![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
twobirdsonesongTitle: Signature Challenge
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Rating/Length: G / >1000
Summary: I’ve been watching a lot of Bake Off okay?
Read on AO3
“Godfuckingdamnitshit,” is what rings out from the kitchen a spare moment after some sort of tin hits the floor and rattles across the tile.
Chris waits a moment, clears his throat: “You sure you don’t want help?” He calls out.
“No, Christopher. I do not want or need help. Yours or anyone else’s.”
Chris knows better to argue. He’s been locked out of the kitchen for the last two hours, ever since he came home and was immediately yelled at that he was early and had better stay out or else. So, he’s been camped out on the couch reading a book and pretending like he’s not hungry, and not curious as to what the hell is going on in there.
Suddenly, Darren’s head pokes around the corner. He’s got flour on his collar, or maybe it’s icing sugar, and a little on his jaw. As if he’d rubbed his face in annoyance, or lost control of a spatula.
“I’m sorry, I love you.” It’s said quickly, but not a joke.
“Mhmm.”
Darren grins and disappears back into the kitchen.
“At least it smells good!” Chris calls after him. It really does. It’s a bit like a bakery; all flour and butter and something sweet that’s probably raspberries. Or maybe cranberries. Whatever it is, he hopes it’s done soon.
Every once in a while, Chris hears the clatters of a bowl against a counter, or the tinkle of utensils against glass. He’s been trying to guess what Darren’s up to. He doesn’t think he’s baking cookies – he’d have been done by now and it probably wouldn’t be this flustered about it. He doesn’t think it’s dinner, because it smells like dessert. And he’s pretty sure it’s not pie, because both of them have been banned from pie until Christmas.
Chris is near the end of his book when Darren reappears in the living room. The flour on his face is gone and his temples are wet, as though he’s washed his face in the kitchen sink. There’s still small smudge on his collar though.
“Care to join me for tea?” He asks.
Chris narrows his eyes. “All that noise for tea?”
Darren grins. “Not exactly.”
Chris lifts himself from the sofa and follows Darren into the kitchen. Nothing looks terribly out of the ordinary. No broken glass, no spills on the floor. If disaster happened while he was sequestered in the living room, it’s been cleaned up.
But there is a cake sitting on the kitchen island; golden sponge, a hint of jam, dollops of buttercream between the layers, and a lovely dusting of sugar on the top.
Chris approaches it slowly, aware that his mouth is slowly dropping open.
“What—”
“It’s a Victoria Sandwich!” Darren’s cheeks are pink. He’s proud and embarrassed, Chris can tell.
“You baked a cake.”
“It was supposed to be done before you got home.”
Flanking the cake is a tea pot and two cups on saucers, a tea set Chris vaguely remembers getting in London years ago and certainly doesn’t remember having ever used.
“Why did you—” Chris lets the question trail off as Darren grabs a couple of small plates that match the tea cups.
“I don’t know. You got that thing, and I got that thing. Felt like a good time to celebrate.” He says it casually, but Chris knows it’s not.
Chris watches as Darren cuts through the cake with a large knife.
“Plus,” Darren continues. “We’ve been watching all that Bake Off and I didn’t want to be shown up by them.”
Chris snorts. “Because your baking efforts have gone so well before.”
Darren slides a perfect slice onto a plate and puts it in front of Chris before cutting his own. “You know me. When I put my mind to something.”
Chris knows. As soon as Darren puts a little effort into something it feels like there’s no stopping him. Victoria Sandwiches included, apparently.
Chris takes his first bite while Darren fixes them tea. He’s no expert, but it’s actually really good. The sponge is like, not under or over baked, which is probably the real surprise here. Melts in the mouth, even. The jam is sweet and tart at the same time and Chris has a hard time imagining Darren making it instead of scooping it out from a jar. Even the buttercream tastes good, though butter and sugar rarely ever tastes bad.
Darren is staring at him expectantly over the rim of a tea cup. “Well?”
Chris nods. “It’s good. It’s really good.”
Darren grins and finally digs in with a fork. “Maybe I’ll have to do a whole Julie/Julia thing,” he muses. “Go through all of the Bake Off recipes in a year.”
“I think we’d both have to re-think how much we work out.” Chris is about to polish off his cake and is considering going in for a second piece before Darren is even half way through his.
“Probably worth it though.”
“Probably.”
There’s moment of quiet in the kitchen before Chris leans over and give Darren a quick, sugary kiss.
“Thank you.”
