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“Did you get the chocolate chips?” Drift asked, coming up behind Rodimus and pressing his hands teasingly to Roddy’s shoulders. Rodimus giggled, shook out of Drift’s grip, and bent down to grab the bag of chocolate from the cupboard.
“I would never forget the chocolate chips,” he said, and stuck his tongue out at Drift as he started to rip the bag open.
“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” Drift said, gently reaching over Rodimus’ head to rescue the chips from their certain doom. “You've absolutely no idea how to make cookies.”
“I know chocolate chips are the most important part,” Rodimus said, pouting.
Drift laughed. “Agreed, but we need to make the base before we put in the chocolate. We have everything we need right here, and I have-- wait. What did you do with the lemon extract?”
Roddy squinted at him. “I thought you got that out by accident? Why do you need lemon in chocolate chip cookies?”
“Oh, sweet Roddy. I’m here," a quick rifle through a nearby cupboard, "to teach you the intricate rituals of creating chocolate chip goodness, and yes, that includes lemon extract.” Drift kissed the back of Rodimus’ messy hair. The sunlight, warm and yellow in the afternoon glow, made his red dye job look even more golden and highlighted the little strands of hair that stood up from his head.
“Does it include kisses?” Rodimus asked.
“Roddy. I promise that you can have all the kisses you want when we’re done making these cookies, okay?”
“Kisses now.”
“You little gremlin.” Drift placed a kiss to the top of Roddy’s head, and gently pulled his head back to lay another on his forehead. “You have the mixer?”
“I got out everything.”
“Except the lemon extract,” Drift teased. “Okay, baby. Let’s start with the first thing on the recipe. How long have you had the butter out?”
Rodimus wiggled the stick of butter at him. “Don’t worry, cookie-master. It’s been out long enough to be soft.”
Drift felt a wave of affection. This was supposed to be him teaching Rodimus how to make his favorite cookies without sending smoke wafting through the apartment like a herald of sad tidings, but his Roddy seemed bound and determined to turn it into a “let’s distract Drift at every opportunity” day. Not that Drift was complaining. He didn’t have yoga until 10, and the day was perfect for some open-window baking.
“Butter, vegetable oil, and both kinds of sugar,” Drift instructed. “Yep. Now turn the mixer on. Turn it on the lowest setting! Rodimus!”
Rodimus wiped a fleck of sugar-grained butter from his cheek and smiled sheepishly. “Right. Sorry. Lowest setting, starting now.”
Drift gently took the warm brown hand that was running the hand-mixer recklessly along the metal sides of the bowl, and began to guide it to beat the butter, oil, and sugar together until it became a smooth mixture. Rodimus, rebelliously, took a dab of sugary butter from the beater once it had stopped turning and stuck it into his mouth.
Drift kissed him on impulse, and laughed as he turned away to grab the next ingredients. Rodimus had tasted sweet, the sugar still stuck on his lips before Drift had stolen some.
“Drift, I’m supposed to be the irresponsible one here,” Rodimus complained, giggling.
“There’s nothing irresponsible about giving my boyfriend a kiss, Rodimus,” Drift said, mock stern. “Please, try to focus.”
Rodimus raised his coppery eyebrows-- undyed, they showed what his bright red flaming hair would look like if he hadn’t gone on that midnight trip to the barber’s shop (and God knew how he'd found a barber shop that was open at midnight) -- and dramatically affected the same air of dignity as Drift. “Oh, yes of course. Yes, Drift. What’s next, oh wise master of cookies?”
Drift reached up to turn the light in the kitchen off-- the sun was bright enough and the fluorescent glare was oppressive. “Eggs, my young apprentice.”
“Something I know how to do,” Roddy crowed.
“Proficiency in scrambled eggs does not a cookie master make,” Drift admonished. “Crack them against the bowl and put them in. Don’t let the shell--” He fished a sliver of shell out of the batter, tossed it in the sink. “Good. Good!”
“Thank you.” Rodimus flipped his egg-covered fingers into twin peace signs, and giggled as Drift smacked him to the sink to wash them off. “So is that all? We add the chocolate chips now?”
“No.” Drift snagged the recipe from the opposite counter, examined it, tossed it away. “Um, one more thing and you can use the mixer again.”
“Score!” Roddy grabbed Drift’s jaw with his wet fingertips, pressed a mismatched kiss to Drift’s distracted mouth. “C’mon, lighten up.”
“I’m light!”
“You could be lighter. You could take a break from cookies and do some other stuff.” Rodimus dried his hands in his hair, wiped them on his jeans, and faced the bowl again. “No chance of that, though, huh?”
Drift, knowing exactly what Roddy meant by “other stuff,” smiled. “Not until they’re in the oven. Possibly even out of the oven.”
“You’re so mean,” Rodimus complained, but there was a mischievous twist to the side of his mouth. “I’ll remember that! Don’t think you’re gonna get me to forget!”
“I would never,” Drift said, tapping a fingertip to Roddy’s nose. “Next,” he said, looking for the recipe and resorting to memory when it wasn’t immediately available to see, “we put in all the, uh, the salt, baking soda, all that.”
“The little white powders.”
“Please don’t call it that,” Drift said, stifling a grin.
“All we need is some good old fashioned cocaine to top it all off,” Rodimus announced loudly, and pretended to sniff harshly at the baking soda box. Drift felt the grin die, kept quiet through the brief moment of sudden craving that sparked in him as he remembered.
Rodimus, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. He started trying to measure out the baking powder through the too-small opening hole of the box, and Drift shook himself from his memory in time to grab Roddy’s hands before he spilled it all over.
“Slowly. You can put both of them in, if you want.”
Rodimus did notice the shortness of Drift’s voice, then, even with how hard Drift had worked to hide it. He dumped the powders in, and turned around so that he was face-to-face with Drift, grasping at Drift’s waist to stop him from backing away.
“Hey. You alright?”
“Couldn’t be better.” Drift smiled down at Rodimus, matching their hands together. “I love you, y’know that?”
Rodimus squinted up at him, his green eyes obscured by lashes as coppery as his eyebrows. “You know I love you more?”
“Mmm, not possible,” Drift said, and kissed him.
“Looks like it is,” Rodimus said, laughing into Drift’s lips.
Drift ruffled Roddy’s hair, and pushed him away, grinning. “Okay, distraction won’t work here! We are going to at least finish this batter before you get your way.”
Rodimus pouted. “O kay, hard-ass. Fine. How much of the powder stuff, then?”
“I--” Drift paused. “Where’s the recipe?”
Rodimus turned, stared hopelessly at the messy counter. “I honestly have no idea, babe. I think we lost it somewhere around the egg section.”
“Okay,” Drift said, accepting his fate. “Obviously cookies are not on the menu today, and that’s all right. Into the fridge you go,” and slid the bowl of half-finished batter away.
“You’re not mad, are you?” Roddy said.
“About the cookies?” Drift asked, dumbfounded. “No! I really didn’t expect to get this far. We can finish it tomorrow, okay?”
Rodimus smiled, cocking his head to the side and letting his hair catch in the sunlight again. “Y’know, this means we have more time for something else.”
“What?” Drift said, and yelped as he barely managed to catch Rodimus, who had jumped, giggling, at him-- wrapped his legs around Drift’s waist and his arms around Drift’s neck, smoothing under the hair, and fitted their mouths together tenderly.
“More of this,” Roddy said, and kissed him again.
“All right,” Drift agreed, carrying him out of the kitchen. “More of that.”