Fic: Breakfast At Tiffany's
Title: Breakfast at Tiffany's
Author: unbroken_halo
Summary: Damon plays a practical joke on Grant and it backfires on him.
Warnings: OMG! It's a gen one!
Breakfast At Tiffany's By Deep Blue Something
Grant stood at the kitchen counter cracking eggs into a bowl for his and Damon’s breakfast. The older man was in the shower at the moment and Grant listened to the water for a second before smiling and continuing to shell the eggs. He added cheese, green onions, crumbled bacon, and mushrooms then seasoned the mixture. He set the bowl to the side then grabbed the oven mitts to check on the biscuits. He began humming the new song on the radio as the water cut off upstairs.
Grant flicked on the coffeepot and the fragrant brew began to percolate and fill the kitchen with more wonderful early morning smells.
Damon toweled off and tied the terry cloth around his waist. Exiting the bath he could smell the biscuits and coffee and he grinned. He pulled on the boxers and jeans Grant had set out for him before padding silently to the kitchen.
Stopping at the doorway he leaned against the frame and watched his husband for a moment. The slender body moved in time with the music playing on the radio and his soft voice sang along with the woman crying about her long, lost love.
The smaller man reached for the tray of biscuits and then began to transfer them to a bowl and Damon crept into the kitchen right up behind the younger man. He reached out and grabbed Grant, tickling his sides. “BOO!”
Grant shrieked like a mad man, knocking the bowl of egg mixture into the sink and the biscuits went flying up into the air. He fell forward over the counter, banging his head on the sink and his knees into the lower cabinets. He then looked up to the ceiling, gasping as his morning's work began to fall around his feet.
Damon grinned and began laughing hard, holding his stomach as he pointed at the younger man. “I didn’t… mean to … scare you.” He lied to his husband. “Are you alright?” He continued laughing even as he reached out to Grant.
Grant slowly turned and smiled ever so sweetly at his husband. “Yes dear. I know you didn’t, sweetheart.” He said soothingly and bent to pick up the biscuits. He stood with the bread in his hand; his head cocked watching his husband. “And you know I don’t mean anything by this, Sir.”
He threw the first biscuit at Damon, hard and it bounced off his husband’s head. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT! SIR! RUINED BREAKFAST, SIR, AFTER I HAD WORKED LONG AND HARD ON THAT! SIR! The biscuits kept flying, hitting their mark as Grant advanced on the slowly retreating man.
The Indian picked up the fallen ammunition as he went and continued his assault on his husband driving him from the kitchen and into the living room. “It’s a damn good thing I didn’t have the eggs in my hand, sir, or you would be cleaning them up. GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN,SIR! FANNIE FARNSWORTH CAN COOK YOUR BREAKFAST THIS MORNING BECAUSE I AM NOT!” He drove his husband to the front door and out it onto the front porch, grabbing Damon’s boots and his keys then chucked those at him as well.
Grant slammed the door behind Damon, locked it and dusted his hands off. He bent and picked up the left over biscuit ammunition and tossed them into the trash. He looked at the mess in the kitchen and shook his head. He didn’t want eggs that morning anyway. He turned and went into the laundry room and closed the door behind him. In the pie safe was a hidden bag of pecan rolls, which he retrieved and then set on the folding table.
Opening the door to the washroom, he peered out to see if Damon had returned. He snuck out and grabbed a glass, the milk and then went back into the smaller room. He sat on the folding table eating the sweet rolls and drinking the cold milk, smirking. Sometimes revenge is sweet, he chuckled to himself as he heard the Road King start up and Damon sped out of the drive.