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Hawk came downstairs from changing the sheets on Jackson and Kimberly's beds, following the sound of soft Christmas carols drifting from the kitchen. He leaned in the doorway, watching the mischief taking place in front of him. Tim - the love of his life, his angel, his Skippy - had the tin of Christmas cookies Hawk had the foresight to bake earlier that day open in front of him. It was about half as full as it had been when Hawk had carefully settled the gingerbread cookies inside. Now that wasn't necessarily a problem - he would never begrudge Tim eating a cookie or two. It was merely that Hawk had specifically marked those cookies as being meant for Santa.
Tim swore that he never touched the cookies meant for Santa, that he would never dream of doing such a thing. But, most damning of all, was the tall glass of milk by his Skippy's hand.
Hawk was certain that Tim would have a perfectly plausible explanation for why he was slowly but methodically eating his way through the cookies. But, since the last time Hawk had gotten a headstart on the baking, Tim had blamed squirrels and then Gremlins ("one of them had a white stripe, it was vicious, Hawk" - they'd watched the movie the previous night), Hawk wasn't inclined to seeing what Tim would come up with this time. It would inevitably make him want to laugh and kiss him, and Tim already had far too much power over Hawk in that particular department.
Instead, Hawk padded into the kitchen on socked feet, dropping a kiss to the top of Tim's head.
"The kids are going to be upset if there are no cookies for Santa because you ate them all, angel."
Tim paused, a slightly crispy cookie held halfway to his lips. "I'm doing the kids and Santa a favour, dearest," Tim replied evenly, setting the cookie down in favour of a sip of milk. "If we gave these cookies to Santa, the only things we'd be getting from him would be coal."
Hawk tilted his head, fighting back the smile wanting to break out on his lips. "Is that a comment on the taste of my Christmas cookies, Skip?"
Tim took another sip of milk, buying time to think of his answer. "Not the taste, Hawk," he said slowly. "More the crispy nature of the cookie."
In Tim Laughlin speak, that was as good as saying burnt to a crisp.
Hawk would admit that they were a little overdone, but he had a good excuse.
This was their year to have Christmas Eve and morning with the kids before Lucy and her husband took them for the rest of the day and then for a three day vacation up in Pennsylvania with Lucy's parents. And perhaps Hawk had been a little distracted wrapping their presents to notice the oven timer buzzing.
Hawk slipped onto his usual chair at the kitchen table, reminding himself sternly that he wasn't charged by Tim's smile.
"Perhaps if someone hadn't run off at Frankie's behest, we could have baked the Christmas cookies together like we planned," Hawk replied, but he reached for a cookie just the same.
"Well if you hadn't gotten that toy put aside for Frankie then I wouldn't have been summoned by him," Tim retorted, staring at him with challenge. Loving challenge. God, Hawk loved his feisty Skippy.
Reaching out, Hawk brushed a cookie crumb from the corner of Tim's lips. "And so I baked the cookies," Hawk said, neatly wrapping up that discussion.
Tim frowned, that little crease above his nose saying he wasn't exactly sure if he'd won or lost that particular discussion. But it had never been about winning or losing, it was about this...
"You'll make more with the kids and I tomorrow?"
The frown of confusion faded into a soft, sweet smile. "Of course, love," Tim said, reaching out to take his hand. His soft smile curved into a slightly more wicked grin. "Jax and I will make the cookies while you and Kimmy eat all the decorating Skittles."
That was, in fact, exactly what Hawk and Kimberly did, but Hawk was too much a political mover to ever admit to it. "Taste testing is an important part of the baking process, Skippy."
Tim hummed, hiding his smile behind his glass of milk. "Taste testing," he nodded, dubious as any man Hawk had ever seen. And Marcus was a gold medal winner in calling people on their bullshit. "The entire packet?"
"Precisely, Skippy," Hawk agreed, waving his cookie in demonstration. "You wouldn't want our Christmas baking to be ruined by one defective Skittle, would you?"
Tim mouthed one defective Skittle, shaking his head fondly. Laughter tripped out of his lips, giving Hawk that particular loving look that said he was lucky that Tim loved him. Or possibly that Tim couldn't love him more. Either way, Hawk revelled in it.
His angel leaned forward, pressing his laughter into Hawk's lips. Hawk dropped his cookie, framing Tim's face with his hands and leaning into the kiss as he always did.
Tim pulled back first, nuzzling his nose into Hawk's while they stared into the others eyes like the nauseatingly in love middle-ish aged men that they were.
Regretfully, Hawk tore his gaze away, looking instead at the half full time of slightly burned cookies. "Know any hungry squirrels or Gremlins, angel?"
Tim laughed again, nearly falling off his chair with his body's instinctive move to lean back contrary to the laws of physics. He righted himself, dropping a kiss to the tip of Hawk's nose. "I see a very handsome squirrel in front of me," Tim grinned, and it was Hawk's turn to give the you're lucky I love you look.
But two could play that game. He rose and crossed to the fridge, pouring two tall glasses of milk. Then, he put one in front of Tim and nudged the tin closer to him. "Nothing could be more handsome than the angelic Gizmo in front of me."
Tim's eyes lit up, sparkling behind his glasses. "Gizmo is a mogwai, not a gremlin."
Hawk chuckled, lifting another cookie from the tin. "Eat your cookies, Tim."
Tim hooked his foot around Hawk's ankle, smiling in happy contentment as he dunked his cookie in his milk.
And, really, it was worth burning a batch of cookies to spend a night like this with Tim.