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BossLady: Yes, we are definitely moving the SB plot along now. Poor Maggie is going to be getting pulled right in the middle of it. Killian is slowly understanding the friend idea, and having a different perspective on Neal was something I needed to write out too (due to my not-too-positive view of him). Having the juxtaposition of best friend with not all the knowledge versus a not-quite friend with all the knowledge is an interesting thing to play off, too. I'm so glad you're responding positively to it!

Title: Baking
Summary: Pre-married. After work kitchen escapades.
Note: Prompt from anon on tumblr: "gremma baking? And can we get, like, a Henry-free chapter?" A bit of fluff to invigorate the muse.

Graham walked in the front door, and set his keys and paperwork on the side table. He smiled at the sound of the music coming from the kitchen, and he shrugged off his jacket and pulled off his tie as he turned the corner.

"Hey, what's—"

He cut off, catching Emma's wide eyes. She was frozen, hand in mind action above a mixing bowl.

He quickly held out a single finger. "No."

She stuck out the spoon as a barrier, flinging chocolate in his direction in the process. She scooped up the bowl and slowly backed up. "Now, wait—"

"No," he repeated, and stepped forward. "I want our kitchen not to explode."

She huffed and quickly darted to avoid his outstretched hand. "Why would you automatically assume there would be chaos?"

He looked pointedly to his left. Flour and sugar dusted the entirety of the far counters. "Because I know you," he said wryly.

"I can cook!" she insisted, backing up as he stepped forward.

He slipped slightly and stumbled to regain his footing. He grimaced down at the batter splattered across the floor. "Cook? Yeah, sure. When you don't need a recipe, things actually can turn out pretty well," he agreed. "But baking?"

She pursed her lips, pouting slightly. "You don't have faith in my kitchen skills?"

He took another step closer. "When there's a cook book open? Let's just say there is past precedence."

He could tell almost instantly when she decided to change tactics. She stretched her arm, holding the spoon out for him. "You could have some, too?"

He ignored the utensil and grabbed her forearm. She squeaked as he twisted her into his hold, wrenching the bowl from her grip. She giggled even as she struggled. She yanked it back, getting gobs of chocolate in both her hair and his shirt in the process as she darted away.

She ran to the other side of the kitchen island, her eyes flashing. "You have to catch me first."

He felt a flush of heat at the idea, grin twitching at his lips. "You forget," he reminded, undoing the first few buttons on his top. "I never miss."

She smirked, and her gaze trailed downward. "Play fair," she warned, watching as he flung his ruined shirt onto the nearest chair.

He pounced, just barely grazing her waist as she twisted away, the contents of the bowl sloshing over the edge once more. She managed to get to the back counter, pouring a third of its contents into the pan before he caught her again.

Emma threw out a hip to back him away, and batted his hand with the spoon as she ran the opposite direction with the rest of her mix. She kept the barrier of the counter in between them, sea-colored eyes glittering in blatant challenge.

He readied himself, shifting on his toes as he determined the best way to catch her. He finally made for the left, watching her bolt before he changed tactics and ran her direction. She caught on quick, and leapt aside, but managed to slip on the chocolate dropped somewhere along the way. She fell on her side, groaning as she did. She rolled onto her back before splaying with her hands out in defeat.

He kneeled beside her, clicking his tongue. He knew her pride was more injured that she was, but he picked up her elbow to inspect the forming redness. He pressed his lips to the injured area. "I think this means I win."

She snorted and caught him around the neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He complied easily, catching the sugar off her lips. Her tongue swept his mouth before she pulled back abruptly, sighing. "One day, I'll win."

He tucked a strand of cocoa-streaked hair behind her ear, smiling. "Sure, Em."

She pouted, pulling a leg around his waist. "I'll get off early enough and make all sorts of confections, just you wait."

He chuckled and grazed his teeth right behind her ear. "And I'd come home to find the fire department washing away the burnt remains."

She hooked her fingers into his belt loops. "I'll prove I can bake."

Just as she said it, the smoke alarm began shrieking behind them. He raised a single brow. "You were saying, princess?"

She sighed and laid back. "Fine. You do it."

He shook his head and pushed to his feet, inspecting the sugar granules burning on the grates of the preheated oven. He clicked off the dial and turned on the overhead fan. "Why do I think that was your evil plan?"

"Well," she said, drawing the word out. "We could always just order something. And you can join me down here for a bit."

He checked to make sure nothing was on fire, and then kneeled back on the floor. He kept a playful distance, eyebrows quirking. "Why should I do that?"

"Let's see," she said, and scooted closer, into his space. He leaned down further, to where he could smell the sweetness of the batter on her skin. She bit down on her lip and drifted into his space. Her eyes half-mast, she leaned down to his ear. "Because I win."

With that, she turned the rest of the bowl on his head. He sat in shock for a second, feeling gobs of lumpy butter and chocolate drip down his face as she threw back her head in peals of laughter. He swept it off his head and pinned her down in one quick motion. "Now you're going to get it."

"That was my plan all along," she attested huskily.

He took great care in making sure every inch of her was chocolate-free before even thinking about the state of the kitchen.