1 Cup of Brown Sugar

R.C. McLachlan

Summary: Gus, Justin, and Brian make cookies… or something.
For mi_nion, because she stepped up to the plate and requested a fic where Brian is a daddy. Here you go, sweetie! Hope it's what you wanted.


"'Tsp'? What the fuck is a 'tsp'?"

"No swearing around Gus, Brian," Justin hisses at you for the countless time, but (as usual) it falls on deaf ears and you turn back to the cookbook. A fucking cookbook! Who the fuck uses a cookbook anymore? They invented boxed shit. And if God intended for you to cook, He wouldn't have created take-out menus.

"Do I even own a shiny metal pan?"

"What do you think I cooked all those dinners in, a cauldron?"

You decide not to mutter the 'maybe' that's on your tongue and turn your attention to your left, where your son is eyeing the two eggs laid out on the counter with interest. He reaches for one, eyes wide with excitement, and a smile spreads across his face.

"Daddy, can I break the eggs now?"

Hm, child under thirteen armed with raw poultry. Uh, fuck no.

"No, Gus."

He looks up at you with a bland look before turning to Justin with an angelic face. "Justin, may I break an egg, please?"

… Okay. So your son worships your lover. Nothing new. But when the fuck has he ever ignored you like that before?

Justin smiles apologetically at Gus. "Not this time, kiddo. But you can do the Hershey Kisses, okay?"

Gus grins and sits back on the stool, mollified. Hoo-fucking-rah for Saint Justin.

You squint to read the typed recipe that resides below the picture of a batch of perfect, fucking cookies and frown. "Does that say 9 cups of flour?"

A pale hand reaches over to take it from you. "No, four… have you been to your eye doctor recently? I think you might need glasses."

"I think you might need a chastity belt. After this morning's fu--" glaring at you, gesturing pointedly at Gus "-- rousing eight rounds, I've decided to slap one on you and send you to a convent."

Justin rolls his eyes and turns back to the mixing bowl, but you catch the self-smug grin that lights his face as he thinks back to this morning, before Gus arrived with Lindsay and Mel for a week's stay in the Pitts. When you woke up… Jesus, where the fuck did he learn to do that with his tongue? And how the fuck could he bend that way when--


You file it away for the next time you're called elsewhere for a client. This morning is enough jerk-off fodder for a fucking month.

"Daddy! Pour the flour!"

"Christ, I hear you!" You pour it carelessly into the bowl and toss the measuring cup somewhere off to the side. Justin shoots you another dark look, one that says 'do this for Gus', and you sit back. He purses his lips in irritation and then helps Gus measure out one cup of brown sugar to add to the mix. You close the peanut butter jar.

"Okay now, Gus, we're going to mix it. Do you want to do it?"

Visions of your loft splattered with cookie dough are almost enough to make you pass out.

"Why don't you let daddy do it?" You offer generously with a weak smile. "I'm sure your arm's tired from pouring all that shi--stuff… right, Gus?"

Your son blinks twice, and then deadpans, "daddy, c'mon. Do I look stupid to you?"

Justin begins stacking the measuring cups, pressing his lips together against a grin that's threatening to break through. So glad he gets such enjoyment at your expense.

"Hey, Justin! Can I get a puppy?"

Little shit doesn't even bother asking you this time.

Justin taps his finger against his chin a few times, thinking. "Hmm… I don't know, Gus. What would your mommies say?"

Gus shakes his head emphatically. "No! Ma said I could, but I'd have to keep it here."

Melanie Marcus is fucking dead.

Biting his lip, grin finally winning out and causing your heart to jump (warning sign of a heart attack?), Justin begins to help Gus mix the ingredients into dough. When it's a huge blob of suede brown, Justin takes Gus to wash his hands before they touch it again. You watch them, itching to light up a cigarette, and grudgingly admit to yourself that if Justin's stuck in a convent, no one will help Gus make cookies. They both should be counting their fucking lucky stars that you were even present for this.

Brian Kinney does not fucking take cooking tips from Betty fucking Crocker.

