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[Fic] French Press [Sanctuary; Magnus/Will Established; PG]
A little ficlet for my wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ceilidh, who always makes me laugh.
Title: French Press
Author:sheikah
Rating: PG
Pairing: Magnus/Will; established relationship
Disclaimer: I don't own anything pertaining to Sanctuary
Summary: Kitchen Gadgets and domesticity. 762 words.
“Magnus, what the hell is this?”
Helen looked up to see Will peering curiously at a golden filigreed grapefruit spoon and she barely stifled a giggle in exchange for arching a brow at him. Will looked silly at best, outright comical at worst, considering he was in a shirt that was half-buttoned in a haphazard way, one sock and blue plaid boxer shorts. His hair was sticking up every which way, so much that it’d passed endearing into outright ridiculous. Helen, for her part, tugged her robe a little tighter over her chest and when she spoke, her voice barely smoothed over the giggles threatening to rise up in her throat.
“It’s a grapefruit spoon, Will. One presumably uses it to eat grapefruit with.” Will rolled his eyes and placed it back in the drawer before pulling out three more kitchen tools and laying them out in a neat line across the marble counter. That done, he looked back up at her, eyebrows raising. This time, Helen didn’t stifle the giggle and Will didn’t relent. “Uh huh. And these? Medieval torture devices, I’m assuming?”
“From left to right, a mandoline, a mango slicer and a cherry pitter. If you have any other more…creative uses for them, I can’t speak to your imagination, Dr. Zimmerman. Perhaps you’ve simply seen too many horror movies. May I ask why you’re questioning the contents of my kitchen? Anyone else would simply think I was prepared for any eventuality.” Helen popped up to sit on one of the high barstools along the kitchen counter, foot tapping lightly against the rungs.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never felt the need to pit any cherries when I’m looking for the coffee pot. That was what I was doing, by the way. Looking for coffee. I can’t help it that your house is gigantic and I got a little lost in the middle of it. You know, two people could live in this place for years and never even run into each other. I think I found a maid lost in one of the upstairs bathrooms.” Helen greeted that with an eyeroll and twirled her hand in a ‘go on,’ gesture; Will didn’t seem to need the encouragement.
“What I’m saying is, I don’t need a mango slicer to make bacon and eggs. When I was growing up? We just made them in the same pan. Fried the bacon, scrambled the eggs and dumped the whole mess on a plate. Sometimes there were even eggshells in it for that extra crunch.” He reached into a cabinet and pulled out an egg cup. “Instead, I get this thing, which I’m pretty sure has no place in a kitchen. What is this thing?”
Helen shook her head and slid back down from the stool to cross the kitchen and opened a cabinet just to the left of where Will was standing, stretching on her tip toes to pull down a French press. James had liked coffee, upon occasion, and he’d left the French press some time or another when her habit of incessant tea had gotten on his nerves. Helen felt Will’s eyes sliding down the length of thigh exposed by her stretch and she, admittedly, lengthened it a bit longer because she liked when he looked at her. After flying in to Capri, they’d both fallen straight into bed and neither had really had a chance to look, too busy just trying to have.
“Am I going to have to give you a lesson on how to use this?” Helen asked, smirking at him when Will scowled and made a grab for a coffee mug and the press. He mumbled a quiet ‘no’ and went to making his coffee while she turned to brew her tea and by the time the kettle had whistled and the crisp smell of dark roasted coffee had permeated the kitchen, she looked up to find Will looking at her, the heated look from earlier sliding into something more tender that almost hurt, deep down.
“I could get used to this, you know,” Will said quietly, laying a hand on her hip as he passed behind her to reach for the sugar. He’d dragged the coffee mug along with him and it sat precariously near the edge of the counter; Helen surreptitiously pushed it a little further into safety and turned to meet his lips in a soft, sweet kiss.
“What? Stirring your coffee with a grapefruit spoon? I can’t imagine you’ll want to make a habit of something so gauche.”
She didn’t begrudge him his own eyeroll.
ceilidh, who always makes me laugh.Title: French Press
Author:
sheikahRating: PG
Pairing: Magnus/Will; established relationship
Disclaimer: I don't own anything pertaining to Sanctuary
Summary: Kitchen Gadgets and domesticity. 762 words.
“Magnus, what the hell is this?”
