In Search of the Perfect Cupcake

St. John Allerdyce was certainly no cook, but even he knew the simple, innocent cupcake was a weapon of mass destruction (of digestion and appetites) in the hands of his petite, enthusiastic lady love. So when he saw Kitty girding herself with apron and high ponytail, he knew he could never in good conscience allow her to cook aforementioned cupcakes unsupervised.

Kitty wrinkled her nose in confusion when she heard his intention to join her. "But John. You don't cook."

Neither do you, he wanted to tell her, but it would be an unfortunate lie. Because, really. She shouldn't.

So he pocketed his lighter, donned an apron which read "Well done is half begun," and plucked the cupcake batter mix from his girlfriend's hands. He gestured toward the kitchen in what he hoped was a romantic fashion. "After you, madam."

Kitty giggled.

In his eyes, she eclipsed and predominated the whole of her sex. Rogue and Jubilee and all the other beautiful girls of mutant high didn't hold a candle to her. He grinned to himself. Cooking with her would be fun.


Half an hour later, he'd scratched that thought. Nearly blowing up the bowl she'd put the dough in to "rise," trying to catch a frazzled, flustered Kitty before she phased through—and thus, completely destroyed—yet anohter kitchen appliance, and putting out the literal fire that had broken out on the back of the stove while staying on high alert to cover up his failure from the more agile supervision that passed through and sniffed suspiciously on occasion (Logan sniffing was not supposed to be intimidating, and neither was Storm's raised eyebrow or Jean's knowing, smothered laugh, or Scott's furrowed eyebrows), was not fun.

Finally, he collapsed on a barstool, snagged a startled Kitty's wrist, and dragged her over onto his lap.

"Kitty."

Her voice was small and uncertain. "Yeah?" At least she hadn't started blaming him for the catastrophes.

"How about we buy some cupcakes?"

Kitty bit her lip. Her eyes got shiny.

John closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn't make it through this conversation if he saw her cry.

"It's supposed to be a birthday gift. For Rogue."

For Rogue who was going through a rough time, but was settling in and had become Kitty's very best friend. He groaned. Why did she inflict the worst kindnesses upon her friends?

"I guess we'll have to make it from scratch," he grumbled, then peeked out from under one eyelid.

Kitty lit up. "That's a wonderful idea!" She threw her arms around him in a startling hug, and he had to admit, she smelled perfect, felt perfect.

He thought to himself most sincerely, I am doomed.


By the end of another hour, St. John Allerdyce was thoroughly and completely sick of cupcakes. He had tasted and tweaked so many dreadful results of her concoctions, rescuing only a handful from total ruin by her enthusiastic and exotic tastes (if you could call citrus coconut crunch "exotic"). Finally, he sent a mental shout-out to whatever merciful telepath might be listening and then had to endure with a perfectly straight face Jean's merciless teasing while she walked him through turning Kitty's starting batter into something gloriously delicious.

Apparently, somebody in the house could cook.

"Wow, John," Kitty gushed, having tasted the lovelies. "You never told me you could cook."

He smiled and kissed the top of her hair. "Nothing to it."

Jean laughed in his head at that, but agreed to let him take credit in exchange for a weekend full of willing and uncomplaining help with various chores and tasks.

Then, he turned to the dirty, trashed, charred, and peeling kitchen. Yeah. Nothing to it.

Right.