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After officially getting together with Ponyboy, the top of Curly’s bucket list was to get his older brothers to like him. Shortly after that was discarded and changed to make them tolerate him - liking was a bit too far fetched he’d realised.
So of course he jumped at the opportunity when Tim said he was going out for the day and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow - and Angela really couldn’t care what Curly did, as long as he didn’t bother her.
He’d listened to Tim’s lecture about not doing no funny business while he ain’t around to bail Curly out, the usual. Don’t trash the house, stay out of trouble, don’t let Dallas near their scratch, yada yada. Curly couldn’t care - he wasn’t listening.
(“You listenin’ to me, Curly? You hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Timmy. Don’t need ta be looking at your ugly mug to hear ya.”)
As soon as he watched Tim’s car speed down the road he ran to the phone and pulled out a piece of paper from his jean pocket. Ponyboy had to write down his home phone number because hell if Curly was going to memorise it. He dialled it and held the phone to his ear.
“Curtis residence, Darry speaking.” Such an old man way to pick up the phone, Curly thought - but didn’t voice. He was trying to get Darry to tolerate him - like him, if he was lucky enough.
“Heya, Darry - it’s Curly. You wouldn’t happen ta know if Pony’s in the house, would ya?”
Of course Darry knew, he basically knew where Pony was every single of the day. Well, except when he was out with Curly. Or when he snuck out to see Curly. He definitely lied about it then.
Darry didn’t bother with a response to his question. Curly could hear him call out Ponyboy’s name from over the line and he grinned. There was movement filling his ears before he heard someone clear their throat.
“Hello?” Ponyboy asked, sounding awfully formal. Darry probably didn’t tell him it was Curly.
“Ponykid!” Curly grinned.
He could imagine Ponyboy rolling his eyes at the nickname. “Heya, Curls. You need me for somethin’?”
“You wanna come over? Tim ain’t gonna be home til morning and Angela don’t care what we do, ‘long as we leave her out of it.”
He could practically hear the cogs turning in his boyfriend’s head. “What will I say to Darry?” Ponyboy whispered.
Curly paused to think. “Tell him Dal’s here, or somethin’, I don’t know. That someone’ll be watchin’ over us.”
“Alright, that might work.” Ponyboy paused, thinking the excuse over. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him Dal’s there. See you in ten?”
“You bet.”
When the line went silent he immediately dialed Buck’s number, looking for Dallas. Who knew what kind of helicopter brother Darry was? He might go out of his way to ask Dally if he’d been babysitting him.
As soon as he heard the line pick up he asked, “Buck?” An affirmative noise. “I’m looking for Dally, he stayin’ with you?”
“Wish I could say he weren’t, kid.” Buck grumbled. “Winston! Phone’s for you.”
“What?” Dally asked, graceful as ever, after a moment’s silence. Curly rolled his eyes at the older boy’s tone.
“It’s Curly.” He heard Dally sigh across the line. “Don’t be hanging up on me! I just need a favour, man.”
“More of a reason for me to hang up.”
“You don’t need'a go nowhere, Dal. Would you listen?” Curly groaned. “If Darry asks where you were today, can you tell him you was with me and Pony?”
“Why would he believe I’d look after you two?”
“Tell him you owed Tim, somethin’ like that. Come on, Dal, please?”
“Alright, alright. You owe me for this, though, you dig?”
“I dig, I dig. Thanks, Dally.”
“Not a problem, kid.”
And the house was silent again.
A few minutes later, when Curly was laying on the couch, he heard the door handle rattling before the door actually opened. Ponyboy stood in the entrance, smiling.
“Hey, Curls.” Pony stepped in the house and closed the door. Curly pushed himself off the couch and took Ponyboy’s hand in his.
Pony just laughed and looked at Curly. “What did ya need me for?”
“Your brothers like chocolate cake, don’t they?” Curly asked, completely disregarding Pony’s question as he dragged him into the kitchen.
“Sure they do. Hell, the whole gang does.”
Curly grinned. “Even better,” He mumbled to himself.
Pony looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Curly, please don’t tell me—”
“You’re gonna help me bake a chocolate cake, Ponykid!”
“Lord help us all, huh?” Ponyboy feigned annoyance.
“We’ll need all the help we can get, man.”
“Don’t suppose you’re any good at baking?” Curly asked as they were getting out all the essentials they’d need.
“Not really. Way back when, Mom wouldn’t let me set foot in the kitchen when Soda was helping her bake.”
