the perfect sunday morning (request fic)
Jeph/Quinn
Standalone
R (swearing, hint of smut)
written December 2006.
Pairing requested by sweettalk101.
This is just about the perfect Sunday morning, Jeph thinks as he raises his arms to stretch them over his head, arching his back slightly and yawning before he slumps back against the pillows. Well ... okay, it's nearly afternoon, but still. It doesn't get any better than this.
The drapes and windows are open, sending shafts of warm sunlight and fresh breeze into the bedroom; the sky is a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. As cliched as it sounds, Jeph can even hear birds singing outside the house. And on top of the beautiful weather, he's fucking happy; there's nothing grating at him, nothing niggling below the surface to be ignored or pushed aside or dealt with.
No stress, no dramas, no problems. Just a Sunday morning sleep-in and a glowing review of the new album in today's newspaper.
Oh, and Quinn walking into his bedroom wearing a towel ...
Jeph never gets tired of that sight. Sure, if he's honest, he prefers Quinn without the towel, because hot damn, that boy's got a fine ass and a dick you could ride all day long, but there's something so fucking sexy about that towel, slung so low, so loosely across his hips, the whiteness of the fabric contrasting with his tanned skin ...
He grins as Quinn, still dripping wet from his shower, picks up the paper and glances at the review. He's never been the possessive type, but it gives him a rush to think that it's his towel Quinn's wearing. It gives him a rush to know Quinn keeps a guitar and a couple of changes of clothes in his bedroom.
It gives him a hell of a rush when he realises morning sex with Quinn will definitely make this day perfect.
"You wanna coffee?" Quinn says absentmindedly, eyes still fixed on the newspaper.
"I'll make it."
"You sure?" He looks up, hair ruffled and messy, and Jeph can't stop himself from smiling as he swings his legs out of bed and stands up.
"Yeah, I'm sure. You want one?"
"Mmm."
Jeph pours the coffee -- Quinn, that fucking gorgeous human being, turned the percolator on before he got into the shower -- and adds soy milk to both mugs before carrying them back to the bedroom. Quinn, lying on the bed in his towel, doesn't even comment on the lack of "cow juice" anymore. He just shrugs and drinks his coffee, and to Jeph, that's almost as amazing as the towel-thing. Not quite, but almost.
They finish their drinks in silence, occasionally glancing at each other and smiling. This is the part of their relationship that Jeph likes the most; their silences are never uncomfortable. They've known each other for so long, as bandmates and friends, living side-by-side in a tourbus, and understand each other perfectly. They don't always have to talk; there's no need to fill the silence, because a silence is never empty. Not their silences, anyway.
"Jepha?" Quinn says suddenly.
"Mmm?"
"Do you love me?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
Quinn sets his empty mug on the bedside table and closes his eyes, sighing contentedly. Jeph smirks; he loves the childlike, goofy side of Quinn's personality. No, scratch that -- he just loves Quinn. All of him, good and bad. Because there are flaws in every personality, and Quinn has plenty; he's lazy, smokes too much weed, doesn't take things seriously enough, likes to stir up shit ...
"Quinn?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you love me?"
"Uh-huh."
"You wanna get married someday?"
"Sure. But only if I get to be the bride."
"Okay. We'll go to some tacky chapel in Vegas. Bert can be the maid of honour."
"Sounds good to me."
"We should probably make him shave his legs though."
"Mmm, yeah. What about mine?"
"Nah. Nothing wrong with your legs," Jeph says, grinning as he wriggles across the mattress to lie beside Quinn. "I just wanna see the look on Bert's face."
Quinn laughs softly and turns to face Jeph, who slips an arm across his waist and leans in for a kiss. Quinn's lips are full and soft and fit perfectly against Jeph's; they kiss for what feels like hours. It's slow but thrilling, familiar and intimate. A slow burn. Their hands know exactly where to go, exactly what to touch. Calloused skin feels like silk under nerve-heightened fingertips.
"Fuck ... you're so hot," Jeph whispers, his lips grazing Quinn's neck and down to his collarbone. "Drive me fucking crazy, you do."
They kiss for a few more minutes before Quinn responds. "Jeph?"
"Hmm?"
"You wanna have sex?"
"Oh yeah."
"Cool."
