Work Text:
Brian was actively trying to be a good boyfriend. Not that he wasn’t on a regular basis, but he was especially today. He didn’t particularly desire to crawl out of bed from between his lovers and bandmates, but he knew if he didn’t make coffee for his three sleeping beauties now they wouldn’t wake up until long afternoon. The only one that might stumble out of bed, he thought, would be John, but he wouldn’t be a sleepy princess, it’d be more like dealing with a tired demon. And Brian really didn’t want to deal with that. Besides, they had to actually get something done today.
So Brian pulled himself out of bed, despite the whimpers or Roger and Freddie, who moaned at the loss of heat, even as Roger scooted closer to Freddie to make up for the empty space. When they all first got together a few weeks ago, they figured they’d have to buy a new bed to accommodate all four of them but decided instead to settle for two of the boy’s queen sized beds pushed together to save money. Little did they know then that they’d end up snuggled together on just one of the queens every night anyway. Brian couldn’t say he always loved the other boy’s eagerness to crush him with cuddles, it did get too hot sometimes, but Brian was too infatuated by them to truly mind.
As he wandered down the hallway towards the kitchen, he thought about the past few weeks and wondered how he could ever have woken up on a cold January morning like this without his boys snuggled next to him. He couldn’t think of a single downside to polyamory… for about seven seconds. He saw nothing but the positives until he reached the kitchen and stared at the coffee pot.
How did his lovers take their coffee? They’ve told him, and hell, this wasn’t the first time he made his boys’ coffee. However, this was the first time he’d made coffee for all of them at the same time. Brian was partial to tea himself, black, with no sugar. Tea was simple. Coffee was not. Very little could be done to fuck up a cup of tea, whereas making coffee was like handling a lit match around gasoline. Brian didn’t see the appeal, but he knew one of them liked their coffee with too much sugar and more milk than coffee, however, he couldn’t remember who that particular order belonged to, let alone how the other two coffees were made.
He put the pot on and threw some slices of bread in the toaster. Roger and Freddie could survive a whole day with no food, but if he or John didn’t have food in their stomachs by thirty minutes after they awoke, it would be hell for the other two to deal with. He also put the kettle on and grabbed four mugs. Now he was back face to face with his dilemma.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, head in his hands, trying to decipher his own memories of making coffee for his loves, but they all jumbled together. Brian tried to remember all the coffee he’d made in the last few weeks or so, but not much came to him. He almost settled on just making tea for all of them, but Freddie would argue that there’s nothing better than a cup of coffee on a cold morning, so Brian decided against it.
It took several minutes of pondering, but he settled on three combinations of sugar and milk for each mug. In Roger’s was the aforementioned abomination of sugar and milk. In John’s mug was a single teaspoon of sugar. In Freddie’s were two teaspoons of sugar and just enough milk that it was “just the color of Brian’s hair,” which frankly was maybe a dash of milk, not even enough to make that much of a difference of the flavor. But Brian did hold a strand of his long hair next to the cup, just to check. Finally in Brian’s cup was just a tea bag. He appreciated the simplicity of tea after the ordeal he had just endured trying to remember his partner's coffee preferences. Once the coffee was brewed and his tea had steeped long enough, he gathered the mugs and toast and placed them on a tray before making his way back to their bedroom.
Brian was tempted to flip the light switch, but in an effort to not have a pillow thrown at his face, he settled on slightly opening the blind. He was happy he did, because when the morning sunlight cascaded over the other boys’ hair it made his heart do a backflip in his chest. He sat down next to John, placing the tray on the nightstand. Gently, he rested a hand on his shoulder. John stirred slightly, and Brian smiled down at him.
“Good morning, love,” Brian said, rubbing John’s arm slightly, “I have coffee for you.” John opened his eyes and rubbed them slightly before sitting up, causing Freddie and Roger to wake up next to him. They were all groggy from sleep, and Brian deposited each mug in the hands of his eager boyfriends.
John was the first to take a sip and he made a face at the cup in his hands. Brian had fucked up. The other two also began to sip on their coffee, also staring at their mugs in disapproval. Roger looked at Freddie and passed his coffee to him. John’s mug went to Roger, and Freddie’s cup made its way to John’s hands.
“I’m sorry,” Brian murmured. He was genuinely sorry too. The boy’s seemed to remember who’s coffee was whose so easily that Brian almost felt inadequate. But all his fears were quelled when he heard Freddie’s distinct giggle.
“I’m just surprised you remembered how to make them, darling,” Freddie said, grinning right at Brian. He let out a breath he didn't know he was even holding. He smiled back, warmth filling his chest. It felt so domestic and normal that Brian couldn’t help but chuckle as well.
“Look,” John said, holding his mug in Freddie’s line of sight, “It’s precisely the color of Brian’s hair!” The two laughed about the fact, and John turned to Brian. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for toast that was still on the nightstand. The other boys also murmured their thanks to the guitarist in between sips of their beloved morning cocktail.
This, Brian figured, was what heaven felt like. The four of them sat on their bed, drinking hot beverages on a cold morning. This was domestic bliss.