Baking 101

113

Hutch is baking. Starsky is turned on.

 

For a 20 minute fic challenge. The words were ring and sage but I mis-read them as rise and sage. So for the sake of this story, just pretend ring is rise.

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“What’s all this?”

Hutch took a look around the kitchen—bowls, bags of flour, measuring cups, a scale, and a book being held open with a precariously balanced coffee mug. Not just any coffee mug—his favorite coffee mug. The one he’d made when he thought pottery might just be his thing.

“I’m baking.”

“I can see you’re baking, Hutch. But why? And what?”

“Bread. I’m baking bread. You know that we should be eating more whole grains and I figure it’ll be cheaper in the long run to make our own.”

“Our own?” Starsky sidled up to him, squeezed one butt cheek. “And whole grains? You mean like that brown bread you always are getting from the health food store?”

“You eat it.” Hutch dumped more flour in a bowl.

“I eat it. I don’t like it. It always sits on my stomach like a lump.” Starsky patted his very flat belly. “What’s wrong with good ol’ American Wonder Bread? Huh?” He nuzzled Hutch’s neck, inhaling the scent of the new shampoo Hutch was using.

“You smell good, you know that?” Starsky pressed a kiss to the warm skin of Hutch’s nape, right where Hutch’s hair formed little curls when it was damp. He thought they were adorable. Not that he was ever going to tell Hutch that. Although, Starsky mused, it might make Hutch turn that delightful shade of rosy pink he always did when embarrassed.

“It’s just shampoo and conditioner.”

“Mmm hmmm.” Starsky started to nibble on that delectable skin. He felt Hutch shiver and his body tense. “What’s in it?”

“Shampoo stuff. Whatever they make shampoo from. Will you stop? I’m trying to make bread here.”

Starsky sighed against Hutch’s shoulder. He rested his chin on it, let his hand trail down Hutch’s arm, the fine hairs on it tickling his fingers. He could feel goosebumps rising on Hutch’s skin.

“What smell?”

“Clary sage, lavender, and some other stuff.” Hutch’s voice cracked just a little.

Starsky smiled. “Whatcha doin’ now?”

“Kneading the dough.”

Starsky covered Hutch’s hands with his own. “Want some help?”

Hutch shifted his weight. “Uh. I think this is a one man job.”

“Oh really?” Starsky pushed his body full length against Hutch’s back and spread his legs slightly.

“Real…oh God.”

“Nah, just me.”

Hutch pulled his hands away from Starsky’s, plopped the dough back in the bowl and covered it with a towel. “Bread’s gotta rise.”

“And how long does that take?” Starsky handed Hutch another towel to wipe his hands.

“Um. An hour. Maybe.” Hutch looked at him, pupils dilating, skin flushed. Starsky could see the pulse beating in Hutch’s neck. “Maybe even longer.”

“Guess we’ll have to find something to do til it’s done, huh?” Starsky said. “Can’t watch bread rise.”

“No. No you can’t.” Hutch’s breath was coming faster now.

“But there are some other things that are already rising.” Starsky took one of Hutch’s hands, placed it on his jeans. “And it might need taken care of.”

“Uh.” Hutch stood there, mouth open. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Starsky turned and walked to the bedroom, fully aware of Hutch’s steps right behind his.

“I can take care of that for you, you know.” Hutch already had Starsky’s jeans unsnapped and unzipped before they were past the door.

“Oh you can?”

“I’m good with my hands.”

“And your mouth. Don’t forget that.” Starsky backed up, pulled Hutch with him as they fell onto the bed.

“No. Wouldn’t want to.”

And then Hutch proceeded to show them both just how good he was with mouth and hands.

Hutch’s head rested on Starsky’s chest. Starsky drew circles on Hutch’s scalp, on his broad back.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah.”

“I decided you can make as much homemade bread as you want from now on.”