Title: Death By Chocolate

Author: MajelB

Status: Complete

Category: Humor, thoughts, POV

Spoilers: none

Season: doesn't really matter

Sequel to Espresso.

Rating: PG

Author's Notes: Thanks to Devra for the chocolaty muse. :)

Summary: Sam gets sweet revenge.

Content Warnings: Well… very mild language. Oh, and you might want to have a Hershey bar or brownie handy for when you finish. I get pretty… descriptive.

Sam is an evil, evil person. 

I suppose I deserve it after what I did to her, but it is possible to go too far.

So, for once, I'm home, at my apartment, sitting on my sofa. Relaxing. Catching up on some blessed, non-work related reading. Utterly absorbed in my cheesy-yet-mildly-entertaining novel.

When the phone next to me rang, I nearly had a heart attack. My book ended up somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen. Damn.

"Hello," I sigh into the receiver.

"Daniel? It's Sam." No kidding. She sounds chipper… "Are you busy?"

I glance over at my book, too lazy to go over and pick it up just then. "Um, no. Not anymore," I reply.

"Good. Would you mind if I came over for a little while? My oven won't heat and I'm trying to ba-."

Here comes my second heart attack. "Wait, wait, wait… *oven*? You're actually using an oven? As in, like, to bake?" I question hurriedly, genuinely surprised.

"Yes, Daniel. I'm baking," she responds, genuinely pissed. Now I did it. Now I have to let her come over.

"Sorry, Sam. I didn't…"

"It's okay, Daniel," she replies, a smile in her voice. Good.

"Um, yeah. Come on over. I… uh… *think* my oven works… I mean, I don't think I've ever actually *used* it…"

"Great!" she interjects. "I'll be right over. Oh, by the way… do you have any heavy cream? Wait… never mind… I need a few other things, too… I'll just stop at the store. See you soon!"

I hang up the phone, a bit bewildered by her behavior. Sure, she rambles sometimes, but… heavy cream? And was that a hint of amused malice I heard in that 'see you soon'?

Twenty minutes later, I hear a knock on my door. Knowing it's Sam, I fling it open and, sure enough, she's standing out in the hall holding a couple of grocery bags and wearing a big dopey grin on her face. I find that my spine has just taken to tingling. I get the distinct feeling that I'm about to suffer.

I shrug the sensation off and gesture for her to come in. She enters the loft and shuts the door behind her with her foot before strutting wordlessly into the kitchen. What am I to do but follow her?

I make sure the door's locked before cautiously poking my head around the corner to see Sam making herself at home in my kitchen. She's unloading the paper grocery bags.

Oh.

Oh, my.

Chocolate. Lot's and lots of chocolate. Chocolate cake mix, chocolate chips, chocolate mousse mix, rich chocolate frosting, heavy whipping cream, Ka… Kaluah?

"Um… Sam?" I ask quietly, digging my hands in my pockets to prevent my fingers from snatching a few chips from the open yellow two pound Nestle Tollhouse bag. Oh. My. God.

"Hmmm?" she replies absently. She's already managed to find a mixing bowl and has combined the Hershey's cake mix, oil, water, eggs, and Kaluah. She's mixing it, now… ever so often running her finger along the rim of the bowl and licking it clean. Ooh… unadulterated, creamy chocolate… ooh.

"Um…" Damn, was that my voice? I clear my throat. "If, uh… you don't mind my asking… what are you doing? Sam?" I ask, leaning up against the wall.

"Well, Daniel… I was hungry and bored, so I thought maybe… my *best friend* and I could bond over a little cake." She's done mixing, now, and starts walking over to me. Oh, no. The… the mixing spoon is in her hand. She's bringing it over. No… please, no… if I taste it, I may not be able to stop myself from… going too far.

Sam stops a few steps away from me and smiles sweetly. "Care to lick the spoon, Daniel?" My eyes dart around the room, desperately searching for a way out of this mess. Something to get my mind off of the temptation before me. Chocolate is my weakness. And this much all in one place… If I start eating it, I may never stop. This stuff isn't like coffee… I can drink coffee down like it's water… but such a wealth of rich, semi-sweet goodness… will make me so sick I'll want to die.

But, I guess, I *would* die with a smile on my face. Dazed by a sudden thought of French Silk pies and fudge brownies, I'm too far gone to stop myself from moving my hand.

I take the spoon.

And lick it clean in about 3 seconds flat.

