Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
For @gumnut-logic's Thunderbirds Fluffember prompts, Day 10: Bagels.
There's a tiny bit of whump/angst in here, but it's only brief.
Or read on AO3
-------------
“Shhhh! You wanna wake up the whole house?”
Alan froze mid-hop, still holding his throbbing foot.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he whisper-shouted back. “Who puts a dresser there?”
“Uh, Grandma did?” replied Gordon, “When we first moved in? Seriously, it’s been there for years.”
Alan looked back at the modest, very hard piece of furniture he’d inadvertently kicked.
“Really?” he said, cocking his head to one side, “‘Cos it doesn’t look familiar at all.”
Gordon’s expression hovered somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
“Unbelievable. How do you pilot a whole rocket when you can’t even pilot your skinny ass down a corridor?”
“Well, dear brother, it’s a delicate balance of skill, awesomeness and not doing it at stupid o’clock in the morning!”
Gordon grunted and carried on down the hall, leaving Alan hobbling to keep up.
“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to surprise everyone with breakfast, little bro. Cool fact: breakfast means A.M.”
“Yeah, that was a dumb idea. Let’s go back to bed and surprise them with dinner instead.”
“No way.” Gordon turned back to face him, brown eyes bright. “It was a great idea - we almost never get to eat breakfast all together anymore. We’re doing this.”
His gaze flicked back down the hallway towards the family bedrooms beyond.
“They need it,” he added quietly.
Alan sighed. They really did.
It should have been a relatively simple rescue: retrieve a group of geologists from the side of a volcano before it erupted. Easy. John had been monitoring the seismic activity; they should have had hours. But volcanoes rarely run to schedule, and so Scott had still been in the abandoned camp when Mount Sidley blew her top, sending white-hot rock and ash hurtling towards him.
Alan and Gordon had watched from the island in horror as Scott’s feed cut out; listened as John urgently, repeatedly, desperately called his name; held their breath as Virgil grabbed a pod and barrelled into the heat and dust after him.
It had been an agonising wait, but eventually they had both emerged from the grey, shaken and absolutely covered in ash, and with Scott sporting a broken ankle.
It could have been so much worse.
So now Scott was grounded, on crutches and miserable about it. John was down from Five, freaked out and blaming himself for the whole thing. And Virgil had gone full smother-bear, alternating between trying to reassure John that their big brother was fine, and yelling at Scott that he wasn’t fine and to sit his ass back down right the hell now.
In short, they needed a distraction.
A stiff clap on the arm brought Alan back to the present. His brother’s lopsided grin seemed to glow in the grey, pre-dawn light. “Right, let’s get cooking!”
How was he this perky this early in the morning?
---
“So what are we actually making?” Alan asked, opening kitchen cupboards and closing them again randomly. His own cooking expertise only extended as far as adding pickles to a grilled cheese, while Gordon's skill lay in being able to convince, beg or blackmail someone else into cooking for him.
“I’m thinking bagels.”
Okay, that didn’t seem too hard. Toast ‘em, schmear ‘em, job done, right?
“Let me just look up a recipe…”
...What?
“Should we do ‘everything’ ones, or do you want to go for a classic sesame seed, or...” Gordon was visibly bouncing. “Ooh, rainbow ones...”
“You want to actually make the bagels?”
“Sure. How hard could it be?”
---
It took about twenty minutes of arguing to decide on a recipe, then another fifteen to locate flour, yeast, bowls and all the other paraphernalia they needed, but finally they were ready to begin.
“So it says a cup and a third of warm water, two sachets of yeast, then a pound of flour, four ‘tsps’ of salt and mix,” Alan said, handing his brother a measuring jug.
Gordon eyed it dubiously.
“How warm is ‘warm water’? Do they give a temperature?”
Alan looked again. “Nope, just says warm. Hey, which of these is a ‘tsp’?” he said, holding up two spoons he’d found in the cutlery drawer.
Gordon waved vaguely, still examining the jug. “Uh, that one.”
“The big one?”
“Yeah, sure,” he replied, not looking up. “Y’know, they really should specify what temperature water to use. This is the sort of thing that could really rattle a lesser cook.”
Blue eyes rolled. “Whatever, Julia Child; just get it measured so we can start mixing.”
---
“This is worryingly wet.” Alan poked tentatively at the mixture. “What does the recipe say?”
