Breakfast
Title: Breakfast
Author: Amber
Rating: PG-13 for language
Note: I was born and raised in Texas, so forgive the little digs at it. :) I honestly love my state (well, Austin, actually). This is just about the fluffiest thing I've ever written. Followup to Stay Strong and Freakout
Breakfast
When I lead him toward Java, he grabs my hand, and gingerly strokes my palm with his thumb.
"Luke, isn't there any place in Oakdale which actually cooks you breakfast, not food which has been sitting out for hours?" His plaintive expression makes me laugh out loud.
I kiss his hangdog mouth, and answer, "Definitely. I know just the thing."
I grab his hand, and guide him a few blocks down the streets. Finally, we happen upon the rather shabby diner.
"Here?" he says skeptically.
"Best breakfast in town," I assure him, smiling.
"Okay." he says, watching my face. "Let's go."
I pull open the glass door for him, and step back.
"After you," I murmur, watching his reaction with delight. He has the joyous smile of a small child; he's practically bouncing on his feet.
"You're gonna love it." I say, resting my hand on the small of his back.
"Not the only thing I love," he answers casually.
I don't reply, just wave the waitress over to seat us. Everyone in the place knows me, and we get seated within seconds.
"What can I get for you today?" she asks.
"You know what I would kill for?" Reid says. "Breakfast tacos with the hottest salsa you have. Chorizo, egg, and potato, corn tortillas. Orange juice, ooh, and french toast on the side."
He flashes a brilliant smile, and looks up at the waitress beseechingly.
"We can do that for you, hun," she answers, grinning at him. "What would you like, sweetie?"
"Umm, gingerbread pancakes, bacon, and some milk," I reply.
"Coming right up. I'll be right back with your drinks."
"I'm surprised she knows what chorizo is," he says, amused.
I chuckle. "Reid, believe it or not, our restaurants cater to all kinds of tastes. We have to, to maintain our small-town charm."
"We'll see, won't we?" He kicks my foot under the table.
"So do you miss Texas much?"
He scoffs, and stretches to move his foot along my ankle.
"Texas, no. I never really got to know Dallas, as you already know. But the food - oh, Luke. You haven't lived until you've eaten authentic Mexican enchiladas, with Spanish rice and refried beans. I visited Austin once, and they have this restaurant which serves you twelve different kinds of salsas on a wheel. Just sublime. I found one restaurant near the hospital, and I practically lived there. I miss the food so much."
The longing in his voice makes me jealous. I look down at the tablecloth, in somber silence. I haven't had so much passion in my voice for anything in years.
"Do you miss anything else?" I say to the tablecloth. Anyone else?
"Why, Luke Snyder." he says, teasing. "You're not worried some cowboy is going to come to Oakdale and drag me away, are you?"
I look up, and meet his dancing eyes. "When you put it that way -"
"There's no one waiting for me. In fact, I kept my life in Dallas completely professional, except for the occasional fling."
My hand snakes across the table, and he meets me halfway.
"That's good to know." I murmur.
"I'll be honest with you, Luke. I don't play games. I'm not that guy."
I nod, and I link my foot with his foot.
We sit like that for a moment, holding hands, holding feet.
"Here you go, boys." the waitress says cheerfully. "Enjoy."
He releases my hand, to make way for the hot plates. We don't break apart in embarrassment, though, like perhaps Noah and I would have done, in the early days. Instead, it's comfortable, relaxed.
"Thank you," I say to the departing waitress.
Reid digs into his tacos, and I take a bite of my pancakes. They're delicious.
"How are your tacos?" I say, around my food.
"They are awesome. Why didn't you ever tell me about this place before?"
I smirk, and he wags a finger at me. "Wait, don't answer that. I know we haven't had the most conventional start to our relationship."
"You have some potato on your face," I reply.
His tongue darts out to find the errant potato.
"Did I get it?"
"No," I lie. I lean over, and lick the piece of potato off his lip. My hand dangles on his cheek. I can't resist a stray kiss, and plunder his mouth with my driving tongue.
I taste the chorizo and the salsa on my tongue. It's heavenly.
Reid drops the taco back on the plate. He's panting slightly.
"Finish your food," he says quietly.
I don't reply, but dig into my pancakes.
He polishes off his tacos, with small moans of pleasure. He glances at the French toast, then up at me.
"You have syrup on your lip," he says matter-of-factly.
"Do I?" I ask innocently.
"No." he murmurs. He hums as he kisses me, the sweet suction sending a heat missile to my groin. His hand claims my thigh underneath the table.
He doesn't remove it, as I finish eating. His French toast sits on the table, untouched.
"Dr. Oliver, not finishing his food? I'm shocked."
He rolls his hand up and down my thigh, with a practiced motion, kneading the inner muscles.
"I'm not hungry for toast."
I grunt, and shove my plate to the side.
I get my wallet out with difficulty and toss a few twenties down. I get up from the table.
"Are you all right? You're limping. You should see a doctor." he says wryly.
Smug bastard.
