![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
First draft, unfinished epic, yada yada. With thanks to Miranda for the thorough beta. I'll remember to watch the girly modifiers. The Joey-JC parts of this are hereby dedicated to someone who knows who she is.
*
JC eased the spatula underneath the circle of batter and flipped it over. "Joey, you're gonna be late!"
There was a thud and a muffled curse before Joey emerged from the bathroom, toothbrush still foaming between his teeth. "Hnks, ma." He reached over JC's shoulder to the cabinet by the stove, but stopped mid-motion. "Iha hesh ancaks?"
"Only if you're out here in three minutes."
Joey made it in two and forty-nine seconds, but only because sock-clad feet slid well on the apartment's hardwood floors. He sidled up to JC, hooked his chin over JC's shoulder and drawled, "Honey, I completely forgot, can I make it up to you tonight?"
JC nudged Joey with his elbow and pointed to the refrigerator. "Hand me the milk."
Joey did as he was told. "Really though, what's the occasion?"
JC had moved onto scrambled eggs and grinned into the panful of happy yellow fluff and cooking spray, but kept his tone nonchalant. "There may've been a phone call. From the people about the thing."
Pausing with half a link of microwaved sausage midway to his mouth, Joey whooped and pumped his fist, jumping almost high enough to reach the ceiling. Which wasn't too impressive given its eight-foot height, but Mrs. Johnson in 302 made more noise about their noise than their noise ever made. But the fist of some 170 pounds of 24 year-old wouldn't have done the plaster any good either. "I got it?" Joey said around the bite.
Tapping the pan's contents onto their best blue plastic china, JC turned back to Joey with a twirl, his eyes disappeared for a moment as he winked because he still couldn't do it with just one. "You got it."
It was good that JC had just enough time to set the still-hot pan aside because Joey leaping on his back now wasn't Joey leaping on his back when they'd met almost nine years ago. He gave a soft oof and staggered a little but fiercely returned Joey's bearhug.
Joey ate quickly, gamely forgoing the ketchup. JC really did make the best eggs.
"Thanks for breakfast, C." Joey dumped his plate into the sink and stopped to kiss JC soundly on the cheek on his way to the hall closet. "You're the best gay mother I ever had."
"I'm the only one you've ever had," JC called over the brim of his mug. He didn't usually cave to coffee until he needed it in the late afternoon, so for now it was just orange juice in dishwasher-safe ceramic.
"You search the want ads, there's not one of them hiring for a replacement," Joey yelled over his shoulder.
"Nobody would take it. No pay, a three-room sometimes air-conditioned hole on the lower East Side with a spectacular brick wall view and a roommate who doesn't care about the Fusuma walls."
Not for shame or modesty but Joey still had the consideration to blush faintly as he came back into their tiny kitchen. "Sorry about that. Julie, well, you know."
"I do now, stud." JC gestured to the thermos on the counter next to a ring of keys, pre-empting the rest of Joey's, "Where--"
Joey smiled and snaked his arms around JC's waist to squeeze once more, pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "Couldn't do it without you."
"Just remember that when it's your name up there in lights."
*
I feel like I should be reccing something good after these. So, y'all scamper now and read Sandy the Older's fantabulous Too Many People Out of Love, currently known as the story I am emphatically not rewriting. As if. It's one of only a very small selection that gives me 'wanna have its babies' urges. Ahem. And that was the TMI line way back there, huh? Good to know.
JC eased the spatula underneath the circle of batter and flipped it over. "Joey, you're gonna be late!"
There was a thud and a muffled curse before Joey emerged from the bathroom, toothbrush still foaming between his teeth. "Hnks, ma." He reached over JC's shoulder to the cabinet by the stove, but stopped mid-motion. "Iha hesh ancaks?"
"Only if you're out here in three minutes."
Joey made it in two and forty-nine seconds, but only because sock-clad feet slid well on the apartment's hardwood floors. He sidled up to JC, hooked his chin over JC's shoulder and drawled, "Honey, I completely forgot, can I make it up to you tonight?"
JC nudged Joey with his elbow and pointed to the refrigerator. "Hand me the milk."
Joey did as he was told. "Really though, what's the occasion?"
JC had moved onto scrambled eggs and grinned into the panful of happy yellow fluff and cooking spray, but kept his tone nonchalant. "There may've been a phone call. From the people about the thing."
Pausing with half a link of microwaved sausage midway to his mouth, Joey whooped and pumped his fist, jumping almost high enough to reach the ceiling. Which wasn't too impressive given its eight-foot height, but Mrs. Johnson in 302 made more noise about their noise than their noise ever made. But the fist of some 170 pounds of 24 year-old wouldn't have done the plaster any good either. "I got it?" Joey said around the bite.
Tapping the pan's contents onto their best blue plastic china, JC turned back to Joey with a twirl, his eyes disappeared for a moment as he winked because he still couldn't do it with just one. "You got it."
It was good that JC had just enough time to set the still-hot pan aside because Joey leaping on his back now wasn't Joey leaping on his back when they'd met almost nine years ago. He gave a soft oof and staggered a little but fiercely returned Joey's bearhug.
Joey ate quickly, gamely forgoing the ketchup. JC really did make the best eggs.
"Thanks for breakfast, C." Joey dumped his plate into the sink and stopped to kiss JC soundly on the cheek on his way to the hall closet. "You're the best gay mother I ever had."
"I'm the only one you've ever had," JC called over the brim of his mug. He didn't usually cave to coffee until he needed it in the late afternoon, so for now it was just orange juice in dishwasher-safe ceramic.
"You search the want ads, there's not one of them hiring for a replacement," Joey yelled over his shoulder.
"Nobody would take it. No pay, a three-room sometimes air-conditioned hole on the lower East Side with a spectacular brick wall view and a roommate who doesn't care about the Fusuma walls."
Not for shame or modesty but Joey still had the consideration to blush faintly as he came back into their tiny kitchen. "Sorry about that. Julie, well, you know."
"I do now, stud." JC gestured to the thermos on the counter next to a ring of keys, pre-empting the rest of Joey's, "Where--"
Joey smiled and snaked his arms around JC's waist to squeeze once more, pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "Couldn't do it without you."
"Just remember that when it's your name up there in lights."
I feel like I should be reccing something good after these. So, y'all scamper now and read Sandy the Older's fantabulous Too Many People Out of Love, currently known as the story I am emphatically not rewriting. As if. It's one of only a very small selection that gives me 'wanna have its babies' urges. Ahem. And that was the TMI line way back there, huh? Good to know.
