failing home ec

The only warning Sven had was a tiny voice that 'oh shit'. Fortunately, Sven had been around the block enough times to know that when that particular voice said 'oh shit' he really meant 'I've-just-done-something-really-really-bad-but-maybe-if-I-downplay-it-enough-it-won't-be noticed'. This was why he was crouching behind a counter when the cake exploded.

"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit." The small voice was getting louder and more panicked. Sven, being the wise man that he is, decided to stay where he was behind the counter. After all, he had just gotten out of the way of serious baking fireworks. He certainly wasn't going to risk his life for the more dangerous emotional fireworks that were certain to come.

"Oh lord. Lance, I think we killed it." Keith's voice was filled with an odd wonder.

"No, really?"

"Shut up. It's your fault."

"My fault?" Sven tried not to smile at the wild affront in Lance's voice. "Keith, you were the one who insisted that you knew how to bake a cake!"

"Yeah, but you were the one who put in too much baking powder."

There was a small pause as Lance tried to think up some sort of witty comeback--or any comeback at all, really--to this obvious truth. Realizing that his position was hopeless, Lance just skipped over three pages of dialogue in the typical 'Keith-tries-to-convince-Lance-that-he's-to-blame' melodrama that was their lives and went straight to the hyperventilation.

"We're dead! We're all fucking dead!" The wail went up in pitch.

"Maybe we can clean it up in time. D'you think that Sven would notice it if we bought him a cake?"

"No, but I do think he'd notice that huge globs of cake batter are currently decorating the ceiling."

"...Really?" Sven imagined that Keith was chewing on his lower lip by now, brow slightly furrowed, with those little worried lines turning his eyes down. "Maybe if we distract him enough, he won't even care that we blew up his cake."

"Oh yeah, like that--Well, actually, maybe it would. So, what should we do?"

"Well...we could always cover ourselves in chocolate and just show up on his doorstep."

A slight pause, then the rustling of cloth as Lance shrugged in agreement. "That's as good as anything else. You go get the chocolate. I'm going to go grab a hoe and see if I can get some of the batter down."

Sven smiled. It looked like this was his cue to exit stage right.

* * *

They arrived on his door at exactly half-past three in the company of curious stares and more than a few lustful gazes. There was something oddly tempting about the sight of Keith and Lance, buck-nekkid and dripping chocolate sauce. Keith had a big red bow tied around his neck. Lance had a bow as well, but his was placed significantly lower.

Sven was waiting at the door, wearing a sly smile and a gun holster with two cans of Redi-whip primed and ready. He was clad solely in latex boots that went up to his knees and looked like they belonged to one of the costumes in "The Rocky Horror Picture Show".

Keith raised an eyebrow and swallowed. The latex boots were vaguely frightening. "Um. Happy birthday?"

"Danke." Sven nodded his head slightly and stepped aside, gesturing for the two boys to enter. The chocolate covered pilots shuffled in, Keith squeaking slightly as Sven goosed him.

"D'you want to, um, unwrap your presents?" Lance laughed nervously.

"Nope. In fact, I think that you need to have some more wrapping." Sven flicked off the caps of the Redi-whip cans and advanced. "Now before you boys start protesting, I would like to let you know that I know what happened to the cake."

"Oh." Lance shivered slightly as the whipped cream hit his skin. "Are you mad?"

"Me? Mad? Of course not. Why would I be?" Sven nodded in satisfaction at the picture he'd drawn on Lance's chest and turned his attention to Keith. "I like sex, and I like chocolate. Here I get both at once. I see no problem." He stepped back and surveyed his work. "Mm. Delectable. Now we just have one more thing to do before we start."

"What's that?" Keith licked his lips, and wondered, idly, if Sven had any maraschino cherries.

"How are we going to explain the brown stains to Nanny?"