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Blood and Chocolate	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 15 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Based on my own predilections or not, this is still a work of fiction. by the way, you will get hungry reading this. Just, just just trust me on this.

Chapter List
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When I checked out of the grocery store, I made my way down to the bus stop and all the while, I had the wind at my back. It was right then that I yearned for a cup of Mexican hot chocolate in my own rite. And perhaps I could craft myself a nice big fat bowl of that matzo ball soup which I planned to make up for Alex. When I stood there at the stop, right underneath the awning, I took a better look over the recipe list that she had written for me.
I had everything I needed within my other hand, from the matzo meal for the soup to the cinnamon for the hot chocolate. It all came down to properly bringing it all to life and at the right time.
Then again, I wondered as to how the whole entire plan would play out. I would have to invite the boy over for dinner one evening, and I would have to bring Lou over as well, just so the plan would be executed perfectly. I wanted Lou there with me every step of the way. We were all friends here, but I wanted a little bit of back-up right behind me.
I rode the bus home, complete with the groceries suspended down in one hand and my attention on the windshield before me. I really wanted to impress Alex with it, and I really wanted to ensure that I had made it right, too. I had the recipe in my pocket courtesy of Elle, and I had Lou and his girlfriend three doors down from me.
When I set the groceries down on the countertop in the kitchen, I stopped for a moment and ran my fingers through my hair. It would be nuts to think about it for the time being, especially since I needed to rest up and refresh myself for the next few days. But I was sure of it: it came to me in the form of a series of butterflies that flurried up inside of my stomach.
I could not stop thinking about it.
I made my way back outside to that apartment three doors down from me.
A knock on the door and a moment of anticipation.
Lou stood there before me with his long hair brushed back behind his head and the smell of cologne that wafted off the side of his neck.
“Hey, Eric, what’s up?”
“Hey, Lou, what’re you doing tomorrow night?” I asked him with a rub of the back of my neck.
“Uh, probably nothing and Angie’s going to be away with her parents down in Monterey for the weekend. Why?”
“You want to come on over and have dinner with me and Alex?”
“You and Alex?” He smirked at that.
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking...” He backed up for me to step inside of the front foyer, all so I wasn’t standing there in the doorway like an idiot. “I really want to get back into straight-up cooking again. My mom taught me how to cook, and I just haven’t been able to have that chance since I left home a few years back. You know?”
“Oh, yeah, I feel you,” he admitted to me with a nod. “Angie always cooks for me, but I really want to try it myself and—she and I are thinking of starting a family, too. That's kind of important, the more I think about it.” He peered over his shoulder to the kitchen behind him. “Care for some coffee?”
“Oh, yeah, please,” I said with a smirk.
I took my seat at the kitchen table, and I waited for him to pour me a cup of coffee, straight black with a little bit of sugar inside.
Lou took his spot right next to me with a cup for himself.
“You and Angie are thinking of starting a family, really?” I asked him.
“Yeah, it’s just something that she and I are kind of dead-set on right now,” he replied with a shrug. “Whether she and I get married in the future, that’s a whole other thing altogether.”
“Ah, having things outta wedlock, I see,” I teased him.
He ran his fingers through his smooth hair and took a sip from his mug. I flexed my fingers around the rim of my mug: I had faith that every album I wanted to make with Testament was going to be made on this lush coffee whether anyone liked it or not. Sometimes the best habits are the ones that bring the most joy.
He then cleared his throat.
“So, what do you want to make for him?” he asked me with a slight bow of his head towards me, as if we were in a crowded room together.
“Matzo ball soup,” I duly replied, and he raised his eyebrows at that.
“They say, ‘jump’, you say ‘how high,’” he remarked.
“Nah, it’s all good. One of the girls at the market happens to be Jewish and so I asked her about it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I reached into my pocket for the paper, and I set it down on the table right before him. He knitted his eyebrows together and his eyes scanned over the words there on the paper, and then he nodded his head to it all.
“I need you to help me,” I told him, and he raised his gaze, baffled.
“Help you with what?”
“To see if it tastes good enough.”
“Eric, I assure you it’ll taste good enough. Have you tried matzo soup?”
I shook my head, and he clasped a hand to his chest as if I had just harpooned his heart.
“Oh, man,” he groaned out. “Oh, man, Eric! You're killing me here!”
I fetched up an exasperated sigh at that.
“Alright, you want me to make up a vat of it for the both of us right now just so I can taste it?”
