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When Blanc finds him in the kitchen, Phillip is hunched over the counter kneading marzipan, which leaves tantalizing peaks of homemade whipped cream conveniently unguarded. But the detective made the mistake of lingering too long in front of the stand mixer with his thumb in the stiff peaks.
"Don't you dare, Blanc! I need that for my princess cake!" Phillip shouts, not even taking the time to look up from his work. He doesn't have to. He's got a sixth sense for this sort of thing. Blanc freezes.
"Didn't know we were havin' royalty over for dinner, sugar." The detective mumbles as he licks whipped cream from his upper lip. Blanc sidles up behind Phillip, "Now, what do we have here?" He asks, curious hands wrapping around the baker's middle. Deep in baking mode, he barely reacts to Blanc's touches.
"It's princesstårta, Swedish princess cake. Saw it on the telly once… Thought I'd try it." Phillip answers flatly.
Blanc glances over his shoulder, "Well, color me intrigued... I'm sure it'll be divine. But tell me one thing?"
"Yes?"
"Why is it that confoundin' color? Forgive me, but I reckon it's the same color as Kermit the Frog's behind," He says in that country-fried accent that somehow pushes the boundaries of Southern diction but that his husband finds oddly disarming.
Phillip snorts, "You know I haven't the slightest idea…"
Blanc giggles into his neck, "Where I come from, I reckon a princesstårta isn't a very polite thing to call a lady."
"That may be true. But you, Benoit Blanc, can be a real princesstårta yourself after a few drinks..." He teases.
"My goodness, Mr. Grant, are you slanderin' me?"
"On the contrary... This is blackmail. I have photographic evidence." He fishes his phone out of his apron pocket and waves it at his partner.
Blanc puffs, "If you're referring to my behavior at your firm's Christmas party… I'll have you know that I believe that so-called 'party punch' was spiked with something… nefarious."
In his oh-so-serious barrister voice, "Would you be willing to conduct a thorough investigation to prove that, Mr. Blanc?" Phillip asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Certainly," Blanc flashes a wink. Phillip can't help but feel something cloyingly fond form in the pit of his stomach when he does.
"Well, I'll have none of that behavior tonight, darling," Phillip says, beginning to fill a piping bag. He returns to the task at hand- finishing this odd green mound layered with whipped cream and jam.
Beside him, Blanc chimes in, "Tonight?" He can't help but sound confused. Suddenly, a spark of recognition ignites on the detective's face.
Son of a motherless goat! That's right! The dinner party.
Despite his lover reminding him weeks before, he had forgotten all about it. Even though it was marked with all important events on their Golden Girls calendar on the fridge. And there was the sticky note waiting on the bathroom mirror this morning, written in his husband's well-formed script:
Neighbors coming over for dinner at 8. Don't be late. Xoxo -P
Criminy, Blanc curses to himself. Not to mention Phillip's uncanny ability to suss out Blanc's falsehoods. "You didn't forget, did you?" Phillip asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Fiddlesticks, Phil…" But his partner folds his arms, unconvinced.
"Benoit," Damn, he’s pulling out the first name card. That is never a good sign. The detective maintains composure at first, but as his lips press into a hard line… He folds. Phillip Grant seems to be the only person on this Earth capable of making him break composure like that.
"It's this case," Blanc blurts out. That's the wrong place to start, and he knows it. Not to mention redundant since there's always a case. That is the nature of his work.
"And?"
"And, I've just been on a tear tryin' to solve it… and in the process, our social obligations…. may have slipped my mind. And for that, I apologize."
"Yes, well," Phillip returned to forming tiny roses with his piping bag. "Is it a good one?"
"What?"
"The case, darling... Is it a good one?" Philip wipes his forehead, leaving a trail of sugar and flour on his brow.
"Yes, it's quite fascinating," Blanc perked up at the prospect of regaling his beloved with the details of the case. He leaned his back against the counter on his elbows and began giving his husband the whole story.
"You see, there's this bookseller who specializes in quite rare and extraordinary finds. He is less of a collector than a collector's collector… Purchasing acquisitions for the very wealthiest of clients. He disappeared days ago, along with three of his most prized works…"
"And you think he was killed, Blanc? For his collection? Perhaps by a client?" Phillip asks as he pulls layers of cake from the oven.
