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If anyone ever asked Patrick “Tell us something we don’t know about you” he would smile warmly and say “I like to bake.”

Like would be somewhat of an understatement.

For as long as he could remember, Patrick always found himself having fond memories in the kitchen. Being the youngest of his siblings (and quite frankly the most hyperactive if he was going to be completely honest), he was always close to his mother, helping her stir, watching her bake, and over the years. While he and his dad bonded over music whenever he would go and visit cementing his love for it with every song, every record, every chord his dad had even shown him, it was moments in the kitchen that he had cherished with his mother; when it was just the two of them talking as they made bread, or when he told his mom about going on tour, where she had begrudgingly agreed to let him go with his ragtag band of friends, but not before seeing Patrick and the boys off with chocolate chips and caramel cookies for the road.

Baking always took him home, took him back to a simple kitchen in Glenview, and when the band had had begun to rise, enough so that they could afford a decent four bedroom apartment in LA while they recorded, his If anyone ever asked Patrick “Tell us something we don’t know about you” he would smile warmly and say “I like to bake.”

mother made sure to give him a small book with plastic-cover pages, and each page, a copies of her own  recipe card carefully protected in each page. “Just in case you ever want to make something when you feel homesick,” she had simply said when he had finished packing up the U-Hual with his belongings, a mere week after his high school graduation.  It was something simple, but the gesture and meaning behind it was so personal and powerful in his own eye, Patrick engulfed his mother body-crushing hug. If there were tears in his eyes, his other never once mentioned it as she hugged him back.

Baking reminded him of home, and his mom, and just happiness .

And maybe that’s why he baked so much whenever they were home from tour and in the sanctuary that was his beautifully rustic, open kitchen Patrick had been dead-set on when he and Pete had been scouring all of LA for a place for them to settle, shortly after marrying during the hiatus with Bronx and their dogs, and when they found it–a beautifully Spanish-style home in a nice, private neighborhood, extra rooms that could be easily converted into a playroom for Bronx, a music room for Patrick, and an office for Pete, and more importantly a spacious kitchen furnished dark granite and deep mahogany cabinets, a large island in the center with a built-in sink and enough room for six people to sit at– Patrick couldn’t help but feel like he was home .

A few days after they signed the papers making the house their home, Patrick has christened kitchen by baking his mother’s chocolate caramel cookies after everything was moved in, however Pete and Patrick decided to also christened the kitchen in another way a day prior, and honesty, Pete had to admit that it has been worth it to deal with Patrick’s insistent on the specific color of granite to because it contrasted beautifully against the creamy alabaster of Patrick’s he bent the singer bent over one of the counters and thrusted into him as his fingers scrambled for purchase against the smooth counter tops.

It has been worth it, and had never been happier to indulge Patrick in his love of baking.


When people would ask what about baking drew Patrick to the hobby, other than it’s sentimental value, the singer would give a vague answer of “why not”, but Pete was convinced otherwise.

Pete thought that maybe it was the precision of the measurements of ingredients and of the temperature, and how the slightest variation could hamper or improve the taste or the texture….

In reality, if Pete was looking at it in a deeper, cognitive level, baking was a lot like making music:the slightest change in measurement, the slightest change in notes, can change the entirety of of the whole. With baking and music, it was finding the perfect balance, the perfect harmony and then sharing it with your friends and with the world.

It was methodically thought out form of alchemy, turning absolutely nothing into something amazing. It was part of Patrick’s own innate ability to put things together, to cut them and mend with such accuracy, to create something amazing. Baking and music were Patrick’s genius brain showing in different elements and Pete was amazed by it all.

Pete adored Patrick’s fascination with baking, but more importantly, he simply loved to watch. The bassist would perch himself on a chair at the island and watch as Patrick would go to work on whatever he decided to create that day, his recipe book, gifted to him by his mom and had nearly tripled in volume of recipes over the years, opened on the counter to a certain page as he gathered the ingredients and several utensil, as he would pretend to busy himself with things on his phone. Giving up on his facade when Patrick started humming a tune, Pete just sat and watched watching Patrick’s every move, as if he was watching an intricate sort of dance.

