cheater; tradley

twenty

Cheater ((20))

"I can't believe you threw out the already half-made cookie dough," Bradley repeats for the third time, shaking his head.

Tristan bites his lip in embarrassment, grabbing a bowl and a few measuring cups. "I already said I'm sorry! We got back too late to finish making it last night, and I guess when I woke up this morning I forgot what it was. It looks nasty when it's all mushed together."

"Tristan, your family dinner is tonight; four hours, to be exact, and you still have to make and bake the cookies, shower, get ready, and drive thirty minutes to get there. We would've been done the cookies had we kept that cookie dough."

"We have four hours, and I have your help. So all is well."

Brad shakes his head, rolling his eyes, but he nods and continues pulling ingredients out of his friends cupboards. "You're lucky we have enough things left over to make it with."

"And I'm so very lucky I have you to help me," the blonde murmurs sweetly, pulling out his puppy dog eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great. Now quit the ass kissing and help me make these."

Tristan laughs at the instructions, nodding and grabbing the eggs from the fridge. "Okay, so what's first?"

"We need two cups of flour."

"Two cups?"

Bradley nods. "Two cups."

"That's a lot of flour."

"Well if you're doubling the recipe for your family dinner, that's what it calls for."

Tristan nods to himself, opening up the bag of flour. He slowly fills up the cup and smooths down the top carefully, focused solely on making sure there's exactly one cup, and Brad becomes quite impatient. He leans over and reaches to take the small container from his friends hands, but the blond tilts it away and Brad's knuckles hit it instead, causing at least half of the flour to fly out and onto Tristan's top.

"Brad!" the older boy shouts, staring down at his now-white t-shirt. "Look what you did!"

"Oh, shit, sorry," Bradley murmurs, his tone apologetic, a complete contrast to the amused look on his face. "Didn't mean to do that."

"You're gonna pay," Tristan mutters under his breath, dropping the measuring cup onto the counter and instead scooping up some of the ingredients in his hands.

"Get away from me right now, Tristan!" Bradley shouts, loud voice echoing in the flat. He reaches for the counter blindly, and he grabs the first thing his fingers touch. He points the whisk he's now holding at the enemy, prepared to attack. "Don't touch me!"

The blonde grins evilly, the flour cupped in his hands the only defence he has against the whisk-yielding maniac across from him. "But you got flour on my shirt. You need to pay for that. I'm just trying to get even."

"No need to get even," the twenty-year-old tries, hoping he's convincing enough. "I'm covered in flour too, look."

Tristan glances down at Brad's perfectly spotless shirt, not a speck of anything compromising the cleanliness of his clothes. "Yeah, just covered."

Brad takes another step back. "C'mon, Tris. I...this is a new shirt, so I, like, can't get it dirty. You get that, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely," Tristan nods, faking comprehension, and at this, Brad drops his guard. Wrong choice. "Sorry, love."

A surprised look crosses Bradley's face when flour goes flying at him. He tries to flinch away but can't move quick enough, and soon flour coats his shirt and face. The brown-haired boy wipes his eyes, removing any flour from his lids, before glaring over at Tristan.