"That is a prevailing theory. However, I have my doubts… in fact, I believe that Mister Argosy may have been targeted not for his collection of books but for his penchant towards sleeping with his client's wives…"
"Ahh, I see."
"Yes… what has been stuck in my gizzard is that it seems his female assistant had the same proclivity. You see… the bookshop was a distraction. And I have it on good authority that the two were selling much more than first editions. Perhaps illegal arms dealers? Or maybe they dealt in rhino horns? I can't be sure until I've seen the inside of Mister Argosy's waistcoat."
"His waistcoat?" Phillip seems skeptical.
"Yes, it'll be important later. But again, I firmly believe that if Mister Argosy was killed, it will be a crime of passion."
"And if he wasn't?" Phillip asks.
"Then, he'll be very fortunate."
"I look forward to a full report when you return, darling… You'll be home by eight?" Phillip presses a kiss to the detective's cheek. Blanc closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
"Depends on if I can get to the bottom of this whole conundrum by then," His voice trails off when he notices the twitch in his husband's brow.
"For me?" He asks softly. "It's not a party without you..." His eyes flick to the detective's mouth fondly before continuing, "Besides, if you're not here, what's stopping Mrs. Goldstein from trying to set me up with her niece…? Again."
"But, Phillip? I hear Dr. Bernadette Goldstein is a podiatrist! And quite the looker! By golly…" Blanc teases, giving his best impression of Mrs. Goldstein's prattling on,"... now, let's see… will it be a summer wedding? Or perhaps a spring affair-" Phillip lightly elbows his husband in the ribs.
"Do you know how many times I've told that poor woman I don't play for her team, Blanc?" His husband laughs. Phillip wipes sugar on his new tie-dye apron. A recent present from Helen's third-grade class. "Countless times…" Phillip adds.
Blanc raises both eyebrows, unable to hold back his delight. Feigning ignorance, he asks, "And what team would that be, sugar?"
"Oh, you-" Blanc jumps as he gets a firm smack on the arse for good measure. The Brit pokes him in the center of the chest for emphasis, "Eight o'clock?"
Blanc nods.
"Good boy…" Phillip gives him a tight fond smile. He enjoys the way Benoit's eyes perk up at his words. The Southerner looks at his sweet husband through heavy lashes, his gaze lingering for longer than intended.
"What? Have I got something on my face?"
"Hmmph, you've got sugar, sugar." He tuts. Phillip rolls his eyes at the overuse of the pet name, but sure enough- he's got a splotch on his chin.
"What? Oh, I-" The other man is too quick to wipe it away. He pops his finger into his mouth with a satisfied smirk, the nature of the gesture not lost on either of them.
Blanc can't help but feel a little giddy. Phillip's eyes linger on his mouth. He laughs as the slightly taller man lays a hand on his hip, before bringing him in for a kiss. The detective smiles against his lips.
More motivation to solve the case quickly, he decides. Then as if to give him even more impetus, Phillip deepens the kiss and reaches down to palm him through his trousers.
They press into each other for a moment… Their hands roam around each other's bodies. They are going through the motions of something that Blanc knows he doesn't have time for right now but desperately wants to give in to… Something's gotta give, or Blanc feels he'll need to have Phillip here on the kitchen island. Or vice versa. It wouldn't be the first time… But a man’s life is at stake. It would be selfish to stay with his beloved while there are clues out there waiting for him to find.
To Blanc’s surprise, his husband is the first to pull back, "Will it be quite dangerous, darling?" Phillip stops to ask quietly, his face creased with concern.
"I can imagine so… why I may come face to face with the murderer this very evening… speaking of which. I should really go." His hands reach up to button his shirt and readjust his cravat, both having come undone in their fervent embrace. Phillip's fingers meet his own knowingly, helping him with the finishing touches.
When satisfied with the results, Phillip sneaks a kiss onto the corner of his mouth, "There. Come back in one piece, would you? I rather like the pieces you've got," He adds with a lecherous wink from the doorway as Blanc readies himself to leave.
"I'll try!" Blanc calls from the mudroom, "For you, sugar." The detective pulls on his suit jacket and overcoat, and he's out the door before Phillip can bat an eye.