There’s a careful measure of cocoa powder followed by flour, and then a measured spoonful of baking soda, an eye-estimate vanilla, Patrick expertly pouring the sweet smelling brown liquid into the mixture, followed by what Pete assumed was melted butter and three cracked eggs.

He was entranced throughout the whole thing, eyes on Patrick’s deft fingers as they moved, similar to when those long thin fingers dance on piano keys, when they travel up the slender neck of his guitar…

When they gently traced the underside of his cock from base to tip, just like he always does before he swallows him down, plush pink lips stretched around him ,ocean blue-green eyes looking up at him under lashes as he moans…

“Can you get the chocolate chips for me, please?” Pete’s shaken out of his reverie by Patrick’s melodic voice, he seemed to have zoned was he watched Patrick’s fingers wrap around the spatula and stir the chocolate mixture in hypnotic timing.


“The chocolate chips,” Patrick repeated, a playful annoyance coloring his tone.”Can you get them?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Pete stumbled, sliding out of his chair, making his way to the pantry to retrieve the familiar yellow bag of Toll House Chips that he often used when making the kids their pancakes.

When he swung the door open, he was greeted by several different bags of chocolate, each with it’s own different label, Milk Chocolate, Semi-Sweet, White, Dark...Peanut Butter ? Since when were there so many different types of damn chocolate chips?

“Which ones, ‘Trick?” Pete had learned this lesson several times over- When in doubt, always ask. It was better to ask than to get ‘Patrick-Stump’s-gaze-of-disappointment’ for getting the wrong thing, Pete found that out the hard way when he had volunteered to go to the store to buy Patrick flour for sugar cookies few years back when they all shared an apartment. It seemed like an easy enough task at the time, but how was Pete to know there would be so many damn varieties of flour: all-purpose flour, bread flour, cake Flour, self-rising flour …In a moment of anxiety, Pete purchased one of each, bringing them back to Patrick. Needless to say, while Patrick didn’t appreciate the amount of flour Pete had brought in that moment , it give him a chance to experiment.

Apparently, all- purpose flour was the go to. Well, at least Pete knew now, and now knew that he needed to ask .

“The semi-sweet ones.” Finding the right bag, Pete placed the yellow bag of Toll-House Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips besides Patrick on the counter, who easily, without missing a beat (ever the perfectionist to never miss a count, Pete grins in his head) he opens the bag and pours a generous amount of chips into the batter and continues to stir.

Unable to help himself, Pete sneaks a few morsels from the bag and pops them into his mouth before wrapping his arms around the singer’s soft waist, hooking his chin on the younger’s shoulder. Pete hums a familiar tune for the both of them as he watches Patrick fold the chocolate chips into the batter before singing the words softly into the blonde’s ear.

I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine

What a match,

I'm half doomed and you're semi-sweet

He can practically feel Patrick’s eye-roll at the lyrics as he leans over to grab two round baking pans, but not exactly pulling away from Pete’s embrace. Patrick doesn’t say anything, but Pete can see the smile from where he was on his shoulder.

“I love watching you bake,” Pete breathes into Patrick’s well-loved, practically threadbare David Bowie shirt, nosing the neckline ever so slightly to kiss the sensitive skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder, one of Patrick’s weak spot.

Pete’s rewarded with a small hum, and honestly that’s all he needs to continue.

"You know,” Pete starts after a brief moment as Patrick pours half the batter in one round and carefully smooths the top over with his spatula. “You’re a lot like semi-sweet chocolate"

Patrick turns his head to look over at Pete with narrowed eyes, his attention going back to the other cake pan. "Should I be scared to ask why..."

Pete reaches over to snatch another chocolate morsel, narrowly escaping the thwack of the singer’s spatula before he pops the bit of chocolate into his mouth; Pete grins in triumph. "We'll you see –"

"Yup, officially terrified," Patrick interrupts as he pours the remaining batter into the second pan, however Pete is unfazed and continues, even as Patrick breaks easily from his arms, carrying two cake pans filled with chocolate cake to the already pre-heated oven, placing them on the middle rack and setting the timer on his phone.

