Work Text:
Stone sighed as a group of seniors filtered through the front entrance, cramming themselves into what little space was available in the tiny store. He wiped his hands on his apron, forced a smile and greeted them as cheerfully as he was able for a Tuesday morning. It was good for business, after all.
The two cashiers weren’t due for another twenty minutes, so it was up to Stone to serve customers until they arrived at nine-thirty. He had expected an increase in visitors this week; it was the week leading up to Easter after all, their busiest time of year, and one that Stone viewed with both excitement and dread. As shopkeeper of the Mean Bean Chocolaterie, he was responsible for managing the cashiers, arranging the chocolate displays, checking stock levels, organizing the store’s accounts and making coffee for his boss, master chocolatier Dr. Robotnik, every morning.
Lauded for his achievements in food science, chemistry and engineering, with no less than five doctorates to his name, Robotnik had chosen the sleepy town of Green Hills to open his store, and hired Stone to manage it. The Doctor had explained to Stone once about how the cooler climate was conducive to the freshness of his chocolate creations, how each added ingredient would react with the active compounds in his chocolate and how he had used this knowledge to craft, in his words, the ‘most delectable gastronomic delights for consumption by the unworthy masses.’ Stone had understood most but not all of it (he was also aware that the Doctor needed to make money to pay off his student loan debt somehow).
The ‘unworthy masses’ agreed: they came from all across the country and the world to purchase Robotnik’s delicious creations. The Doctor himself was an enigma to most; he rarely made an appearance to his customers, except when he needed to check stock levels himself if Stone was occupied at the front of the store. Stone tried to ensure that the Doctor’s interaction with his customers was as limited as possible, as he needed to step in when the conversation ended in an argument, which it often did.
A week ago, when an elderly gentleman had asked sarcastically about what was ‘so freaking spectacular’ about the chocolate, the Doctor had quipped that the mass-produced blocks of palm sugar sold by the gas station down the street would be more suitable for the man’s distinguished palate. Stone had managed to calm both his boss and the customer after each had traded insults (the Doctor had labeled him a ‘pompous buffoon’ among other less savory remarks) before the Doctor returned to the kitchen. Stone had brought a latte to the Doctor that afternoon to show his appreciation; there was nothing more satisfying than seeing his boss take a rude customer down a peg.
Every day began the same way: Stone would arrive at exactly eight-thirty through the kitchen at the back of the store and hang up his coat, greet his boss who had already started his work for the day and make the Doctor a latte with Austrian goats’ milk. He would then switch his duties between the front and back of the store, until the Doctor left at three o’clock. The store closed at four on weekdays and Stone would spend another half-hour counting the day’s earnings and setting up for the following day.
Saturday afternoons were Stone’s favorite time of the week. The store closed at three, but Robotnik would stay behind for another hour, working quietly on new designs or ordering ingredients. Stone would be seated at his desk doing accounts on his laptop, and there would always be an amicable silence between them that lasted until Robotnik announced he was leaving. They would not see each other again until the store reopened the following Tuesday.
There were many things that Stone loved about his job: the sweet scent of chocolate that permeated every corner of the store; the signature black boxes that he tied with red ribbon; the creamy swirls that formed when he added chocolate to heated goat’s milk to serve hot chocolate to yet another undeserving customer; watching the deft fingers of the Doctor as he piped chocolate decorations with a precision that would put other chocolatiers to shame. He loved his job and and he wouldn’t change it for the world.
Today, however, was testing his patience. Two hours in and there was a never-ending stream of customers in and out of the store. Each time the entrance door opened, it sent a blast of cold air toward the counter. Two young children were running about and screaming. A customer complained loudly about the cost of a block of chocolate, but ended up buying it anyway. A couple spent a very long time in the store viewing the small chocolates in the glass display, but left without buying anything.
It was with already aching feet that Stone walked through the swinging door separating the front and back of the store. He glanced at the article on the wall near the break room as he walked by. It was a newspaper clipping from the Green Hills Bulletin with the title ‘Death by Chocolate’ from when the store had first opened. His boss had demanded they frame it for the title alone and chuckled almost every time he walked past it.
What he saw in the kitchen, Stone could only describe as organized chaos. Surrounding the Doctor’s workbench were a dozen of his assistants, some no larger that the palm of his hand, chopping up ingredients, pouring chocolate into molds and filling boxes. A small army of badniks ensured Robotnik could focus his attention on less menial tasks, but today the number of drones had doubled in size to keep up with customer demand. Stone knew that if they ever opened an online store, the Doctor would make a fortune, but he would need twice the space he had now.
“Stock update?” Robotnik inquired, not lifting his head from the dozen or so truffles he was inspecting.