Helen looked up to see Will peering curiously at a golden filigreed grapefruit spoon and she barely stifled a giggle in exchange for arching a brow at him. Will looked silly at best, outright comical at worst, considering he was in a shirt that was half-buttoned in a haphazard way, one sock and blue plaid boxer shorts. His hair was sticking up every which way, so much that it’d passed endearing into outright ridiculous. Helen, for her part, tugged her robe a little tighter over her chest and when she spoke, her voice barely smoothed over the giggles threatening to rise up in her throat.
“It’s a grapefruit spoon, Will. One presumably uses it to eat grapefruit with.” Will rolled his eyes and placed it back in the drawer before pulling out three more kitchen tools and laying them out in a neat line across the marble counter. That done, he looked back up at her, eyebrows raising. This time, Helen didn’t stifle the giggle and Will didn’t relent. “Uh huh. And these? Medieval torture devices, I’m assuming?”
“From left to right, a mandoline, a mango slicer and a cherry pitter. If you have any other more…creative uses for them, I can’t speak to your imagination, Dr. Zimmerman. Perhaps you’ve simply seen too many horror movies. May I ask why you’re questioning the contents of my kitchen? Anyone else would simply think I was prepared for any eventuality.” Helen popped up to sit on one of the high barstools along the kitchen counter, foot tapping lightly against the rungs.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never felt the need to pit any cherries when I’m looking for the coffee pot. That was what I was doing, by the way. Looking for coffee. I can’t help it that your house is gigantic and I got a little lost in the middle of it. You know, two people could live in this place for years and never even run into each other. I think I found a maid lost in one of the upstairs bathrooms.” Helen greeted that with an eyeroll and twirled her hand in a ‘go on,’ gesture; Will didn’t seem to need the encouragement.
“What I’m saying is, I don’t need a mango slicer to make bacon and eggs. When I was growing up? We just made them in the same pan. Fried the bacon, scrambled the eggs and dumped the whole mess on a plate. Sometimes there were even eggshells in it for that extra crunch.” He reached into a cabinet and pulled out an egg cup. “Instead, I get this thing, which I’m pretty sure has no place in a kitchen. What is this thing?”
Helen shook her head and slid back down from the stool to cross the kitchen and opened a cabinet just to the left of where Will was standing, stretching on her tip toes to pull down a French press. James had liked coffee, upon occasion, and he’d left the French press some time or another when her habit of incessant tea had gotten on his nerves. Helen felt Will’s eyes sliding down the length of thigh exposed by her stretch and she, admittedly, lengthened it a bit longer because she liked when he looked at her. After flying in to Capri, they’d both fallen straight into bed and neither had really had a chance to look, too busy just trying to have.
“Am I going to have to give you a lesson on how to use this?” Helen asked, smirking at him when Will scowled and made a grab for a coffee mug and the press. He mumbled a quiet ‘no’ and went to making his coffee while she turned to brew her tea and by the time the kettle had whistled and the crisp smell of dark roasted coffee had permeated the kitchen, she looked up to find Will looking at her, the heated look from earlier sliding into something more tender that almost hurt, deep down.
“I could get used to this, you know,” Will said quietly, laying a hand on her hip as he passed behind her to reach for the sugar. He’d dragged the coffee mug along with him and it sat precariously near the edge of the counter; Helen surreptitiously pushed it a little further into safety and turned to meet his lips in a soft, sweet kiss.
“What? Stirring your coffee with a grapefruit spoon? I can’t imagine you’ll want to make a habit of something so gauche.”
She didn’t begrudge him his own eyeroll.
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WILL = ADORABLE. TY.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
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OH MY GOD I CANNOT BE HELPED.
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And second: <3
I love the image of them in the kitchen, so domestically. And I especially love the image of Will admiring Helen's thigh under her robe, and her showing off. Mmmm. :D
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Mm, yes. I envisioned this as a morning after to a first time, so they're still very much trying to learn one another.
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I love adorkable Will and teasing Helen and her owning EVERY kitchen appliance ever made and, and, and, YAY.
(Tell me she has absinthe spoons. In the most bizarre shapes.)
In conclusion, ♥ ♥ ♥
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(She does, antique ones, and still drinks absinthe sometimes >.>)
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Omg, I want absinthe fic! With lounging about on pillows and whatnot. :D
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