asphaltcowgrrl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asphaltcowgrrl) wrote2015-05-12 03:01 pm
asphaltcowgrrl) wrote2015-05-12 03:01 pm
Entry tags:
Stress Baking 101 (Common Law Fic)
Title: Stress Baking 101
Fandom: Common Law
Pairing: Travis Marks + Wes Mitchell
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,302
Summary: Wes bakes when he’s anxious and lately, he’s been really stressed.
Author’s Note: There’s a contractor we used to do a lot of work with who liked to tell me ‘a balanced diet is a cookie (or sometimes a donut) in each hand’. John, this is for you.
No one understood the real reason why he was so reluctant to move out of the hotel and into a place of his own. Not one, single soul had a clue about his secret obsession, not even his ex-wife, and he’d planned on keeping it that way forever, if he were able. Finally, no one, but no one, had any idea how much this obsession, this compulsion, was a danger to his health.
Sighing, Wes stirred the batter in the clear glass bowl. It was his fourth batch of brownies today – although these were blondies, just like he was – and at the rate he was going, it very well might not be his last. The chocolate caramel pecan pan of yumminess hadn’t even had time to cool before he was melting more butter, stirring in the brown sugar, hoping that he got this lot just right. Blondies were the bane of his existence, they never came out quite the way he liked them – crisp on the edges, chewy in the middle – but he kept trying every chance he got.
He was going to gain a million pounds if he didn’t get a handle on it soon. Shaking his head, Wes set the bowl down and walked out of the kitchen. The scent of cocoa, toasted nuts, and stress relief filled his little house, tickling his nose and bringing a smile to his face. The sight and smell of freshly baked anything always eased his frazzled nerves and now wasn’t any exception. Trouble was, now he had no one to share his goodies with. Back in law school, he’d simply open his dorm room door and the entire floor would flood his tiny space and eat their fill. But now, now he was on his own with no one to share his creations with and it made him sad.
It also made him fear for his waistline.
“There’s the captain,” he reminded himself. “Sutton does love his sweets. And the girls – Kate, Amy, Jonelle and Kendall – will probably welcome a little bit of something sweet and chocolate.” The next sentence died in his throat. The words ‘sweet’ and ‘chocolate’ pushed him straight in the direction he hadn’t wanted to go – they forced him right back into the arms of why he was baking in the first place.
Travis Marks.
“Yeah, Mitchell,” he growled into the quiet, “Travis would love a brownie or six. The man has a stomach made of iron.”
God, where had he gone wrong? He’d gone over that night in his mind a thousand times, and still, he couldn’t pinpoint the moment when it had all gone to hell, when he’d come to understand just how in love he was with Travis. A better question might be: how had he let such an idiotic thing happen?
With a groan born of frustration and unrequited love, Wes stormed back into the kitchen, grabbing a cereal bowl from the cupboard. Into it he placed a large slice of still warm chocolate caramel pecan brownie before stalking to the refrigerator for a container of his favorite vanilla bean ice cream to pile on top. Wes knew this wasn’t the way to handle stress, nor was it an acceptable way to deal with his confusing feelings. But standing there, alone in his deliciously smelling kitchen, it was the only thing he could think of that would ease the ache in his chest.
Shoving a large forkful into his mouth, he mumbled, “God I hate you, Marks. Why did you have to come into my life?”
Early the next morning, Wes neatly packed all but one of each of the five brownies he’d made the night before into airtight containers. Stacking them one on top of the other, he carried them out to his car in batches. Taking them to the station was his best bet – cops were like construction workers in that they’d eat anything they didn’t have to prepare themselves. Keeping back one of each wasn’t smart. Wes knew it’d only serve as a trigger later tonight, or even possibly lay dormant until the weekend. But he knew that that trigger would get pulled and he’d find himself back in the kitchen, surrounded by flour, sugars, and the instruments of his own demise.
Kendall met him by his car that morning and helped in toting the sugar laden delights he’d concocted and tasted. Wes had piled two containers into her arms before removing the final three for his own arms. Her sudden appearance eased his anxiety over bringing all these baked goods into the precinct on his own. If anyone asked, he could always say he was helping her, and not the other way around. It was underhanded, but he didn’t care. Anything to get the diet busters out of the house.
With a cockeyed look at her almost-friend, Kendall said, “Detective? If you bake like this all the time, might I suggest a membership to one of those warehouse stores?”
That was the last thing Wes needed. It was bad enough he’d found that restaurant supply place with their five pound bags of gourmet chocolate chips, imported Mexican vanilla extract, and a million other tempting things. Something like what she was suggesting would be the death of him, and possibly half of the precinct. It was well known that heart disease was a top killer of policemen all over the country. He didn’t need to single handedly add Type II diabetes to the list.
As if he could smell the sweets from inside the building, Travis appeared in the hallway outside their department, a half-curious, half-seductive smile lingering on his lips. “Mmm, so what do we have here, blondie?” Travis lifted the lid off the container of rocky road brownies and frowned. The pout he wore was damn near as delicious as the brownies he was glowering at.
“Problem, Marks?” Wes was a tiny bit hurt that he’d rejected the very first thing he’d seen.
“Marshmallows,” Travis said without preamble. “They’re only good for hot chocolate, s’mores, and throwing at people when they’re stale. Got anything else in these boxes?”
