Work Text:
Your whole apartment smells like sugar. It’s honestly becoming a bit nauseating, how sweet everything is. Your stand mixer explodes in a puff of powdered sugar, well not literally but it is spitting out powdered sugar as though it was its purpose in life. You make a run for it, diving for the power button. It sinks into your lungs, and you cough, waving a hand in front of your face to try and clear some of the powder from your face as you unplug the mixer. It stops spitting out the sugary substance everywhere, but your entire kitchen is covered in a thin layer of sweetness that clings to each crevice.
Another cough, and you taste the sugar on your tongue. You groan.
“Damnit!” Surveying the disaster zone that is your kitchen, things truly are not going to plan.
The attempt at macarons is well… disastrous to say the least. There’s powdered sugar everywhere, the egg whites that were supposed to be at least a bit stiff have deflated into a foamy, sad mess, and your attempt at homemade jam has burned and somehow not cooked all at the same time. You sigh, wiping a hand across your forehead. You feel something sticky smear across your skin, and you throw your hands up in exhausted exasperation.
“Shit.”
Another sigh, another pang of frustration. There’s a knock on your door and your blood runs cold. “No no no no…” You mumble to yourself as you sprint over to the door.
Your guest is typing in the code for the door and you grab the door as it starts to swing open. It stops as it meets your weight, and you hear Zayne’s noise of surprise on the other side.
“Sweetheart?” he asks softly. “Is everything okay?”
“You can’t come in!” You insist loudly, leaning your full body against the door so that he can’t push in. Not that he would, well not unless he thought you were in danger or hurt. “I’m fine! Before you worry!”
“Okay… so then why can’t I come in?” He asks softly.
You can see him through the little bit of the door that he was able to open, he’s pressed against it as well, playing along with your nonsense as he always does. His hazel eyes are sparkling with both mild amusement and curiosity.
“Because…” the thought of lying crosses your mind for a second, before you take a deep breath, you can’t lie to Zayne you never could. “I was trying to make you macarons and it’s… a disaster.”
He chuckles softly. “Why were you trying to do that?”
“To celebrate your anniversary of becoming Chief of Surgery.”
“Honey, you didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t! But I wanted to! I wasn’t here when you became chief and I just–” You sigh softly.
“Let me in?”
Those three words, that simple request and you know that you can’t deny him. You move away from the door, letting him open it the rest of the way. He does, and you hear the soft, aborted snort of laughter that he swallows down. You look up at him, expression a mixture of a pout and frustration.
“Don’t laugh at me!”
“You’re covered head to toe in sugar,” he takes a step towards you, looking at you with a warmth that makes your cheeks begin to heat up. “And you’re wearing those cute little pajamas.”
Your eyes widen and you look down at yourself. You’re wearing a pair of fuzzy pink, well now it's a dusty pink due to the coating of powdered sugar, pajamas that are decorated in little fluffy ducks. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you look back up at him, eyes still wide.
“You look…” He starts, another step forward, holding his arms outstretched to pull you to him.
“No.”
He chuckles, “you look absolutely edible.”
You scrunch up your nose, making a face.
He laughs, pulls you into his arms completely unbothered by the powdered sugar that is now spreading along his black clothing. He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. He laughs again as you try to push him away weakly, hands on his chest and pushing softly. Zayne leans down and bites your cheek, more of a gentle pressing of teeth against the fullness of it.
“Zayne!”
He laughs, presses another kiss to the spot and hugs you to his chest. “What? I was taking a bite of my favorite dessert.”
“You are so disgustingly cheesy!” You shove him away gently, and he lets you go.
He’s laughing, deep and warm. “And you’re deliciously sweet. I might have to up my exercise quota after taking such a good bite.”
“Doctor Zayne, are you flirting with me? Badly, might I add.” You tease.
He nods, still laughing, and the smile looks devastatingly good on him. His whole face is lit up by the force of his happiness, and you wish you could capture this moment and tattoo it directly into your brain. “I absolutely am flirting with you, honey. Is it working?”
You hum softly, reach out to him and pull him close by the front of his black, now sugary, turtleneck. “I dunno, maybe a little.”
“Only a little?” He lets you pull him to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Should I start talking about the importance of a balanced diet to the brain? That I need my sugar intake to be just a little higher for the day in order to thrive?”
“Oh yeah, that always gets me going you know.” You respond playfully, thread your fingers in his dark hair. You guide his head down, into a soft little kiss.
He hums contentedly against your lips. “It absolutely does.” He kisses you again, soft and sweet like he is.
“I love it when you talk all medical to me, Doctor.” Another soft kiss.
He chuckles into the kiss, wraps his arms around you tight and loving. Your smile melts into his kisses, tender. The taste of sugar melts amidst Zayne’s natural sweetness, the powdered sugar decorating you both melding into a sticky sweet gloss.
You break the kiss with a gentle pop, smiling up at Zayne. You reach up, thumb brushing gently against his soft lips. “Sugar.”
“Mhm.”
“No, I mean there’s sugar on your lips.” You laugh softly.
Zayne smiles, a little sheepish, and nods. “I’m sorry about your macaron plans.”
“I just wanted to do something special for you.”
“I know,” he smiles, “why don’t I stay and help you clean up?”
You sigh, shake your head. “No way, it’s a special day for you, you’re not doing work.”
“It’s not work if I’m with you, and if you look this sweet while doing it.” He spins you a little bit, just a little cute gentle thing, the way that Zayne always is with you.
You groan. “No, Zayne.” You start to pull away, halfheartedly, you know the mess in your kitchen needs to be cleaned before it turns to concrete.
He pulls you back to him, holds you against his chest. He leans over, presses his face into the crook of your neck. One soft kiss, two, three. “Yes, and if you still insist on celebrating, I’ll go pick us up a cake from the bakery down the street.”
“Are you sure?” You look up at him. “You don’t have to act like it’s okay if–”
He presses another kiss to your neck, this one just above your pulse point. “You taste like sugar.”
You roll your eyes. “Zayne.”
“I’m sure.” He smiles into your skin. “I can’t think of a better way to celebrate than with my favorite dessert… and maybe some cake.” He chuckles, tip of his tongue peeking out to lick at the dusting of powdered sugar on your skin.
You shiver. “We have to clean up first.”
“Mhm.” Another kiss, this one a little more insistent. “We’ll clean up.”
“Now, Zayne.” Your resolve is weakening, as those kisses of his trail down your neck, as he pulls delicious sighs from your lips.
“Yeah, we will.” Another kiss, a little nip to your skin. “Just let me have my dessert first.”