Venom

019

tw: mention of abuse

Helen took the cake she had ordered anyway. A Sacher must not go to waste, after all. She'd eaten half of it by herself sitting in a park, until it started snowing. Freaking New York winter weather.

She got to the Cage soaking wet, but the cake - or what was left of it - was intact. Leaving it on the table, she ran straight to the bathroom, ignoring Dean's fast steps and his voice calling her.

The bathroom didn't have a key, and Dean wasn't smart enough to realize she'd be taking a shower after being out three hours - and not two, as they'd agreed - when it snowed so much even Santa would have refused to show up.

So, he opened the door. She was standing in her wet underwear, waiting for the shower to warm up. "Jesus Christ!" she shouted, trying to cover up with a towel.

Dean widened his eyes, and then shut the door behind him. "Sorry!" he yelled back, slapping his forehead. He needed to talk to her, but he could wait. And while he did so, he could see what was in the box she'd left on the table.

His eyes shone when he saw the half eaten cake. He remembered that time they had had breakfast together and she'd eaten that Sacher cake slice like she was eating Heaven itself.
He took a spoon, and took a bite.

Holy. Mother. Of. God.
Thank you, Austria, for inventing this masterpiece.

Helen walked in on him chucking down spoon after spoon of her cake. She was wearing sweatpants and one of Dean's sweaters, since he, A, had been a dick, and B, owned large, soft and warm hoodies.

God damn him. He loved the sight of her small body in his huge Yale hoodie. Thank God he knew she was dangerous, because with that on, those pants and the fuzzy red socks, she looked so innocent and naive. If he said that to her, his balls would be rolling on the floor in less than two seconds.

Helen crossed her arms. "You're eating my cake," she pointed out, walking towards him with heavy steps. She was mad at him, and the fact that he couldn't take his eyes off her because of what she was wearing made her smirk on the inside with mischief.

When she sat in front of him, he shrugged and dove back in the chocolate. "It's my birthday," he reminded her, pointing at her with a full spoon.

Helen raised her brows once. "Yes, I know," she bit, reminding him with a look of how he'd treated her when she was only going to wish him a happy birthday. He swallowed, guilty. "That's what I thought," she said, then leaned in and took the spoon from his hand, eating the soft dough. She passed her tongue on the concave part of the spoon, winking at him as he stared at her mesmerized.

Fucking fuck. His eyes couldn't move away from where her tongue passed, licking clean the cutlery. When she winked at him, he felt his dick harden in his pants. Christ.

He cleared his throat, adjusting himself on the chair. "How did you know it was my birthday?" he asked, trying to focus on something else. She glanced down at him, well aware of what she'd caused, and grinned. "Eyes up here, chérie (darling)" he said in French. Helen blinked, surprised by the new pet name, and it was his time to grin.

Helen breathed in, then exhaled and ignored the idiotic part of her that started jumping up and down at the way he'd addressed her. "Before becoming your interpreter, I studied as much as I could about your life. Your birthday was part of the basics," she informed him, closing the cake's box. She set it away in the corner of the table, leaning back in the chair, sitting anything but ladylike. Ah, scratch that. There was no ladylike way to sit.

Dean's lips twitched upwards. "And you remembered."

"I remember everything, baby."

Dean nodded, looking down for a moment. "I wouldn't be so sure..." he said, leaving her confused with that affirmation. She didn't push it, though. So he asked her something he'd been wondering for a while now. "Did you do it?" he asked.