Kendall obliged Travis’ sweet tooth by popping open the top container she carried, the ones containing Wes’ nearly perfect blondies. He’d been so proud when they’d come out of the oven last night, pure golden delight in every last bite. It had taken every last ounce of willpower not to devastate the entire pan while he watched The Voice and cried over the pathetic state of his life.
He was beginning to rethink Dr. Ryan’s offer for private sessions.
Again, Travis frowned, but removed one butterscotch-y square from the box. A couple wonderful crumbs clung to his thumb. “What the hell kind of brownie is this, Mitchell? You forget the chocolate?”
“No, Travis, these don’t have cocoa in them.”
“They’re called blondies,” Kendall added, causing Wes to cringe. “They’re my favorites.”
“Huh,” Travis said, turning the brownie around in his fingers. “So blondie made a blondie? I like it.” He sniffed the cut edge and took a giant bite. Chewing slowly, he nodded his approval before grabbing two more out of the box. Shoving another bite into his mouth, Marks wandered off.
“Where do you think he’s going,” Kendall asked, watching the detective leave.
“To the kitchen for either a cup of coffee or a glass of milk. My money’s on a glass of milk,” Wes predicted.
“Yeah,” Kendall agreed. “He is a rather large child, isn’t he?”
Rain poured from the skies, dampening the ground as well as Wes’ mood. The case he and Travis were working was going nowhere and he had planned on heading back to the crime scene for another good look. That was out of the question now because the park would be soaked. Any remaining evidence would at best be compromised. At worst, it was already washed away. Perfect.
He thought about calling Travis, asking if he wanted to grab some lunch, rehash the details of the case and then changed his mind. Until he got his feelings sorted – and stored away in a lockbox – there wasn’t any way he could trust himself alone with Travis outside of work. It was bad enough watching him devour brownie after brownie the other day at work. Crumbs on his fingers, chocolate on his lips, it was all too much. And then the sugar rush kicked in making Travis into a big, adorable, rambunctious teddy bear of a man.
Wes hadn’t ever wanted to kiss him as badly as he had that afternoon.
Instead, he’d sent Travis home with instructions to eat some real food and take a damn nap. Even though Wes hadn’t managed to make any more progress with Marks gone, it had been in his best interests to get the boy out of his sight until Travis calmed down. Who knew his partner became so huggy and clingy when he’d had too much sugar?
Travis had made it halfway to the exit that afternoon before he doubled back, wrapped those two glorious, perfectly muscled arms around Wes’ shoulders and squeezed for all he was worth. Wes’ heart had nearly stopped in his chest as his nose filled with the sharp scent of Travis’ cologne. It had carried him for the past couple days, haunting him in his dreams at night. Such magnificent torture.
A rumble of thunder, followed by a streak of lightning, brought Wes back into the present. The window that looked onto his back yard was blurred with running water, making the trees and grass look like a waking dream. Everything was indistinct, blurred and surreal. Echoing the sounds of nature, Wes’ stomach grumbled in protest. It’d been hours since he’d last eaten and his body was letting him know it had had enough.
Sighing, Wes turned from the grey light coming through the window and looked towards his kitchen. They’d been working so many hours that he hadn’t had a chance to go shopping, and his shelves were pretty bare. For dinner last night, he’d eaten the remaining chocolate walnut brownie alongside the last scoop of ice cream. His mother would be appalled if she knew, but he counted it a win that he was even in his own place at the moment. One thing at a time, Wes reminded himself. One day at a time.
It was entirely too nasty to go outside to shop and it seemed selfish to expect a deliveryman to drive in this mess. Finding himself at an impasse, Wes figured he’d bite the bullet and just buy some food, knowing he’d need to sooner or later. And it would kill an hour, at least. If he could spend just sixty minutes thinking about something other than Travis Marks, then going out into the downpour would also be an epic win.
“Move it or lose it, Mitchell,” he told himself, grabbing his car keys and a jacket.
Twelve minutes later, he was standing on the baking goods aisle staring at the multitude of chips, chunks and morsels at his disposal. Semisweet, milk, white, cinnamon, you name it, it was accounted for in some fashion. There were even chocolate swirled with mint, caramel, or peanut butter and others filled with the same variations. The possibilities were endless and he chided himself for not having come to the store earlier. This was, as it always had been, the perfect cure to his rain-induced restlessness. Rainy days, by definition, were made for baking cookies.
Piling his basket with the classic semi-sweet, he also snagged a bag of mint-flavored chips, some toffee bits, and a pouch of the raspberry filled morsels. That last item he figured wouldn’t ever make it into a cookie, brownie, or bar, but no one had to actually know that, right? Positive he’d need to stock up on other staples, he turned the cart around and headed for the dairy aisle for butter, eggs, and yogurt cups (to presumably keep him from eating too many cookies, which even he knew, was futile). Remembering at the last minute that he needed some actual food, he again turned his cart around and added a few necessary items to the contents and finally checked out.
Wes was more than a little ashamed by the fact he stopped for a cheeseburger on the way home, despite the trunkful of food he was carrying. It was becoming apparent that Travis had invaded his life more than he had realized at first. So much for those beautiful greens he’d bought. But tomorrow was another day and the salad would keep.
But the cookies would not.
By Sunday evening, he found himself surrounded again by more sweets than one man needed, no matter how frustrated the man in question might be. Wes thought again, as he looked at the piles of cookies packed neatly in boxes on his table, that maybe he ought to reach out to Dr. Ryan about this stress baking thing he had going on.
