Archive of Our Own

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LEMON CREAM CAKE

Writer’s block. Two words that make Calum crazy. It’s not that simple. Writer’s block implies the words aren’t coming out. That when Calum sits down to write, he simply can’t put the sentences together to bring his ideas to the page.

The real problem is that he doesn’t have any ideas, period.

Which is why it’s really fucking inconvenient that his current job is to come up with an idea. Well, technically his current job is to create and host a podcast, but to actually do that, he needs to figure out what the podcast is going to be about.

The writer’s block is to blame for that, too. Three successful novels into his five book deal, and he just couldn’t do it anymore. At least not fast enough for his publisher, which is how he lost his book deal and is now attempting to scrape by with this podcast thing until he can figure out what the fuck to write next.

It was happenstance, really, that landed him the podcast gig. He lost his book deal a few days before guesting on a writing podcast, and Ashton, the host, made an offhand comment about Calum having a voice for radio, and it spiraled. Calum’s kind of fond of having a place to live and food to eat, so the promise of a job sounded pretty appealing, and it’s a short term commitment, so he can get back to his writing when he’s ready. If he’s ready.

But right now, he has three weeks to figure out what his podcast actually is, and formulate enough of a plan that he’ll be ready to record the first episode at the end of the month. And he hasn’t had one single good idea.

Thanks to his history with writer’s block, Calum knows what he’s supposed to be doing to “fix it.” He’s supposed to go have experiences. Change up the scenery while he brainstorms. Consume other media. Talk to people. Get out of his comfort zone.

Then, supposedly, the magical idea will come to him.

And that’s how he finds himself spending his mornings on the terrace at his favorite bakery downtown, Petunia’s. The change of scenery, the people-watching—it should be inspiring. It should be giving him ideas, even if it’s just bad ones, to type into his sad, empty doc. 

A fucking waste of time is what it’s been so far, though, and Calum keeps zoning out, all the bodies and voices passing by blurring into white noise. Maybe if he focuses harder on people-watching and writes some stream-of-consciousness about what he sees, something will come to him. (It won’t, but what the fuck else is he going to do? This is literally his job.)

Very dapper dude in peacoat with umbrella, looks like he’s going to time travel and trying to dress for any century.

Bros in polo shirts headed out for a mid-morning coffee break. There’s one lagging behind, texting, probably about how much he hates the rest of them.

Woman in girlboss gear. Skirt is very tight and heels are very loud. Lipstick stain on her Starbucks lid. She’s going to go home and cry tonight.

Tall guy in a leather jacket with iced coffee. Off duty model vibes. One shoe untied, which makes him seem real. Hope he doesn’t trip and spill his coffee and break his model face.

Group of tourists in matching shirts waiting at the curb for the double decker tour bus. Should I do a podcast about a tour guide? A tour guide who…fuck. I don’t know. Guides people.

Sighing heavily, Calum allows himself to indulge in a bite of his lemon bar. The soothing power of citrus. He loves this fucking lemon bar. He’s not even a lemon bar kind of guy, it just happened to be one of the only things left in the case on the morning he first showed up at the bakery, and one bite forever changed the course of his life.

The flawless balance of sweet and sharp. The most gorgeous, velvet-textured lemon filling, sandwiched between perfectly crumbly shortbread and a generous dusting of icing sugar. The perfect size—large enough to feel satisfying, to give Calum something to pick away at slowly, but small enough not to feel oppressive and daunting winking up at Calum from the middle of the bakery’s sage green plates.

It’s possible this lemon bar is the best thing Calum has ever eaten. And it certainly makes the sting of defeat when he leaves Petunia’s with zero new podcast ideas a bit less painful.

Every morning that week, Calum goes back to the bakery, collects his lemon bar, and sets up on the terrace with his laptop.

And every morning that week, he sees the tall guy with off duty model vibes, right around the same time, always carrying his iced coffee, always wearing a leather jacket. Since he’s all the way across the street, Calum doesn’t really get a good look at him beyond basic shapes, so the off duty model thing is based entirely on his build and the fact that he looks sort of effortlessly put together with his leather jacket and casual sneakers.

That’s probably why Calum waves like a maniac and blurts, “Hey buddy!” when he comes face to face with the guy when he’s in line for his lemon bar the following Monday morning. It’s a reflex when he sees a familiar face, and it generally serves him incredibly well. People love being remembered.

Except this guy doesn’t actually know him at all, and he stares at Calum with narrowed eyes and a perplexed smile, just for half a second, before he blinks and replies, “Hey?”

It’s hard for Calum to react, because not only is he curdling like old milk on the inside after realizing he called a complete stranger buddy, he’s also struggling to process this guy up close. Despite the whole off duty model thing, Calum never considered that his face would be quite like this. Captivating. Every place Calum’s eyes land, he spots something more thrilling.

First it’s the guy’s blue eyes, so bright, but so soft too, like the sky on a hazy morning, cozy and inviting, but just a touch disconcerting. Then it’s his cheekbones, shimmering under the ambient bakery lighting. Then there’s a flurry of freckles and pink lips and blonde curls as Calum’s eyes start to glaze over from staring so hard. He blinks. “Sorry, thought you were someone else.”

The guy offers Calum a crooked grin and Calum resists the urge to stagger backwards. Dimple. Dimples. “No worries.” He starts to brush past Calum, but hesitates. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Every day lately,” Calum answers, now captivated by the way the guy’s threadbare T-shirt stretches across his chest under his leather jacket. It’s so sheer, Calum can definitely see nipple under there. He forcibly shifts his eyes back to the guy’s face. “Why?” Oh god, has this guy been noticing him sitting at Petunia’s every morning when he walks by? Is he judging Calum’s daily lemon bar habit?

“Just curious what you like to order,” the guy says with a shrug. “Seeking an opinion from an expert.”

“I dunno if I’d consider myself an expert. I always get the lemon bar, and it’s incredible, but I haven’t tried anything else, so I don’t think you can really trust me.” Although there are a lot of other things Calum could happily do for him beyond dessert opinions.

The guy’s eyes light up and he makes a thoughtful noise. “The lemon bar! Unexpected, but a solid choice.”

What the fuck does that mean? Is he performing some kind of psychological assessment based on Calum’s bakery order? How is Calum meant to respond to that?

“Thank you?”

The guy nods, a sly little smile playing at his lips and a twinkle in his fucking gorgeous blue eyes. “If you like the lemon bar, you might wanna try the key lime tart. It’s basically the same, but better, I think. Or the lemon cream cake, if you wanna enjoy your lemon with some different textures.”

Wait, so this guy is some kind of expert on the bakery offerings? Calum assumed he was asking for advice on what to order, not playing baked goods matchmaker based on his apparently vast knowledge of the menu. There’s a polite smile on Calum’s face, but before he can figure out how to respond, the guy waves and disappears toward the door.

Huh. Okay. Calum wishes he weren’t the sort of person who alters his order based on the advice of a random stranger just because said stranger is super hot, but unfortunately that is all it takes for Calum to order the lemon cream cake.

Eating it is like floating away on a cloud of citrus bliss.

While Calum sits on the terrace and savors his cake, he wonders about the guy. Clearly he’s familiar with Petunia’s. He probably lives in the neighborhood or something. Maybe he stops into the bakery in the morning before Calum gets there—in and out, then off to do whatever he does between the time he gets his sweet treat and when he walks by with his iced coffee a couple hours later. Where is he coming from? Where is he going?

None of this is at all useful with helping Calum focus on podcast ideas. He’s not going to do a podcast about the tall guy on the street who introduced him to lemon cream cake, is he? But he can’t stop his brain from fixating on him, hopelessly trying to answer unanswerable questions. Something about talking to the guy took Calum from casual curiosity to an insatiable need to know everything he possibly can about the guy.

This is part of what makes him good at his job. His mind’s ability to fixate on something, hypothesizing and spinning wild scenarios around it, and, when he’s lucky, finding a way to turn those wandering thoughts into a story. But right this second, that’s not what he needs. He needs a fucking podcast idea.

After swallowing the last bite of cake, he presses the prongs of his fork against the crumbs on the plate and licks them off, not wanting to miss out on a single morsel. Now that he’s done with the cake, he’s done thinking about the guy.

•° ✿ °•

It takes eight minutes for Calum to reheat his favorite takeout pizza in the oven. Eight minutes is a very specific amount of time to fill. 

Officially, Calum doesn’t have TikTok. Unofficially, he totally has TikTok. He uses it sparingly enough that he feels like he’s allowed to say he doesn’t, because he’s not addicted to it. He doesn’t know all the TikTok trends. He doesn’t open it every single day. He’s not like other TikTokers, et cetera.

He’s been reaching for it more often lately, though, because it’s something he can do when he’s busy not coming up with podcast ideas that he can also mentally justify as research. Maybe something on his FYP will provide a bolt of inspiration. It probably won’t be the dancing grandpa he’s currently enjoying while he’s slumped over the kitchen counter, but who knows what will come up next. That’s the magic of the whole thing.

And it’s perfect for eight minutes.

He keeps swiping up until the timer beeps, and he’s about to close out the app to get his pizza out of the oven when he spots a familiar face.

It’s the motherfucking lemon cake guy! On Calum’s FYP! Calum’s first reaction is to flinch and hide, knees bending slightly as his body tries to send him into a squat behind the counter. He catches himself, though, and keeps his eyes glued to his screen. How did this happen? It’s not like Calum’s been googling hot bakery guy or anything. And yet the algorithm delivered him to Calum anyway. Terrifying.

The first thing Calum registers is the amount of likes and comments on the video, and his eyes go wide—68.7k likes? The second thing Calum registers explains the 68.7k likes. The guy’s ass is front and center in the frame as he bends down to put something in an oven, and his pants are not loose, and his ass is exceptional. Yeah, Calum would give that a like for sure.

The third thing Calum registers is what the guy is actually doing. Baking cookies. The heavily emoji-filled captions inform Calum that he absolutely needs to chill his sugar cookie dough or his perfect cut-outs will spread into one massive sugar cookie. Pleading face emoji. 

And finally, Calum realizes exactly why this particular TikTok graced his screen. It’s the Petunia’s Bakery account, and surely TikTok knows Calum lives just down the street. It’s just convenient, totally non-stalkery targeted content!

Calum lets it loop, switching up his focus on every watch to take it all in. The guy’s confident hands as he rolls out dough on the counter, the specific cookie cutters he uses (little animals, of course, because Calum was getting a little too thirsty after the ass content and needed to be slapped in the face with a moment of sweetness), and how fucking beautiful he looks in the final shot, holding a fully-decorated little fox cookie up next to his face while his smile presses dimples into his cheeks.

Once Calum’s satisfied he’s pried every possible detail out of the thirty seconds of content, he goes to the Petunia’s profile page. And it’s just Him. Over and over again. Baking different treats, giving different baking tips, and doing it all while being just slutty enough that Calum knows he knows what he’s doing. That into-the-oven shot doesn’t need to be in every video, and it certainly doesn’t need to focus on his ass every single time. Many of these could be classified as straight-up hand porn. In most of them he’s wearing tight, thin T-shirts much like the one Calum saw him in last week, and they stretch across his shoulders and chest and biceps with every move he makes. 

There are even a few where he’s just wearing a tight little tank top and glistening with sweat. Hot days and hot bakes, according to one of the captions. Uh-huh. Sure. Calum has to admit it’s incredible marketing for the bakery. The account has a shitload of followers, and every comment section is filled with horny emojis mixed with earnest expressions of gratitude for the helpful baking tips and people screaming about how desperate they are to try the various bakery specials this guy whips up on screen.

Okay. So. Apparently the hot guy is a baker, works at Calum’s favorite bakery, and probably made every single lemon bar Calum ever consumed. Which means he’s really fucking good at his job. It’s not just his exceptional ass bringing people into the bakery, he’s got the skills to back it up.

In Calum’s currently very small world, this feels like a massive revelation. He has some answers! His very vague picture of the guy walking across the street is beginning to fill in. And he’s not just some guy. He’s a TikTok-famous baker with an incredible ass. Maybe Calum could turn him into a podcast somehow.

There’s potential here if Calum can find the right angle. But what is the right angle? Something about contemporary marketing tactics? The secret life of the hot bakery guy? A deep dive on all the small businesses downtown? Interviewing a bunch of the random people he sees walk by him during his mornings at the bakery? None of it feels quite right, but Calum can sense it. He’s close to something. 

Or maybe he’s just really infatuated with the hot baker and his adrenaline is filling him with a false sense of accomplishment. Either way, it feels good to feel good about something for a change.

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KEY LIME TART

The next morning, Calum doesn’t sit on the bakery terrace. After he picks up his slice of cake, he finds a table inside, with a clear view of the counter. The aesthetic of Petunia’s is interesting, not quite settling into one specific vibe or cliche, refusing to be defined as any one single thing. It’s bright and clean, but not in a stark, modern way. It’s warm and cozy, but not in a mismatched, shabby-chic way. It’s sweet and thoughtful, but not in a cutesy, pastel way.

The homey sage-colored ceramic plates are accompanied by bright neon signs in the shape of cupcakes and croissants. The sleek white tables are surrounded by cozy wingback chairs in different jewel-toned shades of velvet. The floor is covered in a retro soft pink and cream geometric patterned tile. Calum’s no stranger to spending some time on Pinterest to moodboard for his books, but he’s not sure he’d know what to search to pull up Petunia’s specific ambiance. It defies categorization while simultaneously feeling immediately familiar.

But Calum’s favorite thing about it might be the ceiling. Not just because of the pretty dark grey textured paneling. Mostly because it’s low and finished, insulating the sound traveling around the bakery enough that Calum can hear himself think. This is actually an incredibly unique phenomenon for the neighborhood. Almost every restaurant, coffee shop, whatever it is—has a high, unfinished ceiling with exposed ducts, amplifying every voice, every scrape of silverware, and every chirp of a mobile phone into a cacophony of ear-splitting chaos. But here, Calum can think. Or he could, anyway, if his brain were capable of coming up with any original ideas.

While Calum stares blankly at his laptop, he occasionally shifts his eyes above the screen, watching the activity behind the counter. It’s mostly the cashier, a college-aged girl with a very tight bun, and this kind of flustered-looking blonde guy in a beanie who bustles around to make drinks and warm up croissants.

But occasionally, a new face will appear from the kitchen to restock the bakery case or to collect plates and mugs from vacated tables, and every time, Calum perks up in his chair, eyes peeled for the hot baker.

He finally gets his chance when the blonde guy disappears into the back and the hot baker appears to take over croissant-heating duties. Attempting to play it cool, Calum waits for a few minutes before he wanders back over to the counter, watching.

The hot baker seems to joke around with the cashier a bit, giving her an easy smile while talking out the side of his mouth, then starts poking around inside the pastry case. He has this kind of slightly baffled look on his face while he surveys the state of it, squinting one eye shut and nibbling his lip thoughtfully before he disappears into the kitchen and reappears a few seconds later with a loaded tray of treats. His trademark tight T-shirt really adds some intrigue to the whole event, muscles flexing in his arms and back as he carries the tray and deposits it on the counter.

When Calum finally approaches, the hot baker is busy restocking the cookies, but the cashier is smiling at him. It’s possible she’s been flirting with him ever since she realized he’s something of a regular. Obviously Calum’s not going to indulge it too much, but he’s not above returning her flirty smile when he steps up to the counter.

“Hey, can I get a key lime tart to go, please?” He raises his voice slightly, cutting his eyes over to the hot baker briefly, only managing to get a quick glimpse of blonde curls. “I’ve heard that if I like the lemon bars, I’ll like the key lime tart even more.”

“Sure,” the girl says, ringing up Calum’s order. “Luke? Can you grab a key lime tart while you’re in there?”

The hot baker—Luke’s—head pops out of the case, curls flopped over his forehead. “I’m on it.” Then, a double take when he notices Calum on the other side of the counter, followed by a little twitch of a smile. “Taking my advice, then?”

“You’re the expert,” Calum says with a shrug, watching Luke carefully extract a key lime tart from the case. “I tried the lemon cream cake last week and it was incredible. I have no reason to doubt you.”

“You tried the cake?” Luke’s sunny smile stays on his lips while his gaze is focused on boxing up Calum’s tart. “That’s my favorite thing on the menu. Big fan of cake.” He slides the box across the counter while Calum pays, lingering fingers tapping against the countertop, a hesitant look on his face like he wants to say something but can’t quite make himself.

Hoping he’ll eventually spit it out, Calum takes his time putting his credit card back in his wallet. Still nothing. He flicks his eyes over to Luke while he picks up the box, cradling it in both hands for safekeeping. He lets the eye contact linger, even though it’s really hard when brilliant blue eyes are making him feel faint.

Then, finally, the hot baker cracks. “Do you have other favorite flavors? Besides citrus? I might be able to make some other cake recommendations.”

Calum can feel the uncontrollable smile breaking out across his face. Something about this guy. He’s so fucking hot, and he obviously knows it based on his TikTok content, but there’s this unassuming way about him. Like perhaps Calum wouldn’t want expert cake opinions from him, and he’s afraid he’s putting Calum out by offering them, but he still can’t resist, because he also really wants to help Calum find his perfect slice of cake. 

It’s sort of sweet, and Calum’s charmed by it, and he knows he’s wearing that all over his face, but he doesn’t care. Let the hot baker see his infatuation. Even if he can’t get a podcast idea out of this foray into public brainstorming, maybe he can at least get a date.

“I don’t really know,” Calum says warmly. “I like pretty much any cake that’s set in front of me, but I haven’t really had any of this fancy shit. Vanilla and chocolate is basically the extent of my cake experience.”

“Oh, that’s so sad!” Luke’s lips purse into a sympathetic pout, turned up at the corners because he’s smiling underneath it. Relieved Calum’s indulging him, maybe. “Sounds like you need a cake tasting.”

“Is that a service you offer?” Calum asks, a teasing lilt to his voice because obviously it’s not, there’s no fucking way, but he likes making Luke the hot baker smile.

“Usually only for wedding cakes,” Luke replies evenly, surprising Calum a bit because wow, a cake tasting is a real thing? And no one’s ever informed Calum about it?

“Might be worth getting married just for that.”

Luke grins, then leans over the counter, lowering his voice as he says, “Next time you come in, I can put one together for you, if you want. As long as you keep it quiet."

Interesting. Very fucking interesting. “Really? Special cake treatment just for me?” 

What exactly is happening here? Is the hot baker just really invested in broadening Calum’s cake horizons? One of those people so passionate about his work he can’t help but try to share his enthusiasm with anyone who shows even a slight interest?

Luke shrugs and raises his eyebrows, a coy little gesture that makes Calum shake his head, because this—this is Luke knowing what he’s doing, and it makes Calum feel some type of way. Luke’s still grinning when he says, “As a baker, I think it’s my duty to help out the cake ignorant. Open your eyes to all the delicious possibilities.” The way he says it is almost seductive, his grin relaxing into a crooked smirk while he waits for Calum’s response.

“I don’t think I can turn that down,” Calum says. “Is there a code word I should use when I order or something? Or do I just say one forbidden cake tasting, please?”

“Yes, exactly that,” Luke replies dryly, shooting a sidelong glance to the cashier, who’s been hovering off to the side quietly. “Marie, did you catch that?”

She rolls her eyes but smiles gamely. “Got it.”

“Perfect,” Calum says, slowly backing away from the counter, leveling Luke with a warning look. “You better not be fucking with me. I’ll never get over it if I show up tomorrow and there’s no cake and you just laugh in my face.”

“I’m not fucking with you,” Luke says serenely, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. His words tail off in a nervous chuckle, which Calum likes a lot. It’s equal parts awkward and infectious, and it does a lot to make Luke seem…real. Touchable. Achingly lovely.

Calum tips his head at him one last time, narrowing his eyes, and Luke lifts his hand in a wave, a placid smile on his lips that looks to Calum like a challenge.

Oh fuck this guy for being so hot but also so cute, and so sweet but also clearly a goddamn troublemaker. All Calum can do is shake his head as he packs up his laptop and heads home, tart in hand.

•° ✿ °•

It’s probably a bad idea to do a deep dive on the Petunia’s TikTok account before seeing Luke again. All it will do is give Calum a much higher likelihood of coming off like a creep who spent his evening watching Luke bake with his ass and arms out. Because he would literally be a creep who spent his evening watching Luke bake with his ass and arms out.

But, like, it’s a business’s TikTok account. It’s not like Calum would be stalking Luke’s personal Instagram account or something. He’s just a regular at the bakery who likes seeing Luke whip up this week’s special cupcake or seasonal pie so he knows what his options are when he steps up to the counter.

One more. Watching one more is just good preparation. Polite, even, so he’s better equipped to have an actual conversation with Luke next time he has an opportunity. Which could possibly be tomorrow. He needs to be ready.

The video he selects is new, posted just a few hours ago, and features Luke making cinnamon rolls. More accurately, it features Luke tying an apron on over his tight T-shirt, mixing together pastry dough, kneading it with his chest and arms flexing so hard it tests the strength of his sleeves, cutting out the rolls and placing them in the oven, then removing his apron with his back to the camera, a lingering shot on his ridiculously broad shoulders and shapely ass that makes Calum snort with glee. 

Incredible—the content itself, the fact that Luke is posting it for the world to see, and, most importantly, the fact that Calum gets to consume it guiltlessly. It’s kinda hard for him to reconcile it with the guy he’s actually talked to at the bakery. Like, obviously it’s Luke on his screen, and his little grin feels the same when he’s sexily kneading cinnamon roll dough as when he offered Calum a cake tasting, but based on what he’s actually seen of Luke in reality, Calum would never guess he’d happily and confidently whore himself out on TikTok for bakery publicity.

It’s fucking delightful.

-ˋˏ ༻🍰༺ ˎˊ-

PASSION FRUIT MOUSSE CAKE

“One forbidden cake tasting, please?” Calum smiles apologetically.

The problem is, the usual cashier isn’t behind the register. It’s the blonde guy, and Marie is nowhere in sight, and Calum fully expects this guy has no fucking clue what he’s talking about.

But in a surprising twist, the blonde guy nods at him, almost but not quite smiling as he looks Calum over. “Anything to drink with that?”

Calum’s so thrown off that the guy doesn’t question him that he momentarily forgets his own drink order. “Oh, um, I don’t know? I mean. An iced latte. Yeah, an iced latte. The big one.”

“Got it,” the guy says, finally actually smiling at Calum. “You can just go sit down. Luke will bring everything out to you in a few minutes.”

“But I—” Calum waves his credit card in the air awkwardly, realizing in this moment he has no idea how much a cake tasting costs, but figuring pretty much anything is worth it for a chance to flirt with the hot baker.

“Cake tastings are free,” the blonde guy says. “Most people wind up buying a massive, expensive wedding cake after a tasting. But I think in this case Luke has some other ideas how you might be able to make it worth his while.”

It’s impossible to read the guy’s tone—it might be a little teasing, but it mostly just sounds polite. Friendly. Calum takes a chance. He nods enthusiastically. “And I am absolutely positive I’m open to all of those ideas.”

The guy laughs, shaking his head a little, and grabs a pen off the counter. “Can I get a name?” he asks, smoothly swiping a cup off the stack next to the cash register with a flick of his finger along the rim. “For the latte?”

“It’s Calum.”

“Calum.” The guy glances at him as he scrawls Calum’s name on the cup. “Cute.” Once again it’s impossible to really read the guy’s tone, so Calum just smiles and shrugs. “Go ahead and sit down. It’ll be out in a few minutes.”

As Calum makes his way to his new favorite table with the view of the counter, it occurs to him that he’s about to have cake for breakfast. Cake for breakfast. It has a nice ring to it. Is there some kind of podcast idea Calum can extract from that, based entirely on the potential it has as a catchy title?

He pulls out his laptop as he sits, navigating to his mostly blank brainstorming doc and typing in Cake for Breakfast. Tapping his fingers against his lips, he stares through his screen, considering. A podcast on what happens if you eat cake for breakfast every day for a month? Probably nothing exciting enough to talk about for at least 30 minutes once a week for 12 weeks. Something less on the nose, maybe about making unexpected choices? Living outside the box? That’s so vague though. Calum needs something concrete.

