Work Text:
"Rosa, my little foam shrimp" The words slithered seductively from Vyn's pie hole as he cradled her jaw "What is troubling you so?"
Rosa looked up at him balefully, tears coating her luscious lashes. Her lip wobbled. "My rhubarb crumble" she pouted "is all rhubarb and no crumble!"
And indeed, Rosa was right, for her crumble topping had been horribly burnt. She'd put it in the oven at 200° instead of 180°. What a spanner.
Vyn leaned back on the kitchen counter and chuckled darkly. He was still cradling Rosa's jaw. She stumbled slightly.
"Fret not, rainbow drop. My pineapple upside down cake remains intact. We will try our hand at the crumble again."
"But when will again be, Vyn!" Rosa declared dejectedly. Tears fell from her eyes.
Vyn's eyes bored into her with intense intensity. His arms encircled Rosa's back, and he pulled her to his chest. "Fret not, dearest. We will not be kept apart. My love for you is as unmoving as wet Weetabix stuck to the side of the cereal bowl. It is tough, enduring, and slightly salted, like a can of corned beef." Vyn’s tone suddenly became meanly menacing. "This dessert will not wrong you again, my little Welsh cake. I will have it eradicated from every British book on baking, nay, every book on baking internationally. I will travel to England and engage in battle with Mary Berry personally. And as for this oven" he spat derisively, turning his scornful gaze to the range. "I will have it expunged from the market. It will not see the light of day ever again. Begone, wretched thing." He paused.
Wow, Rosa thought. That was a lot to say in one breath.
Vyn, having inhaled, broke his pause "So, my darling dearest. How does next Thursday sound?"
Rosa beamed blissfully, feeling a little bit sorry for Mary Berry. "Of course Vyn!" She lowered her voice sensuously. I'll even bring a packet of Chomps."
Vyn grunted greedily. He was a lucky man.