Note to self: take cookies to therapy on Tuesday.
“Dude,” Travis said while peeking into the box on top of the pile in Wes’ trunk. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I think I like it.” He swiped two oatmeal toffee cookies out of the box and shoved one into his mouth.
A half-grin kicked up the left side of Wes’ face. “So glad I could make you happy, Marks.”
Travis smiled back, mouth full of cookie. “If you keep baking like this, I’ll be delirious before long. You’re amazing in the kitchen, baby.”
As compliments went, it wasn’t the best he’d ever received, but considering that Travis came from a long line of foster moms with more kitchen skills than most celebrity chefs, he allowed himself to be flattered. Besides, compliments were few and far between when you were partnered with someone like Travis Marks. Now, how did he tell Marks that as long as they were glued at the hip, he’d continue baking like Betty Crocker?
Putting another cookie into his mouth, Travis chewed delightfully for a moment before poking Wes in the arm. “I knew you liked to cook, you’ve made me enough meals over the years,” he said, taking another bite of cookie. “But I had no idea that you liked to bake.”
Shrugging, Wes lifted the cookies out of his trunk. “It was a natural progression. I cook because I like to eat. Because I like dessert, too, I learned to bake. No biggie.” He tried to play it off as something everyone did, even though Wes knew that most people went for takeout or to a bakery when they wanted something specific. He nodded at the trunk, “Get that for me would you?”
Travis slammed the trunk, eliciting a wince out of the blond. “Makes sense to me. But why the sudden surge in baked goods, Wes?”
That was a good question, one he didn’t have a proper response to. Wes only wished he could pinpoint the moment when it had all become clear, when he’d realized that Travis was what he’d been waiting for all this time, but he couldn’t. Was it when Travis had tilted his head, breaking out into that brilliant smile? Or had it been when Wes had given Travis some kind of backhanded compliment and gotten a playful shove in retaliation? It could have been either, or it could have been both, but Wes was inclined to believe it was something else completely.
It had been a long day that turned into an even longer night. They’d been sitting at the table in Wes’ little house going over the case details one more time. Nothing had changed, nothing was going to change, and they both knew it. Wes had plunked both elbows onto the table, propping his face in his hands. He’d sat there like that for several moments, gathering his thoughts. When Wes lifted his head, his blond hair stood out at all angles, ruffled and in disarray. Travis had smiled at him then, reaching out a hand and brushing his fingers against Wes’ rumpled bangs. Those warm fingers brushed Wes’ forehead, bringing something to life in the depths of his soul. It wasn’t until hours later that he realized exactly what that stirring had been.
Desire.
“Wes?”
“Sorry. I’ve – we’ve – been under a lot of stress with these last two cases and it’s gotten to me in a big way. When I was in law school, I coped by making cookies for everyone in the dorm. It helped me focus better and gave everyone else the sugar boost they needed to continue studying.” He slowed so Travis could hold the door for him. “I didn’t realize just how stressed I was until I woke up this morning with all these cookies.”
“Man, we need to find you a girl,” Travis chuckled. He lifted the lid on the box topping the stack in Wes’ arms and hijacked a couple more cookies.
“Damnit, Marks, stay out of my cookies,” he scolded without any real heat. “And I don’t need a girlfriend, either. One ex-wife is enough drama for this lifetime.”
“I never said ‘girlfriend’, I just said ‘girl.’ And of course you do, everyone needs somebody,” Travis said. He bit into the cookie and sighed. “Wes, these are the best thing you’ve made so far. What the hell are they?”
Wes eyed the cookie in Travis’ hand for a moment. “Cowboy cookies. One of my favorites, too.”
Travis held the cookie out to him. “Bite?”
Uncertain of what was proper, Wes hesitated and then opened his mouth. Travis stuck the cookie inside and he bit into it. Chewing, he assured himself that they’d turned out like they were supposed to. The notion floated through his mind then that this very cookie had touched Marks’ mouth in a very intimate manner. God, he was going to make himself crazy with thoughts like that. “Thanks, Travis.”
“Welcome,” he said, finishing off the last of the sweet in his hand. “What’s in these things anyway? Peanut butter?”
“More like what isn’t,” Wes said. “Peanut butter, cocoa, chocolate chips, nuts, coconut… all my favorite things.” Except for you, but he’d keep that tidbit to himself.
“These are a winner.” Travis took two boxes from Wes’ arms and set them on the break room counter. “You still need someone, Wes. Even if it’s just a friendly date or two. Ya gotta get out there and relive some anxiety somehow.”
“I’ll go to the gym, thanks.” Wes put the other two boxes on the counter beside the others. “And if I keep this shit up, I might never be able to leave the treadmill.”
“As a stress reliever, sex beats the treadmill hands down,” Travis stated. He began rifling through the boxes to see what else Wes had made.
“I second that,” Jonelle said, stepping into the break room.
“What are you doing up here, Jonelle?” Wes was shocked to see her outside the morgue.
“Talk was you two were carrying boxes again this morning,” she said, sticking her hand into the box Travis currently held open. “After those brownies, I had to find out what you had in store for us today.”
Embarrassed, Wes opened boxes and described their contents to half the robbery homicide division. Somewhere in the midst of it all, a gallon of milk was produced and poured. Compliments were given and cookies were eaten and eventually, everyone wandered off to where they were supposed to be. Life went on. Sort of.