“Iced latte for Calum?” 

Calum glances up from his screen to see Luke approaching, coffee cup in one hand and a tray filled with tiny squares—a smorgasbord of frosting and fruit and layer after layer of fluffy cake—in the other, a few pieces dangerously close to tumbling off the edge. Quickly, Calum snaps his laptop shut and shoves it out of the way so Luke has space to set down the tray before disaster strikes.

“Thanks. Luke, right?”

Luke seems a little startled that Calum knows his name, eyes flitting around Calum’s face and chuckling nervously as he says, “Yeah. Luke. That’s me.” He sets Calum’s drink on the table next to the tray and then clasps his hands together in front of him, teetering back and forth while he hovers there, smiling expectantly. “And this is your cake.”

“It looks incredible.” There must be at least a dozen different varieties sitting on the table in front of Calum, and he has no idea where to begin. “So how does this usually work?”

“Normally for a wedding cake tasting, I just sit down with the couple and tell them about each type of cake while they try it, maybe take some notes in case I get some ideas on something different I might be able to make for them based on what they do or don’t like about the cakes I gave them to taste.”

“So I just eat the cake, and you watch me and take notes?”

“Yup,” Luke confirms with a firm nod. “There’s also a hidden camera filming you while you eat it so I can go home and jerk off onto my cake notes while I watch you.”

After a moment of shocked silence, Calum bursts into laughter and gestures at the chair across the table from him. “Sit down, then. Let’s get into it.”

Luke’s holding back a smile when he sits down, proud of managing to make Calum laugh, which is so funny to Calum. How is he so bashful about it when he just said straight-faced that he’s going to masturbate to footage of Calum eating cake? That was such a risk. If Calum weren’t Calum, that joke could have gone so poorly that Luke would’ve found himself with a platter of cake smeared across his face and a scathing Yelp review.

But he took the risk. Which Calum loves, because it makes him feel understood. Luke had a feeling he could trust Calum with that joke, and he was completely right. Calum has been perceived—correctly—by the hot baker. The hot baker gets him.

And it just keeps getting better, because Luke hands Calum a fork and says, “I think we should start with the passion fruit mousse cake,” and when Calum reaches for the fork, Luke doesn’t let go, holding eye contact with Calum for a beat. “Since you’re so fond of citrus.”

There’s a flutter of warmth in Calum’s chest for reasons he can’t entirely pinpoint; nothing about the words should be making him buzz like this, but there’s something in the way Luke’s looking at him. In the way his voice wraps around citrus and the way his eyes shimmer while they’re locked on Calum’s.

“Great. Point me to the passion fruit.” Calum swirls his fork over the plate, searching for something that looks like it might match Luke’s description. Luke reaches for the fork again, pinching his fingers on the top and guiding Calum to a square of elaborate layers of soft yellow, alternating textures with thin layers of bright red in between.

“It’s vanilla sponge, passion fruit mousse, strawberry filling, and chantilly cream frosting.”

Wow. Calum doesn’t know what most of that means, but it sure sounds sexy coming out of Luke’s mouth. Makes him wonder what Luke might sound like listing off other things, like maybe the things he could do to Calum with his cake-making hands and his cake-tasting mouth and his…dick. (There’s a reason Calum is an unemployed writer.)

All of this is running through Calum’s mind as he carefully slices the square of cake in half with his fork and brings a bite to his lips, and he stuffs the cake in his mouth before he has a chance to say any of the things he’s thinking.

The last thing Calum wants to do is gross Luke out, but he can’t help the “holy shit” that bubbles out of him as he chews. He at least manages to hide his mouth behind his hand, and he leaves it there, loosely cupped around his lips while he transcends on a wave of passion fruit nirvana.

This is like the lemon cream cake except filled with magic spells and space dust. It doesn’t taste like anything Calum’s ever had before. It doesn’t even taste like anything Calum could have imagined tasting. The specific combination of textures and flavors is somehow activating every pleasure center in his brain simultaneously.

Luke watches with a soft, close-lipped smile as Calum chews, head propped on his hand expectantly while his other hand is occupied tapping his pen against the table. Waiting for Calum’s feedback.

“Just write down holy shit,” Calum advises after he swallows, immediately stabbing the other half of the cake square with his fork. “I have no notes. Perfect.”

Sighing, Luke drops his pen, but the smile is stuck on his face. “I shouldn’t have started you out with the passion fruit.”

“Why not?” Calum happily stuffs his face with the rest of the tiny cake slice.

“It’s going to be your favorite. Nothing else you try is going to be as good.” There’s this combination of satisfaction and resignation in his tone that makes Calum smile.

“You don’t know that.”

“You said it’s perfect.”

“And these other kinds might also be perfect.”

Luke shakes his head, offering Calum a bittersweet smile. “But this one will be your favorite.”

•° ✿ °•

“Okay, so the passion fruit was my favorite,” Calum says begrudgingly, about half an hour later after he’s polished off all but one bite of cake on the plate. “But the rest of these were still perfect. Except the one with the coconut.” Calum shudders at the memory. It was a sneak attack. The rich chocolate cake tasted great, then suddenly Calum was assaulted with the texture of coconut between his teeth and the whole thing was ruined.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked if there were certain things you know you don’t like.” Luke scratches his jaw anxiously, the satisfying sound of nails against stubble soundtracking his words. “I usually do for wedding tastings, but I was kinda distracted putting this one together.”

“It’s okay, it made me appreciate the spice cake so much more than I probably would have if it hadn’t saved me from the evil coconut.”

“But I was right. The passion fruit was your favorite.” And there it is again, that satisfaction slightly tainted by resignation. Pleased he guessed correctly, upset that he didn’t build up to it instead of offering it up immediately.

But it doesn’t matter to Calum that he tasted that one first. It was probably even more delicious that way, when he had no idea what to expect. “You were right. But they were all so fucking good. Thank you for all of this. It might be the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Luke grins, using his fingers to pick up the half-piece of German chocolate cake still sitting on Calum’s plate. “You’re very welcome. I hope your cake horizons have been adequately broadened.” He pops the bite of cake in his mouth and makes a fuss out of licking his lips after he swallows. Probably trying to illustrate how delicious the coconut-tainted cake is to him even if Calum doesn’t appreciate it, but it comes off like more of a taunt. Kiss me, Calum.

It’s a good thing there’s a table between them, or Calum might be convinced. “Definitely adequately broadened. I don’t know what I did to deserve this cake education, but I promise I won’t let it go to waste.” All that really means is that he’ll be ordering every type of cake on the bakery menu now instead of just sticking to the one he knows he likes, but it’s a promise Calum can definitely keep.

“Do you work while you’re here?” Luke asks, changing the subject entirely and nodding at Calum’s laptop as he leans back in his chair.

“You could say that,” Calum says with a wry chuckle. “Try to, anyway. I need to come up with an idea for a podcast and it hasn’t been going well.”

“What kind of podcast?” Luke’s eyebrows are so expressive—the way his left eyebrow arches makes Calum feel the genuine curiosity in the question. He can tell just from that eyebrow that Luke really is interested in his answer.

Calum shrugs. “Could be anything, really, as long as I can do whatever research and organization is needed. But I want it to be fun for me, and to have some kind of hook to help it stand out a little.”

Luke’s looking at him with this mystified frown, and Calum hurries to add, “I’m not just randomly doing a podcast, like, I have a deal with a network. This is my real job at the moment.”

A little smile tugs at Luke’s lips. “At the moment?” 

“I’m actually a writer, but you know, shit happens, bills have to get paid. I dunno why I thought I’d be able to come up with a podcast idea if I can’t come up with a book idea.”

Luke licks his lips and cocks his head thoughtfully. “Are you open to suggestions?”

“I tried the lemon cream cake, didn’t I?”

“Have you ever baked a cake in your life? Not from a box mix?”

“Fuck no.”

“Would you ever want to?” It’s very clear Luke is holding something back, his eyes wide with anticipation and hope, but his voice is painfully measured.

Calum narrows his eyes at Luke, wondering where this could possibly be going. “Maybe?”

“So I’m working on a Petunia’s cookbook. For cakes, specifically. And I kind of need someone who doesn’t really know what they’re doing to test out recipes. Make sure they’re easy enough to follow, make sure they turn out okay and I didn’t fuck anything up.”

“A cookbook? That’s sick. Like an actual cookbook with a picture of you on the cover that I would buy for my mom for Christmas?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Luke says, eyes sparkling as he smiles at Calum. “And I’m thinking maybe…” He trails off, chewing at the corner of his lip, eyes darting around thoughtfully, and Calum widens his eyes at him impatiently.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could, like, test out my cake recipes. For your podcast.”

“Holy shit.” It’s obvious Luke has more to say, but Calum holds up a finger to silence him, vision blurring while his brain goes on a wild journey, lighting up in every corner with inspiration. “I document baking the cakes. We taste them together. You can talk about how you came up with the recipe or give tips on how to do certain things. You already have a built-in audience with all your thirsty TikTok followers, which would help the podcast reach. And you’d get promo for your cookbook.”

His vision clears and Luke’s hopeful face comes into focus, lips pressed together, showcasing deep dimples, and excitement in his eyes. As if he’s worried he’s going to scare Calum away, he keeps his voice carefully even. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“Holy shit,” Calum says again, fucking vibrating with excitement at this idea. Or maybe that’s all the sugar hitting him suddenly, but either way—an idea he’s actually excited about that also has a fantastic hook and a built-in audience? And involves spending a fuckload of time with Luke? “We should totally do that.” The irony of doing a podcast in service of writing a book is not lost on Calum, but that actually just makes him like the idea more.

“Really?” Luke rubs his nose with his knuckle, obscuring his smile so Calum can just see the corners peeking out. “You don’t need to think about it or anything?”

“I thought about it,” Calum replies, nodding aggressively. “I thought about it and I love it, and there’s no way I’m thinking of any better ideas in the next two weeks.”

“Rad.” Luke lets his hand drop, revealing his full smile. It’s sweeter than any of the cakes Calum tasted this morning, and it makes Calum feel embarrassingly swoony, but he’s pulled out of it when Luke asks, “So how long have you been stalking me on TikTok?”

“Only, like, a week,” Calum says, unashamed. “Would’ve been doing it a lot longer, though, if I knew the account existed. Fuckin’ genius marketing.”

“It was Michael’s idea,” Luke says, cutting his eyes over to the blonde guy behind the counter. “He co-owns the bakery with me. And is also apparently my pimp.” He raises his voice loud enough that Michael looks over, catching Luke and Calum staring at him, and Luke shoots him a cheesy, toothy grin.

“I would love to hear the origin story of how your business partner convinced you to post horny baking content on your company TikTok.” Luke opens his mouth and Calum cuts him off. “Save it, though. For the podcast.”

•° ✿ °•

Spreadsheets are the first order of business. With a binder full of Luke’s cookbook recipes, Calum flips through, marking the ones that look the most interesting to him. Only twelve will make the cut for the podcast, but as Calum skims his options, he’s tempted to ask Luke if he wants Calum to test them all, because narrowing it down is going to be tough when they all look so good. There’s only a little bit of an ulterior motive to have an excuse to spend more time with Luke. 

Although who knows what things will be like between them by the end of this podcast. They could hate each other. They could be madly in love with each other. Shit. If Calum’s going to work with the hot baker, does that mean he can’t ask him out? In his heart, he truly doesn’t think it should make a difference, but maybe he should at least try not to moan every time Luke explains a cake flavor like he did at the tasting. That’s probably not ideal for a podcast centered around cake. 

Or maybe it’s exactly what they need.

Calum: should this be a sexy cake podcast

hot baker: sexy how?

Calum: idk but your tiktoks are sexy so I feel like maybe we need some kind of sexy element

hot baker: they’re jokingly sexy

Calum: which is what makes them sexy

hot baker: so what are you suggesting?

Calum: i don’t actually have an idea. you should know by now ideas are clearly not my strength.

hot baker: what if you did tiktoks like mine while you’re trying the recipes 🤤

Calum: are you only suggesting that because you want to screenshot my ass?

hot baker: not ONLY because of that

It’s actually a pretty good idea. Simple, effective. If it works for Luke, maybe it will work for Calum. Not as well, obviously, since he doesn’t have the whole competent godlike baking creature thing that Luke does, but still. Calum’s ass could definitely earn some likes too. 

•° ✿ °•

Petunia’s closes at three, and Calum shows up at 3:07 to find Michael wiping down tables and Luke at Calum’s favorite table, laptop open on Calum’s spreadsheet.

“Hey!” Luke greets him with a bright grin and god, he looks so fucking good. A little more disheveled than Calum has seen him before, with streaks of flour dusting his tight green T-shirt and curls in a messy swoop off to one side of his head, like they’d been quickly shoved out of the way in the middle of a baking emergency. And, best of all, he looks thrilled to see Calum. “I’m trying to put the recipes you picked in some kind of order. So you can start with something easy and work your way into the more challenging ones.”

“That’s smart. Thanks for looking out for me.” If it had been left up to him, he probably just would have started with the one that looked the tastiest and set himself up for disaster.

Calum starts to pull out the chair across the table from Luke, but Luke reaches for the edge of it and drags the chair around the side of the table so it’s next to him, then looks up at Calum expectantly. “Do you wanna look over what I did?”

“Sure,” Calum says, tossing his backpack on the ground and trying to settle into the chair without kicking Luke in the shins. Luke turns the computer so Calum can get a better view of the screen, and Calum reads down the list. “Wait, the passion fruit mousse cake? That wasn’t in the cookbook recipes, was it?”

Luke bites his lip and releases it slowly while he shrugs. “No, and we don’t have to do it if you don’t think it makes sense, but I thought it might be nice to build up to you learning to make your favorite.”

“Oh, that’s…” Really cute. It’s kind of outside the structure of the podcast, but in a way that could work really well as a finale. It’s not just a podcast about testing recipes, it’s also about Calum learning to be a sufficient cake-baker. It gives him a goal to work towards, something for the audience to anticipate. “That’s a really good idea, actually. Everyone can get invested in whether I’ll get good enough to be able to bake my perfect cake.”

“It kinda freaks me out when you say things that remind me people will be listening to this.”

Calum chuckles and nudges Luke’s knee with his. “That’s sort of the whole point.”

“I know, but like…the TikToks are one thing. I almost never actually talk in them. But co-hosting a podcast where people will hear me having awkward conversations with you?” Luke grimaces, a good-natured gleam in his eye so Calum knows he’s not that worried about it.

“You’ll be great,” Calum assures him, because even if he is awkward, it’ll be cute. Everything Luke does is cute, hot, or both at the same time. It’ll just make him more annoyingly endearing. “And meanwhile, I’ll be struggling to film myself while I attempt these recipes.”

Luke makes a sympathetic face, possibly recalling his own trial and error with figuring out how to effectively film his sexy baking adventures. “I can help you out with that since I’ll be around anyway to help with the recipes. You’re also going to need to record audio on the whole thing so you’ll probably need some gear.” 

Wow, listening to Luke planning is almost as hot as listening to him explain cakes.

It’s reassuring, though, being in this with someone else. Someone who clearly knows how to execute a major project from start to finish based on both the bakery he owns and all the cakes he’s created inside it. “I’m borrowing a ton of stuff from Ashton anyway so we can record from my place, or here, I guess, whatever works.”

“You should use the bakery kitchen,” Luke says, flicking his eyes from the computer screen to Calum’s face. “That way you’ll have all the supplies and utensils you need.”

“Really? That would actually be perfect.” Calum has been lowkey terrified that he’d have to make multiple trips to the store to purchase specialized kitchen items and ingredients he’s never heard of in his life and certainly can’t identify by sight. “We can expense it. Whatever I use, you’ll get reimbursed.”

“Rad,” Luke says with a pleased little grin. Calum’s seeing it in profile, one side of his mouth lifting, one eye just barely crinkling at the corner, and one very deep dimple digging into his cheek. “So I guess, like…we just kinda need to start?”

This is where Calum feels extremely out of his depth. He’s never done this before, and as much as Luke can help with planning, neither of them have the podcast experience to know what they don’t know. They really do just need to start and hope they manage to improvise their way through it successfully. 

“So I think we record an episode,” Calum says. “Like get all the raw audio from when I bake the first cake, plus whatever more formatted stuff we record together—and maybe we can try a few different things with that—then turn it over to Ashton so he can listen through. Give feedback on what’s working, what’s not, maybe some ideas for how to edit it together effectively.” 

Considering Calum was entirely winging it, only thinking about half a second ahead of the words out of his mouth, it feels like a pretty decent plan. He must sound convincingly confident about it, because Luke nods along, fingers tapping in a quiet, rhythmic roll against his laptop keyboard. “Sounds good,” he says, turning his head to look at Calum straight on. Then, with conviction, “We need an outline.”

It’s a damn good thing Calum got randomly obsessed with this hot baker, because he currently owes Luke for his entire livelihood. It’s becoming increasingly clear that Calum would be completely lost on this project without him.

-ˋˏ ༻🍰༺ ˎˊ-

BIRTHDAY BUTTER CAKE

Birthday butter cake is the first recipe—an appropriately celebratory cake to commemorate their first episode, and one Luke claims should be reasonably easy for Calum to execute. Not the easiest in the cookbook, but they’re intentionally starting with one that’s a little complex with the assembly for the sake of getting some drama into the first episode.

Aside from the assembly, Luke says it’s straightforward to make. Looking over the recipe hasn’t filled Calum with confidence, though, because it looks really fucking complicated to him. “What the fuck is vanilla paste?” he mumbles, adding a note to their episode outline to review the recipe together.

This might be the hardest part—trying to figure out how to format the actual organized segments and what they should be talking about. The plan is to just record a ton of different shit and then see what works the best in the edit, then try to follow a similar format for the following episodes, and Calum’s pretty fine with that, but Luke seems a little nervous about it. 

“I’m used to having a recipe to follow, Calum,” he explains with mild panic in his eyes as he sits down across from Calum at one of the larger tables in the bakery, tucked into a corner for acoustics. There are cables strewn everywhere, twisting and tangling as Calum tries to figure out how to hook up their mics. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at this on-the-fly banter.”

“You set me up,” Calum says, about fifteen minutes later, into his fancy mic while he smiles accusingly at Luke. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at banter. Fuck you.”

Luke laughs guiltily, muffling it with his hand when he sees the levels spiking on his mic. Because the thing is, he’s actually incredibly quick and witty and has already decimated Calum half a dozen times with his dry comebacks and clever commentary. It’s not a complete surprise that Luke’s actually great at this, since Calum’s seen hints of it in his limited conversations with Luke, but having the microphone in front of him only amplifies it.

“I didn’t know!” Luke wheezes. “It’s different being recorded and having an outline and shit. Just because I can manage some jokes normally doesn’t mean I can do it under pressure while you’re over there distracting me with your arms.”

“I’m just wearing what I thought was the official uniform of cake baking based on your TikToks,” Calum fires back with a grin, pointedly crossing his arms so his tight T-shirt stretches across his biceps and chest. “Can’t I objectify myself for some views too?”

“I wasn’t thinking when I offered to help film you for this first recipe,” Luke says through a strangled groan.

“Tell me about the TikToks,” Calum says, attempting to sound at least slightly like he knows what he’s doing. “How they came about, how you consistently create content for them, how they’ve impacted Petunia’s. And I’m really fucking curious what it’s like to film them, knowing you’re basically making yourself the subject of baking porn.”

Luke laughs, another contained wheeze, clearly making an effort to regulate his volume. “They were Michael’s idea—the co-owner of Petunia’s. You’d have to ask him where the idea came from. He just showed up at work one day and pitched it to me.”

“And how exactly did he do that?” Calum presses. “Was he just like, So I was thinking it might help our business if you post your ass on the bakery TikTok?”

“Basically,” Luke says, good-natured glumness coloring his tone. “I think he tried to butter me up a little bit first. I remember him telling me I looked good that morning, like, a few different times before he actually brought up the idea. But once he did, he wasn’t subtle at all. He definitely used the phrase sex sells.”

“But you were up for it?”

Luke grins. “Honestly, I barely had to be convinced. I kinda like objectifying myself on my own terms, which Michael knows, so I think he sensed it would be a good fit.”

Wow. What a thought. It’s weird to reconcile with the guy Calum sees sitting across from him. Luke’s smile is so big and open, brightening his whole face like a sunrise. It’s so fucking cute, is the thing. There’s something innocent about how unguarded and genuine it is, in the sweet mismatched crescents of his dimples and the sparkle in his eyes, and god, in how his curls fall across his forehead in soft, fluffy ringlets.

There’s no better way to describe that smile than cute. But that cute smile is attached to this body that’s the walking embodiment of survival of the fittest, the model archetype of desirable man; and this brain that’s filled with perfect cake recipes, sly wit, and a love of incredibly tight pants.

This guy. This guy likes objectifying himself. What’s Calum supposed to do with that information besides lose is fucking mind? But he can’t lose his fucking mind right now, because he has a podcast to record, and his rent payment depends on it.

With a carefully steady voice, Calum says, “And thank god for that,” nodding appreciatively. “Is it weird for you, knowing that thousands of people are looking at you making cookies or whatever, and possibly having some really X-rated thoughts?”

“Nah man, it’s not that weird.” Luke pauses, head bobbing thoughtfully, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Well. I guess it’s a little weird to consider I can, uh, inspire all these people I don’t actually know, but not in a bad way. If fantasizing about some guy with a nice ass on TikTok makes them happy, to me it’s just like…a bonus along with promoting the bakery. As long as they’re not in my DMs telling me their X-rated thoughts like they expect me to respond enthusiastically with feedback.”

“Does that happen? Thirsty DMs?”

“Sometimes, definitely. Most of it is pretty silly and harmless, though.”

“Sorry if I’m interrogating you,” Calum apologizes sincerely, glancing at Luke across the table.

“You’re just doing your job,” Luke says with an easy shrug. “I promise it doesn’t feel like an interrogation. Although I hope I get a chance to turn it around on you.” Calum offers him an exaggerated deer-in-headlights look and Luke smiles, talking out the side of his crooked smile. “I wanna ask you some questions about your baking experience and how you’re feeling about the recipe you’re about to attempt.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s important for everyone to know I’ve never baked a cake from scratch in my entire life.”

“But you’ve made them from mixes?” A teasing smile tugs at Luke’s lips and his eyes sparkle. “You’ve cracked an egg? Operated an oven?” The whole time they’ve been recording, his hands have been fidgety, twirling his rings and scratching his chin, but for this, he tucks them between his thighs, removing all distractions as he waits for Calum’s answer. 

“A few times?” Calum says, voice ticking up in a question and eyebrows pinching, because while technically, yes, he has done those things, it’s not like he approaches them with any level of confidence. “I’ll be honest, I was shitting myself looking over the recipe for today. I don’t even know what all the ingredients are.”

Delighted, Luke prompts with a nod of his chin, “Which ones?”

“Mainly vanilla paste,” Calum mumbles, then, remembering he’s meant to be making something people can listen to, he clears his throat and announces, “Vanilla paste.” Luke’s smiling, licking his lips while he watches Calum with bright eyes, a quiet wheeze escaping his mouth, but he’s doing his best not to laugh at Calum, which Calum mostly appreciates. “I have no fuckin’ clue what vanilla paste is or what it looks like. Do I have to make it myself? Does it come in a squeezy bottle like Elmer’s glue?”

“Maybe we need to set some ground rules on how much I’m allowed to help you.” This thing he does, talking while he’s still smiling crookedly, it’s going to kill Calum for sure. It’s just the most horrible combination of cute and sexy Calum has ever experienced. It’s so hard to focus on Luke’s actual words, and it’s impossible not to smile back dopily. “Like, I can tell you about vanilla paste, but if you want content…leaving you to your own devices is only gonna help with the comedy factor.”

Calum tries to seem offended, but he quickly gives in to his helpless laugh. “Maybe you let me suffer unless I get dangerously close to either ruining the cake completely or ruining your kitchen completely. Besides,” he adds, narrowing his eyes roguishly, or so he hopes, “I might surprise you with my skills.”

