“Finally, I get to have my revenge! For once, I’ve got the upper hand,” Reece’s eyes twinkled with devilish glee, as Steve settled down near him on the sofa, both their cups of tea ready and steaming before them, plus gingerbread cookies on a plate.
“Why are you so sure it will be revenge? I haven’t told you if I won,” Steve said, biting his lower lip in amusement.
“Of course you didn’t win,” Reece rolled his eyes. “You can’t even poach an egg, forget baking. Who’s cooked all through the Highgate years? Me. That’s why I won Star Baker, and you didn’t.”
“That was a long time ago. I might’ve learned since then.”
“We were attached at the hip for thirty years, and the closest I’ve seen you to a stove is when you were about to boil a baby. I don’t think that’ll earn you a Hollywood handshake!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you,” Steve pushed the play button on the remote. “See for yourself,” the theme started at once, with the familiar images of the fluffy cake and the egg beaten into a bed of flour flashing on the screen.
Steve noticed how Reece adjusted his glasses and leaned a tad bit closer to the screen, trying not to miss anything. It was endearing and unusual to see him so invested. But expected, as Steve hasn’t told him anything at all about the experience.
“Today’s Stand Up to Cancer bakers are: Actor and writer Steve Pemberton…”
The screen cut to Steve, wearing a white button-up shirt, looking a bit overdressed for the summertime tent.
“Anyone will tell you I don’t like to cook or bake. But I do like to win,” TV Steve smiled at the camera, and Reece scoffed.
“TV Presenter and stand-up comedian Judi Love…”
“Really? I’m sure she never touched an oven in her life!” Reece exclaimed.
“Apart from her own,” Steve chimed in, taking a sip of his tea.
“God, that’s gross, Steve…” Reece closed his eyes in mock disgust.
“Sorry, sorry! Bake Off culture is innuendos, I had to!”
Judi smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll try to make it all edible. But no promises!”
“Stand-up comedian Ivo Graham…”
“I have little dignity left to lose. I fear the little I have will be gone by the start of the technical,” Ivo smiled his trademark twitchy smile at the camera.
“Oh come on!” Reece shouted from the couch, you’re up against this? Unfair. My lot was way more competent.”
“You assume no one in the world can bake but you,” Steve shook his head, laughing breathlessly.
“...And actress Alex Kingston.”
“Your lovely Chasing Shadows co-star,” Steve said, with a little nod, as Alex flashed a warm, pleasant smile and said:
“I’ve always loved to bake for friends and family, but it’s a different level doing it for Paul…”
“Now we’re talking. I do remember her bringing homemade pies to our shoot once, and they were good. Hopefully, she will annihilate you,” Reece said, dunking a cookie in his tea, “I can’t wait to see your shameful demise.”
“What about these cookies?”
“What about them? Store-bought,” Reece shrugged.
“No, I baked them!” Steve said, all incredulous indignation. “With ginger spice and everything.”
“Can’t be right. They’re too delicious,” Reece mumbled, defensive. “And if you baked them, they’re not delicious at all. Awful, awful texture, all wrong.”
Steve rolled his eyes fondly, but didn’t say anything.
“Bakers, welcome to the tent!” Noel Fielding was dressed as usual – like a goth peacock. “For your first challenge, the judges would like you to make an Italian focaccia. Your focaccia must be full of flavours that mean something to you personally… ”
Reece cackled maniacally, “Bread! Yes. You deserve this nightmare!”
“Thank you for your never-ceasing support, Reece.”
Steve remembered the hours he spent scratching his head, trying to come up with focaccia flavours that would appeal to the judges, somehow be linked to him, and easy enough to incorporate into his bake.
Thankfully, he prepared well. Noel announced ‘On your marks, get set, bake!’ and the baking competition officially started. The judges came by every contestant, trying to learn more about the flavours they picked.
“As you may know, I did a sitcom called Benidorm that we shot on location, in Spain. So I decided to incorporate some Spanish flavours. We have chopped up chorizo, cheese, black olives, with a touch of oregano for aroma.”
“Sounds delicious,” Prue commented in sweetly.
Paul Hollywood grinned, “I’m glad your focaccia isn’t inspired by The League of Gentlemen.”
“Oh, the special stuff,” Noel Fielding piped in, eyebrows rising.
