nondisjunction
original fiction (Airports and Hipsters), Embry & Callum, "naked breakfast." & "back to work", writerverse
nondisjunction
Embry drifts awake to find himself alone, and while that's not an uncommon occurrance, it still sends a jolt of worry through his sleep-fuzzy mind. There are faint sounds of life coming from the kitchen, though, and the curtains on the window have been pulled back to let in the late-March sunlight, so he figures that nothing has gone terribly wrong. He stretches, face buried in his pillow, and groans when his back pops.
He could get used to this.
"It's past eleven, y'know. You're supposed to be at work." A voice reminds him from the doorway, and he waves a hand dismissively in response. Callum chuckles, and the bed dips when he perches on it at his feet. "You owe me at least ten thousand words."
The worst part about dating your publisher, Embry muses, is that you can't seem to escape your word count when they're around. He grumbles unintelligibly into his pillow, and Callum grabs his right foot, pulling it into his lap, fingers ghosting lightly over the heel. "I could tickle you until you wake up," Comes the warning, and Embry jerks away.
"G'way."
"Come to breakfast, then, lazybones. I'm making pancakes." Callum rolls him over, hands lingering on his bare hips while Embry blinks up at him owlishly. "Where're your glasses?"
Probably under the bed. Again. "I'll find 'em. Give us a kiss, then." Embry grumbles, attempting to wriggle out of the tangled sheets. They're wrapped like a straight jacket around his chest, keeping his arms pressed firmly to his sides, which isn't helping with the whole getting up and going to breakfast. Callum presses a kiss to his forehead and flounces off to the kitchen, with a wide grin that says that he knows why Embry is scowling and that he's certainly not going to help.
Bastard.
He ends up falling off the bed because he writhes too much and slides off the side, and it's entirely Callum's fault.
"Took you long enough." Callum flips a pancake with annoying ease - Embry has never managed to get the hang of making pancakes, despite his aborted two years of culinary school - glancing over his shoulder to smirk at him.
"Shut up. Where're my pancakes, slave-driver?" Embry plops into his seat at the worn, chipped, dull blue Formica table, grabbing at Callum's cup of orange juice.
"Are you going to get dressed, if I give them to you?" Callum offers him a slice of bacon, which Embry snatches and pops into his mouth immediately. "You have to go into the office at some point today."
"Will you stay naked? And is this turkey bacon, because ugh." He gags on the traitorous not-bacon, which tastes bland and not in the faintest like delicious fried pork, spitting it into a napkin. Callum sighs, pitching the napkin into the trash, and Embry gulps down the cup of orange juice.
"I thought it'd be worth trying. No?" Callum frowns at the pan of still-frying not-bacon. Embry shakes his head. "Shame." He sets a plate of syrup-soaked pancakes in front of Embry, taking the seat opposite him with his own.
"Never skimp on bacon, Cal. That was awful," Embry takes a huge bite of the golden-brown pancakes, syrup dribbling stickily down his chin. "These're good, though."
Callum smiles at him, eyes doing that crinkling thing where he looks absolutely adorable, and Embry nearly chokes on his pancakes. "I'm glad. I haven't ever made them before."
They eat in silence after that, Embry happily devouring his pancakes - and getting syrup all over his face - while Callum takes a more refined approach. It's comfortable and overly domestic-feeling, and Embry kind of loves it. The sunlight blaring in from the open window over the sink puts Callum's red hair and pale shoulders into sharp relief, his dark eyes glinting in the harsh light, and Embry can feel himself falling just a bit more in love with him.
"Now, go get dressed. You owe me words, and I have to do dishes." And the moment is ruined by Callum opening his giant mouth.
Typical. But the smile Callum gives him when he gets up and puts his plate in the sink brings a grin to his own face in return, and Embry figures that getting back to work won't be all that bad.
Especially if it means having pancakes naked at eleven-thirty in the morning with Callum.
nondisjunction
Embry drifts awake to find himself alone, and while that's not an uncommon occurrance, it still sends a jolt of worry through his sleep-fuzzy mind. There are faint sounds of life coming from the kitchen, though, and the curtains on the window have been pulled back to let in the late-March sunlight, so he figures that nothing has gone terribly wrong. He stretches, face buried in his pillow, and groans when his back pops.
He could get used to this.
"It's past eleven, y'know. You're supposed to be at work." A voice reminds him from the doorway, and he waves a hand dismissively in response. Callum chuckles, and the bed dips when he perches on it at his feet. "You owe me at least ten thousand words."
The worst part about dating your publisher, Embry muses, is that you can't seem to escape your word count when they're around. He grumbles unintelligibly into his pillow, and Callum grabs his right foot, pulling it into his lap, fingers ghosting lightly over the heel. "I could tickle you until you wake up," Comes the warning, and Embry jerks away.
"G'way."
"Come to breakfast, then, lazybones. I'm making pancakes." Callum rolls him over, hands lingering on his bare hips while Embry blinks up at him owlishly. "Where're your glasses?"
Probably under the bed. Again. "I'll find 'em. Give us a kiss, then." Embry grumbles, attempting to wriggle out of the tangled sheets. They're wrapped like a straight jacket around his chest, keeping his arms pressed firmly to his sides, which isn't helping with the whole getting up and going to breakfast. Callum presses a kiss to his forehead and flounces off to the kitchen, with a wide grin that says that he knows why Embry is scowling and that he's certainly not going to help.
Bastard.
He ends up falling off the bed because he writhes too much and slides off the side, and it's entirely Callum's fault.
"Took you long enough." Callum flips a pancake with annoying ease - Embry has never managed to get the hang of making pancakes, despite his aborted two years of culinary school - glancing over his shoulder to smirk at him.
"Shut up. Where're my pancakes, slave-driver?" Embry plops into his seat at the worn, chipped, dull blue Formica table, grabbing at Callum's cup of orange juice.
"Are you going to get dressed, if I give them to you?" Callum offers him a slice of bacon, which Embry snatches and pops into his mouth immediately. "You have to go into the office at some point today."
"Will you stay naked? And is this turkey bacon, because ugh." He gags on the traitorous not-bacon, which tastes bland and not in the faintest like delicious fried pork, spitting it into a napkin. Callum sighs, pitching the napkin into the trash, and Embry gulps down the cup of orange juice.
"I thought it'd be worth trying. No?" Callum frowns at the pan of still-frying not-bacon. Embry shakes his head. "Shame." He sets a plate of syrup-soaked pancakes in front of Embry, taking the seat opposite him with his own.
"Never skimp on bacon, Cal. That was awful," Embry takes a huge bite of the golden-brown pancakes, syrup dribbling stickily down his chin. "These're good, though."
Callum smiles at him, eyes doing that crinkling thing where he looks absolutely adorable, and Embry nearly chokes on his pancakes. "I'm glad. I haven't ever made them before."
They eat in silence after that, Embry happily devouring his pancakes - and getting syrup all over his face - while Callum takes a more refined approach. It's comfortable and overly domestic-feeling, and Embry kind of loves it. The sunlight blaring in from the open window over the sink puts Callum's red hair and pale shoulders into sharp relief, his dark eyes glinting in the harsh light, and Embry can feel himself falling just a bit more in love with him.
"Now, go get dressed. You owe me words, and I have to do dishes." And the moment is ruined by Callum opening his giant mouth.
Typical. But the smile Callum gives him when he gets up and puts his plate in the sink brings a grin to his own face in return, and Embry figures that getting back to work won't be all that bad.
Especially if it means having pancakes naked at eleven-thirty in the morning with Callum.