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2 months into the will-they-won’t-they thing that’s going on, Whitaker discovers Abbot is a baker. He’s about to leave Abbot’s house when the older man, dressed in only boxer briefs, shoves a plastic box into his chest and shoos him away.
“Do with them what you will, but I want my box back.”
Whitaker doesn’t think much of it, given he’s almost late for work. It’s almost 5pm when he takes the boxes from his backpack with shaking hands due to low blood sugar. But someone is shouting his name out in the hall, so he takes the box with him and gulps down a whole cookie before running towards where he’s needed.
When everything’s settled, he finds the clear plastic box sitting on the nurses’ desk. Empty.
He looks around and down again. Not even a crumb left? Do they have a mouse problem again?
“Too slow, buddy! I think Mateo got the last of it.” McKay tells him cheerfully as she zooms past.
Princess watches him carefully as he picks up the box and closes it with the lid. “Oh my god, were they yours?!”
Perlah rolls over on her chair, “Oh dear, I thought someone put them down for everybody.”
Whitaker has trouble forming a response. “Y…es?”
“Wow, I had no idea you’re such a talented baker! They were SO delicious!” Mel gushes next to him, appearing out of nowhere.
“YOU made these?” Victoria’s eyes are almost bugging out of her head. “They were so chewy, and that sprinkle of pecan? GENIUS!”
“Thanks?”
“So what are you making next? Do you take requests?”
Whitaker imagines he’s pushed too deep into a corner to say actually senior attending Jack Abbot made these. And why is Whitaker the one who brought them to the hospital? Haha who knows?
“I only…bake when I have time.”
“It will be wonderful if you can make something Christmas themed with Christmas coming up. The ER can always use a little sugary cheer.” Dana encourages this madness with a kind smile.
Whitaker tries to pull his face into what he hopes resembles a smile. “I can…do that…”
He cannot do that. Not by himself.
-
Christmas is only 2 weeks away and Whitaker is incredibly fucked. Does he enter himself into some kind of baking bootcamp (he’s watched enough Great British Bake Off to know this is no small task)? Does he tell everyone he bought chewy chocolate chip cookies from a bakery and then put them in a nondescript plastic box and took the glory for it like a psychopath? Or does he ask his not boyfriend Jack Abbot to please bake something Christmas themed or his not boyfriend Dennis Whitaker’s reputation in the ER will be dragged through the mud?
He’s procrastinated one week on this because Whitaker has been overthinking about whether requesting Christmas themed baked goods will be what pushes Abbot over the edge into stop having sex with him. Have you only been using me for my baking talents? Oh, the horror.
“Are you baking something Christmas related?” Whitaker asks nonchalantly from the couch, eyes watching Abbot take the giant container of plain flour out of the cupboard intently.
Abbot scoffs. He scoffs. Shit.
“No?”
“Okay.”
Whitaker is 30 tabs deep into his Christmas baked goods research when Abbot looms over him. Gingerbread chocolate tart (will store bought crust be cheating?), mince pie crumble bars (not bad), candy cane cheesecake (ugh! gross), gingerbread cookie wreath (who’s patience with what time?), gingerbread bundt cake (can’t be that hard, right?).
Abbot clears his throat above him.
Whitaker jumps up from the couch and oooo’s at the banana bread appropriately. “It smells sooo nice, my dear. Is that walnut in there? I bet it tastes amaaaazing.”
Abbot shakes his head at him. “Have a slice now since it’s nice and warm. But it’ll taste better tomorrow once the flavour settles.”
“Can I borrow your kitchen tonight?”
“You want to bake?”
“I have tomorrow off.” As if that answers the question.
Abbot shrugs. “Sure.”
Abbot comes back to his house smelling like burnt gingerbread and batter and flour everywhere in his kitchen. Whitaker is sitting on the floor looking properly defeated with his knees drawn up to his chin, staring soullessly at the bundt cake that’s torn half on the bottom pan, and half on the top.
“Tell me you haven’t been doing this for the past 12 hours.”
Whitaker shakes his head like a robot. “I took a nap after the second failed attempt.”
“I see.” Abbot takes a seat next to him on the floor and pinches a tiny bit of cake from the tin.
Whitaker whimpers when he sees Abbot’s face after tasting it.
“It’s okay, darling.” Abbot lets him crawl all over him and octopus hugs him. “Not everyone is cut out for this.”
Whitaker nuzzles against Abbot's jaw and continues to fake cry into his shoulder. It’s kind of nice actually, fake crying does relieve some sort of negative emotions within him.
“Why do you suddenly want to bake anyway?” Abbot picks up the tin and inspects the cake sticking to the pan.
“About that,” Whitaker lets go of him completely and sits back against the cupboard door. Abbot raises an eyebrow.
“Sooo, remember that time you gave me a box of cookies you made and then I went to work?”
“Yeah?” Abbot answers slow and skeptical.
“I took it out during work and ate a piece but then got distracted saving people, you know?” Whitaker nods his head towards Abbot, hoping for some common ground. The bastard does not budge.
“When I came back, all the cookies were gone and everyone sort of uhhh, thought I made them? Crazy, right? I know, but I couldn’t tell them how I got them, since you know,” he gestures between himself and Abbot. “And then Dana had the bright idea to suggest I make something for the break room cause Christmas is coming up, yay.” He finishes weakly.
“And you asked me if I was planning on making anything Christmas themed yesterday, thinking you can take my labour to work and receive all the glory again?”
