Title: A Slice of Porridge
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), modern AU
Length: 422
Content notes: no warnings apply
Pairing/Characters: Grant/Jonathan, William
Author note: part of the Medsoc Musical 'verse; see end of fic for more notes.
Summary: There were numerous bad solutions to overspending your student loan and William had tried most of them, but this was a step too far.



“William,” Grant said, “you’re a medical student, for fuck’s sake.”

“And your point is?”

“You can’t live on porridge,” said Grant. “You’ll get scurvy.”

There were numerous bad solutions to overspending your student loan and William had tried most of them, but this was a step too far.

“That’s a myth,” William said crushingly.

“It’s not, you know,” Grant said, uncrushed. “My uncle was at Aberdeen with a guy who tried living on a sack of oats because he’d spent his grant in the first two weeks. He was the last person in Britain to get scurvy. Till now.”

William continued to look sceptical, and mumbled something about vitamin tablets.

Grant rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You may as well do the thing properly, have a porridge drawer while you’re about it.”

“What’s a porridge drawer?” Jonathan asked. Trust him to come in half way through an argument and fasten on the least essential part of it.

“It’s a Scottish thing,” said Grant. “You make a big batch of porridge, pour it into a drawer to set, and then you cut slices as you need them. Saves on fuel.”

“Bloody hell,” said Jonathan, going slightly green. “I’m glad I don’t live with you, William.”

“Apparently it’s not bad fried,” Grant said, and grinned.

“That’s disgusting,” William complained. “And I’m not having a porridge drawer.”

Probably just as well: what Arthur would say to Grant for putting him up to it didn’t bear thinking about.

“If you’ve quite finished talking culinary horrors,” Jonathan said with a shudder, “we’ve got a tech run to do.”

“You’ll never make a doctor if you’re that squeamish,” William said.

“You’re the one who said fried porridge was disgusting,” Grant pointed out. “Maybe we should try it, if you’re so set on this oat cuisine.”

William groaned. “OK, that does it. I’m going before you come up with something even worse.”

“Thank you,” Jonathan said, when he’d gone. He didn’t need to say what for.

To be fair, Grant didn’t think William had meant anything by it. But the last thing Jonathan needed right now was William going on about his future as a doctor.

“Come here, you.” Grant kissed him, gently at first, then less gently.

Jonathan stroked his back and squeezed his arse. Both of them breathed harder.

“Mmm,” Grant said, pulling away reluctantly. “OK, better get to the ADC. No porridge, just lovely buckets of blood.”

“Can’t wait,” Jonathan said, and grinned. He began whistling The Worst Pies in London.


***

porridge drawers were actually a thing. I was told the scurvy story nearly thirty years ago by someone who claimed to have been at Aberdeen with the student in question, though it may be an urban legend.

in case it's not obvious, the tech run is for Stephen Sondheim's musical Sweeney Todd.

Grant's oat cuisine joke is a shameless piece of borrowing from Joe Stilgoe's song Flapjack.