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Robby flicked through the television channels one by one, praying to whomever was listening that there would be one news anchor saying something different - they all said the same thing.
BREAKING NEWS: Unprecedented ice blizzard hits central Pittsburgh. Stay indoors. Do not make unnecessary journeys.
He furrowed his bottom lip between his teeth, pulling painfully at a patch of dry skin. The time was six forty-five and he was still in his pajamas; red plaid bottoms and a pair of thick winter socks. He raked his nails through his hair and huffed out an anxious breath. Perched on the coffee table, The Pitt Crew group chat chirped continuously from his phone. The night crew were staying overtime - cots had been set up in office spaces and extra coffee was being brewed.
Suddenly, Dennis came tumbling out of the bedroom, hopping on one foot, and sliding his sock onto the other. He wore only a pair of boxers and the black, long-sleeved sleep shirt that matched Robby’s pants.
“Shit, fuck, we’re so late–” He cursed under his breath as he fell into the bathroom door with a thunk
Robby sighed, “Dennis…”
He heard the sound of the faucet flick on; toothpaste splutter out of a near-empty tube.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Dennis called from the bathroom, a little agitated. He ran back to the bedroom with his toothbrush between his teeth, reappearing moments later wearing an unbuttoned pair of pants. “Seriously, I can’t–”
“Dennis.” Robby said firmly, halting him in his tracks. He gestured towards the television with his remote. Dennis moved closer and squinted to read the scrolling message on screen. His eyes widened.
“Wha…?” He muttered. A cobweb of toothpaste-y drool clung to his bottom lip as he pulled the toothbrush from his mouth, jaw slack. “We, um,” He blinked. “It says ‘unnecessary’. Our job is necessary, we still have to go.”
“Can’t.” Said Robby matter-of-factly. “I’ve been down to the lobby. Shit’s fucked. Look out the window.”
Dennis returned to the bedroom, prizing open the latch of the small window. A freezing gust of air burst in, sending the loose papers on the desk cascading to the floor. The curtains whipped around him as he peered down. Outside, city workers were attempting to shovel the snow, which had reached the top of the main door. The cars parked along the sidewalk were completely covered, only their aerials peeking out of the snow like spring flowers.
He startled as an arm curled around his waist, almost dropping his toothbrush out of the window. Robby wrapped around him comfortingly, large hands splaying over his stomach and thigh.
“Shit’s fucked.” Dennis whispered.
“Absolutely.” Robby agreed.
Curled into the corner of the couch, Dennis chewed on the nails of one hand and typed anxiously on his phone with the other. He tried to devise a sufficient ‘excuse message’ for the group chat while Robby brewed him a coffee.
Dennis:
Sorry, everyone. I’m completely snowed in. Wish I could be there. Really sorry.
Abbott:
Buses aren’t running anyways, kid. You’re screwed either way. Just stay warm and safe.
Anyone heard from Robby? Hope he didn’t try to ride in.
Dennis:
No, he's here fine. He probably just has the group muted.
Abbott:
Right…
“Does he think I’m an idiot?” Robby scoffed over his shoulder. Dennis startled again, catching the skin on his thumb and making it bleed. Robby set his coffee mug down on the table, taking a seat next to him, with a hand on his knee. “Little jumpy today?”
“I'm freaking out!” Dennis blurted, a little more aggressively than intended, as he fussed at the blood flooding his cuticle. He sighed and put his head in his hands. “I haven't missed a day yet, and it's a day that they really need us. I wanna be there. I just feel… Helpless, I guess?”
Robby gently prized his phone from his hand and set it on the table. He wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Dennis crumpled into him, burying his face into his bare chest.
“These things happen, sweetheart. I guarantee nobody is blaming you for not being there.” He pressed a kiss to Dennis’ crown, unable to resist inhaling the scent of his shampoo. The younger man melted as nails slowly trailed up and down his back, grounding him.
“Why don't we do something fun today?” Robby asked calmly. Dennis let out a weak laugh, tilting his head up to look at him.
“Like…?”
“I don't know,” Shrugged Robby, “You love the festivities. Maybe we can make cookies or something?”
And suddenly, the gleam had returned to Dennis’ eyes. “Really?”
He knew that Robby didn't celebrate Christmas - or anything, for that matter - and never wanted to feel as though he was forcing his beliefs on his partner. But he'd grown up with so many traditions, as a child, that he loved to continue as much as physically possible. Even if that meant simply queueing for free hot cocoa at the library’s festive open day, or watching a tealight burn by his bedside.
Robby cupped his face and placed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “If it makes you feel better, of course.”
Dennis sieved two cups of flour into a large glass bowl. He'd set up some corny Christmas playlist on the television and swayed his hips to the beat of the music.
Robby crowded in behind him and scooped his arms under Dennis’ armpits, throwing a loop of fabric over his head and around his neck. Dennis chirped in surprise as he was drenched in a large apron with ‘GRILL KING’ printed in huge letters across the front. He hitched a breath as Robby tied the strings taught around his midsection, jogging him and causing flour to sprinkle all over the lettering.
“Hey!” He called out, feigning frustration.
“Found it in the closet.” Robby explained, amused. “Now you're a real housewife.”
Dennis turned to confront him and, as Robby began to run away, planted a floured handprint to his ass cheek.
“Oh,” Robby gasped, grasping at the fabric of his pants to examine the handprint. He gave his lover a look of determination, dousing his hands in flour from the bowl and grabbing him by the cheeks, planting a possessive kiss to his lips.
Dennis laughed and ran his dusty hands through Robby’s hair.
“Dandruff!” He squealed as Robby hoisted him by the waist, perching him at the edge of the counter. He kissed him deeply, dragging him in by the front of his apron.
