Grease Lightning Never Strikes Twice
A few weeks after the Great Gnome Mafia Incident of Grease™, Andy was determined to give his husband one perfectly normal, romantic night. No gnome mafia, no demons, no aliens, no uninvited cousins of Snorb showing up to start a conga line. Just dinner.
Which was why, on a quiet Friday evening, Andy stood in their cottage kitchen rubbing his hands together like an evil wizard. Which he technically was, in the nicest possible way. “Right,” he muttered, pulling out the spellbook. “This time, I’ve got the wards right. This time, no one’s bloody crashing.”
From the couch, Fin called out: “You’re not going to add a pun again, are you?”
Andy looked deeply offended. “Excuse me? The pun is tradition.”
“You know what else is tradition?” Fin replied, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “Our dates getting hijacked by supernatural fuckery.”
Andy flipped through the pages with the air of a man who absolutely wasn’t listening. “Watch me, cub.”
Fin groaned. “That’s what you said last time, Daddy.”
“Yeah, but last time I hadn’t reinforced the dimensional locks.” Andy gave him a cheeky grin. “Science, babyboi.”
A twist of purple lightning later, they were seated once again in the neon-lit glory of Grease, this time manifested away from the cottage rather than within it, the nearest window showing the cottage in the distance. The glowing sign above the counter winked in that same slightly smug way, the jukebox hummed softly with something suspiciously close to the Friends theme song (how was that already “oldies”?), and their booth gleamed like Andy had personally polished it.
Fin glanced around suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “It’s too quiet.”
“Too quiet is good,” Andy said firmly, sliding into the booth. “Quiet means we get to eat in peace.”
From the kitchen burst Zef, wearing his teal-and-purple striped hat and a crisp apron, looking every bit the proud maître d’. He carried menus like they were sacred scrolls. “Gentlemen!” Zef declared. “Welcome back to Grease, home of the finest magical gluten-free Greek cuisine in the multiverse. Please, observe: no mobsters this time. I had the bouncers put up.”
“You hired bouncers?” Fin asked.
“Magical ones,” Zef said proudly. “Invisible. Terrifying. One of them is a goose.”
Fin blinked. “…Why am I not surprised.”
Behind Zef came Snorb, balancing a tray of souvlaki with the gravitas of a royal butler, though he nearly tripped over his own purple feet twice.
“Dinner service commencing!” Snorb squeaked in his high, nasal voice. “And don’t worry, Mister Finleigh, no one’s gonna ruin this date. If they try, I’ll bite ’em.”
“Comforting,” Fin said, deadpan. But he couldn’t help the little smile tugging at his lips.
The meal began innocently enough. A giant bowl of Greek salad arrived first, accompanied by two smaller bowls and salad forks. Andy ladled out generous helpings for Fin, grinning like he’d just invented romance.
“See?” Andy said. “Totally normal. Just us. No drama.”
Fin raised an eyebrow but dug in. The feta was perfect. The cucumbers were crisp. The olives were salty little bombs of delight. For a whole five minutes, it really was peaceful.
Then the jukebox switched tracks to Wannabe by the Spice Girls.
Fin groaned, dropping his fork. “Oldies. They’re calling the Spice Girls oldies.”
Andy sputtered with laughter. “We’re officially ancient.”
Zef returned to present the souvlaki skewers like they were crown jewels, and Snorb waddled behind with a tall milkshake crowned with whipped cream and two straws.
"Go on, cub," Andy said, "live dangerously."
Fin took the first sip, glaring at Andy over the straws, and—damn it—it was delicious.
They were halfway through the souvlaki when Zef appeared again, looking proud but also vaguely troubled. “So, tiny problem,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Fin froze. “Define tiny.”
“No mafia!” Zef said quickly. “No mafia. Just… a scheduling conflict.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of scheduling conflict?”
“Well,” Zef said, shifting from foot to foot, “technically I promised the raccoon coven they could hold their book club here tonight.”
Fin choked on a piece of chicken. “Raccoon coven?”
“Oh yes.” Zef brightened. “Lovely ladies. A little bitey, but very into Jane Austen.”
