Black Russian Breakfast

"Black Russian Breakfast"
Starring Paul and Richard

Paul's POV



As soon as I woke, Richard rolled over on top of me and sat up to straddle me. It wasn't like him to watch me sleep, but it was clear that he'd been doing just that.

"Ngh," I grunted from the extra weight, bringing my hands up to grab him around the waist. I stroked his lower back a bit, still half-asleep, gazing up at my lover through lazy lids. "Let me wake up first," I mumbled, postponing the usual morning sex session just a bit longer.

I continued to lazily stroke his back, then quietly drifted off once more. Awoken by my own snore, I snapped back to attention, causing Richard to chuckle.

"Come join me for coffee when you actually wake up," he said, patting me on the chest before climbing off me. He walked over to the dresser and threw on a black wifebeater before retreating out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. In the moment that the door was open, the scent of brewing coffee wafted in. It meant that Richard had already been up and had merely been lying in bed waiting for me to wake up. A bit disappointed that there wasn't going to be any sex, my morning wood slowly deflated and I reluctantly sat up.

"Mmn," I moaned, moving my left arm around to loosen up my stiff shoulder. An old injury caused it to hurt most of the time, and the pain was even worse when I happened to sleep laying on said shoulder. Apparently I had done just that last night. Ugh. I got up and threw on a wifebeater of my own, and left the bedroom to join Richard in the kitchen.

"Well, good morning, sunshine," Richard greeted me brightly. I probably had an expression of extreme irritation at having to be out of bed at all. "Hmn," was all he said to that, returning to his coffee and cigarette.

I pulled a mug out of the cupboard, ironically one that read, 'I'm out of bed and dressed. What more do you want?' Quickly filling it with coffee, I added some sugar, grumbling while I searched the cupboards for a bottle of vodka. I was on prescription painkillers for my shoulder and wasn't supposed to be drinking, but nothing ever stood in the way of my black Russian breakfast.

Not even Richard.

"You sure you should be drinking that?" he eyed me as I added about a double shot of my beloved Stoli, stirring everything up afterward.

"It's fine, Richard," I grumbled in response. "/I'm/ fine."

He carefully sipped his coffee, still eyeing me as I sat at the kitchen table with him. He was such a worrywart.

"I can't take any painkillers today anyway," I reminded him. "Remember? Surgery tomorrow."

"Right," he responded. "But I don't think you should be drinking, eith-" His words were quickly cut off by the angry, irritated look I shot him. "I-I guess one drink won't hurt..."

I took a small sip of my black Russian, greatly pleased by the strong burn of the Stoli. It was nowhere near enough to get me drunk, of course. But it was enough to take the edge off. Oliver and Schneider may 'wake and bake.' But I woke and drank. Sometimes I drank the whole day, going through an entire bottle. Sometimes just the one drink was enough. Especially recently, being on painkillers and advised to not drink at all. But vodka was my comfort. My solace. Richard would tell you that vodka was also my lover, but that was just jealous talk.

I lit up a cigarette, sighing contentedly. "Ahh..." The perfect taste accompaniment to my drink.

"Should you be smoking?" Richard queried, his face written with genuine concern.

"Please... don't start with me, Richard," I warned. "I'm going to have a hard enough time after the surgery. Just... leave me be. I'll be in a better mood if I can just do what I want."

"You know I'm only concerned because I love you," Richard expressed.

Well.

That actually made my stoic German (and Russian) expression soften.

"I love you too, Schatz," I whispered, smiling.

It was going to be a good day, after all.

END.