Baking is an art.
The smell of vanilla tickles at Takaba's nose. He lines a muffin tray with paper liners, as his lips let out some low notes.
Baking is the kind of art you spend years, eons, perfecting. Contrary to popular belief; baking doesn't only consist of sweet-temptating fat. (Though the 'tempting-fat' part was probably true.) Pizza, for example, is a baked flat bread with toppings. Another is a average favorite—Meat Pie. And Roasted Potato, the mouthwatering classic. The list is, well, endless.
They taste savory, and spicy. The elite comfort foods, according to some.
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Takaba pulls out a separate baking tray.
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Baking evolves, as like humanity. Years form it. Morals form it. Trends form it.
The rain creates pitter-patter, on the glass of windows. Ha.. So calming, Takaba muses. While inside, he's unable to enjoy the fresh perfume of wet earth. Such a shame.
And most important of all: Baking evolves with the wagging tongue of humanity.
Even with the window open, who has the chance to feel the real thing. It would've been nice if there was a gadget he could smell the outside with, while still being inside. Well... at least he could bake chocolate chip muffins! He thinks with a shit-eating grin in place.
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All for himself; and absolutely none for that fucking animal.
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He glances up at the abrupt ring of the oven. 'Ah.. The oven's heated up!' He wipes his hands on his (...pink, frilly) apron, and sprints to the mixing bowl full of yellow batter.
As he filled the liners with batter, as un-messily as possible, drops of batter fall and cake on his fingers. Takaba stares at it like a hawk, eyes shining,
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Maybe... it wouldn't be too much of a sin if he just tries some?
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No no no! He scowls and shakes his head, to clear his temptation. That is unsanitary! (After all those scolding from mom, he knew better than to do the dirty.) He is quick to put the first batch in the oven. Unless he eats all the batter and chaos ensue...
Takaba falls lazily down on a chair, and grabs a magazine to flip through.
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He sighs. Damn.. Why are the models darn mediocre these seasons? Even Asami makes better looking expressions-
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Takaba stops himself. Wait. What? What the hell was that? ...Did I just refer to him as hot? Oh my fucking god-
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Then he hears the front door open.
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It can be none other than Sir Asami Ryuchi (also famous as; the only valid money maker of the household) the great. Besides, no one else has the house key other than Asami and himself.
Takaba stands up, just when the sound of a sudden hit-fall, and a low groan reach his ears. He chased towards it, and doesn't look back as the magazine hit the floor with a thud.
"A-Asami..." Takaba's eyes widen upon the sight of Asami clutching his forehead as he shot a glare at a nearby wall-cabinet.
"I really should get rid of this." Says the man. And it was true. Ever since they renovated this house, Asami has kept on hitting the cursed cupboard. Most of it was probably the fault of Asami's own height, Takaba theorized. It was like, the guy kept on growing- Takaba doesn't even think this is even possible with men over thirty.
"Hey, Get me the first aid kit."
Takaba hastes on fulfilling the requ- order. "Heh.. What hurts more? Your ego or that?"
Asami sits down on a chair, his burly hands gripping on Takaba's first aid box. "...That hurts. You want to kiss it better?" He sports a slight sneer.
Takaba purses his lips. "Heh. Who wants to kiss your ego?"
"I wasn't necessarily referring to my ego. I could be, well," Asami pauses and takes out a band aid, "referring to other more cylindrical objects."
Takaba frowns.
What was this guy in on?
"What-"
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Then he realizes it.
What 'cylindrical object' Asami is suggesting,
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Takaba is all goggly eyes.
He's referring to a ...cock.
Asami innocently applies medicine to his bump.
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Takaba's face burnt. What. What. What the absolute fucking fuck. Oh bloody god- he is- the red hot burn gets the best of him, and he hyperventilates. He is almost sure he was breathing smoke through his nostrils.
Then a light 'ting!' echoes down the hall.
Takaba remembered with a wide mouth. —The cupcakes!
He dashes towards the kitchens. His nails dig into the ground, and he panty. Happy, lively, and oh my god finally it's done.
He stares at the tray full of golden brown fluffs of buttery goddess, almost salivating from the smell of it all.
He pulls the muffin sheet out of the oven, and carefully plops each cake out onto a wire rack. He hand-fans a lot of them with haste. Ah... They look so nice~
Eventually, he grabs a cake, and takes a bite out of it.
He chews slowly, thinking the best of it—before a an urge to vomit coils through him. And he splutters out the contents onto the nearest plate, coughing. While the cakes might have looked decadent and smelled heavenly, the taste is horrid. Through and through.
