Cookies and Kisses | Isaac/Scott | Teen Wolf | G
Title: Cookies and Kisses
Rating: G
Words: 1650
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Scott McCall/Isaac Lahey
Summary: Left to their own devices on a Friday night, Isaac suggests that he and Scott cook rather than order in. A compromise is struck that leads to sweet results.
Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of Jeff Davis. Sandbox play.
Melissa’s been working graveyards for the last week, and it’s Friday night, so they have the house to themselves. There’s money on the counter to order dinner, but Isaac suggests they make dinner, with a casual shrug of his shoulder, as though the idea couldn’t possibly end with disastrous results. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not exactly handy in the kitchen, y’know,” Scott replies. “My mom sort of just makes things and then freezes them.”
“Well, I am,” Isaac says with another one of those casual shrugs, and starts poking through the cupboards.
“You can cook?”
“I can do a lot of things, Scott.” His tone is fond, but dry, as though Scott’s surprise at Isaac being able to cook could apply to something as simple as being able to tie his shoes. He’s opened the refrigerator, looking at what kind of ingredients are available, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he thinks. “We could make pizza.”
“We could just order pizza,” Scott points out.
Isaac rolls his eyes. “I am well aware of that. But that defeats the purpose of our making dinner ourselves.” Scott doesn’t look like he’s about drop the subject any time soon, so Isaac closes the refrigerator and throws his hands up in defeat. “Okay, how about this. We’ll order pizza, and then we can make something for dessert.”
There’s the interested raise of an eyebrow at the mention of dessert. “Okay. Yeah, that sounds good.” Scott retrieves the pizza place menu off the side of the refrigerator and passes it to Isaac, thrusting his finger against the kind that he wants. Isaac hands it back with a huff of laughter.
“You can order your own pizza. You’re capable of at least that much.” It’s possible that he isn’t.
While Scott calls in their order, Isaac continues poking around the kitchen for dessert ideas. There’s enough there to make cookies - chocolate chip, or maybe oatmeal - but not much else. He smiles when he finds a half empty carton of ice cream in the freezer, though. Ice cream sandwiches? That’ll work. He pulls the butter out of fridge to soften on the counter while they wait for pizza.
“Half an hour,” Scott says with a sigh showing his success. “What should we do?”
“Wanna play Call of Duty?”
Scott grins. “Yeah. Sure.”
+++
Scott is just glancing up at the clock, stomach grumbling embarrassingly loud, when the doorbell rights. “God, finally,” he says as he rolls off the sofa to grab the money from the kitchen counter. When he returns he has two pizza boxes in hand, the top one with the lid already opened.
“Dude,” Isaac objects, staring up at Scott from the sofa with his controller in hand.
“Sorry. Couldn’t wait,” Scott replies around a mouthful of pizza before dropping back down onto the sofa and setting the two boxes on the coffee table.
“I thought your mother raised you better,” Isaac jokes, shoving Scott with his shoulder.
“Hey, don’t talk about my mom.”
Isaac laughs. “Shut up and start a new mission.”
Scott does as he’s told, glaring over his pizza crust, wiping his fingers on his jeans before selecting a new mission and promptly shooting Isaac’s man in the head. “You know what you did.”
+++
Isaac used to help his mom make dinner all the time when she was around. Every weekend they would bake together; it was one of the few skills that Isaac picked up when she was around. Even after she was gone, Isaac was still relegated to the kitchen, making carefully planned meals that his dad would approve of. They rarely ate out. Yet, Isaac still found himself baking on the weekends.
“So what are we making?” Scott asks, leaning on the island as Isaac pulls sugar and flour from the cupboards. He moves around the kitchen as though it were his own house, rather than Scott’s, a testament to how much time he spends there. He gently sets two eggs on the counter next to the butter.
“Cookies.”
“Cookies?”
“You were expecting something different?”
Scott shrugs. “I don’t know. When you said ‘make dessert’, I was just thinking something more complicated than cookies.”
Isaac returns the shrug. “So was I, but we have to work with what we’ve got.” He smiles. “There’s ice cream in the freezer. I figured we could make some ice cream sandwiches.”
This garners him a wide grin from Scott, who suddenly seems more enthusiastic. “Awesome.”