"Mmm. Now lose the towel."
Standalone
R (swearing, hint of smut)
written December 2006.
Pairing requested by sweettalk101.
This is just about the perfect Sunday morning, Jeph thinks as he raises his arms to stretch them over his head, arching his back slightly and yawning before he slumps back against the pillows. Well ... okay, it's nearly afternoon, but still. It doesn't get any better than this.
The drapes and windows are open, sending shafts of warm sunlight and fresh breeze into the bedroom; the sky is a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. As cliched as it sounds, Jeph can even hear birds singing outside the house. And on top of the beautiful weather, he's fucking happy; there's nothing grating at him, nothing niggling below the surface to be ignored or pushed aside or dealt with.
No stress, no dramas, no problems. Just a Sunday morning sleep-in and a glowing review of the new album in today's newspaper.
Oh, and Quinn walking into his bedroom wearing a towel ...
Jeph never gets tired of that sight. Sure, if he's honest, he prefers Quinn without the towel, because hot damn, that boy's got a fine ass and a dick you could ride all day long, but there's something so fucking sexy about that towel, slung so low, so loosely across his hips, the whiteness of the fabric contrasting with his tanned skin ...
He grins as Quinn, still dripping wet from his shower, picks up the paper and glances at the review. He's never been the possessive type, but it gives him a rush to think that it's his towel Quinn's wearing. It gives him a rush to know Quinn keeps a guitar and a couple of changes of clothes in his bedroom.
It gives him a hell of a rush when he realises morning sex with Quinn will definitely make this day perfect.
"You wanna coffee?" Quinn says absentmindedly, eyes still fixed on the newspaper.
"I'll make it."
"You sure?" He looks up, hair ruffled and messy, and Jeph can't stop himself from smiling as he swings his legs out of bed and stands up.
"Yeah, I'm sure. You want one?"
"Mmm."
Jeph pours the coffee -- Quinn, that fucking gorgeous human being, turned the percolator on before he got into the shower -- and adds soy milk to both mugs before carrying them back to the bedroom. Quinn, lying on the bed in his towel, doesn't even comment on the lack of "cow juice" anymore. He just shrugs and drinks his coffee, and to Jeph, that's almost as amazing as the towel-thing. Not quite, but almost.
They finish their drinks in silence, occasionally glancing at each other and smiling. This is the part of their relationship that Jeph likes the most; their silences are never uncomfortable. They've known each other for so long, as bandmates and friends, living side-by-side in a tourbus, and understand each other perfectly. They don't always have to talk; there's no need to fill the silence, because a silence is never empty. Not their silences, anyway.
"Jepha?" Quinn says suddenly.
"Mmm?"
"Do you love me?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
Quinn sets his empty mug on the bedside table and closes his eyes, sighing contentedly. Jeph smirks; he loves the childlike, goofy side of Quinn's personality. No, scratch that -- he just loves Quinn. All of him, good and bad. Because there are flaws in every personality, and Quinn has plenty; he's lazy, smokes too much weed, doesn't take things seriously enough, likes to stir up shit ...
"Quinn?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you love me?"
"Uh-huh."
"You wanna get married someday?"
"Sure. But only if I get to be the bride."
"Okay. We'll go to some tacky chapel in Vegas. Bert can be the maid of honour."
"Sounds good to me."
"We should probably make him shave his legs though."
"Mmm, yeah. What about mine?"
"Nah. Nothing wrong with your legs," Jeph says, grinning as he wriggles across the mattress to lie beside Quinn. "I just wanna see the look on Bert's face."
Quinn laughs softly and turns to face Jeph, who slips an arm across his waist and leans in for a kiss. Quinn's lips are full and soft and fit perfectly against Jeph's; they kiss for what feels like hours. It's slow but thrilling, familiar and intimate. A slow burn. Their hands know exactly where to go, exactly what to touch. Calloused skin feels like silk under nerve-heightened fingertips.
"Fuck ... you're so hot," Jeph whispers, his lips grazing Quinn's neck and down to his collarbone. "Drive me fucking crazy, you do."
They kiss for a few more minutes before Quinn responds. "Jeph?"
"Hmm?"
"You wanna have sex?"
"Oh yeah."
"Cool."
"Mmm. Now lose the towel."