Early Sunday Morning
Crack eggs into a large bowl.
Joey's eyeballs felt as though their top layer had been pared off with a vegetable peeler, and his head ached dully all over. It wasn't that he was hung over, really--he'd been up half a dozen times in the night to relieve his bladder of the insane amount of water JC had pressed on him--but the combination of alcohol and fewer than six hours of interrupted sleep wasn't exactly invigorating.
Also, it wasn't even nine in the morning yet. He could still remember how it felt waking up to feed Brianna her morning bottle, the mingled annoyance and pride at seeing the yellow morning light in the kitchen and hearing the birds go nuts in their trees. The difference between six-thirty and eight-thirty was that none of the pride remained, only the disgruntlement.
Melt a generous amount of butter in a frying pan over medium-low heat.
Justin lay on his stomach in a spill of sunlight, the duvet rucked down below his waist. His skin shone pale and golden--he'd been too busy in the studio to develop his usual spring tan--and the light chased down the planes of his back until it reached the shadowed hollows above the upper curve of his ass.
Beat eggs until well-blended.
If Joey were at home, there'd be chores to do. Laundry, which he'd been meaning to do for three or four weeks and somehow never got around to, though he was down to his last pair of socks that didn't have holes in the toes and really couldn't put it off much longer. Replacing the lightbulb in the upstairs hallway. Washing the car. Joey snorted.
Okay, so if he were at home, he'd probably end up reading the paper and finishing off the leftover pizza in his fridge while watching cartoons, maybe organizing his music collection, but even that would be more productive than lying here watching Justin sleep.
He got out of bed and pulled on his boxers and jeans with a sudden decisiveness. Waking people up at nine in the morning didn't count as cruel and unusual punishment if you were offering breakfast.
Add a pinch or two of salt...
As per usual, the inside of JC's fridge was white and gleaming and contained enough food to last Joey maybe half a day. There were eggs, though, and the butter to cook them in. JC must have gone to the farmer's market the day before, because the wooden bowl on his table was filled with tomatoes and avocadoes, and there was a fresh baguette in the breadbox. Plenty for a good breakfast.
After digging through every cabinet in the kitchen, Joey finally uncovered a large frying pan in the drawer beneath the stove. He dropped a knob of butter in the middle of the pan and set it on the front burner, but didn't start melting it yet. JC's kitchen was the equivalent of a Where's Waldo? book when it came to finding anything; he didn't want to burn the butter before he'd even gotten all of his ingredients assembled.
...freshly ground black pepper...
He'd just tracked down the salt--which was chunky and grayish-purple, but tasted fine, and which JC apparently kept in a porcelain container on his counter--when Justin appeared in the doorway.
"Good morning," Joey said.
Justin nodded vaguely at him, scratching his stomach through his threadbare undershirt. He'd put it on backwards, and the neckline bumped ludicrously high beneath his chin, but Joey wasn't about to say anything.
Justin opened the fridge door and stared inside with a sort of tired despair.
"I'm cooking eggs," Joey reassured him, nudging him towards the table.
"Avocadoes," Justin said, and snagged a knife on the way. Half a minute later he was back to get the baguette and a breadknife, and he peered over Joey's shoulder while Joey beat the weird salt and even weirder sugar and reassuringly normal black pepper into the eggs. "Looks good."
"It looks like raw eggs," Joey said.
"Still." He stole what was left of the butter and ambled back to the table.
Joey turned the burner on and kept one eye on the butter and the other on Justin, who was dropping chopped up bits of avocado onto a hunk of baguette and mashing them to paste with his fingers. He licked his fingers clean with obscene enjoyment and wiped them on his track pants.
"Don't let Jace knew you did that," Joey said, when Justin took pinches of salt and pepper for his sandwich without bothering to wash his hands first.
"Did what?" Justin asked around a mouthful of bread and avocado.
The butter was nearly melted, and Joey tilted the pan slightly until the last solid bits dissolved into the rest. "Nothing." He slipped the eggs into the pan, watching the swirling sheen of butter around the edges.
"Lemon," Justin said, and Joey paused in stirring the eggs for long enough to get a lemon out of the produce drawer in the fridge, cut it in half, and hand both halves to Justin.
Justin grunted his thanks. He squeezed careful drops of lemon juice onto his avocado paste, sprinkled another pinch of pepper on top, and tried his sandwich again. "Mmm."
The sound of his teeth crunching the baguette was ridiculously tempting, especially on top of the buttery smell rising from the pan. Hunger bit sharp and deep in Joey's belly.
He tried to concentrate on cooking, when suddenly the sandwich was jammed underneath his nose. "You're going to drool all over the eggs, if you're not careful," Justin said smugly.
"Thanks," Joey said, leaning forward to take a bite, just as JC stumbled sleepily into the room.
...and half a pinch of sugar.
"Eggs!" JC said...one-fourth the syllables and ten times the enthusiasm of Justin's greeting.
"In a minute," Joey said. "Sit down and wait." Justin was already back at the table, chewing his avocado sandwich with cheerful determination.
JC shook his head and reached around Joey for the tea kettle, filled it with cold water from the tap, and set it to boil. A bit of rummaging in the cabinet and he found a French press, into which he spooned ground coffee carefully.
