Chapter Text
Bobby doesn't trust Nigel unsupervised in the kitchen. His cooking is always hit or miss, either he makes the most delicious, greasy, late night food, or he makes the most unholy abominations. He can't even work the coffee machine without getting angry at it, so Bobby prefers to do the cooking himself. Sure, he's not the best cook, but he's not the worst, and that's better than nothing. One of the few things he misses about his ex-wife is that he used to come home from work and find dinner already made. Now, with Nigel lounging around his apartment like a lazy housecat (like Robert, in fact), Bobby has to come home and cook dinner.
Which is why he's mildly alarmed when he opens the door to the smell of something baking, and Nigel's muffled curses coming from the kitchen. Preparing for the worst, he braces himself as he kicks off his shoes and heads to the kitchen. He doesn't smell smoke, so the kitchen probably isn't on fire, so that's something. But judging from the swearing, Nigel is struggling with something.
Just as he's wondering what the hell is going on, there's a thud and Robert comes sprinting out of the kitchen, his fur almost completely white. Bobby doesn't even have time to process why he's completely white before the cat dashes into the bathroom, presumably to hide in the dirty laundry.
The sight that greets him is enough to make him laugh, once the surprise fades. Nigel is covered in flour, and he's struggling to hold together three out of four walls of a gingerbread house while the icing dries. The icing is a little too runny to harden properly and the walls are cut crookedly as well, so they don't quite meet up evenly.
Nigel's head snaps up and he scowls, realising he now has an audience. "Don't just stand there gawking," he complains. "Help me, dumbass."
The loud thud from earlier was likely Robert knocking the bag of flour over, which is why approximately two thirds of the kitchen is covered in flour. "What the fuck are you doing?" he laughs, taking in the sheer chaos.
"The fuck does it look like?" Nigel growls, jerking his chin towards the mess. "The fat little asshole jumped onto the counter and knocked over the flour, and the damn walls won't stick together." as soon as he slowly begins to let go the slabs of gingerbread immediately start sagging, and he hastily corrects them. "Are you gonna help or just keep laughing at me?"
"Why are you making a gingerbread... I don't think you can legally call it a house yet, maybe a gingerbread ruin? A gingerbread atrocity?" he teases. Nigel opens his mouth to protest, and Bobby rolls his eyes. "Look at the icing, it's too wet, see? You're gonna be there forever. Lemme." he motions for Nigel to shoo, taking the bowl of icing that he's been using like glue. "It's practically water, you gotta thicken it."
Nigel looks like he's ready to throw a tantrum when Bobby pushes his hands off the gingerbread walls and wipes off the wet icing, but he begrudgingly keeps his mouth shut and watches. A bit more icing sugar to thicken the mix, and this time, when Bobby coats the edges of the walls, the icing doesn't immediately drip off it.
"Alright, hold it now." he instructs, sticking the pieces to the tray. Nigel's hands move to replace his, and while he still looks unimpressed, he's not about to complain if Bobby can make it work. "So why are you making this?" he asks, wiping his hands clean before he moves to clean up the flour coating half the kitchen. It's spilled across the counter, across the floor, it's all over Nigel but he doesn't care about that, and there's paw prints in the flour from Robert.
"It's Christmas. That's what you do on Christmas." he says simply.
"Yeah, but why this? Presents and decorations sure, but you're... well, you're a hazard in the kitchen." Bobby points out. The flour is all gone from the counter and the floor, but he's not cleaning the flour off Nigel. It's even in his hair. "Why a gingerbread house?"
Nigel eyes him for a moment, but given that he's trapped holding the gingerbread walls together, he can't exactly go anywhere or do anything. "I like Christmas. Do you have a problem with that?"
Now it's Bobby's turn to pull a face. "No, not really. I just... I only did Christmas stuff after the kids were born, and I'm not... I'm not really good at the whole holiday celebrations thing. I suck at presents. I didn't think you'd wanna celebrate it." he shrugs. "But it's fine, I guess I can do the cooking if you wanna do Christmas this year."
