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Rafe groaned slightly as he rolled over, the last dregs of his pleasant sleep leaving him for good the more his stomach began to growl at him. He cracked open a bleary eye to stare at the alarm clock on the bedside table, and vaguely recognized that it was a little after four in the afternoon. Well, that certainly explained how hungry he was.
On most days he didn't allow himself to sleep in that late, mostly for business or social gatherings and the like. But as it was his time off, he let himself bend the rules a tad. It had been Sam's idea in the first place, actually. He had said how he constantly overworked himself (true) and how, surely, the company wouldn't crash and burn if he used a few of the many vacation days he had saved up (less true.) All the while he had made a big show of thinking it over whilst Sam peppered soft kisses into his shoulder blade.
He turned back over and glanced at the empty space next to him. Sam must’ve gotten up a while ago and let him get more sleep. Knowing him, he was probably bent over the kitchen table, cigarette in hand as he looked over the details for their next hunt. Perhaps he could’ve snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around his stomach, kissing at his neck. Whispered things into his ear and coaxed him back into bed for another round of amazing sex. But as much as he wanted to, his stomach was a force to be reckoned with.
With a great amount of effort he got out of his comfortable cocoon of fluffy blankets. He sat up, stretching languidly and trying to shake the sluggishness from his bones. He still wasn’t fully, and probably wouldn’t be until he got some coffee into his system
Rafe finally pulled himself from the warmth of the mattress and shivered lightly as his feet connected with the cool wooden flooring below. As he stumbled his way to the door, he could hear the faint sounds of the television playing on low in the living room of Sam’s apartment.
"Sam?" He asked, voice still thick and groggy with sleep, "you could've woken me up sooner, you know." But it wasn't Drake on the couch, at least, not his Drake. Nate turned slightly to look at him, and for what it was worth, he didn't look too surprised to see Rafe there. Perhaps Sam had finally told him. Or maybe they just hadn't been as secretive as they thought. He'd be willing to bet on the latter, though. Especially when Sam looked at him like he held the sun, and made his heart stutter and flop in his chest. Subtly had never really been one of his stronger suits.
"Ah, no, it's just me. Sam went out to grab a few things." Sam? Grocery shopping alone? Now that was a scary thought. It usually translated to him buying nothing more than TV dinners and junk food. He probably should've went with him, to ensure that he actually bought some real food for a change. After all- someone had to stop him from buying his weight in Hot Pockets.
Rafe didn't humor him by acting sheepish, expression staying neutral. If Nate wouldn’t bring it up, then he wasn't going to, either. Instead he leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, taking in how utterly odd the situation was. His boyfriend’s little brother was on the couch, helping himself to some food and watching old reruns of What’s New Scooby-Doo? And all the while Rafe stood in the doorway, wearing nothing except one of Sam’s old shirts and a pair of briefs. Nate rather pointedly kept his eyes on his. And Rafe, in turn, decided that it would be far too much of an effort to fetch a pair of pants.
He looked to the blanket and pillow at the end of the couch, and the way that Nate looked more like a kicked puppy than usual. Something must’ve happened with the Mrs. then. And so here he came crawling, tail between his legs. It wasn’t the first time he had needed to bunk with his brother, and knowing his affinities for fucking things up in frankly spectacular ways, it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“So, what did you do this time?” He drawled, crossing his arms.
Nate looked away, expression sheepish. “I may have uh, exaggerated. How safe and legal our next find is?”
Because of course, Nathan continued to make mountains out of molehills by simply not telling his wife the truth . Honestly, a woman like her deserved better than that. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed.
“Wow, you’re a fucking idiot.” Nate didn’t even argue with him on it, he only winced and looked away again. And Rafe almost felt bad for him. Almost.
“Yep, I really am.”
Finally, something that we can agree on. He pushed himself off the frame and shuffled into the kitchen. To his delight, a full pot of hot coffee and a sticky note awaited him. He grabbed his favorite mug (a gift from Sam- because of course it was) from the dish drainer while he read it, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Didn’t want to wake you. Went to get some stuff, be back soon!
It was accompanied with several hearts, and then on the back:
P.S. Nate’s gonna be here for a few days ‘cause he’s an idiot. PLAY NICE!!!!!
He snorted into his mug at that. Yeah, right. He’d play nice when Nate would. Which probably would be never. It seemed they’d be doomed to snark and merely tolerate each other’s presence for all of eternity.
Once satisfied with the boost caffeine making it’s way through him, he went about looking for his leftover Chinese takeout from the previous night. Only to realize it was nowhere to be seen. A thorough check around all of the condiments, minuscule recipe ingredients, and bottles of beer turned up nothing. Which was odd, to say the least. He clearly remembered setting it in the fridge last night. And the only other takeout container was Sam’s, clearly marked with sloppy ‘S’. (They had to label their own food, because of Sam’s tendency to throw anything he could grab into the microwave without checking the contents first.) And then the proverbial light bulb went off, and he remembered with shocking clarity, that Nate had just been eating something.
“Oh, goddammit,” he growled, swinging the fridge closed. He swiveled on his heel and stalked the short distance from the kitchen space to the living room. “Who ate my leftovers?” He asked, though it was a rather rhetorical question, due to the fact that there were only two other people that could’ve possibly eaten them. And Sam was obviously out because of his own still safely untouched in the fridge. So logically, that just left-
Nate turned to look at him once more, and it was then Rafe noticed the take out container in his lap, clearly marked with an ‘R’ in the lid. He didn’t look surprised or guilty by the question, and thus the underlying accusation within. He continued to chew on, expression rather blase, and Rafe scowled. It was one thing to crash on the sofa and be a general nuisance and cockblock to them, and another thing entirely to eat a man’s leftover Chinese food. He opened his mouth, prepared to make a dry remark about his reading capabilities, when Nate beat him to it.
“I dunno,” he began, chewing thoughtfully. His gaze met Rafe’s, then- “Who ate my brother’s ass?” And without breaking eye contact, he proceeded to take another bite of his broccoli chicken.
It was not often that Rafael Adler was rendered speechless- and yet, here they were. He stared at him, jaw to the floor in shock. Of all the things that could’ve possibly tumbled out of Nate’s mouth, that had been dead last on his list.
Nathan Drake- the man who constantly used crap when he got shot at or found himself in life threatening events, because he didn’t like to say the word fuck . (A trait that apparently persisted into his bedroom activities, as Elena had gleefully told him after one too many strawberry tequilas.) That Nathan Drake. Had just dropped the biggest bomb onto him and acted as if it was nothing.
He blinked several times, utterly thrown off guard. He couldn’t even think of anything witty to say back! And he couldn’t dispute the claim, either. Because it was one hundred percent true. Finally after what seemed like minutes or staring at him dumbstruck, he cleared his throat, nodding.
“Okay. Fair enough,” and then he turned back to the kitchen to try and find something else to eat.
And later Sam would come back to a near silent apartment, bags of groceries under his arms. To a smug brother and a hungry boyfriend and without the slightest fucking clue on what had just transpired there that day.