“If you want,” he told me. “We can always go out to the nearest restaurant and fetch a bowl for ourselves. Although... I am curious about what you want to make and how you want to approach it.”
“I’m curious, too,” I confessed. “Come on, let’s go back next door and I'll try my hand at it—”
Lou and I picked up our cups of coffee and I brought him back to my place three doors up from there.
I laid the paper on the counter next to the cup of coffee and then I picked the matzo meal out of the paper bag first. Some of that first, followed by five eggs—that blew me away that I had to use five eggs rather than two or one—some club soda, and then what Elle described as “schmaltz”, which she explained was rendered chicken fat. Humble food but so seemingly hearty at the same time.
I added a little sprinkle of ground ginger for some more of a punch, and then I let them rest in the fridge. She told me to cook it in slightly salted boiling water first followed by chicken broth.
It took me some time to completely get it all collected and all together in that big silver pot on the stove. Some time and another cup of coffee courtesy of Lou, as well.
In fact, it took me until nearly eleven o’clock at night before I took a dish out of the cupboard and served him a bowl full of matzo soup. The dumplings were round and puffy and pale, and I hoped that they were that perfect balance that Elle had told me about.
“I hope this is good,” I told him as I handed him the spoon.
Lou picked up the first ball and blew on the one side. Very carefully, he nibbled on it and closed his eyes. I rested my hands on the tabletop right next to him and I watched him. The butterflies returned to my stomach yet again.
“Oh, wow,” he muttered as he brought his attention back to the spoon.
“Good?”
“Delicious,” he replied to me. He turned to me and cracked me a smile. “Mama Peterson did well for you, Eric—he'll love this!”
I let out a low whistle, and I bowed my head forward and rested it on the table next to him. Lou chuckled at that.
“Yeah, you can breathe now,” he assured me with a pat on my shoulder.
Though it was late at night, I helped myself to a bowl myself: it helped that I had had two cups of coffee up to that point, too. Indeed, it was warm and comforting, like a big bowl of chicken soup on a cold, rainy day: the ginger added to the matzo balls themselves and formed something nice with the club soda and the chicken broth. I had done Elle justice as the balls themselves were light and fluffy but also big and dense the more that he and I dug into it together.
“Well, I'm gonna sleep well tonight,” Lou told me once he had drunk down the rest of the broth.
“Me, too, dude,” I said. Though he and I had only one bowl each, the soup was quite filling: no doubt the ginger had something to do with it. Lucky for the two of us, I had only made a batch big enough for two people, and I hoped that I could make lightning strike twice by the time he and I invited Alex over the next night.
Lou had brushed his hair to where it was nice and smooth, and he put on some more cologne over his neck yet again, and I had showered that morning, too. I knew that our looks would take a back seat to the food that I was about to make for the three of us, but I also wanted to look good for Alex, too. It was such a strange thing to think about, but I couldn’t help it, though. I couldn’t help but feel like I was about to get myself into something forbidden, and with one of my best friends right behind me with every step of the way no less. And I wanted to look good for the party as well.
Once I had begun the new pot of matzo soup, once again with the big silvery pot on the stove with the boiling water, there was a knock on the door.
“That’s probably him,” I declared. “Could you get that for me, Lou?”
He flung open the door and he greeted Alex with open arms.
While I began on the matzo meal and the five eggs, I returned to my original intent with him. I wanted him to feel something that I wondered if he had ever felt before.
A tap on my shoulder and I turned around to see him there behind me. Tall, wiry, and slender, with long lush inky black curls down over his shoulders, and that trademark silver streak about the size of a pea pod perched at the very top of his forehead, and deep-set but bright peacock blue eyes that seemed to stare straight into my soul. He was almost elegant and graceful, and yet when I looked down to his hips, he looked as though he could carry a bit in the back and around the middle if he so wished.
“So, what we got going here?” he asked me as part of his greeting.
“A little taste of home, my man—some matzo balls,” I replied, and he gently patted me on the shoulder.
“Taste of home, indeed,” he remarked. “It’s been a hot minute since I last had some of that.” He flashed me a smile before he took his seat in the living room with Lou again.
I could hear them chatting amongst each other in there as I put the matzo balls in the fridge. I peeked around the corner, and I spotted Alex in my big recliner chair right by the front door. Though he had his back to me, I could see the side of his face: his eyes always lit up and he had these sweet little apple cheeks when he smiled. I could see that joy in him whenever he spoke with a little smile on his face. Though that serious expression on his face told a different story, I could see it whenever someone like Lou or anyone made him laugh in any way possible.
