Cinnamon Buns

A/N: Love this show! How did I just discover it? (Warning: I haven't watched too many of the episodes yet, so this story may contain glaring inconsistencies or a general lack of Ooo know-how.)

"Dude, chill."

The usually composed Prince Gumball continued to blow on his reddened fingers. He cast a wild-eyed glare at Fionna. "This party is very important. Like, enormously end-of-the-world important. The fate of Ooo could depend upon the decadence of these very pastries."

Perched on a nearby counter top, Fionna stuffed another perfectly formed cinnamon bun into her mouth. End-of-the-world catastrophes were cool, but she was over pastry-related dramatics. It kind of got boring after the whole tart incident; she'd prefer to deal with some sort of new, magic power-having Evil Creature in need of a butt-kicking. But Prince Gumball was obviously upset – and it was really awesome that she and Cake had been dubbed the official Unofficial Royal Pastry Previewers – so she would make an effort to empathize.

"Mmmph," she said, sympathy muffled by a mouthful of melting sugar and flaky pastry. So much deliciousness. She swallowed with some effort while Cake devoured the remaining buns that Gumball had declared inedible.

"Tastes good to me," the cat said, expanding to accommodate the mass added to her belly. She returned to her normal size with a satisfied purr.

"So-oo," Fionna hummed, "what are you baking for anyway? Is it another science-y type thingamajig? Because I don't think my brain's up for anymore thinking of a strenuous nature."

"No, no." Gumball puttered around the candy-colored kitchen. The pink oven burped smoke as he opened it with hands now protected by thick purple mitts. He muttered what sounded like measurements to himself as he extracted another baking tin – the buns on this one were as round and sweet-smelling as their already devoured predecessors – and put in an uncooked batch. "Perhaps if I lowered the heat a little..."

"Well?" Fionna prompted. "Spill it, PG."

Gumball dropped the tin he was carrying with a yelp. "Fudge!"

Projectile pastries, one of which Fionna caught, scattered over the floor. Cake obligingly motored her tongue over the spilled cinnamon buns, slurping them into her gaping mouth.

"Ew," Fionna giggled in a tone of disgusted approval.

Gumball swiped an oven mitt over his dewy forehead. "I'm just so nervous about the event. It's making me all candy-handed. Anyway, Fionna, the Candy Kingdom is hosting a ball in honor of Lumpy Space Prince's lumpectomy."

"Sounds gross," Fionna and Cake said simultaneously. They shared goofy smiles and an obligatory fist bump before refocusing on the prince.

"Not at all," Gumball continued, equable now that he was discussing a subject that did not make him want to pop his bubblegum in frustration. "The lumpectomy is a sacred coming-of-age ceremony among the citizens of Lumpy Space. Much like the quinceañera, the lumpectomy signifies that a lumper is of marriageable age. Twenty year olds are presented to the community along with lumpy pastries symbolizing their eligibility and edibility."

Gumball pressed his palms together with a sigh. "I invited LSP's parents to the celebration in hopes of reassuring them of their son's continued well-being on Ooo, but..."

"Those lumping lunatics?" Fionna recalled the amorphous blob of their conjoined bodies with a vague sense of ickiness. "I dunno, man. They seemed pretty judgmental. Emphasis on the mental."

Gumball nodded. A heretic gleam lit his eyes as he said, "Which is why I am endeavoring to create cinnamon buns with the optimal number of lumps, but it is proving a difficult process. You see, I appear incapable of producing imperfect buns."

"I'll say. You're buns are the best, PG," Fionna interjected as she sampled another perfect pastry.

"The primo combo of firm and round," Cake added.

"Yes, well." Prince Gumball's expression soured with sadness. "I'm afraid my dear pal's parents won't think so; lump-less buns simply will not do. It's a disaster."

"Anything we can do to help?" Fionna asked, feeling particularly chivalrous with her stomach full of warm, gooey goodness.

One hand pressed to his chest, Gumball touched Fionna's cheek lightly with the edge of the other oven mitt. "Would you mind?"

