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heroescutiesTitle: With Dreams of Snowfall and Oysters
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: heavy PG-13 (thank you, France)
Pairing: France/Seychelles
Word Count: 2,910
Summary: Seychelles spends a white Christmas in Paris.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fujiappletan as part of the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
francexsey Secret Santa. The prompt was: Something Christmas! Perhaps France teaching Seychelles how to make a "La Bûche de Noël"/+teaching her about Christmas, poor girl who's never seen snow.
It was the first (and only time) France was actually wishing for a white Christmas.
Not the rain and the slush and the snow that melted before it even hit the ground. No, that wouldn't be romantic at all. Instead he was hoping for that rare occurrence in which large white fluffy flakes would cover the city in white. And though France felt he could do without the cold temperatures that came with it, being cold did often lead to finding inventive new ways to warm up…
But, while a little heated passion wasn’t something France would turn down, he wished for snow in Paris this year for one special reason alone; Seychelles was visiting.
Being an island nation, she’d never experienced the full snow-covered holiday stereotype. She’d visited France sometimes during the winter months, but it was rare, as France often encouraged visits to her home when it was so cold at his.
So, due to some twist of fate that now he was praying against, Seychelles had never seen a Paris snowfall when the streets were all decked out in Christmas decorations. And this, if the weather permitted, was something France was looking to change.
With a stroke of luck he was hoping would hold, a light snowfall began on December 23rd. He called her up immediately.
“Seychelles, ma chérie, a change of plans. Would it be too much trouble for you to make arrangements to visit me this year? We can have oysters, if that would entice you any…”
-----------------------------
Seychelles had to admit, part of the allure of the last minute trip was the snow. She’d rarely seen it, let alone been able to fully enjoy it. But France had promised her not only a weather forecast full of three days snow- all the way through Christmas day!- but also oysters. She’d made sure he knew he’d be slapped if the oysters were just another ploy to get her in his bedroom as they had been in the past. A girl’s love of oysters was not something to be trifled with!
So, with dreams of snowfall and oysters in her head, she’d flown out late the night before. And when she arrived in Paris the next morning, France was waiting for her.
Groggy and a tad jet-lagged, Seychelles almost lost her balance when she was greeted with an armful of clothing.
“Bonjour, my ocean flower.”
“France…too early…” She grumbled through the fabrics.
“Ah, oui. But you must change into something warmer or your delicate skin will be frostbitten. And as much as I’m certain you would love to allow me to stroke each and every inch back to full warmth...”
“France it’s too early,” she reiterated through gritted teeth. Even though her body was telling her it was nine in the morning, and the clocks all read six in the morning, it was still early by her standards either way. “And I think you’re already in enough layers for both of us,” she quipped noting how bundled up France was.
“Do not remind me of the extremes these cold temperatures drive me to!” He said melodramatically.
Seychelles suppressed a giggle and took the proffered clothing from his arms. “Oui oui. I shall go change into these extreme layers then, okay?”
France gave her a scratchy kiss on her cheek as she ducked out of his arms and made for the airport restroom. She called over her shoulder, “Someone didn’t shave enough this morning!”
He mimed a great yawn, “Pardon moi, but I had to wake up so terribly early and I was up rather late doing…”
One of the hangers from the bundle of clothing just missed his head.
“I don’t want to know!” Seychelles sing-songed as the door swung closed behind her.
As France picked up the hanger, he smiled at one of his perplexed looking citizens walking by. “She loves me so, what can I say?”
“Do not!” Came the muffled reply from behind the closed door.
----------------------------------
France had wisely allowed Seychelles to get a few more hours of sleep before whisking her out into the winter wonderland that Paris had become overnight. The snow was still falling gently, and the streets and buildings were already covered in a light dusting of a few centimeters.
And although he was shivering, his teeth chattering under his stylish scarf where it wrapped around his mouth, it was all worth it when Seychelles first took in the sight of the city covered in white.
“Oh France… c'est magnifique.”
“I know, I evoke that reaction in people,” he quipped.
She shoved him in the arm, never taking her eyes away from the beautiful sight. As for France, he was taking in another view entirely.
He’d given Seychelles the finest fashionable winter apparel he could buy her (a neutral colored plaid skirt, black tights tucked into black riding boots, a red turtleneck and a black shearling wool coat) and she carried it off quite alluringly. Her dark hair was in a long braid down her back and it swished against her coat every time she turned her head to look another direction at the snowfall.
