What one might not suspect, from observing Count D's aloof demeanor, was his susceptibility to a challenge. Leon discovered this by accident; he had not been aware of issuing one at the time.
For the umpteenth time, Count D was trying to get Leon to sample one of his ridiculously expensive desserts. Some kind of fluffy mousse.
"Sugar," Leon said. "It's just sugar."
"There's some chocolate involved," said Count D, still smiling though his lips twitched. "And very high grade, I might add. Belgian. Just try a spoonful."
"I don't like sweets!" Leon said. "How many times do I have to say it? I don't try to get you to drink beer or eat hot wings, do I?" A look of horror crossed the Count's face. "Exactly!" said Leon. "So just give it a rest!"
D sighed. "I should know better than to attempt to share anything refined with you," he said, with something resembling a pout.
"Yeah, you should," Leon said. He took the insult as it was intended, but if this would end the discussion, he was willing to suck it up.
The discussion was far from over, however. Over the next few weeks, Count D assailed him with some new delicacy every time he showed up at the pet shop with questions, and even showed up at the station with boxes and bags whose price tags Leon could only guess at and cringe. "It is impossible," D said, with a rare, flustered expression, as Leon turned away some oddly-shaped, cream-filled pastry, "For a man to go through his life without a single dessert!"
"Everything's possible, D," Leon deadpanned. "Now will you just answer my questions about the rhinoceros?"
Count D folded his arms and glared.
A bead of sweat trickled down Leon's neck. Looking directly into the Count's eyes made him dizzy--it was the contrast of his one violet and one golden eye; it threw Leon off balance somehow. And honestly, why the hell had this become a big deal? It was fucking food! Or maybe, by now, it was just that D wanted to be vindicated. D was not going to give up until Leon admitted there was some dessert he liked. And if that's how it was, then Leon would lie his ass off before he admitted any such. Not that he'd need to... the Count's tastes made Leon's skin crawl.
"Alright, so the rhinoceros--"
"You should be able to understand that animal without any help from me," D said, painted mouth set in an unforgiving line.
Gimme a fuckin' break, Leon thought. It's gonna be a long night.
A week later, Leon's upstairs neighbor's toilet sprung a Titanic leak, which turned Leon's ceiling into a foul-smelling rain-cloud. So, against his better judgment what with the dessert war still on, Leon slouched to Chinatown after work. It was that or buy a waterproof sleeping bag and a tent to sleep in the swamp that had replaced his bedroom.
Count D was having tea when he arrived. Naturally. Leon followed D into his sitting room and slumped on the couch. The tea service was set out as usual, with one large dish covered by a domed silver lid--presumably the diabetes-inducing pièce de résistance. Leon accepted a cup of black tea.
"Detective," D began, after a long silence. "You are a proud American, yes?"
"Huh? Yeah..."
"Patriotic?" D asked. "It would tend to come with the job, I suppose."
Leon lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah. Flag, mom, and apple pie, and all that."
"Ah-ha!" D's eyes glittered and his lips curved into a dazzling smile. With a flourish, he whipped the lid off the large, central dish.
A rich, familiar aroma hit Leon before he registered what was on the platter. Cinnamon, baked apples and freshly-baked dough... His mouth was watering immediately. A perfect apple pie sat on the table, fragrant steam escaping through the holes in its flaky, golden-brown crust.
"I was going to get you an apple tart from La Gauloise, but was counseled by the lovely Jill that your tastes ran more towards..." D pronounced the word as though it pained him, "Grandma's."
Leon looked up at him, grinning. "No kidding? This is a Grandma's pie? Man, how long's it been? I don't believe it. I thought the only one in town had gone outta business." Crazy how just the name brought him back. His mother, back before Chris was born, had been busy as a single parent and never had time for baking. Come Thanksgiving, she would bring home an apple pie from Grandma's, without fail. Leon had always looked forward to it.
"So, you'll have a piece?" D asked, watching him with eyes contemplatively narrowed.
"Hell yes, I will," said Leon, his resolution forgotten. He handed his host one of the flowered china plates stacked near him.
D cut him a large wedge of pie. "Ice cream?" he asked. When Leon gave him a suspicious look, he sighed and said, "I had it bought at a grocery store. Two dollars for a gallon." When Leon nodded, he scooped it out of a covered silver jar. "Well. Please enjoy, Mr. Detective."
Leon did. It tasted even better than he had remembered. He was on his second slice before D managed to bring a forkful of his own very small slice to his lips.
D closed his eyes and touched his napkin to his mouth, swallowing with difficulty. He shook his head. "Terrible," he muttered. "Just what barnyard trough did they steal the ingredients from?"
Leon eyed him with his fork in his mouth. He was resisting the urge to ask for a third piece. It was only then he remembered he'd been trying to prove he didn't do desserts. Oh, hell, he thought. No third piece, then. Although... really... the damage is already done, so...
D took Leon's plate before he could decide to hold it out, and set it down. He stood up and skirted the table to stand by Leon. Leon took the fork out of his mouth and set it on his plate. "What?" he asked.
Count D huffed and put his hands on his hips. "It's not that you categorically hate sweets, is it? So I don't understand. How can you prefer something of lower quality?" D bent so he was looking straight into Leon's face, as if he might find the secret written there. "Maybe you're just built wrong. Or maybe the food undergoes some chemical change once it enters your mouth..." D closed the gap between their faces and kissed him.
Leon started, but opened his mouth and kissed back. It was not the first time they had kissed, but this only made number three or number four, depending on how you interpreted that one time... He looped his arm around D's waist and pulled him forward into his lap. D put his arms around Leon's neck and leaned into him, swept his tongue deep into Leon's mouth, then retreated and sucked on Leon's tongue.
When they finally parted, Leon was flushed and could taste D's lipstick at the corners of his mouth. Count D looked pensive, but unruffled, despite his position, sitting across Leon's thighs. He frowned as if deep in thought, then released his breath in an explosive sigh. "No, it's still awful."
"Oi," said Leon. "Is that all you can say?"
D shook his head sadly, though he made no move to take his arms away, or even lean back. "You're just irredeemably lowbrow. Your tastes perfectly match your boorish manners. There's no hope for you at all."
"Mmhm," said Leon, flexing his fingers at D's waist. "And what does that say about you, sitting in my lap?"
"Contaminated, it seems," D said, his mournful tone belied by his smile, which bordered on the predatory. "I wonder if there's any cure."
Leon shifted so D slid off his lap onto the couch and began to angle him back. Enough games. Enough sugary foreplay. When D didn't fight him, Leon grinned. "Nah," he said. "Once you're contaminated you're finished." D's back hit the cushions and Leon swung a leg over both of D's. "Soon you'll be drinking cheap coffee and eating instant ramen out of the cup."
D shuddered dramatically under him. He smiled again, narrowing his eyes to amused slits of amethyst and gold. "Oh, dear," he said.