Stone wiped his clean hands on his apron, something which he had come to acknowledge as a nervous habit.
“The Death Eggs have sold out,” Stone replied, stepping aside as a badnik whizzed past him with a tray. The Doctor occasionally indulged in whimsical designs, creating mini goats and spoons out of chocolate, but chocolate eggs were his speciality. Death Eggs, with their whisky and dark chocolate ganache center, were very popular.
Stone remembered the time he had suggested chocolate hearts as something customers would likely purchase for Valentine’s Day. He sometimes feels the odd twinge in his neck from standing over the sink and washing all of the mixing bowls, which Robotnik had made him scrub by hand for daring to suggest that Valentine’s Day was an occasion to be celebrated.
“All molds are currently in use.” Robotnik carefully picked up a truffle with a pair of tweezers and examined it. “They will be ready by mid-afternoon…if I’m feeling generous today. That’s a big if, Stone.”
Stone nodded. He watched as the Doctor placed the truffle back on the tray and picked up a spoon to scoop up a chocolate mixture from a nearby bowl.
“I need someone with a palate less refined than mine,” the Doctor continued, holding out the spoon. “Taste this.”
Stone accepted the insult (it was true: nobody had a palate as refined as the Doctor’s) and leaned forward. Robotnik practically shoved the spoon in his mouth, something that Stone was prepared for. As the milk chocolate melted on his tongue, Stone closed his eyes and a satisfied groan escaped him. When he opened them again, the Doctor was smirking at him, and he suddenly felt his face flush.
“As always, I appreciate the constructive feedback,” Robotnik remarked. He withdrew the spoon and gestured to the bowl. “What’s wrong with it?”
Stone thought for a moment. “It’s not very sweet.”
“Très bien, Stone. But any idiot would have guessed that.” Stone frowned. “What else?”
Stone hesitated before replying: “The texture is…different somehow. Still excellent, but not like your usual.”
“Yup.” Robotnik dropped the spoon into the bowl and yelled out a command that made Stone jump.
“SINK!”
A football-sized badnik hovered up to the bowl, picked it up in its steel claws and carried it away.
Robotnik sighed and retrieved another bowl and a mixing spoon from beneath his workbench, placing them on the countertop with a clatter. “Back to the grind, I suppose,” he murmured. He began adjusting his chef hat, a habit Stone knew was borne out of frustration. “Giving the rabble what it wants.”
Poor Doctor, Stone thought. He vowed to slip out back to bring him hot chocolate later on. Chocolate was always a good cure for the disheartened.
A new guy came to deliver their supply of goat’s milk on Wednesday morning. Unlike their regular courier, this man was younger and in no hurry to leave after placing the milk crate by the back door. He leaned against the doorframe and tried to engage Stone in small talk, drawling his words and ending almost every sentence with a flirtatious smile.
Stone responded with polite indifference. He did not care for younger men: he found them much too needy and immature. He preferred an older, more experienced gentleman, someone who prided themselves on excellence and was a master of their craft, one whose surname began with the word ‘robot’ and ended in ‘nik’.
So he had a little crush on his boss. Where others perceived a grumpy man who kept to himself, Stone saw drive and diligence. Where others gazed upon his creations as little luxuries, Stone could admire their craftsmanship and brilliance. He and the Doctor had a good working relationship, but unfortunately that was as far as it went.
Stone felt a presence behind him before a contemptuous voice spoke by his left shoulder:
“You’re late.”
The delivery guy didn’t move an inch. “What’s fifteen minutes? I ran out of gas and got some on the way here.” He glanced over at Stone. “Happens all the time,” he continued, winking at him.
“Well mister-I-don’t-give-a-shit,” Robotnik said with a growl, pushing Stone aside to get to the door. “While your incompetence may be your source of pride and joy, your inability to organize yourself to undertake your work has delayed the commencement of my work, which means a loss in productivity and therefore profit. Your tardiness is not an appropriate excuse.”
“Yeah, whatever.” The delivery guy returned his attention to Stone. “So, uh, mind if I stop by tomorrow and we can continue this conver- hey!”
With a sudden movement, Robotnik shoved the man back outside and slammed the door in his face. He scowled as he picked up a bottle of milk and pointed to the rest in the crate.
“Refrigerate those,” he grumbled. “And next time, cut him off. Dalliances are no good for business.”
Would it be different if it were between me and you? came to Stone’s mind, but he quickly dismissed the thought as the Doctor turned on his heel and returned to his workbench, muttering angrily to himself.
