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It is Colt’s favorite season again.
He loves the smell of pine and spice. He loves present shopping for his friends and his brothers. He loves decorating the Christmas tree with ornaments he collected over the years.
Most importantly, he loves baking his famous Christmas sugar cookies.
It’s not a real Christmas without his sugar cookies. They’re so good that Ryland bangs on his door every December first for his batch of cookies, and Court refuses to eat any other sugar cookies besides his.
That’s what Colt told Casey anyhow, and now he’s nervously wondering if he overhyped it and Casey will actually hate his recipe.
Colt taps the counter, trying to refocus. The urge to make last minute adjustments to the recipe—maybe Casey doesn’t like it that sweet, maybe he should reduce the sugar, maybe he should reduce the butter so it’s more cakey—-consume him like an itch just out of reach under his jeans.
What is he supposed to be doing? Right, getting the eggs.
Surreptitiously, he glances at Casey, who is dutifully measuring the flour. Seeing Casey poke his tongue out in concentration, all thoughts about eggs fly from Colt’s brain, leaving only a dopey smile on his face.
Forget the cookies, Colt wants to lick Casey’s tongue into his mouth and taste his honeyed whimpers. He wants to bite his soft lips and feel Casey crumble beneath him. He wants to lap up every crumb of sweetness from Casey like an ant that discovered a field of sugar cookie crumbs.
Maybe they can take a break from the baking for a bit.
Colt opens his mouth to suggest so and attempts to rest his elbow on the counter to feign casualness, but somehow misses and narrowly avoids slamming his face against the marble counter.
Casey looks over, eyes slightly widened in concern.
“I’m fine.” He chuckles in embarrassment. His already pink face reddens further as Casey’s gaze lingers. He tries to ignore the disappointment flooding his brain at Casey’s tongue disappearing behind his lips.
After a few moments, Casey blinks and returns to measuring the flour, seemingly reassured that his boyfriend isn’t going to spontaneously combust.
His boyfriend. Colt still can’t believe it.
It’s their first Christmas together. A few weeks ago Colt finally gathered enough courage to stutter his way through asking Casey to get coffee with him after their film shoot. A cup of coffee turned into a drive where they took turns trying to outdo the other on car stunts which then turned into Casey in Colt’s bed.
It was the perfect date. And it’s been so fucking good since then. Colt has never been happier.
He knows on paper they’re a strange pair.
Casey speaks like every word is liquid gold, where Colt spends his words like pennies. Casey shies away from crowds, where Colt dives in with both feet. Casey wears a cloak of mystery that hides an unknown depth behind his blue eyes, where Colt wears his heart, stomach, liver, brain and all on his sleeves.
On paper, they don’t make any sense.
But Colt is drawn to Casey like a tide to the moon. He wants to fall into Casey’s mysterious depths and drink it all in until he knows him inside and out
Since they met, he’d memorized every lilt and tone of Casey’s words, hoping one day he can read Casey as easily as breathing. He stares at Casey as much as he can get away with, in case he ever goes blind. He collects Casey’s smiles like a magpie. Casey doesn’t smile the way Colt does, all boisterous and loud and imposing. Casey smiles like it’s a secret, like a transient spring breeze that brushes past your cheek and dissolves behind you. They’re few and far in between, but that makes each one just more precious.
And oh, can Casey drive. Colt would be lying if he said he didn’t love being shown up by Casey at the wheel. Adrenaline from a stunt that went just right is refreshing on a normal day, but adrenaline from Casey’s tail-spins and flips is nectar from the gods.
Casey is perfect. And if he had to run after him forever like the sun chases the moon, then so be it. He will go wherever Casey goes.
A sneeze startles Colt out of his reverie.
Colt’s brain bookmarks the sound of what must be the cutest sneeze ever to replay in his mind later, while he tries not to melt at the sight in front of him.
Somehow, there is flour all over the counter and Casey’s shirt and face. Colt’s eyes zero-in on the spot of flour on Casey’s nose like a dog seeing a ball in the air. His heart nearly gives out when Casey twitches his nose like a kitten.
Colt points to his own nose, “um, you got a little spot there.” His voice is tight, like he’d just swallowed caramel.
Casey raises his hand to rub at his nose. Before he can and before Colt’s brain realizes what he is doing, Colt’s body has already closed the gap and kissed the spot of flour on Casey’s nose.
Was that too much? Why did he do that? Oh God. He’s such an idiot. Who does that?
He pulls back, ready to apologize and grovel for his impulses. The words die before they make their way out of his mouth when he is far enough to see Casey again.
