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Jensen groans when he feels his alarm ringing from under his pillow, signalling it’s time to wake up. He quickly moves to shut it off, not wanting to wake Jared.
Usually, on his days off, Jensen likes to sleep in — Jared is the early riser between them — but today is his mate’s birthday, and he wants to do something special for Jared.
With all the effort he can muster, Jensen manages to roll out of bed without rousing Jared, freshen up in the bathroom, and head to the kitchen. On his way there, he stops at his daughter’s bedroom to check on her, and finds her sleeping peacefully in her crib.
They had Emma just 3 months ago, and lucky for them, she’s been nothing but an angel. He and Jared had heard horror stories from other couples about babies and sleep deprivation, but their daughter miraculously sleeps through the night without needing much attention.
Once he’s in the kitchen, Jensen opens the recipe on his phone for “Authentic French Crêpes (cr-eh-pes, not cr-ay-pes)”, and snorts. Of course the snooty people who make something like this would use fancy letters and pronunciations when everyone knows what they’re talking about. But Jensen’s mate loves sweet things, and really, how hard can it be?
Ten minutes later, Jensen’s starting his second batch of batter, after messing up big time on the first. Jesus, Europeans really gave “delicacy” a new meaning. Apparently crêpes were so delicate that the second Jensen tried to flip one, it would break into pieces. To save time, he tried using a griddle to cook multiple at once — crêpes were just fancy pancakes, right? — and ended up with weird deformed flabs.
Jensen was just beginning to think he got the hang of it when he poured some batter into the pan and it formed a perfect, thin circle. Just like the picture from the recipe. Score.
Mentally priding himself on his achievement, Jensen decided to take a few minutes to check his email. Lo and behold, when he slid the spatula under the crêpe and successfully flipped it over, the underside was less lightly-browned and more of a steak-char.
Jensen can cook. He never has this much trouble grilling up a mean steak. Come to think of it, maybe he should abandon this idea and just make them steak for breakfast. But when they went to that French restaurant a few months ago, Jared couldn’t stop obsessing over the “divine” breakfast they’d had. Honestly, it was mediocre at best if you asked Jensen. Overly-sweet and kind of mushy from the filling.
And maybe, a little bit of Jensen’s motivation comes from Monsieur Pierre, the chef who Jared felt the need to compliment personally — and who just happened to be an Alpha with a stupid French accent that Jared found attractive.
Oh, and who flirted with Jensen’s mate. Jared thought he was overreacting, but Jensen could see the desire in the other man’s eyes, and swore to himself he’d never take Jared there again.
Distracted by the memory, Jensen belatedly realizes he’s cracked the egg too hard and now it’s running over the counter. Perfect. He reaches over to grab a paper towel only to remember they’d used the last one for... other activities. So he has to go to the pantry for a new roll.
When he returns, Jared is standing in the kitchen, bouncing their daughter in his arms while warming up some formula. When he notices Jensen, he smiles, letting out those dimples Jensen loves so much. “Morning, Jen. You’re up early.”
And Jared is the only person who can get away with calling him “Jen”.
Glancing at the clock, Jensen silently curses. Had he really spent an hour trying to make breakfast? Damn Europeans and their complicated recipes.
Jared frowns at Jensen’s silence. The Alpha‘s shirt is covered in flour, and he’s just standing there with a roll of paper towel in his hands. Oh, and the kitchen is a mess, but Jared doesn’t really care. It‘s Jensen’s doing — he’ll clean it up.
“Uhh...” Jensen finally breaks the silence, clearing his throat. “What are you doing up?”
“It’s way past the time I usually get up, Jen. Some of us like to wake up in the morning, not the afternoon.” Jared chuckles. “And besides, this little lady wanted some attention.” He smiles sweetly at the baby in his arms, playing with her tiny fingers.
“I could have handled her.” Jensen protested. “My Omega shouldn’t have to lift a finger, especially on his birthday... happy birthday, by the way.” Jensen quickly adds.
“Well, I don’t mind spending time with my girl.” Jared kisses her head gently. “Anyway, enough about me. What happened here?”
Jensen sighs. The jig is up. “I, um, was trying to make you breakfast. You know, for your birthday.”
“Okay...” Jared says slowly. “You made me my favourite omelette last year, without all this mess.”
“Yeah, about that. I wanted this year to be special, so I decided to make those crêpes you like so much.” Jensen looks at the floor, embarrassed. “Only, I guess that plan’s down the drain. Heh.”
Jared raises an eyebrow. “Actually, I’m starving. I could really go for something sweet... but if you’re giving up, I’m sure Chez Pierre will take the burden off your hands.” He looks at Jensen innocently.
And just like that, Jensen’s determination is back. “Hell no. Sit that cute ass down.” Jensen is a man with a mission — and that mission is to prove to Jared that he doesn’t need some “romantic” French accent to sweep him off his feet.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Jared grins and takes a seat with Emma tucked in his arms.
As Jensen waits for the first crêpe to cook — keeping a close eye on it this time — he watches Jared cooing at Emma as he feeds her, and feels a warmth in his heart.
He’d wake up at the ass crack of dawn every day for this, and it’d be worth it.