"'Course not." False bravado added cheer to Fionna's voice. She felt her heart stutter as heat from the mitt transferred to her skin; she pretended to herself that this was the cause of the hot blush she could feel staining her cheeks. "What do we need to do?"

"Well, there is one person who has the ingredient needed to produce optimal lumpiness..."

Fionna slumped over the wide expanse of Cake's back. Being helpful had seemed like an algebraic idea at the time, but her enthusiasm waned the farther they traveled from the cozy confines of Prince Gumball's kitchen. She was sleepy.

"I'm too full of pastry to be heroic," she moaned.

"Girl, I'm too full of pastry to move." Cake continued to place one sizable paw in front of the other, but she moved as if through honey: slowly, reluctantly, each step appearing to require a monumental effort of will.

Fionna puffed up her cheeks like a chipmunk and pulled on the flopping ears of her hat. "If I were any fuller, I'd blow up like a balloon and float all the way to Lumpy Space."

"I'd have to be rolled back to the Candy Kingdom."

"I'd..."

They entertained themselves with increasingly epic descriptions of their degrees of fullness all the way to Marshall Lee's cave. Cake shrank once they reached the corrugated asphalt bridge stretched over the entrance. The cat shivered, fur fluffing as a sudden breeze wafted by.

"This place still gives me creepy chills," Cake commented as they as passed a row of stones jutting from the ground like fangs.

Fionna grinned, though her attention was focused on the distant sounds of a wicked bass run; Marshal Lee must be jamming, she thought with a pang of disappointment. They were here on Super Serious Business, but it sucked to miss out on a jam session. She'd been working on her balloon-playing, too. Maybe just a short one...?

"Marshall Lee," she called into the open front door of his house.

No answer. Cake shrugged in response to Fionna's raised eyebrows. Fionna could still hear faint musical chords, so she bravely soldiered through the entryway, ignoring the chill that seemed to stroke her shoulder blades in passing. Cake followed. Abruptly, all the lights in the house dimmed. The music stopped. Cake jumped, wide eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Not funny, Marshall," Fionna said in a voice that was too shaky for the reprimand to be considered firm. She felt Cake's furred body pressed tight against the backs of her legs.

"It's all you, girl," the cat whispered. She pushed Fionna forward, causing her to trip face first – into a pair of thin, clingy arms.

"Gotcha," Marshall Lee hissed into her ear. Fionna felt a forked tongue sneak out to lick her neck and squeaked.

"Unhand me, fiend." She reached a hand around for her sword, grasping at air.

Obedient, Marshall Lee released her with a snicker. The floor hit Fionna like a punch. She sprawled on her butt, thighs aching. She was vaguely aware of Cake's paw prodding at her ribs. The tiny touches felt like an apology for the push. "You still alive in there?"

"Mean," Fionna groaned under her breath. "Both of you are made of evil."

Marshall Lee snapped his fingers. The lights relit while Fionna relearned how to breathe. After a moment or two of thinking she was going to die from lack of air, she rolled to her feet with a huff.

To her dismay, her mind did that thing it had started doing lately: rather than simply registering that, huh, Marshall Lee's wearing jeans and a shirt of some sort, an analysis of his appearance scrawled through her brain. Messy black hair that looked soft to the touch, red sneakers, jeans with a hole in one knee, and – inexplicably – a grey sweater with a fire-pooping kitten on the front. This analysis annoyed as much as confused her, because one wasn't supposed to think that way about one's bro. It was, like, a violation or something. (His shirt was awfully cute though, in an awful sort of way.)

"Cake." Marshall Lee licked his lips as he regarded the cat. A fang peeked out when he grinned. "You're looking especially colorful today. Is that a new red collar?"

Cake's tail exploded into fluffiness. She hissed as Marshall Lee's fingers curled closer to the ruff of her naked neck. The vampire king threw his head back and laughed like this was the funniest thing ever. "Man, messing with you guys never gets old."