"Very fucking funny," I retort.
Author: Amber
Rating: PG-13 for language
Note: I was born and raised in Texas, so forgive the little digs at it. :) I honestly love my state (well, Austin, actually). This is just about the fluffiest thing I've ever written. Followup to Stay Strong and Freakout
Breakfast
When I lead him toward Java, he grabs my hand, and gingerly strokes my palm with his thumb.
"Luke, isn't there any place in Oakdale which actually cooks you breakfast, not food which has been sitting out for hours?" His plaintive expression makes me laugh out loud.
I kiss his hangdog mouth, and answer, "Definitely. I know just the thing."
I grab his hand, and guide him a few blocks down the streets. Finally, we happen upon the rather shabby diner.
"Here?" he says skeptically.
"Best breakfast in town," I assure him, smiling.
"Okay." he says, watching my face. "Let's go."
I pull open the glass door for him, and step back.
"After you," I murmur, watching his reaction with delight. He has the joyous smile of a small child; he's practically bouncing on his feet.
"You're gonna love it." I say, resting my hand on the small of his back.
"Not the only thing I love," he answers casually.
I don't reply, just wave the waitress over to seat us. Everyone in the place knows me, and we get seated within seconds.
"What can I get for you today?" she asks.
"You know what I would kill for?" Reid says. "Breakfast tacos with the hottest salsa you have. Chorizo, egg, and potato, corn tortillas. Orange juice, ooh, and french toast on the side."
He flashes a brilliant smile, and looks up at the waitress beseechingly.
"We can do that for you, hun," she answers, grinning at him. "What would you like, sweetie?"
"Umm, gingerbread pancakes, bacon, and some milk," I reply.
"Coming right up. I'll be right back with your drinks."
"I'm surprised she knows what chorizo is," he says, amused.
I chuckle. "Reid, believe it or not, our restaurants cater to all kinds of tastes. We have to, to maintain our small-town charm."
"We'll see, won't we?" He kicks my foot under the table.
"So do you miss Texas much?"
He scoffs, and stretches to move his foot along my ankle.
"Texas, no. I never really got to know Dallas, as you already know. But the food - oh, Luke. You haven't lived until you've eaten authentic Mexican enchiladas, with Spanish rice and refried beans. I visited Austin once, and they have this restaurant which serves you twelve different kinds of salsas on a wheel. Just sublime. I found one restaurant near the hospital, and I practically lived there. I miss the food so much."
The longing in his voice makes me jealous. I look down at the tablecloth, in somber silence. I haven't had so much passion in my voice for anything in years.
"Do you miss anything else?" I say to the tablecloth. Anyone else?
"Why, Luke Snyder." he says, teasing. "You're not worried some cowboy is going to come to Oakdale and drag me away, are you?"
I look up, and meet his dancing eyes. "When you put it that way -"
"There's no one waiting for me. In fact, I kept my life in Dallas completely professional, except for the occasional fling."
My hand snakes across the table, and he meets me halfway.
"That's good to know." I murmur.
"I'll be honest with you, Luke. I don't play games. I'm not that guy."
I nod, and I link my foot with his foot.
We sit like that for a moment, holding hands, holding feet.
"Here you go, boys." the waitress says cheerfully. "Enjoy."
He releases my hand, to make way for the hot plates. We don't break apart in embarrassment, though, like perhaps Noah and I would have done, in the early days. Instead, it's comfortable, relaxed.
"Thank you," I say to the departing waitress.
Reid digs into his tacos, and I take a bite of my pancakes. They're delicious.
"How are your tacos?" I say, around my food.
"They are awesome. Why didn't you ever tell me about this place before?"
I smirk, and he wags a finger at me. "Wait, don't answer that. I know we haven't had the most conventional start to our relationship."
"You have some potato on your face," I reply.
His tongue darts out to find the errant potato.
"Did I get it?"
"No," I lie. I lean over, and lick the piece of potato off his lip. My hand dangles on his cheek. I can't resist a stray kiss, and plunder his mouth with my driving tongue.
I taste the chorizo and the salsa on my tongue. It's heavenly.
Reid drops the taco back on the plate. He's panting slightly.
"Finish your food," he says quietly.
I don't reply, but dig into my pancakes.
He polishes off his tacos, with small moans of pleasure. He glances at the French toast, then up at me.
"You have syrup on your lip," he says matter-of-factly.
"Do I?" I ask innocently.
"No." he murmurs. He hums as he kisses me, the sweet suction sending a heat missile to my groin. His hand claims my thigh underneath the table.
He doesn't remove it, as I finish eating. His French toast sits on the table, untouched.
"Dr. Oliver, not finishing his food? I'm shocked."
He rolls his hand up and down my thigh, with a practiced motion, kneading the inner muscles.
"I'm not hungry for toast."
I grunt, and shove my plate to the side.
I get my wallet out with difficulty and toss a few twenties down. I get up from the table.
"Are you all right? You're limping. You should see a doctor." he says wryly.
Smug bastard.
"Very fucking funny," I retort.