“I hope you do,” Luke says, raising an eyebrow. “The better your cakes turn out, the less terrified I’ll be of publishing this cookbook.”

“We’re kinda both trusting each other a lot here, huh?” It hadn’t really occurred to Calum before. Like, he knew it was a risk doing something like this with an almost-stranger, but he hadn’t considered how much it went both ways, how much they both depend on each other for this to succeed in the way they each need it to.

It’s clear Luke’s thought about it though. “Mutually assured success, or mutually assured destruction.” His smirk seems to suggest he’s titillated by the risk, but Calum can’t tell if it’s genuine or if he’s faking it for the sake of general morale.

“This is as much a social experiment as it is a cake-baking podcast.” Calum should probably be worried about the whole thing, but looking at Luke’s slightly mischievous smile, at the softness in his eyes, at the way he wrings his hands together gently in his lap, Calum is just reassured. The energy between them just feels right. This is going to work.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, chuckling. “Or a therapy session. You’re really forcing me to open up and be vulnerable.”

“Maybe that was my plan all along,” Calum jokes, laughing softly. “Every podcast is a date and by the end of this thing you’re gonna be in love with me.”

Luke widens his eyes a little, lips drooping into this sort of upside-down smile. A bit of concern, a bit of excitement. Fuck, he’s cute. “We’re really setting up some exciting storylines for the last episode.” Then he raises his eyebrows at Calum, looking directly into Calum’s eyes with this something that makes Calum’s chest tingle and his heart beat faster.

It’s there in his eyes. Luke thinks this is going to work, too.

•° ✿ °•

The bakery kitchen looks nothing like Calum’s kitchen. He feels like he’s stepped onto the set of a sci-fi film, surrounded by stainless steel and elaborate contraptions with highly specific uses. Luke gives him a quick tour and then pulls a stool up to the large bench in the middle of the room, laptop open to take notes, phone out to film Calum at work. With his fingers poised over his keyboard, he looks at Calum expectantly.

“I’m just supposed to start?” Calum asks, adjusting the microphone clipped to the collar of his shirt. “It’s gonna be so weird talking to myself.”

“Just talk to me,” Luke says patiently, offering Calum an encouraging smile. “It can be a conversation. Tell me about what you’re doing. If you’re confused, ask questions. I probably won’t answer them, but I’ll at least respond to you. It’ll be good for the pod, and maybe it will help you get used to talking while you work so it’s easier next time.”

“Yeah, okay.” Clearly Luke was sent to him by some sort of higher power, a podcast angel to help Calum manage this project that he has neither the skills nor the experience to complete on his own. “I guess I’ll start by reading over the recipe?”

Luke nods encouragingly, eyes flicking to his laptop to make sure Calum’s voice is coming through clearly. “Very responsible of you.”

“Should I, like, get all the stuff out before I start?”

“You could,” Luke says evasively, holding back a smile.

Calum looks down at the recipe anxiously, scanning the ingredients. “Do you have room temperature butter?”

The smile threatening Luke’s lips is unleashed. “I always have room temperature butter.”

Finger running down the list, Calum murmurs, “Do you have…one cup of it? Wait, it’s in the frosting too.” He looks up at Luke hopefully. “Do you have two and a half cups of it?”

“I have enough.” Luke’s lips roll together and his dimples appear, taunting Calum.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Calum says, shaking his head as he starts venturing around the kitchen in search of ingredients, recipe in hand. “You like watching me suffer.”

“Just trying to maintain the integrity of the podcast,” Luke calls as Calum disappears into the walk-in refrigerator, hunting for eggs. Calum can hear Luke laughing to himself as he collects the eggs, then pauses to consult the recipe, grabbing a half-empty gallon of milk on his way back out.

It’s strange at first, having Luke watching him. Even though he’s there to help, it still feels like Calum’s taking a driving test and fucking up at every possible opportunity. Did he remember to adjust the mirrors (preheat the oven)? Is he using the right technique to parallel park (grease the pans)?

Luke’s mostly quiet while he watches Calum work, occasionally saying a little something, then trailing off like he’s trying not to distract Calum with too much talking. He makes little noises sometimes, usually followed by tapping as he takes down some kind of note, and he films Calum a bit, which makes Calum bristle, because then it’s like he’s taking his driving test for an audience of thousands.

“You doing okay?” Luke asks, phone camera pointed at Calum’s hands as he messily cracks eggs into a bowl. “You seem nervous.”

“I am nervous.” Fuck. Is it going to be a problem that half the egg white spilled onto the table instead of into the bowl? Shit, he’s supposed to be recording a podcast. “Is it going to be a problem that half the egg white spilled onto the table instead of into the bowl?”

Luke leans across the table to get a look. “You don’t seem like a nervous person. Like, generally. And that’s fine. It’s just a drip of egg white. The cake will be fine.” He slinks back onto his stool and Calum misses having him close. Which is weird, because the hovering should make him more uncomfortable, but it’s sort of reassuring instead, when he knows Luke is there but he can’t actively see Luke watching him.

“But aren’t recipes, like, fuckin’ math equations? Don’t I have to follow it exactly for it to work?” Calum swipes at the egg white on the table with a damp rag, very concerned about keeping the bakery kitchen from becoming a disaster area because of his incompetence. “And I’m not really a nervous person, but these are extenuating fucking circumstances, okay? I’ve got this incredibly hot guy who also happens to be an amazing baker watching and filming me fuck up his recipe at every turn.” In a huff, Calum collects the final egg and cracks it into the bowl.

“There’s science behind it, yeah,” Luke says through some breathy wheezes. “But I like to think of it like—” He pauses, fingers wiggling in the air, “—like the recipe is there to help. The recipe is my friend. But just following the recipe exactly doesn’t guarantee success, and not following it exactly doesn’t guarantee failure. There’s still some wiggle room.”

“Easy for you to say,” Calum mumbles, flipping on the stand mixer. It is a comfort, though, knowing that these little things like a lost bit of egg white aren’t going to fuck everything up completely, and Calum’s shoulders relax as he watches the eggs swirling into the butter and sugar mixture. This is why they’re here. Even if Calum does fuck everything up, it doesn’t mean he’s failing. It’s the podcast that matters. “Is there anything I’ve done so far that made you want to intervene?” Calum asks, tossing a sly smile at Luke.

Eyebrows raising, Luke appears to be filtering through a variety of possible responses before settling on, “Everything you do makes me want to intervene.” He swallows, prominent adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he regards Calum with simmering eyes.

Calum’s internal organs join the mixture being violently beaten into submission inside the mixing bowl. He clears his throat, the sound blending in with the hum of the mixer. “Really? Are you a micromanager, or am I doing everything wrong?”

“Neither,” Luke says, voice deep and soft. “It’s just hard to watch you work without getting involved.” He licks his lips, dimples popping in his cheeks as he does, then disappearing when his tongue rolls back into his mouth and he swallows. Again.

Calum flips off the mixer and stares down at the batter for a second. Then, with a smile that could maybe be interpreted as joking, but that actually is the result of Calum being fully unable to contain his enthusiasm for the idea, he looks up at Luke. “I wouldn’t mind if you got involved.”

“Not great for the podcast, though,” Luke says, not exactly shy about it, but his face is doing this kind of cute thing where he seems to be battling embarrassment, lips pursing and eyes flicking up to the ceiling.

“Maybe for a different kind of podcast,” Calum says, scraping the batter off the sides of the bowl. “You know, that kind of thing does exist. Podcast erotica. I saw it when I was researching ideas.”

Luke’s abrupt, loud laughter actually shakes the bench, vibrating through his body and out into his fingertips, which are gently hooked around the edge of the bench. “I thought I was being subtle,” he says, shaking his head.

“You were,” Calum assures him, reaching for his bowl of dry ingredients. “Maybe even too subtle. I don’t think our listeners are going to have any idea what’s happening without being able to see the way you were looking at me, but we can do another take if you want.” He grins cheekily at Luke, pouring some of the dry mixture into the bowl and flipping the mixer back on. 

“Did you listen to any of it?” Luke asks, smiling brightly back at Calum, eyes glittering. “The podcast erotica?”

“You don’t understand how desperate I was for an idea.”

“So you did.”

There’s something incredibly satisfying about flicking the switch on the mixer. The whisk attachment grinds to a halt near the middle of the bowl, and Calum struggles to pour in more of the dry ingredients without spilling. “Of course I fuckin’ did.”

“How was it?”

“Eh,” Calum replies noncommittally, reaching for a clean spoon to scoop the ingredients into the mixer instead tempting fate with this ill-advised pouring technique. “The scenarios were kind of uninspiring.”

Luke’s fingers tap against the edge of the bench, dancing in a jaunty little rhythm. “No cake baking?” 

Calum loves Luke’s voice like this, alert and playful, ready to be delighted by anything Calum says in response.

“It was all pretty cliche. The suave stranger comes to town and sweeps the girl next door off her feet with his uninspired dirty talk.”

“Uninspired!” Luke echoes, tapping out a note on his laptop. It probably says something like edit out pointless discussion of podcast erotica.

“I’m not saying I could do any better,” Calum says, flipping the mixer back on. “But I’d be up for trying.” He raises his voice loudly over the whir of the mixer, and Luke’s eyes flash with amusement.

“Season two,” he suggests, just as loudly, holding up two fingers for emphasis, or maybe to make sure Calum understands him.

Calum understands him, loud and clear. 

While the cakes are in the oven, Calum swoops in on the opportunity to talk to Luke off-mic. “How do you feel about dating coworkers?” He’s trying to clean up after himself before he starts on the frosting, wiping remnants of flour and splotches of batter off the bench.

“Uh, not great?” Luke says, confused and slightly distracted as he frowns at his laptop. “Most of our staff are college kids and I definitely don’t wanna date Michael.”

“I don’t mean the staff at Petunia’s specifically. I mean coworkers in general.”

This seems to sink in enough to get Luke’s attention, and he looks up from his laptop screen to examine Calum with eyes entirely too blue for the artificial lighting of the bakery kitchen. “Depends on the situation, I guess?”

Sighing heavily, Calum balls up his rag and tosses it across the few feet it takes to land in the big industrial sink, then turns back to Luke to lay it all out on the table. “What if the situation is that you just started working on a podcast with someone who really wants to ask you on a date?”

Blinking rapidly, Luke tilts his head to the side, elbow on the table, cradling his cheek in his hand. Studying Calum with something in his eyes that looks suspiciously like anticipation. “In that case…” He taps his fingers against his cheekbone gently, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip while he considers. “It’s just a date. No harm in that. See how it goes before deciding whether it’s a bad idea. That said,” Luke adds, shrugging, “I’m impatient, and probably a little too emotional. If I want something, I don’t see the point in pretending I don’t just because of semantics.”

“So you’re saying that you’re giving me terrible advice right now?” But also that he wants Calum.

Luke smirks. “I thought this was supposed to be my opinion, not advice.”

“They’re the same thing,” Calum says, peeking through the oven window to check on his cakes. Looking at them isn’t very helpful, but they smell amazing, the sweet sugary scent hovering in the air on top of a lighter, leftover sugary scent from things being baked in this kitchen all day long. Calum wonders if Luke smells sweet too, after spending so much time surrounded by it. And more than that, he wants to get close enough to find out.

“Do you wanna go out with me sometime?” Calum turns his attention back to Luke, head still resting in his hand as he folds over the top of the bench next to his laptop. “Preferably sometime soon, because you’re driving me a little insane.”

Luke’s face lights up, tilting his head so he’s looking up at Calum, cheek squished against his palm. “You sure you wanna do that already? You don’t want to give it a couple of weeks, make sure I’m not the worst?”

“Is that what you want to do?” Calum’s well aware it’s very possible that he’s the worst, so it’s probably only fair to offer Luke the opportunity for a grace period.

But Luke sits up, shaking his head firmly. “No. Either way I’m stuck with you for at least a few months. The only difference a date makes is maybe I can get my hands on you sooner that way.”

Calum raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow. You sure are full of surprises.”

Pleased, Luke wonders sweetly, “Am I?”

“Yes. Multifaceted.”  

The oven timer beeps and Calum nods as he goes over to check on the cakes while Luke rushes to restart the audio recording. The cakes look done, but how the fuck is Calum supposed to know what’s happening underneath the golden brown tops? Experimentally, he opens the oven door to get a better look. “How do I—”

“The recipe is your friend.”

Leveling Luke with a slightly suspicious look, Calum pivots to peek at the recipe, the warmth of the oven gusting onto his face. “Until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cakes comes out clean,” he recites, earning an affirmative hum from Luke. “Where are the toothpicks?” When he turns around, Luke has his phone camera pointed at Calum.

“Under the table,” Luke says, nodding to indicate a low shelf below the back counter, camera still aimed at Calum. “This is your chance for an amazing ass shot, try to make the most of it.”

“If it sucks, can’t I just do it again?” Halfway down to his destination, Calum has a realization and blurts, “Oh my god, is that a thing you do when you make your TikToks? Pretending to do something you’ve already done over and over until you get the perfect ass shot? Shit, that’s a big box of toothpicks.”

“We use them for sandwiches too,” Luke says from above as Calum plucks out a toothpick. “And how dare you question the integrity of my TikToks.” He’s smiling slyly when Calum pops back up, one corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other.

“You’re right.” Sweat prickles Calum’s forehead as he dives back into the oven with his toothpick. “Every shot of your ass is the perfect shot.” It’s a little tricky to jam his hand in between the oven racks to get the toothpick into the middle of one of his cake tins, but he smiles victoriously as he pulls the toothpick out. No crumbs. But the victory is short-lived. The top of his knuckle grazes on the oven rack as he pulls his hand out. “Shit fuck ow goddammit!”

“There’s an oven mitt on the hook next to your head,” Luke says calmly. “I wonder if I need to clarify in the recipe instructions that it’s a good idea not to stick your bare hand in a hot oven.”

Calum flings a good-natured fuck you at Luke as he reaches for the oven mitt and pulls his cakes out. As he slides them onto racks to cool, Luke peeks at them curiously, tapping his fingers against his lips, not really showing any sort of visible reaction to give Calum an indication how he’s doing. But they smell good, and they look like cakes, so maybe Calum didn’t fuck this up entirely. 

Once the cakes are secure and the oven door is closed, Luke says, “So this date…”

“Next time we record?” Calum prods at the top of one of his cakes with his finger, unsure what useful information it will give him, but it feels like the right thing to do. “We can go out after? There’s a bar around the corner that’s pretty chill on weeknights.”

“I know the one,” Luke says, Converse-clad feet tapping against his stool. Now that Calum’s been on his feet struggling to put together this cake, he wonders how the fuck Luke can stand to bake in Converse every single day. Calum’s back and shoulders are on the edge of disintegration after an hour on his feet in the kitchen. “They have a rad spicy margarita.”

The words tug at something in Calum’s memory and he furrows his brow, leaning against the side of the bench. “That’s the next cake, right? Spicy margarita?” 

“Yeah,” Luke replies with a vaguely guilty smile. “There are so many margarita cake recipes, but no one ever spices them up. So, y’know. I took it upon myself. Also,” Luke continues, barely pausing for a breath, “You don’t have to hover over your cakes while they cool. You can sit down and stop being a helicopter parent.”

Calum gasps, mouth dropping open as he gives Luke an offended glare, but he drags a stool over next to Luke’s anyway, eager to give his aching back a break. “How dare you compare my amazing cake to a child?”

Luke laughs wheezily, eyes flitting all over Calum’s face. Now that he knows Calum’s full attention is on him, he doesn’t seem to quite know where to look. “You’re right,” he grunts, tapping his toe against Calum’s stool. “No child will ever be able to compete with a delicious cake. That’s kind of the point, though. Your cake is self-sufficient. You don’t need to watch it to make sure it doesn’t stick its finger in a light socket while it cools.”

“My cake is smarter than a child!” Calum murmurs reverently, a proud smile taking over his face. “Shame we’re gonna end up eating it.”

“I’d suggest we eat children instead, but they wouldn’t be as tasty.” Even Luke’s attempt at an evil smirk is cute in its own way, something in the brightness of his eyes and the twitch of his lips. Then, one of his eyebrows arches dramatically, almost cartoonishly, and Calum dissolves into laughter.

“Can I ask you a really egotistical question?”

“Oh geez,” Luke says trepidatiously, “Are you going to make me regret agreeing to the date immediately?” He waves his hand, gesturing for Calum to continue, and his eyes are downright enthralled.

The eagerness of his gaze makes Calum feel giddy. “Would you say something like that to anyone? The eating babies thing? Or, like, the jerking off to me eating cake thing? Do you just say shit like that to people? Or is there something about me that screams sexually deviant baby-hater?”

“Oh god no,” Luke says, reeling back. “Well, actually,” he backtracks, making Calum snort in amusement, “I do say shit like that a lot, but not to anyone. I know my audience.” He smiles sweetly, tongue briefly catching between his teeth. “Which is sexually deviant baby-haters.”

Calum knew it was coming, but even still, it makes him laugh loudly, seeing Luke say it with his dimples and his baby blue eyes and his cloying grin, a few curls spilling across his forehead as he leans closer to Calum for emphasis. “Are we still recording?” Calum wonders breathlessly.

Luke just nods, and god, Calum can feel himself getting hooked. Luke’s a page-turner and Calum is desperate to keep reading every new chapter so he can discover what happens next. But he also has no qualms about attempting to spice up the narrative. “Hey, while we’re waiting for these to cool, do you happen to need any help filming any of your sexy TikTok content?”

“Sorry, Cal,” Luke says, scratching his chin in an overly-casual way. “But you should probably be making the frosting.”

Shit. The fucking frosting.

“Did you forget?” Luke’s biting his lip to try not to smile too much at Calum’s ineptitude, drawing Calum’s attention to his perfect pink lips.

“I didn’t forget!” Calum lies straight to Luke’s lips. “I just got distracted. By you and your spicy margaritas and cannibalism and your fucking ridiculous smile.” He very badly wants to reach out and tug Luke’s lip out from between his teeth so he can see that smile, even lifts his hand halfway there, and maybe would have followed through, except Luke lets his smile loose before Calum has a chance to intervene.

It’s not a shy smile, but his eyes flick to the ceiling, then he rubs his nose, partially covering his mouth, like he’s not entirely sure he wants Calum to see how much he’s smiling. “You don’t have to flatter your way out of it. It’s the first cake you’ve ever made. It’s okay if you forgot the frosting.”

“Meant every word,” Calum says, giving Luke a flirty little nod as he flips the recipe page over to read through the frosting instructions. “Now what the fuck is semisweet chocolate?”

•° ✿ °•

The cake is ugly. Lopsided, and over-frosted because Calum fucked up the measurements partway through and ended up having to make a double batch of the fudge frosting to fix it. But he used the extra frosting anyway, figuring the more fudge, the merrier.

Consider that a lesson learned. “The recipe was my friend,” Calum mourns, sucking his teeth to try to free them from the clutches of an excess of fudge frosting. “I should’ve listened to it.”

“Aw, it’s not that bad,” Luke says, scraping half an inch worth of frosting off the top of his slice of cake with his fork. “It actually tastes good, the texture is decent, and doubling the recipe was a pretty good strategy to fix the issue.” 

He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, and Calum watches the way it makes his deeper dimple roll in and out of his cheek. “I might even edit this recipe so it makes slightly more frosting. It helps balance the textures.” Still chewing, his tongue pokes out to lick frosting off his lips. He’s sadly oblivious to the fact that he’s far more delectable than Calum’s over-frosted cake.

“I should’ve been filming this,” Calum sighs, following Luke’s lead and scraping a bunch of excess frosting off his cake before he takes another bite.

•° ✿ °•

hot baker: how’s the editing going?

Calum: uhhhhh

It’s taking for-fucking-ever, because Calum is still learning the program. It’s also giving him a stress headache trying to figure out how to actually format the episode. This is kind of a big deal. The format he uses for the first episode is kinda what they’re stuck with for the rest of the series. And Calum feels that pressure immensely.

Calum: I think we’re going to need to record a more organized conversation about how the cake turned out and what we learned

Calum: something to wrap it up cleanly at the end

Calum: also I might need you to sign off on whether you’re ok with some of this stuff being included

hot baker: …

hot baker: should i be worried?

Calum: about sexually deviant baby-haters?

hot baker: you want to USE that?!

Calum: i mean. Maybe. It’s funny

Calum: but that’s what i mean i guess

Calum: we need to figure out what kind of tone we want it to have and if we want to lean in to being the way we are or pretend to be normal people in the edit

hot baker: i say lean in

hot baker: that’s the kind of thing that makes people who don’t really care about cake more interested in listening

That’s exactly what Ashton had said when Calum posed the same question to him earlier. If the personalities are boring, no one’s going to care about the content. Which is true—Calum’s constantly trying out new podcasts on subjects he loves only to give up on them in the middle of the first episode because they’re just fucking dull.

It makes Calum’s editing job easier, but it’s also maddening listening back to the casual conversations with Luke. Not in the way he’d expect, either—it’s not embarrassment over the sound of his own voice or the things that came out of his mouth. He’s so far beyond being self-conscious about that type of thing. 

But it’s Luke. Hearing him. Which leads to missing him, even though Calum just saw him less than 24 hours ago. Should Calum be concerned about this development? Maybe, but he’s really not. He’s just relieved that he has a built-in reason to see Luke again soon.

Calum: ok, then it’s decided.

Calum: miss u

Calum: when can we record again? 🥺

-ˋˏ ༻🍰༺ ˎˊ-

SPICY MARGARITA CAKE

It actually winds up being a few days before they can meet up again thanks to a massive catering order Luke has to fill, so they have to pack a lot into one night: Record what they need to wrap up the first episode. Record the intro of the next episode. Make the second cake. Go on the goddamn date, because by then Luke will be in desperate need of a drink and a break.

Or so he says, anyway, but he seems to be energized and in high spirits when Calum arrives at the bakery a few minutes before it closes. When he sees Calum walk through the door, he cheers, “Spicy margarita day!” from behind the counter, bouncing on his toes while his hands are occupied with cleaning out the pastry case.

“Which are you more excited for?” Calum asks, dropping his backpack at his favorite table on his way over to Luke. “The cake or the drink?”

“This feels like a trick question,” Luke says through his lopsided smile, glancing at Calum as he wipes down the glass.

“You can’t go wrong.” Calum watches Luke’s body moving under his very tight, very sheer T-shirt and wonders if there’s something wrong with him. Is he the only one this enthralled by everything Luke does? Surely Luke must be an incredible distraction to everyone else who sets foot in this bakery, and yet Calum seems to be the only one obviously impacted. “If you pick the cake you’re expressing your faith in my ability to make a delicious cake, which makes me feel good. If you pick the margarita, you’re expressing excitement about our date, which makes me feel good.”

“Or am I just expressing that I think I’m gonna desperately need a drink to get through the date?” Luke offers, squinting at Calum. He doesn’t even give Calum a chance to pretend to be offended before he smiles, sweet as can be. “I’m just about done here if you wanna start getting set up.”

Calum learned a few lessons while he was editing the first episode—one being the fact that the levels on Luke’s mic vary drastically between his normal speaking volume and his laugh, which caused several moments of extreme audio distortion in their last recording. As not-an-audio-expert, Calum figures he’ll just set Luke’s mic for his laugh volume and then adjust everything else in the mix. The other big lesson is that the air conditioning vents are fucking loud, and in order to avoid them, one side of the table is fully off-limits. Including Calum’s spot across from Luke.

The fix? Sit closer to Luke. Or, you know, move to a different table, but Calum likes this table. It’s kind of a lucky table at this point. Plus, maybe he wants a reason to sit closer to Luke. To touch him a bit when they talk. To be able to see all the little expressions on his face up close, and maybe even to find out if he smells as sweet as his cakes.

“You look good today,” Luke says, sneaking up behind Calum while he’s fiddling with the mic cords and cupping him on the shoulder. “This jacket is nice. Is it gonna come off any time soon?”

Calum chuckles, spinning around to model his outfit. “This is my I want to look good for my date, but I have to make a cake first look,” Calum explains, flashing open his jacket so Luke can see the plain black tank top underneath.