In desperate need of an escape from the chaos at the front of the store later that day, Stone slipped out the back. A bus with forty tourists en route to a wildlife sightseeing tour had made the last half-hour go quickly, but now he could really use a break. Once he passed the swinging door, he was hit with a series of noises:
“Gahhh!” Stone head an exclamation and then a clatter of a spoon hitting a stainless steel countertop.“No flavor balance whatsoever!”
The sound of paper being scrunched up harshly and thrown to the floor.
“SINK!”
The motorized whirr of a drone coming and going.
Stone sighed and slumped down onto a crate.
“I’m quite adept at recognizing another sound of defeat when I hear it.”
Stone looked up. His boss had his arms folded and was frowning over the top of his workbench, on which every surface was filled with paper sketches, different variations of chocolate, syrups, spices and every ingredient imaginable.
“Tour group,” Stone replied with a groan.
“Ah. Fun.” Robotnik stretched his arms over his head and let out a dissatisfied moan, and Stone quickly looked away to keep himself from gazing inappropriately.
“Not my preferred way to spend an afternoon, Doctor.”
“And your preferred way is..?” Robotnik asked, placing his hands on his workbench and stepping back into a lunge.
“Saturdays,” Stone replied without thinking. “When the store is closed and I’m checking accounts and you-”
You’re here with me, he almost said before he stopped himself. He looked down at his hands as he felt heat rising in his cheeks.
Silence stretched between them. Robotnik had risen from his lunge and was giving him a strange look. “I meant-”
“Eight-thirty five in the morning.”
Stone looked up. “W-What was that, sir?”
“Or twenty-five minutes to nine, take your pick.” Robotnik pointed to the coffee machine in the corner. “I observe your hands as you make my morning latte. Not constantly, I’m not perverted.” He cleared his throat and Stone watched in surprise as the Doctor’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “Just a cursory glance. I find it intriguing, the finesse of your fingers. They perform…almost as well as mine.”
Stone knew he was both opening staring and blushing now, but he couldn’t help it. That his boss had seen some level of skill in him that the Doctor recognized in himself was a major compliment. “Thank-you, sir,” he breathed out.
Robotnik huffed and returned to his sketches. “You may want to check on the front. Don’t make me do it for you.”
Stone understood this to be a dismissal, and returned to the front of the store in high spirits and very pleased.
The next morning, Stone tried very hard to focus on making coffee and not on the thought that the Doctor was occasionally checking him out.
Hands, Stone scolded himself. He is observing my hands. He may have been slightly too cheerful when placing the coffee cup on his boss’s workbench, but if the Doctor had noticed, he didn’t say a word.
By Thursday afternoon, there was a line out the door. Stone managed the flow of customers with practiced ease, knowing at the back of his mind that he would be able to rest the following day as the store would be closed, and a busy store made the workday go by quicker.
He slipped out the back to replenish their dwindling supplies. Robotnik’s Egg Breakers, a chocolate egg eleven inches in size and filled with toffee and honeycomb, had been sold out since ten o’clock. So had the Death Eggs, Mean Bean eggs (potent coffee and dark chocolate delights) and Phantom eggs (ruby chocolate with a raspberry cream center). Stone had seen the Doctor working on batches of mini eggs earlier, so he went in search of them.
The kitchen was unusually quiet. Stone found the mini eggs straight away, sitting on a tray and grouped in bundles with cellophane and ribbon. Next to the tray with his head resting on his workbench was the Doctor, fast asleep. To his left was an unopened bottle of bourbon and a small bowl of hazelnuts.
Resisting the urge to reach out and touch his shoulder (because he knew that would not end well), Stone instead quietly lifted the tray and paused just to observe for a moment. He watched the steady rise and fall of the Doctor’s breath, his creased brow, the telltale signs of exhaustion in his features. Stone felt a pang of sympathy toward him. Yes, he and the cashiers were very busy, but it was only because the Doctor was able to work himself and his badniks harder to meet demand.
When Stone returned later that afternoon to check up on the Doctor, Robotnik had already left for the day.
Stone spent almost all of Friday morning in bed, only getting up when the rumbling of his stomach became too loud, but by the afternoon he was restless and in a low mood. Despite the ominous grey clouds outside, he took a leisurely walk to the main street. It was deserted except for a small number of cars at the gas station.
A tall figure was approaching from the opposite end, and as Stone moved aside to allow space for the other man to pass, he felt the first few drops of rain on his head. The man stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and as Stone slowed his pace, he caught a glimpse of a familiar dark coat, red scarf and black gloves. He had already figured out who it was, even before the other man had lifted his umbrella to peek out at him.
Stone stared at his boss for a few moments as the raindrops increased, until the other man broke the silence.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Robotnik snipped at him. “Get under!”
