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"Oliver, faut-il que tu commences à emballer des cadeaux pour tout le monde maintenant ?" [Oliver, must you begin wrapping presents for everyone now?] Jean says, watching his husband place an Amazon box underneath a sheet of wrapping paper. It was too early for this type of ruckus, and it was the exact reason Jean was up in the first place. Oliver looks up, fixing his glasses. "What do you mean, 'now'? Christmas is just around the corner, Jean, unless, of course, you didn't know that and–"
"Il est quatre heures du matin." [It's four in the morning.]
Oliver licks his lips, as if brainstorming an excuse, "Uh.. I couldn't fall asleep, y'know," he vaguely gestures to the table. Liar.
"C’est très évident, Oliver," [That's very obvious, Oliver,] Jean scoffs, despite knowing, and he walks over to behind him. He rests his hands on Oliver's shoulders, feeling how he relaxes under his fingertips. "Tu devrais retourner te coucher, mon amour," [You should come back to bed, my love,] Oliver shakes his head, his curls bouncing with the motion, "I'm not tired, and this needs to get done." Jean moves his arms to wrap around Oliver's waist, pulling him toward himself.
"Tu ne travailles pas bien quand tu es fatigué," [You don't work well when you're tired,] Jean whispers, his breath warm against Oliver's ear. Oliver huffs, giving up on the gift wrapping. "Did you not just hear me? I'm not tired." "Vous le serez le matin." [You will be in the morning.] Jean responds, his lips touching Oliver's neck. Oliver pushes himself away from the table, into the warm touch, even as he held up his defiant act.
"Well, good thing I don't work tomorrow." Oliver murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest. "T’en sais rien." [You don't know that.] "Uh, yeah, actually, I do," Jean rolls his eyes at Oliver's snarkiness, "Et, techniquement, ce serait aujourd’hui," [And, technically, it would be today,] and he can't help but remind him of just how absurdly early the hours are. Oliver groans, as if in denial, refusing to acknowledge his irrational decision to stay up.
".. Reviens te coucher, Oliver." [Come back to bed, Oliver.]
Oliver angles his head downward, as if trying to hide his face from Jean, which was pointless anyway. "You know I was never in bed in the first place," His voice is a gentle whisper now, intertwining his fingers with Jean's. "Mon point de vue est toujours valable. Vous avez besoin de sommeil." [My point still stands. You need sleep.] Jean retorts gently, tightening his hold.
Again, Oliver shakes his head. "I'll be fine, promise," his voice is low, seemingly not trusting in his own word. Jean steps back, withdrawing his touch. "D’accord, mais ne viens pas pleurer quand tu fais la grasse matinée jusqu’à midi, encore une fois." [Fine, but don't come crying to me when you sleep in until noon, again.]
Oliver shrugs, and restarts his gift wrapping. He's slept in past noon before, anyway.
He wakes up with Jean's arms around him, and his head is pounding from his lack of sleep. Letting out an obnoxious whine, Oliver hides his face under a pillow from the bright lights of the day coming in through the curtains.
"Vous essayez de vous cacher de votre vérité, Oliver?" [Trying to hide from your truth, Oliver?] Jean comments from beside him, unattempting to hide his smug tone. " 'S too bright," Oliver groans in response, curling in on himself. "Si cela vous dérange à ce point, détournez le regard." [If it bothers you that much, look away.] ".. I don't wanna," he mumbles into the sheets, his voice groggy.
Oliver smells the cigarette smoke as he hears Jean exhale, "Et pourquoi pas, ma chère?" [And why not, my dear?] Oliver grumbles unintelligibly, yet doesn't try and move away when Jean wraps his arms around him and pulls him closer, so his back is against Jean's chest.
".. Que voulez-vous pour le petit-déjeuner?" [.. What do you want for breakfast?] Oliver turns his head a bit, so Jean's able to pepper his neck with kisses, with ease.
"Mmm.. I dun'no... Waffles?"
"Vous les avez tous mangés." [You ate them all.]
"Uhm... Pancakes?"
"Devinez ce que vous avez fait." [Guess what you did.]
Oliver huffs. "Do we at least have cereal?" "Je ne te laisserai pas manger ça... Poubelle granulée. Que diriez-vous d’œufs, de bacon et de pain grillé?" [I won't let you eat that.. pelleted trash. How about eggs, bacon and toast?] Oliver hums at the thought of a hearty breakfast, shifting in Jean's arms. "You'd do that?" "Sans aucun doute. Tant que vous avez la patience de l’attendre, c’est-à-dire." [Without a doubt. As long as you have the patience to wait for it, that is.] Jean nips at the exposed skin of Oliver's throat, the words he spoke a rasp in the morning.
Licking his lips, Oliver responds, "I have patience today."
Jean kisses Oliver's neck once more before getting up, "Joyeux Noël avant l’heure, Oliver." [Happy early Christmas, Oliver.]