Work Text:
Kiss the Cook.
Hubert had received the apron as a joke. Byleth gave it to him for their group’s annual kris kringle, their face somehow both blank and lit with amusement. They had all laughed at how ridiculous he would look wearing it. So out of character! Or, as Bernadetta had put it, ‘gap moe’. No one else had understood that part, but at least they could giggle about how silly it was.
Seeing him now, though, Ferdinand isn’t sure he agrees. Oh, it still looks goofy. The garment was selected to fit properly length-wise, so Hubert has to tie it comically tight at his waist. His sleeves are rolled up. His forearms are pale from how little sun they see. And he hums - oh, he hums - while he works.
“Are you going to come in, or are you just going to stand in the doorway?” Hubert asks.
Ferdinand laughs. “That depends: are the sharpest of the kitchen implements properly stashed away.”
“For now,” Hubert snorts.
Obligatory banter out of the way, Ferdinand moves to peer around Hubert’s shoulder. What was he working on so intently?
Cookies. The answer is delicately decorated cookies. Each one is a perfectly round circle with a unique pattern painted in icing - criss-crossed lines and dots and even little stars, all etched with uncanny precision.
Ferdinand looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “You did this?”
“Well, I suppose it is possible that someone broke in while I was otherwise occupied. Though I don’t know why they would bother with this when they could have stolen the television.”
He shakes his head. “I was going to compliment you, but if you’re going to be like that I’ll keep it to myself.”
“A shame,” Hubert hums. “These cookies are only for people who are suitably appreciative. I hope you will not be too disappointed to miss out.”
Ferdinand laughs, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and leaning lightly against him. “They are lovely cookies, Hubert.”
“I’m afraid it’s too little, too late.”
“But what if I follow the instructions?”
“What instructions? I don’t-” he’s cut off when Ferdinand stands on the tips of his toes to press a kiss to his jaw.
“The instructions,” Ferdinand says. He repeats the motion, this time his lips finding the back of Hubert’s neck and lingering, whispering his next words against the skin. “They’re very clear.”
Hubert laughs, leaning away. “Maybe so, but I won’t be changing my mind.” When Ferdinand goes in for another kiss he tries, unsuccessfully, to wriggle out of his grasp. “I’m not finished yet, you know.”
“But I have to kiss the cook.”
“Fine,” Hubert sighs, turning so they’re face to face. He ducks down to press a quick peck to Ferdinand’s lips. “Satisfied?”
“Of course not.” Ferdinand grabs the apron and uses it to pull him down into a bruising kiss. He moves insistently, licking into Hubert’s mouth, relishing the little sigh he makes when he scrapes his teeth against his bottom lip.
And while Hubert is distracted, would it be so terrible if his free hand snaked behind them to snatch a cookie?
He pulls back as soon as he has his prize, grinning against Hubert’s lips. “I think that will suffice.”
“Are you quite sure? I could be persuaded to take a break, with the right incentive.”
Ferdinand laughs, letting go of the apron. He steps back and slowly, slowly, brings the cookie up to take a bite. It’s delicious. Not too sweet, and with just a hint of cinnamon. “They taste at least as good as they look. Maybe better.”
Hubert can only stare, mouth hanging open slightly. “You are ridiculous, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”