Jonelle took a handful to last her the morning and thanked Wes again with a hug. “And you know,” she whispered in Wes’ ear, “Travis is right. Sex beats a treadmill every time. He offers, I’d go for it.”
“But…” He didn’t know what else to say to that.
Travis watched the medical examiner leave and then switched his gaze to Wes’ flushed face. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing,” Wes lied.
“Right. So why is your face so red?” He leaned against the counter, a cookie in each hand, and waited.
Unable to take Travis’ gaze, he gave in. “She just agreed with you. About sex. And treadmills.”
“Told you,” Travis said, winking.
The rest of what she’d said burned in his brain, making him wonder why Jonelle would have thrown out such a statement. Powerless to stop his mouth, he found himself blurting that, too, out. “She also said that if you offered I should say yes.”
Laughter burst from Travis’ mouth. “She said what? Oh, I swear, I’m never telling that woman anything ever again.” Marks continued to chuckle, nibbling on a cookie between head shakes.
“Wait,” Wes said, moving closer to his partner. “What does that mean? Did you tell her something that would explain why she told me that last bit?”
Licking a bit of chocolate from his thumb, Travis sobered somewhat. “You are so oblivious, it’s adorable, Wes.” After wiping his hands on a paper towel, Travis gripped Wes’ wrist with his fingers and pulled him even nearer. “I asked her for advice.”
“Advice? On what?” He felt that panicky flutter starting in his belly and he didn’t like it.
“On the best way to ask you out, but every time I’ve tried, it’s gone right over your head.” Travis sighed and looked away. When his gaze returned, he wore a more serious look. “I thought you’d finally gotten it that night, but I guess not.”
Wes blinked. This couldn’t be happening to him. Not here, not now. Travis pushed off the cabinet, bringing him within inches of Wes’ body. A warm, dark-skinned hand cupped a pale cheek. “Travis, what are you saying?”
Another chuckle. “Even when I’m laying it all out there, plain as day, you still miss it. What am I going to do with you?” Travis pressed his lips to the center of Wes’ forehead and moved away. “We can talk about this later, or not. It’s up to you.”
And then he left Wes standing alone in the break room.
Had he really been that oblivious that he missed Travis’ interest in him? Well, he had to admit, he did his best to focus on work and nothing else, but he didn’t think he would have missed something like that. But then, it suddenly started to make sense.
All the teasing. The way Travis smiled at him when he got angry. The touching coupled with all the pet names. It’d been right there, in front of him all the time and Wes hadn’t had a clue. What an absolute idiot he was.
Wes looked out at Travis, hunched over his desk, head in his hand. He’d never seen his ever confident partner look so defeated. It was time he and Travis hashed this out and got it all out in the open. Reaching for the nearest box of cookies, he grabbed handful to take as a peace offering. After all, who could resist a man bearing cookies? Definitely not Travis Marks.
“Come on, Marks, we’re going to get a cup of coffee.”
Travis looked up into the depthless blue eyes of his partner and sighed. “Not right now, Wes. I can’t do this with you today.”
“I don’t care, Travis,” Wes said. “I’ve spent the last week and a half trying to convince myself that I wasn’t in love with you and you drop this on me? Only to tell me you ‘can’t do this’? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been saying exactly that to myself?”
“Why now,” Travis asked.
“Because if we don’t do it now, we’ll never do it,” Wes said, believing it to be true. “Besides, I have cookies, all we need for a good chat is a little coffee.”
That handsome face cracked into a smile. “You do have a point, Wes. Let’s go get some coffee. No promises, but we’ll talk.”
“Perfect,” Wes said, slapping Travis’ back, nibbling on a cookie before his partner ate them all.
Six Months Later
Travis stretched, long, dark limbs stark against the crisp white sheets. Wes was tucked into his side, breathing quietly, sleep slowly overcoming him. Brushing his fingers through the sweat-matted blond hair of his lover, Travis smiled.
“Mmm,” Wes muttered, gravitating towards the warmth of Travis’ broad chest. “So nice. Just like this.”
“Yeah, baby,” Travis agreed. “And I’ve been thinking…”
Wes snuggled in even closer, listening to the beat of Marks’ heart against his ear. “And?”
“And I was wondering… you know how to make pies?” Travis’ fingers continued to tease Wes’ hair.
“What?” Startled laughter escaped Wes. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because I’m hungry for pie, baby.” He traced a pale cheek with a fingertip.
“I’m beginning to think I never should have told you that if you were ever craving something…”
“…to just ask and I’ll make it for you, Travis,” Marks mocked, grinning. “So does this mean no pie?”
“Not tonight,” Wes said, pressing his lips to the underside of a large arm. “But maybe tomorrow. If you’re good.”
“Mmmm… with a promise like that, you’re about to see just how good I can be,” Travis murmured, burying his nose in Wes’ neck.
Rolling onto his back, Wes held out his arms. “Don’t bother waiting until tomorrow. You can start right now.”
Cackling with glee, Travis pounced, shaking the entire bed with his weight.
For the first time since deciding to move, Wes was happy that he actually had. There were still entirely too many sweets in the place, but now it was due more to Travis’ incurable sweet tooth than it was to Wes’ stress-induced baking escapades. Thanks to Travis, he’d found a much more enjoyable – and easier on the waistline – method of relieving anxiety.