Luke nods, cocking an eyebrow as he takes a long look at Calum’s torso. “It’s an issue I’m familiar with. There’s a reason I’m always wearing beat-up shirts. Flour. Sugar. The shirt is always collateral damage.”

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that,” Calum grumbles, picking at the fabric on the front of his tank top. “I was just thinking about comfort and how much I could show off my arms.”

“We could get you an apron,” Luke offers, grabbing onto the lapel of Calum’s jacket to hold it open longer while he pretends like he’s got some serious business reason for checking Calum out thoroughly. It’s amazing, and Calum gets a little hot flash from the sight of Luke’s lilac-painted nails gripping the edge of his black leather jacket. “We’ve got tons of them.”

“Do you wear an apron?” Calum tries to conjure up a mental image of Luke tying on an apron, torn between whether to make it a sexy apron situation or a cute apron situation.

Luke snorts, releasing Calum’s jacket and dropping into his chair, and Calum follows him down. “I used to,” Luke says, eyes flickering with interest when he realizes Calum’s reconfigured the seating arrangement so they’re inches apart, knees touching under the table. “But I always wind up getting shit on my shirts anyway, and then I’d just have twice as much laundry. So now I just accept that I’m going to go through life covered in stains and occasionally throw on an apron for the aesthetic of the TikToks.”

“I’ve literally never noticed a stain on you before,” Calum says, eyes roaming over the front of Luke’s shirt. “But I guess maybe I’m too distracted by your body to—oh shit, sure enough!” Calum reaches out to put his finger over a small blob of something that looks like chocolate just below Luke’s collar. 

Nodding, Luke looks down, eyes following Calum’s finger as it presses against him. “And now you’ve uncovered the reason the beat-up shirts are also very tight.” He lifts his eyes to meet Calum’s and smiles slyly.

“It’s all smoke and mirrors.” Calum’s gleeful smile makes Luke’s heart beat faster. Calum knows this for certain, because he can feel it beneath the pad of his finger. It makes it hard to pull away. Having a direct line to Luke’s pulse—knowing he can have that kind of effect on Luke—is a powerful thing.

They move through their conversation about the first cake quickly, working off notes they both took over the past few days. Great for efficiency, awful for Calum’s desire to be close to Luke as long as possible, but hey, he can make up for it on their date.

It’s possible his anticipation of the date is the reason he’s such a fucking disaster in the kitchen. How’s a guy supposed to focus on a cake recipe when the faster he finishes it, the faster he gets to take out the incredibly hot, incredibly sweet, incredibly funny guy taunting him from across the kitchen? It’s like dangling a porkchop in front of a dog while it’s running an agility course for the first time.

“This is almost the exact same process as last time,” Luke says through hiccup-y giggles, watching Calum struggle with the flour sifter. “Why are you so bad at it this time?”

“Because,” Calum growls, resisting the urge to smack the sifter against the countertop, “Last time I was focused. I took my time.”

“So why aren’t you doing that this time?” Luke’s smarmy grin indicates that he fucking knows why, and Calum simply glares at him. It’s difficult to sustain when the glare just makes Luke laugh harder, and Calum feels his lips twitching into an uncontrollable smile. Luke sees that too, eyes sparkling as he clocks it.

“Will I ever get to sit and watch you bake?” It’s been on Calum’s mind a lot, actually, wondering what Luke’s like in the kitchen. Now that he has a basic idea of what it takes to make a cake, he’s even more interested in seeing how Luke’s practiced hands do all the things Calum fumbles through awkwardly.

Amused, Luke replies, “That’s not really how the podcast works.”

“Second date?” Calum suggests, looking over his shoulder at Luke as he measures out the sugar.

Luke presses his lips together in a small smile. “Sure, but you’d have to come over to my apartment for it. Can’t fuck you in the bakery kitchen.”

Calum’s hand jerks violently and he overfills his measuring cup, granules of sugar spilling out across the counter. “First of all, I’m good with that. Like, so totally on board with that.” Setting down the sugar, he turns around, bracing his arms on the edge of the bench while he looks at Luke. Possibly flexing his arms unnecessarily in the process. No one can prove it. “Is that a requirement for you? Fucking on the second date?”

“Like I need to fuck on the second date as part of a vetting process?” Luke asks cheekily, eyes glazing slightly as he stares at Calum’s bare arms. “More like it will be a requirement for a second date with you specifically, because my dick is already getting really impatient.”

“How the hell do you expect me to finish this cake when you’re saying shit like that?” Calum whines, absolutely thrilled, and completely tormented.

Luke shrugs. “You asked.”

“You’re so fucking casual about it,” Calum says mournfully, shaking his head to try to clear it enough to focus on his recipe. Baking powder. Where’d he put the baking powder? “Okay. I got this. I’m gonna get this cake in the oven, then we’re gonna have a shot of this fancy tequila—” His fingers brush the top of the bottle along their path through the ingredients laid out on the bench “—then we’re gonna record absolutely everything we need for tonight so that as soon as those fucking cakes are out of the oven, we can get out of here.”

“Calum,” Luke says patiently, handing Calum the baking powder he’s hunting for, “The frosting. You keep forgetting the frosting.” 

There’s a smile in his voice but Calum is already on the move, so he doesn’t have the pleasure of seeing it. “Dammit. We’re never getting out of here.” Salt. Milk. Tequila. Calum grabs them all, clutching them in his arms and dumping them next to the mixer. It looks like he’s about to make the world’s most disgusting cocktail. “Do any of these cakes not need frosting?”

A loud gasp from Luke makes Calum turn around to make sure he hasn’t been attacked by a gigantic spider or something. But no, no spider, just Luke sitting safely on his stool, pouting his tempting lips, one fist resting on his hip judgmentally. “Cake without frosting?”

“It’s a thing, right?” Frantic, Calum tosses the baking powder and salt in with his half-sifted flour. The sudden sense of urgency he’s feeling is fully unnecessary, but Luke talking about his impatient dick, combined with the frosting revelation, has Calum feeling pretty damn panicked. Sweaty. Extremely tempted to drop everything in favor of kissing Luke on his pouty lips. Maybe straddling him on that stool while he's at it.

“I guess it’s a thing,” Luke allows, rolling his eyes, oblivious to Calum sizing up his lap. “A stupid thing. Cake without frosting, or icing, or cream—something to jazz it up—is just sugary bread. A muffin in cake’s clothing. A fucking abomination, if you ask me.”

Calum smiles at how riled up Luke’s getting. “It didn’t occur to me that you’d have really niche hot takes on desserts thanks to your job,” he says, jumping out of the way when adding the dry ingredients to the mixer makes flour puff up in his face. He waves his hand in front of him to clear the air. “It’s hot. You look like you would punch someone if they told you cake is better without frosting.”

He actually kind of does, this genuinely intimidating scowl on his face, shoulders squared like he’s ready for a fight. But his face softens slightly at Calum’s words, interest lighting his eyes. “That’s hot to you? Cake violence?”

“I’m afraid everything about you is hot to me.” Calum pretends to be distraught about it, which is great because it makes a smile threaten Luke’s lips. So now he’s basically staring at Calum like he wants to devour him whole. It’s really something, having Luke look at him like this. It makes him shiver under the intensity of Luke’s eyes combined with that goddamn smirk, even though his skin is prickling with heat. Calum can’t look at him for too long because he has to focus on the mixer, but he can feel Luke’s eyes on him while he works, dumping the last of the flour into the batter. 

He’s so fixated watching the swirl of ingredients he’s startled by Luke’s arm, reaching from behind Calum to swipe the tequila bottle off the counter, his arm brushing up against Calum’s waist. It makes Calum reel backward, stumbling against Luke’s chest, one of Luke’s hands landing securely against Calum’s hip to keep him from stumbling further. “Sorry,” he murmurs, entirely too close to Calum’s ear. “Thought I’d get ahead on pouring the tequila shots.”

“You wanna measure out a tablespoon of that for me while you’re at it?” Calum keeps his voice low, just barely louder than the mixer so Luke has to stay close to hear him.

Luke’s voice is just as low, and so deep Calum can feel it vibrating in his chest. “I think that might be cheating.” It’s the hand on Calum’s hip. That’s the thing that’s really getting to him. The way it’s gripping so tightly, warm and sure. Like Luke is confident it belongs there. “But since I just noticed your mic and remembered this whole conversation is being recorded…”

Luke steps away, leaving ample space between them, removing his hand from Calum’s hip to reach for the measuring spoons. “Of course I’ll help you, Cal,” he announces stiffly, giving Calum an exaggerated wink.

Flipping the switch on the mixer is still Calum’s favorite part of the process. He does it with a flourish, smiling mischievously at Luke. “You realize I’m the only one who hears the unedited audio, right? There’s not a live studio audience being scandalized right now.”

“If only. Maybe I wouldn't mind an audience,” Luke replies, sliding his hand across Calum’s lower back as he passes behind him, dumping the tablespoon of tequila in the bowl on his way.

•° ✿ °•

The look on Luke’s face when Calum sets his spicy margarita in front of him is offensively cute—pleading, grateful eyes and a hopeful little smile, tongue darting out to lick his lips in anticipation as he drags the glass closer to him with both hands. “Thanks man. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“The margarita, or the date?”

“Both,” Luke replies extremely convincingly, nodding vigorously so his curls bounce against his forehead. “You know, when I first talked to you, this was the goal. Going out with you, getting a drink, convincing the hot guy who’s always frowning at his laptop on the Petunia’s patio to fall in love with me.”

Calum’s smiles softly, strangely touched. “You noticed me out there?”

Luke nods again, fingers tapping against his glass, the lilac nail polish reflecting off the lights and illuminating his drink with a purple glow. “Every day.”

“I noticed you too,” Calum says, elbows on the table so he can lean closer to Luke. “Walking past the bakery with your coffee while I was working. Where do you go?”

“Early hours means an early lunch break,” Luke says, tipping his glass against his lips. He savors his first sip, smiling around it, then actually opens his mouth and makes a refreshed ahh sound after he swallows, like he’s in the middle of filming a soda commercial. 

Once his glass is back on the table, he starts talking with his hands in ways that don’t entirely make sense, but Calum finds immeasurably charming. “I like to take a little walk with my coffee.” His fingers wiggle in the air over the table. “Get some fresh air and see something besides the kitchen.” Two large, circular sweeps of his palms in opposite directions. “Reload on caffeine.” His hands come together to press against his heart and his head tips back in relief. 

“Before we officially met, the scenario I made up for you in my head was that you were an off duty model.”

“A model?” Luke quirks a skeptical eyebrow, studying Calum with narrowed eyes. “Interesting. I thought you were a tortured artist.” Snorting, he adds, “And I guess I was right.”

“Fuck off, I’m only tortured because I have to spend hours with you baking cakes and chatting about them instead of touching you and telling you how irresistible you are.”

Luke’s lips curve into a suggestive smirk. “Maybe by the time we get to the end of the series, you’ll be confident enough to multitask.” His jacket slides down his shoulders and he shimmies out of it, hooking it on the back of his chair. He rests his arms on top of the table, and Calum gets a glimpse of the hummingbird tattoo on his bicep poking out from under his T-shirt sleeve. Calum’s only ever seen the full thing in flashes on his phone screen mid-TikTok, and he aches to see it fully with his own eyes, to touch it, to kiss it.

“So you’re a writer,” Luke says, filling the silence between them left by Calum’s distracted hummingbird tattoo-obsessed mind. “What do you write?”

“If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be making this podcast with you.”

Luke smiles indulgently. “What have you written?” He takes a drink while he waits for Calum’s response, still unable to contain how fucking pleased he is by his margarita—this time licking his lips while they’re fixed in a serene smile.

“A few novels,” Calum says, trying not to sound pretentious about it. The word novel is a hard sell and doesn’t feel at all like it describes what Calum writes. “They’re like…I dunno, I hate to say quirky, but they’re kind of quirky. If you asked me to tell you the plot of one of my books I couldn’t really do it. They’re just character studies with vibes.”

Luke nods along, digesting Calum’s words. “And you have a pen name.”

“Yeah.” Calum grins, pleased at the implications of Luke knowing this information. “Did you try to look me up?”

“Course I did,” Luke replies easily. “If there was an opportunity for me to read your books? See what happens inside your mind? Yeah, I was gonna do that. But then I couldn’t find anything.”

“It’s really weird,” Calum says, thinking out loud while he taps his fingers against his glass. “I write things that get published. I know they’re out there in the world, and I’m comfortable with that. It’s literally my job. But it’s a little different when it’s someone I know, and I know they’re reading something I’ve written.”

“Which part is weird for you?” Luke asks, leaning close, hanging on Calum’s every word. “The part where people think it’s gonna tell them what happens inside your mind?” His lips twitch into a guilty smile, pressed tightly together, dimple flashing.

Calum raises an eyebrow and takes a drink, feeling Luke’s eyes lingering on him. “Yeah, that,” he says wryly, “And I guess, just…what sorts of assumptions they’ll make about me. I don’t care what strangers think, but when it’s people I care about, it’s scary.”

“I can imagine.” And Luke does seem to be imagining, eyes roaming the ceiling and face contorting into these various little expressions of mild discomfort. “Well,” he says, gaze landing back on Calum, “I still have no idea what the fuck your pen name is or what you wrote, so you’re safe there.”

“I—” Calum cuts himself off, brow furrowing. He was about to say something kind of crazy. But even after thinking twice about it, he still wants to say it. So he does. “I wouldn’t mind if you read my books.”

Amused, Luke tilts his head to the side. “Really? Because you don’t care about me?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Calum groans, rolling his eyes while Luke’s face splits into a grin. “Because you’ve already shown me your cakes. You let me see that piece of you. It makes me feel like I can show you my writing. That I can trust you with it.”

It’s way too serious for the circumstances. Way too earnest for spicy margaritas and the raucous din of the bar. But Luke seems to like hearing it, face softening. “Oh. That’s really—yeah.” His head dips, watching Calum’s fingers tracing the wood grain of the tabletop. “I’d love to read it sometime.”

“I’ve got tons of extra copies of my books lying around. I’ll bring you some.”

“That’d be rad.” Luke bites his lip when he looks up at Calum, the way he does when he’s trying to contain a smile. When he’s trying not to seem too enthusiastic.

“Just promise me you’ll tell me if you’re reading them. I don’t want to live in suspense, not knowing if you’re looking at me and thinking about the scene I wrote in my first book where the main character was getting horny over a guy baking cookies and wondering if I’ve got some kind of fetish for bakers.”

Luke laughs brightly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do you?” he squeaks out, shoulders shaking. 

“Not that I’m aware of, but there’s a growing list of evidence pointing to the fact that I actually do,” Calum replies happily, catching Luke’s hand underneath his, running his thumb along the inside of Luke’s wrist just to feel the soft skin and to watch the way it makes Luke’s eyes flicker.

“Great news for me,” he says, quietly sassy. “But yeah. I promise I’ll tell you. Maybe we can do book club.” Beneath Calum’s palm, he flips his hand over, threading their fingers together on the tabletop.

“Please no,” Calum protests, chuckling and shaking his head. It’s hard to look away from their joined hands, Luke’s lilac nails pressed between Calum’s knuckles. “I don’t want to explore the symbolism and deeper meaning of my books. If I wanted that, I’d go to therapy.”

“Fine, no book club,” Luke says, tossing back the rest of his drink, fingers tightening around Calum’s when he does. Making sure he doesn’t escape. “But we could at least explore the baker fetish.” His eyes gleam as he drops his empty glass against the table.

“Definitely,” Calum assures him, so entranced by Luke’s shiny lips that he leans across the table and kisses him, quick and sweet.

“Alright,” Luke says when Calum pulls away, mouth already getting a little lazy so it sounds more like ah-right. He’s tilting towards Calum, on some kind of kiss-chasing autopilot. “That’s a good start.”

•° ✿ °•

Once Calum takes the first leap, Luke’s all over him. Maybe the spicy margaritas factor into the equation. But whatever it is, Calum is absolutely living his best life. Mid-conversation, Luke frequently interrupts himself just to kiss Calum for a few seconds, hands softly exploring whatever they can reach now that he’s scooted his chair around the table to be next to Calum.

“I’ve been working on one of the recipes for the cookbook,” he says, a little open-mouthed smile stuck on his lips. “One of the ones on your—” His lips attach to Calum’s jaw and Calum shudders, body tingling everywhere at the contact, hand reaching to grip Luke’s thigh. All too quickly, Luke’s lips are gone and he’s giggling as he picks up where he left off, “—One of the ones on your list. It’s on the schedule soon, but we might need to push it back so I can get the recipe where I need it to be.”

It’s driving Calum crazy, trying to follow the thread of the conversation when Luke keeps stopping to tease him. But it’s not like he’s intentionally teasing Calum, it’s more like he just can’t resist the temptation, and that makes it so much fucking worse.

“We can rearrange the schedule,” Calum says, returning the favor by pressing a kiss to the corner of Luke’s mouth, gripping his hand more tightly against Luke’s thigh to brace himself as he leans in. He can feel Luke’s smile getting wider beneath his lips. “We’re the bosses. Whatever you want to do, we’ll make it happen.”

Luke does smell sweet. It’s a little more subtle than Calum would expect from someone who spends his days in a cloud of sugar, though, something richer underneath the sweetness, cutting it just the right amount to make Calum’s mouth water and his blood heat every time he gets close enough to smell it on Luke’s skin.

“Rad.” When he’s a little tipsy, Luke’s tendency to talk with his hands translates to him touching Calum a lot, dragging his hand up and down Calum’s arm as he says, “You’ve been doing really well with the cakes. Like, I didn’t expect it to be a disaster, but it’s impressive how well the first couple turned out. Even the one tonight turned out pretty well considering you weren’t exactly laser-focused.”

“I have really great recipes to follow.”

Luke rolls his eyes, softly pressing his fingers against Calum’s lips. The temptation is incredible. “Oh stop it.” It feels like Luke is telling Calum to stop thinking all the things that clouded his brain as soon as Luke’s fingers were against his mouth.

“It’s true though,” Calum says, watching Luke’s hand fall away. “And you’re so good on the podcast. So charming and funny and easy to listen to.”

“Only because you bring it out,” Luke replies, rolling his eyes again. “You make me sound good.” He leans in quickly, like he knows Calum is going to try to argue with him and he’d rather just kiss him instead. When his lips meet Calum’s they’re trembling. Like he wants so badly to do more with them.

Calum just fucking goes for it, spinning on his stool to grab Luke’s hip and licking into his mouth insistently, warmth against his tongue, soft cotton against his hand. Luke responds immediately, tasting Calum so eagerly and thoroughly that Calum gets a glimpse of what life might be like as a passion fruit mousse cake. Being devoured, but savored.

It’s such a release getting to kiss Luke like this finally, to just pour all the pent up shit in his mind and body into actually touching Luke, actually acting on all the things he’s wanted to do for weeks.

But the release quickly mixes with frustration, because Calum just wants more, and he can’t have it here. Groaning, he pulls away. “We gotta stop.”

Luke sighs, restless hands kneading Calum’s chest. “But—”

“What do you do when you’re not making cakes?” Distraction. That’s what they need.

Luke’s mouth is still hanging open a little in anticipation of another kiss. He blinks, clearing the haze from his eyes. “Really?”

“This is a date, isn’t it?” Calum grimaces apologetically, rubbing his thumb over Luke’s hip wistfully before he deposits his hand safely back in his own lap. “And we can’t just make out in this bar all night.”

“Can we not?” Luke wonders, sweet and hopeful.

“Not unless you want to make me completely insane.”

Luke’s only response is a smug smile and a raise of his eyebrows as he reaches for his glass and gulps down more of his beloved spicy margarita.

“I want to, like, actually know you,” Calum says, surprising himself with how much he means it. With how urgently he wants Luke to understand it. 

He’s not just here because he wants to fuck the hot TikTok baker, or because his desperation over his podcast happened to deposit him in Luke’s company. And he’s confident Luke understands that and probably always has, but for some reason Calum’s brain is seeking reassurance.

It’s fucking embarrassing, actually, how unabashedly earnest he sounds, but Luke pushes past it smoothly, managing to both reassure Calum and navigate them right back to where they were before Calum’s uninvited emotions got involved.

“That’s not gonna make you any less insane, Cal,” he warns with a cute smile. He means it to be self-deprecating, but to Calum it’s just probably the truth. The more he knows about Luke, the more he’s going to lose his mind at the fact that Luke actually exists and is a real person who Calum not only knows but is allowed to kiss.

Which he does, again, first on Luke’s jaw, then softly on the lips. Luke takes it as Calum trying to prod information out of him and laughs against Calum’s mouth. “Fine,” he says, patting Calum’s chest with his massive palm. “When I’m not making cakes, I’m usually making other desserts.”

Calum rolls his eyes, sighing heavily, and Luke giggles, proud of himself. “It’s true,” he defends, cutting off any complaints from Calum. “I don’t do much else. Watch a lot of TV. Sometimes I write songs.”

“You write songs?” Once he tries, it’s not actually difficult for Calum to imagine Luke writing songs, peacefully humming to himself from a sunny corner of the bakery while he works on a melody. And it does, in fact, make Calum more insane. “Do you sing?”

While Calum tries not to implode, Luke’s lips twist, fingers playing with the zipper on Calum’s jacket. Dragging it up near his chin. Down to his hip. Back up to his chest, pausing there to wiggle up and down in place. “Kind of. I sing and play guitar just enough to get by. The songs are just for me. They’re not actually good or anything, it’s just kind of a way for me to decompress. Get thoughts out of my head.”

“So basically even though I’m officially a writer, you’re actually writing way more than I ever do.” Luke blinks curiously, his eyes still a little heavy and intense, not quite recovered from the kissing. “Because of the cookbook and the songs,” Calum explains.

“No, I got it,” Luke says softly. “I just think you’re wrong. Writing songs, writing recipes—it has structure. There’s a framework to follow. What you do just comes straight out of your brain and you find a way to make sense of it.”

“Debatable,” Calum jokes, “But I do try. As long as there are ideas in there to make sense of.” 

He’s been trying not to make a thing of it, not to descend into some sort of existential crisis over his future based on the fact he’s had a year-long case of writer’s block, but it’s easier to do that when he’s alone, lying to himself. It’s a lot harder when Luke’s shimmering baby blue eyes are on him, seeming to peer right inside Calum’s brain to read all his thoughts.

It’s basically confirmed that Luke’s a goddamn mind-reader when he replies, “You’ll find them. The ideas will come.” He cracks a toothy smile, pressing his hand against Calum’s chest under his jacket. “And if they don’t, I’d hire you at Petunia’s in a heartbeat.”

There’s no choice but to kiss him again. He laughs against Calum’s mouth and Calum feels his chest cracking open like an egg between his unskilled fingers.

-ˋˏ ༻🍰༺ ˎˊ-

LEMON RASPBERRY CAKE

Before Calum submits his final cut of the first podcast episode to Ashton, he wants Luke to hear it in full. Could he just send Luke the file and let him listen on his own? Sure, but then Calum wouldn’t be able to kiss him.

With a second date planned for Luke’s apartment this weekend, Calum figures it’s only kind of cheating to invite Luke to his place to review and sign off on the final cut. He may have said something about how they should do it together in case they needed to have any discussions about improvements for future episodes. And that might be true, but what’s definitely true is that Calum wants Luke alone behind closed doors.

Luke obviously sees right through Calum when he pitches him the idea, but he doesn’t call him out, he just smirks a lot and says he’ll bring some treats for them, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

The treats turn out to be chocolate chip cookies, which Luke presents to Calum on a china plate with Cake Whore printed on it in fancy script. “But these are cookies,” Calum says, leading Luke into his apartment. “Shouldn’t it say Cookie Whore?”

Immediately, Luke fires back, “The whole point of being a whore is getting around. Tasting all the options.”

“You’ve thought about this.”

“I might’ve anticipated you’d fuss about it,” Luke says, a little smug about being right as he looks around Calum’s apartment. “So I came prepared. Actually,” he continues, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “It’s the only clean plate I had. It’s not really meant to be used. Just a decorative thing. But I fucking hate doing the dishes and I always let it go too long before I deal with them.”