Isaac sets two bowls on the counter and instructs Scott to measure out half a cup of butter. Scott stares down at the package with a frown. Isaac rolls his eyes and points out the incremental measures on the foil, showing Scott exactly where he should cut. The butter lands in the bowl with a wet slap, and Scott looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Okay, now measure out the same about of sugar,” Isaac instructs, handing a plastic measuring cup across the counter. He pushes the container of sugar over.
Scott digs in and pulls out a heaping scoop of sugar. Isaac laughs. “Level it off. That’s going to be too much.”
“I don’t think there really is such thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to sugar.”
“I promise you,” Isaac says as he sifts together the flour, salt, and baking powder, “When it comes to baking, there definitely is.”
Isaac watches on as Scott pours the sugar in over the butter before looking up expectantly. “What now?” Scott asks, and Isaac hands him a whisk.
“Mix the sugar and butter together until it’s smooth. Then we’ll add in the eggs.”
Scott does as instructed. Considering how poorly Scott does in school, he takes direction incredibly well. Isaac thinks that it might be the teacher and also the subject matter that has Scott motivated, though. It makes him smile. Scott continues to mix as Isaac carefully cracks one egg, then two, into the bowl, trying to avoid the addition of any shells. The work quietly as the batter comes together. It’s the addition of the dry ingredients that sets things into a tailspin.
Scott is a being a little too enthusiastic with his stirring, and Isaac is idly distracted by the coating of butter-sugar-egg on the knuckle of Scott’s index finger, so he doesn’t realise until too late that the bowl of dry ingredients is tilted at too extreme an angle, and it all rushes into the bowl with a white cloud of flour. They spend a good minute waving their hands in front of their faces, coughing. “Oops.”
There’s a light dusting of flour on Scott’s nose, which means that Isaac likely has the same, and he wipes at it self-consciously. “You, uh... have some flour,” he says, watching as Scott wipes aimless at his face. “Here.” Isaac reaches across and brushes the flour off of Scott’s nose with an exaggerated drag of fingers.
“Oh... thanks.”
They’ll have to wipe everything down when they finish. There’s flour all over the counter. Scott keeps mixing though, and soon enough they have standard looking cookie dough. Isaac dumps in a pile of chocolate chips. Scott reaches out and tips his elbow up so even more cascade into the bowl. “There might be such thing as ‘too much’ sugar, but there is no fucking way there’s such thing as too many chocolate chips.”
Isaac can’t help but smile. “You’ve got me there.”
While Isaac is scooping the dough out onto a cookie sheet, Scott sticks his finger into the dough and pops a large glob into his mouth. “Hey!” Isaac squawks indignantly, but Scott just smiles a chocolate chip smile back at him. He sticks his finger - the same finger - back into the bowl and offers it to Isaac, who stares at it disdainfully. “That stuff can make you sick, you know.”
“Dude, you know you’re a werewolf, right? Just shut up and eat it.”
So Isaac does; leans across the bowl with a spoon in either hand and pulls the dough off Scott’s finger with his teeth, cleaning the digit quickly with his tongue. He winks.
Finally the oven is ready, and Isaac puts both pans into the oven. He sets a timer and leans back against the counter. “So... what do you want to do while we wait?”
“How long do we have?” Scott asks.
“I don’t know. Ten minutes?”
“Good.” Scott rounds the counter and steps right into Isaac’s personal space, slips his hand into the curls of Isaac’s hair, and pulls their mouths together. He still tastes like cookie dough: like chocolate and sugar, butter and the slightest hint of vanilla. Isaac doesn’t even hesitate, slipping his hands up to hold Scott’s jaw, to tilt his head so that the angle is better as their tongues press and slide against each other. When the timer on the stove starts ringing, they pull away slowly. Scott wipes at the corner of his mouth, quirked in a smile.
“We should, uh... check on those.” Isaac clears his throat and pulls the cookies from the oven. “They’ll need to cool before we can do anything with them.”
“Yeah, okay,” Scott replies. The oven is barely closed again before Scott’s back in Isaac’s space, tracing his nose along the taller boy’s jaw, and then they’re kissing again.
After long minutes, they pause for breath. Isaac tilts his head back, a wildly uncontrolled smile on his face, and his dick is pressing against the edge of Scott’s jeans. He refuses to be embarrassed about this fact. Scott’s breathing hard and heavy against his shoulder. It takes a moment for Isaac to remember what it was they were supposed to be doing. He sees the cookies out of the corner, but his senses are overloaded with the smell and taste of Scott.
