"What time are you on?" Robert Dalgety asked around a yawn as he rolled out of bed. Coffee. He needed coffee.
"Nine," Bruce Kellerman answered from beneath the covers. He peeked from under a pillow and watched as Dalgety searched for a fresh coffee filter among the ancient tin cans and half eaten bags of chips that lined the inside of Kellerman's one small cupboard. "You?"
"Seven," Dalgety replied absently from the kitchenette.
Kellerman checked the bedside clock. "It's 7:30."
Dalgety's eyes lit upon the coffeemaker itself. He removed the filter from the previous morning, emptied its contents into the garbage bin, and refilled it with fresh grinds. The Scot chose to ignore the amused snort that came from the direction of the bed. "Only 7:30?" came his vaguely surprised reply. "I thought it was much later."
"You know we're getting a new administrator today. Don't you want to make a good impression?" Kellerman asked sarcastically.
Dalgety pretended to think about it for a moment. "No, I really don't think I do," he drawled. When he had seen to the coffee and the machine was bubbling away cheerfully, he returned to the bed. "You think you'll be getting out of bed sometime soon?"
Kellerman lay back in the bed and gave a leisurely stretch. "Not with any luck."
"Maybe I should join you, then." It was almost nearly a question, but he wasn't really concerned about with answer. He began to trace lazy circles over his mate's chest with an index finger still wet from filling the coffeemaker. The trails of droplets looked too inviting, so he followed his finger's path with his tongue.
"Aren't you supposed to be working?" It wasn't a protest. Dalgety could tell because protests weren't usually accompanied by a hiss of pleasure.
"I am. Working," he replied reasonably as he decided to let his tongue take the initiative and venture forth on its own while his fingers paused to play with the American's hardening nipples. He felt Kellerman open his mouth to speak, but all that issued forth was a ragged sigh. Dalgety began to stand, but was stopped by a muted protest from the man beneath. He smiled and stopped the protest with a quick, hard kiss before straightening. A look of disappointment crossed his companion's face, but it was quickly replaced by another expression altogether different, punctuated by two grey eyes dilated with lust, when he began to remove his own boxers.
Dalgety quickly resumed his position above the prone man, allowing his morning stubble to grate across the other man's burgeoning erection. A quick swipe across the head with his tongue, and he took the cock into his mouth, dragging his teeth along the tender skin. He needed to be swift about this, because they were playing beat the cl--
"Bont bont bont bont..."
"Fuck!" Kellerman cursed as he shot up and slammed his hand down on the alarm clock.
"Well, I was trying," Dalgety replied as he took a surreptitious look at the offending device. Eight a.m. "Oh well," he drawled, standing up and retrieving his boxers.
"Wha-huh? Where are you going? We were in the middle of something," came Kellerman's baffled protest.
"We were, but you're due in surgery at 9:30, unless I'm very much mistaken. It's nearly an hour there by train. With twenty minutes to scrub in, you'll be lucky to make it on time."
"Mr. Murphy can wait," came the half-hearted protest. Kellerman was already beginning to get up, though.
"For a new pacemaker, I don't think so," Dalgety said, moving to pour them both some coffee.
Kellerman pulled on the nearest pair of scrub bottoms he saw and stood to take the offered cup. He made the mistake of looking at the clock. "Shit!" he exclaimed, spilling hot coffee down his front. "I have to be in surgery in an hour and a half!"
"Do you now?" came the amused reply. He began to dab at the angry red mark that appeared across his mate's chest with a damp rag.
"Yeah," Kellerman replied absently. He didn't seem to realize he was being laughed at. He looked up into smiling eyes. "Help me get to the hospital on time and I'll buy you lunch?" the American begged.
Never one to turn down a free meal, or a chance to run his hands over his lover's naked body, he dressed himself and the singed cardio-thoracic surgeon quickly.
They were out the door in record time, and the Scotsman had a couple of doughnuts hidden in his backpack that would probably earn him a kiss on the train ride in to the hospital.
It was an hour later standing in a busy corridor that smelled vaguely of antiseptic before either realized they were wearing the other's trousers.