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Paterson checks his watch, chews on the inside of his cheek a little. The house smells so good, it’s been making his mouth water all the way up in the bedroom where he was checking on your gifts just to give him a distraction so he doesn’t pester you every ten seconds. One of your coworkers was throwing a Hanukkah party and you volunteered to bring a dessert, and Pat is practically pacing, filled with anticipation.
The smell of donuts curls up into his nostrils and his mouth waters for the sufganiyot that you’re piling up high onto a decorative dish that he’s going to have to find some creative way to wrap up so powdered sugar doesn’t go flying everywhere in the little car he drives. Paterson likes to think he’s a patient person, and he usually is – but when you’re in the kitchen, he really can’t help himself.
“Are they done yet?” He sticks his head out of the bedroom, trying not to sound too hopeful, and failing.
“Just putting the finishing touch on it now.” There’s amusement in your voice as you respond to him from the kitchen, and Paterson takes the stairs two at a time when you ask him, “Come taste test for me?”
His big nose is already peering over your shoulder at the jelly donuts. They’re perfect, like something out of a magazine, he thinks. A poem starts to creep up inside his mind, something half-formed, just the ideas of it, of how the way you sprinkle powdered sugar over the top reminds him of snow.
Offering him one, he fits half of it right between his teeth, relishing in the way the dough is still slightly warm, how the jam inside is tart and tangy, how the sweetness of the dusting of sugar brings it all together.
“You’ve got a really big mouth, you know that?” You tease, and Paterson only blushes and chews.
“So I’ve been told.” He says with his mouth full, but you don’t mind.
“Well?” You’re biting at your lip, eager for his review. Paterson’s a picky eater, there’s a lot that he likes and that he doesn’t like. Sufganiyot were one of the few sweets he did enjoy, and you wanted to make sure you did it right.
“They’re really good.” He grins, popping the rest of it into his mouth much to your joy.
“I’m glad!” You’re a flurry of activity then, moving the big pot of oil off the burner, sticking all sorts of dishes in the sink to be dealt with later. “I don’t have time to make another batch. Why I decided to fry these up myself, I’ll never know. Don’t let me do this next year, the bakery is perfectly capable.”
“When are we leaving?” Paterson keeps chewing, steals another donut. You made more than enough, he’s sure of it. No one will miss this one, he convinces himself, as he bites into it, sugar getting all over his shirt.
“Five minutes, I don’t want them to go cold.” You go on a hunt for your shoes, trying to remember where you kicked them off last.
Paterson follows you, arm looping through yours and getting your attention. Knowing you, you’ll be too excited to share these with your friends, and you’ll wind up not having any at all. So he gives you the half he hasn’t eaten yet, wanting you to at the very least taste what you’ve spent the past few hours working hard on.
“Here.” He smiles, fond amusement filling his chest at how you hum happily around the donut.
“They are pretty good, huh.” Grinning wide at him, Paterson can’t help but kiss you.
Powdered sugar sticks to the corners of your mouth, to your chin, and Pat simply has to kiss it away. His hands cup your cheeks, caressing the base of your skull, holding you firmly as his mouth melts against yours. You taste like jam and Pat moans, making you smile.
Eyes fluttering closed, you let him kiss and kiss and kiss you, until you’re laughing against one another’s lips, tingling and sticky sweet from sugar and jam. You pull away ever so slightly, but he leans in to chase you, and you see no reason why you should deny him this.
“We’re going to be late.” You sigh around another kiss, Paterson’s fingers pinching your chin.
“That’s okay.” He quirks a small smile, “Maybe I don’t want to share.”
He will, he knows he will. You worked too hard to let them go unappreciated by the party that you’re showing up to.
It’s just, well.
They can wait another minute or two, as he takes another kiss, or twenty.