Both of them could agree, never had a dreary overcast day looked so lovely.
After letting it soak in, Seychelles turned to him with a grin. “Are we really going out in the snow all day?”
“Oui. First we need to get something to eat for lunch. Then we need to get you some gloves and a scarf,” he remarked, clasping her chilled hands in his and blowing on them to warm them. She blushed at the gesture and he had to restrain from offering to warm up her tight-covered legs as well.
“Then once the sun goes down, there’s a Christmas market by the Eiffel Tower and lights along the Champs-Élysées at night, which we will enjoy until we need to whisk away home to prepare our lovely midnight feast for le réveillon.”
She smiled, warm and bright, and France thought that yes- the cold snow was definitely worth this.
France offered her his arm. “So, shall we go, Mademoiselle?”
And with barely concealed excitement, Seychelles looped her arm through his. “Oui, Monsieur!”
-------------------
If Seychelles thought the snow covering Paris was beautiful during the day, the night made it only more so. With the Christmas lights and displays on so many storefronts and the little specks of snow dancing in the reflection of the colored lights, she could hardly contain her enthusiasm. Many times she’d come to a sudden stop on the sidewalk because a particular sight had caught her attention, France almost tripping each time as he tried to stop from running into her.
The shops with the moving displays often caused this, and France would slow up if he knew one was coming up, but quite often the smallest little thing would make Seychelles squeak with delight.
As they strolled down the Champs-Élysées and took in the lights, France could feel the temperatures dropping as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Seychelles had noticed him walking a bit slower and hunching his shoulders a bit more as the evening fell.
Rubbing her newly-gloved hands together, she eagerly looked towards the beautifully lit Eiffel Tower and the cluster of wood chalets for the market near its base.
“Can we go there now? Ooh, and they have ice skating too! We do have time for that along with making a Bûche de Noël tonight before le réveillon, don't we?"
France flinched at the words ice skating. “Aren’t you cold? We can stay here in the warmer shops for a bit longer, you know.”
“No, I'm fine!" Seychelles replied jovially, tugging him in the direction of the market.
“You are just saying that because you do not want me to offer to warm you up.”
“Or I am saying it because I’m honestly not cold.”
“Well...I am cold,” France said hopefully, giving her a look.
Seychelles patted his cheek patronizingly with her glove. “Oh poor baby. Maybe you should put on more clothes.”
“Mon dieu, do not speak of such things as more clothing. I already feel as if my freedom of expression is being suppressed with all the layers I currently have on.”
She shrugged. “Such a tough life you live, France.”
“Oui. If only some beautiful damsel would save me before my teeth start chattering and my striking smile is ruined.”
Seychelles shook her head, but she did lean a bit closer to France and let him wrap his arm around her waist; an arm she kept having to nudge upwards away from her behind.
The Christmas market was a world of wonder all its own. Flags, lights and décor adorned the openings in each wood chalet, jovial people inside each one bustling around and selling their wares. There were gifts from as far away as Russia, lots of festive decorations, and so much good food that Seychelles felt her stomach rumbling.
“Ah, this shall warm us up, oui?” France remarked, directing them over to a line for a booth selling vin chaud.
After pulling out a handful of euros to pay, they both sipped the warm wine and felt their insides pleasantly tingle at the heat. The hot drink seemed to reinvigorate France, who started going to all the booths selling different foods. With a master chef’s touch, he selected the best ingredients for the feast he’d be cooking later.
His intent pose was only broken once, when Seychelles spotted a booth selling oysters.
“France, look!”
He jumped, darting his eyes upward to see Seychelles delighted expression as she gleefully pointed out her favored food.
Looking to the bags full of goods he’d already purchased, France pursed his lips. He really did have quite enough food already but…
Seychelles dark eyes were twinkling in excitement as she smiled warmly at him, her lips forming a little pout as she said, “You did promise, France…”
It was too beautiful for him to resist. Her dark complexion flushed in excitement, snow falling around her and sticking in her braided hair and her eyes half lidded and pleading.
He swept his arm around her, kissing her tenderly before pulling back and giving her a roguish grin. “Ah but of course, we shall get whatever you want of them, ma belle.”