God love Travis Marks.
Fandom: Common Law
Pairing: Travis Marks + Wes Mitchell
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,302
Summary: Wes bakes when he’s anxious and lately, he’s been really stressed.
Author’s Note: There’s a contractor we used to do a lot of work with who liked to tell me ‘a balanced diet is a cookie (or sometimes a donut) in each hand’. John, this is for you.
No one understood the real reason why he was so reluctant to move out of the hotel and into a place of his own. Not one, single soul had a clue about his secret obsession, not even his ex-wife, and he’d planned on keeping it that way forever, if he were able. Finally, no one, but no one, had any idea how much this obsession, this compulsion, was a danger to his health.
Sighing, Wes stirred the batter in the clear glass bowl. It was his fourth batch of brownies today – although these were blondies, just like he was – and at the rate he was going, it very well might not be his last. The chocolate caramel pecan pan of yumminess hadn’t even had time to cool before he was melting more butter, stirring in the brown sugar, hoping that he got this lot just right. Blondies were the bane of his existence, they never came out quite the way he liked them – crisp on the edges, chewy in the middle – but he kept trying every chance he got.
He was going to gain a million pounds if he didn’t get a handle on it soon. Shaking his head, Wes set the bowl down and walked out of the kitchen. The scent of cocoa, toasted nuts, and stress relief filled his little house, tickling his nose and bringing a smile to his face. The sight and smell of freshly baked anything always eased his frazzled nerves and now wasn’t any exception. Trouble was, now he had no one to share his goodies with. Back in law school, he’d simply open his dorm room door and the entire floor would flood his tiny space and eat their fill. But now, now he was on his own with no one to share his creations with and it made him sad.
It also made him fear for his waistline.
“There’s the captain,” he reminded himself. “Sutton does love his sweets. And the girls – Kate, Amy, Jonelle and Kendall – will probably welcome a little bit of something sweet and chocolate.” The next sentence died in his throat. The words ‘sweet’ and ‘chocolate’ pushed him straight in the direction he hadn’t wanted to go – they forced him right back into the arms of why he was baking in the first place.
Travis Marks.
“Yeah, Mitchell,” he growled into the quiet, “Travis would love a brownie or six. The man has a stomach made of iron.”
God, where had he gone wrong? He’d gone over that night in his mind a thousand times, and still, he couldn’t pinpoint the moment when it had all gone to hell, when he’d come to understand just how in love he was with Travis. A better question might be: how had he let such an idiotic thing happen?
With a groan born of frustration and unrequited love, Wes stormed back into the kitchen, grabbing a cereal bowl from the cupboard. Into it he placed a large slice of still warm chocolate caramel pecan brownie before stalking to the refrigerator for a container of his favorite vanilla bean ice cream to pile on top. Wes knew this wasn’t the way to handle stress, nor was it an acceptable way to deal with his confusing feelings. But standing there, alone in his deliciously smelling kitchen, it was the only thing he could think of that would ease the ache in his chest.
Shoving a large forkful into his mouth, he mumbled, “God I hate you, Marks. Why did you have to come into my life?”
Early the next morning, Wes neatly packed all but one of each of the five brownies he’d made the night before into airtight containers. Stacking them one on top of the other, he carried them out to his car in batches. Taking them to the station was his best bet – cops were like construction workers in that they’d eat anything they didn’t have to prepare themselves. Keeping back one of each wasn’t smart. Wes knew it’d only serve as a trigger later tonight, or even possibly lay dormant until the weekend. But he knew that that trigger would get pulled and he’d find himself back in the kitchen, surrounded by flour, sugars, and the instruments of his own demise.
Kendall met him by his car that morning and helped in toting the sugar laden delights he’d concocted and tasted. Wes had piled two containers into her arms before removing the final three for his own arms. Her sudden appearance eased his anxiety over bringing all these baked goods into the precinct on his own. If anyone asked, he could always say he was helping her, and not the other way around. It was underhanded, but he didn’t care. Anything to get the diet busters out of the house.
With a cockeyed look at her almost-friend, Kendall said, “Detective? If you bake like this all the time, might I suggest a membership to one of those warehouse stores?”
That was the last thing Wes needed. It was bad enough he’d found that restaurant supply place with their five pound bags of gourmet chocolate chips, imported Mexican vanilla extract, and a million other tempting things. Something like what she was suggesting would be the death of him, and possibly half of the precinct. It was well known that heart disease was a top killer of policemen all over the country. He didn’t need to single handedly add Type II diabetes to the list.
As if he could smell the sweets from inside the building, Travis appeared in the hallway outside their department, a half-curious, half-seductive smile lingering on his lips. “Mmm, so what do we have here, blondie?” Travis lifted the lid off the container of rocky road brownies and frowned. The pout he wore was damn near as delicious as the brownies he was glowering at.
“Problem, Marks?” Wes was a tiny bit hurt that he’d rejected the very first thing he’d seen.
“Marshmallows,” Travis said without preamble. “They’re only good for hot chocolate, s’mores, and throwing at people when they’re stale. Got anything else in these boxes?”
Kendall obliged Travis’ sweet tooth by popping open the top container she carried, the ones containing Wes’ nearly perfect blondies. He’d been so proud when they’d come out of the oven last night, pure golden delight in every last bite. It had taken every last ounce of willpower not to devastate the entire pan while he watched The Voice and cried over the pathetic state of his life.
