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loving you (is a piece of cake)

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Ever since he started working on Tasty videos in earnest, Andrew has had to deal with some absolute kitchen disasters. He’s spent literal hours scrubbing solidified globs of melted cheese off the counters and sweeping flour out of every nook and cranny in the kitchen, has gone home to find bits of egg stuck in his hair and cinnamon down his shirt.

But despite all of those experiences, he’s pretty sure that the absolute mess blanketing almost every square inch of Steven’s kitchen takes the cake.


Truth be told, he’s not exactly sure how it even happened, because it’s not like they’re making anything super fancy; it’s nothing more extravagant than a chocolate mocha cake for Adam’s birthday. Sure, they started from scratch, rather than from a box, but still, that can’t be the only reason why there’s cocoa power dusting the front of the fridge and wet clumps of instant coffee powder attached to the cupboards, why there’s buttermilk staining his jeans in half a dozen spots and egg shells crunching underneath his feet as he leans over to slide the cake into the oven.

He can’t be totally sure, but he suspects that Steven’s mere presence may have had something to do with it.

Amazingly, considering the absolute chaos surrounding him, Steven is remarkably clean, aside from a light coating of sugar dusting the front of his shirt. He’s cautiously prodding their gigantic bowl of coffee icing with a spatula, like he’s expecting it to come to life and bite him in the ass.

“I don’t think this is right,” he says with a frown, pulling the spatula out and watching the icing gloop back into the bowl. “It seems too thick.”

“It probably just needs to be stirred some more,” Andrew answers, setting a timer on his phone for thirty-five minutes before he rests it on top of the fridge, which seems to be the only space in the room that isn’t covered by some kind of food product. Steven nods and sticks his tongue out to lick the spatula clean, but before his tongue can quite make contact, Andrew gently pokes the handle of the spatula and knocks it slightly astray. A smear of icing ends up decorating Steven’s cheek like a patch of too-dark blush, and Steven groans even as a grin splits his mouth.

“What was that for?”

“We still have to use that, and I don’t think Adam would appreciate knowing that your spit was involved in the production of his birthday cake.” On a whim, he takes the spatula from Steven’s loose grip and pokes him on the end of his nose, leaving behind a near-perfect circle of icing, before he returns the spatula to its rightful place in the bowl.

“Well, I wasn’t going to tell him that.” Steven drags a thumb through the icing on his cheek and pops it into his mouth. After a moment, he groans happily, and his eyes flutter shut, and even though Andrew has seen the sight countless times, both on and off location, a rush of warmth automatically floods his cheeks in response. “That tastes amazing. I think Adam’s really going to like it.”

“Hmm.” Andrew’s not about to stick his fingers in the icing to find out, but thankfully, the smear on the tip of Steven’s nose is untouched, so he leans forward and kisses it. Once he’s licked it off his lips and savored the rich taste for a few moments, he nods. “That is really good. Might be my best work yet.”

Our best work, you mean,” Steven retorts, rolling his eyes expansively as he leans back against the counter, sending a tiny puff of cocoa powder into the air, which is probably composed more of various cake ingredients than oxygen at this point. “You know, you don’t have to use the ‘there’s food on you’ excuse anymore. You can just kiss me because you want to.”

Andrew grins as he steps in closer and settles his hands on the counter on either side of Steven’s narrow hips. His fingers skate over loose particles of sugar and flour, and he doesn’t miss the way Steven draws in a breath when he leans in almost close enough for their foreheads to touch.

“But it worked so well that first time.” It’d been cake icing that time too, six months ago, although it’d been of the cream cheese variety rather than coffee flavored, and Andrew had been considerably less than sober when he’d leaned in and kissed it off the corner of Steven’s mouth.

He still thanks the powers that be every day for the liquid courage that allowed him to finally make a move after literally years of wanting to.

Steven shakes his head fondly and drags his thumb back across the smear of icing on his cheek before he traces Andrew’s bottom lip with it.

“Fine,” he says with a shrug. “We can do it your way then.” Steven wraps both of his hands tightly into the front of Andrew’s shirt and tugs him in, until their hips are pressing together, and leans in for a kiss. When his tongue flicks against the seam of Andrew’s mouth, Andrew groans and parts his lips, tips his head to the side so they can slot together a bit deeper and wraps his arms around Steven’s back. Steven sighs into the kiss and grazes his teeth against Andrew’s bottom lip, not hard enough to really be a bite, but hard enough to hint in that direction.

If that’s the game he wants to play, Andrew is more than capable of playing along.

He waits until Steven has pulled away to breathe before he makes his move. Before Steven can lean back in, Andrew gently grips Steven’s chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“Can I?” he asks, glancing down at the long line of Steven’s neck before he looks up into his eyes. Steven nods enthusiastically and twists his head to the side, until his temple is resting back against the cupboard.

“Yeah,” he swallows, hands smoothing down Andrew’s chest to settle on his waist. His long fingers duck under the hem of Andrew’s shirt and brush over Andrew’s hips so softly that, for a moment, Andrew almost forgets what he was planning on doing.

Moments later, Steven’s throat bobs as he swallows, and that brings it all back.

He wastes no further time in ducking his head and brushing his mouth along the line of Steven’s jaw, from the point of his chin all the way to the slight dip below his ear. When Steven lets out a shuddering gasp, Andrew feels it reverberate in his own chest, and he remains still for a moment, simply savoring the close proximity. Sure, they’re close most of the time when they’re filming, but while Andrew still enjoys every moment of that, every moment of Steven’s knee bumping against his own or every brush of their shoulders, that closeness is mostly out of necessity.

But this isn’t for the camera. It’s just the two of them, and Andrew could, well and truly, stay like this all day, pressed together in two dozen different spots, content to listen to the muted thud of Steven’s heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his breath.

Before he can fall too far down that particular rabbit hole of thought, Steven whines and drags his blunt nails along Andrew’s hipbone.

“I don’t have all day,” he says, although the sheer breathlessness of the statement takes away any bite that he may have tried to put into it. Technically, aside from finishing up the cake, they do have all day (or night, rather), but Andrew doesn’t think Steven is particularly interested in technicalities at this exact moment.

Which is fair, because neither is he.

“I was just admiring the view,” he replies, mouth catching on the jut of Steven’s jaw before he moves a little lower and presses a kiss to the taut skin over Steven’s pulse point. From there, he moves even lower, to where the soft collar of Steven’s sweater meets the base of his neck, and starts working on sucking a mark there. Steven groans and arches away from the lip of the counter to press his hips into Andrew’s. One of his hands slides out from underneath Andrew’s shirt and twists tightly into his hair, just to keep him in place.

In response, Andrew presses his teeth in a little firmer. When he eventually pulls away, he leaves behind a gorgeous cotton-candy pink mark, glistening and dotted with the outline of his own teeth. He presses a gentle kiss to soothe it before he migrates back towards Steven’s pulse point and starts working on another one. This time, Steven moans and starts shifting restlessly in the grip of Andrew’s arms. At first, Andrew thinks he’s trying to move away, that he’s misinterpreted the sound and he was sucking too hard, but before he can pull back to apologize, he realizes that Steven is trying to squirm his way up onto the edge of the counter. Andrew drops his arms momentarily, just long for Steven to succeed, and more flour and cocoa powder puffs into the air as he slides back to lean against the cupboard.

“Want me to keep going?” Andrew asks, unable to stop himself from teasing just a little. He gently presses his thumb into the first mark he created, and Steven bites down on his bottom lip.

“Please.” He hooks his heels around the backs of Andrew’s thighs and digs in a little, impatient. There’s still frosting faintly smeared on his cheek, and Andrew presses a quick kiss to it before he drops his palms to Steven’s thighs and returns to what he was doing.

Namely, marking Steven’s gorgeous neck up the best that he can.

By the time he finishes the fourth mark, his mouth is starting to get a little bit sore, and he’s so hard that it hurts, keeps finding himself pressing up against the edge of the counter for some kind of friction. Steven is panting for breath, and his restless fingers have tugged Andrew’s hair completely to hell. He slows things down a little, just to give his mouth a break, goes back to pressing soft kisses along the slope of Steven’s neck, tugs aside the loose collar of his shirt so he can trace the jut of his collarbone as well. Steven moans quietly and flexes his fingers in Andrew’s hair, tugs just hard enough for it to feel good. He wriggles his other hand between them and splays it on Andrew’s stomach, just above his belt buckle, and Andrew swallows hard, tenses a little in anticipation of where Steven’s hand might go next.

But, just as one of Steven’s fingers brushes against the waistband of Andrew’s jeans, a horribly obnoxious tune starts drifting from the top of the fridge. For a moment, Steven’s face crinkles in confusion, but then he groans loudly and drops his forehead to Andrew’s shoulder.

“I forgot about the cake,” he says, dropping his legs away from Andrew’s.

“Me too,” Andrew answers truthfully. He’s reluctant to move away from Steven, but they can’t fuck up the cake; it’s too late in the night to make another one, and Adam deserves better than store-bought (although Andrew’s sure that, if it really came down to, he could call Rie and she’d whip together a masterpiece before work tomorrow). He settles for pressing one last kiss to the corner of Steven’s mouth before he steps away to grab his phone, while Steven pulls oven mitts on.

“How long does the cake have to cool for?” he asks, pulling the oven door open, carefully taking the pan out, and setting it on the counter.

“Ten minutes,” Andrew answers, double-checking the recipe on his phone just to be sure. When he glances up, Steven is in the process of carelessly tossing the oven mitts aside. One of them nearly lands in the bowl of icing.

“Is it bad if it cools for longer than that before we ice it?” He switches all the dials on the oven off with faint clicks, eyes firmly fixed on Andrew. The marks on his neck are the color of strawberries now, and Andrew almost resents the fact that they’ll have to cover them up tomorrow before they go to work.

“I don’t think so.” Andrew sets his phone back on top of the fridge, where it’s safe, for the time being. Steven’s face scrunches up again, like he’s deep in thought. “Why?”

“Because I think we might need a little longer than ten minutes to finish up what we started.”

“You do, do you?” Andrew teases as Steven crosses the room and grabs his hand. “Want me to set another timer, just in case?”

“What I want you to do is kiss me some more,” Steven replies, leading the way out of the room. There’s flour and sugar all down the back of his pants, and Andrew can’t help but laugh a little, up until Steven abruptly turns around. He looks nothing less than utterly gorgeous, hair disheveled and neck marked up, eyes wide and lips parted, and Andrew almost decides to forgo the rest of the journey to the bedroom in favor of simply pressing Steven up against the wall and kissing him until there’s no air left in his lungs.

But then they would end up with sugar and flour and God only knows what else all over the wall, and Andrew’s fairly certain that it’s easier to wash that kind of thing out of the sheets rather than scrub it off the wall.

“Alright,” he answers, leaning in for a quick kiss before he bumps his nose against Steven’s. “I can do that.”


In the end, an hour passes before they get back to the cake. The consistency of the icing remains a little off no matter how long they stir for, and it isn’t exactly a pretty cake by the time all is said and done, but when Andrew sends a picture to Annie, she sends back a declaration that Adam is going to love it.

So between that and the series of blotchy pink marks staining Steven’s neck (and chest and inner thighs), Andrew declares the night to be an official success.