“Really?” She lit up, pressing a fierce kiss to his lips then giggling a bit as she pulled back. “You have snow in your stubble, you know.”
France blanched, then rubbed his chin. “Well, I am certain after such a wondrous dinner we can find a way to warm me up, oui?”
Seychelles gave him a look that was half flirtatious and half exasperated, and France just leaned in closer to her ear and whispered.
“You know, it is said that eating oysters does increase a ones desires for…such activities, so I must wonder what exactly you have in mind wanting me to buy them for us.”
She reached up to slap him, but stopped at the last moment. With a smirk, she simply remarked, “Ah no, I shall save that for later, oui?” before merrily going back to picking out oysters.
France raised an eyebrow and thought to himself that this Christmas Eve might be turning out a lot better than he anticipated.
---------------------------------------
If there was one thing Seychelles would openly admit she loved about France, it was his cooking. For him, it was an art, and he did everything with a flourish of ease.
After serving her a candlelit feast, while they let the frosting for the Bûche de Noël chill in the refrigerator, she had joined him back in the kitchen to help him finish off the festive pastry yule log.
While France bustled from burner to burner, working simultaneously on the meringue for the small mushrooms that would adorn the log and for the filling of the log itself, Seychelles had been asked to help make the roulade.
“Ah ah ah!” France instructed, putting his warm arms around her to assist. “You must beat the egg whites on medium until frothy, but now…”
He pressed against her as he switched up the mixer.
“We increase the speed to medium-high as you add in the sugar slowly.”
Seychelles did as instructed, leaning back into his arms. “And then?”
Switching the mixer up to high, both of them could feel its pulsations through their arms as they whisked it around the mixing bowl.
“Mix on high until...” He let her take control of the mixer as he trailed a hand up her side to her breasts, “stiff,” he ran a finger over her nipple and whispered huskily in her ear, “glossy peaks form.”
“F-France,” she breathed.
“Ah, don’t over beat it,” he remarked, reaching out to switch off the mixer.
“What now?” She asked, a bit breathlessly.
France, obviously a bit surprised he hadn’t been reprimanded yet, just continued to instruct, his arms still around her.
“Mix one third of this into your chocolate.” He let his hand trail down her tight-covered leg as she used the spatula to do so. “Then gently,” he rubbed a circle on her hip, “fold in the remaining egg white mix in two batches. But…” He dipped his hand around to the front of her hip and she tensed. “Careful, ma chérie, not to deflate the batter.”
Seychelles finished up mixing it all in, then turned to him. She could tell France was prepared to be slapped or kissed or some combination of both.
Leaning up flush against him, she slapped his cheek gently before tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him down into a passionate kiss, both of them tasting like chocolate from the filling they’d sampled earlier.
As she pulled back, she swore under her breath something France was certain was “damn oysters…”
“Pardon?”
She gave him a look, twirling her finger around on his chest. “Recipe says it takes twelve minutes to bake, why don’t you get that going and…” Seychelles turned, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she said in a sultry tone, “I’ll wait for you.”
France swallowed, then quickly finished up the roulade and stuck it in the oven.
------------------------------
It really wasn’t nice of her to laugh so much when the timer rang out twelve minutes later and France, in nothing more than his rose-print silk boxers, had to pad down the hall to pull the roulade out of the oven to cool off.
But it was worth it when he remembered that the meringue still had about an hour to bake and the icing still had about two hours to cool at room temperature. There was still plenty of time…
Tangled in the sheets and just laying in one another’s arms an hour or so later, Seychelles groaned when another timer blared.
“What now?”
France wrapped her in the sheet, grinning. “We are going to go stir the icing again.”
She pouted, but it was just adorable with her face flushed and her hair loose hanging around her as her bare breasts almost peeked out from where the sheet was wrapped. France, unable to resist, pecked a kiss on her nose before yanking her out of the bed.
“Come, it will be a joint activity since we are both so good at that right now, oui?”
Seychelles shoved him in the arm. “Pervert.”
“Says the woman who seduced me with oysters.”
“You don’t need oysters to be a pervert and…” She trailed off, as France escorted her out of the bedroom wearing absolutely nothing. “And, you are proving my point right now. Who cooks in the nude?”
France raised an eyebrow and smirked.
Seychelles sighed. “Forget I asked.”