Sam is grinning from ear to ear, arms folded across her chest. I think she knows she's already won.

I hand the spoon back to her and as she begins pouring the batter into a couple of round baking tins, I begin plotting my escape. I figure I've got about twenty-five minutes of peace before the cake is done baking. I have to get out of here.

"So… you want a drink or something? Or I could turn on the T.V.?" I ask, trying to get Sam's mind out of the kitchen. She smiles sweetly.

"Uh… no, thanks, Daniel. I've got to get started on the mousse."

I can only stand there and watch as she washes her mixing bowl and gets to work on yet another form of glorious chocolate. My mouth waters as the smell of baking cake begins to waft through the loft. I glance at the timer on the oven counting away the minutes and seconds before the true test of my resolve is to take place.

Five minutes left.

Sam sets aside the finished mousse and finds herself a sauce pan. I didn't even know I *owned* a sauce pan. She measures out a couple cups of chocolate chips and dumps them into the pan, followed by some cream, and a splash of the Kaluah, and puts it on the stove to simmer. The chocolate and cream melt together and I can smell it… chocolate chip cookies without that pesky cookie part.

Oh. The cake is done.

Sam pulls the tins out of the oven and sets them on the counter to cool for a moment, pausing to stir her sauce. Then she takes one of the cakes and dumps it out upside down on a plate, opens up the can of fudge frosting, and fishes a butter knife out of the silverware drawer.

She dunks the knife into the frosting and slathers a good two tablespoons onto the top of the cake, grazing over the creamy pile to spread it out. She takes her time, making sure every inch of the cake's surface is covered in a uniform coating. Then she takes the other cake and dumps it out on top of the first.

So that's how they do it. I always wondered how they got the frosting in the middle of a cake…

She doles out another generous portion of frosting and paints it onto the top and sides of the chocolate cake mountain, with agonizing, deliberate, slow strokes.

Then, Sam sets the knife down and closes the can of frosting. At first, I think she's done. I mean, what more is there to do. It's a cake, it's frosted, it's finished. Right?

Oh. Oh, no. Forgot about the sauce on the stove. It's dark and rich and warm and… being poured over the beautifully frosted cake. The heat of the sauce melts the frosting underneath, and the toppings marble together and actually shine. It drips and drapes over the sides and pools where the cake meets plate, building up and even dripping over the lip of the plate and onto the counter… but Sam doesn't stop pouring until the last precious drops of sauce are coxed out of the pan.

She steps back to admire her work.

And admire we must. It is a piece of art.

I walk over to stand next to her, about a foot away from *it*.

"It's beautiful," I breathe. And, thinking only that chocolate sauce was getting all over my countertop, I stepped over and ran my index finger along the lip of the plate and stuck it in my mouth.

Big mistake.

Wait… I *had* been planning on escaping. What ever happened to that idea anyway? Oh, right… I decided against it because this is, of course, *my* apartment. If anything, *Sam* should go and leave me alone with… *it*.

"Oh! I almost forgot about the mousse!" Sam exclaims, hurrying over to a cupboard to pull down a couple of bowls.

Dear, lord. Mousse. The richest, most sickening, sweetest…

"Sam… I… I *can't*. I just can't! Please…" I whimper pathetically, not even *trying* to make my feet carry me out of the kitchen.

Sam's cutting into her beautiful cake, not even bothering to let it cool. It kinda falls apart on the knife, but she just dumps it haphazardly into a waiting bowl anyway. Then, instead of getting out another bowl, like any other normal human being, she spoons several scoops of mousse *right on top* of the pile of cake.

Oh my God. That seals it. I won't be alive to see the sun rise.

She holds the bowl and a spoon out to me. Her expression is serious, but her eyes are smiling… "Are you *sure* you don't want any?" she taunts.

My traitorous hand snakes out of my pocket and out toward her offering. I take the bowl. I take the spoon. The spoon steers itself into the almost black desert and emerges, weighed down by a generous amount of both cake and mousse. It journeys toward my mouth and I let it.

And fireworks begin exploding behind my eyes, the 1812 overture, complete with canon accompaniment, is blaring in my ears as my tongue dances through the many wonderful variations on a single taste.

But as I swallow, I know, in some still cognizant corner of my brain, that my stomach is not going to enjoy this nearly as much as the rest of me.

Which it's making abundantly clear, hours later, as I'm curled up on a towel on the bathroom floor.

'Oven won't heat,' my ass.

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