rockabillyboy | (no subject)

"So? Maybe you're the only person I'm ever going to be with." Right now, he'd be okay with that. He leans into the kiss, just a light brush of lips. "Guess I'll keep asking then."

"Always ask," he says between kisses. He nuzzles Jack's shoulder. "No matter what it is."

"Got it," says Jack, nodding. "I'm starving. You want breakfast? Coffee?"

"Oh my god I would seriously love breakfast. And coffee." Poison leans to kiss Jack, then gets up, because now he has motivation to not be in bed.

He stumbles, just a little, on his way to the dresser. "Took me out at the knees, baby." He grins at Jack, then paws into his drawer - the one with the clothes he keeps leaving here - to find a pair of pale purple pajama pants with fluffy white sheep drinking tea on them, and a t-shirt.

"Those pajamas are ridiculous," says Jack, smirking a little and grabbing his own, heathery plaid and a t-shirt. He pushes one hand through his hopelessly tousled hair. "More where that came from," says Jack, wrapping his arms around Poison and squeezing him, dropping a kiss into tousled red hair.

"Whatever, my pajamas are always amazing and you're just jealous."

Poison grins as Jack wraps around him and they kind of toddle together down the hall. "What kind of breakfast are we having?"

"I just don't know how someone dresses like you do most of the time and then that's your choice in lounge wear." He lets go of Poison, tousling a fond hand through his disordered hair as he steps past him into the kitchen.

"Waffles? Pancakes? Eggs?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he huffs when Jack comments on his wardrobe choices.

"Oh man... waffles. Also eggs if you want like, protein."

"Waffles, I can do," says Jack, ducking down to grab the iron out of the cupboard where it lives. "And protein. Right. Keeping your strength up." He smirks. "How do you want your eggs?"

"Over easy," he quips. "Also you need to continue that thought about my wardrobe, sir." Poison hops up onto the counter to watch Jack work.

"Over easy," says Jack. "That's how Jillie likes them." He shrugs, moving around the kitchen, grabbing eggs from the fridge, getting breakfast going. "I just think it's funny. How you present yourself to the world and then how..." He glances. "Fuzzy you are in private."

"I would wear these pajamas out in public, thank you," he says. He grins though. "How do I present myself in public?" For whatever reason, maybe it's a bit of ego, he likes hearing Jack dissect it.

"Rockstar revolutionary?" says Jack, starting to make waffles before he has to concentrate on the eggs. "Lots of leather, lots of torn denim. There's a definite aesthetic there, boo."

"That aesthetic is partially left over from what was available in the Zones," he points out. "But yeah, I do like a certain look. But I would also still, totally, go out in these pajamas."

"That's because you don't give a fuck what people think," points out Jack, with a grin. Most of the time, neither does he, but he's a work in progress. "It's an attractive quality."

"Mostly true," he admits with a solemn nod. Then he grins. "Yeah? He scoots closer so he can kiss Jack's temple. "It's the revolutionary."

"Maybe," says Jack, flipping finished waffles onto the plate and starting to do another couple because he's seen Poison eat first thing in the morning. "Never met anyone like you in San Francisco."

"Clearly you weren't looking hard enough." He smiles, though, and once Jack closes the waffle iron, Poison uses a leg to coax him closer and into another kiss.

Jack steps in between Poison's spread knees, leaning up to kiss him, a hand on the worktop on either side of his hips.

"I keep expecting to wake up."

Poison smirks and reaches to tweak Jack's nipple.

"Still think you're dreaming, baby?"

He bites his lip, his breath catching at the short, sharp pain that starts an answering throb lower in his body.

"I'm not allowed to do that to you," points out Jack, stepping away from him to start cooking eggs.

"Nope, I'll smack you. But you looked like you kinda liked it. Did you?" He lifted his eyebrows, giving Jack that look he gets. Like a cat noticing something fun is in reach.

"You have smacked me," points out Jack, starting to do Poison's eggs first; he'll scramble his once he's done. "But, yeah. I liked it."

One of these days, he's going to learn not to admit that sort of thing.

Poison grins. "Noted," he quips. Poor Jack. "You need me to get anything, baby? Plates, et cetera?' He's already sliding off the counter to make himself useful.

"You can grab plates and silverware," says Jack. "Coffee? You could fix coffee while I'm making eggs."