But by the time they reached the kitchen, France’s “chaleur de l'amour” wasn’t so warm anymore and he’d started shivering. Seychelles threatened to let him stand there until his bare ass was frozen, but finally caved to his whining and let him under her sheet.
“You are a gracious and loving beauty, have I told you that?” He said, nuzzling up against her warm skin and tugging the sheet tight around them both.
“You could use to tell it to me more often,” she shot back, taking a dollop of the cold icing and smearing it on France’s nose.
He kept stirring, casually remarking. “Someone is going to have to get that icing off, you know?”
She dipped her finger in the icing once more and wrote out in cursive ‘pervert’ on his cheek along with a small little heart at the end of the t.
“You could always try a shower or bath,” Seychelles remarked teasingly.
France retorted with the spoon, lifting it up and ‘dropping’ it right onto Seychelles chest. “Oops.”
Seychelles raised an eyebrow, then slowly plucked the bowl out of France’s hands. “I think it’s stirred, don’t you?”
“Oui. Definitely.”
They had just started to lean in for a kiss when another ringing noise jolted them apart. Each of them glanced to one of the many timers before realizing it was a clock’s chime.
“Midnight,” Seychelles murmured.
France smiled. “Joyeux Noël, ma chérie.”
Seychelles smiled back, kissing off the icing from France’s nose.
“Joyeux Noël, mon chér.”
Holiday pleasantries exchanged, and armed with a single sheet, they decided the kitchen was quite warm enough to continue where they left off in the bedroom. For right now, finishing the cooking could wait; there was icing to be cleaned off after all.
---------------------
Notes:
[1] In France and some other French-speaking places, a réveillon is a long dinner, and possibly party, held on the evenings preceding Christmas Day. The food consumed at réveillons is generally of an exceptional or luxury nature. For instance, appetizers may include lobster, oysters, escargots or foie gras, etc.
[2] Bûche de Noël is a traditional dessert served during the Christmas holidays in France. As the name indicates, the cake is generally prepared, presented, and garnished so as to look like a log ready for the fire.
[3] Vin Chaud (Mulled wine), variations of which are popular around the world, is wine, usually red, combined with spices and typically served warm. Nowadays, it is a traditional drink during winter, especially around Christmas.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: heavy PG-13 (thank you, France)
Pairing: France/Seychelles
Word Count: 2,910
Summary: Seychelles spends a white Christmas in Paris.
Notes: For
fujiappletan as part of the francexsey Secret Santa. The prompt was: Something Christmas! Perhaps France teaching Seychelles how to make a "La Bûche de Noël"/+teaching her about Christmas, poor girl who's never seen snow. It was the first (and only time) France was actually wishing for a white Christmas.
Not the rain and the slush and the snow that melted before it even hit the ground. No, that wouldn't be romantic at all. Instead he was hoping for that rare occurrence in which large white fluffy flakes would cover the city in white. And though France felt he could do without the cold temperatures that came with it, being cold did often lead to finding inventive new ways to warm up…
But, while a little heated passion wasn’t something France would turn down, he wished for snow in Paris this year for one special reason alone; Seychelles was visiting.
Being an island nation, she’d never experienced the full snow-covered holiday stereotype. She’d visited France sometimes during the winter months, but it was rare, as France often encouraged visits to her home when it was so cold at his.
So, due to some twist of fate that now he was praying against, Seychelles had never seen a Paris snowfall when the streets were all decked out in Christmas decorations. And this, if the weather permitted, was something France was looking to change.
With a stroke of luck he was hoping would hold, a light snowfall began on December 23rd. He called her up immediately.
“Seychelles, ma chérie, a change of plans. Would it be too much trouble for you to make arrangements to visit me this year? We can have oysters, if that would entice you any…”
-----------------------------
Seychelles had to admit, part of the allure of the last minute trip was the snow. She’d rarely seen it, let alone been able to fully enjoy it. But France had promised her not only a weather forecast full of three days snow- all the way through Christmas day!- but also oysters. She’d made sure he knew he’d be slapped if the oysters were just another ploy to get her in his bedroom as they had been in the past. A girl’s love of oysters was not something to be trifled with!
So, with dreams of snowfall and oysters in her head, she’d flown out late the night before. And when she arrived in Paris the next morning, France was waiting for her.
Groggy and a tad jet-lagged, Seychelles almost lost her balance when she was greeted with an armful of clothing.
