Work Text:
If there is one thing you have learned about yourself in the four decades you have spent on this planet, it is that you are not the most patient individual. Hell. You're about as patient as Brian is hairy (Never again will you take him hunting with near the river. Never. Again). You were the furthest thing from patient as anyone was going to get.
Sam, on the other hand; Was incredibly patient. Maybe it was his Military training that did it, or maybe that was just his character. But had someone told you a year ago that the most amazing person you had ever met (and Hot. Do not forget that) was actually willing enough to wait for your ass, you would have laughed and then probably gone home to drink. Alone. But then Sam moved into Maple Bay right after Craig got together with his old roommate and rode up on his bike with his son on the back seat.
Soon as he took off his helmet and shook out his hair you knew you were fucked.
The sunlight was streaming in through a crack in the black-out curtains that hung from the Windows, slanting directly over your eyes and forcing you awake with a grunt. Sleeping in felt more and more like a ghost to you ever since you started going back to work. When you realized how much you missed being a Stagehand it felt like someone drew back the Veil over your eyes. You roll over and reach out a blind hand to the slumbering giant next to you (and you mean Giant in the fact that Sam was four inches taller than you). However your fingertips were met with cold sheets and an empty space.
You finally crack your eyes open just as you register what that smell was. You really did not want to get out of bed just yet. But your stomach seemed to have different ideas as it voiced its opinion. Very loudly, might you add.
Fuck it. You smelled bacon and you were never one to turn down fresh cooked bacon.
You finally heaved yourself up and scrubbed at your eyes with a yawn. Your feet swung over and you stood, padding your way out the bedroom and downstairs. Your movement finally stirred Betsy from her own sleep, and you watched as she yawned and gave little stretch herself. Then a little shake. Cute. She pattered up to you and you gave her a "Good Morning" scratch under the chin and behind the ears. Bruce, Sam's pug, remained where he was in his own dog bed. Snoring. With his tongue out.
"Come on, Betsy." She follows after you obediently downstairs, sitting down by her food bowl and waiting for her breakfast. You however, are much more interested in the sight before you. You really should not have liked seeing Sam shirtless as much as you did. But then again; You put a shirtless Military Officer in sweat pants and an apron, plant him in front of a stove - making bacon - and anyone would stared. And you were given clearance to do so at any and all parts of the day.
Oh the perks of being with a Soldier. Your feet are cold against the linoleum as you walk across to where Sam was and wrap your arms around his waist. You regret not pulling on socks before coming down. But. Bacon. And Sam. Big, Warm, Comfy Sam pauses and laughs as he looked over his shoulder at you.
"You're up early," He says as he plates the last of the fried pork to drain off.
"Bed was cold," You complain against his shoulder. " ...also bacon." You feel more than hear him laugh and it warms you up from the inside out in a way Whiskey never could. You sneak a piece of bacon and munch on it as Sam turns off the stove. You allow him Discharge long enough to pour the two of you two cups of coffee and to pour a round of kibble into Betsy's bowl. And Bruce's, just as the lug can lumbering in.
"I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed." You're not really paying attention. You're much too focused on San's tattoos and the way they move with him as he stretches. He had a full sleeve tattoo that made his arm look like machinery, with blue and silver mechanisms interwoven with the red of the muscle in his right arm. While the majority of his back was taken up by the visage of St. George, the Patron Saint of Soldiers, on his stallion smiting the Dragon. You aren't entirely sure of the story behind it, but you know it means a lot to Sam to have.
"Bobert." You're shakes from your staring by the nickname. That stupid (adorable) nickname that Sam won't stop using for you and you realize too late that he caught you checking him out again. Bastard.
You're not sure whether to punch his smirk off his face or kiss it. Most likely the latter.
"You were staring."
In your defense you shrug. "You're the one with all your ink out on display. Look at you. My sleep deprived brain is helpless here. You temptress." Sam snorts and God no one who snorts should be attractive. And yet here you are.
"Also stop calling me 'Bobert.'"
"But it's so much fun and its so cute," He teased. He picked up the plate of Bacon after handing you your coffee (black with a bit a sugar. Just how you like it), then took his own and went to the table. Were those pancakes you spied? Oh hell yes.
"I'll let it slide this time. But only because of the fact that I am hungry and there are currently pancakes in front of me."
"And Bacon?"
You reach over and snag another strip and crunch on it happily. "And bacon."