"Semi-sweet chocolate's got like this slight bite to it, kinda like a kick,” he starts, eyes following Patrick’s every move from where he leans against the island as Patrick moves to retrieve a bowl from the refrigerator and returns to his usual spot. “And as sweet as the fans think you are, we both know you're not 100% surgery sweet, you got some kick to you..."

The bassist hands find their way back to his waist, dripping slightly lower to play along the warm strip of pale skin sneaking out above the waistband of his jeans. “We both know you’re no angel,” he grins hotly into his ear, causing Patrick to stiffen as he whisks the frosting he had made earlier. It was the small hitch in the blonde’s breath that gave Pete the confidence to continue, to bring the body in front of him flushed against his own.

And then an idea bloomed in his head.

“You know what I think this stuff would taste amazing on?” Pete teased softly as he dipped a finger into the buttercream frosting Patrick has been whisking .

Patrick turned to look at Pete, who was instead greeted by Pete’s frosting covered finger against his plush bottom lips. Flushed with heat, Patrick only cocked a single fine eyebrow before his soft pink tongue made contact with the pad of his finger taking sweet, tentative kitten- licks at the white frosting, just like Pete loved .

 Patrick couldn’t help but smile softly as he met Pete’s gaze, pupils blown wide with want ; he knew what Pete was playing at, and if Pete wanted to play, by all means, he was was willing to indulge his husband.

 “Let me guess… Me?” he asked, leave Pete no time to reply before slowly taking the rest of Pete’s finger into his mouth, ocean blue eyes locking onto Pete’s amber colored ones. Patrick simply sucked on his digit, sweetness coating his tongue he did,  his own intentions clear in his actions.

Pete couldn’t stop himself from staring as much as he tried to eyes fixated on the older boy’s mouth, on how Patrick’s lips looked, pink and split-slick around his finger, the faintest remnants of the white frosting dotting the bottom of his lip, just begging to be licked off. Pete’s dick was already taking an interest before, had started to stir when he had been lost in his little day dream, but now, he was getting painfully hard, the sight right before him sending waves of LustWantMine straight to Pete’s cock.

And as much Patrick might be playing cool, the bassist could already feel an all too familiar bulge of Patrick’s own arousal against his own thigh- he wasn’t the only one going to get off on this, he was damn sure of it.

Carefully pulling his finger away from with warmth that was Patrick’s mouth, Pete, utterly fascinated by gentle pull of the singer’s lips, his tongue lapping playfully at the tip, just like he always does when he sucks his cock, couldn’t help the small groan that escaped him, coming deep from his chest; Patrick always had the most fuckable lips, and Pete wouldn't be lying if he said he would have so many fantasies that involve Patrick’s lips. Right now just continues to prove it, and Pete can’t fathom, for a second, how he got so fucking lucky.

He pulls Patrick into a rough kiss, his hand weaving through his hair, pulling him close as they devoured each other with desperate lips and gnashing teeth, the taste of sugar sweet frosting on Patrick’s tongue making him frantic. Pete’s hand slipping underneath Patrick’s shirt while his hand molds itself against the curve of Pete’s bulge in his sweats, grinning into the kiss when he feels small patches of wetness through the fabric.

“This all for me?” Patrick gasps as Pete attacks his neck but moans into the hollow of his neck, breath hot against his skin when he squeezes him with just the right amount of pressure that he knows drives Pete crazy.

“Fucking hell, babe,” Pete rasps. He groans before capturing Patrick’s lips once more, a wicked grin spread over his lips. “Bet I can get you off before the cake’s done,” Patrick fumbles for his phone and grins in return before showing the screen over to Pete. Fifteen minutes.

“You’re on,” says breathlessly, his lips already looking a sinful shade of red, and his eyes already darken with desire and playful lust. And if Pete didn’t think he couldn’t fall any more in love with Patrick after all these years, well, he was wrong . “Loser cleans the dishes.”

Another kiss filled with promise and teasing, another mischievous grin, and the inpatient tugging of hands on each other’s pants is all he needs, and Pete...Pete’s never loved watching Patrick bake so much before.