"The eggs'll be done way before the coffee is," Joey said.
JC smiled. "It'll be our dessert."
Joey wanted to say something about how drinking coffee for dessert would make more sense if JC didn't view sugar as some sort of elixir of death, but just then the eggs were done, and he had to rush to get their plates and spoon out the eggs before they got overcooked and rubbery.
Add a few spoonfuls of cold water, and beat until frothy.
After they'd finished breakfast, Justin took everybody's dishes to the sink. There was the dishwasher, of course, but Justin was going through an environmental phase. Joey was encouraging of this, on the grounds that recycling and water conservation might actually do some good, while Justin's previous hobby--the self-help books--only drove everyone around him crazy.
Joey finished the last few sips of his coffee and added the mug to the pile in the sink. The smell of the dishwashing detergent was more medicinal than he'd expected, and he ducked a little to peer at the bottle. Green tea. He shook his head in fond exasperation. Only JC.
Justin was humming softly to himself, and his back was warm and strong when Joey leaned against it. He wrapped his arms around Justin's slim waist and pressed closer until their hearts beat together, Justin's only a little slower than his.
When the last dish was rinsed and in the dishrack, Justin tilted his head to kiss Joey's jaw. JC made a quiet, pleased sound, and Justin shivered against him. Without thinking about what he was doing, Joey slipped his hand down to palm the curve of Justin's ass.
Justin rocked back against him, and there really wasn't any reason not to clasp Justin's waist firmly to hold him still for Joey's kiss. Ordinarily he'd feel a bit rude, making out with his boyfriend in someone else's kitchen while his host drank coffee at the table, but JC was hardly the person to mind that sort of thing.
Somehow, that continued to be a good argument when Justin pushed him to his knees with gentle hands. And even when Joey tugged Justin's pants down, JC gasping audibly behind them.
Joey rubbed his cheek against Justin's erection, his beard and the morning stubble higher on his cheeks rasping along delicate skin. The same treatment would have had him screaming--and not in the good way--but Justin was excitingly insensitive. It made Joey want to hold him with hard, greedy hands, to press fingermark bruises into the soft skin that curved over Justin's biceps and the sharp points of his hips. And he did, often, and Justin would always suck in an unsteady breath and go limp under his hands, inviting further ravishment with the open sprawl of his limbs.
Now he nudged his hips against Joey's face. "Please."
Joey nuzzled the curls at the base of his cock, opened his mouth slightly to taste their scent. "Joey, please. Come on, just..."
He licked slowly up Justin's cock, and Justin sighed, "Thank you," when he took it, bitter and salty, in his mouth.
Chivvy eggs about in the pan with a spatula until almost cooked, and remove from burner.
When Justin came, Joey let himself be pulled to his feet, so that Justin could caress him with buttery fingers and kiss the taste of his come off Joey's lips. And then JC was between them, murmuring "Oh," into Joey's mouth as though this new, coffee-flavored kiss they shared were an epiphany.
"You look good together," Justin said softly, and Joey had to kiss him again. They traded kisses for awhile--Joey and Justin, Joey and JC, JC and Justin--until their caresses became lingering fingers on heated flesh, and they sank panting to the floor.
It was even harder to struggle out of clothes with six pairs of hands helping, but none of them was wearing much, and it was only a brief time before JC was leaning over to open a drawer and take out a familiar looking tube.
"Here," he said, and pressed it into Joey's hands.
Justin flipped over without being asked and crawled closer to JC, trusting Joey to follow.
JC tapped him on the chin and made Justin look him in the eyes. "Do you want me to put on a condom?"
"Is there a particular reason I should?"
Justin shook his head. "It's fine, then," and he bent down to suck in JC's cock.
It was too much to watch the two of them and what he was doing, as well, so Joey stared at his fingers slipping into Justin's ass with desperate concentration, and didn't let himself look at JC until he'd lined his hips up with Justin's and was sliding home.
JC's head was tipped back against the cabinets, a deep flush high on his cheekbones. He stared back at Joey with half-lidded eyes, his hand rubbing the back of Justin's neck as the bobbing of Justin's head became faster and increasingly sloppy and JC rocked up into his mouth. The last thing Joey saw before he came was JC pressing down on Justin's neck with a deceptively delicate looking hand while Justin choked and moaned around his cock.
(The heat of the pan will finish cooking them to perfection.)
The three of them collapsed together on the floor, curled warmly into each other.
When their breathing had settled somewhat, Joey asked, "Next time, do you think we could aim for someplace with a bed?"
JC shook his head, smiling.
"A couch? Carpet? Something that's softer than your fricking imported French tiles?"
"They're Italian," JC said, as if that were the important part of the conversation.
"They're hell on my knees, whatever the fuck they are," Joey answered.
JC's mouth twisted in a smile and he leaned forward to kiss Joey's knees. "Better?"
"Let me try," and Justin pushed in next to JC and dropped a sloppy kiss on Joey's left knee. "Better?"
Joey looked at the two of them, kneeling naked in front of him like really, really good porn. "Yeah. Much."