"Patience. That's all I'm asking," Rodney said, elbowing John away from the mixing bowl for maybe the fifth time.
"But I like the dough," John said with a gooey-looking mouth.
"I'll bet you'd like a case of salmonella and a trip to the ER just as well."
John swallowed and licked his lower lip, frowning. "Has anyone ever gotten that from eating cookie dough? Nah. It's just all those paranoid moms spoiling our fun." He leaned in for a kiss, but Rodney whacked him with the floury spoon.
"No way. Go use Listerine first or something."
"Seriously? You'd rather taste Listerine than Rodney's Infamous Cherry Chocolate-Chip Cookie Bombs?"
Rodney was about to make a snappy reply, but the timer went off on the first batch of the self-same Cookie Bombs. He beat John to the oven and turned on the light to peek in.
The cookies were lumpy and golden brown and just right.
John nudged him. "Hey, cool, they really puffed up. What makes cookies puff up like that, anyway?"
Rodney sighed and pulled on his whale oven mitts. "It's a very simple chemical process. The baking soda is a base; it reacts with the acid of the cream of tartar in the baking powder, and that combined with the liquid creates CO2 gas, which causes bubbles to make everything rise." Rodney had to elbow John away, again, this time to make him back away from the oven door. "God, you're hovering worse than when I build you a real bomb."
"Cookie bombs are way better," John said solemnly a little later, mumbling it through a mouthful of melted chocolate and hot cherries and crumbled cookie.
"Mmm-mmph," Rodney replied, and didn't object at all when John kissed him a minute later.
Bombs killed germs after all, right? Right.