At that exact moment, the side door creaked open and a group of raccoons in little black cloaks and black witch hats scurried in, each carrying a battered paperback of Pride and Prejudice.
Andy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t we ever just fucking have dinner?”
“Because sometimes we have breakfast, and lunch, and dessert, and we also have sex,” Fin said automatically, smirking.
Andy glared at him. “You’re a twat.”
“You love me.”
“Yes, yes I do.”
The raccoon coven ignored them entirely, settling into a corner booth and immediately breaking into a heated argument about whether Darcy was hot or just emotionally constipated.
Zef wrung his hands. “See? Not so bad. They won’t bother you.”
Snorb puffed up proudly. “And if they do, I’ll bite ’em!”
Fin gave Andy a long look over the milkshake. “This is our life now. Dinner dates supervised by a gnome, a goblin, and a raccoon book club.”
Andy sighed, then reached across the table to squeeze Fin’s hand. “Could be worse, cub. ”
Fin chuckled. “True. And the souvlaki is good.”
“Best in the multiverse,” Andy said, raising his glass of water like a toast.
They clinked glasses just as the raccoon coven erupted in squeaky shrieks over Mr. Bingley.
Dessert was gluten-free cheesecake, delivered with dramatic flair by Zef while Snorb nearly dropped the plate. They split it, laughing when Andy got whipped cream on his beard and Fin refused to tell him where.
By the time they left Grease, the neon sign glowing cheerfully behind them, Fin leaned into Andy’s side, both of them full and still giggling about raccoons with strong opinions on Regency romance.
“See?” Andy said as they strolled through the cornfield back to the cottage. “No gnome mafia. Just a perfectly peaceful dinner.”
Fin raised an eyebrow. “With raccoons.”
“Perfectly. Normal. For us.” Andy kissed the top of his head. “And tomorrow, cub, I’ll make you pancakes.”
Fin groaned. “Don’t you dare call them ‘Pan’s Cakes.’”
Andy grinned wickedly. “Too late. Already trademarked it.”
Fin shoved him playfully, shaking his head. “At least I don’t have the gnome mafia after me.”
Which was why, on a quiet Friday evening, Andy stood in their cottage kitchen rubbing his hands together like an evil wizard. Which he technically was, in the nicest possible way. “Right,” he muttered, pulling out the spellbook. “This time, I’ve got the wards right. This time, no one’s bloody crashing.”
From the couch, Fin called out: “You’re not going to add a pun again, are you?”
Andy looked deeply offended. “Excuse me? The pun is tradition.”
“You know what else is tradition?” Fin replied, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “Our dates getting hijacked by supernatural fuckery.”
Andy flipped through the pages with the air of a man who absolutely wasn’t listening. “Watch me, cub.”
Fin groaned. “That’s what you said last time, Daddy.”
“Yeah, but last time I hadn’t reinforced the dimensional locks.” Andy gave him a cheeky grin. “Science, babyboi.”
A twist of purple lightning later, they were seated once again in the neon-lit glory of Grease, this time manifested away from the cottage rather than within it, the nearest window showing the cottage in the distance. The glowing sign above the counter winked in that same slightly smug way, the jukebox hummed softly with something suspiciously close to the Friends theme song (how was that already “oldies”?), and their booth gleamed like Andy had personally polished it.
Fin glanced around suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “It’s too quiet.”
“Too quiet is good,” Andy said firmly, sliding into the booth. “Quiet means we get to eat in peace.”
From the kitchen burst Zef, wearing his teal-and-purple striped hat and a crisp apron, looking every bit the proud maître d’. He carried menus like they were sacred scrolls. “Gentlemen!” Zef declared. “Welcome back to Grease, home of the finest magical gluten-free Greek cuisine in the multiverse. Please, observe: no mobsters this time. I had the bouncers put up.”
“You hired bouncers?” Fin asked.
“Magical ones,” Zef said proudly. “Invisible. Terrifying. One of them is a goose.”
Fin blinked. “…Why am I not surprised.”