Fionna shuffled from foot to foot, because recently she'd become aware of the fact that she was getting older, and Marshall Lee...wasn't. She knew all about the vampire thing, of course – immortality, oooh – but it was all kinds of weird to suddenly realize, in the middle of beating on baddies with one of her best buds, that she had grown almost as tall as him. It had taken four years, but she could now look him in the eye when he teased her.

(Except that Marshall Lee had that annoying habit of floating around everywhere, so he still seemed taller – which was pretty much cheating. Fionna was secretly grumpy about it.)

Their friendship was as stagnant as Marshall Lee's appearance: Fionna and Cake sometimes enlisted his help to defeat whatever threat was rampaging across Ooo that day; Marshall Lee reveled in pranking them; Fionna and the Vampire King engaged in typical bro activities like playing video games and trading insults. Nothing changed. Only, Fionna sort of wanted it to. Maybe. A little. Okay, not really, but a tiny niggling voice in her head sometimes wondered what it would be like to tongue-kiss a dude with fangs.

Marshall Lee encircled the back of his head with crossed arms as he drifted around the room. "So what's up, enchiladas?"

"We need some of that crazy bug juice, bat boy," Cake said without preamble.

"What, why? You guys planning a trip to the Nightosphere or something? 'Cause I wouldn't recommend it as a vacation destination. It's plenty hot, but the pests are killer."

After Marshall Lee had finished chuckling at his own joke, Fionna filled him in on the seriousness of the situation. "So, yeah. Can we have some?"

"Maaay-be." Marshall Lee smacked his lips. He floated over to the kitchen and extracted a bowl of strawberries from the fridge. His fingers shifted through the fruit before choosing a particularly ripe, juicy morsel, the colour of which he drained with a single bite.

Fionna tapped her foot against the floor. There was a forced quality to Marshall Lee's nonchalance that made her suspicious. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We're friends, right?" Marshall Lee asked with a disarming grin; traces of red clung to his fangs.

"Sure," Fionna said in a tone that added an unspoken caveat to the word: sure, we're buddies, but not if you're going to be all weird and nonsense-making.

"And friends help each other out and stuff, right?"

"Yeah."

"Great. It's settled then." Marshall Lee slung an arm around her shoulder, which she brushed off with a grunt.

"What's settled, weirdo?"

Marshall Lee sighed. "So here's the deal: my mom's throwing this party thing in the Nightosphere, and I'm being totally forced into going. And I need a date."

"A date," Fionna deadpanned. Inwardly, her head was full of the sound of her heart: ba-dum, ba-dum, badumbadumBADUM.

"Yeah." Marshall Lee chucked her under the chin. "A girl, vaguely humanoid, preferably cool. You fit all the requirements. Plus, it'll make my mom wicked mad."

Ah, Fionna thought, catching on. This was one of those proving-his-independence-and-pissing-off-mommy things. "I thought your mom liked me and Cake now."

"Eh." Marshall Lee sucked the red from another strawberry with a look of deep contemplation. "It's kind of like how you might be cool with Cake's hypothetical ant friend, but if Cake started dating this ant companion, you'd be all, 'Whoa, back the fluff off, man, you're just a tiny, pure-good ant with no evil intentions or soul-sucking schemes.'"

He paused to grind the grey husk of strawberry between his fingers with more force than necessary. Fionna followed the resulting dust motes with her gaze as they collected on the ground in a lifeless heap. "Get it?"

"Ants are gross, guy," Cake pointed out. "Even if I didn't have Mochro, why would I date an ant?"

"Hypothetical," Marshall Lee hissed, flashing his fangs.

Fionna scratched the back of her head. Am I the ant in that situation? "Um, yeah, I get it. I think."

"Awesome. We'll leave after the lumpectomy thing tonight, 'kay?" Marshall Lee floated over to rifle through the contents of his fridge. "Why don't you guys head over to Bubba's place to reassure him that help is on the way before he blows his bubble? I'll meet you there once I scare up some of that bug milk."

"Uh-huh. Okay. See you...then," Fionna said, a bit dazed.