“No, no special stuff in this one,” Steve smiled, all charm, but that made him look more suspicious. The camera actually lingered on him for a bit, enough for Steve to give the audience a little wink.
“Look at you, flirting with the public! I didn’t have time to do all that nonsense. I was baking!” Reece said tugging at the sleeves of his pajama top, irritated.
“Didn’t they tell you that you gotta play it up for the camera a little? Plus, you did it too, you were grumbling all the way through, like a little kid! They liked your grumpy reactions.”
“I bet they did. They liked me laying on the floor, having a pilates-induced breakdown…”
Meanwhile, the other contestants explained their flavours as well, and naturally there was savoury galore – a traditionally delicious feta and sundried tomatoes from Alex, a caramelized onion and goat cheese from Ivo, that prompted him to claim that ‘even if it went off, they wouldn’t know the difference’, and a spicy jalapeño and cheddar from Judi.
“God, I remember the tent smelled delicious,” Steve said, relaxing back on the cushions. It was nice to vicariously relive the summery days. They were warm now, clad in pajamas and cozying up on the sofa, but outside it was cold and starting to rain.
“You even had time to smell the tent? It was all a blur for me!”
“Well, I knew what I was doing! I practiced that damn focaccia four or five times! It was automatic by that point.”
“That should be considered cheating. All that preparation you did. Anyone could bake a focaccia if they practiced a million times…” Reece was still grumbling under his nose, but Steve knew there was no malice.
Tv Steve’s movements were extremely efficient. He rolled up his sleeves and expertly mixed the ingredients into a ball of dough, kneading it with his hands.
As they watched further, Steve noticed the way Reece followed his movements, silently and intently, hugging himself by the elbows. He must’ve been remembering other things Steve has kneaded. Steve took the opportunity to put a hand on his thigh, and recreated the movements playfully, making Reece shake his head in mock disapproval.
“I see you like a man who can knead dough,” Steve said, filing that information for later.
“Oh yes, I do like myself. Most of the time,” Reece deflected with a joke, but he didn’t swat Steve’s hand away.
“Attaboy.”
Finally, the time was over. Ivo’s got a bit burned, Judi’s was too flavourful and spicy (“they always claim to like new flavours, but they’re too conservative,” Reece waved his hand dismissively at the screen.)
Steve’s focaccia looked like it was a cutout from a food magazine. He even took the time to put it in a little basket with a red and white blanked, mumbling something about points for presentation.
“You look way too competent at this. I’ve seen how you cook pasta. The pot was too small, so the spaghetti ends went over and then when the water boiled they softened and caught fire.”
“That was one time, we were 25, and you’re still bringing it up…”
“It’s very good,” Paul Hollywood looked impressed. “A bit dry on the bottom there, and the olives could’ve been distributed more evenly, but the flavours are spot on.”
Reece didn’t listen, he instead yelled at the TV, “This is all a lie! A TV lie! He can’t bake! He thinks a spatula is useful only as a 7-letter word for a crossword.”
Steve put a hand on top of Reece’s head, ruffling his curls, urging him to calm down. There was nothing to say when he got so riled up, but Steve could distract him with gentle movements.
“It does remind me of Spain, yes,” Prue hummed around her bite. “Very clever.”
Ultimately, Alex was the one to receive a Hollywood handshake for her impeccable flavours. The editor made sure to include Steve’s slow claps and his tight-lipped smile.
“I do have a competition in Alex Kingston. Will have to step it up for the technical. That may be the chink, since you can’t really prepare for one, can you?” TV Steve said, looking a lot like a politician making a diplomatic statement.
“You can’t,” Reece nodded. “But I have a sense you still did.”
“I watched a few cooking programs, yes. And read a lot of articles. Just trying to understand how different types of flour works. Did some sample bakes.”
“Oh yes, now I do recall you bringing in scones that one time to the office.”
“And yet you just said I’ve never cooked or baked before,” Steve squeezed at Reece’s thigh, where he was holding it, making him jump up a bit.
“Store-bought scones, I’m sure. Sainsbury's,” Reece rebuffed immediately, his expression unreadable.
Steve returned his attention to the screen, where Noel Fielding reappeared with the next instructions.