“Bonjour, my ocean flower.”
“France…too early…” She grumbled through the fabrics.
“Ah, oui. But you must change into something warmer or your delicate skin will be frostbitten. And as much as I’m certain you would love to allow me to stroke each and every inch back to full warmth...”
“France it’s too early,” she reiterated through gritted teeth. Even though her body was telling her it was nine in the morning, and the clocks all read six in the morning, it was still early by her standards either way. “And I think you’re already in enough layers for both of us,” she quipped noting how bundled up France was.
“Do not remind me of the extremes these cold temperatures drive me to!” He said melodramatically.
Seychelles suppressed a giggle and took the proffered clothing from his arms. “Oui oui. I shall go change into these extreme layers then, okay?”
France gave her a scratchy kiss on her cheek as she ducked out of his arms and made for the airport restroom. She called over her shoulder, “Someone didn’t shave enough this morning!”
He mimed a great yawn, “Pardon moi, but I had to wake up so terribly early and I was up rather late doing…”
One of the hangers from the bundle of clothing just missed his head.
“I don’t want to know!” Seychelles sing-songed as the door swung closed behind her.
As France picked up the hanger, he smiled at one of his perplexed looking citizens walking by. “She loves me so, what can I say?”
“Do not!” Came the muffled reply from behind the closed door.
----------------------------------
France had wisely allowed Seychelles to get a few more hours of sleep before whisking her out into the winter wonderland that Paris had become overnight. The snow was still falling gently, and the streets and buildings were already covered in a light dusting of a few centimeters.
And although he was shivering, his teeth chattering under his stylish scarf where it wrapped around his mouth, it was all worth it when Seychelles first took in the sight of the city covered in white.
“Oh France… c'est magnifique.”
“I know, I evoke that reaction in people,” he quipped.
She shoved him in the arm, never taking her eyes away from the beautiful sight. As for France, he was taking in another view entirely.
He’d given Seychelles the finest fashionable winter apparel he could buy her (a neutral colored plaid skirt, black tights tucked into black riding boots, a red turtleneck and a black shearling wool coat) and she carried it off quite alluringly. Her dark hair was in a long braid down her back and it swished against her coat every time she turned her head to look another direction at the snowfall.
Both of them could agree, never had a dreary overcast day looked so lovely.
After letting it soak in, Seychelles turned to him with a grin. “Are we really going out in the snow all day?”
“Oui. First we need to get something to eat for lunch. Then we need to get you some gloves and a scarf,” he remarked, clasping her chilled hands in his and blowing on them to warm them. She blushed at the gesture and he had to restrain from offering to warm up her tight-covered legs as well.
“Then once the sun goes down, there’s a Christmas market by the Eiffel Tower and lights along the Champs-Élysées at night, which we will enjoy until we need to whisk away home to prepare our lovely midnight feast for le réveillon.”
She smiled, warm and bright, and France thought that yes- the cold snow was definitely worth this.
France offered her his arm. “So, shall we go, Mademoiselle?”
And with barely concealed excitement, Seychelles looped her arm through his. “Oui, Monsieur!”
-------------------
If Seychelles thought the snow covering Paris was beautiful during the day, the night made it only more so. With the Christmas lights and displays on so many storefronts and the little specks of snow dancing in the reflection of the colored lights, she could hardly contain her enthusiasm. Many times she’d come to a sudden stop on the sidewalk because a particular sight had caught her attention, France almost tripping each time as he tried to stop from running into her.
The shops with the moving displays often caused this, and France would slow up if he knew one was coming up, but quite often the smallest little thing would make Seychelles squeak with delight.
As they strolled down the Champs-Élysées and took in the lights, France could feel the temperatures dropping as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Seychelles had noticed him walking a bit slower and hunching his shoulders a bit more as the evening fell.
Rubbing her newly-gloved hands together, she eagerly looked towards the beautifully lit Eiffel Tower and the cluster of wood chalets for the market near its base.
“Can we go there now? Ooh, and they have ice skating too! We do have time for that along with making a Bûche de Noël tonight before le réveillon, don't we?"
France flinched at the words ice skating. “Aren’t you cold? We can stay here in the warmer shops for a bit longer, you know.”
“No, I'm fine!" Seychelles replied jovially, tugging him in the direction of the market.
