A/N: I have no idea where this came from. All I know is that I can't stop shipping now. And apologies to anyone traumatized, but to quote Linguini, "I'm insane, I'm insane, I'm insane!" ; ) A/N
Chef Skinner was not pleased. His attempted interrogation of the Linguini boy was going quite poorly.
"Have you ever had a pet rat?" said chef demanded of the increasingly drunk youth.
"No." answered Linguini.
"Did you work in a lab with rats?"
"Perhaps you lived in squalor at some point!"
"Nopitty nopitty neuuu."
Outraged, Skinner shoved a finger in the boy's face, shouting, "You know something about rats! You know you do!"
"You know who know, do…wack-a-doo, ratta-tatta…hey! Why do they call it that?" Linguini drunkenly rambled, unfazed.
"What?!" Skinner groused.
"Rat-a-touille. It's like a stew, right?" Linguini elaborated, leaning in, "Why do they call it that? If yer gonna name a food, you should give it a name that sounds delicious..! Ratatouille doesn't sound delicious. It sounds like 'rat'...and 'patootie'. 'Rat patootie'..! Which does not sound delicious."
Here he looked at his wineglass, saw it was empty, and then offered it for Skinner to refill.
Suppressed irritation evident in his voice, Skinner growled as he dropped the bottle in the trash, "Regrettably, we are all, out, of wine."
Linguini looked disappointedly at his glass, and then up at Skinner. His gaze paused, then held, and his expression seemed…fixated.
"What, what are you looking at?" grumbled Skinner, his eyes darting around, looking for a stain on his outfit or something. Not finding anything, he brought his eyes back up, and then jumped when he found Linguini three inches from his face.
"Stop leaning so close, you are making me uncomfortable..!" he scolded.
Linguini just blinked at him for a moment, and then leaned in to kiss him.
The instant Skinner felt the boy's lips brushing his, his eyes bulged and he leapt backwards, toppling his chair and ending up on the ground. Righting himself, he shouted, "Gah! What the hell was that you half-witted dunderhead of a boy?! I said to get away from me, not kiss me! What on Earth would possess you to do such an addle-brained thing?!"
Linguini chuckled stupidly at Skinner's extreme reaction. "Oh, I dunno," he replied, "You're just so cute and your little lips are so pointy and pouty and poofy I just wanna kiss 'em..!" His answer was punctuated by flurrying hand motions that accented his point. He was reminiscent of the cheek-pinching aunt who always gushes over children.
Skinner gaped at him, a lower eyelid twitching in disbelief. The boy really was drunk. Well, he had had an entire bottle of '61 Chateau La Tour. In fact… Skinner's expression slowly became pensive, and he looked Linguini up and down, assessing his drunkenness. The boy was currently biting the rim of his glass, and grinning about it.
Sidling over, Skinner asked sleekly, "Linguini? What would you say if I asked you what we were talking about five minutes ago..?"
Dumbly, Linguini laughed and said, "Uh-ah-oh…"
"I thought so," nodded Skinner. He then grabbed Linguini's shirt and yanked him down to eye level and snarled, "Alright, let's get one thing straight. I despise every bone in your body, but, you are quite probably the closest to Gusteau I am ever going to get, so…one kiss. Very quickly."
Linguini tried to work that all out. "Wait, you had a thing for..?" he started.
"Never mind! Stop asking questions and just do it already before I start having second thoughts!" threatened Skinner.
Jumping from the sudden bark, Linguini rushed to oblige and nearly threw himself on the chef in his fumbling, pressing their lips together with great force. So much so that Skinner reeled, and the laws of leverage caused them both to end up on the floor, Skinner splayed under Linguini.
Once recovered from the jolt, Linguini began to move and avidly attacked the lips of the man below him, finding them to be just as enjoyable as they looked. Skinner himself felt paralyzed with disbelief. He never imagined that the boy would kiss so well, be so enthusiastic, nor taste so good. Within minutes, he felt himself start to go limp, and his eyes beginning to slip shut.
Wanting a better position, Linguini wrapped his arms around Skinner and rolled the two of them the way they'd been pointed, towards the door, without breaking their contact. This was supposed to be just one kiss, after all. Once the door was reached, Linguini shoved Skinner up against it and continued his attack from a lower angle. As he did this, his hand clumsily ran up the short man's chest and fumbled to find his collar. When he found it, he gave a sharp yank, ripping it open.
Skinner's eyes opened in stun and he stared at his exposed shoulder. Just how drunk was Linguini? Well, he was certainly about to find out.
In the intense moments that followed, during which the kissing had escalated into tongue usage, somehow the door was opened, and the two spilled into the kitchen, knocking into a cart as they did so, spilling the leftover brown soup atop it all over the floor.
This didn't stop Skinner or Linguini in the slightest. More carts and trays were knocked askew, utensils were scattered and overall disarray was caused as the two fell into a swirl of friction, panting, groping and pleasure.
Skinner came down off of his pleasure high, feeling pleasantly drowsy. He raised his head from his curled position at Linguini's side and blinked a few times.
In an instant, the drowse wore off as he saw where he was. He leapt up, staring in horror at his terribly rumpled uniform. He fidgeted and fretted. Oh...rats! How could he have let this happen? They'd gotten so carried away, gone so much farther than he had meant to! Ah! What if they boy remembered something?
And then he caught sight of his pants.
Clutching his head, and letting out a strange kind of worried cross between an outcry and a whimper, Skinner fled to his office, leaving Linguini to wonder what all the twitching and such was about.
Linguini stood from his leaning position against the counter side, stretched, and turned in time to see Skinner returning from the office, now donning his trench coat and holding his hat.
"This never happens again, got that?" Skinner glared at Linguini, pointing his hat threateningly.
Linguini nodded foggily, not quite sure what Skinner meant.
Skinner gave a sharp nod and a grunt, and then walked to the exit. He paused by the door and placed his hat on his head, calmly adding, "Make sure the floors and countertops are clean before you lock up." He hid the worry of tell-tale evidence well.
"Wait, you want me to…stay and clean?" Linguini puzzled.
Skinner paused in opening the door. "Is that a problem?" he inquired. Yes, it was a bit harsher than usual, but he really needed to go…change. Besides, if he said too much the boy might remember something. That would surely not go over well later.
"Uh, no…" relented Linguini, slumping.
"Goood booy," smiled Skinner, shaking a finger, "See you tomorrow..!" And with a wave he was gone.
Linguini turned to face the kitchen. He first gasped and then groaned when he saw the disarrayed state the kitchen was in, but sighed and went to go fetch the cleaning bucket anyway.
"This is going to take all night…" he winged.
He was right. The hour ran so late that Linguini ended up sleeping on the floor, and by morning, all was forgotten. Remy returned, which somehow led to Linguini's managing to win Collette, and Skinner went back to spazzing out about rats and DNA tests.