Disclaimer: I do not own Easy Bake Oven or anything related. Rights go to respective owners!

Title: Easy-Bake Date

Warnings: Dorkiness

Summary: Arthur finds Alfred playing with a childish toy.

"You did not meet him."

"But I did!" Alfred smirks and refills Arthur's glass of chardonnay. He sits back down as Arthur lifts the cup to his lips.

"Well then do tell, I insist."

Alfred nods as he sits back and tries to recall the story exactly as it happened.

"So I was driving down the PCH and-"

"PCH?"

"Oh yeah I keep forgetting you're not from the States!" Alfred grins sheepishly as his date rolls his eyes. "I know, I know, how could I possibly forget when you're talking with that accent all the time? But anyway the PCH is the Pacific Coast Highway."

"Ah," Arthur nods, as sets his glass back down.

"So I'm driving, and I see this beautiful scene down the road, so I pull over and put the flashers on. I get out and start digging through the trunk for my Nikon, but I guess it musta looked like I was searching for a spare tire or something because someone tapped me on the back, and I turn around, and I swear to you Chris Evans is standing right in front of me."

"Oh pish posh," Arthur says, though he's smiling. "And I suppose he's exactly like the heroes he depicts in the movies, and he helped you find your camera?"

"How did you know?"

Arthur shakes his head and declines to comment.

"If you're trying to impress me, it's not working."

"And what if I told you Chris Hemsworth was also in the car with him?"

At this Arthur chuckles before he finishes what remains in his glass. He stands, picking up his plate, but Alfred panics.

"What are you doing?" he stands as well and takes the plate from Arthur's hands.

"I thought I'd help you with the dishes?" Arthur replies, though curious as Alfred leads him to the couch.

"Hey, I asked you out. And I was the one who prepared dinner, and I'll be the one to do the dishes. Don't worry about it."

Arthur takes a seat on the leather couch and pats the seat next to him.

"Well then do at least come and talk with me until I take my leave."

"I would love to do just that, but you've gotta let me cook you up dessert."

"Oh?" Arthur cocks a brow as he gets a bit more comfortable on the couch.

Alfred grins brightly, and though he's only really known Arthur for all of a few hours, he already loves being the center of his attention.

"Yup, it's my specialty. Homemade devil's food cake with chocolate buttercream frosting."

Arthur's eyes widen a tad, but Alfred can clearly see he looks awed.

"Wine and chocolate cake? You're not trying to seduce me so soon are you?"

Alfred laughs, and leans in toward his date, but in an instant pulls away.

"Wait, can I kiss you before the end of the first date?"

Arthur is left smirking again, but he nods his consent.

"Usually no, but since you asked so nicely..."

The American leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Arthur's forehead. His head feels light for a moment, and though he knows his mother would tell him not to rush things, he feels Arthur might be the one. He pulls back with a smile, then heads to the table to clear the rest of the dishes.

"Make yourself at home," he grins back at Arthur who's already fiddling with his Ipod dock. "It should be done in 20 minutes, tops."

Alfred takes his leave, rushing back into the kitchen with an arm full of dirty plates. He sets them down in the sink, atop an already growing stack of yesterday's dishes, and moves to prepare Arthur's glorious dessert.

He rummages around in the cabinets for a bit before he finds what he's looking for. It's the newest model, and though Alfred's not terribly fond of the new paint job, he absolutely cannot wait to try it out for the first time. He eagerly opens the box, and pulls out the contraption with one of his grandest smiles since childhood.

"The Easy-Bake Ultimate Oven," Alfred whispers fondly, as he runs his fingertips along the sleek plastic surface. "Aww man it's so sweet!" Alfred nearly squeals in excitement.

"Everything all right in there?" Arthur calls from the living room, and Alfred is quickly brought back to his senses.

"Yeah! I just got a little excited about how awesome this cake is gonna be!"

Alfred can hear his date chuckling in the adjacent room, but he has no time to sneak a peek at that smile; he has to bake! Now he has never told anyone, but when he was eight, Alfred received an Easy-Bake Oven from Santa for Christmas. He ripped open the box, and by the end of the day he'd used up all the mixes (including a pack of replacement sugar cookie mixes) that Santa had left. He begged his mother to take him to the store the next day, which she did, and he used all of his birthday money on mixes for his oven. Every day when Alfred returned home from school he would pull out his Easy-Bake Oven and bake the family up a treat. Mind you this started when Alfred was eight, and it didn't stop until he was eighteen.

"Alfred, honey, you really do need to throw that thing away."

"No Ma, it just needs a new light bulb in it. I'll pick one up on the way home from practice," Alfred replied as he unscrewed the dead bulb. "And I'll cook us up some brownies when I get back! How's that sound?"

But his mother clearly wasn't as excited about the chocolaty treats as her son was. By the time Alfred got home, she'd thrown away his Easy-Bake Oven and told him his childish escapades had to stop. And they did, or at least for the remainder of his senior year they did. When Alfred went to college, one of the first additions to his dorm room was a new Easy-Bake Oven. Of course he'd always hid it when his roommate was in, but when he was alone Alfred would cook up cakes and cookies and brownies to his heart's content. Sometimes, just for fun, he'd cook up enough treats for his roommate and friends, and when asked about it, he'd claim he made them in communal kitchen. That continued for four years, and no one ever figured out that Alfred was really baking up goodies in an Easy-Bake Oven. Now Alfred was 26, living in his own apartment, and very excited to try out the latest model of his favorite toy.

Alfred quickly plugs in the oven, and goes to wash the small metal pan he'll be using to make Arthur's cake. Nearly giddy with excitement, he opens the package of devil's food cake mix and pours it into the pan along with a few tablespoons of water. He mixes quickly, not even trying to hide the smile plastering his face.

