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When Stiles walks through the door on Saturday evening, tired from sitting in the cruiser for most of his day, already fantasizing about his pyjamas, the smell of freshly baked goods makes him perk up a little. Scott isn’t a great baker, but the little cupcakes and cookies he sometimes makes, make Stiles happier than any professional goods ever could. Except maybe the donuts from the bakery around the corner of the police station.
He hangs up his jacket and takes off his gun and holster, trying to kick off his boots at the same time. He quickly puts away the weapon, and walks into the living room. Scott is sitting on the floor by the coffee table, bend over his books, a small frown between his eyebrows and chewing on a pencil. There are markers in five different colours and dozens of post-its strewn over the table.
‘What are you baking?’ Stiles asks dropping on the couch behind Scott. He combs his fingers through the messy dark hair, smiling when Scott leans into the touch.
‘What?’ Scott asks distracted.
‘What are you baking? In the oven?’
‘I’m not baking anything,’ Scott says, turning to Stiles with confusion.
Their eyes widen at the same time. If neither of them is using the oven, that means…
‘Oh shit!’
They scramble up, racing to the kitchen. Stiles almost crumples in relief. The kitchen is a disaster, but nothing seems to be broken or on fire.
‘You’re not allowed to be in here,’ Isaac says, blocking there path. There’s a smear of flour on his cheek and the apron he’s wearing has streaks of pink and red and brown on it.
‘It’s our kitchen too, you know,’ Stiles says. ‘In fact it’s more ours than yours, because you and Derek were banned after Christmas.’
‘We were very careful,’ Derek assures him from somewhere behind Isaac.
Stiles and Scott both duck to look under Isaac’s arms at Derek. Derek seems to be even more of a mess than Isaac. His beard has bits of batter in it and his hair is dusted with white. Worst are his clothes, since Derek didn’t wear an apron. Stiles is very grateful for how adept Derek is at washing out every kind of stain, since Derek is wearing one of his favourite sweaters.
‘Why are you baking, anyway?’ Scott asks.
‘Because it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow,’ Isaac grins.
‘And we wanted to surprise you,’ Derek adds.
‘You surprised us alright,’ Stiles mutters, earning a glare from Isaac.
Scott glances at Stiles and they both nod. They’re going to trust their boyfriends with the kitchen tonight, mostly because they got this far without blowing up the house.
‘Alright,’ Scott says, stepping back and pulling Stiles with him. ‘Just… Clean up, okay? And call us if you think anything is going wrong. Anything.’
Both Derek and Isaac swear they’ll yell for them if they so much as drop a spoon, and Scott and Stiles retreat back to the living room. They try to relax, but they’re both too focussed on the sounds coming from the kitchen.
‘Do you think I should call Boyd and warn him?’ Stiles whispers to Scott, low enough that the two werewolves in the kitchen won’t hear. He can see Scott weighing the benefits of giving the Fire Department a tip of a potential fire, and the cons of having a pouting Isaac on Valentine’s Day, because Boyd will definitely call Isaac after Stiles calls Boyd.
Scott shakes his head. ‘We’ll wait and see. But you should probably put your shoes back on so you won’t have to stand outside in your socks.’
Stiles nods and sneaks back to the hallway as quietly as he can so Isaac and Derek won’t hear him.
Ten minutes later, the oven dings. Stiles grabs Scott’s hand, the suspense almost too much, but he relaxes again when Derek and Isaac start to talk excitedly. There are no screams and no smell of burning coming from the kitchen. In fact, the smell of delicious baked goods intensifies.
It’s another thirty minutes before Isaac and Derek emerge from the kitchen, both looking horribly smug about not killing anyone by oven explosion. Derek does raise his eyebrows at the shoes on Stiles’ feet.
‘So, when can we have a piece?’ Scott asks.
Stiles doesn’t know why he’s so eager. There’s a good chance they’ll get food poisoning.
‘Now. If you want to,’ Isaac says, his hands gripping at his apron nervously.
Scott and Stiles follow their boyfriends to the kitchen. The kitchen is mostly clean. Stiles detects a couple missed spots, but he’s willing to forgive those if the cake tastes good. Which, from the looks of the thing, he finds a little hard to imagine.
It’s a chocolate cake in the shape of a heart, with a pink cream on the top and little hearts drawn with red frosting. Strawberries line the outer edge. It should look good, but the cake has weird bulges and there’s decidedly less of the pink cream on one side, making the chocolate cake come through. Some of the little red hearts are smeared, like bloodstains on the pink cream.
Isaac cuts off two pieces, carefully laying them on plates, and then slides the plates to Scott and Stiles with an expectant face. Derek is standing next to Isaac, gripping Isaac’s hand so hard his knuckles are going white.
‘You first,’ Stiles tells Scott.
Scott throws him an unimpressed look, but Stiles just shrugs. Scott will recover a lot faster from food poisoning than he will.
They could hear a pin drop as Scott moves his fork to his mouth. None of them move or breathe. Scott chews thoughtfully for a moment, closing his eyes.
‘Holy shit,’ he whispers after swallowing.
Isaac and Derek look to Stiles, silently asking if that was good or bad holy shit. Stiles grins and digs into the piece of cake in front of him. That was definitely a good holy shit. The expression Scott’s face was pure bliss. Stiles moans when the chocolate cake melts on his tongue.
‘I think we’ve just been replaced by a cake,’ Derek comments.
‘Cakes can’t give blowjobs,’ Isaac points out.
‘I’m willing to make that sacrifice,’ Stiles says, shovelling in another bite.
Scott hums his agreement.
‘Cakes can’t bake more cakes?’ Isaac tries again, cutting off a piece for himself and Derek.
‘Alright, we’ll keep you,’ Stiles says, planting a kiss on Derek’s cheek and leaving behind a smear of the pink cream.
‘Does this mean we are no longer banned from the kitchen?’ Derek asks, leaning in to him slightly.
‘You’re on probation,’ Scott nods.
Derek and Isaac grin at each other, and then they continue to each eat their piece of cake in silence. Well, mostly silence. There are some moans and sighs, and a soft “I’ve found heaven” from Isaac.
‘So, what’s for dinner?’ Stiles asks when his piece is gone, laughing and reaching for the drawer with takeaway menus when all three of his boyfriends shrug.