“Slowly. You want to turn the bowl, make it work for you as you fold the whipped eggs into the mixture.” Bay’s lips almost brushed his lover’s neck as he stood behind him, talking him through the recipe. It was hot and humid, the summer weather not really meant for baking, but when you owned a bakery that didn’t matter. People wanted their muffins and cookies no matter the weather.
It was a perk, though, that the heat meant Graham had forgone his usual button up shirt. After a little convincing he’s forgone his shirt altogether. One of the things Bay loved about baking was the way it incorporated the senses, the smell of the vanilla and chocolate, the sound of the mixer, the taste of cranberries and oatmeal, the touch of the elastic dough under his hand. Touch had taken on a whole new meaning, though, when it was Graham’s back against his chest.
“When do we know it’s done?” Graham’s forearms flexed as he stirred the batter. Bay almost forgot to look at the mix itself.
“That’s good. We can spoon it into the cups now.” He picked up the ice cream scoop and used it to fill each tin. Habit had him moving quickly, taking only a few minutes to get the whole batch into the oven.
“And now we wait?” Graham asked. Despite being his day off work he’d been up at four to help in the kitchen. In half an hour it would be time to open the shop. And get dressed. A lot could happen in half an hour.
“Waiting is one thing we could do. I can think of a few other, more pleasant, things.” His hands left trails of flour dust over Graham’s chest, whites at his shoulders, growing fainter as they trailed down to his abdomen.
“I thought you were a responsible business owner, Bailey Gold.” Graham’s laugh was a low rumble as he allowed himself to be backed against the steel prep table.
“I will be when it’s time to open up. Right now I’m a man with some free time on his hands and I know just what to do with it.” His fingers pulled on Graham’s zipper. “It’s a bit warm in here, don’t you think?”
“Practically a sauna,” Graham agreed as he returned the favor. They embraced, tongues meeting with a fire as hot as the one in the oven. Sweat dripped off their bodies; the table would need a good sterilization before it was used again, but Bay wouldn’t protest the extra work, not when raham boosted himself up to the flat surface and sat with legs spread. He lisked his lips, looking at the erection he had every intention of tasting.
He almost didn’t hear the bell above the door.
“Bay? Are you here, son? I was hoping to pick up some pastries on my way to work.”
Bay froze at the sound of his dad’s voice, and looked around frantically for his pants. Fuck. From now on he was going to have to have a strict no sex in the kitchen rule.