(( LOG : milord ))

[downplaying]

[Characters:] Vincent & Claude
[Date:] 07.03.2009
[Summary:] And time for leftovers.
__________

He got up at six. To shower. Check his emails. Write a few notes on the newest announcements from French Parliament – nothing interesting today, not as of yet, but it’s still early and the French are quick. It can change in a matter of hours. For now, though, he’s off duty, cooking eggs and making coffee in the kitchen that’s really too tiny for proper food preparation. He isn’t expecting Vincent to stay forever, of course, but if the man wants a cup of coffee and a slice of baguette with scrambled eggs for breakfast before leaving, Claude can provide. If he doesn’t… Well, that’s his choice and his loss. Claude’s baguettes are homemade and his scrambled eggs are Michelin star-material. All of it his mom’s recipe, after all.

It’s eight, now. So, dressed in a bathrobe, he brings a simple tray with him into the bedroom, turning on the radio as he passes it on the shelf – some soulless pop music filling the silence and drowning out the sound of Vincent’s breathing. “I’d have picked you for an early riser,” Claude says, putting the tray down on his own side of the bed. Two cups of coffee, one basket of bread and a plate of eggs. He’s not particularly hungry himself, but he might grab a bite. For the sake of Vincent’s company, more than anything. If Vincent’s willing to provide that in return.

Comments

[justcrywolf]

It’s not the music on the radio that wakes him up – it’s the sound of activity from the kitchen, signaling calm and quiet movements as well as the unfamiliar scent of hot breakfast cooking. Vincent is somewhat slow, waking up properly. Especially on a Saturday, after a night of hot sex. But he’s man enough to know when there’s food in the air, especially since his usual breakfast consists mostly of a double-latte with cream. He’s not the least bit disorientated either, being very much used to waking up in different beds.

At Claude’s comment, he smiles sleepily, eyes still partly shut. “I wish.” Because he does. He’d love a job that requires him to be up at the break of dawn, keeping an eye on all the important news sites. Like, a meaningful job. Really. Any day. “No one expects me to do anything before, I don’t know, fucking lunch break.”

He stretches lazily before sitting up, pushing the pillow behind his back and leaning against the headboard. Looking up at Claude, finally, completely unsurprised to find the man dressed in a bathrobe. It goes with his casual style, doesn’t it?

“Hey.” He glances at the tray. “Looks delicious. You and the tray.”