Chapter Text
Next time Chris gets a random craving for blueberry muffins, he’ll have to deal with it on his own.
Matt scans the mess of bowls and pans piled by the kitchen sink. It doesn’t help that they had to start over twice because they misread the recipe the first time, and the second, they didn’t bother to check the temperature of the oven and ended up with twelve pieces of coal. Undoubtedly Nick’s fault, as far as they are concerned, for staying upstairs to hog the PC and abandoning them to their own devices.
All of this to say: the 30 minutes advertised on the website are looking a lot closer to two hours. The batch currently in the oven better be fucking exquisite.
“If these aren’t the best muffins I’ve ever had, I’m never baking with you again,” Matt says.
Chris licks a spot of batter off the side of his hand. “They will be. And stop whining, we can wash this up in no time.”
“Yeah? I’d like to see you do it.”
“Oh, I can finish it expeditiously.”
“Really? Burned pan and all?” Matt quirks a brow, tries to play up his skepticism. If he acts right, he might just get Chris to do most of the work.
A smirk plays with his brother’s lips. They’re stained from all the blueberries he stole, before Matt had to start swatting them out of his hands. He can only imagine the state of his tongue.
“If I can get it done in less than a minute, you’re kissing me on the mouth.”
And there it is. Matt rolls his eyes. He’s lost count of how many times Chris has made that joke. It bothers him, to be honest. Something about that mocking tone. Not in the sense that it makes him angry or too uncomfortable, but closer to… upset. As if it was hurtful, somehow. Which is stupid as hell and he’ll never admit it out loud. The easier response is to ignore it entirely.
But… he eyes the dirty pile. The batter is already drying into a crust. It’ll take a couple minutes of soaking before it comes off properly. Chris’ confidence is not unearned by any means, but he’s also not immune to miscalculating and getting in over his head. Matt holds out a hand.
“Sure.”
They shake on it and set a timer on his phone, so as not to disturb the alarm Chris has for the muffins. The mischievous glint in his eyes chips at Matt’s boldness.
The timer starts. Chris leisurely walks up to a cabinet. Opens it, rifles through it. Ah. Matt should’ve known he would pull some bullshit. When Chris comes back, he’s holding a garbage bag. Before Matt can even think to object, he unceremoniously dumps the dirty bowls and pans in it. Then he stops the timer with half the time to spare, and turns with a smug grin.
Matt’s jaw drops. “Chris!”
“Dude, your face!” he cackles. “I wish we had that on camera.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not? You were just going on about how the ‘pan is ruined and all the bowls are chipped’ or whatever. We’ll go get new ones.”
Matt sputters. Can’t he bitch and moan a little without it coming back to bite him in the ass?
“That’s assuming I feel like driving us.”
“You will. Now quit stalling and come here,” Chris makes kissy noises. He takes a step forward and Matt takes a step back.
“Nope. That didn’t count.”
“Yeah it did.”
“You never said anything about throwing them away.”
“I said I would ‘get it done’. Not my fault you didn’t read the small print. Is it done or not?”
This is what he gets for trying to trick him into being helpful. If Matt wasn’t on the losing side of this, he’d be dapping him up so hard.
“Okay, but—”
Chris corners him against the counter.
“It’s done, I completed the task, now pay up.”
“That’s cheating.”
“You wanna know what’s cheating?” he pokes Matt’s chest, well into pissed off territory. “Saying you’re gonna do something and then not doing it, when I won fair and square.”
“Chris…” he doesn’t have a coherent rebuttal. He can only rely on Chris’ mercy to let it go.
“And it’s being a sore loser, too.”
Obviously, Chris has no mercy.
Matt stares at him. Maybe, if they weren’t alone, they would have dropped the conversation a while ago. Maybe they would have a moment of self-awareness and hear themselves about to get into an argument over Matt refusing to kiss him. But they are alone, so it only vaguely registers in the back of his mind, faint as an echo.
And that’s how it becomes a compelling idea. That this could be it. His chance to teach Chris a lesson, and never have to hear that stupid joke again and feel however the fuck he feels about it.
“You know what? Fine.”
Before Chris can react, Matt grabs his jaw and leans in. His lips press against his brother’s. Only a moment goes by, but it’s enough for him to appreciate how startlingly silky they are. It’s a little weird, but not that bad, not that different from all the other times he’s kissed Chris’ face. There’s even the undeniable bonus of being able to shut him up, like pressing the mute button.
Matt leans back. “You happy?”
There. That’ll show him. He searches Chris’ face, expects to find shock and inevitably, some level of disgust. But he just blinks. For a second, he almost seems flustered. Then he snorts, the pink of his cheeks stark against the white of his smirk.
“You call that a kiss? Did you go to the Disney Channel school of kissing?”
Matt wants to smack him, but settles for a disbelieving glare. Of course he’s not backing down. That’s the problem with Chris, you see. He never knows when to stop. He’ll take anything to extreme consequences if nobody reins him in.
Which is where Matt usually comes in. Instinctively, he looks to the side, but it’s useless. Most times, if he feels they’re going too far with something and his judgement is failing him, he’ll check with Nick. If he’s on board, there’s still a good chance they’re pushing it; if he’s freaking out, it’s a sure way to know Chris needs to be neutralized immediately. But Nick isn’t here.
