Prompt: A short chapter on the reader's morning spent with Sam.
The sunlight wakes you up before the smell of coffee and pancakes do, and when those smells reach your nose your stomach growls in response. You roll over in his bed, your arm outstretched to find comfort from his body, but the realisation that if food is in the air then someone must be up cooking it. You groan and blink your eyes open, the empty space next to you leaving you dissatisfied.
The radio from the kitchen, the yellow, ugly, unfashionable one that sits next to the toaster, belts out an older song with a great guitar tune and a smoky voice. You hear his voice sing along, of course knowing the song well – it's like he knows all of them.
You slide out of bed after growing too lonely without him, but of course you won't tell him that. You find one of his shirts thrown over the door handle, something he does when he knows you'll steal one of them the next morning. You walk out of bedroom and notice the open window in the living room letting in the warm morning breeze of spring.
"Well, oh, well, good morning!" Sam flips a pancake as he notices your presence, "Started to think you'd never get up."
"You know I am not a morning person, Sam." You yawn loudly as you head towards the freshly brewed coffee pot, the smell already beginning to wake you up.
"Yes I know, you're definitely more of a sleeping beauty than a cinderella or a rapunzel."
You snort at his comparisons, "Well I wouldn't want to be an abused servant or a trapped girl with hair bigger than my brains..."
"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling you closer to him, "I'll stop with the princess talk."
"Thank heavens," you mumble, welcoming his embrace, he pulls you in front of him with an arm around your waist; the other hand on the frying pan.
he rests his chin on your shoulder, and as he continues to cook breakfast you turn to his face and sneak in a few kisses on the side of his mouth.
"Hey." He mumbles, trying to shake you off. But you only ignore him. "I'm trying to cook breakfast!"
You pause from kissing him, "Who cares?"
"You want these pancakes to burn?"
You smirk, "I wouldn't mind..."
"Oh, no you don't," he shrugs you off, "These are the best pancakes I've ever made, not one has burned so far, all cooked to perfection."
You find his mouth in seconds and all you hear between you is the sizzling of breakfast, tasting the coffee on each others tongues. He lets go of the pan, as if he never even cared about breakfast, and pushes you up against the bench that wraps around the side of the room. He fumbles for the bottom of your shirt as your kisses deepen, the music in the background switching to folk. "Mmm, what happened to my early morning rock music?" He mumbles, finding the crook of your neck where you like it most.
Suddenly though, your stomach rumbles, and he pulls back as if he's woken from a deep sleep or trance. "You're hungry."
You smile cheekily, "I suppose the choice between you and pancakes is a rather hard one..."
He turns to his frying pan and saves the last pancake just in time, "You're lucky I didn't ruin my non-burning streak because of you," he smiles as you kiss his cheek endearingly before taking the plate of pancakes out on the back patio. He follows you out not too long after with coffee, and as the warmth of the morning sun settles on you both you eat together, happy and content.