Isaac doesn’t hesitate in drawing Scott back into him. The cookies aren’t going anywhere.
Rating: G
Words: 1650
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Scott McCall/Isaac Lahey
Summary: Left to their own devices on a Friday night, Isaac suggests that he and Scott cook rather than order in. A compromise is struck that leads to sweet results.
Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of Jeff Davis. Sandbox play.
Melissa’s been working graveyards for the last week, and it’s Friday night, so they have the house to themselves. There’s money on the counter to order dinner, but Isaac suggests they make dinner, with a casual shrug of his shoulder, as though the idea couldn’t possibly end with disastrous results. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not exactly handy in the kitchen, y’know,” Scott replies. “My mom sort of just makes things and then freezes them.”
“Well, I am,” Isaac says with another one of those casual shrugs, and starts poking through the cupboards.
“You can cook?”
“I can do a lot of things, Scott.” His tone is fond, but dry, as though Scott’s surprise at Isaac being able to cook could apply to something as simple as being able to tie his shoes. He’s opened the refrigerator, looking at what kind of ingredients are available, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he thinks. “We could make pizza.”
“We could just order pizza,” Scott points out.
Isaac rolls his eyes. “I am well aware of that. But that defeats the purpose of our making dinner ourselves.” Scott doesn’t look like he’s about drop the subject any time soon, so Isaac closes the refrigerator and throws his hands up in defeat. “Okay, how about this. We’ll order pizza, and then we can make something for dessert.”
There’s the interested raise of an eyebrow at the mention of dessert. “Okay. Yeah, that sounds good.” Scott retrieves the pizza place menu off the side of the refrigerator and passes it to Isaac, thrusting his finger against the kind that he wants. Isaac hands it back with a huff of laughter.
“You can order your own pizza. You’re capable of at least that much.” It’s possible that he isn’t.
While Scott calls in their order, Isaac continues poking around the kitchen for dessert ideas. There’s enough there to make cookies - chocolate chip, or maybe oatmeal - but not much else. He smiles when he finds a half empty carton of ice cream in the freezer, though. Ice cream sandwiches? That’ll work. He pulls the butter out of fridge to soften on the counter while they wait for pizza.
“Half an hour,” Scott says with a sigh showing his success. “What should we do?”
“Wanna play Call of Duty?”
Scott grins. “Yeah. Sure.”
+++
Scott is just glancing up at the clock, stomach grumbling embarrassingly loud, when the doorbell rights. “God, finally,” he says as he rolls off the sofa to grab the money from the kitchen counter. When he returns he has two pizza boxes in hand, the top one with the lid already opened.
“Dude,” Isaac objects, staring up at Scott from the sofa with his controller in hand.
“Sorry. Couldn’t wait,” Scott replies around a mouthful of pizza before dropping back down onto the sofa and setting the two boxes on the coffee table.
“I thought your mother raised you better,” Isaac jokes, shoving Scott with his shoulder.
“Hey, don’t talk about my mom.”
Isaac laughs. “Shut up and start a new mission.”
Scott does as he’s told, glaring over his pizza crust, wiping his fingers on his jeans before selecting a new mission and promptly shooting Isaac’s man in the head. “You know what you did.”
+++
Isaac used to help his mom make dinner all the time when she was around. Every weekend they would bake together; it was one of the few skills that Isaac picked up when she was around. Even after she was gone, Isaac was still relegated to the kitchen, making carefully planned meals that his dad would approve of. They rarely ate out. Yet, Isaac still found himself baking on the weekends.
“So what are we making?” Scott asks, leaning on the island as Isaac pulls sugar and flour from the cupboards. He moves around the kitchen as though it were his own house, rather than Scott’s, a testament to how much time he spends there. He gently sets two eggs on the counter next to the butter.
“Cookies.”
“Cookies?”
“You were expecting something different?”
Scott shrugs. “I don’t know. When you said ‘make dessert’, I was just thinking something more complicated than cookies.”
Isaac returns the shrug. “So was I, but we have to work with what we’ve got.” He smiles. “There’s ice cream in the freezer. I figured we could make some ice cream sandwiches.”
This garners him a wide grin from Scott, who suddenly seems more enthusiastic. “Awesome.”
Isaac sets two bowls on the counter and instructs Scott to measure out half a cup of butter. Scott stares down at the package with a frown. Isaac rolls his eyes and points out the incremental measures on the foil, showing Scott exactly where he should cut. The butter lands in the bowl with a wet slap, and Scott looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Okay, now measure out the same about of sugar,” Isaac instructs, handing a plastic measuring cup across the counter. He pushes the container of sugar over.
