"

"Well you're the chef, and I figured you know what yer doing 'round the kitchen and all. But I want to get better, I do. Maybe you could do more teaching this time, an' I won't just sit there while you charge on ahead wi' me barely able to follow what's going on."

"Such a harsh mistress." Bard pushed open the kitchen door with his foot, and with his cigarette lit the gaslamp on the wall. "Next you'll make me promise to go to that chef school or whatnot," he said, setting her gently on the edge of the table.

"You should, Bard. Yer an idiot if you don't try."

Mey-Rin swung her legs as Bard rummaged in the kitchen drawers. "Spatula for the lady," he said, placing the rubber scraper in her hands. "An' here's your bowl and measuring cups. I even brought you a bag of chocolate shards because we…" he lowered his voice… "are making brownies."

Mey-Rin grinned and pulled Bard's goggles up over his eyes. The chef helped her down off the table, then stood behind her, guiding her hand with the measuring cup into the flour, then her other hand with a butter knife to scrape off the excess.

"There. Now the cocoa powder. Give it all a good stir. I'll get the chocolate melted on the stove."

"Sebastian will kill us, Bard, he will."

"No 'e won't. Not if you're the one to do the caramelizing wi' the flamethrower, not me. And I know you want try your hand at that, don't you?"

Mey-Rin nodded vigorously.

"I can think of only one thing that will get us both torn limb from limb by a certain butler." Bard lifted the spoon coated with melted chocolate. He touched it to his nose so that it left a little chocolate mark, then daubed Mey-Rin's cheek. "This." And he moved in to kiss her.