"No, I'm doing it. Because you'll kick me out of the kitchen and won't let me help. You can help, but if you try to take over, I'm gonna kick your ass." he warns.
Bobby raises his hands to placate him. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'll help. Just... try not to burn the house down in the process." he reaches out to the pile of gingerbread pieces, the leftovers after Nigel shaped the various parts for the house itself, and pops a piece in his mouth. His brows furrow as he chews, his face gradually becoming more and more scrunched up before he swallows. Immediately, he grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water, and practically chugs the whole thing. "Didn't you taste the mix?" he gasps.
"No, I'm not eating raw dough. Why? What's wrong?" he demands.
Instead of answering his question, Bobby snags another piece of gingerbread and stuffs it in Nigel's mouth. Just like Bobby, Nigel's expression swiftly turns to one of displeasure.
"How much ginger did you put in this?" Bobby coughs, refilling his glass.
"Uh... whatever the recipe said, a cup or something?"
Bobby can't help it, no matter how hard he tries to keep quiet, a laugh bubbles out of him anyway. "Oh, fuck. That's a ton ginger." he snickers. "No wonder it tastes like that."
Nigel spits out the chewed gingerbread into the sink, and finally removes his hands from the gingerbread walls, stealing the glass from him. "How do I fix it?"
"I don't think you do. I think this is beyond fixing." he cackles. "I think we just cover this bitch in icing and sprinkles and shit, and hope no one notices the taste. Fuck, we'll just invite Durst over." his chest hurts from laughing, and while Nigel is scowling and trying to look unimpressed, he's clearly struggling to hold back a laugh of his own.
"He's gonna hate you for this." Nigel drawls, eyeing the half-built gingerbread house with disdain. "But... fine. He can suffer. Better than throwing it out."
Bobby reaches out to capture Nigel's face in his hands, brushing flour away with his thumbs, but really just smudging it. "How about I help you make another one, one that doesn't taste like Satan's sweaty taint, and we give this one a miss?" he pauses, then his grin widens. "What if we make this one look like an actual crack house? Rough up the walls a bit, scribble some icing graffiti on there, throw some trash in the yard. Make it look extra shitty. And then we'll make a nice one, just for us." he suggests.
Nigel's expression softens, and for a moment, it's easy to forget this man is a wanted criminal in several countries. "Sounds good." he murmurs, leaning into Bobby's hands. His eyes close halfway, but then one hand darts up to wipe icing across Bobby's nose, and then he's grinning like an asshole as he backs away. "Gotcha." he snickers.
Bobby blinks and brings a hand up to his nose, wiping a bit of the icing away. "Oh, you're so fucked." he taunts. He doesn't let Nigel go far, he grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him in close, shoving his face against his jaw to smear the icing. It gets flour on himself, but most importantly, it gets plenty of icing on Nigel too.
For a moment they grapple, Nigel trying to get away, Bobby trying to drag him back, but then Nigel manages to snag the bowl of icing. Before Bobby can get away, he tips it up, pouring most of it over his head and down his chest.
"You asshole—" Bobby gasps, releasing him and wiping icing out of his eyes. "I'm gonna fuckin' get you!" he lunges forward, tackling Nigel against the counter, but they both end up stumbling. They hit the ground hard, Nigel crushed beneath him, but they're laughing too hard to get back up. They're covered in icing and flour and the kitchen is a mess, but they can't help but grin at each other.
An unhappy little meow makes them both look up to see Robert sitting beside them, covered in icing and glaring daggers at them. He considers for a moment before he reaches out, batting Nigel in the face before he scampers away.
"What was that for—" Nigel whines, still a little winded from having Bobby land on him. "Little bastard, we'll be having roast cat for Christmas dinner—" he yells after the feline, before returning his attention to Bobby. "What are you laughing at?" he growls.
Bobby isn't intimidated. Still laughing, he leans in to kiss him. "You're such a fucking dumbass. I love you." he teases.
Nigel sighs like he's so hard done by, but the fight quickly goes out of him. "Yeah, yeah. Merry fuckin' Christmas." he grumbles. "I love you too."