#brunch dates

"You know what I've never understood?" Michael mused from across the small table. It was date night! Or, more so, date day as Satchel had taken him out for brunch. "Mm, what?" He half-heartedly asked as he grazed over the laminated menu placed in front of him. 

"Your hands! They're so, like, not right. I don't know how to describe it but your fingers are too short for you to play guitar the way you do." Satchel raised an eyebrow above his sunglasses, suddenly much more interested in the singer's miniature rant. "Not to be an asshole or anything- you'd just never expect it! When I tried to learn guitar, I gave up because my fingers were too short to comfortably hold the damn thing! It's just cool, I guess." 

"Seems like you spend a lot of time staring at my hands, stalker." Satchel chortled as he placed his flimsy menu in a stack on top of Michael's. He leaned forward on the square patio table as he rested his chin in his hand. As much as he jokingly argued with the man, he absolutely adored the blond-haired vocalist that sat in front of him. "Oh yeah, hard to not take notice when they're wrapped around my dick every night!" Michael wittily retorted, gazing back at the guitarist. Unfortunately for him, their waiter had returned just as his snarky reply had left his lips. 

"So, um, what will you gentlemen have today?" The waiter, Stacy as assigned by her nametag, staggered as she stared down at her notepad, just as white as the ruled paper she gawked at. "Oh! I will have an earl grey with a breakfast burrito and he," Satchel pointed across the table "will have a cappuccino with the fruity pancakes. Thank you, Stacy!" 

When Stacy had left their table after droning out their order, the two men burst into giggles. "God, I will never know how you guess exactly what I want to order! Did you get me the fruity pancakes because you knew I wanted them or did you just want to subtly call me gay?" Michael questioned as he played a show of mock horror. "Maybe a little bit of both." Satchel grinned as he ran a hand through his mane of hair. 

"Aw, c'mon jackass! I'm not even, like, that gay. If I'm gay, I'm like point five percent gay, and I reserve that percent for you!" Michael quipped as he lightly kicked the other man in the shin from across the table. It was so calm to just be them, no overbearing drummers or absent bassists, just Michael and Satchel. When things got rough, it always dwindled down to that. Their peers joked that they were some sort of power couple and they'd just laugh it off and snort a line or two, because how could anyone know how close they actually were? Everyone assumed the casual ass grabbing and borderline homo remarks were just for public appearances, to keep up that vaguely homosexual aura of the 80's. Plus, any sane man or woman would want of piece of Satchel's ass. It's a nice ass! 

"Hmm, yeah. Okay," Satchel sassed "anyways, your hair looks really pretty today. Dare I even say, it looks bitchin'." He motioned to the way the singer had pushed his bleach-blond hair back with the sunglasses resting on his head. He had pulled out the little waves by his ears, too. It made Satchel's heart ache. How could such a playboy be so fucking cute? "Aw, you love me! Thank you." Michael teased as he ran his fingers through the ends of his hair. "You look good, by the way. Thanks for shaving off your stubble because it irritates my face when we make out. That was sweet of you." The singer smiled at the gentle pink that flushed the guitarist's face. Satchel had never quite gotten used to the compliments despite how many he received. 

The guitarist simply replied with a little 'hmmph' sound and let a little smile peck at the corners of his mouth. Eventually, Stacy found her way back with armfuls of overpriced nutriments. For the money they had dropped on the food, it honestly didn't look half bad! Steam rose off of the two mugs that rested on separate saucers that clinked together when placed on the table. It was a chilly day, so the hot beverages fit their frozen states just perfectly. Despite the lack of warmth, the two men stayed local to their torn fishnet and spandex pants. 

"Fuck, I'm cold as shit!" Michael exclaimed, dramatically shivering. Since he hadn't brought a jacket with him to pull the stereotypical boyfriend move, Satchel stood up, scooted over his chair, and moved his belongings to the other side of the table. "It's not even that cold out, wuss." He mumbled as he placed his head on Michael's shoulder and snuggled up to the singer. "If anyone recognizes us, tell them I'm dead so we look less gay." Satchel talked to himself, unaware of the loving gaze the singer had focused on him. 

"I could get used to this, y'know?" Michael cooed as he sipped at his cappuccino.