Behind Zef came Snorb, balancing a tray of souvlaki with the gravitas of a royal butler, though he nearly tripped over his own purple feet twice.
“Dinner service commencing!” Snorb squeaked in his high, nasal voice. “And don’t worry, Mister Finleigh, no one’s gonna ruin this date. If they try, I’ll bite ’em.”
“Comforting,” Fin said, deadpan. But he couldn’t help the little smile tugging at his lips.
The meal began innocently enough. A giant bowl of Greek salad arrived first, accompanied by two smaller bowls and salad forks. Andy ladled out generous helpings for Fin, grinning like he’d just invented romance.
“See?” Andy said. “Totally normal. Just us. No drama.”
Fin raised an eyebrow but dug in. The feta was perfect. The cucumbers were crisp. The olives were salty little bombs of delight. For a whole five minutes, it really was peaceful.
Then the jukebox switched tracks to Wannabe by the Spice Girls.
Fin groaned, dropping his fork. “Oldies. They’re calling the Spice Girls oldies.”
Andy sputtered with laughter. “We’re officially ancient.”
Zef returned to present the souvlaki skewers like they were crown jewels, and Snorb waddled behind with a tall milkshake crowned with whipped cream and two straws.
"Go on, cub," Andy said, "live dangerously."
Fin took the first sip, glaring at Andy over the straws, and—damn it—it was delicious.
They were halfway through the souvlaki when Zef appeared again, looking proud but also vaguely troubled. “So, tiny problem,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Fin froze. “Define tiny.”
“No mafia!” Zef said quickly. “No mafia. Just… a scheduling conflict.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of scheduling conflict?”
“Well,” Zef said, shifting from foot to foot, “technically I promised the raccoon coven they could hold their book club here tonight.”
Fin choked on a piece of chicken. “Raccoon coven?”
“Oh yes.” Zef brightened. “Lovely ladies. A little bitey, but very into Jane Austen.”
At that exact moment, the side door creaked open and a group of raccoons in little black cloaks and black witch hats scurried in, each carrying a battered paperback of Pride and Prejudice.
Andy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t we ever just fucking have dinner?”
“Because sometimes we have breakfast, and lunch, and dessert, and we also have sex,” Fin said automatically, smirking.
Andy glared at him. “You’re a twat.”
“You love me.”
“Yes, yes I do.”
The raccoon coven ignored them entirely, settling into a corner booth and immediately breaking into a heated argument about whether Darcy was hot or just emotionally constipated.
Zef wrung his hands. “See? Not so bad. They won’t bother you.”
Snorb puffed up proudly. “And if they do, I’ll bite ’em!”
Fin gave Andy a long look over the milkshake. “This is our life now. Dinner dates supervised by a gnome, a goblin, and a raccoon book club.”
Andy sighed, then reached across the table to squeeze Fin’s hand. “Could be worse, cub. ”
Fin chuckled. “True. And the souvlaki is good.”
“Best in the multiverse,” Andy said, raising his glass of water like a toast.
They clinked glasses just as the raccoon coven erupted in squeaky shrieks over Mr. Bingley.
Dessert was gluten-free cheesecake, delivered with dramatic flair by Zef while Snorb nearly dropped the plate. They split it, laughing when Andy got whipped cream on his beard and Fin refused to tell him where.
By the time they left Grease, the neon sign glowing cheerfully behind them, Fin leaned into Andy’s side, both of them full and still giggling about raccoons with strong opinions on Regency romance.
“See?” Andy said as they strolled through the cornfield back to the cottage. “No gnome mafia. Just a perfectly peaceful dinner.”
Fin raised an eyebrow. “With raccoons.”
“Perfectly. Normal. For us.” Andy kissed the top of his head. “And tomorrow, cub, I’ll make you pancakes.”
Fin groaned. “Don’t you dare call them ‘Pan’s Cakes.’”
Andy grinned wickedly. “Too late. Already trademarked it.”
Fin shoved him playfully, shaking his head. “At least I don’t have the gnome mafia after me.”
For Vibrant Visionaries #15: Jukebox, Milkshake, Diner, Neon, Retro, Booth, Grease