“Bakers, for your Technical Challenge today, Paul and Prue would like you to make parkin, neatly cut into six pieces. And no, this has nothing to do with your car. It’s a traditional ginger cake from Yorkshire, known for its deep, rich flavour and signature chew. It should be soft and fluffy in texture, yet dense enough to hold together with a sticky top from the molasses.”
The camera showed four dejected and stunned faces.
“I could’ve made it blindfolded!” Reece let out an exaggerated sigh, “I got fucking queen of pudding! Or whatever the hell that was. The whole show’s rigged.”
“Well, I never made one before. So this was a nightmare,” Steve half-laughed.
“At least I’ve made you parkin countless times, and you knew what it should look like.”
“At least I know what it is. Reece makes it for me from time to time,” TV Steve echoed the words, making Reece preen a bit.
But he quickly shifted into his perpetual grumpy mood.
“Did you have to say it like that? Don’t you know the fans will cut out this moment and put it in one of those compilations on a loop?”
“Oh, but that pleases you, secretly. You like that they like us,” Steve said, stroking his shoulders and back, and enjoyed the way Reece went limp against him, cuddling closer despite himself.
“I want them to like our work, not us.”
“Why are you so afraid of them liking us?”
“Cause one of them will end up chaining me to a radiator,” Reece sighed, hiding his face into Steve’s chest.
“And how is that a problem to you, huh?” Steve kissed the side of Reece’s face. “I know you’d like that.”
“Not… Not when it’s a fan…” Reece managed, with Steve kissing his ear a bit. “Stop it, I’m trying to watch you fail miserably.”
The tension during the technical rose to new heights, and Steve was visibly under stress, even though he tried to keep it together. It was bizarre to watch himself back and realize that he had no idea what he was doing, making quick decisions on the spot with little insight of what they’d mean for the final bake. His face was red, sleeves were rolled up to reveal the hairy arms, and there was sweat rolling down his temples.
He thought he looked like a mess, but Reece beside him was breathing a bit faster than usual, and clutching a cushion closer to himself. Some more information to file for later.
“Like what you see?” Steve murmured, trying to get more of a reaction.
“Oh yes. Nice to see you so incompetent, fumbling about. You almost went for the sugar there, instead of the salt,” Reece deflected the flirting, even though he was a bit flushed. “This is pure entertainment.”
After the tense-filled bake, it was finally judgement time. Paul and Prue stepped behind the gingham table. They approached the first parkin that belonged to Alex and tried it both with a sour expression, as it was visibly more gooey than the rest. Then they tried Judi’s.
“Wonderful, deep flavours. Spot on texture,” Prue said, taking another bite.
“What the hell? Those are cut unevenly, I can see it even from here,” Reece grumbled at the screen.
“Look at you! You are rooting for me after all,” Steve teased.
“I have to, because that doesn’t even look like parkin. That cut is absolutely abysmal. And don’t get me started on the first one, that was raw.”
It was a perfectly normal cake, so it pleased Steve to see Reece coming to his defences.
“They're all doing their best.” Steve said, as Paul cut into the next batch, showing off the knife with some of the dough sticking to it. “Including Ivo.”
“What is their worst then?” Reece scoffed.
The judges tried Steve’s parkin, and found it acceptable, and not as good as Judi’s.
As expected, Judi came first, and Steve came second.
“I’m chuffed to be getting second, since I never made parkin before. It will be tough to beat the ladies at the Showstopper, but I’m going to try,” TV Steve smiled politely, as the ads begin.
“Will you be making me parkin from now on?” Reece asked, turning to Steve.
“I made you ginger cookies, and you said they’re store bought.”
“Fair enough. Will you make me a cup of tea now? I don’t want to get up.” Reece asked, all battling eyelashes and pleading looks. “You can’t buy it in a store, so I’ll know you made it.”
“Oh and you’ll be judging it?” Steve got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“I might even give you a handshake!” Reece yelled from the sofa, and Steve smiled. In a few minutes he returned to his designated viewing spot, two cups in hands.
“Thank you,” Reece said like a polite little boy, taking a sip of his tea with milk. “At least you know how to make the exact tea I like. That I won’t deny.”
“Of course I do.”
Steve settled down and opened his arms, so Reece could lie back down in them, and they continued watching the episode.
