Bossuet pulled himself out of bed, only wearing a loose t-shirt. Like usual. "Joly, mon amour?" The bald man asked, sleepiness still filling his voice, as he yawned. He narrowed his eyes, "Mon amour? Where are you?" He called a second time.
When he got fully to his feet, he began to look for the hypochondriac that didn't respond to him, with a confused look on his face. He was greeted with two bowls of perfectly cut up pineapple on the table. "Joly, Chetta must have left us breakfast before she took off," he observed with a grin on his face.
Not Chetta," Joly said, as the younger man's arms wrapped around Lesgles from behind, causing Bossuet to nearly stumble over in shock. it was really a wonder that he hadn't tripped at all this morning.
"You mean, you did this?" Bossuet asked, seeing as Joly was never one to put forth much effort in the kitchen. The man always claimed he was a hopeless chef, and no one disagreed. Usually Joly was banned from Chetta's kitchen in fear of the chicken being inspected thirty times for salmonella.
"I did. I didn't even get a cut. That means no diseases for me... blood borne anyways... Unless of course I didn't wash the fruit well enough," Joly began his usual panic before he ate, "Maybe I should go rewash it, or not eat at all, or maybe I shou-"
Bossuet interrupted his lover;s frantic doubt, "I'm sure it's fine," he assured, before making sure he'd gotten his point across with one passionate, deep kiss.
"Je t'aime, Bossuet."
"I love you too, my little germaphobe."