Routine
Cold Sundays on Nantucket in November start something like this: Depending on the laziness to horniness ratio, Rodney will linger happily in their warm cocoon of a bed, one leg hitched up over John's thigh, rubbing off against him while John's only half-awake, and then reach over and give John a maddening, loose-fisted handjob1 that makes John shiver and sweat and do most of the work; or, John will haul Rodney out of bed and directly into a hot, hot shower, steam billowing around them, Rodney still loose and pliable from sleep and groaning softly when John leans into him and kisses him and gets creative with wet, slippery fingers.
And then, filled with goodwill and bonhomie, John will search out his lucky socks (pulling them out of the laundry basket, more likely than not) and, remote in hand, settle himself on the couch.
Rodney will line up ingredients on the kitchen counter and make his special hot chocolate (the secret is cinnamon, but John pretends he doesn't know) with extra marshmallows before he claims the other side of the couch. He'll make sure his mug is set safely on the side table, because Rodney knows from unfortunate firsthand experience that when John's watching football, and especially when he's watching the Patriots play, there's liable to be excited yelling and jostling and unexpected leaping to his feet that inevitably lead to hot beverages in Rodney's lap. (He's lost a laptop and two pairs of pants to John's enthusiasm, though, thankfully, he hasn't suffered any damage of a more personal nature.)
John will yell things like, "PASS, PASS!" and "OH, COME ON!" and "YOU DICK!" and accidentally bang his knee on the edge of the coffee table at least twice, and Rodney will tune out all but his funniest exclamations (for later mocking and/or blackmail purposes) and "work" (John knows he's really mostly surfing physics message boards and leaving snarky comments), and their toes will tangle together in the middle of the couch, John's dubiously clean lucky red socks pressed up fond and comfortable and snug against Rodney's fresh white ones.