Jean and Warren: Kiss the Cook?

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean and Warren make up after their fight and he shows off some of his skills. Not those kind of skills.



There was nothing quite like the act of baking. Warren loved the precision of it, every ingredient carefully measured and placed together to create something amazing. Not only that, but then he got to eat it, which was easily the best part.

His sweet tooth was something that he had struggled with in the past, and he found he could discipline it easier if he had to take the time to cook it. If a cake took a couple of hours to create, he wasn't going to eat it all in ten minutes. No matter how much he wanted to.

So today, his blunt roll apron firmly around his waist, he was making a croquembouche, otherwise known as a cream puff tower. It'd been a stressful time at the Mansion, with the strange goings on with the Avengers (and he still had no idea how to process any of that) and what people needed was something ridiculous decadent and delicious. Plus, the longer it took for him to make it, the more he felt he deserved to eat at least quite a bit.

Standing at the stove, he started with making his pate a choux. The whipped cream was chilling in the fridge, the ganache was prepped and ready to be made, and he'd be making the caramel once he had these in the oven. Hearing someone come in, he turned around, still whisking his pastry. "Jean," he said, a smile on his face. "Hello, darling. Come help."

Jean could smell something sweet coming from the kitchen. It had her stomach rumbling. She was still healing, and her skin was tender in some places, making her itch something fiercely. It was not good to do it, but it didn't stop her from wanting to. She was scratching her stomach as she rounded the corner, then stopped abruptly at the sight of Warren. She had forgotten he liked to cook. She had been expecting someone, anyone else.

"I think you seem to be handling things fine on your own."

He had already turned back to his pastry dough, as it was getting time to taking it off the stove. "I haven't had a chance to really bake in a while," he said, eyes on the consistency of his dough. Turning the stove off, he pulled the pot off the burner and set it to cool. Turning around, he grinned. "I enjoy the company. Especially yours. Does this mean you're not mad anymore?"

Jean lingered in the doorway, arms folded. "I didn't say that," she said. She didn't know what she was. But she didn't feel like their conversation ended on a resolution. They had different view points, obviously. She still believed hers. And he...seemed to take everything in stride, becoming the literal representation of someone who's feathers were unruffled.

"So you're still mad," he stated matter-of-factly. Wiping his hands on his apron, he canted his head, a soft smile on his face. "I don't blame you. I wasn't what you needed the other night, and I apologize."

He started to walk towards her, a remorseful look on his face. "If I hug you, will you hit me?" He stopped close to her. "I've missed you."

Jean was trying to let it go, hoping it would just evaporate, but she was stubborn. Her parents once stopped speaking for a week over an argument about medical malpractice in 1800s London. It was a Grey family trait.

She shook her head. "I'm not asking you to agree with everything I say. I can see the need for devil's advocate....But no one deserves what happened to that man, even if he did the same to her. If we do that, we make ourselves no better than him," she said. She sighed.

"I..." she trailed off, letting out another one. "I'm sorry."

She smiled. "I think I was a pitbull in another life. I don't....I don't want to fight with you." She stared down at his hands. They were smooth, perfect, untouched by the rigors of manual labor.

"I...missed you too."

His smile broadened. Leaning down, he risked a quick kiss before straightening up. ‎ "Good. Now come, see what I'm doing." Warren took her hand and gently tugged her. "I thought people could use some sweets in their life but I couldn't decide on what. A croquembouche seemed to be the perfect thing. Who can say no to cream puffs?"

The pastry was now cool enough to put into the pastry bag. "Want to pipe some out?" he asked as he prepared his pastry bag.

‎Jean eyed the pastry bag. "The last time I tried to bake I set my smoke alarm off. But I can see the fire extinguisher mounted to the wall over there so why not live dangerously?" she said. She held out her hand.

"Is there a trick to it?"

"A steady hand?" He finished setting up, baking sheet in front of him, and pulled her over. He gave her the semi filled bag and stepped behind her.

