John makes amazing food, but sometimes he wants it burned and charred and a
little overdone in the best way. He wants the smell of cigarettes and a
heavy mug of coffee. The smallest imperfections that make up the best human
experience.
"Oh, and the toast with the butter that's melted right there in the center."
There's something so inherently right about the concept. Of rolling out of the house half-bedraggled and unwashed, just to fall face-first into the greasiest breakfast pocket change could afford. And something so romantically silly about doing it with his husband.
So maybe Arthur takes a moment to loop a tie around Sheehan's neck for him and uses it to tug him in for another quick kiss.
It's the domesticity of it all that attracts Sheehan the most to him. When Arthur loops that tie around him, Sheehan hooks a finger into Arthur's pockets, pulling him close for that kiss. "Hey detective," he smirks playfully. "What's a good looking fella like you doing in a place like this?"
He laughs into the kiss, unable to wipe his smile off for it, and he's already tying Sheehan's tie quite neatly when they pull apart. Perks of all the practice he's had.
"Mmn. Debating how best to dress the handsome psychiatrist I've woken up with that won't get him immediately snatched up by half the festival," he grins, tightening the tie just so he can hook a finger into it and steal another kiss. "And yourself, doctor?"
Sheehan chuckles against his lips, feeling silly and boyish and very, very loved. "Mm, trying to keep my hands off of my handsome husband or we both will starve," he answers. It's nonsensical enough for him to laugh again, to hold fast to him for half a second before he lets go.
He's excited to go and get breakfast, now. And they know nothing outside is going to give them a hard time for this much, at least, which makes Arthur a little more bold in holding Sheehan's hand when they leave the Barge, in tugging him along a little faster through the thronging alien crowds when something particularly obnoxious bothers his oversensitive nose. He needs to get as much of it in his system as he can before they pass through the other side and get in sight of Bethel.
Sheehan lets that enthusiasm catch, and he can't stop smiling the entire way there. They walk, which is just fine, and gently nudges him this way and that as they pick their way through the crowds. Once in a while, he'll pause to listen to the music, to try and place it from something he remembers in his records from the "future," but it's all a strange mesh of sounds. It sounds familiar, but none of it is.
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Re: Port date!
"Christ, I hope so. Or eggs with solid yolks and half-runny whites," he returns gleefully as he stands up to head for their wardrobe.
Re: Port date!
"Goddamn."
John makes amazing food, but sometimes he wants it burned and charred and a little overdone in the best way. He wants the smell of cigarettes and a heavy mug of coffee. The smallest imperfections that make up the best human experience.
"Oh, and the toast with the butter that's melted right there in the center."
He is already getting up and dressed.
Re: Port date!
So maybe Arthur takes a moment to loop a tie around Sheehan's neck for him and uses it to tug him in for another quick kiss.
Re: Port date!
Re: Port date!
"Mmn. Debating how best to dress the handsome psychiatrist I've woken up with that won't get him immediately snatched up by half the festival," he grins, tightening the tie just so he can hook a finger into it and steal another kiss. "And yourself, doctor?"
Re: Port date!
Re: Port date!
Re: Port date!
"Do you already have a place in mind?"