“You are just saying that because you do not want me to offer to warm you up.”
“Or I am saying it because I’m honestly not cold.”
“Well...I am cold,” France said hopefully, giving her a look.
Seychelles patted his cheek patronizingly with her glove. “Oh poor baby. Maybe you should put on more clothes.”
“Mon dieu, do not speak of such things as more clothing. I already feel as if my freedom of expression is being suppressed with all the layers I currently have on.”
She shrugged. “Such a tough life you live, France.”
“Oui. If only some beautiful damsel would save me before my teeth start chattering and my striking smile is ruined.”
Seychelles shook her head, but she did lean a bit closer to France and let him wrap his arm around her waist; an arm she kept having to nudge upwards away from her behind.
The Christmas market was a world of wonder all its own. Flags, lights and décor adorned the openings in each wood chalet, jovial people inside each one bustling around and selling their wares. There were gifts from as far away as Russia, lots of festive decorations, and so much good food that Seychelles felt her stomach rumbling.
“Ah, this shall warm us up, oui?” France remarked, directing them over to a line for a booth selling vin chaud.
After pulling out a handful of euros to pay, they both sipped the warm wine and felt their insides pleasantly tingle at the heat. The hot drink seemed to reinvigorate France, who started going to all the booths selling different foods. With a master chef’s touch, he selected the best ingredients for the feast he’d be cooking later.
His intent pose was only broken once, when Seychelles spotted a booth selling oysters.
“France, look!”
He jumped, darting his eyes upward to see Seychelles delighted expression as she gleefully pointed out her favored food.
Looking to the bags full of goods he’d already purchased, France pursed his lips. He really did have quite enough food already but…
Seychelles dark eyes were twinkling in excitement as she smiled warmly at him, her lips forming a little pout as she said, “You did promise, France…”
It was too beautiful for him to resist. Her dark complexion flushed in excitement, snow falling around her and sticking in her braided hair and her eyes half lidded and pleading.
He swept his arm around her, kissing her tenderly before pulling back and giving her a roguish grin. “Ah but of course, we shall get whatever you want of them, ma belle.”
“Really?” She lit up, pressing a fierce kiss to his lips then giggling a bit as she pulled back. “You have snow in your stubble, you know.”
France blanched, then rubbed his chin. “Well, I am certain after such a wondrous dinner we can find a way to warm me up, oui?”
Seychelles gave him a look that was half flirtatious and half exasperated, and France just leaned in closer to her ear and whispered.
“You know, it is said that eating oysters does increase a ones desires for…such activities, so I must wonder what exactly you have in mind wanting me to buy them for us.”
She reached up to slap him, but stopped at the last moment. With a smirk, she simply remarked, “Ah no, I shall save that for later, oui?” before merrily going back to picking out oysters.
France raised an eyebrow and thought to himself that this Christmas Eve might be turning out a lot better than he anticipated.
---------------------------------------
If there was one thing Seychelles would openly admit she loved about France, it was his cooking. For him, it was an art, and he did everything with a flourish of ease.
After serving her a candlelit feast, while they let the frosting for the Bûche de Noël chill in the refrigerator, she had joined him back in the kitchen to help him finish off the festive pastry yule log.
While France bustled from burner to burner, working simultaneously on the meringue for the small mushrooms that would adorn the log and for the filling of the log itself, Seychelles had been asked to help make the roulade.
“Ah ah ah!” France instructed, putting his warm arms around her to assist. “You must beat the egg whites on medium until frothy, but now…”
He pressed against her as he switched up the mixer.
“We increase the speed to medium-high as you add in the sugar slowly.”
Seychelles did as instructed, leaning back into his arms. “And then?”
Switching the mixer up to high, both of them could feel its pulsations through their arms as they whisked it around the mixing bowl.
“Mix on high until...” He let her take control of the mixer as he trailed a hand up her side to her breasts, “stiff,” he ran a finger over her nipple and whispered huskily in her ear, “glossy peaks form.”
“F-France,” she breathed.
“Ah, don’t over beat it,” he remarked, reaching out to switch off the mixer.
“What now?” She asked, a bit breathlessly.
France, obviously a bit surprised he hadn’t been reprimanded yet, just continued to instruct, his arms still around her.
