“That was a perfect example of how not to do things.”
“Have you ever had beer cake?” Jack asked looking over Brock with a questioning look on his face.
“What the fuck is beer cake? That’s a thing?” he replied, “like is it made from actual beer? Who fucks up perfectly good beer by putting into cake?”
Jack just smiles, and says that when it’s made properly it’s fucking delicious and it’s been forever since he’s had any.
So here was Brock four months later, sitting on the counter in the kitchen of (their) house, laptop open, looking up recipes for beer bake of all things.Ever since Jack had brought it up, Brock had filed the information away and decided that he would make it for their one year wedding anniversary (actually he was going to buy it but the only place he would be able to get from would be a bakery in fucking Brooklyn and there was no way he was going all the way down there.)Jack had gone out for a few hours, after Brock had practically shoved him out the door, down to that bar where all his biker friends hang out. Leaving Brock to try and bake. It wasn’t that he couldn’t cook. He could. It was just that repertoire for things he made were based more on what kind of meat, he smother in oregano, chili’s, thyme, basil, rosemary- Spaghetti. He could make spaghetti. Occasionally, Jack would let him near the barbeque, to help keep an eye on whatever the bigger man was grilling. But baking… that honestly was something that Brock had never thought about doing.
The first recipe that he clicked on had looked (and sounded) fucking delicious, despite his reservations on the entire thing, until he had actually started to try and make the damn thing.
What the hell? How the fuck do you sift flour? What the fuck is sifting anyways?”
So he scrapped the entire thing and went back to searching for an easier recipe. After a few more minute of searching, he clicked on a recipe that was advertised as ‘easy and delicious’. Opening it up, he clenched his hand into a fist and brought it towards himself, letting himself have moment of small victory.
Cake mix? Check. Pudding mix? Check. No fucking sifting required? Check.
Jumping down off the counter, he strolled over to the walk-in pantry, that Jack had built out of the breakfast nook that had been there originally, because, honestly, what the hell were they going to do with a fucking breakfast nook? (actually, when Jack had first started to build the pantry, he had asked why they needed one those too. And Jack had just patiently said, that just because Brock was a fucking disaster in the kitchen, that didn’t mean everybody else was.) Walking in, he found the two boxes he needed and returned over the island where the rest of the bowls that remained after his first attempt, lay waiting.
Cracking his neck, he started to read the damn text in front of him and- What the fuck is a bundt pan? Looking that up, thank fuck for google, he pulled that out and sprayed it down with ½ a can of cooking spray and dumped a handful of flour onto the bottom the pan. Step one done, he turned the oven on ( the recipe said 350, so Brock turned the dial to around that number) and moved on. Dumping the cake mix, pudding mix, vegetable oil, and eggs all into one bowl, he went to double check the amount of beer to use. One cup? What kind of bullshit is that? How the fuck are you supposed to taste the beer if that’s all you’re puttin’ in? Scrunching his nose a bit, he cracked open the bottle of beer that he had set aside, and poured the entire thing into the bowl, making sure to shake out the last dredges that were normally left inside before he picked up the spoon and started to stir it all together.
Since the oven wasn’t hot enough yet, yes he(sorta) knew how to work the oven, fuck you very much Jack, he decided to let the batter sit, while he wandered into the living room with the computer in his hands. Placing it down onto the desk that sat in the corner, Brock booted up his game and entered into a few online matches.
A little while later, Brock’s phone chirped at him, pulling him out of the gaming fuge that he allowed himself to fall into. Logging out of the server, he stretched his arms over his head, going until he heard the ‘pop’ of his shoulder before he lazily reached over and swiped in his password, to see… the text that Jack had sent him.
The text telling him he was on his way home.
Right now.
FUCK
Brock ran to the kitchen, poured the bowl out into the pan and tossed it into oven. He was just about to start grabbing all of the dirty dishes to throw into the sink, when he realized that there was no way that the cake would be done in time cooking at it’s current temperature. Which wouldn’t do AT ALL. The whole reason he kicked Jack out of the house was to get this ready and surprise him. So he jacked the dial up on the oven, so it would cook faster.
Roughly 15 minutes later, he heard Jack’s bike pulling up onto the sad excuse of a driveway that they had ( it was a dirt path, no matter what Jack said.) Brock peered into the oven taking a look at the fucking cake and quickly he deemed it finished. Pulling it out,he saw that it had a wonderful golden colour, and was only a little burnt at the edges, the icing would cover that up anyways. So big deal there. Knowing that it was going to take Jack another little while to make his way in, (Jack Always tucked that bike in and took a walk around the house every time he came back home. Side effect of their retirement.) Brock used the time to crack open the lid on the icing container and quickly started to slather the sugary substance all over the cake.
By the time Jack made his way inside, the cake actually… well looked like a cake and Brock had managed to spray enough air freshener around to cover up the smell of baked goods. Jack kicked his boots off by the door and started to look around for his husband. Finding Brock in the kitchen, Jack strode over, swept him into his arms and started to try and devour what little bit of soul Brock had left through his mouth.
Brock let him for a little while, (although he fucking hated it when Jack held him like this. He was already very aware of size difference and this made him feel even smaller) before leaning his head back, smiling and whispering- (no, he was not out of breath from a kiss.)
“Hey,there Jack-ass.”
Jack grinned, “Hey, yourself, Princess. Miss me?”
“Why, you go somewhere?” Brock smirked as he pulled away entirely. Jack narrowed his eyes a little, and took a couple steps forward, obviously looking to cage Brock against the counter, so he continue eating him alive. Which, under normal circumstances, Brock would be climbing all over that, except…
“Made you something!” He blurted out excitedly before Jack could get any further, looking like a little kid at christmas. For his part, Jack stopped dead still at Brock’s outburst, his eyebrows scrunched together, as regarded Brock with just a little bit wariness.
“You. made. Me. something?” Jack said slowly, confusion evident in his voice.
Brock quickly, turned around, grabbed the cake from where he had hidden it in the fridge and plopped it onto the counter by Jack’s hand.
“You mentioned awhile ago, that you uh… hadn’t had it in a long time, so I figured it might be a nice surprise.” Brock trailed off towards the end with a shrug and went to go and grab a knife. Turning back around, Brock took in the look on Jack’s face and smirked.
“What? Oh, you thought I couldn’t bake worth shit, didn’t you? Well fuck you. This shit turned out great.” He said as he started to cut into the cake. Jack sighed, and had to admit that it did look delicious until…
“I’m pretty sure that cake is not supposed to be drinkable.” he said, poking at the pile of goop that adorned the kitchen counter. “How the fuck did you manage to make cake into a liquid?” he asked, looking at the crestfallen look on Brock’s face. So, Brock(begrudgingly and after a lot more prodding) walked him through the entire thing. By the end of it, Jack was laughing, while making a mental to never, ever leave Brock unattended in the kitchen ever again.
“Well, look at it this way, Darling,” He chuckled, “ At least you now have a perfect example of how not to do things.”