He was beginning to rethink Dr. Ryan’s offer for private sessions.
Again, Travis frowned, but removed one butterscotch-y square from the box. A couple wonderful crumbs clung to his thumb. “What the hell kind of brownie is this, Mitchell? You forget the chocolate?”
“No, Travis, these don’t have cocoa in them.”
“They’re called blondies,” Kendall added, causing Wes to cringe. “They’re my favorites.”
“Huh,” Travis said, turning the brownie around in his fingers. “So blondie made a blondie? I like it.” He sniffed the cut edge and took a giant bite. Chewing slowly, he nodded his approval before grabbing two more out of the box. Shoving another bite into his mouth, Marks wandered off.
“Where do you think he’s going,” Kendall asked, watching the detective leave.
“To the kitchen for either a cup of coffee or a glass of milk. My money’s on a glass of milk,” Wes predicted.
“Yeah,” Kendall agreed. “He is a rather large child, isn’t he?”
Rain poured from the skies, dampening the ground as well as Wes’ mood. The case he and Travis were working was going nowhere and he had planned on heading back to the crime scene for another good look. That was out of the question now because the park would be soaked. Any remaining evidence would at best be compromised. At worst, it was already washed away. Perfect.
He thought about calling Travis, asking if he wanted to grab some lunch, rehash the details of the case and then changed his mind. Until he got his feelings sorted – and stored away in a lockbox – there wasn’t any way he could trust himself alone with Travis outside of work. It was bad enough watching him devour brownie after brownie the other day at work. Crumbs on his fingers, chocolate on his lips, it was all too much. And then the sugar rush kicked in making Travis into a big, adorable, rambunctious teddy bear of a man.
Wes hadn’t ever wanted to kiss him as badly as he had that afternoon.
Instead, he’d sent Travis home with instructions to eat some real food and take a damn nap. Even though Wes hadn’t managed to make any more progress with Marks gone, it had been in his best interests to get the boy out of his sight until Travis calmed down. Who knew his partner became so huggy and clingy when he’d had too much sugar?
Travis had made it halfway to the exit that afternoon before he doubled back, wrapped those two glorious, perfectly muscled arms around Wes’ shoulders and squeezed for all he was worth. Wes’ heart had nearly stopped in his chest as his nose filled with the sharp scent of Travis’ cologne. It had carried him for the past couple days, haunting him in his dreams at night. Such magnificent torture.
A rumble of thunder, followed by a streak of lightning, brought Wes back into the present. The window that looked onto his back yard was blurred with running water, making the trees and grass look like a waking dream. Everything was indistinct, blurred and surreal. Echoing the sounds of nature, Wes’ stomach grumbled in protest. It’d been hours since he’d last eaten and his body was letting him know it had had enough.
Sighing, Wes turned from the grey light coming through the window and looked towards his kitchen. They’d been working so many hours that he hadn’t had a chance to go shopping, and his shelves were pretty bare. For dinner last night, he’d eaten the remaining chocolate walnut brownie alongside the last scoop of ice cream. His mother would be appalled if she knew, but he counted it a win that he was even in his own place at the moment. One thing at a time, Wes reminded himself. One day at a time.
It was entirely too nasty to go outside to shop and it seemed selfish to expect a deliveryman to drive in this mess. Finding himself at an impasse, Wes figured he’d bite the bullet and just buy some food, knowing he’d need to sooner or later. And it would kill an hour, at least. If he could spend just sixty minutes thinking about something other than Travis Marks, then going out into the downpour would also be an epic win.
“Move it or lose it, Mitchell,” he told himself, grabbing his car keys and a jacket.
Twelve minutes later, he was standing on the baking goods aisle staring at the multitude of chips, chunks and morsels at his disposal. Semisweet, milk, white, cinnamon, you name it, it was accounted for in some fashion. There were even chocolate swirled with mint, caramel, or peanut butter and others filled with the same variations. The possibilities were endless and he chided himself for not having come to the store earlier. This was, as it always had been, the perfect cure to his rain-induced restlessness. Rainy days, by definition, were made for baking cookies.
Piling his basket with the classic semi-sweet, he also snagged a bag of mint-flavored chips, some toffee bits, and a pouch of the raspberry filled morsels. That last item he figured wouldn’t ever make it into a cookie, brownie, or bar, but no one had to actually know that, right? Positive he’d need to stock up on other staples, he turned the cart around and headed for the dairy aisle for butter, eggs, and yogurt cups (to presumably keep him from eating too many cookies, which even he knew, was futile). Remembering at the last minute that he needed some actual food, he again turned his cart around and added a few necessary items to the contents and finally checked out.
Wes was more than a little ashamed by the fact he stopped for a cheeseburger on the way home, despite the trunkful of food he was carrying. It was becoming apparent that Travis had invaded his life more than he had realized at first. So much for those beautiful greens he’d bought. But tomorrow was another day and the salad would keep.
But the cookies would not.
By Sunday evening, he found himself surrounded again by more sweets than one man needed, no matter how frustrated the man in question might be. Wes thought again, as he looked at the piles of cookies packed neatly in boxes on his table, that maybe he ought to reach out to Dr. Ryan about this stress baking thing he had going on.
Note to self: take cookies to therapy on Tuesday.