“No no no no noooo.” Whitaker shoots up to his knees and kneels in front of his lovely not boyfriend. “I would never do that.”
Abbot places an arm behind himself and leans back. Whitaker follows him eagerly. The older man cards his fingers through his hair the way Whitaker likes it. He slips his hand slowly down to scratch Whitaker’s chin until he’s purring like a cat.
“Okay, I would do that a little bit.”
Abbot smirks. And god, he’s so attractive when he’s got Whitaker wrapped around his fingers like that.
“So I toil away at my kitchen, you sit pretty and do nothing. Then the delivery boy goes to work the next day and takes all my valour, am I getting this right?”
Whitaker nods eagerly, putty in Abbot’s hands. Abbot traces a finger along his lips, but makes no move to kiss him. Whitaker leans in further only for Abbot to lean back.
“And what do I get out of this deal?”
“The best sex of your life?” Whitaker takes Abbot’s thumb into his mouth and slides his tongue across it.
“You think you’re the best sex of my life?” Abbot laughs.
The bastard.
Whitaker pounces on him but makes sure to put a hand at the back of Abbot’s head when he falls backwards. He kisses Abbot’s lips harsh and rough, for being such a bastard to him all the time. A lovely, handsome, intoxicating bastard that Whitaker cannot get enough of. He bites angry kisses onto his neck and collarbones, he wants to tear all the clothes off his man and fucks him until he begs for forgiveness.
But Whitaker doesn’t do any of that. He gets up on his hands and knees, looking down at the man lying beneath him. None of that will really settle the churning in his stomach whenever Abbot brings up his experience with others, when he compares Whitaker to nameless faceless exes.
“You’ll get to be my boyfriend.” Whitaker says apprehensively, and this is not how he had hoped this would go at all. He was going to be so confident and assertive, flirting back at Abbot and maybe even tease him a bit. But he sounds like a little kid to his own ears. “Can you please just be my boyfriend? Please?”
It feels too much looming over Abbot like this, so he gets up and returns to his place against the cupboard.
Abbot takes a few seconds to get up as well, he slides next to Whitaker and pulls him into his arms. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just joking. I’m sorry.”
Whitaker nods into his chest. He knows. Obviously.
Abbot lets go of him. “I’ll be your boyfriend.” He pinches Whitaker’s cheek lightly like he wants to pinch a smile into his face. “You only had to ask.”
Whitaker’s pout grows into a smile. Then into a grin.
“Okay, great. So what are you making for the break room?”
Abbot rolls his eyes and lets himself fall back onto the ground. “The whiplash, Dennis! I’m an old man!”
-
And so Whitaker becomes known as the sweet boy with the sweeter treats at the ER. Everyone loves him even more than they already do before. Many young men and women at the hospital have developed crushes on Whitaker because of this. The handsome farm boy that bakes for everyone? Green flags and boxes checked everywhere.
Whitaker asks Abbot why he doesn't get jealous of all the attention he’s getting at the hospital, particularly due to Abbot’s own handiwork. Abbot scoffs and puts his arm on the back of the couch, pressing against Whitaker’s neck. “Those boys and girls? If I’m your type then I don’t think I’ve got anything to worry about.”
A few days later, Dr Reed from oncology catches wind of Whitaker’s delicious baked goods somehow and shows up in the ER for a little piece late afternoon. Dr Reed is PTMC’s second most famous silver fox (Whitaker’s personal ranking), and he doesn’t forget to compliment Whitaker on his baking skills before he leaves.
Abbot does not bake for a whole month after that.
-
It’s many months later that Whitaker learns that Abbot picked up baking after his late wife passed. It is something so clearly domestic, yet can still be done by one person. Abbot’s therapist had commended him on finding a hobby that he enjoys and can take his mind off things. During the first year, he baked so much that he constantly needed to knock on all his neighbours’ doors to ask them to take some. Having known his late wife, all the neighbours were happy to accept them and would even drop by sometimes for tea time.
Abbot started associating baking with good things too after that. Any parents in the neighbourhood whose kids got a birthday coming, or kids got a school party where they have to bring something homemade but they didn’t have the time to make it themselves, they would reach out to Abbot. And Abbot loved being useful, and helping others. It eased the ache in his heart that his little coping mechanism was bringing joy to families. He would stay at kids’ parties for 20 minutes after dropping off the cakes or treats just to soak up the children’s delight at having their favourite cake for their birthday, the sound of happy families.
Couple years after that, he got better in general so he stopped needing to run his kitchen like a commercial bakery to keep himself distracted. Whenever he baked, he’d save up a portion for Dana and Robby. And the rest either goes to a friendly neighbour who happened to pass by, or when Abbot gets busy, they get mouldy on the kitchen counter and get thrown away.
When Whitaker came, he hadn’t baked for several months. The boy was sweet like honey and fit into Abbot’s life surprisingly well. It was lust at first and Whitaker was so eager for it, acted like he was starving for Abbot’s touch each time that it made the old man inside Abbot feel wanted and treasured. They didn’t label it as anything particular because Abbot was happy to wait and see how things went. The age gap wasn’t small after all.
He started baking again because he noticed Whitaker had a bit of a sweet tooth. Every time they had a meal outside, the younger man would always scan the dessert options. He gets excited about rare ice cream flavours. He takes his coffee with three sugars.
The boy is so adorable when he’s jealous, and he acts out aggressively whenever Abbot teases him just a bit too much, which Abbot likes. But Abbot also wants to give him the safe harbour that he deserves. His boy should always be sweet and happy, warm and desired. Just like his treats.
END.