“ Your bed’s a lot softer than I was thinkin’ it was gonna be. “
“ What? What did you think, I was going t’be sleeping on a granite slab? Who doesn’t have a soft bed around here? “ What was it that Bluford would say? Something stupid. ‘We stan a soft bed’. Who the fuck is Stan. It sounded appropriate, though - not that he’d say it aloud.
“ Y’know, you do walk around like you got some kinda stick up your ass. I’d be just as willing to believe it’s because your back is stiff from your granite bed. “
Everett can’t help but scoff derisively, and suddenly he’s turning away from the warm embrace he woke up to - late - this morning. Of course, it’s only mock frustration, but maybe, at heart, Everett’s a little bit of a dramatic bitch. Buck doesn’t seem to pay it any heed, regardless. He himself is already turning to wrap his arms around the man again, pulling him in against his chest. It’s much too cold in this room, even under all their blankets, to be separated like that. Come on now.
“ I think the general progression of things from here, and correct me if I’m wrong, is, y’know, coffee and breakfast and all that good shit. “
“ This is my house, I should be offering you ‘coffee and breakfast and all that good shit’. “ Everett personally thinks he can do a pretty good job mocking Buck’s odd twang, but somehow, the aforementioned doesn’t usually feel the same. It usually just adds to Everett’s unending amusement.
The following pinch does not.
“ Oi, hey! I’m sensitive. “
“ Be less of a jerk then. “ There’s no real heat behind those words either. “ Who cares if it’s your house? I never get to make food for anyone but Beans and me. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my, uh-- fuck-- um... huevos rancheros, that’s what that shit is. It’s, like, tortillas, and beans, and eggs, and... potatoes and all that. It’s a god damn mess but it’s totally worth it. “
Everett’s shifting in his arms, if only for the briefest second. Perhaps a little uneasily.
“ ... Or, uh... y’know, I make a pretty mean omelet, too, if you don’t like that idea. Just try me. You can throw absolutely anything in that thing, and I guarantee it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth. “
Something about that idea doesn’t sound nearly appealing as it should. Or, perhaps, not something. That particular phrase imbues a certain level of uncertainty in a passing thought. Everett knows why he’s having second thoughts.
“ You think we could just stay up here for a bit instead? “ Everett turns finally, stretching an arm more comfortably across Buck’s hip as he settles in again. “ I, um... well, really, I’m just really enjoying the... company, really. That’s all there is to that. “
For some reason, the more skeptical side of Buck’s brain - read: the overwhelming majority - decides that he doesn’t believe that excuse entirely. He’s not calling Everett a liar, but there’s something else about it that rubs him the wrong way.
“ Yeah, I mean... Indy’s a big kid, she can handle herself with the group down there. Probably still passed out anyway, it might not matter. And in light of that, I guess I don’t see the harm in being a little, uh, extra lazy this morning. We’ve got all day to have breakfast. “
There’s definitely no harm in the soft, fluttery kisses suddenly making their way along Buck’s neck, either. ‘Thank you’ kisses, he supposes.
“ It’ll be nice, you’ll see. Go ahead and turn back on the Netflix, I wanna go back to our show. I’ve waited seven and a half hours to get back to it; that’s more than long enough. “
Despite his concerns, Buck can’t help the amused chuckle that leaves him while he fishes for the various remotes under the covers. It does sound kind of nice, he thinks. There’s nothing wrong with a little morning binging and snuggling.