“And then you end up sacrificing your decorative cake whore plate.”

“Exactly.” He’s chewing on his lip, fidgeting and hovering awkwardly between the kitchen and the living room while Calum finds them a less promiscuous plate. 

“You can sit down,” Calum says, gesturing at the couch, where he’s got his laptop and nice speakers set up on the coffee table in preparation for their listening session. “You want something to drink?”

It’s incredible how quickly Luke goes from slightly awkward hovering to casually flopping himself onto Calum’s couch. “Do you have Diet Coke?” he asks, peeking into the kitchen at Calum hopefully.

“I do,” Calum says, digging into the fridge, refraining from telling Luke that the only reason he has Diet Coke is because he’s seen the way Luke sucks down a 3 p.m. Diet Coke like his life depends on it when they meet after the bakery closes. He might’ve picked up a few bottles to have on hand. Just in case.

But Luke sees through that too, which Calum should’ve anticipated. He’s always paying attention. “Did you just get this for me?” he asks happily, snatching the bottle Calum hands him.

Calum carefully drops the plate of cookies onto the coffee table and strategically settles onto the couch as close to Luke as he can manage given the way Luke’s currently situated with his legs splayed open wide. “How’d you know?”

Shrugging, Luke unscrews the cap from his soda and takes a quick drink before saying, “The fact that it’s a bottle, for one. Like you just grabbed one at 7 Eleven. A real Diet Coke connoisseur would have cans, or the smaller bottles that come in six packs. Also,” he continues, swiveling his head to regard Calum with his endlessly blue eyes, “I’ve offered you a can every time I have one at the bakery. Literally every time. And you’ve only ever accepted once, on the day you said you woke up at 4 a.m. with an overwhelming sense of dread and were desperate for any available form of caffeine. You're not a Diet Coke fan.”

Wow. He’s really always paying attention. Which Calum respects a lot, because it’s how he is too. One of those habits that unconsciously informed his writing for a long time, before he stopped writing and realized he didn’t have anywhere to put all the little pieces of information he collects every day, just by paying attention.

“Yeah,” Calum admits, smiling softly, turning sideways on his hip so he can look at Luke, “I got it just for you, you fuckin’ addict.” He kicks a leg up to hook it over Luke’s, and Luke grins at him lazily, head resting against the back of the couch. 

The Diet Coke rests between his legs, propped against the seam of his jeans while his lilac fingers twirl the bottle in circles. “Thanks for being an enabler,” he says, pressing his mouth into a close-lipped smile. 

How are his lips so kissable all the time? The perfect pink, the jut of his bottom lip, constantly on the hunt for a kiss, the elegant slopes of his cupid’s bow—does he know how goddamn kissable he is? Does he smile like this with full knowledge of how irresistible it makes him? He’s looking at Calum like maybe he does, eyes soft but probing. His lashes flutter when he says, “You’re fuckin’...incredible.”

“Huh?” The words Calum was a split second away from saying just came out of Luke’s mouth. “Are you reading my mind?”

“What?” Luke yelps, voice tailing off into an indignant squeak. “Why, are you also thinking about how fuckin’ incredible you are?” A mischievous tilt of his head, a tantalizing quirk of his lips.

With a hand on Luke’s jaw, Calum gives in to the temptation of Luke’s lips, kissing that mischievous look right off his face. Luke’s hand clasps at the back of Calum’s head, pulling him closer, his other hand pressing against Calum’s back to drag him right up against his thigh. Calum tears himself away after a few seconds, sighing wistfully. “Maybe we should’ve waited to go on a date until after the podcast is finished after all. We’re not gonna get anything done now.”

“I told you not to listen to me,” Luke says, shaking his head disbelievingly while his eyes roam Calum’s face. His voice is low and rough when he says, with an edge of frustration, “Fuuuuck I just—I’ve been thinking about you more than I’ve been thinking about cake.”

Calum laughs, surprised and bubbly, a bottle of Diet Coke opened too fast. “And I’ve been thinking about both you and cake more than literally anything else. That’s my brain all day—just Luke, cake, Luke, Luke, cake, Luke being sexy while making cake, sucking Luke’s dick after he makes a cake, cake, Luke. On an endless loop.” He twirls his finger in the air to illustrate, lips pushing into a pouty smile, and Luke just fucking smacks Calum’s hand out of the way mid-finger twirl so he can tug on the front of Calum’s shirt to bring his lips close enough to kiss him.

Eventually, they do manage to compose themselves enough to listen to the podcast. Only because they know if they’re going to get it done at all, they have to stop making out before any dicks come out. Not that either of them are happy about it. 

“Wish this was your dick,” Luke mumbles glumly, wrapping his lips around his Diet Coke bottle to wash down a bite of chocolate chip cookie. He’s talking over himself as Podcast Luke calmly explains vanilla paste through Calum’s fancy speakers.

“Me fuckin’ too,” Calum replies, just as glumly, taking a violent bite of his cookie. “Being professional sucks.”

“Being professional is the goddamn worst,” Luke agrees emphatically. “This isn’t even my main job. This is my second job,” he mourns, eyes widening like he’s just now realizing what he’s gotten himself into.

“And if you had my dick in your mouth you could have a third!” Calum offers brightly, covering Luke’s hand where it’s resting on his knee and dragging it up his thigh.

Luke laughs, sufficiently heartened enough to shut his mouth and listen thoughtfully to the rest of the podcast, but not before kissing Calum one more time, softly against his jaw.

It makes Calum a little crazy, the way Luke can go from pouting over the lack of dick in his mouth to treating Calum like this, so softly and sweetly that it makes Calum’s chest ache. It makes sense to him, though. This is what Luke does. Carefully and lovingly construct sinfully delicious desserts. Carefully and lovingly handle the owner of the dick he wants in his sinfully delicious mouth.

It’s possible Calum’s torturous writer’s block delivered him to the perfect man. Fuck dramatic irony.

When the podcast ends, Luke looks at Calum, attempting to read his expression. But it’s not Calum’s opinion they need. “So?” Calum asks, shutting his laptop. “You good with it? Anything we need to change? Anything we need to fix for future episodes?”

“It sounds like a real podcast,” Luke says, kicking his shoes out of the way where they’re in a pile at his feet so he can stretch his legs out. “Like...professional. Like we know what we’re doing.”

“Crazy, huh?” That had been kind of a shock to Calum too. A lot of it is down to the quality of their equipment and Calum’s meticulous editing, but there’s something about it that feels like a story, and Calum’s not sure if it’s the result of anything they did on purpose or just a happy accident. Whatever it is, he hopes they can carry it through the entire series.

“It really is.” Luke nods, chuckling under his breath. “It’s got direction, but it’s entertaining.” He looks at Calum meaningfully, head relaxed against the back of the couch so he has to lift his eyes to meet Calum’s. “And it’s, uh, kinda sexy actually.”

Calum grins. “Is it really, or do you just think that because you know what’s going on behind the scenes?”

“Has Ashton heard it?”

“Yeah. He overshared about how he had no idea listening to people talk about cake would make him so horny.”

“See!” Luke exclaims, thrusting a finger insistently against Calum’s chest. “I’m right.”

“You are,” Calum says, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “We really made a sexy cake podcast.”

Matter-of-factly, Luke says, “We’re gonna put the podcast erotica genre out of business with our hot cake topics.”

“Speaking of which…” Calum catches Luke’s finger in his hand and lowers his voice suggestively. “While you're here, do you, uh, wanna get cozy and listen to some podcast erotica together?”

If Calum’s laugh was a bottle of Diet Coke opened too fast, Luke’s laugh is a fucking explosion at the Coke factory. It’s so loud and sweet and addicting, Calum has to join in, overcome with uncontrollable squeaky giggles as he watches Luke lose his mind, kicking his feet while he curls against the couch and rolls against Calum’s shoulder in hysterics.

“I actually kinda do,” he manages through fading wheezes. “You’ve got me curious. And if it gets me in the mood, that’s just a bonus!” He’s unbearably perky about it, a goofy grin lighting up his whole face. Calum wants to smother him in kisses.

“What are you into?” Calum cajoles, pulling up the podcast he’d researched a few months ago. “These are basically all like Hallmark movie plots, except the leads fuck in the first act.”

“Oh, so, like, big city loner winds up stuck in a quirky small town and falls for a single mom with a precocious kid? Recently-fired guy takes a trip around the world to find himself and falls for a playboy prince?” He pauses, giggling silently for a second before he presses his lips together and eyes Calum mischievously, leaning so close Calum can trace the freckles across his nose. “Charming bakery owner falls into cahoots with a mysterious writer for a mutually beneficial project and sparks fly?”

“Exactly like that,” Calum replies, smirking. “I bet if we search for baker…” He taps away at his keyboard, realistically expecting nothing to come up, but— “Fuck yeah, they have one! When two bakers who are exact opposites compete against each other on a famed baking show, their sexual tension heats up the whole kitchen.” 

He looks over at Luke questioningly, and Luke’s eyes are absolutely glowing. “Really? You’re not just making shit up?” Suddenly his head is next to Calum’s face, pressed close to the laptop screen. “Well damn. I think we have to.”

“I think you’re right,” Calum agrees, nodding determinedly as he pushes play.

They settle back against the couch while the intro music plays, and Luke kicks his feet up on the cushions, curling against Calum. “Is this gonna make us frisky?” he teases in a low growl, resting his head on Calum’s shoulder.

“Pretty sure that’s the whole point.” Not that Calum can really vouch for it. His brief foray into the podcast erotica listening experience didn’t impress him much. Unrealistic dialogue, questionable sex logistics, the unshakeable constant mental image of someone in a recording studio moaning into a mic…he couldn’t take it seriously.

Luke seems to be pretty much on the same page. “It’s gonna be so embarrassing if this podcast erotica that I asked to listen to because I thought it would be funny actually makes me horny.”

Calum chuckles, but then it occurs to him that with Luke next to him, this experience could be very, very different than it was a few months ago. “It’s gonna be so embarrassing when this podcast erotica that I can’t take seriously actually makes me horny because I’m listening to it while you’re touching me.”

“Hmm,” Luke murmurs. “What a shame.” There’s a little smile in his voice, and he slips his arm across Calum’s shoulders, fingers brushing Calum’s arm around the sleeve of his T-shirt.

Through the speakers, they’re getting some introductory dialogue from the lead, a woman with a husky baby voice who apparently hates pastry week almost as much as she hates the baker who keeps beating her in every challenge. “You may be sexy, but you’re trouble,” she says, which makes Luke snicker. 

Then, a suave-sounding British man says smoothly, “You’re the one who will be in trouble if you don’t get that pastry chilling soon,” and Luke squawks happily. “He’s right!”

“Points for accuracy, I guess,” Calum says, unable to tear his eyes away from Luke.

Watching Luke listening to the podcast is way more interesting than the podcast itself, because his beautiful face is constantly rearranging into a variety of expressions ranging from appalled cringes to intrigued frowns. And, once it actually starts getting sexy, concern, confusion, and curiosity bloom on his face simultaneously.

“Are they about to fuck in the kitchen?”

“Seems that way.”

“But—” Luke’s mouth drops open and his brow furrows. “—isn’t that a TV set? Why are they there alone? Why are they gonna fuck there instead of going somewhere more comfortable?”

“They’re living in the moment, Luke.”

“But—” His mouth snaps shut and he shakes his head. “—that’s so unsanitary. And dangerous. What if the British dude accidentally flips on the stand mixer while the hot baby lady’s all laid out on the counter, and she ends up with her hair ripped right out of her head by the whisk attachment? Wasn’t she just making stewed apples? What if she forgets them on the stove and sets the whole kitchen on fire?”

There’s some heavy breathing coming through the speakers, accompanied by the occasional kissing noise. Kisses are not meant to be experienced through audio only. They don’t sound sexy. They just don’t. Gritting his teeth, Calum says, “I hope that happens soon so they’ll stop this disgusting slurp-kissing.”

“We don’t have to keep listening,” Luke says, lifting his hand off Calum’s shoulder to play with his hair, sending shivers down Calum’s spine. “There are other things I’d rather be doing anyway.”

“Me too but—oh, Jesus.” Luke’s attached his lips to Calum’s jaw and is kissing down his throat, which isn’t exactly what’s happening on the podcast, but it’s uncomfortably close. Calum does not want Luke’s kisses tainted by cringey smooching sounds. “Hang on, let me—” He catches Luke by the chin so he can lean down to turn off the podcast, then nods. “Okay. Continue.”

Luke snickers, grabbing Calum by the shoulders before he manages to get fully resituated, using the momentum to push Calum back onto the couch, lips connecting with Calum’s on the way down. They kissed enough on spicy margarita night that it already feels familiar, an intoxicating mix of soothing and tantalizing. 

But now they’re free. Luke’s free to press his body against Calum’s while their lips twist together, hands rucking up the bottom of Calum’s shirt. Calum’s free to squeeze Luke’s ass with both hands while Luke sucks a mark above his collarbone.

And best of all, they’re both free to keep going. Knowing that makes it easier to be patient, to linger on the hot press of their tongues and to drag out every needy touch. They do it for a long time, almost an unbearably long time, but that’s part of what makes it so good. Calum is breathless and Luke is panting against his mouth. Once he starts rolling his hips against Calum’s, they both whimper desperately, and the tension snaps into a frenzy.

Luke sits up to get Calum’s shirt off, then climbs off him just long enough to pull his pants off too. Calum lets it happen, a little flummoxed but happy to let Luke do whatever the fuck he wants to him. As Luke settles back down, the entire weight of his body rests against Calum’s hips, arms situated so they’re pinning Calum’s arms down to his sides. What is he up to? Shit. Before Calum knows what hits him, Luke’s tongue flicks over his nipple and his vision goes white while pleasure stirs viciously in his stomach. All he can do is arch his neck and buck his hips ineffectually while Luke kisses down his torso with torturous attention to detail.

He fucking loves it. Loves that Luke is taking him apart bit by bit, confidently working Calum over the same way he works through a recipe in the kitchen. And it’s obvious how much he loves it, cock painfully hard and already leaking so much there’s a visible stain on his underwear. 

Luke spots it while he’s scraping his teeth over Calum’s hip and makes a pleased little noise, diverting on his path to mouth over the head of Calum’s dick through his underwear, exhaling hot air against the tip and making Calum’s hips jump, a loud moan bubbling up from the back of his throat. His fingers tense and he claws at the parts of Luke he can reach with his limited range of motion—a handful of his shirt, a tantalizing squeeze on the side of his ass. It’s not enough. Calum’s never been this wrecked before even being completely naked, and he’s so fucking delighted by the novelty of it he doesn’t even care how desperate he probably looks.

"Why are you still wearing clothes?” Calum grumbles half-heartedly, already wound so tightly it’s hard to string together actual words instead of just moans and curses under his breath.

Luke responds with a rough laugh, breath ghosting over Calum’s skin as he releases Calum’s arms and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Calum’s underwear. “Later,” he says quietly, dragging Calum’s underwear down and running a knuckle along the shaft of Calum’s dick. “I really wanna get my mouth on you.”

Calum tries to say something encouraging, yes or please or maybe just fuck, but all that comes out is a strangled but enthusiastic affirmation. Hngfh! Luke smiles, tongue slipping out from between his lips as he dips his head so Calum gets a nice eyeful, time slowing while he anticipates the moment it finally touches his dick.

When it does, he exhales a quiet, “Oh fuck yeah,” as Luke starts to swirl his tongue around in unpredictable patterns that light up every nerve in Calum’s body. He drags his thumb through the precum gathered at Calum’s tip before pressing his tongue against the slit to taste it. For a while he just teases Calum, lapping gently at the tip and leaving open-mouthed kisses down the shaft. When Calum shoves his hands into Luke’s hair he makes an encouraging sound, flicking his eyes up to Calum and smiling around his cock.

That should’ve been Calum’s warning. He should’ve known to brace himself, but of course he doesn’t, and when Luke suddenly takes his cock fully into his mouth and sucks hard, Calum lets out a staggering, pained grunt like he’s been punched in the chest.

“Holy fuck,” Calum whispers, words strangled in his throat while he watches his cock slide down Luke’s. The visual alone is enough to light Calum’s body on fire, but there’s so much more than that. 

Luke’s mouth is—fuck. He sucks Calum’s dick like he needs it to survive. He has incredible control over his tongue and his lips, breathing easily while he works, and occasionally sucking so hard Calum feels like he’s literally leaving his body and ascending to the stars. “Oh-h-h.” Instead of forming words, he just stammers helplessly as all the blood in his body rushes to his dick and the tingles low in his stomach build to fireworks.

Every time Calum makes an incoherent sound, Luke answers with a muffled moan, fingers tightening around Calum right where thigh meets hip. The way Luke’s curls twist and bounce on his forehead in time with Calum’s labored breathing is mesmerizing. As much as it’s affecting Calum, it seems to be doing almost as much for Luke. Knowing how much Luke is enjoying it too—seeing the enthusiasm, hearing those little moans, feeling Luke’s cock hard against his leg, occasionally grinding against him in search of friction—it drives Calum absolutely wild.

In a rush of either inspiration or complete insanity, he untangles his fingers from Luke’s hair and reaches down between their bodies to unbutton Luke’s pants and get a hand inside, groaning when he catches Luke’s dick against his palm, hot and heavy in his grip.

Luke’s hips automatically press against Calum’s palm and he makes a sound in his throat that sounds like an attempt at ohmygod. The deep rumbling of his voice vibrating around Calum’s cock shoots delicious tingles through his whole body and his hips lurch off the couch. Fuck. “Gonna come,” he gasps, struggling to jerk Luke off in a steady rhythm at an awkward angle while the tension in his body pulls tighter and tighter. He’s trying so hard to make Luke feel good too, working his hand over the head of Luke’s cock, twisting his wrist and flicking his thumb over the slit with inconsistent strokes. 

Luke hums encouragingly, sucking harder and faster, lifting his eyes to meet Calum’s. Jesus fucking Christ, Calum’s useless when faced with this. There’s just a ring of bright blue around Luke’s blown pupils, and somehow he still looks hungry, a warm intensity in his eyes that makes Calum feel like he’s disintegrating into tiny pieces. Heat rolls through him and his entire body tenses, eyes locked on Luke’s when he starts to come. He watches Luke watch him, sees the way he eagerly swallows Calum’s cum, eyes growing wider when Calum releases a choked moan into the air between them, body twitching as he starts to come down.

Luke slowly drags his swollen lips off Calum’s cock and whispers “Fuckin’ hell.” Distantly, through his post-orgasm haze, Calum registers that Luke is grinding against his hand, which is still wrapped around Luke’s cock. He tightens his grip and picks up a steady pace to meet Luke’s thrusts, and now it’s his turn to watch. He watches Luke’s eyes squeeze shut. Memorizes the way his neck tenses and his mouth falls open just before he comes. When he does, he goes still, fingertips gripping Calum’s sides with the lightest touch, panting loudly as his orgasm rolls through him.

Calum’s smiling like a maniac when Luke opens his eyes. Luke's breathing is still shaky when he says, grinning, “Are you laughing at me?”

“Fuck no.” Calum shakes his head vigorously, smile only growing wider. “I’m just…really happy.” It sounds ridiculous to say it out loud. Of course he’s happy, he just came in Luke’s mouth. But Luke seems to understand, chuckling a little as he carefully sits up, trying not to smear cum all over his clothes.

“Me too,” he says, grabbing the box of tissues off the coffee table and tossing a few at Calum to clean up his hand. “Turns out there are some things better than cake.”

“My shitty handjob?” Calum drags himself upright, tucking his dick away and watching Luke with an amused smile. “Doubt it.”

Luke’s face scrunches into an amused grimace. “Your handjob may have been shitty, but that doesn’t even matter when you look so fucking hot when you come.” He pauses, cringing as he dabs at his underwear with a tissue. “You were right. I should’ve been naked. This is a fuckin’ mess.”

•° ✿ °•

Luke stays longer than he probably should given how early he has to wake up for work in the morning. Calum almost feels bad for not trying harder to urge him out the door sooner, but he’s selfish and he doesn’t want Luke to leave.

He likes it too much, having Luke next to him on the couch. Hearing Luke’s laugh in harmony with his while they watch TV. Being able to look to his side and see Luke’s profile, with his perfectly sloped nose and the poutiness of his bottom lip and the blue of his eyes shining extra brightly in the light of the TV screen. Sometimes catching Luke already looking back at him, which makes them both smirk and ignites something warm and wild in Calum’s chest. Touching him, fingers softly roaming wherever they can reach, trying to tempt Luke into cuddling in closer. 

It doesn’t take much convincing. A little drag of his nails along the back of Luke’s scalp and he curls in close to lean his head against Calum’s shoulder. A teasing tickle up Luke’s thigh and he hooks his leg over Calum’s lap. And when Calum just can’t help himself and has to press a kiss to the side of Luke’s mouth, he always turns his head and catches Calum before he gets away, kissing him deeply with a steady hand on his jaw. Calum is in so deep it’s almost laughable.

No, there is absolutely no incentive for Calum to prompt Luke about the late hour. As long as Luke wants to stay, Calum wants him there. Caffeine exists for a reason.

And that’s exactly what they’re talking about in response to Luke’s sixth half-hearted observation that it’s getting late and he should probably go soon. That was five minutes ago, and they’ve been wasting time talking nonsense about coffee ever since. “I just think flat whites taste better,” Luke says, in that slightly high-pitched tone he falls into when he’s offended or defensive. “Lattes are good, but you get more espresso taste in a flat white. It’s a better espresso to milk ratio.”

“But that’s why you get an extra shot in your latte,” Calum argues, even though he doesn’t disagree with Luke at all. He’s just sticking up for his designated side in this argument to drag out the amount of time it goes on, therefore keeping Luke next to him longer. “That evens out the espresso to milk ratio.”

“You’re only saying that because you almost always get iced drinks,” Luke says, pressing his lips together and flaring his nostrils dramatically. “There’s barely any difference between an iced latte and an iced flat white. But when they’re hot…”

“You don’t want the foam?”

“I fuckin’ love the foam in theory,” Luke says, even more animated, hands up with his fingers spread wide, pulsing in the air to emphasize his apparently strong feelings on the subject. “But ultimately all it’s doing is taking up space that could be filled with delicious milky espresso.”

Calum doesn’t have a rebuttal. He shrugs and cocks his head, a flirty smirk pulling at his lips. “You can fill me with delicious milky espresso.”

Luke cracks a sunny, open-mouthed smile, bright and contagious even though his tired eyes are giving away exactly how much he really should be sleeping right now instead of arguing with Calum about coffee. “There’s something we can agree on.”

“You need to go home and go to bed, huh?” Calum says with a dejected sigh, reaching for Luke’s hands to pull them both up off the couch.

“Unfortunately,” Luke replies sadly, checking the time on his phone. “I gotta be at the bakery in five hours.”

Five hours? Shit, Calum knew he’d been keeping Luke late, but he didn’t realize he’d been participating in setting Luke up for actual torture in the morning. “Oh my god,” he huffs, rushing Luke to the door. “You need to get the fuck out of here and go to sleep.”

He hesitates while watching Luke slip on his Converse. He could ask Luke to stay. Maybe he should ask Luke to stay. But before he can make up his mind, Luke wraps his arms around Calum’s waist and kisses him, unhurried but intense, dragging his mouth away so slowly and with so much effort it feels like there’s some external force ripping them apart against his will. “Night Cal,” he says softly, patting Calum on the waist before reaching for the doorknob. “Thanks for…everything.”

Calum nods and replies with a goodnight so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “Hey, before you go…” He grips the sleeve of Luke’s shirt so he can’t run off, stretching his other arm out toward the cabinet by the door. “My books.” He’s measured as he says it, trying not to lend any particular emotion to the procedure as he places paperbacks of his three published novels in Luke’s hands.

“Thanks man,” Luke says softly, pressing the books against his chest for safekeeping. “Any suggestions on which one to start with?”

“The one with stars on the cover,” Calum says. Not because there’s any particular reason Luke should read that one first. Only because it’s the first one that comes to mind as Calum stares into Luke’s sparkly eyes.