Gordon shrugged and grabbed the tablet. “Step two: ‘Add another pound of flour until you have a dough.’”
Ah, okay. Sure. Because putting all the flour in together would be total madness(!) Alan grabbed another 1lb bag from the counter, dumped it in the mixer and turned it on.
The subsequent white mushroom cloud engulfed both Alan and half the kitchen, rendering both brothers speechless; Alan from coughing and Gordon from trying not to wet himself.
“...My ba'…” Gordon finally wheezed, “...'t says... ‘Gradually add!’”
---
“Woah!”
Gordon pulled the bowl of dough out of the proving drawer where it had been for the last hour and waved it at his brother.
“It’s alive. It’s aliiiiive!”
Alan cocked an eyebrow. They had been expecting the mixture to rise, sure, but this... The sticky, gloopy dough had ballooned to completely fill the massive bowl and was bulging dangerously out of its saran wrap covering.
“Uh, how much yeast did you add?”
“Two sachets, like the recipe says.”
He peered past his brother into the proving drawer. There were several bubbling beige lumps where the mixture had already escaped.
“Well something’s not right. Why is it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s about to take over the Earth. I mean look at it - it’s a beast.”
Gordon gasped, eyes wide. “How could you?” He wrapped a protective arm around the bowl. “It can hear you, you know.”
A part of Alan started to wonder if idiocy was genetic.
---
“Hey, quit it Gords!”
“What? I didn’t do anything.”
“You threw dough at me.”
“Did not.”
Alan walked over to the wall and pointed to a lump of pale, squidgy splatter.
“...You’re the one that ducked. That one’s on you.”
---
“We boil them?”
“That’s what it says,” said Alan, setting a large pot of hot water onto the stove.
“Let me see that.” Gordon snatched the tablet up from the counter and frowned at it. “Well, that sounds horrible. Boiled bread.” He grimaced. “Yummy(!)”
He reached for one of their irregularly-shaped bagels from the baking sheet where the brothers had laid them out, held it over the pan, then stopped.
“...I’m not sure I can do it.”
Alan sighed. “Why not?”
Gordon’s brow wrinkled. “Well, it’s just... We made them. They’re like our babies now. It feels wrong.”
Alan nodded thoughtfully, then without a word, reached past him, grabbed the baking sheet, and in one smooth motion tipped the whole lot straight into the boiling water, where they immediately sank straight to the bottom.
The brothers watched for a moment in silence.
Gordon slowly pulled out his phone and took a photo. “You’re doing amazing, sweeties.”
---
“Finally!” Gordon groaned, making a big deal of stretching his back out. “I was starting to think we’d never get to the actual cooking bit. How do bakers do this every single morning?”
Alan ignored him. “You don’t think they look a bit...flat, do you?” he asked, looking doubtfully at the tray in front of him.
‘A bit flat’ was being polite; the bagels were completely horizontal. How that was possible when the dough had been so massive, he had no idea, but all the air just seemed to have fallen out of them, making them look more like giant tap washers than bread.
“Maybe they’ll puff up in the oven?” Gordon suggested hopefully.
It was not a convincing theory.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now anyway,” he said, flexing his neck gingerly from side to side. “Let’s just get them in, and we’ll see what happens.”
It took some manoeuvring to fit all the bagels into the oven, but eventually they closed the door on them and set the timer.
“God speed, little bready treats,” said Gordon, saluting. Then he turned to his brother. “Wanna watch Buddy and Ellie while we wait?”
---
It’s a little-known fact that the Tracy villa fire alarm sounds a lot like the International Rescue callout siren, especially to a bleary-eyed and un-caffeinated heavy lifter.
Virgil was halfway to his chute before his still-booting brain registered the difference.
He pulled up short, still trying to work out exactly what was happening, then turned and headed towards the sound of raised voices coming from downstairs.
“Shut it off!”
“I’m trying! Just keep fanning.”
The smell coming from the kitchen was awful; an unholy mix of vinegar and burnt motor oil. Quietly, the engineer poked his head around the doorframe, taking a moment to process the utter carnage in front of him. Smoke was pouring out of the oven, on top of which sat a tray of round charcoal-like rings. There were bowls and dishes scattered around every surface, splatters of cream-coloured goo on the walls, and literally everything was covered in a film of white dust.
