Domestic
Van shuffled to the kitchen, scratching his stomach and opening his mouth wide for a yawn. He could smell the coffee brewing, and thanked god that they'd invested in a timed coffee maker. He poured himself a cup, leaning against the counter and inhaling the smell. Pure Columbian, another perk of their world.
If he was very quiet, he could hear Deaq wrestling with the sheets. The guy hated getting up in the morning, like nothing else. Half the time he'd limp to the breakfast table, bitching and moaning about how it was too damn early, that only worms and paperboys got up at this hour. Van just humored him, let him talk it off until the smell of coffee finally hit and Deaq asked him casually if maybe Van could make some pancakes.
This morning, though, Van poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a muffin before heading back to the bedroom. He found Deaq with a pillow over his head, giving a muffled moan. Something to do with "fucking sun," "fucking alarm" and "ooh, coffee." Deaq sat up, ignoring Van's amused look, and drank down the coffee vigorously, his gulps audible from across the room. Van grinned into the closet, where he was figuring out what to wear, murmuring to himself, "I never figured out how you can slurp down coffee that would burn off my tongue." He avoided Deaq's glare from the bed, sliding into the bathroom.
A minute later he called back into the bedroom. "Did you clean the bathroom yesterday, man?"
Deaq padded into the small room, moving his body behind Van's to align them. "Why? The tile shinier than usual?"
Van smirked over his shoulder. "Nah. The toilet's fucking gorgeous, though."
Deaq rolled his eyes, sliding a hand across Van's waist to pull him close. "Yeah, man, sure. I wasted my Sunday bringing out the Scrubbing Bubbles."
Van shrugged. "Hey, your kink, not mine. I'm just saying--"
"You wanna take a shower?" Deaq interrupted, pulling off his wifebeater. Van tried not to smile at the intentional interruption, instead shrugged and said, "Sure," flipping the nozzle on. Not too cold, or Deaq would complain. They stepped in, Van after Deaq, and took turns putting their heads under the showerhead. Deaq reached around to grab the soap and made a face when he picked it up.
"Caress?" he said incredulously.
"What?" Van said defensively. "It's good for my skin. And it smells nice. See?" he said, holding the bar under Deaq's nose.
Deaq snorted. "It's chick soap."
"Yeah, well, I didn't see you complaining last week when I replaced the old one with this," Van said pointedly. Deaq grumbled a little bit as he soaped up.
"Hey, what did you do with the foofy thing?" Van asked suddenly. Deaq looked around the shower. "I don't know, man, it was there yesterday."
Van frowned, then sighed. "How am I supposed to use the shower gel?"
"I could rub it on you," Deaq offered. Innocently.
Van looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Uh-huh," he said, handing the bottle to him with a grin and turning around.
Deaq made leisurely strokes up and down his body, occasionally rubbing the gel into Van's skin to make it foam up. Van sighed under the attention, bracing his hands against the wall and letting the water run over his head, letting him concentrate on the whooshing sound of the spray and how it felt to be cleaned.
A few minutes later Deaq's hand slid around his middle, teasing his bellybutton and then dipping lower. Van groaned lowly and tipped his head back. "We don't have time for this," he muttered as he fit his ass back into Deaq's pelvis.
"Sure we do," Deaq whispered against his ear. "All we need is a quick squeeze--" he punctuated his words with a slow downward stroke "--or rubdown." He moved his hands to Van's hips and pulled him backwards, rubbing his water-slickened cock against the cleft of Van's ass. Van made a low, moaning noise and chuckled. "Okay, but don't blame me if Billie gets pissy 'cause we're late."
"I've got my priorities in line," Deaq said, his hand moving fast and strong, bringing Van off in that knowing way that made him come in five minutes flat. Deaq had timed it, crowing all the while about his prowess. Van ground back against Deaq's groin, knowing the sight would make him hot more than anything. Two minutes later, right under the margin, Van came all over the wall, sagging back against Deaq's body with a sated grin.
"Was it good for you, baby?" Deaq said, heavy on the sarcasm, running his fingers over Van's shoulders, turning him around. Van was still smiling when he looked at Deaq, who finished with, "'Cause I'm seeing a problem with this scenario."
"It was damn good for me, and you fucking know it," Van said, dropping to his knees. Deaq looked at the ceiling and grinned till his smile covered most of his face.
When they got out of the shower, they dried off and headed back to the bedroom. Van stood in front of the closet, still unable to figure out something to wear. Deaq stood off to the side, analyzing him, before grabbing something out of the closet and sighing loudly. "Why is it that you take up more than half of the closet?" he complained.
"Because you have a fetish for matching pantsuits that I cannot understand, whereas I," he said, taking out a shiny shirt that nearly blinded Deaq when the sun hit it, "have this thing called taste."
"Right." snorted Deaq, "If taste is prefaced with the word 'bad.'"
Van glared, pulling on the shirt and then choosing a pair of black chinos as Deaq slipped into the red sweatsuit. He was pulling his shoes on when he felt a kiss at the back of his neck. "Want half my muffin?" Deaq asked, proffering it to him.
Van looked at it for a second, trying to decide if he really wanted to take pastry from the man who had just dissed his wardrobe. Pastry won out, and he stuffed the half-muffin into his mouth while Deaq grinned to his coffee. "You like my clothes, asshole. You say I'm sexy. You don't mean it?"
"I do mean it!" Deaq protested. "It's just that, man, you look much better without them."
Van threw a pillow at him. He missed. Deaq handed him his gun, and he raised an eyebrow. "You feel safe handing me a .45?" he asked.
"I feel safe with my dick in your mouth, I figure I can hand you a gun without fearing for my life."
"Point."
"Shit, man, look at the time. We gotta run, or Billie will fry our asses."
"You're going to blame me, aren't you?" Van said as they walked out the door.
"No."
"Yeah, you are," he said, stealing the keys.
Deaq glared at him. "I am not. And why're you always the driver?"
"Because I am a far better wheelman than you'll ever be," Van informed him as they pulled out of the driveway.
"Yeah, you say that until I have to haul your ass out of the fire," Deaq grumbled.
"Okay, shut up. You insult my clothes, you're gonna blame the lateness on me--don't tell me it was my fault, because that blowjob was record time, man--and don't argue with me either, you know you're gonna walk in there and be all, 'Van had to fix his hair,' or some shit. So you're buying me lunch. I want Italian."
Deaq looked at him, askance. "At least make it Mexican."
Van rolled his eyes. "Fine. Mexican. But you're paying."
"Yeah. Okay."