Work Text:
Martin stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen.
"Good morning," Baurus said. The American delicately sipped his coffee, eyeing the way the other man clutched at his head. Baurus raised an eyebrow as he peered over the rim of his cup. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got run over by a truck," Martin said, his voice gruff. He moved towards the coffee machine, wincing in the stream of light from the window. Baurus put his cup down and stood.
"Oh, baby. Come here," he said beckoning Martin over to him with an outstretched arm. "Come on, bring it in."
He gathered Martin into a hug, and gently span the Englishman to sit him down at their breakfast bar.
"I'll get you some coffee," Baurus said.
Martin grumbled into Baurus' chest.
"And some painkillers," the American added with a smile.
As Baurus dealt with the coffee, Martin gave a heartfelt sigh.
"That cake really did a number on me."
"And the baker has been reminded about putting warnings on her goods. She was, however, suitably mortified about the incident. Although," Baurus added, "I think everyone was a little impressed at exactly how much booze that fruitcake contained."
"How much of a tit did I make of myself?" Martin asked.
"It wasn't as bad as you think," Baurus told him, handing over the coffee and two ibuprofen. "You seemed a little confused when you got to the podium, but delivered an excellent sermon about corporate greed. The story of Jesus flogging the money changers was a real crowd-pleaser."
Martin looked up, horrified. "Oh. Please tell me you are joking? I wrote that sermon in my thirties, as a very angry young man. And I delivered it to a crowd of tech industry moguls?"
"Relax," Baurus said, running a hand down Martin's back. "It went down really well. A lot of people seemed very contemplative afterwards."
"Ocato is going to want my head..."