It seemed that Takaba had, unknowingly, put a tad too much baking soda into the batter; turning the (would've been delicious) cakes into inedible balls of trash, by giving them a bitter, powdery metallic taste.
Maybe I should just trash them? He sighs, as he tapped fingers on his chin.
He doesn't exactly have the heart the throw them out, just like that. After all; he had spent hard work on this. (Then why is this so shitty?!)
Just then, Asami strides into the kitchen few moments later, with all the finesse of a tired make-up smudged woman. The man opens the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.
Takaba has a notion.
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Maybe... He can feed these to that guy?
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It would be amusing to see if Asami were to fake a good review, or maybe watch him squirm under the disgusting taste. Takaba giggles at the mental image. Furthermore, he could also make the bastard finish all these if he fakes the review. None would go to waste then. It would be like removing all dirt with one swipe of a broom.
Takaba grins. Absolutely perfect. He mentally pats himself a praise.
He creeps up on the unsuspecting victim sitting on a chair. "Asami-sama~! This humble servant has prepared your meal!" He performs a Dogeza. Just for show.
Asami raises a brow at at him.
"Made with the finest milk and the creamiest butter; only and only for you - the English fairy cake!" Takaba grins a greasy smile. "I hope that his majesty will like it~" Asami's brows are crooked, overall he baffled at the drama.
Keke~ Takaba tries hard not to laugh aloud.
"Oh-? What have you done this time?"
"E-eh?" Takaba laughs. "What are you talking 'bout?"
"Mm..." Asami smiles. Fucking smiles. "Nothing. Pass the ...thing."
Doth as one is told. Takaba covers his mouth with a hand, trying to cover the low sinckers, as Asami bites out a generous chunk of cake with leisure. He chews, slow and steady before he comes to a sudden halt. Eyes slightly wide and nose scrunched.
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Takaba grins, waiting. Waiting for Asami to go haywire upon the place. Just a bit more.. Just a bit-
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Please scratch that phrase. For Asami has simply swallowed the ball of goop. Albeit with an ashen face, a scrunched up nose and a glare pointed at Takaba.
Takaba stands on the sidelines, mouth wide open and hanging.
"Y-You ate it..?"
Why? Why the fuck would the guy eat such a- oh my fucking god. (It seems Takaba has the extreme need to curse every hour today..) Asami stares at him, and a long silence ensues. And Takaba still stands with his mouth wide open.
This is what he wanted right? Wanting to make him finish them- well, he hadn't actually thought that Asami would actually eat them but.. Asami speaks that exact moment:
"It seems baking fairy cakes, isn't your forte."
"..." Takaba blinks at him. "W-what.. Why."
Asami raises his brows and smirks. Takaba feels a wash of any sort of awe he felt, wash away to the drums of wanting to fucking kill and rip apart the mocking bastard. "Want to taste proof?"
"Wait-"
Takaba is dragged forwards by his collar, and straight onto the older man's lips.
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Oh my god.
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Takaba's tongue is pulled into Asami's mouth. He feels the soft walls of the lips and the warmth of Asami's breath against his face.
Takaba tastes the metallic tang of the cake, and cigs, and Asami himself.
Takaba can only blink rapidly. He wanted to... He wanted to...
He wanted to do.. What?
What the hell is this situation.
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Asami mutters against his lips. "You have to make it up to me; for making me eat that thing." Takaba's head is spinning. The world before him is coming to a darkened close and he can only smell the ...strange smell on Asami's collar. It's not ladies' perfume, that—he's certain of.
It's.. He thinks, metallic.
And a bit addictive.
He's soon lulled away from the kitchen; and towards the bedroom.
He doesn't remember what time it is, the next time he comes to his senses. He feels the hot-hard burn of Asami's cock inside of him, the erratic heat of his own breath, and the sharp of Asami's gaze.
He can't help but think: Oh.. His eyes are so gold.
A moan tears out of his kiss-bitten lip. And he feels the hiss of teeth against teeth, the shine of ruby-gold eyes on his naked and vulnerable persona.
Then, Takaba figures the source of that... strange smell on Asami's body. Oh, how good knows it. He's smelt it before. On Feilong, on himself, and on others.
Blood and gunpowder.
Takaba's feet are ice cold.
What's to happen? Is this all a dream?
He glances at Asami's sweat laced face, in midst of fire and icy whispers. And Takaba is a stone. A rough stone in sand.
He's like a passion fruit, he thinks.