Chapter 113 113: Love & Affection
"Don't you dare," Baby slapped Saint's hand away, holding a wooden spoon toward him.
Saint smirked, "Dare what? I was just reaching for the towel." He pointed to the white towels on the counter now front of Baby.
Baby scoffed, "Yeah, like this isn't the third time you're trying to grope me –"
"I refuse that allegation, Mr. Danvers. I was just reaching for a towel," Saint folded his arms.
"Get it," Baby gritted out.
"Huh?" Saunt mumbled.
"Get it, then I'll see if you'll find some other reason to distract me from making my heavenly pasta," Baby said, narrowing his eyes at Siant.
"Fine," Saint shrugged.
Slowly, he moved toward Baby, "Just the towel..." He slid his hand very close to Baby hips to collect the towel.
Baby didn't flinch. He stood straight, waiting for Daint to make some roo behind him.
"Actually..." Saint gently grabbed Baby's waist, pulling him against him, "guilty as charged." He murmured and unzipped Baby's pant slipping in his hand before Baby could push him away.
"You devil," Baby gasped, wrapping his hand around Saint's wrist.
"Go ahead, take it out," Daint whispered against Baby's neck, his hand slowly wrapping around Baby's length.
Baby's grip on Saint's wrist tightened—not to pull him away, but to hold him there, fingers digging in like he needed the anchor.
"Saint…" The word came out half warning, half plea, already fraying at the edges.
Saint didn't rush. He never did when he had Baby like this—pinned between the counter and his body, breath already hitching, pasta sauce forgotten on the stove behind them.
He nosed along the side of Baby's neck, lips brushing the spot just below his ear that always made Baby's knees soften. "You said 'heavenly pasta,'" Saint murmured, voice low and amused. "But this—" his fingers gave one slow, deliberate stroke from root to tip, thumb dragging over the slit where Baby was already leaking—"this feels a lot more divine."
Baby's head tipped back against Saint's shoulder with a soft thud. A shaky laugh escaped him. "You're impossible."
"And you're hard," Saint countered, giving another lazy pull that made Baby's hips jerk forward into his fist. "Question is… do you want me to stop?"
The wooden spoon clattered onto the counter. Baby's free hand shot back, grabbing a fistful of Saint's shirt to keep himself upright.
"Don't you fucking dare," he breathed.
Saint's grin was feral against Baby's skin. "That's what I thought."
He tightened his grip—just enough—and started a slow, torturous rhythm. Not fast enough to chase release, but steady enough to make Baby's thighs tremble. Every upstroke he twisted his wrist at the head; every downstroke he let his thumb press firmly along the thick vein underneath until Baby was leaking steadily over his knuckles.
Baby's breathing turned ragged. "Fuck—Saint—the sauce—"
"Will survive," Saint rasped, nipping the tendon in Baby's neck hard enough to leave a faint mark. "You, on the other hand…" Another slow stroke. "Might not."
He slid his free hand up under Baby's shirt, palm flat against the quivering plane of his stomach, holding him steady while he worked him with devastating patience. Baby's hips rolled helplessly, chasing the friction, but Saint controlled the pace—keeping it maddeningly slow, letting the pleasure build in syrupy waves instead of crashing.
"Baby..." Saint whispered, lips grazing the shell of Baby's ear. "Trying so hard to be good. Trying to cook. Trying not to come all over my hand while I jerk you off in the middle of the kitchen."
Baby whimpered—high and broken—head falling forward so his forehead rested against the cool edge of the upper cabinet.
"Please…"
"Please what, baby?" Saint's voice dropped lower, darker. "Please faster? Please harder? Or please let you come like the desperate little slut you turn into the second I touch you?"
Baby's answer was a choked moan and the way his cock jerked violently in Saint's grip.
Saint chuckled—low, filthy—and finally gave him what he wanted.
He sped up. Not frantic, but purposeful—long, firm strokes that made wet, obscene sounds fill the kitchen. His thumb kept circling the head on every upstroke, spreading the slick until Baby's whole length glistened.
