5SOS Imagines

Luke - Baking

He's been more of a setback than anything – you swear to god you could've been finished this three days ago if it weren't for Luke's antics – but you're grateful for the company and the smile he keeps on your cheeks, even when you were trying to be mad at him.

The gangly boy waltzes around the kitchen with his neon pink socks – he'll argue they're yours but you knew better – beating the batter in the bowl with the passion and love of a French connoisseur and you're not sure whether to be impressed at this new side of Luke towards baking or concerned for his mental health.

It's the sun, you figure. He's been out for too long, probably gathering daisy chains for a flower crown or something.

Anyways.

The oven timer dings and Luke jumps, startled – sloshing a bit of the now-creamy batter onto his apron, cursing – and he rushes back to you with clumsy steps.

"Don't worry, the oven's just done pre-heating. C'mere, we'll spread the batter out for the layers now."

He nods like a child, watching your movements with rapt eyes as you demonstrate how to spread the batter over the pan.

"Alright, so carefully – slowly, good, good okay – okay stop, I'm gonna put my batter over here, careful they don't mix into each other – watch it watch it – okay, okay we're good."

Luke prods the batter sitting into the pan unnecessarily one more time before you whisk it away, carrying it with thick mitts to the rumbling oven, a blast of heat hitting your face when you lean close to slide the pan in.

A light push, close of the metal doors and quick fiddling with the time and the heat and now all that's left to do was wait.

You sigh, blowing the stray hairs out of your face before leaning back onto the kitchen counter, putting the mitts away and starting to undo your apron, Luke following suit and unveiling his flour-dusted shirt underneath.

He got just a little too excited over the flour, and needless to say the two of you paid the price – it was smudged on your cheek and sprinkled over his black clothes like snow.

"You've got a little something right over...here."

His thumb gently wipes away the residue of whatever mess found its way to the corner of your cheek – you've both made too many messes today to remember what it possibly could be – and his blue eyes are sparkling, looking down at you like the sky.

"Is it gone yet?"

You're desperately looking for some reflective surface to see if there's anything else smeared across your face – probably, at this point – and Luke merely laughs at your urgency.

"Here, here – let me help you."

He stoops down to your height and he's close enough for you to see the cracks of his chapped lips that he runs his tongue over, playing with the piercing that he knows drives you crazy.

Oh.

And he leans in, lips light on yours and oh this sly little trickster – you know what he's doing now and he knows he's caught when he feels you smiling against his mouth, grinning back as he nips at your bottom lip, hands starting to snake around your waist.

You can taste the sugary sweetness of the creamy batter and chocolate filling and he takes little bites of your skin, arms fully encompassing you now as he lifts you up and onto the kitchen counter, knocking over a few bowls and sending a few pieces of cutlery scattering with loud clinks as he makes space for you.

You're fairly certain there's flour and sugar stuck to the bottom of your pants and there's something sticky on your palm from when you supported yourself on the counter – you suspect it's melted butter and your hands are trailing all over Luke, leaving a yellow-tinted path – you suppose it's not too bad though, and you know he's certainly doing the same with his chocolate-coated fingers on your hips.

You're too caught up in him – fingers tangled in hair and trailing down his back, his shivers when your nails gently scratch against bare skin, the cold metal ring around his lips gnashing into yours and his stubble tickling your neck – and neither of you hear the ding of the oven.

But you smell the first fumes of smoke wisps from the oven next to you, even through the scent of Luke's aftershave that you swear you can drown yourself in.

"Shit!"

You immediately pull yourself away from Luke, lips swollen and hair in a disarray – he still looks like he's in a daze, eyes half-lidded – leaping down from the counter and opening the oven, only to be greeted by wafts of smoke in your face.

You cough and try to clear it with waving hands – Luke quickly helping once he snapped out of it – but it was clear that there wouldn't be much to salvage when the smoke cleared away.

The cake was burnt black when you finally pulled it out, the pan charred at the bottom and slightly smoking still.

You sigh deeply, prodding at the brick-hard cake, hopeless before you and hardly an acceptable birthday gift for the boy who would be celebrating his twentieth soon.

You turn back to Luke with hands on your hips and he merely smiles sheepishly back, though there's no doubt that neither of you really regretted a thing.

On the contrary, he looks elated – perhaps another extended chance to bake again? – and the words fall out of his smiling lips.

"Let's start from scratch?"

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