“Oh, right.” He stepped under the umbrella, trying to keep a respectable distance between them, although the Doctor was doing that already. “Thank-you.”
Robotnik snorted. “Any longer and you’ll start to look like a drowned puppy.” He glanced down the street. “I was contemplating gas-station coffee, but then I recalled that I had dignity.”
Stone bit back a smile. “I know someplace better.”
Ten minutes later, Stone set down two cups of coffee and joined Robotnik at the table in the break room. Heavy rain lashed at the windows of the chocolate shop, but with the portable heater quietly humming in the corner and only a few lights on at the back of the store, it made the place feel cozy. Chatting with his boss and sipping his coffee warmed Stone up very quickly.
They spoke about anything and everything: their work, the town, the personal lives of the cashiers, their own. One hour quickly turned into two, and it was only when the rain had ceased its relentless pounding that either man had realized how long they had been talking.
Stone’s mood was considerably lighter by the time he and Robotnik stepped outside, buoyed by the presence of the sun and good conversation. He was feeling refreshed and a little emboldened, having had the rare chance to spend time with the Doctor outside of work hours. If he pushed past the boundaries of their professional relationship in the name of fun, what was the Doctor going to do, fire him? That seemed unlikely.
When Robotnik opened his umbrella again to shield himself against the sun’s weak rays, Stone couldn’t hold back.
“I knew it,” he said. “You’re a vampire.”
The Doctor shot him an odd look, and Stone chuckled.
“I have forgone my sunblock today,” Robotnik answered, staring him down. “This,” he continued, tipping the umbrella slightly. “Will have to do. Even if it makes me appear as a card-carrying member of the undead.”
“You can scare all the townspeople away.”
“That would be a power worth possessing.”
There was a hint of playfulness in the Doctor’s voice. Stone pretended to be fearful and stepped backwards.
“Would you suck my blood?” he asked.
The Doctor quirked an eyebrow at him. “Only if it’s made of chocolate.”
A laugh bubbled out of Stone before he could stop it. When he glanced up, he became aware that the Doctor was watching him, his eyes dancing with amusement. Stone wasn’t ready to leave, but he also didn’t want to encroach on the Doctor’s time.
“See you tomorrow?” he said instead.
Robotnik rolled his eyes. “Obviously,” he scoffed. “Unless you decide not to show up, but I am aware of the location of your home residence. Otherwise my badniks make excellent trackers.”
“And…if I decide to resist?”
“Then, delinquent, I will personally drag you into work and chain you to a cash register. Good luck trying to work one-handed.”
Stone nodded. He would not put it past the Doctor to act on his words. “I’ll be there.”
“I know you will.” Something unidentifiable passed over the Doctor’s features, and his expression softened. “As much as I hate to admit it, I…can’t do it without you, Stone.”
This honest admission warmed Stone more than the coffee in his system and the sun on his shoulders. Although perhaps it was the combination of the three that had Stone stepping forward on instinct and leaning up to plant a soft kiss on the Doctor’s right cheek.
Robotnik froze, and Stone felt his own face burning as he stepped back, muttered a quick ‘bye’, and turned around to walk hastily in the direction of his home. Along the way, his thoughts ranged from absolute delight to downright embarrassment. Had he pushed things too far? Stone now had an uncertain wait ahead of him until he faced his boss again in the morning.
On the other hand, he had also experienced the wonderful feeling of the Doctor’s unexpectedly warm skin against his lips. If there was one thing his muddled thoughts could agree upon, it was that his boss was definitely not a vampire.
Saturday was so busy that Stone was barely able to leave the front counter.
Robotnik had scarcely acknowledged him that morning, except to advise that there would be no restocks that day. Once an item at the front of the store sold out, it was sold out completely. Stone did not question his decision, as it indicated that the Doctor could already be planning ahead for chocolates to craft after the holiday, customer demand be damned.
All chocolate eggs had sold out by eleven, followed by chocolate boxes and blocks. Only a handful of bars and individual chocolates remained when Stone finally saw the last customers out the door at four-thirty, having advised the cashiers to leave on time at four. The remaining chocolates he added to a box and placed them on the table in the break room.
When Stone entered the kitchen to leave through the back door, he stopped short. Robotnik was sitting at his workbench and watching him leave. On a small plate in front of him were two milk chocolate pralines. Judging by his posture, Stone guessed that the Doctor had been waiting for him.
“Sit,” Robotnik said.
Stone took the stool opposite. Robotnik pushed the plate toward Stone and gestured for him to take one.
