Newsies Oneshots 2.0

If You Do The Cooking By The Book-Ikeshot

"You have no idea what you're doing."

Hotshot sighed, looking over the spices in front of him. He was choosing to ignore Ike, who had a rather pessimistic view on life in general, grabbing what could only be assumed to be the correct spice. "Have faith, my love. I will do this."

He'd swore he could make a sweet potato pie. Ike mentioned how he'd only had it once back in elementary school, and the taste had left him. Being who he was, Hotshot went into an hour long story about his grandmother, and how sweet potato pie was her favorite dessert in the States, so his grandfather made it for her any chance he got. Ike found it cute, and he let his husband take the necessary twists and turns it took to get to the moral of the story until he said Elder Gallagher died in World War II. Still, he decided to place his faith in Hotshot's hands.

Until he began sprinkling paprika into the filling. "Oh, my God."

"That's the wrong one", Hotshot chuckled to himself, whistling his mistake away. Ike placed a fearful hand over his mouth, shaking his head. "Where's the cinnamon?"

No one was going to pretend Hotshot could cook—he always had the necessary steps it took to provide a meal for himself, but Ike figured there was no hope for anyone who consecutively burned toast no matter how hard he tried not to. Hotshot struggled to boil noodles, either adding too little salt or too much, and could hardly boil water for tea. He always seemed to steep it for too long, or put so much sugar, it qualified to be juice. As a compromise, Ike cooked and Hotshot washed, and they worked with it. They didn't step out of it.

But Ike was going to lose his mind. "Shot, baby, maybe we should just buy it."

"Nope, I want to do this for you", Hotshot denied, much to Ike's disdain. "I think you'll like it. My mom learned it from her dad, and she taught me. It'll be fine."

He grabbed the cinnamon—finally—and began sprinkling it into the filling, grabbing a spoon and kneading it into itself. A small amount of sugar went into it as well, and Ike figured God was on his side, and decided to provide his husband with a small gift of knowing the difference between sugar and salt.

And then he added pepper.

"Shit", Hotshot mumbled, placing the pepper shaker back in its place. Ike began wondering if he'd gotten his affairs in order, and if his Will had been finalized.

To watch Hotshot cook was like stabbing a red hot poker into his eyes for the hell of it. He felt nervous with every move Hotshot made, and forgotten to breathe every time he'd mutter words in Irish. Ike was beginning to fear for his life, at the hand of his husband.

Hotshot, having finished his preparation of the pie a little too quickly for Ike's taste, placed it into the oven with a smile. He turned to look at his husband, who'd taken to drinking red wine at one in the afternoon out of sheer anxiety alone. If it had been available, he would've shot down whiskey. "Now we have to wait a few minutes."

Ike furrowed his brows. "How long is a few?"

"Like, ten minutes." Ike was ready to lost his shit.

He blinked at his partner, placing the wine glass onto the counter, doing his best not to scream. "How...What temperature did you put the oven on?"

"Like, 350", Hotshot shrugged, staring back at his husband. Ike nodded.

"Did you preheat it?"

"Oh, no. I forgot."

"Okay", Ike sighed, licking his lips. "So, the pie is going to be in the oven for about an hour-ten, okay? If you take it out any earlier, I will die, personally. Cool?"