The tiniest, cutest smile pulls on the corner of Casey’s mouth. A sparkle twinkles in Casey’s eyes as he stares at Colt in surprised wonder. It’s one of Colt’s favorite Casey expressions.
How can anyone be so adorable?
Cuteness aggression takes over, and Colt wraps an arm around Casey’s waist to pull him close within the range of attack. He peppers kisses all over Casey’s face, his scruff tickling Casey’s sensitive skin.
Casey’s hidden smile blooms into bells of laughter. Colt’s brain also carefully stashes this moment to replay later.
Casey puts a hand on his lips and admonishes with laughter still pouring from his lips, “the cookies, Colt. Where are the eggs?”
Reluctantly, Colt lets go of his treasure, and finally returns to his task of getting the eggs out of the fridge. Despite wanting to pout like a kicked puppy, he behaves for Casey. Cookies now, kisses later. It doesn’t take long to bake cookies anyways.
***
It takes them twice as long as it usually takes Colt alone to finish baking the cookies.
It’s not his fault!
Okay, he might have done nothing but stare at the way Casey’s shoulders flexed when he kneaded the dough, wishing he was under those long delicate fingers instead. And he might have poured too much sugar, having gotten distracted by the way the afternoon sun glowed in Casey’s blond locks like a halo. And then, he might have watched much too closely at Casey’s lips when he spooned the extra sugar into his mouth, day-dreaming about what it’d be like if he was the spoon. And he might have wanted nothing but to take Casey then and there on the counter, as Casey bent down to put in the tray of cookie dough.
Colt helps himself to a glass of cold water.
Cookies first. Cookies, then kisses. And maybe bedroom.
He takes another swig.
Finally, after suffering through all ten minutes of admiring Casey’s bare arms as he washes the dishes while the cookies bake, Colt takes them out of the oven, almost dropping the whole plate when the sunlight catches on Casey’s eyelashes making them appear like gold framing his stunning blue eyes. Casey steadies Colt just in time.
“Thanks, babe.” Colt smiles, bumping Casey lightly with his hip. “What would I do without you?”
Casey rolls his eyes and moves the cookies one by one onto the cooling rack. On the final one, he breaks it in half, the cookie splitting with the perfect consistency. Turning around, he holds one piece precariously in his fingers toward Colt’s mouth.
A shock of electricity zaps through Colt, and a mischievous thought rears its head. Snapping forward, Colt gives Casey’s fingers a light bite as he takes the cookie into his mouth.
Casey makes a noise sounding somewhere between a squeak and a whimper. Pink crawls up from the edges of his shirt up his neck and to his cheeks.
Beautiful.
Feeling like the cat that got the cream, Colt smiles as he chews the sugar cookie. It has the perfect texture and moisture. It’s a bit sweeter than usual, but he likes it sweet so this works out. Ryland and Court might not like them though.
A horrifying thought pops into his mind. What if Casey doesn’t like them either? Colt hasn't really seen him eat sweets.
He nervously watches Casey put the remaining half of the cookie into his mouth. Tapping his fingers on the counter, he resists the urge to swat it out of Casey’s hand, as Casey chews and swallows.
Casey’s gorgeous eyes turn to him, and Colt has to make a conscious effort to focus on his words. “It’s delicious.”
Colt breaks out in a wide grin, a relieved laugh bursting out of his lungs. “Yeah? Not too sweet?”
“I like it sweet.” A small smile graces Casey’s lips, making Colt light-headed.
“Would you say,” Colt sing-songs, “the best you ever had?”
Casey nods, and says solemnly. “The best.”
Colt scoops Casey up into his arms and spins him around, whooping in joy.
Grabbing onto Colt’s shoulders tightly, Casey buries his head into Colt’s neck and shoulder. He smiles against Colt’s skin. It burns where Casey’s lips touch.
After what seems like an eternity of happiness, Colt sets Casey down, making sure he doesn’t tip over from dizziness.
There in the middle of his kitchen, with a crown of sunlit gold and a pair of twinkling cerulean eyes, is the most beautiful man Colt has ever seen. Slowly and gently, as if afraid he’d break an illusion, he brushes aside a gold-spun strand of hair that had fallen into Casey’s eyes.
He closes the gap between them, until his lips hover a hair-breadth away from Casey’s lips. Asking.
Casey presses his lips to Colt’s, those long delicate fingers of his that Colt adores cradling Colt’s jaw to deepen the kiss.
Colt wishes he can live this moment over and over again, forever.
Casey’s lips taste sweet.