Covering her hand with this, he showed her on the sheet. "Just enough to make a little ball. They'll expand as they cook."

This might've been a bad idea, he though. He could smell her shampoo, and having her so close was causing his body to tense.

"Sounds easy enough," Jean said, mimicking what he did after a moment . She could hear his breathing quicken, and she glanced down.

"How....many of these do we need to make?"

"Until the bag is empty," he said into her ear, nuzzling into her neck. "Or until you get bored and then I'll take over."

His breath was hot against her skin, and Jean paused, tilting her head. "Oh," she said quietly, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. He was making it very difficult, though. And he knew it.

"So do you make this often?" she said as she worked, trying to be careful to make each would-be pastry even.

"Occasionally," he answered, enjoying her reactions. He leaned his head next to hers and watched as she worked. It was far from perfect, but that was fine. "I don't have a lot of spare time but with these recent deals, and financials up to speed, I can be more flexible with my schedule." His hand reached up to caress her right shoulder as he placed a kiss on her left one. "I have vacation time coming up, you know. We should go somewhere. Anywhere."

She was certain he was probably flexible with more than just his schedule. Letting out a breath, she focused intently on making sure the pastry dough was perfect, even as she felt his hand brush across her skin with casual deftness.

"I just started with Claremont....I don't know if they'd let me get away for a long period. I'm always on call. Charles knows my supervisor really well. He helped him in a jam so he was able to allow me to get off for the mission, and explain away the injuries but...that doesn't mean other people won't notice my leaving a lot."

Even if she really wanted to.

"A couple of nights, then." His lips made a trail up her neck and behind her ear. "Or even one. I'm not fussy. I simply want time with you away from all this." It wasn't that he didn't like the Mansion. It was more that it was starting to hit him what allying himself really meant. "Wouldn't you like to let loose, revisit some college behaviours?"

Jean's eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her. She felt a rustling within as her skin started to tingle, momentarily forgetting her current task. She smiled. "And get the tabloids talking? I don't know about that. I prefer....low key."

"But my place is boring," he responded. Noticing she'd stopped, he gently nudged her aside so he could finish up. After a few minutes, two trays were filled and he was able to put them in the oven.

"Florida? It's close enough for the jet to get us there and back in a few days."

Jean took the time to compose herself, straightening her shirt, then nodded. "Maybe. Miami? It'd be nice to get some sun."

Warren flashed her a grin. "Miami it is." He reached forward and pulled her into an embrace. "Give me dates and I'll arrange everything."

Just when she thought she was safe, she was back in his arms again. She glanced up at him, smirking. "Barring a natural disaster or mass casualty incident I should have some free time coming up in the next few days." She leaned in.

"Now who said I wasn't spontaneous?"

He laughed and gave her a peck on the nose. "Sure, sure. Now help me make the cone, and I'll see if I can keep my hands off you."‎

"You seem to be having trouble, thus far," Jean observed. She leaned in to kiss him back, lingering, until she finally pulled away and nipped at his lip.

"And...maybe I don't want you to."

He gave her an amused look. "Dr. Grey," he began, a smile tugging on his lips. "That sounds utterly shameful. However," and he was very regretful about this, "This is neither the time nor the place. I have cream puffs in the oven," he said by way of explanation. "But let me assure you that by the time I'm done with you in Miami, you will be more than satisfied."

Jean blinked at the role reversal. She was finally ready and willing and HE was the one turning her down? Him, the unrepentant playboy. She almost had to laugh. In fact she did.

"Has that line ever worked before?"

Not even noticing the reason behind her laughter, he shrugged, a smile on his face. "I don't have to say anything, my actions more than prove it." ‎

Quirking a brow, Jean shook her head. "Mmmhmm," she said, unconvinced as she smirked, turning to leave.

"Well, I'll leave you to your cream puffs."

"I'll text you when it's ready," he responded absently, already focusing on building his dessert.

Jean kept shaking her head. "Yep," she said, trudging upstairs.

God, they were a weird couple.