Continued from here.
The next morning, he wakes to the sound of Alice’s laughter drifting up the stairs. The smell of coffee follows, and he stretches, rolling over onto his side as he fumbles for the alarm clock on his bedside table.
The digits flash 9:30, and he can’t remember the last time he’s slept this late.
He pulls on a pair of pants and pads down the stairs in bare feet, scratching at the two-days-old stubble on his chin. “Good morning,” he says as he rounds the corner into the kitchen.
“Daddy!” Alice exclaims, jumping down from the chair she’d been standing on to wrap her arms tightly around his legs. “Jonathan’s teaching me to cook breakfast!”
He lifts her into his arms and kisses her cheek. “Is that so?” he asks. “I thought I smelled bacon.”
“And coffee,” Jonathan adds, and Brent finally allows his gaze to fall on Jonathan standing at the stove. He’s shirtless in nylon shorts that hang low on his lean frame, the cut of his hips evident even from where Brent’s side view of his body.
He makes his way across the kitchen and hands Brent a mug. “I always made breakfast at home, so I figured I’d help out and let you sleep in a little,” he says with a sweet smile. “I hope that’s ok.”
“Jonathan is a really good cooker, Daddy. He let me try the bacon and it’s super good.”
“That’s really nice of you, kid,” Brent says. “Thanks.” Jonathan beams at him, and Brent gives serious consideration to investing in a set of blinders for the next 9 months.
Against his better judgement, he complains about it to his Patrick. . “You don’t even know, Sharpy. When the fuck did 16-year-olds start looking like models?”
Sharpy laughs delightedly at Brent’s plight. “There’s only a ten year difference, man,” he says, and Brent makes a face, shoving at Sharpy’s shoulder. “I gotta see this kid,” he says, looking around. “He home?”
Brent shakes his head, taking a slow pull from his beer. “Practice,” he says. “Should be home any minute, which means you need to get out of here.”
“Where’s Alice in Wonderland?” Sharpy asks, ignoring him.
“Asleep, thank god,” Brent says. “She’s been up late every night this week, waiting for the kid to get home.”
Sharpy grins. “So he’s charmed the both of you, huh?”
“Shut up,” Brent says, pulling a face. “God, I’m a dirty old man, aren’t I.”
“Eh,” Sharpy says with a shrug. “No judgement here, man. You haven’t gotten laid in a while, soooo —”
“Fuck off,” Brent says, snatching Sharpy’s empty bottle from his hand. “No more beer for you.”
His head jerks to the side when he hears the front door open, followed by the thud of Jonathan’s equipment hitting the floor. Sharpy’s grinning devilishly, and Brent shoots him a warning look.
“Hey,” Jonathan says as he comes into the room. His hair is still wet from the shower, cheeks pink from practice. “I’m starving, is there —”
Brent nods towards the kitchen, shielding Jonathan from Sharpy’s view. “Spaghetti on the stove. Might want to warm it up a little.”
Jonathan’s eyes flick to the empty beer bottles in Brent’s hand. “Do you have company? I’m sorry, did I interrupt—”
“No! No, you didn’t interrupt anything,” Brent says, ushering him into the kitchen. “Here, let me get you some —”
“Hi!” comes Sharpy’s voice from behind them, and god damn it, Brent thinks. “You must be Jonathan,” he says, extending a hand. “I’m Patrick.”
Jonathan smiles that smile and shakes Sharpy’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m sorry if I barged in at the wrong time.”
“No, you’re fine. I was just leaving,” he says, throwing Brent an exaggerated wink. “See you later, man. Thanks for the beers.”
Brent grumbles a goodbye and goes back to fixing Jonathan’s dinner.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the kid’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt nervously. “Everything ok?” Brent asks.
“I’m really sorry if I interrupted something,” Jonathan says — again. “Was that, uh. Was he your boyfriend?”
Brent nearly chokes. “Sharpy? God, no, Sharpy’s not — no. We’re just buddies. Known him half my life.”
“Oh,” Jonathan says, and Brent’s probably mistaken, but he swears the kid looks relieved. “He’s pretty hot.”
Wait — what?
“What?” Brent says, a little hysterically.
“He’s a good looking guy,” Jonathan says with a shrug as he sits down at the kitchen table.
“Oh,” Brent says dumbly. “Yeah, I uh, I guess he is. Not really my type.”
“Really?” Jonathan says, scrunching his nose. “That guy should be everybody’s type.”
That gets a laugh from Brent, and Jonathan smiles. “Yeah, kid, I guess you’re right. He should be.”
He sets Jonathan’s dinner in front of him, hovering for a moment. “You need anything else? I’m gonna take a shower and hit the sack.”
Jonathan shovels a forkful of noodles into his mouth and shakes his head. “G’night,” he says between bites.
“Good night, kid.”
Brent jerks off under the shower’s spray thinking about Jonny’s lips. He comes out feeling a lot less clean than he had when he went in.