“Seriously?” Matt tries to gauge how likely it is that they can drop it and walk away.
Chris gives a nod instead. His eyes are unflinching. Matt likes to think he can read them perfectly a good… ninety-five percent of the time. Right now, all he sees in them is challenge. Matt glances at his lips, soft and still lightly tinged blue.
And kisses him again.
This time, it’s a real kiss. This time, Chris kisses him back. It’s disorienting, but then his hand reaches for the nape of Matt’s neck to pull him closer, and Matt shouldn’t shudder at the touch, shouldn’t cling to his hoodie, shouldn’t feel that prickly heat spreading in his stomach, shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t. He does anyway. And he knows that now and he’ll have to know that forever, but now, just for a little while, he can hold on tighter to his brother and taste the blueberries from his mouth.
Until the alarm goes off and they jolt apart.
Chris looks dazed, like he just woke up to find he’s sleepwalked into the middle of the road. Matt barely dares a glimpse at him before turning toward the oven, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere else. His face is flaming hot, surely some ungodly shade of red, and his heart pumps so violently that only the alarm stops the whole house from hearing it.
Chris manages to turn it off and the kitchen falls silent. A terrible silence, the one that’s sharply a lack of something else. They both stare at the oven. Matt’s hands shake harder each second, as the realization of what just happened sinks in. He can’t possibly get the muffins out without burning himself. Chris is no help, frozen beside him.
Those muffins are gonna burn again. Perhaps the whole house is gonna burn. Again.
Then Chris’ brain is done rebooting and he puts on the oven mitts, leaves Matt on the other side of the counter. The new distance sends his mind whirling at the speed of light.
He fucking knew it was going too far. Knew, and didn’t just stand by to watch the train wreck but swerved into it himself. He can’t even pretend to be surprised by Chris. Of course he’d rather make out with his own brother than let himself be outdared. Matt might know when to stop, but what good is that when he’s willing to follow him off a cliff anyway? If anything, it makes him worse. Actively immoral, instead of impulsive or careless like Chris.
Chris, who’s now busy trying to remove a muffin that’s way too hot to come out of the pan in one piece. Matt wants to remind him to let them cool a bit, but he’ll be damned if he has to be the first one to speak. It’s Chris that has to say something right fucking now, after making him do… that.
Except, he didn’t actually force him to do anything, did he? It was Matt who leaned in first, Matt who looked at his brother’s mouth and thought yes. Please.
Fuck. It’s so over for him. For them. How are they supposed to come back from this? Is he really going to lose one of the two people that are meant to be joined at his hip, impossible to tear apart? Though if anything could make that happen, it’d probably be something like this.
They have to at least try to act normal about it. For everyone else’s sake, for Nick’s. How would they even explain themselves if someone noticed? He can’t imagine Chris wants the story going around either, but Matt can just hear it, twisted yet still true: I made a joke about kissing him and he got way too into it. Part of him knows he would never do that to him, but then again, Chris probably never thought Matt would jump him the way he did.
He needs to keep running through the logistics, because if he actually considers spending the rest of his life estranged from Chris, he might do something crazy. Throw up, for a start. Which would’ve been an appropriate response a few minutes ago. Maybe he can call it a delayed reaction.
“Hey.”
Matt looks up. Chris beckons him to his side, mouth half-closed around a chunk of too-hot muffin.
“Come ‘ere, taste this. It’s so fucking good.”
Matt comes up to him, stealthily blinking away a hint of tears. He relaxes his fists. There are four new indentations in each palm.
Chris has managed to peel off a muffin and cut it in two. He takes the biggest half and blows on it to cool it. Out of habit, Matt almost scolds him for getting germs all over his food, but catches himself just in time. It’s something he’s said a hundred times before, now a thought that both turns his stomach and makes him want to laugh. Funny in the same way a funeral is funny.
Too quick to be intercepted, Chris feeds him the muffin. His fingertips brush against his lips when he bites into it. Matt braves a look at his face, and if he deliberately ignores the blue of his mouth, it’s just his brother. Just Chris. There’s no hatred or revulsion in his eyes, only a little uncertainty. He takes a deep breath. They can work with that.
He chews for an excessively long time. And it might simply be the contrast with some of the worst thoughts he’s had in his life, but damn if it isn’t delicious. He can tell, even when hyper-aware of Chris’ analyzing gaze.
“So? What do we think?”
Matt swipes his tongue across each tooth. Makes sure to get every crumb.
“It’s alright,” he shrugs.
Chris stares at him, the smallest frown on his brow.
“Really. Just alright?”
Matt can’t keep a straight face.
“Fine. Best I’ve ever had.”
Chris beams at him. He relaxes against the counter, flooded with relief, and nudges Matt’s arm.
“Well, take one to go. We need to replace half our kitchenware before Mom notices I threw it away.”
“Yeah. Never do that again.”
“I won’t have to because next time, we’ll have brand new supplies!”
Matt hides his smile with another bite. Maybe baking with Chris again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.