-ˋˏ ༻🍰༺ ˎˊ-

MARBLE POUND CAKE

Luke’s apartment is messy. Or maybe not messy, exactly. It’s just, like, a pair of shoes lying in the middle of the floor. The socks that perhaps went along with them sitting on the kitchen table. A container of cupcake liners perched next to the potted plant on the windowsill. A half-empty bottle of soda lying on top of the back cushion of the couch. An acoustic guitar propped against the side of the kitchen counter.

It’s just lived-in in a very specific way. Everywhere Calum looks, there are little clues about Luke’s habits and life, each one helping fill in Calum’s perception of Luke beyond the bakery and the podcast. That is, in the rare moments he can manage to tear his eyes away from Luke at the kitchen counter, whipping up some kind of pound cake.

He’s wearing a tiny white tank top and a pair of very soft-looking jeans that sit low on his hips so Calum can see the band of his underwear peeking through the sheer white fabric of the tank top. It’s definitely intentional. It’s comfortable and practical for baking, sure. But it’s also strategically calibrated to make Calum insane.

“I figured I’d do something pretty quick and easy,” Luke says, bustling around his kitchen to gather ingredients, setting them on the island in front of Calum. “That way there’s time for, uh, whatever else we want to do.”

When Luke reaches into a high cabinet to retrieve sugar, his tank top rides up, exposing a slice of skin along his hip and the dip of his lower back. Goddammit. “Why are you being coy now?” Calum asks, chin propped in his hand while he leans across the island to get as close of a look at Luke as he can. “You literally said we had to do this at your apartment so—”

“—I know,” Luke cuts him off with a tiny, satisfied smile, setting down the sugar and hunching down over the counter so his face is level with Calum’s. “But I don’t want to be presumptuous.” His smile gets wider, and Calum rolls his eyes. “Maybe after the cake is done you’ll want to watch a movie or play a game or something, I don’t know. Just leaving the options open.”

Even though he’s being a little teasing about it, and even though he clearly knows Calum is extremely interested in the previously-discussed fucking, there’s genuineness underneath his words. He really does want Calum to know that he’s fine with whatever they end up doing.

“That’s sweet, but let’s be real. I’m basically watching a real-life extended version of your horny TikToks. There’s absolutely no way I’m not gonna be ready to fuck you the second that cake is in the oven.” It doesn’t seem worth mentioning that he’s actually ready now. He doesn’t need half an hour of cake-based foreplay, but he does want it.

Luke’s responding smile is deceptively soft. “Calum. The frosting.”

Calum doesn’t break eye contact. “Fuck the frosting.”

Luke shakes his head, getting back to work gathering his ingredients and supplies. “You’re not thinking this through,” he says, scraping butter into the mixing bowl. “If we just start going at it as soon as the cake is in the oven, we’re on the clock.”

“How long would we have?”

“Probably about an hour,” Luke answers, a playful smile on his lips.

“Damn,” Calum murmurs, watching Luke intently while he considers logistics. “That’s plenty of time. I don’t wanna wait a whole hour. Unless,” he adds, eyes widening, “You planning to do something that’s gonna take more than an hour?”

Luke laughs while he flicks on the mixer to cream the butter and sugar, a low, rolling chuckle. Then, a shrug as he leaves the mixer running and starts whisking together dry ingredients. There’s that multitasking Calum’s heard so much about.

“I like to take my time.” He flicks his eyes to Calum, bobbing his head thoughtfully. “We could split it up. Spend the time the cake is in the oven working up to it. Get the cake out. Get down to business.” 

Fuck fuck fuck this is worse than when Luke lists off cake components like it’s sensual poetry. Calum’s stomach tightens and his veins fill with sparking warmth. He probably looks a little predatory when he nods in response, and his voice is thick when he says, “Maybe we play it by ear.”

“See how we feel?” Luke says lightly, ripping open a box of baker’s chocolate and dumping it onto his cutting board. “Fine with me.” Then somehow he’s onto another topic, seemingly unaffected by the prospect of fucking Calum in the immediate future. But Calum can see through it—his voice is a little shaky and his breath is heavier, eyes unfocused. “Has Ashton heard the final cut of the first episode?” By the end of his sentence, he’s already more composed, steady hand swiping a knife out of the block to get to work chopping the chocolate.

“He did!” Calum replies excitedly, watching little flecks of chocolate stick to Luke’s lilac nails as he works. “He loved it. He had some tips on pacing and organization and stuff for the next episodes, but he’s really happy with it.”

“Crazy,” Luke murmurs, hand moving almost terrifyingly fast as he chops the chocolate to bits, seemingly with no concern for the fate of his fingers. “It’s weird that it’s going to be real already. Feels like we just started and still have no idea what we’re doing.” It’s because he’s really fucking good at it. The chopping. He’s done it a million times, his hands know exactly what to do for the best combination of efficiency, accuracy and safety. 

Calum is hypnotized by the blur of Luke’s light, soft nail polish against the rich, dark chocolate, so much so he has to ask, “huh?” When he realizes Luke’s voice wafted into his ears again, but his brain didn’t process a single word.

Luke smiles, small and knowing, and Calum contemplates if he could lick chocolate out of the dimple in Luke’s cheek. “I said, probably because we did just start and don’t have any idea what we’re doing.” He rolls his eyes fondly, which Calum only catches out of the corner of his eye because he’s still so fixated on Luke’s hands.

“You’re right,” Calum agrees. “It still feels fake. I’m not a fuckin’ podcast host. I don’t know how any of this works. And right now that’s okay, because it’s kinda just us fucking around, but once people actually start listening?”

“What’s worse, people listening to it, or people not listening to it?” A devilish grin decorates Luke’s lips as he dumps the chocolate into a bowl. “For the frosting later,” he says smoothly. “So I don’t have to waste time.”

Calum’s mouth is already open to answer Luke’s question—one he’s asked himself many times over the past few weeks. But the words die in his throat when Luke looks at him like that—like he wants to devour Calum, and saying things like that—things that make Calum feel like Luke wants him just as badly. His skin flushes hot and his stomach flips at the idea of Luke being eager and impatient, flashes of how that might translate to what he’s like in bed playing in Calum’s mind and making his dick twitch in interest.

“You so fucking…organized.” It’s not the word Calum was reaching for, but it’s what comes out anyway. And it’s not wrong, so what the hell? He’ll stand by it. Besides, it makes Luke laugh, biting into his plump bottom lip as he flits around the kitchen to get back to work on the actual cake.

“Thanks,” he says sarcastically, quirking his head to the side to give Calum a skeptical stare.

“It’s hot!” Calum insists, eyes widening. “You’re thinking ahead. You’re fucking…competent.” Luke bursts into laughter again and Calum struggles to contain his own wheezes. “You know what I mean! It’s good! Look at my dick, dude, I’m so fuckin’ turned on by your competence!” He gestures wildly at the front of his pants. “Your organizational skills make me hard!”

“If that’s what did it, why did I bother wearing my sluttiest kitchen gear?” Luke wonders, broad, freckled shoulders shaking with laughter as he just barely trails his fingers across Calum’s waistband. 

“The visual might be contributing a little bit too.” Calum tries and fails to catch Luke’s hand before he spins away, back to his cake and things that aren’t Calum’s half hard cock. Disappointing. But Calum can adjust. He’s gotta get better at multitasking anyway, if he ever has any hope of getting through all these cake recipes.

“For me, it doesn’t really matter if people listen, I guess,” he says, circling back to Luke’s question while he watches Luke’s wrist flex gracefully as he expertly cracks an egg into the bowl. “It’s just a gig, and whether the pod does well or not doesn’t really make a difference as long as I keep handing Ashton finished episodes when they’re due.”

“But,” Calum continues, meeting Luke’s curious gaze, “I think it would be nice if people listened. It’s actually really fucking entertaining. We’re good together.” The corner of Luke’s lips lift into a smile. “And I want your cookbook to get the attention it deserves.” 

The smile slips into something more like a pout. “That’s cute,” Luke says in this impressive tone that somehow comes off as both dry and touched at the same time. “But we both know my sexy ass on TikTok is more than enough promo for the cookbook.”

Calum snorts gleefully, hand flying to cover his mouth to cover his ugly laugh. Shaking his head, he watches Luke pouring the cake batter into a pan. Vanilla batter. Chocolate batter. More vanilla batter. It artfully swirls together in the pan, and Calum inhales the incredible smell, eyes closing to savor it.

The oven door slams shut and Calum’s eyes fly open. Luke’s fingers tap against the timer, and then he turns around, flashing Calum a quick smile before suddenly his arm is hooked around Calum’s waist, dragging him out of his tall chair and hauling him up until he’s pressed against Luke’s chest. 

Calum’s pleasantly surprised gasp is swallowed by Luke’s mouth crashing against his, impatient fingers clutching at Calum’s waist to pull him even closer. Luke’s lips do something to Calum’s brain. Every thought flies out of his head before it’s fully formed no matter how hard he tries.

Luke tastes like… oh, his hands are so warm as they slip under Calum’s shirt and press against his skin.

Maybe they should… god, Luke’s lips are so soft and perfect against Calum’s.

He wants to touch… damn, whatever Luke is doing with his tongue is going straight to Calum’s dick.

All he can do is feel. And listen—surrounded in Luke’s sweet sounds, eager hums and contented sighs, and then, just when Calum thinks he might be completely losing all hope of ever having a coherent thought ever again— “I want you so bad.” Hands, gripping at Calum’s ass. “Every day since we met.” Luke’s voice is deep and rough in Calum’s ear, different than he’s ever heard it before, and it makes an intense wave of arousal zip through him. “Do you want me?”

Fucking wow. Unbelievable, that Luke would even ask at this point, with Calum plastered to his chest and his hard dick pressing against Luke’s thigh. But then space opens up between them as Luke backs away, hands sliding around to grab Calum by the wrists, and Calum sees the smirk on his face, eyes cloudy with lust.

He knows Calum wants him. He just wants to hear it. And goddamn, Calum is happy to tell him. “I want you,” he says, licking his swollen lips while Luke leads him out of the kitchen and down the hall. “Want you to use those multitasking skills on me.”

Luke huffs a laugh as he pulls Calum into his room. “I dunno if you’re ready for that.” There’s a teasing glint in his eyes, but absolute confidence in his voice. Like he knows exactly how much he’s capable of fucking Calum up. The only other thing Calum’s ever seen him this sure of is cake.

And that…that’s enough to make Calum’s head spin and his insides twist with want so desperate he can barely hold it back, fists clenching, flexing the tendons of his wrists where they’re caught under Luke’s blazing grip. He looks Luke in the eyes, intensity in his eyes and a challenge in his voice. “Fuck me and find out.”

Luke inhales sharply and his words come out choked. “The cake.”

“We’ve got time,” Calum says, trying really hard not to sound like he’s begging. “Plenty of time.”

There are a few quiet moments while Luke considers it, eyes searching Calum’s before he nods firmly. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Calum insists, circling his wrists to wrench them out of Luke’s grip. When they’re free, he uses one to catch Luke by the front of his tank top, and the other to press his palm against Luke’s cock, making him gasp softly. “You already spent the last half hour getting me worked up. Let’s do this.”

•° ✿ °•

The oven timer beeps while they’re sitting in Luke’s bed about ten minutes after coming, which is about how long it took for Calum’s soul to return to his body. Luke is naked and being dramatic about not wanting to get dressed while he’s still so hot and the oven’s on, heating up the apartment. But Calum’s already thrown on a pair of Luke’s shorts, so he slips out of bed to check the cake. He figures it’s the least he can do after Luke just spent the better part of an hour composing the perfect recipe to leave Calum both completely satisfied and desperately hungry for more.

Eventually Luke follows behind him, still naked, and gets to work on the frosting while the cake cools. It’s quiet while Luke works, but the silence isn’t stark. It’s companionable, a lack of words only because they’re both still a little dazed, and because words aren’t really necessary when they can communicate with their eyes until sentences seem like a reasonable option.

Calum rests on the couch, hands folded and chin propped on the back cushion so he can watch Luke. It’s peaceful. The routine of it all, the way Luke is so clearly comfortable and content quietly bustling around the kitchen. 

But it’s also maddening, because now Calum knows what it’s like to have Luke’s cock inside him. Now he knows all the things Luke can do with those sugar-dusted hands. Now he knows the sounds Luke makes, the way his body moves, the specific expression on his face when he’s just seconds away from falling apart. 

And knowing all that while having Luke’s naked body in front of him, expertly maneuvering around the kitchen? Fucking hell. Maybe it should seem silly, but Calum just can’t manage to get there. Nope. It’s so far from silly, the way the trail of hair low on Luke’s stomach, disappearing behind the counter as he scrapes chocolate into the mixing bowl, calls to Calum. Fuck silly. It’s the hottest thing Calum has ever seen.

It’s agony, waiting for Luke to finish with the cake. Calum stays positioned on the couch because it feels safer. Less temptation when he’s a few feet across the room, incapable of reaching out and touching Luke. That doesn’t stop his fingers from twitching with want, or his dick from standing at attention the whole time he watches Luke, like a palace guard with complete commitment to its sworn duty to faithfully serve its beguiling king.

“Are you actually going to eat that right now?” Calum asks once Luke starts slicing the cake.

“Yes,” Luke says, like it should be obvious. Maybe it should be. But he doesn’t know what Calum’s been through with the baking-themed peep show. “You want some?”

Calum turns around and sits down, staring down at his throbbing dick, clearly visible through Luke's shorts. “No thanks, not yet. I’ll have some later.”

Luke comes around to sit next to him on the couch, a slice of cake in one hand, the other holding a plate below it to catch crumbs as he takes a big bite. He’s so preoccupied trying not to make a mess, he doesn’t seem to realize what Calum’s dealing with. 

“You sure you don’t want some?” Luke asks through a mouthful of cake, starting to tear the slice of cake in half.

“There’s something else I want a lot more right now,” Calum says pointedly.

Luke smirks when he finally looks at Calum, licking his lips as his gaze lands on Calum’s dick. Calum only barely registers it because his eyes are so focused on roaming over Luke’s body. How can he just sit there like that, naked and reclined and casually enjoying a slice of pound cake? Does he not realize what this is doing to Calum?

Maybe he doesn’t, though, if he’s gotten so used to mixing his sex appeal with dessert.

“Which would be?”

“Your dick, obviously.”

“It’s really that enticing?” Luke reaches down to gently flick the head of his dick like he’s struggling to see what all the fuss is about.

“I think about it all the time,” Calum says, mesmerized by the visual of Luke’s hand resting casually on his hip next to his soft cock. “I don’t think I could ever want cake as much as I want your dick. No matter how delicious the cake is.”

Luke’s hand disappears from his hip and Calum follows the movement with his eyes, watching Luke break off a piece of cake from the corner of the slice, a few crumbs spilling onto the dusting of hair on his chest in the process. Then his hand is on the move again, the little hunk of cake carefully pinched between his fingers, until it’s hovering over his dick.

Calum’s eyes widen as he watches that little hunk of cake descend slowly, until it’s balanced on top of Luke’s dick. “What about now?” Luke asks, tentatively pulling his hand away, prepared to swoop back in and steady the piece of cake if it starts to slip off. 

“Oh my god,” Calum mutters under his breath. Is his mouth literally watering? Is that a thing that’s actually happening to him right now? “You picked the part with the most frosting on it.”

“I know my demographic,” Luke says, hand still hovering close by even though the little corner of cake actually seems very secure in its new perch atop Luke’s dick. With his other hand, he sets the rest of the cake slice down and pushes the plate off to the side of the couch. “And my demographic is a whore for chocolate frosting.”

“Or just a whore.” Calum slides off the couch, pushing Luke’s legs apart, but careful not to get too rough with it and topple the cake. Luke makes a pleased grunty noise, which makes Calum roll his eyes, because what was he expecting? That Calum would just ignore this opportunity? Fuck no.

He runs his hands along the inside of Luke’s thighs, thumbs pressing gently as he goes, generally marveling at how far his hands have to travel along the expanse of milky skin, brushing against Luke’s balls before they reach his hips. 

Luke shudders, and Calum watches at eye level as the cake wiggles slightly. “Careful,” he murmurs before teasing Luke’s balls with his tongue. 

Luke groans, hips bucking toward Calum’s mouth. “You be fuckin’ careful,” he snipes back, no bite to it at all. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, and Calum smiles, considering how he wants to approach the task at hand.

Luke’s dick is still mostly soft, but it won’t be for long, which will spell trouble for the cake. Calum needs to move fast. He licks along Luke’s shaft until his tongue reaches the cake, swirls it around the edges, tasting the sweet chocolatey frosting mixing with the salt of Luke’s skin. “Delicious,” he mumbles quickly before opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the piece of cake and the head of Luke’s cock in one fell swoop.

“Oh shit,” Luke manages through a hitching breath. “Don’t choke.”

Calum flicks his eyes up to Luke and does his best to roll them. The concern is appreciated, but he’s got this. He wraps a hand around the base of Luke’s dick, feeling it hardening rapidly inside his mouth as he starts to pull off, cake secured on his tongue, sucking hard as he goes. It’s the only way to make sure he doesn’t lose any delicious morsels of cake along the way. 

The noise Luke makes is enough to make Calum’s dick strain against his borrowed shorts and he struggles to swallow his bite of cake around the way his breath catches in his throat. He coughs a little, and Luke looks at him smugly. “I didn’t choke,” Calum says, still coughing around his words. After clearing his throat he adds, while slowly pumping his hand on Luke’s dick, “The cake is incredible. Really moist. The perfect amount of frosting.”

“Normally I’d try to make a frosting cum joke,” Luke replies, blissed out warmth in his voice, even though it’s rough around the edges. “But this is really nice and my brain is just fuzz.”

He’s entirely too calm about the whole thing for Calum’s taste. After the insane, mind-blowing, life-changing blowjob he gave Calum the other night, and everything that just happened while the cake was in the oven, Luke deserves more than really nice.

So Calum goes back in, taking Luke’s cock deep into his mouth and sucking hard. “Oh god,” Luke chokes out. “G-god.” His staggering breaths make his stomach rise and fall rapidly and Calum smooths his hand over the smooth skin of Luke’s lower hip, up to his belly button, then trails it back down, fingers whisper-soft against Luke’s balls while he concentrates on swirling his tongue around his slit, searching for the best combination of hard and soft to make Luke make that noise again.

Just the right amount of soft sucking around the head, mixed evenly with flicks of his tongue against Luke’s tip, now dribbling bitter precum against Calum’s lips as he works. It’s enough to keep Luke on edge, and then, just when he’s gotten used to it, Calum takes him deep again. “Ah-ah—fuck,” Luke gasps, hands falling against the couch cushions, fingers gripping them tightly. That’s more like it.

“Calum…” Luke’s voice is soft and breathy, but rough with grit and a touch of desperation.

Calum pulls off just long enough to murmur, “Yeah baby?” With one hand slowly jerking him off, Calum swirls his tongue around Luke’s tip while he waits.

“Calum…” Again with the quiet, hoarse voice, one hand clasping Calum’s jaw tightly. “Can I fuck you? I wanna fuck you.”

“Again? Already?” Calum asks incredulously, dick twitching at the idea of having Luke inside him again, making him feel so good. That insatiability—the way Luke is looking at him greedily, the way he’s already fucked out and still asking for more, because he wants Calum that badly—it’s so unbelievably hot. “God. Yes.”

“Oh come on,” Luke grumbles, cocking his head at Calum with a glint in his eye. “You get on your knees to eat cake off my dick and expect me not to be desperate to fuck you? You knew what you were doing.” Then he’s on his feet, taking long strides down the hall. 

Dazed, Calum gets up to follow him to the bedroom, but by the time he makes it to his feet and halfway across the room, Luke’s already back, condom and lube in hand. He doesn’t even pause, catching Calum by the waist and dragging Calum’s shorts off. Calum steadies himself on Luke’s shoulder to kick them off while Luke rips open the condom and rolls it on. The smell of cake still lingers sweetly in the air. “After today the smell of cake baking is gonna automatically give me a boner.”

Luke chuckles breathily, spreading lube over his dick and then reaching out to jerk Calum off slowly, tingles prickling in Calum’s stomach from the soft but firm touch. “That will make the podcast way more fun to record.”

In another burst of movement, Luke hooks an arm around Calum’s waist and draws him close, kissing hotly down his neck as he backs them against the wall. Their cocks rub together and Luke presses himself more tightly against Calum, grinding his hips with intention while his hands roam greedily over Calum’s back and ass. “Leg up,” he whispers, tapping the outside of Calum’s thigh.

“You are not about to fuck me against the wall.” Calum’s skeptical mouth is saying one thing, but his needy body is complying with Luke’s request, leg stretching to wrap around Luke’s waist.

A wave of heat rolls through Calum’s body as Luke’s dick nudges against his ass, distracting him enough that Luke manages to fully sweep him up off the floor, hands secure under Calum’s thighs. “Just for a minute,” he urges sweetly, blinking at Calum with imploring eyes. 

Calum’s stomach clenches, his body desperate to grind down in search of friction. He nods once, clasping his arms tightly around Luke’s neck. “Yeah, okay. Fuck. Don't drop me.”

Luke doesn’t waste any time, pushing into Calum fast and deep, breath staggering. For Calum, it’s novel how good it feels right away, body already stretched and ready after they just fucked an hour ago, no need to adjust to the feeling, and immediate sparks of pleasure fizzling through his veins thanks to the fucking perfect angle. He mumbles a breathless, “Oh, wow,” and Luke smirks at him.

“Okay?” He prompts, tilting his chin in a cocky sort of way that Calum finds annoyingly hot. Only because it’s Luke.

Calum shakes his head, shifting his hips slightly to try to urge Luke to move. “Maybe you were right about the wall sex.”

He’s rewarded with a wicked grin from Luke. “Just wait.”

When Luke starts fucking into him, he goes hard, grunting with every thrust. Calum’s head falls back against the wall, eyes heavy from the quick build, body already humming with warmth and tension. The effort is visible on Luke’s face, forehead pinched and jaw clenched, lips parted as he exhales heavy and loud. 

The wall is hard and cool against Calum’s back, and there’s hardly any space between their bodies as Calum clings to Luke tightly. It’s almost claustrophobic, but in the most intoxicating way. Luke’s going to fuck Calum until he sees stars, and there’s nothing he can do about it but let it happen at whatever pace Luke sets. And it’s that thought that has Calum whimpering pathetically, cock smearing precum against his stomach.

Luke glances at him, nostrils flaring as he bites his bottom lip over a moan. His breath is hot against Calum’s shoulder, hands gripping so tightly to Calum’s thighs it’s the perfect amount of painful. “Been wanting to do this since I had you on your back on the couch.”

“You pay attention,” Calum murmurs, voice shaky from bouncing against the wall every time Luke’s dick drives into him.

“To you—fuck that feels good.” Luke’s voice drops to a growl and his arms start to tremble when Calum slips down the wall slightly, sinking deeper onto his cock. “I pay attention to you,” he gasps, hastily pulling out and dropping Calum gently onto the ground. “Turn around.”

“So bossy.” Calum teases, but he also listens, hastily spinning around and leaning down with his forearms against the wall while Luke grabs his hips roughly and lines himself up, barely missing a beat before he’s thrusting back into Calum. “What if I wanted to see you come?”

Through Luke’s labored breathing, a wheeze of laughter sneaks in. “Then we’ll do it again later.”

“Fuuuck,” Calum groans, the combination of Luke’s words and his goddamn adorable laugh making Calum’s stomach twist. The texture of the wall scrapes against his skin with each steady rock of Luke’s hips. That thrilling tingle creeps through him when Luke’s hands tighten on his waist, holding Calum steadily in place while his cock works Calum over with relentless precision. Luke’s not trying to make this last, not even a little bit, and it’s so easy for Calum to pretend he can do fuck all about it. He loves it.

“You like it?” Luke murmurs, draping himself over Calum’s back so his low, rough voice is right next to Calum’s ear. “So fuckin’ hot. I want you all the fuckin’ time.”