She had a sort-of date. With Marshall Lee the Vampire King.

"Girl, are you sure it's a good idea to go on a date with fang-y what's-his-face?"

"Totally," Fionna said with an airy wave of her hand. She patted Cake's shoulder as the cat loped across Ooo with giant stretchy strides. "What could go wrong?"

"Um, I dunno, maybe the Lady of Evil could give you some jewelry with super evil powers of epic villainy and tentacle-having."

Fionna was silent for a moment. She still sometimes had nightmares about her eyes bulging out and sprouting purple appendages. The sight of a well-tailored suit and tie made her physically ill to this day. "That was once."

"Once was enough."

Fionna agreed with all her heart guts, but said simply, "You worry too much."

"Mmm-kay," Cake purred, clearly still unconvinced. "But don't come crying to me when you get all crushed by a demon horde, 'cause I'm gonna be cuddling up to my man and loading up on ice cream. Lots of ice cream."

They reached the frothy, sweet-smelling walls of Candy Kingdom without incident. Various Candy People were rushing around the palace, their arms laden with lumpy-looking balloon animals. Dr. Donut was looking even more glazed than usual, and a drip of maple frosting sweated down his forehead as he hastily greeted the adventurers in passing.

"All this excitement is making me sleepy," Cake yawned as they reached the palace kitchen.

Gumball was exactly as they'd left him: mixing and baking and pouring with a degree of intensity usually reserved for activities not related to baking confectioneries, like ogre-slaying and demon-vanquishing. (At least, those were the things that made Fionna's face screw up with comparable feelings of concentration and must-be-successful-ness.)

"Well?" Gumball asked with uncharacteristic terseness. Too busy glaring at yet another batch of smooth, swirly cinnamon buns, he barely glanced at his guests. His lips tilted down at the corners, as if the force of his disapproval could cause lumps to form in the cooked balls of dough. "How'd it go?"

A hooting laugh interjected before Fionna and Cake could regale Gumball with the story of their heroics. Didn't take him long, Fionna thought with a pang of bashfulness. She took out her sword and pretended to polish its pinkish blade to distract herself from the unfamiliar feeling churning in her guts.

"Yo, Bubba." Marshall Lee swooped in through an upper-level window. A broad-brimmed straw hat flopped over his eyes, and a parasol – "umbrella," Fionna imagined him saying defensively; "a macho umbrella with scary skulls and lots of cool factor" – was open over his head. He was carrying his axe-bass and a plastic bag. "What's up, man?"

"You're here." Gumball blinked, as if disbelieving of this development. His bemusement quickly turned to renewed determination. "Just in time, my friend. Did you perchance bring the special ingredient?"

"Right here." Marshall Lee produced a carton of bug milk from the plastic bag after depositing his hat and parasol on the floor. He handed the carton to Gumball with a grin. "Straight from the malpighian tubules of a free-range, grain-fed centipede. Only the best for you, buddy."

Fionna and Cake exchanged looks of disgust that went unnoticed.

"Excellent!" Gumball smiled so widely that Fionna's smiling muscles twitched in sympathy. "I owe you one."

"Nah, it's all good." Marshall Lee winked at Fionna. She polished the shining flat of her sword with renewed fervor. It's going to become a toothpick at this rate, she realized with a sense of forlorn resignation. "Fionna's got me covered."

"Oh, really? Sweet," Gumball mumbled, already mixing batter with the single-minded absorption that gripped him when completing scientific experiments.

Dusk dawned hours later, painting the skies over Candy Kingdom in hues of darkening purple and creamy pale pink. A sweating Prince Gumball and a series of servants proudly emerged from the kitchen toting trays full of the lumpiest cinnamon buns Fionna had ever seen. Gumball's puffed sleeves were similarly lumped to perfection.

By this time, the palace foyer had begun to brim with party-goers: lumpers with sullen expressions – including LSP's parents and the prince himself – Candy People in their finest refined sugar finery, and various princesses bedecked in lumpy hats.

