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Alfred loved Arthur, truly. He'd travel to the moon and back in a boat if he could. But in all things good and holy does the alpha want to prove his love by eating one of Arthur's kitchen spawn. Although he did just that in the first year of their relationship back in college. Alfred has an endearing-but-not-so-fond memory of having to be bedridden for a week and missing a regional robotics competition because he ate an English scone that he was sure to be the embodiment of the word 'death'. He swore it was hard and looked like a rock but then it was too underbaked in the inside. But he can't refuse the omega's expectant face as he hid his injured hands so Alfred gobbled it all up and then proceeded to get sick. And Arthur, the more stubborn of the two, refused to cook for his 'ungrateful arse' when the alpha admitted the truth about the cause.
That has become their arrangement. Alfred has been the one who cooks for both of them since then. He landed a job as a chef in a French restaurant owned by his older brother's mate, after all.
So there he was, taking out the third batch of his infamous heaven-sent gingerbread cookies while the omega sulked behind the counter. It was the first week of December and Arthur had a look of longing to whip something up in his eyes.
Three years into their relationship and six months of them being mates, Alfred was successful from distracting the other from the kitchen with an overall of two and a half years. DIstracted enough that the omega ordered him to bake him some 'biscuits'. A pleasant change from his sickly display and sudden picky eating ( Arthur wasn't picky before ).
The alpha placed the final batch inside and closed the oven with his foot. That earned him an eye-twitch from Arthur. "D'you wanna help me decorate these trees, sweetheart?"
"No." Arthur frowned and looked away from him and his cookies. Was he still sore about that? Alfred took off a mitten to turn the fan on. If it cools down the cookies, maybe it'll cool down the omega's temper. Arthur only grunted in response.
"You told me you wanted some gingerbread cookies. You were pouting, even. Want to take a bite?"
"Humph."
"C'mon, I worked real hard to suit them for your tastes, My Queen," Alfred took a cookie but immediately dropped it with a hiss, "Oh- Shit !" It was scalding hot! He forgot about that. Alfred began licking his wounded fingers.
Arthur stood up. Alfred thought he was coming over to fret over him like he always would but to his befuddlement, the other headed in the opposite direction.
"Wehw ya goin'?" Arthur only responded to his mate with a curt "Outside".
Yup. The alpha fetched a few icing pipes from the cupboard. Arthur was still sore about his comment years ago. He just hopes this wouldn't ruin their first Christmas together as mates.
Arthur's attitude toward him on the following week was like Maine's climate in Winter. Cold enough to freeze his balls. The fear of his mate cutting them off with scissors was then established when he saw him cutting pieces off of one of Alfred's dessert magazines in the middle of the night while muttering ' bollocks ', ' chop off ', ' shitty arse ', and ' Alfred '. Which the alpha put together later on as ' Alfred that shitty arse, I'll chop off his bollocks...! '
He wasn't sure if that was what Arthur had said but it still was a well-founded fear.
Three weeks in December and three days before Christmas, Arthur's behavior didn't simmer down. It took a turn for worse. A worse worse that worried Alfred so much for his mate's condition.
If last week's description of Arthur was cold and neglectful, this week's was skittish and overly paranoid as if the snow on their porch would swallow him whole.
Arthur was always a weird type of person that bordered on the unnatural of the otherworld type. But hoarding a lot of bread in a cupboard for his tea, this was getting out of hand.
However, the alpha was hungry and was too tired to cook or order pizza so he might as well take a slice for a late-night snack. Putting a bit of butter from a gallon under their fridge - Why was Arthur hoarding these?!- on his sandwich, he leans back and observes the bread-infested cupboard above.
He nibbles on his sandwich. "Blech!"
What in the- The bread's gone stale! Alfred jumps up to his feet and began taking the loaves of bread from the kitchen cupboard.
Scouring. Scouring. And scouring. And then finally, he reaches the thing he has been trying to prevent for two years and a half. Arthur's kitchen spawn
Here they were, Alfred and Arthur in the living room with a baking dish between them. "Sweetheart," Alfred began, "So I found this in one of the cupboards. Care to share about it?"
Perhaps it was the sharpness of his tone that his mate's scent had gone sour and a bit bitter, and in turn Alfred switched from stern alpha into a ball of wrecked nerves. His voice went soft as he crossed over to the omega. "No, no, no. Art, I thought you were okay about the arrangement. Uh, I mean I didn't mean to suggest that you weren't allowed to which I didn't 'cause you're definitely allowed to! It's just that... "
Arthur's face remained stony but the moisture in his eyes and his scent gave him away. "I know , Alfred. You don't like my cooking." He said in gritted teeth, "My food will most likely make you sick. Besides the point, you're the chef between the two of us and you'd like to keep it that way."
"What? No!" The alpha balked at the accusation, "Well, yeah, I did get sick multiple times back then but that didn't stop you from making your scones for me."
"Scones? You called them rocks! Barely edible in context!" Arthur wiped his nose on his sleeve, drops of tears falling down his cheeks. "You dumped all those comments on our anniversary, too... "
Ah, shit. He hated seeing Arthur cry. He loathed himself when he knew it was his fault, too. Alfred embraced the omega and rubbed his back in soothing circles.
"Shh, Shh. Arthur... I'm really, really sorry if it made you feel that way." Alfred held his mate until he calmed down into little sniffles. "I love you, I'm really sorry. I'll eat it if it makes you happy."
He heard an intake of breath followed by the happiest pair of green eyes. His Arthur was too cute. How could he say no to that ? Alfred nodded and Arthur took off to fetch utensils.
A piece of the dessert was on a fork and was already a few centimeters near his face. He looked back up to Arthur's expectant face that he never knew he missed. Well, maybe a little.
He took the fork from the other and studied it. Golden bread and a few raspberries and strawberries. "What did you say it was called?"
"Bread and Butter Pudding, my father used to make it for me on Christmastime."
Alfred made a noncommittal sound and braced himself. It went into his mouth.
Huh... Woah!!!
"MMM!!!"
Alfred began pointing at the dish with so much vigor. What was this? What was this? Chewy and soft. Was that a taste of brandy?! Sweet, too! Creamy, so creamy and smooth. It was serenading his tongue.
The alpha then moaned about the pudding until he realized had consumed about half of it. Delicious was an understatement.
"Wow."
"Wow, indeed. I spent the entirety of December perfecting the recipe, you know." Arthur never smiled any brighter than his charming smile right now this month and it made Alfred happy.
"Hey, sweetheart?" Alfred's grin was like the sun, it hurt to look at.
Arthur wasn't fazed at his mate's obvious elation and instead responded with pride. "Yes, love?"
"I just realized your baking became our Christmas miracle."
"..."
"Y'know, 'cause it was sudden and good and a surprise?"
Arthur didn't know how to respond to that comment.
He banned the alpha to sleep on the couch for the night.
"What possessed you to bake that pudding in the middle of the night, anyway?"
"Hm? Oh, I wanted to serve that while breaking the news to my father and your family. It's a tradition in my family to serve it."
"Wait... What news?"
"Wha... You didn't realize?"
"... Realize what?"
"Mood swings, morning sickness, strange cravings... I told you last month. You are aware that I have a bun in the oven for already seven weeks now, right...?"
"Wait, what?!"