Calum blinks rapidly, overwhelmed by how well he can hear Luke’s soft little grunts and moans now that he’s so, so close, hot breath tickling Calum’s neck. Tension and heat quickly builds through his whole body, nothing but the light grey paint on the wall and Luke’s noises in his ear to distract him from the physical sensations. Knowing Luke’s capable hands are in charge of everything that’s happening.

He can’t find the words to express how much he’s into this, just whimpers, “Yeah. Stay,” pushing his hips back, silently begging for more. Luke understands, letting his weight rest fully on Calum, chest warm and heavy against Calum’s back as he fucks Calum faster. The steady rhythm of Luke’s cock nudging into him exactly where he wants it makes Calum’s head spin and his legs shake.

With his forehead pressed against his arm, he can see the shadow of their bodies on the floor, and his dick bouncing between his legs, veins popping starkly from how hard he is, dark pink tip glistening. Then Luke’s hand comes into view, wrapping around the head of Calum’s dick, making him shudder and moan. “Gonna come for me?” With every snap of his hips, his hand twists over Calum’s dick, sparking the tension in Calum’s gut into a steady build.

“Jesus, why are you in such a hurry?” Calum’s too overwhelmed by feeling Luke’s touch everywhere, prickling under his skin as his orgasm builds, to even try to sound annoyed. Instead it comes out like an encouraging plea. Keep it up, I love it. Probably because that’s how he actually feels.

“Wanna finish my cake,” Luke rasps, dragging a broken laugh out of Calum. Once Calum laughs, Luke laughs a little too, pleased to have gotten a reaction. 

That fucking laugh makes Calum's dick twitch, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and picturing Luke’s face, his crooked little smirk while his eyes are blown with lust and his skin is covered in a sheen of sweat and his hair is falling in messy waves across his forehead. Calum can’t actually see it, but that laugh is enough to imagine it. Enough to drag Calum so, so close to the edge, desperate to come. He just needs a little more, and his body writhes beneath Luke, searching for that extra something. But he’s not going to get it on his own, pinned in place between the wall and Luke’s solid chest. “So fucking close,” he mumbles into his arm.

Understanding immediately, Luke latches his mouth against Calum’s neck—messy, open-mouthed kisses, sucking and biting along the side of his throat. “Oh fuck.” It hits Calum suddenly, his legs giving out beneath him as he comes, all the tension in his body cresting into waves of warm pleasure, his cum splashing against the wall. Luke holds him tightly to keep him upright and fucks him through it.

“Fuck yeah,” he encourages, slamming into Calum harder as Calum pulses around his cock. “That was so—” He cuts himself off with a strangled ahh, hips stuttering as he comes. Calum wrenches his head around to try to see, but the best he can manage is snagging the corner of Luke’s bottom lip with his teeth as Luke exhales heavily against Calum’s cheek. It pulls a belated moan out of Luke’s mouth, and it might be the best sound Calum has ever heard.

“God,” Calum says, gritting his teeth as Luke pulls out. “That was not what I was expecting after the first round. Not complaining,” he adds when Luke glances at him with a skeptical smirk. God he looks incredible like this. All soft and relaxed and kind of a mess, but in a perfect way.

While Calum stretches his neck and shoulders, Luke pulls off the condom and tosses it in the kitchen trash. Even this mundane activity is riveting to Calum, eyes following the line of Luke’s body from his wide shoulders down to the taper of his waist, then getting stuck on his ass for a while, because it’s a true miracle of biology.

Luke turns around, catching Calum staring at his ass, and grins happily. “Glad I can keep you on your toes.”

“Surprised you could keep me against the wall that long, actually. Impressive stamina.”

“I’m gonna work on it,” Luke says, crossing his arms while he looks over the mess of Calum’s cum staining the wall. “Since you liked it. See if I can hold you up the whole time.” He’s smiling a little like he’s joking, but Calum can tell he actually means it and his dick perks up pathetically in response. Luke catches that too, raising an eyebrow, but staying quiet.

“Sorry about your wall.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke says. “I have the easy-clean paint like you’re supposed to have in kids’ rooms. Comes in handy around the kitchen.”

Calum shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Calum replies. 

He’s got writer’s block, after all. There’s no point in even trying to explain to Luke how everything he says, everything he does, somehow makes Calum feel all melty and shimmery and wonderful.

-ˋˏ ༻🍰༺ ˎˊ-

COFFEE CAKE

The leftover coffee cake from last night’s podcast recording taunts Calum from the kitchen counter as he leans against it, squinting to examine the rain cascading against his big picture window. Taunts him, because he really wants a fucking latte, but at the moment, he’s not going anywhere without getting drenched. It’s the kind of storm where an umbrella would be useless, and Calum’s not sure he wants a latte badly enough to brave four blocks walking in a downpour. And that’s if he settles for a mediocre latte. If he wants a good one from Petunia’s, that’s twice as much time in the rain.

And as delicious as the coffee cake turned out, it’s not gonna give Calum the caffeine he needs to get through a morning of prepping to drop the first episode of the podcast.

There’s not actually much for him to do but wait. Wait for it to appear in his podcast feed, wait to see how people respond. If people respond. They posted a teaser a few days ago, promoted through all the podcasts in the network, and the stats on the preview have been good. At least according to Ashton they have been. Calum has no idea what good stats are in this industry, which is why he will also be waiting for Ashton to reach out and give him a useful rundown on their numbers.

And if Calum’s going to spend the day waiting, doing his best not to stress, he deserves a fucking latte.

Just as he’s contemplating whether he could safely make it four blocks with one of the cheap plastic ponchos he has stuffed in the back of his closet—leftovers from a music festival last summer—his phone vibrates against the kitchen counter.

hot baker: bakery is dead today because of the weather

hot baker: i’m gonna take off early. You around?

Calum: i’m around

Calum: and i’m desperate for a latte 🥺

It’s about fifteen minutes later, all of them spent dissociating while staring out at the rain, when Calum hears a knock on his door. Actually, it’s more like a tap, followed by some scuffling, followed by a muffled, “damn,” and then, “Help! My hands are full!”

Calum smiles at Luke’s distant voice, playfully distressed while he gently kicks at the door. His smile flips into a pitying grimace when he opens the door and sees Luke on the other side, drenched. He’s wearing his leather jacket over a hoodie, zipped up to his neck, hood secured over his hair, but the curls framing his face are sopping wet, rivulets of water dripping down his cheeks. His pants are so wet they look black instead of grey, and he’s holding a drink carrier, covered in a plastic grocery bag flipped upside-down to protect the contents. His Converse make a squishy, squelching sound as he scurries through the door.

“Latte delivery!” he announces, setting the drink carrier on the table and swiping the bag off the top dramatically. It makes drops of water go flying off both the bag and Luke’s sleeves, spraying Calum in the face with a violent mist. “Shit, sorry,” Luke says, quickly slipping out of his jacket and coming at Calum with the sleeve of his hoodie, rubbing it over his face to dry him off.

A faceful of that lovely Luke scent makes Calum’s stomach flip, casting his eyes up to Luke’s face while he concentrates on wiping raindrops off Calum’s cheeks. It makes Calum feel small, being this close to him. In a nice way, though. Like he’s surrounded by Luke. Protected and cared for.

“It’s okay,” Calum assures him, catching Luke’s hands to drag them away from his face, lifting onto his toes to kiss Luke’s rain-soaked lips. “You braved a tsunami to bring me a latte. I can handle a few sprinkles.”

With a smile in his eyes, Luke reaches into the drink carrier and hands Calum his latte. “How’s it going so far? With the—” Luke flaps his hand expressively— “podcast stuff. That’s happening soon, right?”

“It’s gonna be out in…” Calum slips his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Twenty minutes. Then it will probably be a few hours before we start seeing any engagement, and Ashton’s gonna check to let us know how it’s looking before he logs off for the day.”

“So were you just planning on sitting around all day waiting to hear something?”

“Pretty much.”

“Rad,” Luke says, twisting the other cup out of the drink holder. He sounds like he genuinely means it. “Can I sit around all day with you?”

Calum returns his hopeful smile and nods. “I think that’d be nice. A little podcast premiere party. Do you want some dry clothes?” He looks pointedly at Luke’s soaked-through pants, clinging tightly to his thighs.

“Actually, I was thinking I could just take it all off and spend the day nude in your apartment.”

“The scarf lady from across the courtyard will love that,” Calum says, heading for his room to find Luke something warm and cozy to wear. He can hear Luke’s footsteps following behind him. “She’s always peeping through my bedroom window.”

“You’ve caught her doing it?”

Calum nods, pulling open his dresser drawer. “We’ve made eye contact while I’m toweling off after a shower.” 

“Ohmigod,” Luke murmurs deeply through a nervous chuckle, “What did you do?” He nudges Calum out of the way with his hip so he can pick through Calum’s sweats.

“Played it cool,” Calum says. It never gets old, seeing Luke’s gentle hands and painted nails up against Calum’s clothes. As he paws through his options in the drawer, Calum notices he has a fresh coat of pale pink nail polish, but it’s already chipping off his right thumb. “Finished toweling off and got dressed. Like at that point, she’s already seen it all. I could either dive to close the curtains or go about my business. I figured I might as well be suave about it.”

Luke grunts, glancing out the window before he starts peeling out of his wet clothes. No scarf lady. “I guess that’s true. Not like you’ve got any reason to be embarrassed.” He tugs a grey hoodie over his wet hair and slips into a pair of Calum’s gym shorts, pinching at the waistband to adjust them on his hips, then looks at Calum excitedly. “Did I see the leftover coffee cake on your counter?”

“You want some?” Calum gestures for Luke to go ahead of him into the hall, enjoying the view of Luke’s broad shoulders wrapped in his favorite hoodie, fascinated by the way Luke’s ass fills out those baggy gym shorts. How is Calum ever supposed to wear these clothes again after seeing how perfect they look on Luke’s body?

When they reach the kitchen, Luke catapults himself into one of the stools next to the counter and rips the plastic wrap off the top of the coffee cake. “What happens next for you? After the podcast?”

Calum exhales heavily, cabinet thudding closed behind him as he grabs two plates. “I don’t really know yet. I’ve just kinda been hoping I’d magically be struck with inspiration for another book by the time this thing wraps up.”

Luke nods, watching Calum dish out two pieces of cake, fingers tapping against the counter. “Did you always want to be a writer?” 

It’s something Calum has gotten used to now, being watched while he’s fumbling around in the kitchen performing tasks he’s not really qualified to complete. Knowing Luke’s eyes are following his clumsy movements while he transfers the cake to their plates doesn’t make him nervous. It makes him comfortable. “I always liked writing. Didn’t really consider it as a serious career option until I got to college and realized I needed to pick a major.”

“Relatable.” Grinning, Luke wiggles his fingers impatiently while he waits for Calum to slide him his plate of cake. Even his impatient fingers are careful, softly brushing Calum’s hand when he sets the plate in front of Luke and sits down next to him at the counter, elbows bumping.

“Did you major in delicious desserts?”

Luke scoffs, immediately digging into his cake. “Definitely not. I majored in business management, which was fucking awful. But I did it because I knew I wanted to bake, and the only way to sell that to my parents was with a business major. If I can’t find a job, I’ll make my own, that type of thing.” He jams a big bite in his mouth and chews aggressively. 

It makes Calum smile, and he props his elbow on the counter with his head in his hand so he can watch Luke while he takes a much more reasonable bite of his own cake, contemplating quietly before he says, “That’s really nice though. That you actually knew what you wanted to do. And it’s something you seem to really love.”

“I do,” Luke says, grabbing for his flat white and slurping that just as aggressively. “I don’t love the business side of it, but it’s worth it to get to do something I enjoy every day and make a living from it. But I’ve been reading your books.” He says it carefully, looking at Calum softly, cake and flat white temporarily forgotten. “I know I’m not supposed to analyze you based on what you write, but it sure feels like you love it.”

“I guess I do,” Calum admits with a shrug. “The writer’s block sucks, but when the ideas and words are coming, I do really enjoy it. I wrote my first novel while I was still in college. Kind of by accident. It was a little too easy, you know? And then everything I’ve written since then has felt so, so hard.” He kind of hates sharing this with people, because he’s so aware of how lucky he is. How unqualified he is to be as successful as he is, and how any complaints he might have now seem silly when he had such an easy time breaking into a notoriously difficult career.

Luke hums sympathetically, slicing off another giant bite of cake with his fork. “The problem with getting something right on the first try. But it doesn’t feel like it was hard. Reading it, I mean. It’s my favorite thing about how you write, I think. It feels effortless in the way where I’m not, like, aware that someone thought about every single word. It just flows. Although,” he says, finally popping the cake in his mouth, talking while he chews because he’s so eager to get the words out, drawing abstract shapes in the air with his fork. “It is really fucking weird knowing all of that came from inside your head. In a cool way. Like you’re just wandering around every day with a brain capable of doing that. It’s crazy, man.”

For weeks, Calum has been marveling at all the delicious desserts Luke can create out of thin air. Mesmerized by the way he moves through the kitchen, shocked and delighted at the flavors he puts together, and completely humbled every time he tries to execute one of Luke’s recipes. And those are the easy recipes, meant for people like Calum who barely have a clue what they’re doing.

Calum never thought Luke could think of him the same way. Like this. Gazing at Calum with awe in his eyes over Calum’s writing. Impressed by something Calum can do that he can’t. It almost makes Calum forget about the fact that Luke having any reaction at all to his books means he’s actually reading them.

Almost.

“Hey, I thought you said you were gonna tell me when you started reading them!” Calum squeaks accusingly, flicking Luke on the side of his thigh with his fork.

Laughing, Luke swipes up Calum’s hand and tugs him closer, the fork pinned between their bodies. “I just started yesterday, I swear,” he says. “It was just so good I ended up reading, like, a third of the book in one sitting.” He loosens his grip, setting Calum’s fork free so he can turn his attention back to finishing his own cake. “I love how…thoughtful it is. How it feels really real but such an escape at the same time.”

Luke’s trying to ease them into some sort of discussion about the book, probably trying to offer Calum comforting feedback. But the thing is, it’s hard for Calum to talk about his writing. He has a lot of thoughts about it, and it’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it, he just doesn’t really know how. 

He’s too close to it, too invested. It’s kind of a minefield, trying to navigate conversations about his books without feeling vulnerable, misunderstood. It’s this strange feeling of discomfort mixed with longing. The desire to be able to have a conversation about it, but only the right conversation. And that’s unrealistic. No one is ever going to know exactly the correct thing to say about Calum’s writing when even he has no clue what it is he wants to hear. It’s not until the words are spoken that Calum knows for certain—no, that doesn’t feel good.

Usually he treads carefully, something he’s learned to do quite well through various book tours and interviews where the sole purpose is to talk about his writing. He knows how to turn it around on the other person. How to give away just enough of himself without revealing too much. How to steer the conversation to things he’s more comfortable talking about—the process of writing, rather than the writing itself.

So he’s quiet for a while, slowly chewing a bite of cake to give himself time to contemplate how he wants to respond. Luke’s giving him the chance to go any direction he wants to go. He could just accept the compliment and push past it, make a joke, move on to other topics.

“Thanks. I usually try to think at least a little bit about what I write.” Luke snorts, and this is it. Either the moment will pass, or Calum can indulge his longing and take a chance. “You know how people talk about, like, complex characters? Shades of grey, motivations that explain their actions, that kind of thing?”

Luke nods, rapt attention on Calum while he absently fiddles with his fork. “Prestige TV vibes.”

Calum smirks. “Exactly. And I appreciate that. I’m a big fan of shades of grey, giving characters dimension, all that. But I think what gets lost sometimes is the way that all manifests in reality. People might be able to see a bit of themselves in these larger-than-life characters, but it’s not the same as truly connecting to them on a deep level. And most of us can’t relate to a happy ending that involves saving the world or solving a murder or something.”

Calum pauses, giving Luke a chance to cut him off because he’s babbling or because he’s not making any sense, but Luke just waits with his eyes on Calum, captivated. Being truly listened to is so rare, Calum sometimes forgets how it feels to know that every word he’s saying is being heard. It’s electrifying.

“So I just try to like…give people an escape that’s not so far from reality. Create characters they understand, and give those characters sort of average little lives that are still full and interesting. It’s really just a slightly idealized version of daily reality. And, I don’t know, I think—I hope—that’s comforting in some way. To find importance and adventure and beauty in what might seem mundane. To acknowledge that everyone’s mind is full of thoughts and contradictions and that we’re all just doing our best.” 

He’s talking too much. Not for Luke, who’s nodding along with his head tilted thoughtfully. But for himself. Too many sentences in a row, too much obvious passion for his work. He tries to reel it back. “I know this isn’t exactly an original thought or anything. People create stories like this all the time. But it feels like it’s some wild new revelation every time I pitch a book like this and the response is but are there dragons?”

Luke laughs a little, pushing his crumb-cluttered plate away. “But I don’t want any dragons. I like your boring people with their boring lives.” He grins teasingly and continues, “I really do love that the story feels, you know…” He shifts his eyes around the kitchen and bites the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “Within reach? If that makes sense. It feels kinda like I’m just being like Scarf Lady and peeping in on someone’s life, but not in a creepy way.”

“That’s exactly it. And that’s exactly why I’m struggling so much with ideas, I think. It all starts to kind of feel the same after a while when you’re not writing about dragons and shit. How many times can I write about boring people with boring lives and make it interesting somehow? The fact I even managed three books is a miracle.”

Luke hums and slips off his stool, grabbing his coffee with one hand and beckoning for Calum with the other. Calum curiously follows Luke toward the door for his balcony, a place he honestly forgets exists most of the time. The door is tucked in the corner of his kitchen at an angle, difficult to see unless you stand directly in front of it, and Calum just doesn’t think about it.

But clearly Luke noticed it, because he pushes the door open, filling the apartment with the sound of falling rain, and steps outside. The balcony is covered, and there’s a distinct line across the cement designating the reach of the raindrops pinging off the overhang. After assessing the situation, Luke sets his coffee on the ground and drags Calum’s cheap outdoor loveseat from the Home Depot Memorial Day sale a safe distance from the splash zone. He makes himself at home against the striped cushions and looks up at Calum, wind rippling gently through his hair. “Come sit.”

“I never come out here,” Calum says, kind of impressed by how comfortable the cheap loveseat turns out to be as he settles in next to Luke. “I forget it’s an option.”

Luke smiles peacefully, a quiet contrast to the thudding rain on the ceiling. “I don’t know anything about writer’s block, so you can tell me to fuck off if this is stupid or patronizing,” he says, falling into the corner of the loveseat, kicking one leg up against the back, and patting the cushion in front of him. Calum slides closer, letting Luke drag him against his chest. It’s even more comfortable here, surrounded in that not-too-sweet Luke scent, feeling his favorite hoodie against his skin from the outside. “How did you come up with the ideas for the books you’ve written so far?”

Calum’s knee jerk reaction is to say I don’t know, and that’s the problem, but he stops himself, forces himself to really think about it, encouraged by the consistent sound of the rainfall and the calming rise and fall of Luke’s chest against his back. “I think they were just kind of…waiting. They were the stories I spent years and years thinking about in bed at night, before I realized they were stories. They were just daydreams. Or things taken from my life and rearranged to be more interesting. And I used them all up.”

“What do you think about now, when you’re in bed at night?”

It’s not the response Calum expects, which is probably why he doesn’t hesitate to reply, “You.”

“What about me?” Luke asks, a smile in his voice.

“Lots of things. Depends on the night, depends on my mood, depends on what happened during the day.”

“Mmhmm,” Luke prompts, patient but insistent.

“Sometimes I think about moments. Try to relive them. When you look a certain way while you’re sitting in the kitchen at the bakery, watching me fuck up one of your recipes. When you touch me a certain way while you’re just talking to me. A specific thing you said that I can’t get out of my head.”

“That’s cute,” Luke says, genuine with an edge of teasing, careful to keep things light. It’s his standard way of operating, never letting a moment get too heavy unless he’s confident they’re in it together. “What else?”

Calum laughs gently and twists his neck so he can look back at Luke. “You looking for some personalized podcast erotica right now?”

“I’m trying to help you with your writer’s block,” Luke says, amused wheezes punctuating his words. “But I wouldn’t turn down some personalized podcast erotica.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Calum settles back against Luke, resting his palm on top of Luke’s bare thigh, thumb tracing over the stark lines of his lotus tattoo. “If you can actually manage to help, I really would make you some personalized podcast erotica.”

“I just wondered, if your books are all about what you thought about in bed at night, are those still the things you’re thinking about, or are there new things now? And can those new things become stories too somehow? Maybe not directly, but if you’re thinking about them, they’re probably important to you.” His voice goes soft at the end of his sentence, a little hesitant, and Calum’s almost grateful he can’t see Luke’s face. Because he knows what's happening. Luke's realizing. He's important to Calum. Now it's out there, unquestionably.

Luke's pitch is something to think about. The old bedtime scenarios weren’t real, at least not completely. Calum sprinkled real things into them, but they weren’t autobiographical, ripped right from his life the way his Luke thoughts usually are. There’s no way he’d be comfortable writing something based directly on his life. 

But Luke might be right about where he should be looking for inspiration. Even a few seconds of considering all the things he could write inspired by Luke leave Calum's mind spinning with excitement and possibilities. He could write dozens of chapters just describing Luke’s various smiles and laughs, the way his lazy vowels sound when he says okay and alright, mapping the twists and turns of his curls, trying to find the words to explain his beautiful brain and all his complementary contradictions.

Yeah. Definitely something to think about.

Luke gets the notification before Calum does, first just pulling his phone part way out of his pocket to glance at it, then picking it up to look more closely. He hooks his arm over Calum’s shoulder so Calum can see his screen as he taps to open the podcast. “It’s called Cake Topics.”

Hand pressed to Luke’s chest, Calum sits up and turns to look at him. “Yeah, I thought it was cute when you said it the other day. The working title was Untitled Cake Project, so, you know. Upgrade.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t even know the name of my own podcast.”

“Yeah…I probably should’ve talked it over with you, but I kinda forgot it was even a thing until—”

“It’s fine,” Luke says, unbothered, a tiny smile on his lips, the kind that makes his mismatched dimples flare. “I didn’t think to ask.”

“You had other priorities.”

“Damn right.” He pulls Calum close and kisses him until Calum melts against him, all the stress of the podcast premiere blurring into nothing but soft lips and gentle hands.

•° ✿ °•

At the train station the next day, Calum experiences two miracles.

First, he’s in line at Starbucks, which he really shouldn’t be—he’s gonna be late for his meeting with Ashton if it takes more than ten minutes to get his coffee. Which it absolutely will, because the train station Starbucks is like if all of Calum’s most incompetent classmates and coworkers throughout his entire life decided to get together and open a coffee shop in hell.

But as Calum’s waiting, impatiently bouncing on his toes to try to figure out what the fuck is taking so long, his eyes catch a familiar image. The Cake Topics logo, displayed brightly on the phone screen of the guy in front of him in line. He’s listening. AirPods in, episode all the way to the thirty minute mark, and he’s smiling to himself. Calum literally watches him tap through his screen to subscribe to the podcast.

People are actually listening! Strangers! Logically, Calum knows people are listening, but actually seeing it out in the wild is such a rush. He rides that high through the entire Starbucks line, and even manages to maintain his smile when the barista hands him a grande latte when he clearly asked for venti. The label says venti! But it doesn’t fucking matter, because some random guy listened to Cake Topics this morning and liked it enough to subscribe.

The second miracle comes as Calum is waiting on the platform for the next train since, unsurprisingly, he missed the one he’d intended to catch. It starts when he notices this woman looking at him from a few feet away, at first just quick glances, but they get longer and longer until she’s straight up staring at Calum. He can feel it on the side of his face, and he can see her out of the corner of his eye, and finally he can’t take it anymore. 

When he turns to look at her, she smiles guiltily and says, “Are you the Cake Topics guy?”

“I’m one of them,” Calum says, shocked out of his goddamn mind to be recognized on the basis of a handful of promotional TikToks, but so fucking thrilled about it. Not that he has any particular desire to be recognized on the street, but it means people are listening besides just the Starbucks guy. Not just listening, either—paying attention. Enough attention, it seems, to remember Calum well enough to recognize him.

