Page 61 of Baking Battles

“Cheese?” Mattias has laughed. “Is that what we have brought?”

“I had a kilo of French cheeses in my suitcase coming in from Paris, all vacuum-packed ready to go. It’s been kept chilled, promise. Might smell a bit though. Dad likes the really stinky cheeses.”

“You boys and your cheese.” Christopher’s mum had laughed, giving Mattias a hug. “Now I have something to show you.” She had said, looking far too excited for Mattias’ liking. “Look. Look what is right here on the fridge.”

It’s a school photograph, obviously photocopied straight from the school yearbook. It’s old and faded, the paper crumbling around the edges, from years of being exposed to the air and light streaming through the windows over the summer months. Now though, life is shrouded in winter darkness most of the time, and Mattias has to strain his eyes to make out what he is looking at. He spots Alima, and what must be himself, well, a very young version of himself standing there, staring back at him from many many years ago.

“That’s you.” Bente says softly. “Christopher always said you would one day stand here, watching this faded old photo, and you would probably laugh your head off at him. But he always had a thing for you.”

“Mum.” Christopher warns.

“Oh shush, darling. There are no secrets in this house. You have spent years talking about Mattias this and Mattias that. I’m not the least surprised he is standing here today. So, Mattias. Dear dear Mattias. What are we going to do with you?”

She laughs, the woman with Christopher’s eyes, and the determined smile.

“We’re going to love him, Mum. Because, he’s mine, and I am keeping him.”

“Sounds good.” His mum had laughed. “Sounds like a perfectly good plan.”

And now here he is, curled up against a warm, naked body in a rickety wooden bed from another century. The curtain-less windows overlooking darkness and snowflakes slowly gathering on the windowsill, the distant rustle of tree branches heard over the soft breath of Christopher's against his shoulder.

The cabin is amazing, old and freezing cold, but full of Christmas and family and hugs. Full of musty-smelling old blankets and mugs with patterns from a bygone era. Full of hope and dreams and things to come. Because Mattias is lying here thinking he wants to come back.Bring Emi up for a weekend. Ask his Dad if he wants to tag along for a weekend of mushroom gathering and berry picking in the autumn. He thinks Magnus would love this. His son would have a blast running around in the dense forest, hiding in the old farm buildings across the field. He wonders if Sara would come. Just to have a summer's weekend, where they could all just be a family. Perhaps a mismatched unconventionally set-up of a family, but nevertheless, they are family.

He pulls the blankets further up and folds the edge carefully under Christopher's chin, letting his lips press a kiss on his forehead.

"Go to sleep, baby." Christopher whispers. "Long day tomorrow again, and you promised Mum to make her those cakes you were talking about, before breakfast. She has everything set up in the kitchen. So, stop thinking so hard and go to sleep."

"I'm not thinking too hard." Mattias sulks. Pretend sulks. Because he can't stop smiling in the dark.

"I can hear your brain chugging away. Just stop thinking or else I might have to blow you again and you will wake everyone up with all that loud panting you do."

"Shut up, ehhr… Chris." Mattias whispers, trying to swallow down the laughter sitting in his throat.

"That's it. You're getting another blow job." And there goes the bedposts, the whole room shaking as Christopher burrows down under the sheets, his hand already fondling Mattias's balls, the bed creaking alarmingly with every movement.

"I'll never be able to look your parents in the eyes again if you don't stop..." Mattias groans.

"Not stopping." Christopher whispers and licks a little line up Mattias's cock. Yeah. This is not going to end well. The throaty panting already escaping from Mattias's mouth. The smile on his face pretty much permanent.

Maybe it's a new thing. All this smiling. All this happiness. All this sex.

"I love you." Mattias whispers. It almost sounds alien coming out of his mouth, but he means it. Every word. "I love you… Chris. Fuck. I love you so much."

Maybe it's just a Christmas thing. A fairy-tale thing. A love thing. And Mattias thinks that just maybe, it’s his thing. Maybe it’s just a Mattias Strømme thing. A Christopher thing. An Emi thing. Even a Sara thing. Whatever it is, it’s all his, and he loves it.

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