Title: Rude Awakening
Author: Baked Goldfish
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. No money being made. Don't sue me.
Category: Sam/Toby, fluff
Summary: Toby orders coffee. So Sam makes some.
Rude Awakening by Baked Goldfish
The alarm went off.
With his face still crushed into the pillow, he dropped his hand against the offending noisemaker. It fell to the floor and turned off with a pathetic sputter. His eyes were still closed, and now his arm was dangling off the bed.
He felt something on his side, pushing into his ribs: it was a hand. More specifically, it was a set of knobby knuckles. It wasn't painful enough to actually be painful, but it sure was painful enough to be damned annoying. He squirmed away from the touch without actually waking.
At this third, quiet, rough utterance of his name, he turned around and cracked open one eye. It was difficult to do so, as his lids had puffed up during sleep, and that icky crud that sometimes accumulates at the corners of one's eyes was acting as sticky glue, latching his long lashes together. Still, he opened his sleep-fogged eyes, slowly and one at a time, and gradually began to focus on the face across from him.
"What?" Sam finally said. His voice crackled with sleep deprivation and lack of use for the past couple hours, and, for a moment, he didn't think he had really said anything at all.
"Make me some coffee." Toby hadn't actually opened his eyes when he'd said that, and hadn't rolled onto his back like he usually did when he first woke up. In fact, he hadn't moved at all from his original position: curled on his side, snuggled under the sheets, with one hand under his head and the other pushing into Sam's ribs. To look at him, one would think Sam had been imagining things.
Sam, being fairly normal, indeed thought he had been imagining things. "Make you some . . . huh?"
At this, Toby opened an eye to glare at Sam. "Coffee. Make me some coffee."
Sam rolled his eyes and crawled out of bed. His feet got tangled together, and he landed on the floor with a loud "whump."
Behind him, Toby chuckled.
A few minutes later, the unusually strong scent of coffee roused Toby from his slumber. He got out of bed with a bit more grace than Sam had, and pulled on a pair of shorts before shuffling out to the kitchen.
Sam was already seated at the kitchen table, his back to Toby and his eyes glued to the latest edition of the Washington Post. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Toby snorted derisively at Sam's breakfast of cantaloupe, orange juice, and a hard-boiled egg.
"Morning, Toby," Sam said genially, turning the page.
"That's my robe you're wearing," Toby grumbled, putting the coffee pot back. Sam shrugged apologetically, and Toby took a sip of coffee.
He immediately let the sludge slide back into his cup, gagging, wide- eyed and stunned. The stuff tasted stale, rancid, and rather like wet dog meets athlete's foot.
With a voice that seemed to have gone up an octave, he said, "Sam?"
Sam folded his newspaper and turned to face Toby. "Yes?"
"Did you, by any chance, forget to change the filter before you made this coffee?"
An overly astonished expression came onto Sam's face, and he snapped his fingers as if remembering something. "Why, I do believe I did forget," he replied.
Toby glared at him, and poured all the coffee down the drain. "That's cruel and unusual."
"Perhaps," Sam said, his voice too happy for Toby's liking.
"It's something I would do," Toby muttered as he poured himself some water.
Sam put his newspaper down again, and faced Toby once more. "Hmm?"
"Nothing." As an afterthought, he asked, "That was, you know, a bit of revenge, wasn't it?"
"For this morning, you mean?"
Sam smiled sweetly. "Yes. And there's even a moral to this story."
Toby scratched the nape of his neck and rocked on his heels a bit. "Maybe . . . maybe I should make my own coffee?"
"See how I snuck that in there?" Sam turned back to his newspaper, and was soon drawn back into the story he'd been reading earlier.
So, when he felt a pair of hands on his ears, he was quite startled.
Toby kissed the top of his head with a loud "mwah." With Sam's thick hair still tickling his nose, he muttered, "I could eat you with a spoon." He walked back into the bedroom to get ready for the day, and Sam was left with a befuddled, dazed look on his face as he pondered how his plan of revenge could have possibly elicited that reaction. Then, he heard singing from the shower.
He ate the rest of his cantaloupe in confused silence.