Dec. 23rd, 2014

prodigalflame: (Default)
John had woken early and moved lightly under the sheets, to prop his head up on one hand and just look at the young man sleeping on the other side of the bed. Bobby Drake. Bobby freaking Drake, probably Robert, possibly Louis just for shits and giggles, sleeping in his bed, curled up under the covers after a night that wasn't nearly drunk enough to give either of them any excuses.

John just looked at him for a few minutes that felt like a lifetime, breathing quiet, speaking no words, and the smile that spread across his face was full of wonder. Even if no one was awake to see it.

So he snuck out of bed like a thief, grabbing a decent plush robe from the back of the door and tying it around his waist, and headed down the stairs to fry up some eggs and bacon for breakfast. Breakfast for two, that was.

The problem, he decided, after he'd gotten the eggs out and made sure the bacon was defrosted, was that there was no fucking point in cooking a romantic/cute/welcoming/what-the-fuck-ever breakfast if he got it wrong.

So he trooped 'round to the stairwell near the dining area and bellowed "Hey, asshole! Get down here and tell me how you like your eggs."
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