Fic: All I Want for Christmas (3/4) | Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas | G
Title: All I Want for Christmas (3/4)
Fandom: Bandom (The Academy Is..., Jonas Brothers)
Pairing: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas
Rating: G
Wordcount: 892
Warnings: Pure fluff.
Summary: Kevin and Mike have a not-quite-perfect Christmas.
Notes: Written for Mundane Bingo "Cookies", posted to count down to the sodamnskippy holiday fic exchange! <3 There are four ficlets, and I will be posting one per night. Happy Christmas, sodamnskippy!
The mixture in the bowl is sort of the right color, maybe, if he squints and doesn't look at it under the best lighting. But there's no denying that it's about the consistency of thick stew. Which is not, in fact, the consistency of cookie dough.
"I'm sure this is how mom always did it..." Kevin mutters, stirring harder.
"I don't think mixing it more is gonna help," Mike says. He had been keeping well clear of the disaster zone that used to be called 'the kitchen', until Kevin demanded he come here and tell me if this looks right.
Kevin resolutely keeps stirring. "Maybe it'll thicken up," he suggests, with all the blind hope of someone who knows perfectly well that it is absolutely never going to thicken up.
Mike rounds the counter and tugs the bowl out of Kevin's floury hands, dipping a finger into the mix. It tastes like watery cookie dough. Kind of. Not exactly watery. Kind of... milky.
"Did you put milk in this?" He asks, not meaning it to come out sharply, but Kevin sort of winces and looks guiltily at the measuring cup on the counter, that still has a few drops of milk clinging to it.
"Was I... not supposed to?" Kevin blinks. "I'm sure that's what mom did... It's gotta have milk in it, right?" He wipes his hands nervously on his festive Christmas reindeer apron, which Mike is doing his best to pretend doesn't exist.
"I'm pretty sure it doesn't," Mike says, idly stirring the mixture. It swirls interestingly. The chocolate chips are sort of a lump at the bottom of the mixing bowl.
"Oh." Kevin's face is always changing, always moving in time with every subtle change of emotion. He's so easy to read, almost too easy. Somehow, despite all the fame and living in the public eye, Kevin never quite learned how to fake a smile well enough to be convincing. Or maybe Mike just knows how to tell the difference. Right then, Kevin's fake smile is all guilty disappointment. There's only one egg left in the carton on the counter, and with the snow still piling up, there's no way they'll be able to get more for a while.
Mike contemplates the bowl again, then looks up at Kevin. "C'mon. I think we can fix it." He sets the bowl on the counter and starts arranging the ingredients Kevin has still sitting out.
"Are you sure?" Kevin asks from just behind his shoulder, his voice just a little bit wavery. Mike tilts his head to look back at him.
"It might take a Christmas miracle, but we can try, right?" He says, smiling because he knows Kevin likes it when he does. "Where did you put the flour?"
~*~
The cookies, when they finally emerge from the oven, are... unique. Some of them are more lumpy, some are more flat. A few are kind of crispy at the edges and deflating in the middle.
"Huh." Mike says, looking at them sitting there on the baking sheet.
Technically he's supposed to move them to the cooling rack, which is a little weird because he hadn't been aware they owned a cooling rack (it must have been one of those things their moms had slipped in without telling them about; or maybe Kevin is more committed to baking than Mike had previously realized). That's what he's supposed to be doing, but he's a little worried that the cookies might explode when he scrapes them off the sheet. Eventually he just does it though, bravely risking life and limb. One of the cookies makes a very non-cookie-like attempt at dripping slowly through the wire mesh.
"They're totally ruined," Kevin says sadly, watching the malformed cookie's escape attempt. It oozes a little in response.
Mike sets the emptied baking sheet down on top of the range. "They could taste just fine," he reasons, "We have to wait for them to cool off, right?"
The dripping cookie burbles and sinks a little further, and Kevin slumps against the refrigerator with a sigh. "You don't have to try to make me feel better," he says, crossing his arms low over his stomach.
So really, Mike has no choice but to go over there and grab Kevin by the hips and kiss him until he opens up, the hard line of his disappointed frown melting into soft pliancy. And okay, maybe it looks a little silly to be making out in the kitchen, with a rack full of unfortunate-looking cookies on the counter, and Mike still wearing a single oven mitt, and Rudolph and his pals cavorting across Kevin's stupid apron, but there's no one there to see, and Mike wouldn't give a fuck anyway.
"Yes, I do," Mike says, breaking off the kisses once Kevin starts making those happy little noises that usually end up with both of them naked. (He's all in favor of sex, and even of sex on the kitchen floor, but it's late December and the floor is sort of freezing. It wouldn't end well.) "In fact, trying to make you feel better is right there in the boyfriend job description."
Kevin blushes the way he always, always does when Mike uses the "b" word, and leans in for another kiss, and another.