Everyone cheered – even a monotone LSP – as the trays were settled on the refreshments table, and the lumpectomy exploded into a chaos of dancing and eating.

"Um, Fionna," Prince Gumball called, sidestepping a gaggle of break-dancing gingerbread people. His cheeks were even pinker than usual, and he twiddled his fingers. Is he gonna ask me to dance or something? Fionna wondered with a queasy feeling. "It seems the bug milk had an unexpected side effect," he continued.

That did not sound like a precursor to a flirtatious invitation. Fionna sighed, either in relief or disappointment; she wasn't really sure which. "Like, the buns aren't sweet enough or something?"

Gumball shook his head mutely. His eyes pinched at the corners, as if he were exerting extra effort to maintain a calm facade.

"Okayyy," Fionna hummed. "How unexpected?"

"Oh, it's nothing really." Gumball laughed nervously as an inhuman screech cut through the revelry. Ripping sounds and higher-pitched Candy People screams emanated from the direction of the kitchen. The music was so loud that Fionna could only barely discern sounds that called to mind horrific dismemberment and the spilling of candy-coated guts.

Gumball cleared his throat with a cough. "But, you see, as I was removing the last batch of buns from the oven – have you tasted them yet? Aren't they positively repulsive? It's wonderful – ahem, I mean, a large pastry centipede with a taste for candy flesh formed out of the excess dough."

Awesome. Fionna hefted her pink sword like a baseball bat. Even with the party and impending date, she'd begun to think that the day was a tad lacking in eventfulness. "I'm on it!"

She looked around for Cake, but the cat seemed to have disappeared. Lord Monochromicorn was also conspicuously absent, so Fionna resolved to handle the threat on her own. A hand tapped her shoulder as she pushed through the crowd.

"Where you off to, Fi?" Marshall Lee's voice sounded overhead.

"Kitchen. Centipede."

Marshall Lee's hands gripped her shoulders a little harder. Fionna let out a whoop of surprise as he lifted her, toting her over the mass of boogieing bodies.

"Milady," he said, releasing her by the kitchen door with a mocking bow.

"Thanks." She felt absurdly like she was propositioning him as she asked, "You gonna help me bust this bug or what?"

"No way, man." Marshall Lee struck a chord on the bass-axe he'd unslung from around his shoulders. "I just came to par-tay, yo."

Despite declining her invitation, Marshall Lee hovered after her as she entered the kitchen. Fionna carefully shut the door behind them so as to prevent other party-goers from witnessing the mass murderer making a mess of their refreshments – and servers.

Candy People in various states of disembowelment were scattered around the room. Those with attached limbs pulled themselves across the floor, fleeing from the pastry predator: a giant centipede, the sections of its serpentine body formed from doughy cinnamon buns. Its gleaming eyes shone with red, frosting-coated hate, and each of its sickle limbs appeared to be coated with icing sugar. Gnashing cinnamon sticks poked out of its head, more like deadly mandibles than antennae.

"Die, delicious-looking beast!" Fionna cried as she leaped over the counter.

The monster reared, mouth gaping. Fionna slashed her sword down in a wide arc. Eye juices spewed as her blade slashed across the centipede's eyes. Blinded, the creature lurched to the side with a screech, but not before spraying her with a streaming jet of saliva.

"Ack. What the yuck, man?" Fionna felt centipede spit dribble over her eyebrows. Her clothes, soaked in the stuff, reeked of melted sugar. She did not appreciate Marshall Lee's laughter as she swiped wildly at her stinging eyes with the hand not holding her sword.

"I think it likes you," Marshall Lee managed between chuckles. The centipede's swirled head whipped in the direction of the floating vampire. Seeming to think it was being made fun of, the monster gnashed at Marshall Lee's feet.

"Shoo, thing," Marshall Lee exclaimed as one of the centipede's cinnamon stick pokers caught at his shoelaces. He scissored his legs, the only result of which was the centipede's becoming increasingly tangled in his shoes and jeans. Marshall Lee's face contorted with annoyance, eyes bulging and fangs growing in size. Ears and a sizable snout sprouted from his face as he roared at the centipede. The creature flung itself backward with a screech, dragging a hissing Marshall Lee along with it.