"All right, now I just grab my handy pusher-puller," he says to himself, realizing it sounds dirty only after he's said it aloud. He snatches the long plastic piece, clawed at one end, puts the mold into it and then pushes the cake into the oven. He sets his watch timer for 12 minutes and moves on to work on the frosting.

Back in the living room, Arthur is still fiddling with Alfred's Ipod, trying to find any sign of a British band that isn't One Direction. He eventually settles on a song by Foreigner, which is at least semi-British. The music settles around him and Arthur is caught up wondering how on earth Alfred could make an entire cake in less than twenty minutes. Wouldn't it take at least that long to bake, not counting the time needed to cool as well as frost? But what does he know, the last time he tried to make a cake he ended up with some charred bits that in no way resembled the delicious picture in his cookbook.

But something else is also on Arthur's mind and it is increasingly becoming more prominent.

"I shouldn't of drunk half the bloody bottle of wine," Arthur mutters to himself, as he recrosses his legs several times trying to find a relaxed position. He tries to wait it out until Alfred reappears, but when Alfred turns on the tap in the kitchen, the sound nearly drives him insane. He jumps from the couch, trying to figure out which way leads to the bathroom in Alfred's small apartment. Arthur turns to his left, thinking Alfred may have mentioned that the bathroom was there when he'd come in. However he isn't exactly keen on exploring the man's apartment without permission, and after mulling it over for a few seconds he decides to ask Alfred himself. Arthur quickly makes his way to the kitchen, lest he urinate all over Alfred's nice hardwood floors.

"Might you be so kind as to tell me where the-" but the words die on his lips. For Alfred is hunched over his Easy-Bake Oven pushing the finished cake through with his handy pusher-puller. The American's eyes go wide and Arthur nearly bursts into a puddle right there.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Alfred assures, though not before he's pushed the cake out the rest of the way and is letting it rest on a trivet. "I, I-"

Arthur clasps a hand over his mouth and though he desperately wants to laugh, he knows what might follow.

"We'll discuss this later, but please tell me where the toilet is before I piss myself."

With a blush creeping its way up to his ears Alfred points and replies, "Second door on your right."

Arthur rushes off, and Alfred is so embarrassed he's not sure what to do with himself. He quickly tries to pack the oven away if only to save himself from further embarrassment. He pops the cake out of the mold, rinses the metal pan, and just as he's throwing it back in the box, Arthur reappears.

"Homemade chocolate cake?" Arthur cocks a brow as he leans against the doorframe.

Alfred laughs uneasily and tries to rub the hot blush off the back of his neck.

"Yeah well ya know, semi-homemade... I made it at home."

"You didn't even use a real ove-"

"It's a real oven!" Alfred all but shouts, and then frowns once he realizes how childish he sounds. "Well at least... ya know to me it is."

Arthur stares at him perplexed for a moment, before a small chuckle escapes his lips. Alfred looks up slightly annoyed and rakes his hand through his hair, exasperated.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh. I know I'm just a kid in an adult's body, all that junk."

Alfred steps past the chuckling Arthur, and down the hall. He opens the door, and signals to exit.

"I'm sorry I ruined you're evening," Alfred says as his face sours further and he averts his eyes to the floor. He hears Arthur's footsteps and waits for them to pass him, through the door, and down the hall to the elevator. But when they stall in front of Alfred, the man looks up and finds Arthur smiling at him, though now trying to control his laughter.

"Did you cook the rest of the meal with that toy?"

"Are you mocking me?"

"Did you?"

Alfred frowns back at his date but he answers the simple question.

"Chicken Piccata in an Easy-Bake Oven? I'm pretty sure that's impossible."

"So you're saying that you did make me homemade food?"

Alfred's mouth forms a line and he starts to squirm a bit uncomfortably.

"Well... yeah."

"And you bought an expensive bottle of chardonnay, and you also told me elaborate stories of meeting celebrities?"

Alfred bounces on the balls of his feet and answers the question a bit confused.

"Yes?"

"And I'm assuming that you did all of this because you were trying to impress me?"

Alfred's face flares up, and that's answer enough for Arthur. He closes the door quietly, latches the lock, and then turns back to Alfred.

"And on top of everything else, you made me a chocolate cake," Arthur says with a smile but Alfred is still on edge.

"Yeah but it was a sorry excuse for a cake."

"Alfred," Arthur says determinately and the younger man looks up. "If you think that was a horrid cake, wait until you see my cooking."

Alfred's lips perk up a bit and he can't help but ask what's on his mind.

"You're a terrible cook?"

Arthur nods, taking Alfred's hand and leading him back to the kitchen.

"I can't even make cereal without setting the place ablaze."

Alfred chuckles and squeezes Arthur's hand tenderly. They move to stand by the counter where the poor cake is still cooling, and Arthur nudges the plate toward Alfred.

"We all have secrets you know," he says softly, and Alfred turns to regard him. "And if you think I'm going to pass up someone who did a brilliant job of impressing me, then my boy you are terribly mistaken."

Alfred smiles warmly and can't help but think that he made a great choice in asking out the attractive Brit he sat next to on the subway on a random Thursday afternoon. He wants to say something, but before the words can make their way to his lips, Arthur has spoken again.

"You'd better finish frosting. I'm still waiting on my 'homemade devil's food cake with chocolate buttercream frosting,'" he mimics and Alfred sticks his tongue out at him.

"Of course, I'll finish it right up!" Alfred replies eagerly, as his date heads back out to the living room and he starts to stir the frosting once more. "But Arthur!" Alfred calls and sends the Brit a grand smile when he turns his way. "There's no way it'll be as sweet as you."