Luc had a hard time focusing on the baking because every time he did, without fail, his gaze was drawn to the man helping him bake. Marcellin had rolled up his sun-bleached shirt’s sleeves and exposed the bony, straight lines that were his arms. His hands had much the same structure, with long fingers and prominent knuckles – those hands where kneading the dough then. Who was Luc to tell his eyes what to look at? It did not matter how much he had seen of Marcellin (which is to say, all of him), his eyes would never tire of the sight. Especially not the sight of Marcellin there, in the kitchen, as Luc knew well that Marcellin had no interest in cooking and even less baking and only did so at Luc’s request. In that sense, knowing Marcellin was helping with the lemon biscuits only made Luc’s heart flutter more than it usually did.
“Are you done with the glaze?”
Marcellin’s voice interrupted Luc’s daydream. He found his eyes had never lifted off Marcellin – it did not take Marcellin much to realise that either. Nor did it take him much to realise Luc had done absolutely nothing past cutting the lemon he said he was going to squeeze. It made him chuckle airily.
“It’s not my fault! You keep distracting me!”
Luc laughed and squeezed the lemon into a bowl, then hastily added powdered sugar and lost interest before he could mix it. All the while Marcellin watched with muted amusement.
“I’m distracting you?”
“Mhm.” Luc moved closer to the other man, placed his hands over Marcellin’s. “You are.”
The dough was soft and cold to the touch and Luc thought it was the opposite of Marcellin’s hands, warm and hard. He bit his lower lip and observed Marcellin’s distant eyes – distant with that dreamlike mystique only Marcellin’s eyes had. Soon kneading the dough together was not enough and Luc leaned over to his lover for a kiss. Marcellin shied away with a smile.
“We’ll never get these done if…” Marcellin stopped himself when he felt Luc’s arm snaking its way around his waist and the man’s lips trying to kiss up his neck. “Luc.”
It was not so much a reproach as much as a reminder that the lemon biscuits were not going to bake themselves, and that Luc’s mother would not appreciate knowing her son and son’s boyfriend were too incompetent for something as simple as baking. Luc was fully aware of it, but even so struggled to contain his affection and accepted with a pout he had to prioritise.
“Alright! We can put them in the oven now!”
Luc chirped once the biscuits were shaped and laid out on the tray. He spun on himself and leapt to the oven only to let out a high-pitched and exasperated groan.
“Fuck! I forgot to preheat it!”
He turned to Marcellin who only smiled gently, head tilted ever so slightly to the side.
“It’s alright, just put it on max so it heats quick-”
What interrupted Marcellin were the lips suddenly pressed against his own and the arm draped around his neck, pulling his face closer to Luc’s. Luc interrupted the kiss, but before Marcellin could comment Luc smirked a mischievous smirk, eye half-lidded and desirous in a teasing fashion.
“We’ve already wasted so much time… Does it even matter if we waste a bit more?”