Spying the opening left by this distraction, Fionna struck the centipede's unguarded lower half. Her blade parted the soft pastry flesh like – well, like soft pastry flesh. Rather than slumping into a wormy heap of dead, as defeated monsters were generally inclined to do, the centipede exploded with a thunderous expulsion of air and sugary bug guts.

"Woo!" Fionna cheered as intestinal confetti rained over the kitchen. "Way to go, team good guys."

"Speak for yourself," Marshall Lee said with a sniff, but his smirk tilted in a way that suggested he was pleased. A fleshy flap of cinnamon bun stuck to the side of his head like a hat, making Fionna giggle.

She ushered the injured Candy People out of the kitchen before they could pop with fright. She'd spotted Dr. Ice Cream milling about the crowd earlier, so she figured they'd be taken care of.

"Phew." Fionna sprawled on the sticky floor with a satisfied sigh. It felt good to stretch her monster-slaying muscles, but her hat – and, really, the rest of her – was a sweet saliva-covered mess. She set her backpack, sword, and worn hat down beside her, hoping that maybe some thoughtful candy servant would clean them later. Upon standing, she was semi-surprised to find Marshall Lee still hovering around.

He was grinning.

"What?" Feeling fiddly, Fionna pushed frosting-sticky bangs out of her eyes.

"Nothing." Marshall Lee picked pieces of pastry from the edge of his sweater as if embarrassed. Seeming to realize that this was a lame and unbecoming way for a thousand-plus-year-old undead monarch to act, he chuckled to himself and added, "You're just cute, that's all."

The intensity of his gaze made Fionna's cheeks flare. She gulped as Marshall Lee's eyes devoured the sight.

"Your blush looks yummy," he said vaguely.

"Want a taste?" WHAT?! Fionna mentally punched herself for spouting something so stupid. Her brain was officially made of mush.

But Marshall Lee just grinned, that insouciant one-fanged quirk of lips that made her want to prank people and laugh until she hurled. He tipped her chin up with one hand as he leaned closer. His lips were cold against her cheek, but Fionna felt her skin heat up anyway.

"Marshall," she whispered, not sure what she was planning to say next. She just wanted to say his name, liked the way it tasted on her tongue: like strawberries and mischief.

"Shh." The vampire king held a finger up to his lips in the universal sign of "be quiet or I'm not gonna kiss you, stupid."

Fionna shut up. And found that, as good as his name tasted, his mouth pressed against hers tasted better. (Then again, this might have had something to do with the sugary innards that dusted his upper lip.)

Her eyes shuttered, and her fingers shuddered as they fisted in the loose material of Marshall Lee's sweater. The kiss was weird, but in a good way. It felt like that time she'd gotten progressively cooler magical powers from those tadpole guys – minus the trickery and asteroid business, of course; each brush of Marshall Lee's body against hers introduced her to a sensation she previously hadn't known was possible. She didn't want it to end.

Neither, it seemed, did he.

Marshall Lee hefted her up onto the counter top, his hands firmly gripping her hips. Fionna allowed him to shrug into the space between her thighs; she encircled his hips with her legs without really thinking about it. Marshall Lee groaned into her mouth when her fingers whispered over the bite marks on his neck. Applying a bit of pressure to the spot experimentally, she was gratified by another sound that made her body feel tingly and warm.

"Maybe don't do that," Marshall Lee murmured against her lips. His fingers ground into the slivers of skin between her skirt and high-knee socks when she repeated the action.

"Does it feel good?" Fionna asked with a shyness that belied her bold touches.

"Nope."

She could tell he was lying. Marshall Lee nipped her bottom lip lightly with a fang, and Fionna let out a little gasp. She could feel his grin against her lips as he pulled back a bit. His gaze drifted down to where his fingers were gripping her thigh. He blinked, as if surprised to find his hand there. Emboldened by his flustered expression, Fionna pressed a kiss to his neck. Marshall Lee's entire body went rigid. Teasing him, she ran her tongue lightly over the faint pucker of his bite marks.

