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Baking was supposed to be easy. At least, that's what Max always heard from Grandpa Stinky whenever he was asked about his disgustingly horrid cake recipes.
But clearly, it was not as easy as he made it out to be.
One too many eggs, one cup too much sugar, three cups too little flour - it seemed like even little mistakes would result in an inedible hunk of burnt batter that resembled basalt.
And Max thought cooking was hard. At least he and Sam could normally get something out of cooking - this whole baking thing felt way too out of the lagomorph's league to comprehend.
Max grumbled to himself, sharp teeth chattering as he poured yet another failed attempt at a cake into the garbage. Washing the cake pan in the sink for the sixth time today wasn't exactly his idea of fun, and the idea to just go out and buy a damn cake was becoming more and more tempting the longer he stood around in the kitchen mixing ingredients and smelling eldritch horrors when his attempts ultimately failed in the oven. And trust him - he knows what eldritch horrors smell like.
Angrily throwing the cake pan on the messy counter, atop all the spilled flour and sugar, he made a groan and decided to give it a break. It took all of his power and then some to not kick the wall in frustration, because last time he did that Sam had to pay for the repairs. Even with Sam's usual nonchalance to Max's impulsive outbursts, it still made Max feel a sense of guilt (something he hardly ever felt, making it all the more odd for him) whenever Sam was the one who had to pay for them.
Sam was always so sweet, even amidst the lagomorph's hijinks. Granted, he near-always encouraged and joined in on these hijinks, but it was still notable.
Thinking about Sam and his sickeningly sweet nature, his goofy smile, and those big brown eyes of his-
Max looked back to the mess of a counter where he had tried making Sam a birthday cake. Thinking about the big guy made him feel all warm inside, and before he could let all those mushy feelings settle, he pulled up his metaphorical sleeves and decided that one way or another, he was going to get the love of his life a homemade cake if it was the last thing he'd ever do.
And it hit him - Sybil said she was a baker at one point, didn't she? She gave Sam and him a cookbook that she wrote a while back, and apparently it actually did pretty well on the market. Where did they put that thing?
Digging into one of their overly-filled filing cabinets, Max realized that their bad habit of not actually organizing these things does, in fact, have consequences. He shuffled through loose papers and beat-up files and books barely hanging onto their binding (though the occasional detective-noir-esque novels Sam was keen on reading were kept in rather mint condition), until eventually picking out a hefty book the size of his head and plopped it onto the ground with a thump.
He haphazardly flipped through the pages. Steak tartare, carbonara, bibimbap, eclairs, confetti cake, madelines-
Confetti cake! Max flipped back a page. It looked simple enough - much easier than any recipe he looked at on the internet prior to remembering this cookbook. The challenge came when Max had to actually try and follow the recipe.
The thought of that alone made the lagomorph whelm his face into the pages of the book.
It was for Sam, he reminded himself. He'd do anything for that big lug - even try and test his patience to make a birthday cake.
Max jumped when the phone started to ring - almost spilling the contents of the bowl he held from the abrupt noise. Normally he'd be thrilled at the chance to be the one answering the phone for once, but he was occupied, dammit - the commissioner knew they took off today and the Boscos were busy upgrading the television (as per Max's request), so who the hell could be calling?
Grabbing the phone with one hand, the other busy mixing the wet and dry ingredients together, he spoke a snippy "Hello?"
"Hey, little buddy!"
Max stopped stirring. His demeanour quickly changed upon hearing his other half talk that sweet voice of his - and while said voice always happened to make him melt, he had to wonder how Sam got the chance to call. He was with Sybil and Abe, last he checked.
"Hey, big guy!" He hastily tipped the bowl to pour the batter into the cake pan, spilling some onto the counter. "How's our favorite- uh, what's her job this time?"
"Botanist, Max," Sam chuckled softly over the phone. Max always loved his laugh. Sam continued, "And she's great! You're gonna' love the gifts she and Abe got for me."
"Do any of them happen t' be bear traps?"
"Not this time, little buddy," Sam feigned a whine to humour the lagomorph. Max bit his tongue to not make a dirty joke and simply laughed at his partner. He'd remind Sam how much he loved those whines of his later today.
The lagomorph set the phone on the counter so he could push the pan into the oven. How long was he supposed to bake this for? He climbed back onto the stool he was using to better see above the counter and grabbed the phone, eyes busy looking over the cookbook for a time of some sort.
"As much as I love hearing from ya, Max - I mean, Sam - what're ya callin' for?" The lagomorph set the oven timer for 30 minutes. "Woulda' thought you'd be busy with our friends."
The sounds of shuffling could be heard from the other end, probably from Sam switching his phone to the other ear or something.
Max then heard the sound of a car door closing.
"I'm actually about to head back. I thought to check up on you and let ya know I was on my way."
Sybil and Abe were supposed to keep Sam preoccupied so Max could get this cake situation figured out - they must've not been able to keep Sam as long as he thought.
