Chapter Text
‘When you said we were going to do some bonding as a couple,’ Sid grumbled, ‘this wasn’t what I had in mind.’
Andy looked up from the chaos of the tupperware drawer, where he’d been searching for the elusive set of measuring cups, and nearly dropped the lot when he caught sight of his boyfriend.
Sid stood in the doorway like an absurd hybrid of a rock star and a suburban housewife. Tattoos on display beneath the string of Andy’s mom’s best floral apron, a spatula clenched in one hand like a weapon, and a pair of lemon-yellow marigold gloves stretched comically tight over his fingers.
The sight alone was almost enough to send Andy to the floor laughing.
Sid scowled, catching the smirk that was threatening to break across Andy’s face. ‘Not a word.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Andy said, the corners of his mouth twitching. ‘Though you should probably know that most people use a wooden spoon for baking, not… whatever the hell that’s supposed to be.’
Sid gave the spatula a pointed flick, muttering something about how real men used all available resources.
Andy shut the drawer with his hip and turned to face him, dusting off his hands. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun! My mom and I used to bake all the time before she went back to work full time. It really helped with—’
He stopped, words catching on his tongue. His hand came up to his mouth, rubbing at his lips as if he could push the slip back in. ‘…you know. My parents’ divorce. It just helped.’
The air shifted. For a moment, Sid didn’t say anything. Then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders melting, and closed the space between them to wrap those ridiculous yellow-gloved hands around Andy’s waist.
‘Alright, alright,’ he murmured against the top of Andy’s head. ‘We’ll bake. Fuck, Andy, you always gotta go sentimental on me.’
Andy let out a small laugh, muffled against Sid’s chest. ‘It’s not my fault you’re a big softie under all that leather.’ He tilted his head up, eyes bright again. ‘So, what kind of cupcakes are we making?’
Sid grinned, that familiar crooked smile tugging at his mouth. ‘All of them.’
‘All of them?’
‘All the flavours. You said yourself that you wanted a challenge.’
‘A challenge, Sid. Not culinary suicide.’