Septiplier One-Shots

Baking Disaster

HOLY CRAP author144 THIS CHAPTER IS SO ADORABLE AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH OMGGGG

"Aw, it's confirmed, Wade is super sick." Mark said, hanging up his phone as he strode back into the room. Jack was lounging on the couch, the television on but he wasn't really watching it as he was his phone, looking through twitter comments. The Irishman looked up from the tiny screen and shot Mark a sad look, and Mark nodded. "Nothing super bad, but he's not feeling good at all. They got his medicine, but he'll be down and out of the count for a couple of days."
"We should do something for him." Jack blurted out, standing up as ideas began to form. He had done things similar for friends before when they were sick, and it was always a nice gift.
"Let's make soup!"
"Let's make cookies!"
The pair had spoken at the same time, and stopped to look at the other. It was fairly obvious who had said what, and Mark frowned in confusion at Jack. Jack only laughed for a few moments before shaking his head.
"Cookies?" Mark demanded. "Why the hell would you make a sick person cookies?"
"Why not?" Jack shrugged his shoulders and headed into the kitchen, sidestepping Mark who stood in the doorway. "Everybody likes cookies, and no one likes making them more than I do!"
"You know how to make cookies?" Mark asked, turning and watching Jack as he began flipping through cupboards and searching for ingredients.
"Yeah." Jack said without turning around. He gathered a few more things before finally looking at Mark, who stood in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest and a skeptical look across his face. "Hey! I can cook!" Jack exclaimed indignantly. Mark chucked at this, walking over to see what Jack had gotten. "Here, take this and this and this and go over there. Mix them into that bowl." Jack handed Mark some flour and some sugar, and a little vial of some clear liquid that he couldn't see. "That's vanilla and do not put too much of that in there, or it's all you'll taste. Go!" the Irishman gave Mark a little shove, who stood at the counter and laughed some more.
"Wow, Jack. Look at you, head chef of the kitchen." Mark noted, and Jack clapped his hands together after washing them, grabbing a towel to dry them.
"You're damn right. Hey! Have you washed your hands?! What are you doing, go wash them! Haven't you ever baked anything before?" Jack asked, poking Mark in the ribs as he passed on the way to the sink. Mark mimicked him in a high pitched voice, a much softer one, and Jack laughed. "Keep that up and this chef will yell at you some more."
"What are you, Gordon Ramsay?" Mark asked, and Jack chuckled.
"You're damn right again, Mark. Now go! And don't use too much vanilla."
"I got it, I got it." Mark said, turning to his bowl and measuring out a small bit of vanilla. He added the sugar, making sure to get exact measurements before moving onto the flour. He realized that he had no idea how much he was actually supposed to put in. "Hey Jack, how much-?!" Mark had grabbed the flour, turning and asking Jack how much to add when the pair collided, and a puff of flour exploded onto each of them. Mark abruptly quit speaking. He opened his eyes to find Jack's face, eyebrows, and hair completely coated in white flour, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to refrain from laughing. "Hey, Jack, you got a little, uhm.. right there." Mark pointed at his face, and Jack opened his eyes.
"Oh, how about that?" Jack's voice dripped with sarcasm, and he turned from Mark.
"Look, I'm sor-!" Mark cut off again as Jack turned back, taking and egg and smashing it open on top of his head, and let all the contents seep into his hair. Mark gaped, and Jack lifted an eyebrow as a challenge. "Alright then, how about this?!" Mark turned, grabbed the tiny bottle of vanilla and going to dump it one Jack when hardly anything emerged from the bottle. "What the hell?! Why isn't it working?" At this point, Jack had already claimed some of the baking soda, and threw a handful at Mark, who was now as coated as Jack.
"Take that!" Jack exclaimed, and ripped open the bag of chocolate chips before pelting them at Mark.
"Hey, ow, stop that!" Mark said, putting his hands up to shield himself as he scrambled to find something else to throw. He picked up a whisk, and hardly stopped himself from throwing it. Even Jack paused as he realized what Mark had grabbed, and Mark stared at the utensil for a second. "Oops." he said, but it didn't faze Jack.
"On guard!" Jack shouted, and Mark saw that he had obtained a wooden spoon. The Irishman lunged forward, wielding the spoon as a sword, and Mark barely had time to block the attack. He fought back, and the pair looked more like they were fencing than anything. Jack backed up a bit as Mark made more forward shots, and vice versa as Jack attached more strongly. Finally, Mark was backed against the counter and Jack knocked his whisk from him. "Gotcha, bitch." Jack said, resting the tip of his spoon on Mark's chest, and Mark grinned, panting. It suddenly seemed very warm in this kitchen, and he noticed that Jack was having a hard time breathing too, sweat making his shirt cling to him. Mark focused on keeping his gaze above Jack's shoulders.
"Surprise!" Mark shouted, reaching behind him to obtain the bag of flour that had since been forgotten, and flung it at Jack. Jack stumbled backwards, unable to see, and Mark pushed him back. The spoon was dropped, the contents still in the flour bag were spilled onto the ground, and Mark had the Irishman pinned against the opposing countertop, his hands on either side of Jack's waist. As Jack furiously wiped flour from his face and eyes, Mark allowed his eyes to wander down the man's torso for a brief moment.
"I really didn't see that one-..coming." Jack had began, only to realize just how close Mark was, their bodies but mere inches apart. Their faces were a little farther, but Mark stared into his blue-as-the-ocean eyes, and almost couldn't restrain himself.
"You've got a little something right..here." Mark said, reaching a finger up to the side of Jack's mouth. It was the tiniest sliver of vanilla that had actually escaped from the bottle, and Mark wiped it with his thumb, not breaking Jack's gaze. Was it suddenly warmer in the room? Jack was frozen, and the pair stood this way for several long moments, breathing in the heat of the kitchen and watching the other, waiting possibly.
That was until the door slammed shut.
Mark was back at his side of the kitchen in an instant, and Jack was left, hardly able to breathe on the other side. His hands still clutched the countertop, knuckles white, and gaping a small bit as he stared at Mark incredulously. Mark flashed him a cheeky grin as a figure came stomping into the kitchen.
"What the fuck happened in here?!"
Oh that's right; they were staying at Bob's apartment.
"We'll clean it up." Mark stated as Jack was still frozen in shock. The floor was covered in flour, and somehow more than one egg had fallen and cracked. Their sword utensils were strung in the mess, and there were chocolate chips everywhere. The vanilla bottle was tipped over and leaking slowly onto the flour, and the sugar was missing.
"You two are never baking together again." Bob huffed, turning to leave the kitchen.
"Try and stop us." Mark retorted before looking at Jack and giving the Irishman a wink. Jack's face went as red as Mark's lucky flannel.