Oh boy.
He had to stall.
That shouldn't be hard, he was great at that! He's done it plenty of times before - what's now?
Max cleared his throat loudly to cover up the sound of him shutting the creaky oven door. As smoothly as he could, he conjured up an excuse to keep Sam out of the apartment-
"Ohh, uh, I was actually supposed to pass a message! Yeah, Mama Bosco wanted to see you."
The sound of their Desoto starting up was audible, behind the sound of Sam's now-curious voice. "She did? I thought you asked her and our local paranoid to fix up our TV - I don't wanna' bother 'em if they're busy."
"Nah, she just called Sam! Asked for ya and everything. I'd check with her before coming back."
"If you say so, little buddy. Wonder what she wants?"
Max made a small 'psh' noise. "Probably got you somethin' special and wants it t' get to you in person. Or she's planning to use you in some crazy science experiment that'll leave you with an extra arm - never know with the Boscos."
Sam laughed, so gentle and sweet. Max could practically see the pooch and his smile through the phone.
"That's an extra arm from keeping you from gettin' the phone! Sounds like a decent gift."
"You're a riot, Sam."
There was another shuffling sound from the other end, prior to the muffled sound of the car radio. Sam did always love jazz, and Max would never admit that the genre rubbed off on him too (though he figured Sam knew regardless).
"Alright pal, I'll let ya go. Don't burn down the apartment or anything."
"No promises!"
And Max hung up. Hopefully the Boscos could keep him busy for at least another hour - that could be wishful thinking, but Max always had the habit of putting his faith in the 'probably.'
As the lagomorph looked over his handiwork, he was thankful Sam never cared that much about how nicely his gifts were wrapped. "It's the thought that counts, little buddy," he'd hear him say, and there was definitely a lot of thought beneath the messily ripped wrapping paper and globs of tape. Besides, it was the present itself that really counted. Max never did get the point of wrapping gifts to begin with, as he found it a waste of effort and time, but Sam liked those kinds of things and Max'd be damned if he didn't do it for him.
He'd been so, for a lack of better words, wrapped up in this whole present thing that the sound of the oven timer was almost completely lost on him. Tossing the gift onto their worn couch, he sprung up to open the oven door and grab the pan. The burning feeling was brief, and lingered slightly even after he put the tray onto the counter. Good thing he was notorious for bouncing back from anything - besides that one time, apparently.
Sam would've killed him if he saw Max grab the pan like that, he knows it. Bless that dog and his worry.
He clumsily removed the cake from its metal prison, dumping it onto a large plate. It was mostly intact, looked appetizing, and actually smelled pretty good - he'd have to give Sybil his regards next time he sees her.
Now came the fun part; icing this baby.
Pulling towards him the small tubs of frosting he had gotten out earlier, and brandishing an all-too-sharp kitchen knife, he got to work. Some white frosting over here, some pink frosting over there, a little blue on the sides, and some green wherever the hell he hadn't covered up before. He almost called it a day when he noticed the package of sprinkles he threw up here when he first started this baking mess.
Oh, Max knew Sam was gonna' love this. He grabbed the package, ripped it open with his serrated maw, and poured those bad boys all over the cake.
The rabbity-thing took a step back to admire his creation - looking it over and wondering what else, if anything, to add to this thing. He was already patting himself on the back, sure, but something still felt off about it. Max made a disgruntled chattering noise. What was it?
When he figured out what it was, he couldn't decide whether he was relieved or newly-stressed. It was probably both.
He should write something on it, shouldn't he? A cute little 'happy birthday' or something like that. His only resentment towards that was the thought of his handwriting. It never did look nice, and this cake was supposed to be just that.
Max shook that train of thought from his brain. Sam wouldn't mind it, surely. That whole 'it's the thought that counts' shtick. Sam's lucky today's his birthday, or else Max ought to punch him just for being so sickeningly sappy and sweet. He'll stick to the normal amount of rough love for the occasion.
Cracking open the tub of red icing, the lagomorph dipped the tip of his knife into it and looked at the cake with another chatter. Here goes nothing.
H-A-P-P-Y. So far so good. Max dipped the knife into the icing for a fresh coat.
B-I-R. Max scoffed. That letter looked really wonky. T-H-D-A-Y.
S-A-M.
Max set the knife down. He knew he was overly critical of himself, but that could've gone better. He didn't try to dwell on it for too long - he did it, it was readable, and that was good enough for Sam.
Keys jingling in their apartment door snapped Max out of any thoughts of his. Speak of the devil.
The lagomorph quickly turned around and stood in front of the cake in an attempt to hide it. He knows Sam ain't dense, but he was still gonna' try and keep some semblance of secrecy.
When the door opened and Sam stepped in, Max whistled at him.
"Lookin' good, birthday boy."
