Oliver leans against his kitchen counter, watching Robin pipe cream into the freshly made cream puffs, and setting them back on the wire racks they had recently bought together along with an assortment of other kitchenware. Like the crepe pans. Oliver’s very fond of the crepe pans.

Robin’s focused expression tickles Oliver’s chest. Not to mention he’s wearing the apron Oliver gifted him.

Unable to resist, Oliver saunters forward, wrapping a hand around Robin’s waist. “Seeing you pipe cream into those holes. Such great command,” he says, voice lowering.

Robin gives him an exasperated look. “Cream puffs should be eaten immediately,” he says, pressing the one he’s just finished into Oliver’s mouth.

Oliver bites down on the pastry, letting the vanilla cream escape to his lips. “Hmm, delicious.” He swipes a finger across the cream on his lips and puts the finger in Robin’s mouth.

Robin’s eyes darken. “Looking for trouble, Mr. Campbell?” he says, the corner of his mouth going up.

Oliver blinks innocently. “I don’t need to go looking for it.” He tugs the pastry cream bag off of Robin, placing it on the table, and pulls Robin toward him. He tilts his head down, tracing the words on Robin’s apron—feeling up Robin’s chest. “See, your apron says to kiss the cook, so…” He looks up through his lashes.

“Then shouldn’t I be the one kissing you for making dinner?” Robin’s tone is nonchalant, but his eyes are focused on Oliver, glancing down to his lips.

Oliver hums affirmatively. He feints a kiss on Robin’s mouth, and then quickly pulls away. Inwardly, he thrills at how Robin attempts to follow him. “But I want cream.”

“What is this, a romance novel?” Robin says in exasperation.

“Eh, let’s fuck then,” Oliver says, wrapping his arms around Robin and lifting him up.

Robin laughs in surprise. “Oliver!” He hugs Oliver’s shoulders.

Oliver strains with effort—after all, they’ve only recently started working out together, and Robin’s been at it for longer. Oliver has to give up by the time they reach the living room.

Oliver sighs heavily. “Let’s just do it on the sofa—” His heart jumps when Robin sweeps him up into his arms.

“Bed, we’re not making a mess on a sofa that other people sit on,” Robin says chidingly. He carries Oliver into the bedroom and lowers him onto the bed. Oliver wraps his legs around Robin, forcing him down on the bed with him.

“No escape, Robin,” Oliver grins. He rolls over, pushing Robin down. He captures Robin’s lips, familiar and lovely, as his hands push down Robin’s trousers.

Robin’s cock is swelling, warming in his hands. Oliver grabs a condom from the bedside and smoothly rolls it on. His mouth moistens as he shifts down the bed.

Oliver pumps Robin’s cock. “You know, there’s no reason why we need to be dressed in my apartment. As long as we lock the doors and close the curtains…”

“Do you really want to have sex so often?” Robin says, his voice and face exceedingly calm in contrast to how his cock is growing in Oliver’s hands.

Oliver smiles innocently. “When there’s such a handsome man in the house, how can I resist?” He catches Robin’s flush and with satisfaction, puts Robin’s cock in his mouth.

The weight of Robin’s cock sends a shiver of pleasure down Oliver’s stomach. One hand at the base of Robin’s cock, other hand pulling his own cock out. Oliver sucks earnestly and skillfully, drawing out Robin’s groans.

“Ollie. Ollie,” Robin’s mumbling. His gaze is focused entirely on Oliver. His hand threads through Oliver's hair, sending tingles of sensation across Oliver’s scalp. “You’re the handsome one.”

Oliver’s eyes curve in happiness. He swallows down, moaning down Robin’s hot length. Robin’s fingers tightens in his hair, his hips thrusting. Oliver swallows again, letting Robin fuck his throat. He pumps his own cock, knowing how good Robin feels makes him feel really, really good too.

Every time he sucks, Robin’s body tenses.

“Your mouth is so good, Ollie.”

“You’re so good…”

Robin’s hips move faster as his control unravels. Oliver presses down, swallowing Robin’s cock to the root.

“Fuck, fuck,” Robin groans. “Oliver…!”

Robin’s cock pulses in his mouth, his breath descending to harsh pants. Oliver gives one more suck and leans up, giving Robin a smirk. “Good?”

“Ollie, come here,” Robin says. He half drags Oliver up, not that he’s resisting. Robin kisses him, swallowing Oliver’s breath, sending Oliver’s lips buzzing. His hands roam Oliver’s chest and tug Oliver’s cock.

Oliver’s orgasm comes slowly, soft lightning and warm pleasure as Robin’s hand twists just right. Come splatters over Robin’s clothes, and Oliver spares a moment of chagrin as he collapses down by Robin’s side. He buries his face in Robin’s hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He squirms a little when Robin wraps an arm in embrace.

“I know,” Robin says fondly. He tilts his head and lands a kiss on Oliver’s cheek.

“Say, Robin, my dear boyfriend, can you feed me those cream puffs in bed?”

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “Hm. Okay. But I need to get cleaned up first.”

“Alright, alright,” Oliver says benevolently. He pulls off Robin’s condom and lets Robin dispose of it, lazing as Robin goes over to the wardrobe and pulls out his sleepwear and a towel.

Oliver’s eyes light up. “Changed my mind,” he says, standing up. “I want to get cleaned up too.”

“You’ve become more and more unrestrained lately,” Robin comments.

“And you’ve been smiling more and more,” Oliver counters. “Wouldn’t this affect your evil image? Maybe we should do a bit of roleplay to get you back into it.”

Robin throws the towel at his face.

Oliver grins. “Thanks, darling,” he says exaggeratedly. He pulls out his own matching set of pyjamas and follows Robin into the bathroom.

 

 

Half an hour later, both of them clean, Oliver reclines on the sofa and allows Robin to feed him the delicate cream puffs, because his boyfriend dotes on him very, very much.

“There should be a boyfriend of the year award,” Oliver says. Soft pastry and sweet cream—vanilla and matcha and chocolate. Each cream puff is delicate, and he eats them in two bites—so that he can mischievously lick Robin’s fingers more often.

“Oliver,” Robin chides, exasperation heavy in his voice.

Oliver nudges Robin’s hand back, pushing the next cream puff towards Robin’s mouth. “Or, I can make my own. Henry wants to invite you to his birthday,” Oliver remembers. “It’s months away, I guess he’s saying you can’t break up with me before it.”

Robin yawns. “Alright, Mr. Campbell.”

Oliver reflexively yawns too. “When is Lark’s birthday?”

“I’ll remind you when it comes, but it’s already past this year. We usually have her birthday at home too...no matter what, I’ll invite you.”

Oliver smiles softly. “Your parents?”

“They’re coming round to the truth,” Robin says, with a wry smile. He tugs Oliver up. “Come on, bed time. I think we had too much excitement today.”

“Wait! I haven’t sung you my nightly song yet.” Oliver’s eyes dart to his guitar, but Robin’s arm around his waist stops him.

“Maybe you should sing it as a lullaby.”

Oliver turns in Robin’s arms, and hugs him. “Okay!”