The Cake's On Fire

A birthday snippet for Julie and Blake, enjoy! :)

Title: The Cake’s On Fire
Author: Dice
Note: Simply delicious silliness written in under an hour ;)


He’d made his specialty, wonderfully luscious chocolate cake. My favourite. It had layer upon layer with delicious, unhealthy chocolate and my name in white chocolate frosting. I was in heaven. The bliss too great to control – as were the urge to taste some.

CRACK! I jumped up with a squeal as the spatula he had just finished washing up landed on my thigh with the utmost precision. He didn’t even have to aim to hit that target.

I glowered at him and pouted wounded innocence at him while he sternly pointed towards the door. I was to leave the kitchen and get ready for my party.

Damned be my wretched luck! It was my birthday cake! I should get to taste it if I wanted, when I wanted. In my mind began the formation of a plan.

I got dressed up in my best like he’d ordered me. I looked at the tie with extreme loathing and called out my plea not to have to wear it, towards the kitchen. The reply promptly made me love wearing ties.

I then strolled into the kitchen making a show of myself and receiving the expected compliments and flattery as well as stealing one or two tasty kisses from my beloved’s sugary lips – he’d tasted the frosting! That bastard!

Innocent as a lamb I asked if he needed any help and offered to put the candles – all 28 of them – on the cake. He informed me that I would turn 31 and that the candles were in the cupboard. Pulling faces at his back I rummaged through the cupboard until I found them and began placing them neatly on the cake, lighting them one after another.

But my work brought me nothing but ill-treatment!

Could I help that my finger now and again touched the thick, mouth-watering abundance of creamy chocolate? Was it my fault I didn’t have a tissue to wipe the delicious, rich chocolate off my finger, but had to lick it off? And how was I to blame for the look of ecstasy *his* tempting cuisine put on my face?

No, it was so utterly unfair, his outraged “Fredrick!” and his violent manhandling of my person to that cruel position across his sturdy, sexy legs – not to mention the injustice of the spatula coming down in vicious cracks.

I protested and declared my innocence, sobbing out my profuse apology, all to the rhythm of his spanking me.

And then my nose caught a whiff of smoke. In an attempt to rise a petition that this smell be carefully looked into I stuttered some incoherent sentences that didn’t reach the higher command.

So I began twisting around to find the source of the smoke and then to my horror I saw:

“The cake’s on fire!! REIF!!! THE CAKE’S ON FIRE!!!!”

Being the swift and bright thinker he is, the love of my life, he had soon put the fire out, along with great-auntie Corrine’s laced tablecloth.

There was nothing left to do but to dash to the bakery and buy a much appreciated – by the guests at any rate – cake.

And thus, birthday party saved and the only fire to worry about being the one in my bum, we settled down, after the last of the guests had gone, to cuddle and scrape the soot off the wonderfully luscious chocolate cake.

Birthdays don’t get any better than this.

The End