It was there. It had to be nursed and relished.
Surely, I had my way through it all with this matzo ball soup which I had only made one time. I had to keep up the faith, but I also had my apprehension: Lou wasn’t Jewish, but Alex was. The former had been my guinea pig but that was as far as it went with him, however.
Thus, since it was Alex here, I took a bit more time with the matzo balls as well as the vat of soup itself. I added the same kiss of ginger as before, as well as a little bit of sugar to balance out the bite of ginger and the fattiness of the balls themselves.
A whole hour later, Lou breezed into the kitchen to check up on me.
“How’s it coming in here, Julia Child?” he teased me.
“It’s just about ready,” I told him as I gave the pot a penultimate stir with the wooden spoon, and then I brandished it over to him as if I would a magic wand. “Don’t be afraid!”
Alex burst out laughing at that and then Lou rubbed his hands together.
A final stir and then I reached for three big soup bowls from the cupboard. I served a big bowl full for myself, as well as two for the two of them. A final grating of cinnamon over my own for a bit of extra kick, and then I picked up the two before me and I walked into the next room.
The moment of truth.
I handed the one in my right hand over to Lou. The one in my left over to Alex.
“I hope this tastes good,” I announced to him.
“Eric, it’s matzo ball soup,” Alex assured me with a shake of his head. “I’ve had plenty of it back at home courtesy of my Nana, though, so—ten-year-old me will be the judge.”
I took my seat on the couch next to Lou: before he sank his spoon into it first, he and I both watched him. That one ball closest to him. He blew on the crown of it first before he took a little bite of it.
I braced myself.
“Oh, my god,” he breathed out with his mouth full: he brought his free hand up to his mouth.
“Good?”
“Good?” Alex gaped at me. “Good? Eric, this is sublime! This is like my grandma’s cooking on steroids, oh my god!”
Lou and I glanced at one another, and I closed my eyes for a moment before I returned to Alex as he wolfed down and indulged in the matzo soup. Perhaps that little kiss of sugar in there was to blame, but it was like he reverted to ten years old again. Every bite he took of the matzo, he closed his eyes, and he leaned back in the chair.
There were a few moments it looked as though he was having an orgasm.
“Oh, my god—oh, my god—oh, my god—” he groaned out as he scooped up some of the broth with another bite of matzo. “I can’t believe this. This is—oh, man—so good. So good!”
It was kind of funny at one point, especially with all the little whimpers and moans he was making to himself. It really did make me think of orgasms, the best orgasms he had had in a long time, probably ever given he was so isolated and the utter antithesis of everything that Lou and I had known about lead guitarists. Kind of funny but also strangely endearing the more that I watched him in between my own bites and glimpses over at Lou.
At one point, he picked up the bowl and drank down the broth as if he was absolutely dying of thirst. He set it down on his lap and that was when I did the same thing myself: that broth kissed me good night and gave me the sweetest hug the same way my mother did, I would say that much. I stood to my feet, and I offered to take their bowls into the kitchen. I had my fill, and I knew Lou did, too: Alex, however, was the one wild card.
“Phew.” He gazed up at me with his eyebrows raised, his little cherry lips slightly parted, and his face rosy as if he had cuddled up next to a roaring fire. “Is there more?”
“More?”
“More. You know, like in Oliver Twist. ”
“I only made a batch big enough for each of us to have one helping each, though,” I pointed out. “It’s so filling that I didn’t think either of us could have more.”
“But I kind of want some more, though,” he confessed with a slight bow of his head.
“Yeah, Eric, make more,” Lou goaded from right behind me.
It was then I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
“It’s going to take some time, though,” I told him. “Because, you know, I have to make up the balls and put them in the fridge for a bit. While you two guys wait, would you like some hot chocolate?”
“Mmm, yes, please!”
“Some of that spicy Mexican hot chocolate, too,” I added with a wink.
When I said that I wanted to cook again, I never believed that I would be cooking this much. And it was right then I wondered if there was in fact more to that cool demeanor that Alex never shared with us before, aside from the fact that he loved to eat and he loved that soup so much that he wanted more. That homemade hot chocolate, too. I wondered if it had anything to do with me specifically once I thought about Lou from the night before.