“Dude,” Travis said while peeking into the box on top of the pile in Wes’ trunk. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I think I like it.” He swiped two oatmeal toffee cookies out of the box and shoved one into his mouth.
A half-grin kicked up the left side of Wes’ face. “So glad I could make you happy, Marks.”
Travis smiled back, mouth full of cookie. “If you keep baking like this, I’ll be delirious before long. You’re amazing in the kitchen, baby.”
As compliments went, it wasn’t the best he’d ever received, but considering that Travis came from a long line of foster moms with more kitchen skills than most celebrity chefs, he allowed himself to be flattered. Besides, compliments were few and far between when you were partnered with someone like Travis Marks. Now, how did he tell Marks that as long as they were glued at the hip, he’d continue baking like Betty Crocker?
Putting another cookie into his mouth, Travis chewed delightfully for a moment before poking Wes in the arm. “I knew you liked to cook, you’ve made me enough meals over the years,” he said, taking another bite of cookie. “But I had no idea that you liked to bake.”
Shrugging, Wes lifted the cookies out of his trunk. “It was a natural progression. I cook because I like to eat. Because I like dessert, too, I learned to bake. No biggie.” He tried to play it off as something everyone did, even though Wes knew that most people went for takeout or to a bakery when they wanted something specific. He nodded at the trunk, “Get that for me would you?”
Travis slammed the trunk, eliciting a wince out of the blond. “Makes sense to me. But why the sudden surge in baked goods, Wes?”
That was a good question, one he didn’t have a proper response to. Wes only wished he could pinpoint the moment when it had all become clear, when he’d realized that Travis was what he’d been waiting for all this time, but he couldn’t. Was it when Travis had tilted his head, breaking out into that brilliant smile? Or had it been when Wes had given Travis some kind of backhanded compliment and gotten a playful shove in retaliation? It could have been either, or it could have been both, but Wes was inclined to believe it was something else completely.
It had been a long day that turned into an even longer night. They’d been sitting at the table in Wes’ little house going over the case details one more time. Nothing had changed, nothing was going to change, and they both knew it. Wes had plunked both elbows onto the table, propping his face in his hands. He’d sat there like that for several moments, gathering his thoughts. When Wes lifted his head, his blond hair stood out at all angles, ruffled and in disarray. Travis had smiled at him then, reaching out a hand and brushing his fingers against Wes’ rumpled bangs. Those warm fingers brushed Wes’ forehead, bringing something to life in the depths of his soul. It wasn’t until hours later that he realized exactly what that stirring had been.
Desire.
“Wes?”
“Sorry. I’ve – we’ve – been under a lot of stress with these last two cases and it’s gotten to me in a big way. When I was in law school, I coped by making cookies for everyone in the dorm. It helped me focus better and gave everyone else the sugar boost they needed to continue studying.” He slowed so Travis could hold the door for him. “I didn’t realize just how stressed I was until I woke up this morning with all these cookies.”
“Man, we need to find you a girl,” Travis chuckled. He lifted the lid on the box topping the stack in Wes’ arms and hijacked a couple more cookies.
“Damnit, Marks, stay out of my cookies,” he scolded without any real heat. “And I don’t need a girlfriend, either. One ex-wife is enough drama for this lifetime.”
“I never said ‘girlfriend’, I just said ‘girl.’ And of course you do, everyone needs somebody,” Travis said. He bit into the cookie and sighed. “Wes, these are the best thing you’ve made so far. What the hell are they?”
Wes eyed the cookie in Travis’ hand for a moment. “Cowboy cookies. One of my favorites, too.”
Travis held the cookie out to him. “Bite?”
Uncertain of what was proper, Wes hesitated and then opened his mouth. Travis stuck the cookie inside and he bit into it. Chewing, he assured himself that they’d turned out like they were supposed to. The notion floated through his mind then that this very cookie had touched Marks’ mouth in a very intimate manner. God, he was going to make himself crazy with thoughts like that. “Thanks, Travis.”
“Welcome,” he said, finishing off the last of the sweet in his hand. “What’s in these things anyway? Peanut butter?”
“More like what isn’t,” Wes said. “Peanut butter, cocoa, chocolate chips, nuts, coconut… all my favorite things.” Except for you, but he’d keep that tidbit to himself.
“These are a winner.” Travis took two boxes from Wes’ arms and set them on the break room counter. “You still need someone, Wes. Even if it’s just a friendly date or two. Ya gotta get out there and relive some anxiety somehow.”
“I’ll go to the gym, thanks.” Wes put the other two boxes on the counter beside the others. “And if I keep this shit up, I might never be able to leave the treadmill.”
“As a stress reliever, sex beats the treadmill hands down,” Travis stated. He began rifling through the boxes to see what else Wes had made.
“I second that,” Jonelle said, stepping into the break room.
“What are you doing up here, Jonelle?” Wes was shocked to see her outside the morgue.
“Talk was you two were carrying boxes again this morning,” she said, sticking her hand into the box Travis currently held open. “After those brownies, I had to find out what you had in store for us today.”
Embarrassed, Wes opened boxes and described their contents to half the robbery homicide division. Somewhere in the midst of it all, a gallon of milk was produced and poured. Compliments were given and cookies were eaten and eventually, everyone wandered off to where they were supposed to be. Life went on. Sort of.
Jonelle took a handful to last her the morning and thanked Wes again with a hug. “And you know,” she whispered in Wes’ ear, “Travis is right. Sex beats a treadmill every time. He offers, I’d go for it.”