“Mix one third of this into your chocolate.” He let his hand trail down her tight-covered leg as she used the spatula to do so. “Then gently,” he rubbed a circle on her hip, “fold in the remaining egg white mix in two batches. But…” He dipped his hand around to the front of her hip and she tensed. “Careful, ma chérie, not to deflate the batter.”
Seychelles finished up mixing it all in, then turned to him. She could tell France was prepared to be slapped or kissed or some combination of both.
Leaning up flush against him, she slapped his cheek gently before tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him down into a passionate kiss, both of them tasting like chocolate from the filling they’d sampled earlier.
As she pulled back, she swore under her breath something France was certain was “damn oysters…”
“Pardon?”
She gave him a look, twirling her finger around on his chest. “Recipe says it takes twelve minutes to bake, why don’t you get that going and…” Seychelles turned, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she said in a sultry tone, “I’ll wait for you.”
France swallowed, then quickly finished up the roulade and stuck it in the oven.
------------------------------
It really wasn’t nice of her to laugh so much when the timer rang out twelve minutes later and France, in nothing more than his rose-print silk boxers, had to pad down the hall to pull the roulade out of the oven to cool off.
But it was worth it when he remembered that the meringue still had about an hour to bake and the icing still had about two hours to cool at room temperature. There was still plenty of time…
Tangled in the sheets and just laying in one another’s arms an hour or so later, Seychelles groaned when another timer blared.
“What now?”
France wrapped her in the sheet, grinning. “We are going to go stir the icing again.”
She pouted, but it was just adorable with her face flushed and her hair loose hanging around her as her bare breasts almost peeked out from where the sheet was wrapped. France, unable to resist, pecked a kiss on her nose before yanking her out of the bed.
“Come, it will be a joint activity since we are both so good at that right now, oui?”
Seychelles shoved him in the arm. “Pervert.”
“Says the woman who seduced me with oysters.”
“You don’t need oysters to be a pervert and…” She trailed off, as France escorted her out of the bedroom wearing absolutely nothing. “And, you are proving my point right now. Who cooks in the nude?”
France raised an eyebrow and smirked.
Seychelles sighed. “Forget I asked.”
But by the time they reached the kitchen, France’s “chaleur de l'amour” wasn’t so warm anymore and he’d started shivering. Seychelles threatened to let him stand there until his bare ass was frozen, but finally caved to his whining and let him under her sheet.
“You are a gracious and loving beauty, have I told you that?” He said, nuzzling up against her warm skin and tugging the sheet tight around them both.
“You could use to tell it to me more often,” she shot back, taking a dollop of the cold icing and smearing it on France’s nose.
He kept stirring, casually remarking. “Someone is going to have to get that icing off, you know?”
She dipped her finger in the icing once more and wrote out in cursive ‘pervert’ on his cheek along with a small little heart at the end of the t.
“You could always try a shower or bath,” Seychelles remarked teasingly.
France retorted with the spoon, lifting it up and ‘dropping’ it right onto Seychelles chest. “Oops.”
Seychelles raised an eyebrow, then slowly plucked the bowl out of France’s hands. “I think it’s stirred, don’t you?”
“Oui. Definitely.”
They had just started to lean in for a kiss when another ringing noise jolted them apart. Each of them glanced to one of the many timers before realizing it was a clock’s chime.
“Midnight,” Seychelles murmured.
France smiled. “Joyeux Noël, ma chérie.”
Seychelles smiled back, kissing off the icing from France’s nose.
“Joyeux Noël, mon chér.”
Holiday pleasantries exchanged, and armed with a single sheet, they decided the kitchen was quite warm enough to continue where they left off in the bedroom. For right now, finishing the cooking could wait; there was icing to be cleaned off after all.
---------------------
Notes:
[1] In France and some other French-speaking places, a réveillon is a long dinner, and possibly party, held on the evenings preceding Christmas Day. The food consumed at réveillons is generally of an exceptional or luxury nature. For instance, appetizers may include lobster, oysters, escargots or foie gras, etc.
[2] Bûche de Noël is a traditional dessert served during the Christmas holidays in France. As the name indicates, the cake is generally prepared, presented, and garnished so as to look like a log ready for the fire.
[3] Vin Chaud (Mulled wine), variations of which are popular around the world, is wine, usually red, combined with spices and typically served warm. Nowadays, it is a traditional drink during winter, especially around Christmas.
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