For a slender, slim, trim boy, he sure did put away a lot of food, and it was something that I could not stop thinking about once I stuck more matzo balls into the fridge and got down to brass tacks with the hot chocolate.
That, meanwhile, came easy: it was one of the first things I had learned to make as a child; I could make a cup in my sleep. The melted chocolate mixed with a bit of chili powder and warm whole milk, and then topped with whipped cream, chocolate shavings, and ground nutmeg and cinnamon sprinkled on top. Nothing to it.
I brought the mugs into the living room for the two of them, and of course, Alex was eager to try it out for himself. He still resembled a young boy as he closed his eyes and took a sip.
“Oof, yowza,” he blurted out.
“Spicy?” I teased him.
“Somewhat. It's like right at the back of my mouth.”
“Cinnamon, nutmeg, and a bit of chili powder,” I said, and I could feel my heart racing as the words left my lips.
I returned to the kitchen to finish making the soup and all the while, I sipped on my own cup of hot chocolate. That familiar taste that brought me back home to my mother and my Abuela’s arms. I shook my head as I took a hearty sip, and I gave the soup a series of nice little stirs with the wooden spoon once again.
Within time, I served up three more bowls of the matzo ball soup and I returned to the living room: when I doubled back for my bowl and my cup of hot chocolate, I noticed Alex awaited me there in the recliner chair while Lou dug into his bowl. Once I took my seat again, Alex got down to it with a little smile on his face.
He once again ate the matzo balls with a deliberate pace, as if he relished the taste.
“God, what’d you put in these, Eric?” he asked me at one point. “They’re so lush and light and yet so hearty all at the same time!”
“The smallest bit of ginger,” I told him as he held up one of the matzo balls with a bite taken out of it: the interiors had this gentle golden tone to them, and the texture resembled freshly churned butter. “It’s more of a glue than the chicken fat, if you ask me.”
“It really is,” he replied as he slipped that ball into his mouth in a single bite. He leaned his head back onto the top of the chair with his eyes closed. Lou leaned over and brought his mouth closer to my ear, complete with his hand over the side of his face as if he was a schoolgirl telling a secret.
“He’s enjoying this a little too much,” he joked to me in a soft whisper. I chuckled at that. I didn’t care one way or the other. I was more flattered by the fact that I had knocked it out of the park with Alex. He ate up that whole bowl of soup as if it was nothing, while I was reluctant to finish, given I had made that soup so hearty. Lou had only finished part of his, and he handed his bowl over to Alex, who happily obliged it for himself.
Indeed, I gave him the rest of my bowl.
Once he had drunk the rest of the broth in my bowl, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, and he looked over at me and Lou with a sleepy look on his face.
“I kinda want to unbutton my pants,” Alex confessed.
“Unbutton your pants, big boy,” Lou exclaimed.
He held onto his jean button with two fingers and let the waist sprawl open. He then lifted his shirt to reveal the smooth skin on his flat stomach: he was quite slim there in particular, but I could see a little bit of a roundness there, like a puppy that had eaten its fair share. He folded his hands over his stomach and tilted his head back on the top of the chair.
“Ahhh, yeah, that’s the stuff there. Yeah, that’s good...”
Lou and I glanced at one another, dumbfounded. I clambered off the couch and I made my way to the bathroom down the hallway.
I stood over the sink basin and let out a low whistle.
“Eric?”
I peered over my shoulder, and I beheld the sight of Lou there in the doorway shrouded in shadow.
“Is everything alright?” he asked me in a low voice.
“Oh, my god, what have I done,” I whispered to myself. Lou pressed a finger to my lips.
“Don’t,” he whispered to me.
“What have I done?”
“You filled his belly, that’s what you did.”
“He ate a lot of food, Lou,” I pointed out. “Three helpings of soup and a big mug of hot chocolate. He ate more food than I can.”
“He was hungry, Eric,” he assured me. “He probably wanted to eat. You gave him something that made him feel nostalgic, too.”
“It really did, didn’t it,” I muttered as I returned to the mirror before me. I gazed at my own reflection through the shadows. Alex really ate a lot of food and yet there I was feeling guilty as if I had just disemboweled him. Maybe it was too much for me, but I never expected him to have such a rapturous reaction to it.
I wondered if it was just my own cooking or if nostalgia did in fact have a lot to do with it.
If that was the case, then I would have to invite both Lou and Alex over for dinner more often just to ensure it.
“This is a dangerous game, Lou,” I told him in a low voice.
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Blood and Chocolate