“Soda can bake?”
“Yeah - he’s pretty good at it too.” Ponyboy shrugged. “But his standards are real high.” He teased.
“I’m sure they are.” Curly groaned.
“Do you even have a recipe?”
Curly had already started getting things prepared. Or rather, he was randomly throwing things into bowls.
“Nah. Who needs a recipe?”
“If you don’t wanna kill my brothers, I think you’ll want a recipe.”
Curly thought about that. Yeah, it was kinda true. But he was also spending the day with Pony, so why did it matter? Winning Ponyboy’s brothers over was only an end result of the whole thing, the main course was hanging around with his boyfriend.
“I’ll try my bestest not’a kill your brothers, Pony. How does that sound?”
“I’m much more confident now, thanks Curls.” He drawled sarcastically and rolled his eyes.
Ponyboy knew a thing or too about baking a cake, which was really useful. Curly had never baked before in his life so the help was much appreciated.
“Darry and Soda make cakes all the time,” Was what he said.
“Why don’t you?”
“They don’t want no fifteen year old kid brother in their kitchen screwing things around.”
“I think you’re a pretty good baker for their fifteen year old kid brother. This cake’ll show ‘em otherwise, right?” Curly looked at Ponyboy.
“If we’re lucky, then maybe.”
It wasn’t a no, so Curly took it as a win.
The mixing bowl was practically filled to the brim with the amount of flour Curly put in. He had started on adding the eggs. He was looking down proudly at it, while Ponyboy eyed him in disgust.
“What’d you add so much flour for?”
Curly shrugged. “I think it looks pretty alright, Pony.”
“‘Course you do.” Ponyboy mumbled.
“What’s that meant’a mean?” Curly eyed the blonde.
“My brothers is gonna die of dehydration from that dry looking cake, Curly, is what it means.”
Curly didn’t respond verbally to Ponyboy, but instead dipped his hands into the packet of flour and flicked it all over Pony.
“You are dead, Curly.”
“Uh huh.”
Curly was about to turn back to the bowl when he felt something crack over his head.
“Ponyboy Curtis, if you just did what I think you did—”
The white of the egg started running down his forehead. Curly’s swearing was followed by laughter from Pony. He reached his hand up to get a handful of the egg and then smeared it across Pony’s t-shirt.
“Karma is a real bitch, Baby Curtis.”
“You’re gonna know all about it.”
“I am?”
Flour was thrown directly at Curly’s face. He rubbed some out of his eyes just enough to see Pony smirking at him.
“You are.”
Curly was pouring in mass amounts of sugar in at a time from the bag with no measurements.
“You’re gonna rot their teeth, Curls. Dar ain’t gonna be too happy with that, I don’t think.”
“Trust the process, Ponyboy. And you say that as if y'all don't smoke atleast a pack a day."
“It’s completely inedible.” Pony argued, ignoring Curly's last comment.
“It’s the thought that counts, ain’t that what they say?” Curly looked to Ponyboy for confirmation.
Ponyboy was shaking his head. “Not when it comes to chocolate cake.”
The cake was in the oven, and it was barely baking. It still looked like liquid chocolate, if you could even call it that.
“Why ain’t the stupid thing doing somethin’?” Curly frowned, looking in at it as it ‘baked’.
“Told you to use a recipe. But would anyone wanna listen to Ponyboy?—”
“Don’t you start, Pony—”
“Because when is he ever right, huh?—”
“Don’t even know why I invited you over here.”
They were sitting on the flour of the kitchen with Pony leaning his head against Curly’s shoulder. The cake still had a while to go before it would be ready.
“What do you say we play chicken again? For old time’s sake." Curly spoke up.
“Curly, whatever you’re thinkin’ of is real stupid, I just know it.” Ponyboy closed his eyes, shuffling closer.
“Stick your finger in the oven.”
“Why would I wanna do that?”
“Are you being chicken, Ponyboy Curtis?”
Ponyboy whacked him on the arm and they fell into a comfortable silence again.
The cake was sitting on the table. Cake was a very generous term.
“When should I bring it over?”
Ponyboy looked at his boyfriend, trying not to laugh. “You ain’t bringing that no where near my house, Curls.”
That was fair enough, really. Curly didn’t even want it on his kitchen table.
“You wanna help me get rid of it?” He looked at Ponyboy.
“Whatcha thinking of doing?”
Curly hesitated. “Burn it?”
“Yeah, no.”
“All I heard was yeah.”