"Stop that, you," he said faintly. His voice sounded just the littlest bit breathy, which made Fionna grin.

"You scared, poor little king of vampires?" This was kind of fun. Fionna had always thought of romance and kissing as vaguely grown-up and intimidating. Like science, but even grosser and with more saliva. The revelation that making out could be scary, exciting, and fun in a mundane, bantering way was almost as sweet as the traces of sugar still lingering on her tongue.

"Not even almost."

He kissed her, and the curious uncertainty of their first lip lock was replaced with a mutual challenge. Marhsall Lee slipped his tongue between her lips. The hand not inching along her leg tangled in her hair, heedless of the frosting matting the blonde locks. Almost dizzy, Fionna squeezed her knees against Marshall Lee's hips. His rocked forward, seemingly on instinct. Fionna squirmed at the sensation this evoked. She liked it, but, but—

It was too much all of a sudden, and this was Marshall Lee – her buddy, partner in pranking, and the famed, fanged Vampire King. She broke away with a muffled mewl of sound.

"Too fast?" Marshall Lee breathed against her shoulder.

"Maybe a little," she mumbled as she tried to decide if she was embarrassed or not. The best course of action, she decided, was to play it cool. "I mean, I don't wanna pressure you into anything you're not up for."

Marshall Lee let out a cackling laugh. "You're such a loser."

"Whatever, loser." Fionna shoved him so hard he tipped off his feet, but her mouth was curled in a reluctant half-grin.

Marshall Lee's laugh drifted off as he floated overhead. He flipped his body in midair, knees bent and hands tucked into his pockets. His smirk looked like a frown as he glided closer, but Fionna wasn't deceived. She crossed her arms as his finger sneaked out to teasingly trace her jawline. He darted forward before she could react, his lips meeting hers in an upside-down peck. It was a brief, bumpy sort of kiss that smooshed Marshall Lee's chin against her nose.

"All clean," Marhsall Lee said brightly. He licked a dollop of crimson frosting from the finger that had been perving on her chin. A brief frown contorted his face as he spat out the grey goo that remained after he'd drained the frosting of colour.

"Huh?"

"I was cleaning your face off. It was covered in sugar and stuff." He blinked innocently. Fionna was uncomfortably reminded of the way his mom had looked before she sprouted tentacles and bat wings and a lipless mouth prone to gobbling up unsuspecting souls. "What did you think all that was?"

He's kidding, right?

"What?" Fionna felt her brows tighten and her hands fist without conscious thought. Annoyance coiled with embarrassment in her belly, the snaky emotions intensified by the amount of chewed-up cinnamon buns she was still digesting. She made a sound like Cake's growling. "You're such a bleeping bozo, Marshall Lee!"

"Aw, c'mon, Fi, I didn't mean it." Marshall Lee lightly bopped her on the head with a closed fist.

Still feeling pouty, Fionna growled again. "Why do you always do that?"

"What?"

"Pretend like we're not buds, like you just hang out with me and Cake and PG by accident or for kicks. 'Oops,'" she imitated in a low-pitched approximation of Marshall Lee's voice. "'Did I just have a super-duper fun day hanging out with you lame-wads? How the heck did that happen? Craziness!'"

"You guys are pretty entertaining."

"Pfft." Fionna stuffed a stray cinnamon bun in her mouth just to give her hands something to do. All this talk of feelings was making her hungry, too. Her stomach gurgled in complaint, confirming her suspicion that she had devoured what was formerly a part of the centipede's torso. Yum.

"I'm sort of old," Marshall Lee said eventually, like this explained everything.

"So?"

"So nothing. I'm sort of old. Full stop. I don't have anything to add. Can we go back to being chill now or what?"

