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Only reading the ingredients gave him an odd sense of estrangement. "Ain't almond syrup literally cyanide? And what is this 'ammonia', ain't this toxic as well?" he thought, scratching at the back of his head, looking at the white dust and the little bottle filled with that clear liquid that could give a sweet flavour of almonds to those rhombus-shaped cookies he had decided to knead and bake with his own hands.
Giorno Giovanna, someone who has never used a stove nor an oven in all his life, relying on the microwave to reheat dinner or cook pre-heated meals since he was probably five or something more; was now trying to cook one of his best friend's favourite cookies. He learned about those sweet almond and raisin delicacies when, last summer, they went to Sardinia for work. Doppio had bought a bag at the first patisserie he had seen, and ate almost all by himself, the damn sweet-tooth.
The sudden reminder of his cheeks filled like a hamster made his heart beat faster, and his cheeks flushed a bit. That expression on his face back then, he wants to see it again thanks to his own cookies!
"Giorno? It's three in the morning, can't you sleep again – it's me, breathe – wait, what are you doing?" And Doppio, who almost gave him a stroke with his stupid habit to sneak on him when he was deeply focused on something, peeked from his back, his long and pillow-tangled pink tuft brushing on his neck.
"I'm… cooking. Kinda." Muttered the blond, looking at the little sticky dough tangled between his thin fingers. And on his face, hair and clothes, not enough shielded by the pink apron with little and cute ladybugs embroidered on. He had followed the recipe, step by step, and when the "knead with your hands" appeared, he must have zoned out or… whatever, because that sticky and soggy thing was literally flying everywhere and not sticking together as it was supposed to do.
Doppio laughed above his shoulder and stepped aside, reaching for the sink and washed his hands thoroughly.
"What on earth got you to cook at this forsaken hour in the morning? Suddenly wished to change job from mobster to pastry chef?"
"No. I wanted to make a friend happy, but at this point I think I should give up and just hire someone to do it for me. I can't get this dough to stick together and not… on me."
Doppio laughed again, taking that little drop of dry dough on his left cheek and brought it to the lips, tasting. His expression, from amused, turned into a surprised one. Sure, there was too much lard and not enough sugar, but the faint taste of almond and that raisin…
"Are you… making papassini ?" Asked, eyes open wide for the surprise.
Giorno said nothing, simply nodded and looked down, picking at the dough, moving to throw it away. Doppio stopped him.
"Don't, it can still be saved."
Giorno blinked and tilted his head.
"His hands are warm." Observed Giorno, hands brushing together with Doppio's, sticking at them through the dough.
Doppio, with those less than ten centimetres of difference of their heights, had leaned his chin on Giorno's shoulder, his chest against the blond's back and his warm breath right on the thin and snowy neck. He was teaching him how to knead.
"If it's too much sticky, add flour or the dry principal ingredient, and don't knead with the tip of your fingers, nor use too much strength from the beginning and…" and he stopped to listen to him when, as Doppio pushed on his hands with his', he pushed also all his body against his', brushing over all his back, breath hitching a bit as he used some strength.
"...rno? Giorno? Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you still holding my hands?"
"What?"
And, as reality slapped him right at his face, Giorno realised. His fingers, sticky and scented of almond dough, were intertwined with his slightly longers'. He blushed, starting to blabber unintelligible.
Doppio kissed him on the cheek, smiling against his flushed skin.
"I'm not a 'Ghost' enjoyer. But I can make an exception." Chanted right into his ear. Giorno, from the tip of his ignorance, just hummed confused, thinking it was some strange kneading technique.
The sudden feeling of his soft lips gently pressing behind his left ear made his breath hitch. Giorno didn't have a chance to replicate that another kiss landed on his neck, followed by a gentle bite, a docile caress given with teeth grazing over that pale skin, so tantalising to make him shiver from head to toe.
Their hands moved, caressing each other, not really caring for that mushy thing they were touching, more interested in feeling the other.
Giorno hummed, tilting his head, and his lips got squashed by Doppio's into a slow and engaging kiss.
"Doppio…" Giorno murmured, breathing on his lips when, after some minute of slow smooching, they parted. Doppio smiled, and with a quick flick of his fingers, he attached some dough right on the tip of his nose. Giorno's jaw dropped.
Another quick peck on the lips, and Doppio jumped aside, back and knees slightly bent, ready to jump away again.
"Oh no, you'll not escape!" Exclaimed Giorno, picking at the mushy thing and trying to slap it on Doppio's face, missing it.
"Don't use Epitaph on me! Cheater" Bursted, pouting.
Doppio laughed and dodged another slap, ducking right after Epitaph showed the danger on his long pink tuft.
"I'm not a cheater! I'm a strategist!"
"Come here!" Laughed the blond, throwing dough here and there in the big kitchen, can't hit his lover, until finally decided to jump on him to catch him.
Doppio didn't shift, welcoming him in his arms and stumbling back, tumbling down against the counter hugging him.
They stayed there, laughing forehead-to-forehead, covered with almond flour and eggs and whatever Giorno had used for that recipe.
Servants weren't really happy to clean up that mess they made into a burst of childish love.
And Giorno decided to hire a pastry chef only to get Doppio his favourite cookies.