Baby's knees buckled. Saint caught him instantly—arm banding around his waist, holding him upright while he pumped faster, tighter.
"Come on," Saint growled against his neck. "Give it to me. Let me feel you spill. Right here. Right now. While the water's still boiling and you're supposed to be making dinner."
That did it.
Baby came with a strangled cry—back arching, hips snapping forward, pulsing hot and thick over Saint's fist in long, shuddering waves. His whole body shook; his nails dug into Saint's forearm hard enough to leave crescent marks. Saint worked him through it—slowing but never stopping—milking every last tremor until Baby was slumped against him, panting, boneless.
For a long moment there was only the sound of their breathing and the soft bubble of the pasta water.
Then Saint pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to the side of Baby's neck.
"Still think I'm the devil?" he murmured, smug and soft all at once.
Baby let out a wrecked laugh. "I think you're cleaning the counter."
Saint hummed, finally easing his hand free—slick fingers glistening—before he turned Baby in his arms and kissed him properly. Slow. Deep. Tasting like victory and adoration.
"Deal," he whispered against Baby's swollen lips. "But only after I feed you."
He reached past Baby, turned the stove off with one flick, then scooped him up—legs around his waist, arms looping around Saint's neck—like he weighed nothing.
"Shower first," Saint decided, already walking them toward the bathroom. "Then I'll make you eat. Then maybe—maybe—I'll let you finish that pasta."
Baby buried his face in Saint's shoulder, smiling against damp skin.
"You're still impossible."
"And you're still mine," Saint answered simply.
He kicked the bathroom door shut behind them.
The pasta could wait another hour.
They had more important things to taste.
After an hour of eating God-knows-what in their room, they finally walked out, looking satisfied and happy.
"Look how flushed you are. That good?" Saint teased as they headed back to the kitchen.
Baby smiled, rolling his eyes. "Like you're any better. You look like you're head-over-heels—"
"I am," Saint countered.
"Get a grip, man," Baby playfully slapped Saint's arm, shaking his head at him.
They were about to enter the kitchen when a knock sounded on their door.
"I'll get it. Show that pasta who's chef," he gently squeezed Baby's ass and kissed him before turning to go answer the door.
Baby couldn't help smiling like a fool as he returned to his cooking. From how warm his cheeks felt, he was sure he was blushing like mad.
It felt really nice to be loved and to love. And never was he going to let anything come between them.
"Ah, Saint, it's true you've returned, Baby too?"
Baby smiled, hearing his best friend's voice in the living room.
He gulped, guilt coiling within.
He hadn't reached out to Cam since their fallout. And after they returned the previous day, he hadn't quite had the time to call—no... he was avoiding Cam because he knew he had gone out of line the last time.
And now Cam was walking toward him, and he wasn't ready to face him... yet.
"Would you look at that?" Cam strode in, locking his eyes on Baby, who was standing in front of the stove.
Baby bit his lip, trying to find words to soothe the situation.
"Mm, what's that smell? Love and affection?" Cam sneaked up behind Baby, grinning. "I knew you couldn't be apart for a whole month." He gripped Baby's chin and forced him to look at him.
"Look at my face and the darned cooking pasta," Cam raised a brow.
"Wait, you're not upset?" Baby asked cautiously.
Cam scoffed. "Why should I? I'm not the one you broke up with." He chuckled.
"Really?" Baby glanced at Saint, who was casually leaning against the kitchen door.
"Yes, Baby. I knew you both were going through some phase, and now that it's past, we can all go back to how things were. Am I right, Saint?"
Saint looked at the two friends, a small smile touching his lips.
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Something like that."
Cam nodded in satisfaction, finally releasing Baby's chin and stepping back.
"Good," he said, clapping his hands lightly. "Because the last thing I need is the two of you acting like tragic lovers again. It was exhausting to watch."
Baby let out a small breath, the tension in his shoulders easing.
Saint pushed himself off the doorframe and walked into the kitchen.
"So you came all the way here just to judge our relationship?" he asked dryly.