"I guess," Fionna said doubtfully, mostly because this whole exchange was proving perplexing and emotionally exhausting; like Marshall Lee, she preferred to deal with physical-type exhaustion.

There was a tiny pause during which they exchanged stares that said, louder than words, now what?

Both of them jumped a little when Prince Gumball's pink face poked through the doorway. "Are you heroic centipede-slayers coming? We're about to sing the sacred ceremonial song of the lumpectomy."

"Sure, be right there," Fionna said automatically.

"Oh," Gumball added. "And bring what remains of the centipede's carcass, would you? I think it would make for a lovely post-dessert treat to serve with tea."

Marshall Lee grabbed Fionna's wrist as she turned to follow Gumball. "Fionna, wait."

"What is it?"

He inhaled a deep, reluctant breath and blew it out with a rush of words: "I like you a lot, 'cause you're cool and funny and good at killing stuff – really good – and you always let me lick the ketchup off your fries. You're like my best friend, okay? So I don't want to mess that up."

"Yeah, me neither." Fionna's heart – it had been quite active today – did a funny little back flip in her chest. Marshall Lee's declaration wasn't exactly full of ooey gooey exaggerations of love and devotion, but Fionna thought it might be the most romantic thing she'd ever heard. Way better than those stupid clichés shiny-eyed lovers exchanged in the couple-y movies she'd seen.

"Hey." Marshall Lee's grin turned mischievous. "How would you feel about sneaking out early? My mom's party started like 20 minutes ago, so we'd be just the right amount of late."

"Shouldn't we clean off first or something?" She could feel melted sweetness crusting under her shirt.

"Meh. Believe me, no one in the Nightosphere will notice. Besides, dirty suits you."

"Okay, let's do it."

Fionna let Marshall Lee take care of the preparations while she sneaked out to say goodbye to Prince Gumball and Cake. The cat's pupils were enlarged – catnip and love-related intoxication, Fionna suspected – but she yowled at the prospect of Fionna ditching the lumpectomy with the Vampire King.

"You tell him that I'll bite his face off and wear it on my tongue if he lays a fang on you, got it?" Cake yelled as Fionna dashed away. Lord Monochromicorn seconded the cat's sentiment with a few swift pounds of his hoof.

A fiery opening had been burned into the kitchen wall by the time Fionna returned. "Ready?"

"Yup." Marshall Lee yawned and stretched. "Let's blow this popsicle party."

"Marshall?" Fionna added just as he stepped one foot through the flaming doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "I just like you a lot, too."

Marshall Lee made a grumbling sort of sound that might have signified any number of feelings: reciprocation, agreement, indigestion. He reached one arm back to her without turning around; Fionna grabbed his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her through the portal...

"This is very inappropriate," Ice King muttered, though a wide, triangular-toothed smile plumped his cheeks. He stuffed a handful of granola into his mouth and chewed noisily. "Ever so inappropriate. And rather OOC. I am appalled, Gunter."

"Hm." Ice King scratched at his beard. "I don't know if I can condone this kind of blatant Fionna and Marshall Lee shipping in my household, mister."

The penguin squeaked.

"Yes, that's true," Ice king agreed. "Love is a fickle mistress, indeed. Do you think maybe the Ice Queen might appear in later installments?" he continued. "Perhaps she will soothe a broken-hearted Prince Gumball's broken heart with her glorious beauty and marriageability? Oh, yes, I quite like that idea..."

Gunter's round eyes shone with authorial pride as Ice King patted her absently on the head.

"And what's this?" Ice King leafed through Gunter's notes for a second chapter. His mouth went slack as he scanned the pages; a few half-chewed pieces of granola pitter-pattered over the paper. "Well, well. Gunter, this is positively smutty."

The penguin blinked at Ice King with a look of mute incomprehension.

"Oh, you're good," Ice King whispered.

A/N: I fail at endings...

The Nightosphere party should be detailed in a second and final (shorter, smuttier) chapter after this one. Probably. It depends how fast Gunter writes, I guess.

Reviews are as sweet as cinnamon buns, but thanks for reading, regardless!