"Okay. Now, we're going to roll the dough into little balls, and then roll them around the sugar."

"Why little balls?" You inquire innocently, laughing when Justin chokes on a giggle. "I happen to love big ba--"

"Here, Gus. Take some dough and roll it like this." Justin demonstrates how it's done, methodically rolling it into a ball and then coating it with white sugar. When he's finished, he lays a perfect 2-inch ball of cookie dough down on the pan. Gus goes to do the same, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth in concentration. His finished product is a larger, somewhat misshaped sphere. He sticks it proudly right beside Justin's, then looks angrily confused when Justin moves it over a few inches.

"Why'd you do that? Didn't I do a good job?"

Justin wraps his arm around Gus's head and pulls him in for a hug. "You did a great job. But cookies need their own space. When they cook, they grow bigger. You don't want your cookies stuck together, right?"

Gus shakes his head. "No."

"So, we need to give each cookie their own space. And this is just the first batch. We should get about thirty-six cookies out of the whole thing."

Christ. There are going to be crumbs everywhere.

"Daddy, help us make balls!"

Justin bursts into laughter and you can't help but join in. You move to stand behind Justin and cover his hands with yours, forcing his fingers into the dough and to roll a huge ball of dough. You make his left hand lift it up for your inspection.

"See this, sonny boy?" You ask Gus, who nods attentively. "This is what you want to look for in life. A giant pair of them."

Justin elbows you hard in the solar plexus.

"Ah, shit! I think you broke something!"

"Stop trying to traumatize your son. What if he's straight?"

"He can have a little recreational fun outside of marriage."

You manage to evade the elbow this time.

"Daddy, I have a ball that's bigger than that!"

You make a show of leaning down to look until you're almost eye-level with the stool. Justin's heel crashes down on your toes.

"Stop that."

"Wait until I tell Debbie that her darling Sunshine abuses me."

He snickers and you press and open-mouthed kiss to his neck, nuzzling your nose in the hair at his nape. You rest your cheek against him and peer at Gus.

"Do you now?"

"Mm! I've got three of them."

"Well, fuck-a-doodle-do."


"Daddy, don't swear!"

You say nothing, only reach for the unopened bag of Hershey Kisses and let Gus ramble on about his three balls.

"One's blue, one's pink, and one's reeeeeally big. It's got purple polka dots all over it."

Blue, pink, and polka dot. If you didn't know any better, you'd say your son was gayer than Liberache.

"I know what you're thinking," Justin mutters, and you help him make another ball of dough. You grin against his hair, inhaling softly. "And if you think for one-- are you smelling me?"

"… No."

"You know that wigs me the hell out. Stop it."

"Oh, but Mister Taylor, you smell so good," you sing into his ear, biting at the lobe. He pulls away with a visible shiver.

"Didn't you get enough this morning?"

"Haven't I taught you anything? There's no such thing as 'enough'. And as soon as Gus leaves," you drop your voice to a whisper, "I want an encore performance."

You grin as Justin's back goes rigid with arousal.

"Gus, let daddy put the pan in the oven. It's too hot for you."

An hour later, you're on your sofa, lit up by the television, a Spongebob Squarepants episode on, lap occupied by Gus. He's fallen asleep, cookie crumbs and bits of chocolate smeared around his mouth. Justin's alternating between watching the show and flexing his fingers, which are linked with yours.

On the coffee table in front of you is a plate of Peanut Butter Blossoms.

Peanut Butter Blossoms -- Recipe
1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup butter
1 cup chunky peanut butter
2 eggs
1/4 cup milk
2 teaspoon vanilla
3 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
candy kisses

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Cream sugars, butter and peanut butter. Beat in eggs, milk, and vanilla. Sift flour, baking soda, and salt. Add to peanut butter mixture and mix well.
Roll into balls and roll in sugar. Bake on ungreased cookie sheets for 8 to 10 minutes. Take cookies out and press candy kisses in the center of each cookie and bake for another 1 to 2 minutes. Cool on wire rack.