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Eskel has done this more times than he can remember. The movements are automatic, his mind free to wander as his hands work. It’s relaxing, the familiar motions helping to work out any tension in his body and release any stress he’s holding on to.
Or, at least that’s normally how he feels. This time is very, very different.
“This doesn’t look right…”
It has been a long time since Eskel was covered head to toe with flour, even longer since his apron proved ineffective at keeping him clean of any spills or sprays. Not since he was a boy, trying to mimic the chef on the TV and making a disaster of Vesemir’s kitchen in the process.
It has also been a long time since he laughed this much, since he smiled so much that his cheeks hurt in the best kind of way.
“No, you’ve added too much water. Plus, half the flour is on us and not in the bowl.” Eskel says, peering over Jaskier’s shoulder to see what went wrong.
“So I should add in more flour?” Jaskier has a stripe of flour across his cheek and the sun shining out of his eyes and Eskel wants nothing more than to kiss him.
“Just a little, and try not to overwork the dough.” Jaskier nods before turning back to his sticky dough, brows furrowing in concentration and the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he tries to save the crust of the pie Eskel is teaching him to make.
Jaskier had burst into Eskel’s life in a brilliant whirlwind of color and music when he decided to host a weekly open-mic night at his cafe, and had stolen his heart with his charming grin and quick wit immediately.
They had become fast friends, it was hard not to when Jaskier would show up early to help Eskel set up and stay late to pack everything away, telling humorous tales and making terrible puns the whole time. Now they’re here, in the cafe kitchen after hours with Eskel trying to teach Jaskier how to bake the singer’s favorite pie and failing to not fall even more for this ridiculous man.
“Well, it’s less of a sticky mess now. What’s next?”
“Now we let it chill in the refrigerator while we make the filing.” Eskel replies, ripping off a piece of plastic wrap to cover the lumpy ball of dough, before placing it next to several other significantly less lumpy balls of dough in the fridge. He stops in the pantry to grab the cherries and other ingredients they’ll need before returning back to the counter where Jaskier is making a vain attempt to clear the space of excess flour. His eyes light up when he sees the basket of cherries and makes grabby-hands for them when Eskel holds them out of reach.
“You can’t eat them all, we won’t be able to make the pie if you do.” He gets a pout in return that makes his own lips twitch despite the stern face he’s trying to put on.
“Just a few Eskel, I promise! There will be plenty left for filling that monstrosity of a dough.” His eyes, if possible, turn even more pleading, and Eskel sighs, unable to deny Jaskier anything.
“ One handful, and that’s it.” Immediately Jaskier snatches the cherries from Eskel’s hands, biting into the small fruit and making a noise that makes Eskel blush and look away. He distracts himself by pulling off the stems and removing the pits and pointedly not thinking about a different context where Jaskier would make similar sounds.
“You know, they say if someone can tie a knot in a cherry stem with their tongue that they’re a good kisser.” Jaskier says, pulling Eskel from his thoughts.
“I have heard that before.”
“I can tie three.” The cherry in Eskel’s hand is crushed with enough force that the pit goes shooting across to the other side of the kitchen. He stares at Jaskier, stares at the unmistakably flirtatious look on his face, and swallows hard.
“Y-Yeah?” He has to swallow again, it feels like his mouth has gone dry from the heat he can see in Jaskier’s eyes.
“Why don’t I show you?” Eskel thinks if Jaskier grabs a cherry instead of kissing him that he will combust on the spot from both embarrassment and disappointment.
He doesn’t.
Jaskier steps into Eskel’s space, hand coming up to cup his jaw and Eskel’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing as Jaskier leans in and presses their lips together.
The first kiss is little more than a peck, a sweet thing that sends Eskel’s heart soaring and laughter bubble up in his chest.
The next kiss, that one Eskel believes would tie three knots into a cherry stem. Maybe even more.
They pull apart eventually, only far enough to catch their breath and rest their foreheads together. Eskel’s hands have migrated to Jaskier’s hips and he’s pretty sure that there is flour smeared across both their faces and in their hair but he doesn’t care.
This is very different indeed than when he bakes on his own, but curled up on a couch, a mess of ingredients across every surface in the kitchen, sharing a piece of cherry pie with lumpy crust and kisses with a man made of laughter and sunshine Eskel has never been happier.