Chapter Text
Prompt: I run a baking class one night a week after hours at my shop and you keep coming back despite being the worst baker ever.
Barclay is a patient man. That’s half the reason he was chosen to run the once a week, after hours baking classes at the cafe. The other half, of course, is that he’s the best baker in the state. His scones sell out each day and his cupcakes can put a smile on the face of even the crankiest customer.
But his patience is running thin with one student, as much as he wishes it wasn’t.
Stern (that’s all the man ever goes by) has attended every class since Barclay began holding them. He’s an eager student, watches Barclay closely when he runs through steps and demonstrates techniques. And he is unequivocally, undeniably the worst bake in the class. And he’s rapidly approaching the worst baker Barlcay’s ever seen.
(That’s saying something, given that his friend Duck has taken two classes to learn how to make cupcakes for his fiancee and started a fire during both of them).
To make matters worse, he likes Stern. “Like-likes” him, as his co-worker Aubrey is so fond of putting it. The man is adorable, makes Barclay want to fawn over him or brush the flour from his cheeks after each kitchen mishap. The single pin on the mans jacket, the one he wears when he’s not in his work suit, confirms that he’d be open to being flirted with by a guy. But Barclay’s never been much for flirting; he’s shy, much shyer than his calm, confident demeanor in the kitchen suggests. Okay, so maybe he’s held Sterns’ hands a beat longer than he normally would when helping him knead properly or showing him how to frost. Stern strikes him as someone who doesn’t get a lot of patience or understanding in his daily life. If Barclay does nothing else, he can at least be that presence for him.
But what happened to today takes the cake. Or, more accurately, totals the cake.
How does someone even get a mixer working that fast?
Barclay had to call class early, on account of the batter Stern was making getting on both of them, every other student, the walls, ceiling, and all the other bowls of mix. He waves to the other attendees as they walk out into the cool night air, wiping batter from various body parts, promising them an extra half-hour the next time to make up for it. Walks into the kitchen, throws his head back with a groan when he sees just how bad a mess he has to clean up.
“I, I’m sorry.”
He nearly jumps out of skin, turns to see Stern face-down on the counter. He thought the man had left. Takes a deep breath, summons all his remaining patience.
“It’s alright. It’s not the worst mess I’ve had to clean up, although it’s making a decent effort.” Levity helps in such cases, he’s found, especially with Stern who generally laughs at his own mishaps with a good-natured weariness.
Not this time. This time a noise that is most definitely a sniffle meets Barclays’ ears.
He pulls up a stool, pats Stern on the back reassuringly.
“It’s not a big deal, really, it isn’t.”
“I can’t even make a cake right.” He sounds dejected. Barclay is torn between a kind lie and his own desire to be honest when Stern continues, “And please don’t spare my feelings by trying to say I’m not that bad. I am well aware that I am the worst baker in this class. I produce more catastrophes than edible items.”
“….Yeah, it’s hard for me to argue with that summary. But that’s okay; I don’t expect everyone who walks in here to be incredible. I just want folks to do their best and maybe learn something.”
“Some days it feels like catastrophe and failure are all I excel at. I can’t do anything correctly.”
This conversation is rapidly moving above Barclays pay-grade. But he has an idea.
“This might sound strange, but would it make you feel better to help me clean up? I could use the company, and cleaning helps me feel like I’m doing something right on days when it feels like I’m fucking everything up. Maybe it would work for you.”
Stern sits up, looks at him while trying to wipe batter from his face and surreptitiously wipe his eyes at the same time.
“Yes, actually. I find organizing and cleaning often cheers me up.”
“Man after my own heart.” Barclay smiles, heads to the cabinet where they keep the cleaning supplies.
“It’s nice to meet someone else with a fastidious streak. Usually people think I’m, well, prissy.”
Barclay hands him a rag and cleaning spray.
“Some folks don’t know a good thing when they see one.”
Stern blushes, turns away quickly. Barclay clears his throat.
“Um, you can start on the counter, I’ll take the walls. And the ceiling.”
Stern’s an efficient working companion, and Barclay finds they have more in common than he first thought; they’re both from the Pacific Northwest originally, both worked stints in bookstores when the were younger, and both have a fierce love of the X-Files. It’s that last topic they’re discussing as they tackle the dishes.
“….I got so scared by that episode that I slept with the blankets over my head for a full week.”
Stern laughs.
“I’m sorry, but I pictured you as you are now doing that, instead of a younger version and it’s hilarious.”
“Hey, maybe I still do. Big guys like me aren’t any safer from aliens than the rest of you are.” He nudges Stern playfully with his elbow, smiles when Stern returns the gesture.
“It’s funny, the show never really scared me. I wanted to be like Agent Mulder; for a long time I thought I was.” He sighs, wistful, and the conversation peters out. As he dries the last mixing bowl, Barclay finds himself with a question.
“Is the knowledge that you’re a bad baker why you come to my classes?” He dries his hands, gives the towel to Stern.
“Er, no, not exactly. I came because,” the other man shuts his eyes, speaks quickly, “I wanted to spend more time with you.”
The pink on his cheeks tells Barclay that “as friends” does not go on the end of that sentence. He’s looking down, twisting the towel in his hands.
“You, uh, you got some stray batter there.” Barclay reaches forward to brush his cheek right at the moment Stern touches his hand to the same spot. Which leaves his hand on top of Barclays as he holds his face.
Sterns other hand shoots up, urges Barclays head in the direction it’s already going. The kiss is gentle, yet it leaves them both gasping when they pull away.
“Y’know, I have all the seasons of the X-Files at my apartment. I’ll even let you hide under the covers if it gets too frightening” Stern grins up at Barclay with more confidence than he’s ever seen him possess and the look lights him up inside. Apparently a kiss was all it took to make the man into a bit of flirt.
“Let me close all the way up and then you’ve got yourself a date. But you have to promise me one thing.” He drapes his arms over Sterns shoulders.
“From now on let me do the baking for both of us, and I promise you can see me as many nights a week as you want. Deal?”
Stern kisses him again, puts a little more suggestion into than the last time before pulling back.
“Deal.”