“Bakers, welcome back to the tent for your final challenge, the Showstopper. Today, the judges would like you to create a cake with a hidden surprise. Something that looks beautiful on the outside, and contains a silhouette that’s revealed only when the cake is cut. At the same time, your flavours must be flawless. You have four hours. On your marks, get set, bake!”
Reece turned a bit to look Steve in the eyes. Now Steve felt like he should be the one squirming.
“What? Don’t get pissed at me. I wasn’t the one who invented these challenges!”
“Really? A cake with a plot twist? For you?” Reece’s gaze was icy. “I’ll be writing a letter to the producers.”
TV Steve meanwhile looked delighted explaining his bake to the judges: “This is right up my sleeve. I make a living hiding things in other things! My cake will be a classic red velvet cake with a door with a number 9 on it, because most episodes of Inside Number 9 are hidden behind a door. And when you cut into it, it will reveal a chocolate hare, baked into the design.”
TV Steve looked positively giddy, “When I practiced this, I felt like a fan of my own show.”
“Are you not a fan of your own show?” Reece put a hand on his chest in mock shock.
“Of course I am. But I never made art for it. What would you have made?”
“A cake with a dodgy forest on top, with a severed body part hidden inside, in the ground,” Reece replied instantly, as if it was obvious. “A hand probably. A cold hand covered in blood.”
“That’s exactly why they gave you another challenge,” Steve said.
Alex went for an inventive cake shaped like her dog, hiding a bone inside, and Ivo for a cake called ‘The Great Imposter Gateau’, Judi for a rum cake with a baked-in cocktail silhouette.
As the camera focused on Steve, he once again looked like precision personified, busy and concentrated on his ingredients, as if the time was already running up. Noel came up to him, trying to stir some chaos.
“This is your territory, innit Steve? Plot twists and all.”
“I do know a thing a two about them. But not in cake form, no.”
“I imagine that you cut into it, and we all gasp – the cake has been a ghost all along!” Noel mimed a ghost, chuckling to himself, “And it’s just gelatinous, imagine that… Gelatinous ghost goo instead of cake.”
“That would’ve been good, actually,” Tv Steve raised both eyebrows, while trying to whip his eggs. “Why don’t you come and write for me?”
“Excuse me!” Reece exclaimed immediately right next to Steve, who stroked down his arm soothingly, shaking his head.
“I would need a pen name,” Noel still lingered around the table.
“How do you fancy Gelatinous Ghost Goo?”
“It’s what they called me in high school, true story,” Noel said to the camera with his trademark smile.
“When were you going to tell me of your decision to invite a third to our sacred writing room?”
“It was just bants. I wouldn’t want to write with anyone but you, love,” Steve kissed the side of Reece’s face. He knew sometimes Reece needed to be said things explicitly. He changed the topic, so Reece wouldn’t have a chance to linger on it. “No one tells you that the hardest part of these competitions is bantering while cooking.”
“I had Matt, it was easy with him.”
“Oh, so you had some advantages after all.”
“That was the only one! I didn’t get parkin and a Showstopper catered to the premise of my TV show, thank you very much,” Reece grumbled some more, but then cuddled back closer into Steve’s comfy body, and Steve knew he wasn’t mad for real.
The rain was tapping against the window, and Steve momentarily thought he adored these moments when they watched tv together, drinking tea, feeling Reece’s warm body cuddling close, his pleasant smell all around them, and his sighs of irritation whenever something annoying happened on the screen. It was a blessed way to pass an afternoon.
The time ticked, and TV Steve looked more and more serious by the second, his movements precise and the talking to the cameraman cut down to a minimum.
“You look like you’ve been doing this forever,” Reece said, laying a soft punch into Steve’s thigh in a gesture that Steve interpreted as both irritation and praise.
“Nah, I was sweating! I had to get every detail right. Plus, it was bloody hot in there, my chocolate was melting all over the place.”
“Serves you right. You are supposed to provide entertainment, and not cook like you’re on Master Chef.”
“Come on, Reece. As if you weren’t trying to win it.”
“I wanted it and I did win. That Star Baker Apron in my proudest possession. Not counting the zigzag lady.”
There were just ten minus left to the end of the competition and the music got more tense and rushed by the second. Reece adjusted his glasses, intently staring at the screen, as if trying to analyse which details of the fast edit could predict the overall outcome.
And then it was judgement time.