Sam made a soft laugh as he closed the door behind himself. "You don't gotta' flatter me for the occasion, little buddy." He took notice of the mess behind Max, indiscernible splotches of pink and blue and white that covered the counter surface, a white powdery substance that seemed to have found its way onto the floor, and above all else it was all accompanied by this amazing smell that he noticed even before opening the door.
"Who says I'm flatterin' you just for your birthday, Sammy?" Max retorted with a low purr in his voice. His pitch heightened back to normal, "I'm not a big softie like you. I wouldn't get all sappy just for a birthday."
"If you say so." Sam nodded towards Max, gesturing at all the colors that painted his pristine white fur with his hands, "Can you answer me why you look like you were a six year old's painting canvas?"
Max looked at his frosting-covered hands, then his frosting-speckled stomach, then back up to Sam. "Would you believe me if I said I was a six year old's painting canvas?"
Sam laughed again, "Maybe - if you tell me what they were trying to draw."
"A little something called Starry Night. Kid's name was Da Vinci Gogh or something like that."
"Van Gogh, Max."
"Oh! Right."
The lagomorph rocked on his heels before grinning at Sam and nodding his head back at the counter slightly. "Made ya somethin'."
Sam smiled and took a step forward, only halting when Max abruptly spoke a "Stay, Sam. Close your eyes."
"Knowing you, I'm not sure if I should trust that," Sam quipped as he proceeded to close his eyes despite his words. There was ne'er a day Sam didn't trust Max, and the lagomorph couldn't think about that fact for too long unless he wanted to feel that gross mushy feeling in his chest.
Max took a quiet breath in. Then out. Turning around, he quickly stuck the candle he had set aside into the top of the cake and lit the thing with a lighter he carried in his seemingly-non-existent pockets. Grabbing the plate which carried his magnum opus, he sauntered over to his husband and held the plate up a bit.
"You can open 'em, Sammy."
Max debated not looking at Sam so he wouldn't have to see that sweet little puppy face of his, but watching Sam open his eyes and bear his adorable smile made him realize that he wouldn't have forgave himself if he didn't see that.
"Max..."
"You like it?"
"I love it, honey."
There goes Sam and his romanticism. Max hummed softly, lowering the plate and going to set it back onto the counter. "You better - I spent hours on that thing! You're lucky I love you like I do."
Before Max could even try and get the conversation to be less grossly sweet than it was, Sam was leaning down and pressing his wet nose on the lagomorph's cheek - licking affectionately and briefly.
"I really lucked out with you, didn't I?" Sam smiled into Max's fur. Max hated how fast Sam could make him blush.
"Says you," he retorted. Max reached up and pet Sam's ears between his fingers, causing the bigger of the two to sigh in content. Max chortled. "Your tail's really goin', huh?"
"Hush, bonehead."
Max pet Sam for a long moment, allowing the big guy to nestle his face into the crook of his neck and wag that big happy tail of his. As much as they didn't want to part, Max didn't put all this effort into a cake for no reason. He started to pull away much to Sam's dismay, as told by the way he lingered a moment and gave a near-inaudible whine.
Sam stood straight again and adjusted his jacket, tail still swaying a mile a minute. "You really did this for me?"
"I wanted to treat ya, big guy. I just- uh.. hope it tastes alright," Max laughed, "Y'know following instructions ain't really my forte."
Sam pat Max on the head, thumb petting the base of one of his ears. "I'm sure it tastes great, little buddy. Can I make a wish?"
"Knock yourself out."
Sam looked away in thought for a moment - though it didn't take long for him to conjure something up and blow out his candle. He looked so giddy to do so, too.
Max grinned wide and leaned forward a bit, still watching Sam intently. "What'd'ja wish for?"
Sam shook his head, "I can't tell you that. Wishes won't come true if you tell someone."
"Am I just someone to you, Sam?" Max teased, much to Sam's amusement.
He decided to indulge his curiosity. "I'll tell you the half of it," Sam began. "I might've wished for you to help me eat this entire cake tonight."
Max gasped and placed a hand on his chest, "Oh, Sam - I never thought you'd ask! I'd be delighted. Now, what about the other half a' that wish?"
"That, Max, is a secret I'll never tell."
"You tease."
Max proceeded to cut into the cake, getting generous slices because it was their cake and they were allowed to determine their own serving size, dammit. With everything he could hope on, Max hoped he made this thing taste right. When he could hear Sam's tail beat against his slacks once again after taking a bite, his face wearing his dorky little smile all the while, Max figured he must've done pretty damn good. Taking his own bite of the confection proved it - this thing had no right being as good as it was.
He really owes Sybil.
"What do y'say we eat and watch the Myra Show, little buddy?" Sam queried prior to eating another forkful of cake.
Max snorted. He ushered Sam to the couch to entertain the idea, though he spoke with a purr, "Sure, Sam. Got a present for ya too we could open - and maybe tonight I can show you some other plans I had. How's'at sound?"
"You really know how to treat a guy, Max. Sounds perfect."