“Love you.”
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Rating/Length: G / >1000
Summary: I’ve been watching a lot of Bake Off okay?
Read on AO3
“Godfuckingdamnitshit,” is what rings out from the kitchen a spare moment after some sort of tin hits the floor and rattles across the tile.
Chris waits a moment, clears his throat: “You sure you don’t want help?” He calls out.
“No, Christopher. I do not want or need help. Yours or anyone else’s.”
Chris knows better to argue. He’s been locked out of the kitchen for the last two hours, ever since he came home and was immediately yelled at that he was early and had better stay out or else. So, he’s been camped out on the couch reading a book and pretending like he’s not hungry, and not curious as to what the hell is going on in there.
Suddenly, Darren’s head pokes around the corner. He’s got flour on his collar, or maybe it’s icing sugar, and a little on his jaw. As if he’d rubbed his face in annoyance, or lost control of a spatula.
“I’m sorry, I love you.” It’s said quickly, but not a joke.
“Mhmm.”
Darren grins and disappears back into the kitchen.
“At least it smells good!” Chris calls after him. It really does. It’s a bit like a bakery; all flour and butter and something sweet that’s probably raspberries. Or maybe cranberries. Whatever it is, he hopes it’s done soon.
Every once in a while, Chris hears the clatters of a bowl against a counter, or the tinkle of utensils against glass. He’s been trying to guess what Darren’s up to. He doesn’t think he’s baking cookies – he’d have been done by now and it probably wouldn’t be this flustered about it. He doesn’t think it’s dinner, because it smells like dessert. And he’s pretty sure it’s not pie, because both of them have been banned from pie until Christmas.
Chris is near the end of his book when Darren reappears in the living room. The flour on his face is gone and his temples are wet, as though he’s washed his face in the kitchen sink. There’s still small smudge on his collar though.
“Care to join me for tea?” He asks.
Chris narrows his eyes. “All that noise for tea?”
Darren grins. “Not exactly.”
Chris lifts himself from the sofa and follows Darren into the kitchen. Nothing looks terribly out of the ordinary. No broken glass, no spills on the floor. If disaster happened while he was sequestered in the living room, it’s been cleaned up.
But there is a cake sitting on the kitchen island; golden sponge, a hint of jam, dollops of buttercream between the layers, and a lovely dusting of sugar on the top.
Chris approaches it slowly, aware that his mouth is slowly dropping open.
“What—”
“It’s a Victoria Sandwich!” Darren’s cheeks are pink. He’s proud and embarrassed, Chris can tell.
“You baked a cake.”
“It was supposed to be done before you got home.”
Flanking the cake is a tea pot and two cups on saucers, a tea set Chris vaguely remembers getting in London years ago and certainly doesn’t remember having ever used.
“Why did you—” Chris lets the question trail off as Darren grabs a couple of small plates that match the tea cups.
“I don’t know. You got that thing, and I got that thing. Felt like a good time to celebrate.” He says it casually, but Chris knows it’s not.
Chris watches as Darren cuts through the cake with a large knife.
“Plus,” Darren continues. “We’ve been watching all that Bake Off and I didn’t want to be shown up by them.”
Chris snorts. “Because your baking efforts have gone so well before.”
Darren slides a perfect slice onto a plate and puts it in front of Chris before cutting his own. “You know me. When I put my mind to something.”
Chris knows. As soon as Darren puts a little effort into something it feels like there’s no stopping him. Victoria Sandwiches included, apparently.
Chris takes his first bite while Darren fixes them tea. He’s no expert, but it’s actually really good. The sponge is like, not under or over baked, which is probably the real surprise here. Melts in the mouth, even. The jam is sweet and tart at the same time and Chris has a hard time imagining Darren making it instead of scooping it out from a jar. Even the buttercream tastes good, though butter and sugar rarely ever tastes bad.
Darren is staring at him expectantly over the rim of a tea cup. “Well?”
Chris nods. “It’s good. It’s really good.”
Darren grins and finally digs in with a fork. “Maybe I’ll have to do a whole Julie/Julia thing,” he muses. “Go through all of the Bake Off recipes in a year.”
“I think we’d both have to re-think how much we work out.” Chris is about to polish off his cake and is considering going in for a second piece before Darren is even half way through his.
“Probably worth it though.”
“Probably.”
There’s moment of quiet in the kitchen before Chris leans over and give Darren a quick, sugary kiss.
“Thank you.”
“Love you.”
Tags:
