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“No, this eez not right!” Fleur’s voice rose when she saw the revised version of the cake.
“...Not right?” Tom repeated after taking a deep breath to compose himself. “How so?”
“I do not like where you put these flowers!” A single manicured finger pointed at the aforementioned decoration.
“You asked me to put them there.” He could feel his frustration rising, but did his best to maintain a level head.
“I changed my mind. It does not look good! Do it again!”
“Miss Delacou-”
“This eez my sister’s graduation cake; it should be perfect.” She cut him off swiftly, crossing her arms.
“You have already changed your mind three times.” He spoke through gritted teeth, looking down onto the paper where he had neatly copied the details of her order. There were many sentences crossed out because she had decided she no longer liked the idea.
“Well, do it again.” She seemed unconcerned about the amount of effort he put in, sweeping her silvery-blonde hair over her shoulders and shrugging.
“It will cost you extra.” Tom warned darkly, though he doubted that would bother her, judging by the diamonds that glinted on her earlobes and at the hollow of her throat.
“You think my sister’s ‘appiness is less important than money? Of course not!”
“Right.” Tom stopped himself from doing anything except biting out a short reply. He turned the paper over to the blank side, reaching for a pen. “What would you like me to change?”
It was a question he wished he didn’t have to ask, and for good reason. She opened her mouth and proceeded to talk for ten minutes straight. By the end of it, he was sure his brain was leaking out from his ears because of her chatter.
“I thought she would never stop talking.” Harry said after she finally left (with a vow to come back tomorrow). He peeked out from the kitchen, watching as Tom switched the sign on the door from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’ Tom couldn’t handle another headache after that.
“That makes two of us.” Tom remarked dryly, doing a poor job of hiding his rotten mood. Harry watched for a moment, his body holding open the door to the kitchen. Tom didn’t say another word, proceeding to clean tables and put the chairs up. His movements were overly forceful; a clear sign of his agitation.
“Here, leave it.” Harry walked over, laying a hand on Tom’s forearm, tugging gently at his sleeve.
“I need to clean the tables.” Tom eyes darted up to him.
“Just take a break. You’re going to get wrinkles.” Harry ran his thumb over the crease in the middle of Tom’s brows. They instantly relaxed, Tom becoming conscious of his expression.
“Me? Get wrinkles? Please, Harry.” Tom scoffed, but released the cloth he had been using to wipe down the tables.
“Come here.” Harry shot a glance at the front of the shop, where anyone could see the two of them if they walked past, before leading Tom to the kitchen.
“What is it?” Tom asked, the slightest trace of impatience on his features as he looked back into the store front. Harry couldn’t stop the fond smile that spread on his face at the all too familiar trait of Tom’s. He couldn’t stand to be idle for too long; he liked to be busy and have the satisfaction of knowing he had no more tasks to complete.
“You’re stressed out.”
“Hardly.” Tom rolled his eyes.
“That customer was too demanding.” Harry insisted, despite knowing that his husband would never admit it.
“I can handle it.” Tom’s chin rose, his confidence present as always. It was something Harry had always found attractive.
“I know how you can relax.” Harry’s hands rose to curl around Tom’s biceps, stepping closer. That caught Tom’s complete attention, and he looked down. The innuendo was clear.
“We’re in my kitchen, Harry.”
“I’ll clean it.” Harry insisted before tilting his head up and joining their mouths.
“Honestly.” A barely clear murmur from Tom as their lips momentarily disconnected, before going back. Harry opened his mouth, hand moving from Tom’s arms to twine around his neck. Tom suddenly paused in the middle of their kiss, moving back.
“Is that - have you been eating icing out of the fridge again?” He was licking his lips, brows furrowed as he tried to place the flavour of Harry’s mouth. Harry froze, having forgotten about that.
“...No.” He lied, terribly. Tom let out a short laugh, dipping down again.
“Liar.” Tom breathed the word against his lips, hands moving to grip Harry’s hips.
“I swear - I would never eat your icing, Tom.” Harry laughed too, interrupting any successful attempts of trying to kiss.
“Mm, is that so?” His hands went under Harry’s thighs, lifting him up with ease. Harry wrapped his legs around Tom’s waist without needing to be asked, clinging onto him until Tom sat him down onto one of the tables.
“Honest.” Harry looked at him earnestly, glasses crooked and hair messy. Tom wanted to devour him whole.
“Harry.” He groaned, already pushing up Harry’s shirt, palms sliding over lean muscle.
“That tickles.” More laughter from Harry, poorly muffled by his fist covering his mouth. He did help with the removal of his own clothing though, sliding his jeans down his legs and throwing them somewhere over his shoulder. Eyebrows raised, Tom watched them land on another table.
“Sports helps.” Harry said smugly, having also been watching his throw.
“Hmm, what about these?” Tom’s hand trailed down, tugging at the waistband of Harry’s boxers. “Can you get another perfect throw?”
“Why am I the only one naked?” Harry complained, imitating Tom by tugging on Tom’s own button up shirt.
“Because you ate my icing.” Tom said matter of factly, allowing Harry to undo some of the top buttons. While Harry was preoccupied with trying to undress him, he let his hand slip into Harry’s underwear, long fingers wrapping around an already half-hard cock.
Harry let out a surprised noise, resting his forehead against Tom’s chest as he was worked on. His fists clenched around the fabric of Tom’s shirt, wrinkling the meticulously ironed clothing.
Tom had bent down so he could mouth at Harry’s neck, wanting to leave bruises on that dark skin. Although he had placed a wedding ring around Harry’s finger, he did still enjoy leaving other marks of possession on the man.
“Tom.” His name was a breathy moan from Harry. Tom could feel Harry’s increased pulse and his quickly warming skin. He wanted to have Harry on his back, writhing under him, begging, weak for him.
“Mmm - I have an idea.” Tom paused, moving away from Harry’s neck, hand slipping out of his boxers. Harry let out a disappointed whine at the sudden lack of stimulation.
“Where are you going?” Harry asked, lying back on the table as Tom moved across the room to the fridge. He watched with dawning comprehension as Tom removed a container of icing, opening it and picking out a spatula from a drawer.
“You’re not-?”
“I think I should be able to enjoy my own icing. Don’t you agree, Harry?” He was in front of Harry again, mixing the icing with slow, firm movements. Harry’s voice died in his throat. Watching the deftness of Tom’s technique, the muscles shifting under his skin, he could clearly recall every instance of being pressed against that physique, of having that skill leaving him feeling boneless and in another world entirely. He swallowed, but it did nothing to erase the sudden dryness of his throat.
“Go on then.” He made eye contact with Tom, challengingly, a heat clear in his bright green eyes. Tom’s hand stilled, expression shifting, something more intense taking its place.
He descended on Harry, setting down the container for a brief moment so he could slide Harry’s boxers down his legs, mouth following the path of his hands. He was in between Harry’s legs, tongue sliding over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He moved up and Harry could feel his hot breath on his painfully hard cock. There was no indication he would do anything though.
Tom loved to tease and Harry hated it. He loved to dangle the possibility of orgasm over Harry, to have him nearly crying in frustration before he gave him release. The possibility of this session being drawn out was quite high, although it was Harry’s own fault for initiating sex when Tom was in such an irritated mood.
He felt it then, the spread of frosting on his overheated flesh. The icing made the already cool room even colder. Tom seemed to enjoy taking his time, applying it on Harry’s hips, his abdomen, his nipples and his inner thighs, where he had just run his tongue over.
“You’re going to get chocolate on your clothes.” Harry gasped out, squirming on the table. He was, of course, referring to the fact that Tom was completely dressed still. What a complete and utter bastard.
“I’m a baker - what do people expect?” Tom dismissed it easily, hands ghosting over Harry’s sides. His body arched upwards into Tom’s touch. He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Tom leaning down to lick up the icing. His tongue slid over Harry’s skin, licking up the icing in one clean swipe. Harry always got the vibe that Tom wanted to eat him alive, but this was truly something else.
“You’re evil.” Harry groaned, feeling the chill of the air on the spots where Tom’s saliva was. He drew one of his legs back from where they had been on either side of Tom and seeked out the bulge at the front of Tom’s trousers. Tom let out a hiss as Harry applied pressure, clumsily moving his foot over Tom’s clothed erection. He was quickly stopped by Tom, who wrapped a hand around his ankle, moving his leg back to its former position. Harry frowned.
“Can I at least touch myself-” His hand moved between his hips as he spoke, but Tom stopped him again, fingers wrapping around his wrist, pinning it down against the table.
“No.” Tom ordered although there was amusement curving his lips into a smile. Harry huffed, pursing his lips. He was desperate for a friction that Tom didn’t seem in a hurry to supply.
“Touch me.” Harry finally pleaded, eyes fluttering open after having them shut for a moment.
“Hmm, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Touch me please, Tom. You utter bastard.” Harry forced out through gritted teeth, eyes meeting those of an all too delighted husband.
“Close enough.” Tom finally murmured, hands moving to his own zipper. The sound of it being undone was probably the best thing Harry could have heard at the moment. It was a sign Tom would finally stop playing around. Then, Harry remembered.
“Wait! Look in my bag.” He turned his head in the direction of where he had set his bag down on a chair.
“Why?” Tom asked, brow raised but still doing as Harry had said. It only took him a few seconds of searching until he found the lube. Harry could tell the exact second Tom found it, because he paused completely, staring down at the item he held in his hands.
“Vanilla flavoured.” Tom read out loudly, turning to shoot Harry a look.
“I thought it was funny.” Harry shrugged as best as he could while lying down on a table. He was way beyond the point of feeling any embarrassment.
If Tom had any other comments, they were clearly less important than having an orgasm, because he didn’t say anything else, walking back over to Harry. The chocolate had left Harry’s skin sticky, but he couldn’t find himself to care.
Tom squeezed out some of the lube into his palm - finally - wrapping around Harry’s cock again. His hand moved in firm, sure strokes, making Harry need to muffle his noises with the crook of his arm.
Then Tom kneeled down, mouth opening as he wrapped his lips around the head of Harry’s cock. Harry scratched uselessly at the table, having nothing to grip onto. He moved his hands to Tom’s hair instead, despite knowing he would be chewed out for it later.
Harry adored weaving his hands into Tom’s perfectly coiffed hair and tugging. Tom sank down further, hands wrapped around the length his mouth couldn’t reach. Just when Harry thought he had achieved nirvana due to the feeling of Tom’s tongue running up the underside of his cock, Tom pulled back.
Before he could even complain, Tom replaced his mouth by tugging down his own boxers and lining up their erections next to each other.
“It does taste like vanilla icing.” Tom confirmed, voice deep, before he moved his hips forward. Harry moaned, arms wrapping around Tom and digging his nails into his clothed back. He kissed him again, lips struggling to stay connected with Tom’s movements. He could feel Tom’s open zipper scratching against his bare skin as they moved together, but it didn’t deter him, only making him wrap his legs around Tom in a vain attempt to pull him closer. He had been teased for so long that it didn’t take much for him to get close to the edge. He clung to Tom, mouth slack as he came. All his muscles clenched, tension reaching a climax as his hips stilled.
Tom took a little longer, a curse slipping out as he finally reached release. “Fuck.”
Harry couldn’t help but laugh after a moment, cheek pressed against Tom’s, not having the energy to move from his uncomfortable position.
“What’s funny?” Tom mumbled the question, pressing a kiss against the damp crook of Harry’s neck.
“Nothing - I just don’t think I thought this through.” Harry craned his head, peering at the mess in between the two of them.
“You said you’d clean, remember?” Tom lifted his head, features akin to that of a satisfied cat.
“I remember.” Harry sighed, head slumping back onto the table. “I’ll get to it, in a minute or two.”
“I suppose…” Tom took his time drawing out the word, acting like he was making a great decision. “I could help you.”
“You better. After all, you’re the one who rubbed icing all over me.”