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Jack Daniel Wynand woke up, groggily sniffing the aromatic air. He sat up, rubbing his eyes as he stretched and yawned. After a quick squeeze of his eyelids, he looked around his room to see the bed space next to him empty of any red-haired man known as Booker Elliot DeWitt. Jack sniffed the air again, the scent of a warm breakfast beckoning him to go downstairs. Bacon, eggs, pancakes or waffles, hashbrowns- it all begged the former supersoldier to seek out the kitchen. So he did.
“Booker?” He asked, blinking a little at the bright lights of the kitchen. Booker looked over from the pan of bacon, hashbrowns sizzling in the skillet besides it. Jack glanced at the clock, then looked back at his boyfriend. “A little early for breakfast, isn’t it?” He tacked on.
“I got antsy,” Booker shrugged, “It’s only 5:15.”
Jack pursed his lips, then shrugged, getting out some plates from a cupboard. He placed them on the counter by the pancakes on the electric skillet as Booker came over to flip them. As the auburn haired man went back over to the stove, Jack watched him with a smile.
“It smells great, babe,” He came up behind Booker, wrapping his hands around the lean waist of the man, swaying a little. But Booker bapped the hands with his spatula, making Jack retreat slowly.
“Later, I’m moving around the kitchen right now, Jack.”
“Alright, pumpkin.” He watched as Booker took the bacon from the pan, replacing it with more raw slices. The cooked pieces were put on a plate with paper towels, and the hashbrowns were put on a plate next to it right after. With a smile, Jack reached over and grabbed a hot piece of pig and munched on the greasy, crispy meat.
“Should I go wake up the girls?” Jack finally asked when Booker hurried back to the pancakes, taking them off the skillet and putting more batter on.
“Nah, I’ll make them another breakfast.” He said, waving his boyfriend off. “Besides, I didn’t think I’d wake you up.” Jack stopped and furrowed his brow.
“What do you mean you didn’t mean to wake me up? Were you going to make this whole breakfast for yourself?”
“That was the original plan, but since you’re awake now, I guess I’ll share.” Booker shrugged, then looked back to the former supersoldier. “Could you get me out a glass of juice?” Jack paused, then complied, stepping over to the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of orange juice. It felt a little empty, so he made a mental note to pick some up at the store.
“You were making all this for yourself?” He finally asked, bringing down a glass and pouring some of the orange liquid for his former private investigator boyfriend. Said boyfriend shrugged. “That’s quite a bit,” Jack added on, “But I guess if anyone could have a full course breakfast made for multiple people, you’d be one of them.”
“Yeah, yeah, har har, that’s the punchline, black hole stomach.”
“Booker, I don’t even think a professional hotdog eater could eat all this.”
“Then why haven’t you signed me up for a competition yet?”
“Your anxiety.”
They both paused, before Booker shook his head and kept cooking.
“But is it free to enter one of those competitions?” Booker said to break the pause. Jack thought for a moment, then shrugged, drawing an “aw man” from the other.
The former private investigator cooked under the curious eyes of the former supersoldier, who occasionally stole bits of food here and there until the breakfast was finished. They both made themselves a plate, and sat down on the couch. Jack snuggled up to Booker and they both ate in a comfortable silence.