Work Text:
Rafael woke up slowly; they hadn't closed the curtains properly, and the sun was peeking through a slit. He opened his eyes and stared at the alarm clock; it was Saturday morning at 8.30am. He had slept a proper nine hours or so, which was unusual for him. Rafael usually slept late, or had to get up early, or didn't sleep through the night. The downsides of being an ADA in Manhattan, he had accepted the sleep deprivation and made coffee his best friend.
He felt his husband stir at his back, under the blankets. A warm hand settled at his waist, and he got pulled into his husband's chest. 'Good morning,' Nick whispered and gave a kiss to his bare shoulder.
Rafael sighed and turned himself around in Nick's arms. 'Good morning, did you sleep well?' He looked at Nick's face, up close, eyes shut, a satisfied little smile on his lips. His dark brown, nearly black hair flopped forward and messy. His fingers traced patterns on his lower back and spine.
'Yes, actually. And you?', Nick asked, opening his eyes. Nick sleeps just as badly, if not worse, than he does; occasionally they have been awake at the same time during the night. This time they appear to have slept through the night. Rafael kissed Nick softly on the lips.
'Yeah, me too. A full nine hours was about time.' Rafael pushed Nick on his back and laid his head on his chest. Nick moved his hand to Rafael's hair and combed through it, tracing the gray streaks. With his other hand, he turned on the radio on his bedside table. Softly, the noise of a radio DJ announcing a song filtered through.
Rafael barely listened to the radio before he got with Nick, and now it was almost as much a part of their routine as coffee had been. Rafael hadn't asked him about it, but Nick told him about it after Rafael had remarked on Nick's favorite type of music. Nick told him about the fond memories of living in an apartment in the Bronx, the same block as Rafael but different. After his dad divorced his mom and moved away, Nick was finally able to relax at home. After high school, when he got home, he turned on the radio in his room and did his homework, wrote his book reports, and prepared for exams. His sister usually got home an hour later, and a little after that, his mom. They filled the house with laughter and enthusiastic conversations about friends and work stories, all mixing with the noise from the street and the radio music. And during the weekend, Nick sat in his windowsill, reading Spider-Man comics, while listening to the Cuban music his mom played through the living-room speakers.
Rafael understood the fond memories but couldn't register any specific feeling about it. Until he got with Nick and experienced the peace Nick used to feel back then now as well. Rafael had always moved in silence through his house; he had quickly learned that was the only way to survive. And at Harvard Law, loud music was not allowed either, and Cuban music was a surefire way to get a target on your back. Only later, when Rafael was around thirty years old, did he discover his mom had vinyls and CDs from her favorite music artists. The CDs from the queen of Salsa, Celia Cruz, would always be connected to his mother and eating dinner in that same Bronx apartment he grew up in. Only this time he was grown up, had a law degree, his mother was content, and his father was dead.
'Do you want breakfast in bed?' Nick asked Rafael after another half an hour of cuddles in bed and kisses pressed to shoulders. Rafael looked up at him like he had grown a second head. 'Okay, well, I guess that's a no.'
'No, of course not. You know how much I hate crumbs in the bed or on the couch.' Rafael extracted himself from his husband's arms and put on his dressing gown. He walked into their connecting bathroom and started combing through his ridiculous bedhead.
Nick looked at his husband in his red satin dressing gown with a dark blue border. Even his loungewear was expensive and fitting for the ADA from Manhattan. The sharp eyes and frown his husband had while modeling his hair was something Nick probably would never get over.
'You're starring Nick. Come on, get out of bed and eat breakfast.'
'Well, I thought we lived in a free country? Am I not allowed to admire my husband?'
Rafael rolled his eyes and huffed; without saying anything, he walked out of the bathroom towards their kitchen.
Nick lay in bed for another three minutes before he pushed himself out of bed and pulled on some socks and a sweater. He smelled the coffee Rafael was making and heard him make some toast for their breakfast. Rafael had strong opinions about breakfast during the weekends and holidays, while throughout the week he survived on coffee, yogurt, and crispbread. Nick had never expected Rafael would be a remarkable cook, but it turned out after having moved in with him that he went all out for dinner during the weekends.
Rafael turned around when Nick entered the kitchen. He had an exasperated look on his face, piercing eyes, a slight frown, and was trying to keep his mouth from curling at the corners. Nick was unbothered and slid his arms around his husband's waist, planting a kiss on his temple.
'Thank you for the coffee, Rafa.'
'You're late. Sit down.'
'Yes, sir.' Nick smiled and sat his ass down on one of the dining room chairs.
Rafael had set the table already, with the nice glass cups, plates, placemats, and napkins. Orange juice, water, coffee, croissants, toast, eggs, bacon, cornflakes, yogurt, granola, and other necessities for their breakfast. Or what Rafael classified as necessities, at least.
Rafael finally sat down opposite Nick and tried to give him a stern look. Nick didn't cave under those piercing green eyes, though. Six years of marriage and a total relationship of eight years had made sure of that. Nick just gave him a soft smile. And Rafael relented, sighed, and rolled his eyes: 'You're exhausting. Let's have breakfast.'