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“Hey!” Juno scolded, swatting Nureyev’s hand away from the bowl of cookie dough he’d been trying to sneak his fingers into.
“Oh, come now, Juno- You won’t even let me help! Surely I can at least taste test for you.” Nureyev whined.
“Okay, one: I was going to let you help until you almost substituted baking soda for flour.” He shook his head incredulously. “And two:” he continued before Nureyev could interject, “The only thing you’ll gain by tasting raw dough is a potential trip to Vespa for E Coli or Salmonella.”
“What am I supposed to do, just sit and watch you slave away at that?”
“If you really wanted to help, the dishes could use-” Juno suggested.
“-I guess I’ll just wait here, useless.” Nureyev sighed dramatically.
“Babe, I just said you co-”
“Doing nothing but enjoying the view.” He continued. Dishes did not sound appealing. Juno rolled his eye with a grin.
“Yeah, whatever.”
Peter watched Juno as he mixed together the rest of the ingredients. He supposed one would memorize a recipe through practice the same way one would memorize the steps to a getaway; but, much like a good getaway, to someone without the first idea how to do such a thing, it seemed like magic.
Juno set the bowl down on the table and prepped a baking sheet.
“Can I help now?” Nureyev whined.
“Yeah, pretty hard to mess up this bit.” Juno seceded.
Nureyev slipped off the counter, trying not to take the comment to heart and sidled up next to Juno, an eager grin on his face and his fingers almost twitching.
“What do I do?” He asked.
Juno cast him a dumbfounded stare.
“You, uh… You take the cookie dough… and you put it on the baking sheet.” He said slowly.
“That much, I’ve gathered.” Nureyev huffed. “I meant how .” His face felt hot. He was glad for the layers of concealer and foundation hiding his blush.
“With your hands?” Juno held his own up to punctuate the point. Nureyev’s jaw set. He was acting like this was the most natural thing in the world, and perhaps it should’ve been. He tilted his chin up to try and shift the lump forming in his throat.
“Okay, watch.” Juno said, softer this time. He scooped out some dough, formed it into a ball and set it on the baking sheet, flattening it out with his thumb. He looked back up at Nureyev to see if he’d gotten a grasp on the process.
“I see.” He nodded. He tried to repeat the action, ending up with a cookie that looked rather similar to Juno’s. “Like that?”
“Little heavy handed there, babe.” Juno chuckled. He took Nureyev’s attempt off the sheet and shaped it into two cookies. He continued working, seemingly expecting Nureyev to do the same. He wanted to, but he couldn’t convince his hands to move.
“I thought you wanted to help?” Juno asked, confused, after a minute of Nureyev just standing there uselessly, watching him.
“I- yes, of course.” Peter cleared his throat and reached for the bowl once more. He was moving stiffly, almost mechanically. He was really hoping Juno wouldn’t notice how much this was affecting him.
“Are you alright?” Juno asked. Apparently he’d failed at that, too.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Peter said, hoping to come across dismissively. “I’m simply new to this.”
“You’ve never baked before?” Juno asked flatly. “You can pick a thermal lock, forge a Solar passport and do that...weird handstand thing- but you can't make a cookie?”
“Do forgive me; I never had time to waste on something so frivolous as baking.” Nureyev said coldly.
Juno let the dough fall back into the bowl. He looked like he’d been struck.
“Oh- Juno, love- I’m sorry.” Nureyev reached out for him tentatively. Juno closed the gap between them, letting himself be pulled into an embrace. “I didn’t mean-”
“I know what you meant.” Juno sighed into his chest. He didn’t really know why Juno was so affected by his words, but he was sure Juno felt the same about him. He thought explaining might help.
“It’s just that I never had an oven to use when I was young, and when I was old enough to afford one, well, I simply didn’t see the point.”
He felt Juno nod. Nureyev knew Juno usually tried to avoid teasing him about things like that, things too tied up in unresolved childhood trauma to see the humour in, but it was a fine line to tread. Sometimes, Juno ended up on the wrong side of it, and obviously, so did he.
Talking about it seemed to be as hard for Juno as it was for Nureyev, but over time they’d gotten better at ignoring the urge to silently stew about it until they snapped. Clearly not perfect, but it was a process much like, it seemed, learning to bake.
“I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have teased you about something like that.” Juno said, giving Nureyev a squeeze. He got a kiss on the forehead in response.
They pulled away from each other. Juno turned back to the cookies he’d been doling out onto the tray. Nureyev slipped over to the sink to do the dishes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Juno stifling a grin.
They worked in relative silence for a few moments, mulling things over. Juno was the one to break the silence.
“I found baking kind of therapeutic,” He said, pausing afterwards in a way that indicated he’d surprised even himself.
“Oh?” Peter prompted gently, setting down the bowl he was washing.
“It was something I could lose my mind in for a few minutes.” He continued. “Kept me busy. And at the end, you got something that would hopefully make someone smile. This was my brother’s favourite recipe.” He smiled down at the dough. His smile faltered. “Think ma found it harder to yell when the house smelled like fresh baked cookies.”
“I- Sorry, that was… depressing.” He laughed self-consciously.
“Nothing to apologize for, darling.” Peter said softly, wrapping his arms around Juno’s waist from behind. He startled slightly before leaning into the touch.
“While it seems we’re in the business of confessing, I suppose I should tell you I have a hard time admitting I don’t know something.”
“I can tell.” Juno chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, though.”
“And I’ll try not to dismiss your hobbies as ‘frivolous’.”
“Thanks. Wanna give this another try?” He asked, looking up at Nureyev.
“I’m willing to give it another go.” He nodded.
“Here, I have an idea.” Juno said, slipping out of Nureyev’s arms. He grabbed a spoon from the dishrack and brought it over. He scooped out some of the dough.
“This is how much you need. Try it with that.” He handed the spoon to Nureyev, who placed the dough on the sheet the way he’d been instructed before taking another scoop.
“Like so?”
“Perfect.” Juno smiled, pushing himself up onto his tippy toes to kiss Nureyev on the cheek.
“Oh and Juno, dear?”
“Hm?”
“That ‘weird handstand’ thing is called yoga.”
“Sure.”