disclaimer: No harm, no foul.
summary: Julian gets coffee.
pairing: Julian Casablancas/Craig Nicholls
raiting: It's very clean.
Julian’s been informed that he doesn’t know how to make coffee.
No one’s ever told him that before, so he can only assume that people have up until this point been too kind to mention it. Either that, or - and this is the more plausible explanation - Craig Nicholls is just too weird to drink coffee the way normal people do. Of course, that somewhat counteracts the point he’d tried to make during their long flight back to New York (as he’d rambling on and on in a Xanax-induced stupor) which was essentially that he loves Craig because he is the single most normal and completely bat shit insane person that Julian’s ever met.
Either way, the man has some completely unrealistic coffee demands. So right before Craig falls asleep in his own bed with his head tucked under Julian’s arm, he reluctantly agrees to go out and buy coffee if he wakes up first. Under normal circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have gone along with it, and God knows he would never have offered, but Craig was genuinely tired whereas Julian was just doped up on anti-anxiety medication.
So when he wakes up after maybe three hours of real sleep, he holds out some kind of hope that maybe Craig’s awake already, basking in the sort of glow that makes its way in through the blinds which Julian had dutifully shut the night before. Of course, that would be far too kind, so Julian hefts himself out of the warm, comfortable and generally pleasant bed, getting his jeans halfway on before he remembers that he’s not wearing boxers. Obviously, being Julian Casablancas, his reaction to this discovery is something like fuck that shit, that’s gay. He pulls on a couple of layers of shirts before kicking on his shoes, not bothering to untie them and almost killing himself as one nearly falls off on his way out the door.
Just another day in the life of Julian the Rockstar. He wakes up at the crack of noon and immediately untangles himself from his boyfriend, letting him start his day with a nice, soothing cup of coffee and getting it to him just before he has the chance to eat Julian’s head off. Oh, he’s completely whipped, but he’s fine with that. Mostly.
He’s becoming more and more okay with the fact that he’ll do whatever it takes to make Craig happy and he’s not sure what’s bringing that around. It may just be because Craig’s humiliated himself numerous times to get him to smile, usually in front of a large group of people. It’s possible that love makes people do crazy, crazy things like that, but Julian’s always been quick to jump into love and it’s never quite been like this before.
Basically, he would not go out to buy coffee for anyone else, ever, even if they were completely incapable of getting it for themselves.
And that’s probably a testament to how deep he wants this to go, how he just can’t let himself have a repeat of the marriage fiasco he’d inflicted on Juliet. While he watches the bored woman at Starbucks dump a couple of tablespoons of sugar into the coffee, double-cupping because Julian looks like the type to complain if it isn’t, he gets that same fluttery feeling that runs along his spine, remembering how well Juliet had dealt with watching them being touchy feely. Because for all of Craig’s protests about not wanting to look like a slut in front of Julian’s friends, he never tries to ward of any of Julian’s affection, even when it bubbles over and his grabby hands can go for hours without stopping.
He says something inane about the amount of cream the girl pours into the cup, leaning over the counter to watch the milky clouds explode, taking over from the inside out. She’s starting to look at him out of the corner of her eye, either vaguely recognizing him or maybe thinking that he’s in the market for an early morning fuck. And, of course, he is, because Julian loves sex and needs sex and thinks that sex is the answer to and cause of all life’s problems, but the fact of the matter is that while he would very much like to fuck someone, he’s gotten a bit more particular, and at the moment the only one he really, really wants in on is too tired to get his boxers off.
As he snaps the cover into place to make sure that he doesn’t end up scalding himself during the walk back to Astor Place – he still hasn’t fixed his shoes – Julian realizes that he would really like to hold off on the sex until Craig’s met his mother. Jeannette Casablancas is the type to comment on how nice her son’s ass looks in a pair of jeans, and she’s almost certain to quiz Craig on their sex life the minute Julian goes out for a smoke. He knows for a fact that Craig Nicholls, for all his strengths, virtues, and songs about sex, will not be able to handle a ten-minute question and answer period about how often he gets into Julian’s pants.
Mentally, he reminds himself to at least make a stab at teaching Craig how to pronounce the necessary names (Casablancas, Adoquei, and Christiansen - not that it’ll matter, because his accent’ll fuck ‘em all up before they can leave his mouth), and to talk to his mom about speaking in English. This meeting has the potential to be limitlessly awkward, and he sincerely doubts that Craig can hold up his end of a conversation if Jeannette decides that she feels like being French or, God forbid, Danish.
By the time he gets back to Craig’s hotel room, the heat from the coffee has seeped through both cups, and his hand feels like it’s been numbed by fire. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tries to make as little noise as possible when re-entering the bedroom, knowing by now that Craig is not even close to sweetness and light when his caffeine levels aren’t right. He’s facing the wall, looking about twelve years old in the beams of light that break through the blinds. This is okay. Julian’s used to this.
Julian sits on the edge of the bed, wafting the scent of heavy cream and an excessive amount of sugar toward Craig, who is not his partner nor his significant other, half-hoping that he stays asleep so that Julian can stay in this moment a little while longer. When the coffee scent does its job, and presumably is absorbed into Craig’s skin – the man smells like a Maxwell House storage room all the time – he gets that little half-smile that means he’s doing something right.
When Craig’s happy, Julian’s happy, and it doesn't matter as much that he doesn't know how to make coffee.