Predictably, Ivo’s baked silhouette was unrecognizable and slightly off-center (prompting him to joke "like me in every group photo"), Judi’s alcohol flavours were way too strong, even for Prue, and Alex’s cake looked exactly like a poodle and tasted absolutely perfect.
Steve brought up his red velvet cake – except it was black – in the shape of a wooden door on a white platform up to the judges. It looked rich and inviting, if slightly menacing, and the golden number nine, doorknob and keyhole shone invitingly against the black.
As Paul cut into the cake, the precise silhouette of a hare was revealed to everyone’s delight.
“The flavours are rich and satisfying, that chocolate with nutmeg and pecan comes through well, and the shape of the hare is very recognizable,” Paul praised the cake after trying it.
“Good. But I’d ask you to cut a bit deeper,” Steve suggested, gesturing at the white platform.
“Now what is this? You haven’t told us about this,” Prue wondered, as Paul cut up the platform, to reveal that it was also made of cake.
“That’s what’s called a false bottom in magic,” TV Steve explained. “A secret compartment that allows you to do more clever tricks.”
“You sneaky genius!” forgetting all about this grumpiness, Reece looked as excited as a five-year-old kid watching the reveal, “Oh, I love this so much!”
“I genuinely didn’t realize that it was also cake! That is very clever, Steve,” Paul looked impressed. “Now let’s try this second layer.”
TV Steve smiled, genuinely pleased at everyone’s murmurs and gasps.
“I’m afraid your false bottom is a bit soggy,” Paul said finally. “The idea is superb, but you probably ran out of time to execute it to the best ability.”
“I think the design of it is a little triumph!” Prue said, and TV Steve smiled gratefully, though his expression was still a bit sour.
“Oh to hell with it,” Reece was annoyed once again. “They should retire anyway. Who the hell are they to judge this?”
“They did judge yours!”
“That time they were correct!”
After the ads, it was the final judgement time. Steve felt how Reece tensed up near him, and wondered if he wanted Steve to win or to lose. Holding their breaths, they watched Noel announce the final result…
“And the Star Baker is… Alex Kingston! Well done, Alex.”
Alex beamed, as everyone congratulated her and applauded. TV Steve seemed genuine when he gave Alex a warm hug.
Reece let out a swear. “Fuck them. Unbelievable. You made a whole other cake that no one noticed, and they still gave it to the poodle.”
“Don’t talk about Alex like that!”
“I meant the actual- The dog she baked! Don’t change the topic…” Reece turned to Steve, “Wait. You didn’t win! Why did you act like you did the whole time we were watching it!”
“It was nice watching you squirm for an hour,” Steve admitted. “Also by the end there you were really rooting for me. That’s sweet.”
“Shut up, actually,” Reece’s cheeks coloured a bit, but he also couldn’t help but smile. “I was only rooting for the best cake. Which happened to be yours.”
“Aren’t you happy that you’re the best baker among us two?”
“Oh yes. You are better at talking to people, writing, being smart and funny, being confident, and driving, but at least I’m better at baking.”
“Don’t forget, you’re also hotter,” Steve leaned in, brushing his lips over Reece’s before deepening it into a slow, dirty kiss—teasing, full of tongue, just the way he knew drove Reece wild.
“That is, ah- Debatable,” Reece murmured in between kisses, a bit breathless. “I have to say, you were pretty hot when you were baking just then.”
“Was I? Now that does please me,” Steve proceeded to kiss Reece’s cheeks and jaw and behind his ear. “Want to make a competition out of it?”
“What will I get in the end? The title of Star Fucker?”
Steve burst out laughing, “Oh yes. I’ll even make you a little apron. You’ll have to wear just that, and nothing else underneath.”
“All you want is easy access to my soggy bottom,” Reece chuckled.
“I am a simple man,” Steve said, laying down Reece on the sofa, and settling on top, continuing to kiss every inch of skin he had access too.
“You’re not. You’re full of talents and hidden corners,” Reece said earnestly, getting his arms around his neck. “I think I’ll let you wear my Star Baker Apron, if you make those gingerbread cookies again.”
“You liked them after all,” Steve grinned.
“I didn’t say it,” Reece denied. “Now kiss me some more.”
Steve sighed fondly, but obliged, kissing him deeply. Reece’s lips tasted like ginger spice, and Steve thought he’d have to bake him something sweeter next time.