Scott digs in and pulls out a heaping scoop of sugar. Isaac laughs. “Level it off. That’s going to be too much.”
“I don’t think there really is such thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to sugar.”
“I promise you,” Isaac says as he sifts together the flour, salt, and baking powder, “When it comes to baking, there definitely is.”
Isaac watches on as Scott pours the sugar in over the butter before looking up expectantly. “What now?” Scott asks, and Isaac hands him a whisk.
“Mix the sugar and butter together until it’s smooth. Then we’ll add in the eggs.”
Scott does as instructed. Considering how poorly Scott does in school, he takes direction incredibly well. Isaac thinks that it might be the teacher and also the subject matter that has Scott motivated, though. It makes him smile. Scott continues to mix as Isaac carefully cracks one egg, then two, into the bowl, trying to avoid the addition of any shells. The work quietly as the batter comes together. It’s the addition of the dry ingredients that sets things into a tailspin.
Scott is a being a little too enthusiastic with his stirring, and Isaac is idly distracted by the coating of butter-sugar-egg on the knuckle of Scott’s index finger, so he doesn’t realise until too late that the bowl of dry ingredients is tilted at too extreme an angle, and it all rushes into the bowl with a white cloud of flour. They spend a good minute waving their hands in front of their faces, coughing. “Oops.”
There’s a light dusting of flour on Scott’s nose, which means that Isaac likely has the same, and he wipes at it self-consciously. “You, uh... have some flour,” he says, watching as Scott wipes aimless at his face. “Here.” Isaac reaches across and brushes the flour off of Scott’s nose with an exaggerated drag of fingers.
“Oh... thanks.”
They’ll have to wipe everything down when they finish. There’s flour all over the counter. Scott keeps mixing though, and soon enough they have standard looking cookie dough. Isaac dumps in a pile of chocolate chips. Scott reaches out and tips his elbow up so even more cascade into the bowl. “There might be such thing as ‘too much’ sugar, but there is no fucking way there’s such thing as too many chocolate chips.”
Isaac can’t help but smile. “You’ve got me there.”
While Isaac is scooping the dough out onto a cookie sheet, Scott sticks his finger into the dough and pops a large glob into his mouth. “Hey!” Isaac squawks indignantly, but Scott just smiles a chocolate chip smile back at him. He sticks his finger - the same finger - back into the bowl and offers it to Isaac, who stares at it disdainfully. “That stuff can make you sick, you know.”
“Dude, you know you’re a werewolf, right? Just shut up and eat it.”
So Isaac does; leans across the bowl with a spoon in either hand and pulls the dough off Scott’s finger with his teeth, cleaning the digit quickly with his tongue. He winks.
Finally the oven is ready, and Isaac puts both pans into the oven. He sets a timer and leans back against the counter. “So... what do you want to do while we wait?”
“How long do we have?” Scott asks.
“I don’t know. Ten minutes?”
“Good.” Scott rounds the counter and steps right into Isaac’s personal space, slips his hand into the curls of Isaac’s hair, and pulls their mouths together. He still tastes like cookie dough: like chocolate and sugar, butter and the slightest hint of vanilla. Isaac doesn’t even hesitate, slipping his hands up to hold Scott’s jaw, to tilt his head so that the angle is better as their tongues press and slide against each other. When the timer on the stove starts ringing, they pull away slowly. Scott wipes at the corner of his mouth, quirked in a smile.
“We should, uh... check on those.” Isaac clears his throat and pulls the cookies from the oven. “They’ll need to cool before we can do anything with them.”
“Yeah, okay,” Scott replies. The oven is barely closed again before Scott’s back in Isaac’s space, tracing his nose along the taller boy’s jaw, and then they’re kissing again.
After long minutes, they pause for breath. Isaac tilts his head back, a wildly uncontrolled smile on his face, and his dick is pressing against the edge of Scott’s jeans. He refuses to be embarrassed about this fact. Scott’s breathing hard and heavy against his shoulder. It takes a moment for Isaac to remember what it was they were supposed to be doing. He sees the cookies out of the corner, but his senses are overloaded with the smell and taste of Scott.
Isaac doesn’t hesitate in drawing Scott back into him. The cookies aren’t going anywhere.