“You're very distracting.” Dennis chastised after a moment. “I thought you were looking for the attachment for the stand mixer.”
“I was!” Robby insisted. “And then I got distracted by the thought of you in nothing but an apron.”
Dennis quirked his brow, hopping off of the counter and returning to the abandoned bowl, flour sprinkled all over the counter.
“We’ll see,” He teased, “But only if you actually help me.”
Robby promptly found the correct attachment for the stand mixer (in the cupboard under the sink) and got it set up for them to use. He rooted around in a few more drawers as Dennis creamed together the butter and sugar, and folded in the dry mixture.
“Think these were Jake’s, when he was little.” He muttered fondly, holding two cookie cutters out on his palm - one heart, one star. Dennis took them gently. The metal was a little tarnished, but they were still usable.
Robby took charge of rolling out the dough, and was a little anal about the width being exactly ¼ inch, despite Dennis insisting that it didn't matter. They took a cookie cutter each and worked through the dough, placing their shapes onto a baking tray until twenty were laid out. Robby plucked a spare wad of cookie dough and placed it between Dennis’ lips, who hummed delightedly at the cinnamon flavour, tongue darting out to lick the sugary remains off of his lover’s thumb.
“Careful.” Robby warned as he eyed Dennis’ tongue, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Minutes later, Dennis, in nothing but an apron, found himself bent over the breakfast bar with two fingers between his lips. He swirled his tongue around the sweet digits and groaned as Robby thrust his aching cock between his thighs. It brushed against his balls, giving him the slightest hint of relief as his own cock leaked under the apron, tip rubbing against the harsh fabric.
“Look at you.” Robby panted, gripping Dennis’ ass cheek aggressively with his large hand. It moved up to his lower back, playing with the apron string that he'd tied into a bow. “Wrapped up like a present, so pretty for me.”
Dennis whimpered around his digits - couldn't do anything but. His knuckles turned pale where he grasped the edge of the counter. He wanted to touch himself so badly, but he hadn't been told to yet. His cock was aching and leaking all over his thighs, slicking the way for Robby to glide effortlessly between them.
The past couple of months, since the cabin, had involved a lot of… experimenting. It turned out that Robby had a history of enjoying things a little rougher with his partners, and conveniently, Dennis enjoyed being manhandled and told what to do.
“You - fuck - wanna touch yourself, sweet thing?”
Dennis moaned helplessly around his fingers until Robby pulled them out, smearing spit across his chin. The hand clasped around his throat; not squeezing, just holding. It made Dennis see stars.
“Yes, please, God, yes.” He wailed, his fingers twitching eagerly against the counter top. The air filled with silence, save for the slick sound of squelching and Robby's laboured breaths. Dennis whined again, squeezed his thighs a little tighter.
“Fuck,” Robby cursed. “Okay, baby, you can touch.”
Dennis’ palm flew to his cock as he began to stroke himself at a punishing pace. A fire lit inside him, coiling rapidly in his spine. It was fast - too fast, like the ping of an elastic band.
“Oh–” Was all he managed to edge out before he spent into his fist, decorating the inside of his apron. His thighs clamped together even tighter and, distantly, he heard Robby groan; felt his spend dribble down the front of his thighs. Robby's forehead hit him square between the shoulder blades as he caught his breath.
With his clean hand, Dennis wiped his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. As the universe returned to him, he inhaled deeply through his nostrils.
“Um,” He paused. “Am I having a stroke, or can you smell burning, too?”
“Shit.”
The cool air hit his bare skin as Robby rushed over to the oven. As he pried it open, a cloud of curling smoke came tumbling out. He shut off the appliance quickly, using a tea towel to flap away the vapours. What remained were some significantly singed cookies. Dennis sighed defeatedly.
“It's okay.” Robby tried, placing the tray onto the counter to examine them. They weren't terrible, a little crisp around the edges, but they'd kept their shapes rather well. “Once we ice them, you'll never know the difference.”
By one o'clock, the city workers had successfully prized open their lobby door and made haste of clearing the main roads. Dennis texted their group chat to let them know that he would be there soon, and forced Robby to do the same. He sealed their iced cookies in a Tupperware and slid it safely into the bottom of his rucksack. Then, they walked to work together, Dennis gripping onto Robby's arm the entire way.
“See you in there.” He smiled once they'd reached their block. They always said goodbye at the exact same corner, only to say hello again, five minutes later. Robby kissed him chastely and he stumbled into the lobby, shoes slipping with each step.
When Robby entered, a few minutes later, Jack promptly whacked him on the shoulder.
“Nice of you to show up.” He chastised, before adding, “There's cookies in the break room.”
And cookies, there were, along with the majority of the night staff, and a few day staff who had only just arrived. Dennis sat at the table, practically beaming, as several others crowded around him.
“Look at what Whitaker’s been up to.” Dana cooed, ruffling his hair as she took another bite of her cookie. “These are good!”
“They were a little crispy.” Jack interjected. Dana rolled her eyes.
“Don't listen to him.” She said fondly, squeezing his shoulder. Then, she turned to Robby. “Did you know our boy was a baker?”
Robby shrugged, feeling the tell-tale sign of a blush crawling up from under his collar. Wordlessly, he reached for a cookie, but Dana batted his hand away.
“Hey!” She yipped, “Night staff only. We're fuckin’ starving.”
Robby shot Dennis an amused look, the ‘seriously?’ exchanging silently between them both, as if Robby hadn't just scoffed three cookies at home. Dennis’ eyes crinkled in the corners as he chuckled, scooching out of his seat and making his way over to the door. His hand brushed Robby's as he passed; a comforting touch, and a promise to see him later.