Mat/brian

The thing about cooking mandazi is that it requires patience. The baking process isn't particularly tough; once the dough is made and spiced and risen, it's only a few short minutes in a pan of oil until they're done.

The patience is in waiting for them to cool. The aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon warms Mat's kitchen, gets deep in his lungs as he spoons a new batch of dough into the pan.

With the sizzle of the skillet comes big, soft hands on Mat's hips, and a chin on his shoulder. The hot stove has nothing on Brian crowding his space, shirtless and still warm from bed.

"Donut... balls?" Brian asks, punctuated with a kiss to Mat's shoulder that makes him shiver.

"Pretty much, I guess. Kinda workshopping the cafe's breakfast menu, kinda just really hungry for mandazi like nana makes it." Mat flips each crisping pastry, and tries his best not to visibly tense at the thought of oil drops splashing on him.

"Gee, if this qualifies as breakfast, I'll have to stay over more often!" Brian laughs, (his stomach jiggles soft against Mat's back, oh /lord/), and reaches for a piece.

"I don't think--"

"CRACKERS, /hot/!!"

Mat coughs to conceal his laughter. "I tried to tell you…"

He reaches for Brian's hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss on the burnt skin. When Mat chances to touch a mandazi on the bottom of the pile, he finds it pleasantly warm, and turns in Brian's arms to break the dough under his nose.

"Gotta enjoy the finer things /slowly/, dude." Mat smiles at Brian's dopey smile, clearly entranced by the sweet spices. "Think you can do that?"

Brian nods, eyes trained very un-subtly on Mat's lips as he blows cool air onto one half of the mandazi. It's nerve-wracking, eyes that deep and lovely taking him in. A little bit exhilarating too.

Without letting himself overthink it, Mat lifts the cooled portion to Brian's lips, and just as he's about to start freaking out on himself, the other man takes a careful, eager bite.

Mat feels electric. Or like he's been shot. The exact midway point between those feelings.

Brian chews - Mat /watches/, can't help it - and a big grin splits his rapidly reddening cheeks. Suddenly, looking at him is far too stressful, and Mat turns back to the stove to flip the current batch of mandazi in the oil.

"That's /amazing/, buddy!" Comes Brian's voice, right there over his shoulder. "Got, uh… any more to spare, do you reckon? I'll admit, I'm pretty hungry."

It's only then that Mat notices he's still holding the rest of the bitten pastry, perched delicately between two fingers. The thought of raising those fingers to Brian's lips again, watching him /chew, swallow/, makes his stomach flip.

"Promise I'll take it slow," he mumbles, big paws finding Mat's hips again, as if they've strayed far in the last 18 hours, "make 'em last all the way 'til lunch. Y'know, if you'll have me that long."

Mat can't think of how to say /god, baby, stay as long as you like, I feel fucking buoyant with you here/ without sounding stupid, so he takes a piece of pastry and chews it himself. They're good, flavourful; not /quite/ like nana's, but something special regardless.

Brian's cheeks colour. "I just," he almost whispers, craning his neck down to kiss a spot on Mat's jaw where he can still feel a lovebite from last night, "I think I'd like to take my time."