This was highly unusual. Stone knew the Doctor would never invite anyone to try one of his newly-completed creations first. Stone picked up one of the pralines and examined it. It was glossy and round but not entirely smooth, with a number of jagged edges, although it seemed to have been artistically shaped that way. He took a careful bite and felt the subtle crunch of the milk chocolate shell.
The first taste he registered, aside from the creaminess of the chocolate, was a trace of bourbon when it began to warm his throat, followed by hazelnut and a salted caramel ganache which immediately melted on his tongue. He placed the rest in his mouth.
“Well?” Robotnik demanded.
Stone swallowed. He said the first word that came to mind.
“Perfection.”
“Hmm.” Robotnik picked up the other praline, eyeing it thoughtfully. “And what would you say it resembles?”
Stone cast his eyes over at the chocolate between the Doctor’s gloved fingers, although his mind was still mulling over the delicious aftertaste of his own praline.
“Uh...a rock?”
“Guess again.”
“Pebble?”
The Doctor shot him a unimpressed look.
“Wait a minute! It’s a-”
“I named it after you.” It was spoken so nonchalantly that it stunned Stone into silence. He could only watch bewildered as the Doctor popped the whole praline in his mouth, chewed a couple of times and then swallowed.
“Well Stone, as rare as the occasion is, I have to agree with you.” He smiled. “Perfection.”
Robotnik got up from his seat and moved so quickly that it took a few seconds for Stone to register where he was, which was by the back door, shrugging on his coat and red scarf. Just as the Doctor took a step forward, Stone stood up and and called out:
“Have lunch with me tomorrow!”
Robotnik paused with his hand on the door knob.
“It’ll be…uh…pretty simple,” Stone continued, wincing at his poor choice of words. “I mean-”
He stopped as Robotnik turned around and stalked up to him.
“I don’t do ‘simple’, Stone,” he replied haughtily.
Before he could feel the sting of rejection settle in, Robotnik continued:
“So I’ll bring red wine and dark chocolate for dessert. We’ll drink and indulge after we have consumed your meal, preferably while being comfortably seated on your lounge. Now, both provide me with a lethal combination - I have the tendency when intoxicated to swear like a sailor and I am well versed in the psychoactive ingredients of chocolate to believe that it will cause my hands to wander. Now, knowing this…do you still permit me to be at your home?”
Stone could barely contain his smile.
“More than ever.”
The Doctor’s mustache twitched and Stone was rewarded with a rare grin.
“I’ll hold you to it.” Stone felt the touch of soft leather as the Doctor placed his gloved fingers under his chin, tilting it up slightly. His thumb grazed the corner of Stone’s mouth, removing a spot of chocolate. “My little coffee bean.”
If he were made of chocolate, Stone would have melted, but instead he found himself blushing furiously. Robotnik released him, tapped him on the nose and strode back to the door. Before heading out, he shouted out loud for the whole town to hear:
“DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YA!”
With one last grin, he shut the door with a snap.
Three weeks later.
It was Wednesday morning and Stone had almost finished making coffee when there was a knock at the back door. Robotnik reached it before Stone had even taken a step.
“I was hoping for the other guy,” said a vaguely familiar voice, and Stone remembered the courier from a few weeks ago. “Is…uh-”
“My boyfriend is currently occupied with his duties,” he heard the Doctor respond, and Stone’s hand slipped, almost knocking over the coffee cup in the process. He listened attentively with his heartbeat thumping as the Doctor continued: “Now, I see that you have shown up without a crate and are clearly here for more nefarious reasons, so if you would kindly get lost, or I’ll set my drones on you. They are so very handy with kitchen tools, and not just in the kitchen.”
There were footsteps, and then Stone heard the back door slam shut. He picked up the coffee cup and walked over to the kitchen. Robotnik had just taken a seat at his workbench.
“Boyfriend?” Stone remarked, placing the coffee down in front of the Doctor. “I like the sound of that.”
“Too bad, because I won’t be saying it again,” the Doctor replied, and Stone was beginning to think of a way to convince him to say it again when the Doctor tugged him down to settle in his lap. Robotnik dragged across the bowl he was previously mixing chocolate in and lifted a spoon to Stone’s lips.
“Now try this,” he said with a wicked smile.
With the profits earned over the Easter period, Robotnik had decided to reduce the opening hours of the store so that he could take his time crafting his creations, at least temporarily. The other reason was to free up time for pursuits outside of work. The store was as busy as ever, but now Stone had more than Saturdays to look forward to. Spending time with the Doctor, seeing him on Mondays and weeknights and weekends, was better than a returned smile from a customer, better than noncommittal small talk in a once-chaotic kitchen, better that what they’d had before.
Better than chocolate, even.