“Yeah,” the woman says, stifling a laugh. “The one that doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Calum feigns offense, throwing up his coffee-free hand. “Hey. We all gotta start somewhere.” He smiles warmly, wondering if he should be using this opportunity to ask the woman for feedback or something. Find out what she likes about the podcast, why she started listening, that kind of thing. But it feels weird to turn his first real fan encounter into a focus group. “You’re right, though. I have no clue.”

“You really don’t? I’ve been wondering. Because you never really know how real these things are, but it feels real listening to you. That’s why I like it.”

“Thanks, that’s really good to hear. Unfortunately for my ego, it’s all extremely real.”

The woman leans closer, lowering her voice and smiling conspiratorially. “In that case, are you, you know—” She pauses, bouncing her eyebrows, “—with Luke? Because if you’re not, you should be. The sexual tension is unreal.”

Calum can see the moment she realizes she might be crossing a boundary, eyes filling with panic while her voice trails off. “It’s cool,” Calum says, attempting to put her out of her misery. “That’s kinda what we were going for. Sexy cake podcast.” He contemplates whether to tell her, delicately, that they’re fucking and that he’s quickly tumbling into something that’s dangerously close to love with Luke. Probably best not to. Instead he just winks at her as the train pulls up. “But trust me, that’s extremely real too.”

Once he’s safely seated on the train, he pulls out his phone.

Calum: just had my first inappropriate fan encounter at the train station!

Calum: this lady asked me if we were fucking because of our unreal sexual tension!

hot baker: omg

hot baker: rad 🤘

Rad is right. The train station miracles are just what Calum needed to really realize exactly how well everything is coming together. The podcast is out, and it’s what they want it to be. They have an audience. They’re doing it. They’ve got a fucking podcast and it’s real and it’s good.

But for Calum, the best part isn’t the podcast. It’s the we. He and Luke, working together.

For Ashton, the best part is apparently the volume of day one listeners. Calum knows nothing about podcast statistics, has no concept of what’s a “good” number, no frame of reference for how Cake Topics is performing compared to any other podcast, but he knows Ashton is smiling and gesticulating wildly as he rattles off data.

“And the crazy part is, it usually takes a few weeks for a new pod to build to its peak audience,” Ashton is saying while Calum nods along like he has any fucking clue what’s happening, “So the fact that the numbers are so high already, after one day?” Ashton grins, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. “We’ll have our pick of advertisers. This shit’s going to be the company’s top revenue-generator ever, I can feel it.”

The man is fond of hyperbole, so Calum tries to temper his enthusiasm while he bobbles back and forth in the fancy conference room chair, watching Ashton pacing the room excitedly. “So that’s good news, then?”

“Fuckin’ incredible news, Cal!” Calum’s steady bobbles become a violent earthquake as Ashton grips the back of his chair and shakes it hard on his way past. “You could keep doing this. Like, for good. You’re gonna make a name for yourself. Any production company would jump at the chance to work with you if you wanted to make another pod. I probably shouldn’t be telling you that, though, since I’d really rather you stick with us.”

“Oh.” It’s not the first time Calum has considered the possibility of making another podcast, but it’s the first time he’s done it when it felt like a real option. “I don’t—I don’t know if I want to do that or not.”

Ashton waves him off and offers him a warm smile. “It’s fine, you don’t need to know right now. I’m just saying. If you decide you want to do it, we’d be happy to have you.”

It was hard enough for Calum to come up with the idea for Cake Topics, and technically, it wasn’t even his idea—he has Luke to thank for that. It’s a little overwhelming to contemplate what the hell he’d do for a second podcast, and he’s lost in thought the whole ride back home.

The thing is, he’s a writer. That’s what he really wants to be doing. But he doesn’t know what to write any more than he knows what to make a podcast about. And he happens to be good at the podcasting thing, apparently, but would that still be the case if he didn’t have Luke? He has no doubt he could manage a decent offering on his own, or with different collaborators, but it all seems so much less appealing if Luke isn’t involved.

“Something wrong?” Luke asks when Calum wanders into Petunia’s, an unplanned stop on his walk from the train station to his apartment, and invites himself into the kitchen. “Are the numbers bad?”

The whole the numbers thing has kind of become a joke with them, and Luke says it with a dramatic businesslike tone for comedic effect, but he does look genuinely concerned by Calum’s thoughtful frown. There’s a smudge of flour on his nose, and his hands are covered in pastry dough.

Calum shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. “The numbers are fucking awesome. So fucking awesome that Ashton’s already offering me the chance to make another podcast.”

“Ah,” Luke says knowingly, returning his focus to his pastry dough, “And you don’t know if that’s something you want to do.”

“Exactly.” Even though he desperately wants to kiss the flour off Luke’s nose, Calum keeps his mouth to himself, sitting down at the bench across from Luke to watch him work. “Even if I could come up with another idea, I just…I miss writing. And I’m afraid if I get myself wrapped up in another podcast, it’ll be too easy to just keep doing that, and never get back to what I really want to be doing.”

It’s somehow easier for Calum to organize and articulate his thoughts now that he’s with Luke, watching Luke’s steady, flour-covered hands rolling and folding, rolling and folding, lulling Calum’s mind to a state of calm clarity.

Luke hums to acknowledge Calum’s words, but he doesn’t say anything at first, patiently waiting. Sensing Calum is working through it in real time and giving him the space. Calum’s really falling in love with him something awful.

He sighs wistfully, annoyed at himself for finding something to have a crisis about when he’s got Luke. There’s absolutely no goddamn reason for Calum to feel sorry for himself when his life currently includes a successful podcasting job and the most perfect-for-him boyfriend that will ever exist. Probably he needs to give in and kiss Luke. That will fix him.

“But just because I want to be writing doesn’t mean I can,” he continues, slipping off his stool and circling around the prep table. “The whole writer’s block situation is still kind of a thing.”

“Still no ideas?”

“Not really,” Calum says, sidling up next to Luke and wrapping his arms around Luke’s waist in an attempt to distract him away from his pastry long enough for that soul-soothing kiss. “But I also haven’t, like, sat down and tried to write anything in a long time. Sometimes that makes a difference, actually having a doc open and a keyboard in front of me.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t? Or is it just, like, you’ve been so busy with the podcast and making cakes and fucking me that it hasn’t been a priority?”

“Not a good reason. It’s just hard when I haven’t been able to write in so long.”

“Better not to try at all than to try and have nothing come out?” Luke asks, pausing to look at Calum. To really look at Calum. 

Calum shrugs. “Yeah. That. But that’s not the headline right now. We should be celebrating the fact that Cake Topics is a hit. I can save my existential crisis for tomorrow.” Is he trying to distract attention away from self-reflection? Definitely. 

And Luke knows it too, rolling his eyes fondly at Calum’s subject change. “How should we celebrate?”

“Making out, probably. Immediately.”

Luke grins, shaking his pastry-covered hands. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

Sighing, Calum unhooks his arms from Luke’s waist and backs away to give him space to work. “Fine. I’ll come back when you’re done for the day. We can get spicy margaritas. Then we can go back to my place and make out,” he adds with a satisfied smile.

“We’re gonna do a lot more than make out if you get some spicy margaritas in me first,” Luke says, lips pursing and eyes glittering in the artificial kitchen light, watching Calum make his way toward the door.

“Counting on it!” Calum calls brightly, waving over his shoulder at Luke.

On the walk home, he thinks about what Luke said. It’s nothing he didn’t already know, but Luke putting it into words makes it obvious how self-sabotaging Calum’s being with his current writing strategy. It’s easy to play it off like it’s a healthy one. He’s being patient, he’s not forcing it. A little break is a good way to restore his creativity and inspiration. Once he’s ready, it’ll happen.

But really, he’s just worried it won’t happen. That he doesn’t just have a temporary case of writer’s block, but a chronic one that will never be cured. That writing will never be easy for him again. There’s no way to really know until he tries. And that’s terrifying. 

Is it any worse, though, than not writing at all? Living in blissful ignorance doesn’t really work if there’s something in Calum’s soul that itches to write, that needs it to feel whole. Cake Topics has been enough of a distraction that he hasn’t had much time to miss writing—yet. But he can feel it starting to creep in, that frenzied need to put words on a page. 

Specifically, words about Luke. There’s no way he’ll be able to capture it correctly. No way to adequately describe the blue of Luke’s eyes and the way they sparkle with something more than Calum has ever seen before in anyone else’s eyes. No way to adequately describe the way Luke makes him feel, because it’s everything all at once.

But he fucking aches to try.

-ˋˏ ༻🍰༺ ˎˊ-

CALUM’S GERMAN CHOCOLATE CAKE

Ever since they started this thing they’re doing, it’s almost impossible for Calum to focus fully on the podcast and the cakes and all the things that aren’t Luke. The tension is heavy in the air between them every time they sit down to record, and every time Calum bustles around the bakery kitchen while Luke sits quietly, trying to work on podcast notes or edits to his cookbook, but not altogether succeeding. 

It’s too easy for them to distract each other. Luke pulls Calum’s focus from his cake recipe just by sitting there, existing, and being so beautiful and irresistible about it. Calum pulls Luke’s focus from his notes by making a point of touching Luke as much as he can get away with, every time he walks by to retrieve an ingredient from the walk-in, or when he’s waiting on the mixer and has a few minutes to kill with some groping.

But somehow they manage to keep getting shit done. Only a few episodes of the podcast have officially come out, but they’re close to wrapping on recording for the series, just two more cakes to go before Calum has to face the passion fruit mousse cake for the finale.

“This week is the updated recipe,” Luke says into his mic, passing Calum a sheet of paper inside a plastic page protector. “I made some revisions to the German chocolate cake recipe.”

“Oh damn, is it German chocolate cake time? Not gonna lie, I’ve kinda been dreading this one. Making a cake is hard work, and then to wind up with a cake I don’t even want to eat? Kind of depressing.”

“Maybe you should look at the recipe,” Luke prompts, wiggling the page insistently at Calum’s face.

Snatching it away, Calum sighs dramatically—they are here to entertain, after all—and glances at the revised recipe. “Wait, Calum’s German chocolate cake?” he reads off, scrunching his nose accusingly at Luke. “Why are you being a dick and naming my least favorite kind of cake after me?”

Luke rolls his eyes and inhales deeply. “Look at the fuckin’ recipe.” He’s shaking his head impatiently, but there’s something else there too, a touch of anxiety that makes Calum worry something about this recipe is going to be way, way out of his skillset. But then, they’re here to entertain. And Calum struggling is entertaining, at least if the stats on the premiere of Cake Topics are anything to go on.

A quick scan of the recipe doesn’t set off any alarm bells. Familiar ingredients, familiar steps. It’s not until he notices pecans on the ingredients list that he realizes there’s something conspicuously absent from the frosting equation. Coconut. Not a single shred of coconut anywhere to be found in the recipe.

“Holy shit,” Calum breathes, a whole slew of strange emotions welling in his chest, “Is this German Chocolate cake…” He looks at Luke, who’s trying so hard not to absolutely beam, biting his lip while it twitches in the corner of his mouth. “...without coconut?”

Luke nods. “There are already plenty of recipes out there for normal German chocolate cake. Thought I might as well try something different.” He loses his fight with his smile, grinning openly at Calum, but shrugging a shoulder like he’s a little embarrassed about the whole thing, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

“Oh my god.” Calum knows the proper response to this would be to smile, laugh a little, tell Luke how cute and sweet he is for doing this. He knows, and that’s what he’s trying to do, but his body doesn’t want to obey. The words don’t come out, catching in his throat alongside the swell of adoration filling his body and threatening to leak out his pores if he doesn’t do something with it.

Something ends up being throwing himself in Luke’s lap and crushing Luke in a violent hug. Luke makes a startled noise but it quickly tapers into a soft laugh, and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Calum and hug him back tightly. “If I’d known this is all I had to do to get you in my lap, we would’ve started with this recipe.”

“Stop being funny,” Calum commands, squeezing Luke hard, burying his face in Luke’s hair. “I might cry about this.” Distantly, Calum knows the audio of this moment is going to be useless for the podcast, too-loud voices and too much scratchy background noise, but he doesn’t care.

“You’re gonna cry about a cake recipe?” Luke teases gently, ruffling a hand through Calum’s hair, voice reverberating against Calum’s chest.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Calum says, loosening his grip on Luke’s neck so he can lean back and look him in the eye. “Remember, I cried over the marshmallow for the s’mores cake.”

“Rite of passage,” Luke says through a close-lipped smile. “Every baker cries over marshmallow at some point.” His hands are warm and solid against Calum’s back, and there’s something in his eyes. Relief, or maybe pride. Whatever it is makes Calum feel understood. Caring enough to shed a tear over the process, whether it’s making a cake or trying to get a sentence to come out right on the page.

•° ✿ °•

The last cake.

Calum’s not that worried about it, but he’s not not worried about it either. He’s learned a lot and is much more confident around a KitchenAid mixer than he was six weeks ago. But the last cake he made with layers more complex than sponge and frosting was kind of a disaster. Too many different elements to keep track of. Too many different directions to split his brain. He never would’ve gotten through it without Luke’s quiet guidance, reminding him about his jam on the stove before it burned and patiently demonstrating how the fuck to use a piping bag after Calum found himself up to his elbows in cream filling.

“Have I ever mentioned how hot you look in my kitchen?” Luke watches Calum intently as he gathers his ingredients, limbs sloppily arranged on the stool next to the counter. They are actually in Luke’s kitchen, not the bakery. It felt right to do things a little differently for the last cake. To make it a little special, a slightly different kind of production. Both for the podcast itself, and for them to celebrate when they’re done recording.

It does, however, present some new challenges for Calum, who now has less space to work with and an entirely new kitchen layout to get used to while he tracks down his supplies and ingredients. “Thanks babe, but in the pantheon of hot moments in this kitchen, nothing is ever gonna top the time you were making frosting for your pound cake completely naked.”

It’s possible Calum has never actually seen a passion fruit before in real life. Certainly the things sitting on Luke’s counter don’t look at all like he’d expect. They’re not yellow, for starters. They’re very plain on the outside, not an aesthetic Calum would describe as passionate. And Calum had been expecting something more like an orange or mango in size, but these guys are more along the lines of Luke’s balls. The thought makes Calum snort-laugh to himself, drawing a curious smile from Luke.

“What’s so funny?”

“The passion fruits,” Calum says, nodding at them as he sets a saucepan on the stove. “They remind me of your balls.” He captures two of them under his palm, rolling them smoothly along the counter. “Wish I was grabbing those right now instead of these passion fruit imposters.”

Luke’s eyes flicker with mischief and he grins. “Thanks, that’s so sweet of you to say to me and also all of our listeners.”

Shit, they’re recording. It’s so easy to forget when they’re just hanging out in Luke’s kitchen. Oh well. They can edit it out, although it would be stupid not to just leave it. Their entire audience will probably screech with glee at the confirmation Calum is intimately familiar with Luke’s balls. Oh, fuck. And has also watched Luke frost a cake naked. Fucking hell, it took, what, ten seconds? For Calum to forget about the podcast entirely and start monologuing about Luke’s naked body?

“Fuck me,” Calum says, rolling his eyes in amused resignation while Luke cackles at him from the stool. “Whatever. It’s nothing they haven’t already guessed.” He pretends to ignore Luke while he consults the recipe, but he can’t hold back the automatic smile at the sound of Luke’s laugh.

It feels comfortable now, bustling around the kitchen talking to himself while Luke quietly observes. Meditative, in a way, even though he still has plenty of moments where he doesn’t totally know what he’s doing. He’s done things similar enough that he knows he can approach any problem with methodical confidence, talking himself through it, occasionally glancing at Luke to make sure he’s on the right track.

Okay, frequently. But some of those glances are just to appreciate Luke being beautiful and perfect. Calum loves when he furiously takes notes on his laptop, because his mouth hangs open a little when he’s concentrating really hard, tongue occasionally sneaking out to lick his bottom lip and tug it under his teeth. It’s actually really sexy, with the combination of focus and effort on his face. Calum gives him a hard time about it, but they both know he’s really into it. Sometimes Calum thinks he plays it up on purpose, noticing Calum staring at him out of the corner of his eye and deploying a particularly slow and enticing lip lick.

There’s not as much opportunity to stop and stare at Luke with the passion fruit mousse cake, though, because there are just so many things to worry about all at once. Constant pressure from the beginning of the recipe all the way through to the final step of assembling the layers of the cake and topping it with chantilly cream. The last few steps are a bit of a rush job because he’s so ready to be done. The cake definitely looks rough around the edges, but it’s finished, and now Luke can taste it, and then Calum can taste Luke.

“Which part are you the most nervous about?” Luke asks into his mic before taking a bite, using his Official Podcast voice. It usually only makes an appearance when he records ads, but sometimes it sneaks out when he’s obviously trying to keep their conversations on track. “You seemed anxious about the mousse.”

“I don’t trust myself with gelatine since I haven’t used it before,” Calum says, staring down the passion fruit mousse layer in Luke’s slice of cake. “But it was nice to get to revisit my old friend, vanilla paste.”

Luke laughs, carefully collecting a forkful of cake including all the different layers. “Vanilla paste told me it missed you. Felt like a fitting full circle moment to give you guys a reunion on the last cake.”

“I did have kind of a moment about it,” Calum admits, watching Luke slowly chew his possibly-disgusting cake. “Like wow, a couple months ago I didn’t know what vanilla paste was, and now I’m actually excited to see it in a recipe.”

Nodding as he swallows, Luke says, dramatically wistful with his fork over his heart, “You’ve come so far.”

“Don’t torture me. How is it?”

“Really good,” Luke replies quietly, something soft in his eyes that makes Calum’s skin burn with a cozy warmth. “The mousse is almost perfect. Really impressive for your first time with gelatine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Luke takes another bite, smiling at Calum while he chews. “How are we supposed to end this? Should we have something poignant to talk about to wrap up the last episode?”

“Nah,” Calum says, woozy and drunk on Luke’s smile, not a single fucking care in the world. “I think we leave them with passion fruit balls and call it a day.”

•° ✿ °•

When they venture up to the rooftop patio on Luke’s building with a bottle of wine, it’s empty. It’s one of those green roof setups where the whole thing is covered in trees and plants even though they’re six floors up from the street, which is surreal for Calum, who’s accustomed to his trees being ground level.

“Damn,” Luke says, looking around appreciatively at all the empty furniture. “I don’t think I’ve ever been up here when there hasn’t been at least one nosy neighbor staring and making me feel weird about reading in the hammock.”

“Is this where you’ve been reading my books?” The mental image of Luke up here, gently swaying in a hammock while he’s surrounded by these magic floating trees and bursts of colorful flowers with one of Calum’s books in his hands somehow makes the idea of Luke actually reading Calum’s words a lot less terrifying.

“When I can,” Luke says, leading Calum down a path toward the middle of the garden. “At night it’s a little too dark to read, but I come up here a lot after work in the afternoon.” 

The sky isn’t totally black yet, just on the tail end of sunset, but Calum can already see the shadows of the trees getting heavy, illuminated by strings of Edison lights and not much else. “Mm, too dark to read, but perfect for writing,” he observes, invigorated by the cool breeze on his skin and the way the loud noises of downtown fade to an energetic hum up here. Enough stimulation to be inspiring and engaging, but quiet and still enough to focus. It almost makes him wish he had his laptop. No, he doesn’t have any ideas, but maybe he could, if he sat here in the magic trees long enough.

“You can do that if you want,” Luke says, setting their bottle of wine on the ground and maneuvering himself into a large hammock with a movement that’s not exactly graceful, but it is practiced. “Write up here. Any time you want. I’ll give you the code for the door.” He looks at Calum expectantly, scooting off to the side of the hammock as much as he can without toppling out.

With a skeptical glance at Luke, Calum carefully attempts to climb in next to him, hands fumbling all over Luke’s chest to try to hold himself steady. “That’s assuming—oof.” His hand slips and he face-plants against Luke’s shoulder. But he is in the hammock, so he’s going to consider it a success. “That’s assuming I ever manage to write again.” 

With a little wiggling, he manages to find a reasonably comfortable position against Luke’s side. Luke kicks a leg over Calum’s like he’s trying to hold him safely in place. “I wonder if we’d ever have met if you didn’t have writer’s block.”

Oh gross, Calum doesn’t want to think about that. Because the answer is probably no, and he doesn’t want to imagine his life today without Luke and the bakery in it. And he even kind of likes making cakes. Enough that he’s made a couple on his own, outside of the podcast, without Luke around to help him.

Begrudgingly, he sighs and says, “Damn. Guess I have to be grateful for it then.”

Luke is so warm next to him, the closeness of his voice now familiar to Calum’s ear. It’s so soft and low and gentle when he’s just existing, relaxed and unhurried. “You don't have to be.”

Calum chokes out a laugh. As if he would ever trade out Luke for a cure for his writer’s block. There’s no contest. “But I am,” he says. “Literally nothing would be the same without it, and I like how things are right now. A lot. So much.”

“Me too,” Luke says, voice carried away by the ruffle of leaves in the breeze. “Maybe now that you don’t have to deal with the cakes for the podcast, we can actually bake together.”

“That’d be cute.” Calum perks up, propping his chin on Luke’s chest to grin at him. “I can do all the easy stuff and then watch you do the hard stuff and think about how hot it is.”

“That’s my real angle,” Luke says with a smirk, wrapping his arms around Calum’s waist. “I just want you to make you so horny you keep eating dessert off my dick.”

“We can explore the possibilities.” And then, because it happens to be something he’s thought about, Calum rattles off a list. “Doughnuts. Cheesecake. Brownies…”

In the dying light, Luke’s smile looks so soft and sweet, but the way he arches his body against Calum’s and the seductive tone of his voice is anything but. “Maybe we should explore those now.”

Calum narrows his eyes at Luke, fingers pressing into his chest more needily than he intends, but it’s hard not to have a reaction to Luke’s body underneath him. “We don’t have any dessert right now.” 

Luke responds with a dramatic pout, and Calum lets his hand wander down Luke’s side, dragging his fingers along his body teasingly as he says, “Guess we’ll have to try later. See how the passion fruit mousse cake performs.” 

It’s enough to flip Luke’s pout into a pleased smile. “Then maybe let’s save the wine for later too.”

“You just realized how hard it’s gonna be to drink wine in the hammock, huh?”

Luke giggles guiltily, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Didn’t really think that one through.”

“It’s okay,” Calum says, breathing in deeply, savoring that specific Luke scent. “We can just hang out. I think we can survive without wine and cake for a little while.”

“Speak for yourself,” Luke grumbles, sighing, but contentedly, letting his arms relax against Calum’s back.

And maybe it’s because it’s just them—no distractions, nothing else to occupy their minds except the sunset and the breeze and each other—that Calum feels his brain slipping into a space that’s familiar, but not one he’s visited in a long time. It’s the space where, without even trying, his mind starts stringing together sentences to describe a moment.

•° ✿ °•

Calum doesn’t taste the cake until the next morning, after Luke’s already dashed off to open Petunia’s. He wants to try something.

He takes his time slicing a tidy piece and scooping it onto a plate. It sits on the table, basking in a pool of sunshine coming through the window while Calum collects his laptop and pops it open next to the cake. He takes a deep breath and sits down, lifting his fork and cutting off a generous bite. It smells delicious as he brings the fork to his mouth and pops it in, chewing thoughtfully with his eyes on his laptop screen.

The cake isn’t as perfect as Luke’s, far from it, but it’s good. And it’s finished. It’s a physical representation of Calum accomplishing something he never would’ve thought possible two months ago. Complex and layered, filled with different tastes and textures composed in harmony. It may not quite be perfect harmony, but it’s still lovely.

The cursor blinks at Calum from the corner of a blank document. He sets down his fork and puts his fingers on the keyboard. He closes his eyes, picturing Luke smiling at him from across the table on the first day they recorded for Cake Topics, just as uniquely beautiful and eclectic as the bakery surrounding them.

And his fingers start to move.

-ˋˏ ༻🍰༺ ˎˊ-

The Secret Ingredient

By Calum Hood

To my hot baker, and to writer’s block for bringing him to me.