On the counter, the dripping cookie slowly burbles its way toward freedom.
Fandom: Bandom (The Academy Is..., Jonas Brothers)
Pairing: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas
Rating: G
Wordcount: 892
Warnings: Pure fluff.
Summary: Kevin and Mike have a not-quite-perfect Christmas.
Notes: Written for Mundane Bingo "Cookies", posted to count down to the sodamnskippy holiday fic exchange! <3 There are four ficlets, and I will be posting one per night. Happy Christmas, sodamnskippy!
The mixture in the bowl is sort of the right color, maybe, if he squints and doesn't look at it under the best lighting. But there's no denying that it's about the consistency of thick stew. Which is not, in fact, the consistency of cookie dough.
"I'm sure this is how mom always did it..." Kevin mutters, stirring harder.
"I don't think mixing it more is gonna help," Mike says. He had been keeping well clear of the disaster zone that used to be called 'the kitchen', until Kevin demanded he come here and tell me if this looks right.
Kevin resolutely keeps stirring. "Maybe it'll thicken up," he suggests, with all the blind hope of someone who knows perfectly well that it is absolutely never going to thicken up.
Mike rounds the counter and tugs the bowl out of Kevin's floury hands, dipping a finger into the mix. It tastes like watery cookie dough. Kind of. Not exactly watery. Kind of... milky.
"Did you put milk in this?" He asks, not meaning it to come out sharply, but Kevin sort of winces and looks guiltily at the measuring cup on the counter, that still has a few drops of milk clinging to it.
"Was I... not supposed to?" Kevin blinks. "I'm sure that's what mom did... It's gotta have milk in it, right?" He wipes his hands nervously on his festive Christmas reindeer apron, which Mike is doing his best to pretend doesn't exist.
"I'm pretty sure it doesn't," Mike says, idly stirring the mixture. It swirls interestingly. The chocolate chips are sort of a lump at the bottom of the mixing bowl.
"Oh." Kevin's face is always changing, always moving in time with every subtle change of emotion. He's so easy to read, almost too easy. Somehow, despite all the fame and living in the public eye, Kevin never quite learned how to fake a smile well enough to be convincing. Or maybe Mike just knows how to tell the difference. Right then, Kevin's fake smile is all guilty disappointment. There's only one egg left in the carton on the counter, and with the snow still piling up, there's no way they'll be able to get more for a while.
Mike contemplates the bowl again, then looks up at Kevin. "C'mon. I think we can fix it." He sets the bowl on the counter and starts arranging the ingredients Kevin has still sitting out.
"Are you sure?" Kevin asks from just behind his shoulder, his voice just a little bit wavery. Mike tilts his head to look back at him.
"It might take a Christmas miracle, but we can try, right?" He says, smiling because he knows Kevin likes it when he does. "Where did you put the flour?"
~*~
The cookies, when they finally emerge from the oven, are... unique. Some of them are more lumpy, some are more flat. A few are kind of crispy at the edges and deflating in the middle.
"Huh." Mike says, looking at them sitting there on the baking sheet.
Technically he's supposed to move them to the cooling rack, which is a little weird because he hadn't been aware they owned a cooling rack (it must have been one of those things their moms had slipped in without telling them about; or maybe Kevin is more committed to baking than Mike had previously realized). That's what he's supposed to be doing, but he's a little worried that the cookies might explode when he scrapes them off the sheet. Eventually he just does it though, bravely risking life and limb. One of the cookies makes a very non-cookie-like attempt at dripping slowly through the wire mesh.
"They're totally ruined," Kevin says sadly, watching the malformed cookie's escape attempt. It oozes a little in response.
Mike sets the emptied baking sheet down on top of the range. "They could taste just fine," he reasons, "We have to wait for them to cool off, right?"
The dripping cookie burbles and sinks a little further, and Kevin slumps against the refrigerator with a sigh. "You don't have to try to make me feel better," he says, crossing his arms low over his stomach.
So really, Mike has no choice but to go over there and grab Kevin by the hips and kiss him until he opens up, the hard line of his disappointed frown melting into soft pliancy. And okay, maybe it looks a little silly to be making out in the kitchen, with a rack full of unfortunate-looking cookies on the counter, and Mike still wearing a single oven mitt, and Rudolph and his pals cavorting across Kevin's stupid apron, but there's no one there to see, and Mike wouldn't give a fuck anyway.
"Yes, I do," Mike says, breaking off the kisses once Kevin starts making those happy little noises that usually end up with both of them naked. (He's all in favor of sex, and even of sex on the kitchen floor, but it's late December and the floor is sort of freezing. It wouldn't end well.) "In fact, trying to make you feel better is right there in the boyfriend job description."
Kevin blushes the way he always, always does when Mike uses the "b" word, and leans in for another kiss, and another.
On the counter, the dripping cookie slowly burbles its way toward freedom.