Through the haze of white and smoke he could just about make out the figure of Gordon across the room jabbing at a tablet, presumably trying to find the alarm controls, while Alan had one tea towel held over his nose and was ineffectually flapping another at the sensor on the ceiling.
“This isn’t helping."
"Keep trying!"
"You did turn the oven off, didn’t you Gordy?”
A pause.
“Whoops!”
“Oh, for f-”
“Alan!!”
Virgil jumped and immediately scanned the area for the source of the voice, only to find her immediately beside him. His grandmother looked ready to kick ass; hands on hips, eyes blazing. Behind her, John, Kayo and a crutch-assisted Scott stared open-jawed at the devastation.
“Just what is going on in here, you two?”
The two smallest Tracys visibly winced and turned slowly, eyes wide, guilt written all over their flour-covered faces.
“Grandma! Guys! Uh…”
They looked desperately at each other, something silent passing between them, then back to the newcomers.
“...Surprise!”
---
After the obligatory lectures from both Grandma and Scott, everyone mucked in to help straighten up the kitchen and sort out coffee and juices. The bagels were declared a write-off after Virgil was induced to try one and almost choked, (quietly) pronouncing it to be 'worse than Grandma's'. It was somehow both cremated and raw inside, and apparently saltier than the Dead Sea. Instead, ready-made pastries were deployed from the freezer and MAX set to cooking up bacon and eggs, and soon everyone was fed and happy.
After breakfast, John had tapped EOS for the security footage of the younger Tracys’ baking disaster, and was now playing it on a loop in the living room, much to the mortification of Alan and the delight of everyone else.
“This is priceless.”
“Ahhh, right in the face! Whoosh!”
“Casper the Friendly Astronaut.”
“Stop it...Too funny…”
“Why didn’t you put the splash guard on?”
“There’s a splash guard?”
“Oh my god I can’t… Play it again, Johnny.”
“Don’t call me Johnny.”
Gordon grinned as he watched his brothers and sister enjoying their impromptu movie morning.
“Room for another one?”
He glanced up, then shuffled along the sofa to make space for Grandma, taking the bowl of popcorn she offered. For a minute they sat there together in companionable silence, popcorn perched between them, until he noticed her watching him from the corner of her eye.
“So, are you gonna confess?” she asked quietly.
He kept his face carefully neutral. “Whatever do you mean?”
She leaned closer. “I mean that I might not be any great shakes in the kitchen, but even I can see it’s suspicious that someone so partial to elaborate midnight snacks doesn’t know how to use the oven.” She raised one silver eyebrow at him.
He held her gaze for a moment longer before breaking out into a wide grin.
“I never could put one past you.”
She smiled gently. “Does Alan know?”
He looked over at his little brother, who was trying unsuccessfully to escape a Scott Tracy hair-ruffling.
“No. He needed the distraction as much as any of them.”
She chuckled softly and put a warm hand on his shoulder. “Good call, kid.”
She followed his gaze as the roughhousing descended into a full-blown pillow fight.
“Good food is all very well, but sometimes laughter really is the best medicine.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I’m posting this a day early as I need to get on to my next assignment for uni and don’t want to forget...
https://archiveofourown.org/works/34961578
Virgil and Gordon were visiting Lady Penelope, who had ushered them off to a small seaside town. At first Virgil had resisted going with them, wanting to give his wingman some rare down-time with his girlfriend, but it was clear that the two had been scheming and were determined to give him a relaxed time away from home.
They'd spent a lazy morning by the water, Penny and Gordon exploring the small boutique shops while Virgil sat and sketched. He was just adding some colour to a seagull's beak when they returned and suggested lunch.
Penny sat and saved their spot on a picnic blanket on the sand, as Virgil and Gordon picked up their orders from the local fish and chip shop.
"Fish burger and chips for Virgil," the chef placed the packet on the counter. "Battered fish and salad for Penny, Grilled fish and salad with large chips for Gordon"
"Since when do you order a large chips?" Virgil raised an eyebrow, looking at his lean celery-bar crunching brother.
Gordon shrugged, "Penny refuses to order her own chips, something about keeping up her image..."
Virgil snorted, slapping him on the shoulder as they exited the store. "Having a girlfiend is all fun and games until you find out how much you have to feed them."
