You wanted old boys? I got you old boys!
9. Our first dinner party
There was a large crash and the smell of slightly burnt confetti filled the air. Giving a small sigh, Stanley leaned out of the kitchen to see what trouble his family was causing now. To his surprise,, it was his boyfriend who offered him an innocent smile from behind his trimmed beard.
“I thought I’d help the youngin’s with the decoratin’,” Fiddleford said, putting away the jumbo sized party popper.
“Fidds, ya gave me half a heart attack,” Stan complained. He gave a small pout.
“Sorry, darlin’. I think I might leave the decoratin’ to the professionals,” Fiddleford said, walking over to the kitchen. “Maybe I can help ya in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, some focus on the dinner part of a dinner party would be nice,” Stanley said, raising his voice to make sure the rest of his family in the living room could hear his unsubtle message.
Chuckling at the slight guilt that crossed the faces of Mabel, Dipper and Stanford in the other room Fiddleford walked into the kitchen. “Yer being too harsh on ‘em,” he said.
“Yeah?” Stan asked, walking into the kitchen to check how his roast was going.
“Ya did ban ‘em all from interfeerin’ with yer cooking,” Fiddleford pointed out. He took a seat on the kitchen table and watched Stan get to work making some rice.
“For good reason,” Stanley replied, pouring some boiling water onto the rice. “They’re all cooking hazards.”
“What about Soos and his grandmother?” Fiddleford asked.
“She’s been cooking most of our meals while we’re stayin’ over here. I thought I’d let her have the night off,” Stan said. He put a lid on the rice and quickly moved over to the next pot that needed his attention.
“Ya want some help?” Fiddleford asked with an innocent smile.
“Are you gonna add roadkill to my stew?” Stanley asked.
“Not anymore,” Fiddleford said. “I was thinkin’ more you tell me what you need help with and I fix it up for ya.”
“Yeah, no, that’s fair,” Stan said. He took a large spoon and scooped some of the stew he was cooking. “Taste this for me,” he said, pointing the spoon in Fiddleford’s direction.
Fiddleford got down from the table and took the offered bite of stew. Using his tongue he swished it around his mouth, tasting the stock while chewing the vegetable and meat chunks. “It could do with some salt,” he said,alking over to the old coffee jar that was filled with salt.
“That sweet?” Stan asked, licking the spoon himself.
“You also made the vegetable bits too big,” Fiddleford said, pouring a couple of tea spoons from the jar into the pot. “They’re still pretty firm.”
“Ugh, nothing to do about that now,” Stan groaned, giving the pot a quick stir
“It’s not the end of the world.” Fiddleford said.
“I know that much. We’ve been through the end of the world. Remember?” Stanley teased.
“Never mind all that,” Fiddleford said, mimicking Mayor Tyler’s tone of voice.
“You’re terrible,” Stanley smirked. He tasted another bite of the stew. “Here, try this.”
Fiddleford took the offered bite and hummed as he ate. “That’s better,” he smiled. “Actually, maybe a pinch of moon shine could fix it up.”
“I know you love your moonshine, Fiddlesticks. But I’m not lettin’ the kids get drunk.” Stan said firmly.
“But I made it specially for ya,” Fiddleford whined.
“We could always have our own little dinner party after party,” Stanley said with a devious smirk.
“Stanley Pines you are a tease.” Fiddleford pouted.
“But you love me anyway.” Stan smirked, leaning forward and gently kissing his boyfriend’s forehead.
A crash sounded form the other room, followed quickly by an optimistic “I’m okay!”
“I think we might need someone to watch over the others,” Fiddleford said, looking towards the door.
“Nah, they’ve got Ford with them. They’ll be fine,” Stanley said, lowering the stove’s flame from a strong boil to a light simmer.
“That’s a good point,” Fiddleford said.
“And if worst comes to worst they’ve got Melody there,” Stan said looking to the rice.
“Fairpoint,” Fiddleford said, walking over to Stan.
He gingerly wrapped his hands around his boyfriend’s waist while he worked on the food. Gently he kissed the back of Stan’s neck, who hummed happily as he turned off the flame under the rice. Stan turned around and picked up Fiddleford in his arms.
“Looking forward to the dinner party?” Stan asked.
“I’ve had enough of the party for now. I’m looking forward to the dinner part,” Fiddleford said, planting a kiss on Stan’s cheek.
“We’ll get there soon,” Stan promised, leaning forward to kiss Fiddleford’s lips. “We’ll get there soon.”