“But…” He didn’t know what else to say to that.
Travis watched the medical examiner leave and then switched his gaze to Wes’ flushed face. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing,” Wes lied.
“Right. So why is your face so red?” He leaned against the counter, a cookie in each hand, and waited.
Unable to take Travis’ gaze, he gave in. “She just agreed with you. About sex. And treadmills.”
“Told you,” Travis said, winking.
The rest of what she’d said burned in his brain, making him wonder why Jonelle would have thrown out such a statement. Powerless to stop his mouth, he found himself blurting that, too, out. “She also said that if you offered I should say yes.”
Laughter burst from Travis’ mouth. “She said what? Oh, I swear, I’m never telling that woman anything ever again.” Marks continued to chuckle, nibbling on a cookie between head shakes.
“Wait,” Wes said, moving closer to his partner. “What does that mean? Did you tell her something that would explain why she told me that last bit?”
Licking a bit of chocolate from his thumb, Travis sobered somewhat. “You are so oblivious, it’s adorable, Wes.” After wiping his hands on a paper towel, Travis gripped Wes’ wrist with his fingers and pulled him even nearer. “I asked her for advice.”
“Advice? On what?” He felt that panicky flutter starting in his belly and he didn’t like it.
“On the best way to ask you out, but every time I’ve tried, it’s gone right over your head.” Travis sighed and looked away. When his gaze returned, he wore a more serious look. “I thought you’d finally gotten it that night, but I guess not.”
Wes blinked. This couldn’t be happening to him. Not here, not now. Travis pushed off the cabinet, bringing him within inches of Wes’ body. A warm, dark-skinned hand cupped a pale cheek. “Travis, what are you saying?”
Another chuckle. “Even when I’m laying it all out there, plain as day, you still miss it. What am I going to do with you?” Travis pressed his lips to the center of Wes’ forehead and moved away. “We can talk about this later, or not. It’s up to you.”
And then he left Wes standing alone in the break room.
Had he really been that oblivious that he missed Travis’ interest in him? Well, he had to admit, he did his best to focus on work and nothing else, but he didn’t think he would have missed something like that. But then, it suddenly started to make sense.
All the teasing. The way Travis smiled at him when he got angry. The touching coupled with all the pet names. It’d been right there, in front of him all the time and Wes hadn’t had a clue. What an absolute idiot he was.
Wes looked out at Travis, hunched over his desk, head in his hand. He’d never seen his ever confident partner look so defeated. It was time he and Travis hashed this out and got it all out in the open. Reaching for the nearest box of cookies, he grabbed handful to take as a peace offering. After all, who could resist a man bearing cookies? Definitely not Travis Marks.
“Come on, Marks, we’re going to get a cup of coffee.”
Travis looked up into the depthless blue eyes of his partner and sighed. “Not right now, Wes. I can’t do this with you today.”
“I don’t care, Travis,” Wes said. “I’ve spent the last week and a half trying to convince myself that I wasn’t in love with you and you drop this on me? Only to tell me you ‘can’t do this’? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been saying exactly that to myself?”
“Why now,” Travis asked.
“Because if we don’t do it now, we’ll never do it,” Wes said, believing it to be true. “Besides, I have cookies, all we need for a good chat is a little coffee.”
That handsome face cracked into a smile. “You do have a point, Wes. Let’s go get some coffee. No promises, but we’ll talk.”
“Perfect,” Wes said, slapping Travis’ back, nibbling on a cookie before his partner ate them all.
Six Months Later
Travis stretched, long, dark limbs stark against the crisp white sheets. Wes was tucked into his side, breathing quietly, sleep slowly overcoming him. Brushing his fingers through the sweat-matted blond hair of his lover, Travis smiled.
“Mmm,” Wes muttered, gravitating towards the warmth of Travis’ broad chest. “So nice. Just like this.”
“Yeah, baby,” Travis agreed. “And I’ve been thinking…”
Wes snuggled in even closer, listening to the beat of Marks’ heart against his ear. “And?”
“And I was wondering… you know how to make pies?” Travis’ fingers continued to tease Wes’ hair.
“What?” Startled laughter escaped Wes. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because I’m hungry for pie, baby.” He traced a pale cheek with a fingertip.
“I’m beginning to think I never should have told you that if you were ever craving something…”
“…to just ask and I’ll make it for you, Travis,” Marks mocked, grinning. “So does this mean no pie?”
“Not tonight,” Wes said, pressing his lips to the underside of a large arm. “But maybe tomorrow. If you’re good.”
“Mmmm… with a promise like that, you’re about to see just how good I can be,” Travis murmured, burying his nose in Wes’ neck.
Rolling onto his back, Wes held out his arms. “Don’t bother waiting until tomorrow. You can start right now.”
Cackling with glee, Travis pounced, shaking the entire bed with his weight.
For the first time since deciding to move, Wes was happy that he actually had. There were still entirely too many sweets in the place, but now it was due more to Travis’ incurable sweet tooth than it was to Wes’ stress-induced baking escapades. Thanks to Travis, he’d found a much more enjoyable – and easier on the waistline – method of relieving anxiety.
God love Travis Marks.
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I hate the word lover!
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(I kinda hate that word, too, but when you're writing you need a variety sometimes, sorry!)
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HAPPY FRIDAY!