31. Wallace #4
“Well,” Ben told him, “wear whatever the hell you want around here. You wanna change your name or your pronouns or anything, just let us know.”
“I, uh, I’m okay right now,” he replied. Were they actually making friends right now? Over this?
“So what are you going to do now?” Ben asked. “For work, I mean.”
“No idea.” He looked around Ben’s glorious workroom. “I like engineering, but… I’m probably not very good at it. Just, uh, do whatever supports Volt, I guess. God knows I have enough money to drown in.”
“Dude!” Ben looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Where the hell were you hiding all of this stuff for the past five years?”
“Locked up deep, deep inside my tiny, miserable heart,” Wallace deadpanned.
Ben laughed.
“Er, that’s actually true.”
“Yeah, but it’s still funny. You’re a funny guy, Wallace. You’re a good storyteller.”
Wallace shook his head. “Those are all Magnolia’s stories. And things I hoped Volt would remember.” He looked at his Daddy, lying there, open on the table. “I’m an asshole, like you said.”
Ben glared. “Well, you still have to eat, asshole. After all, I cooked for you.”
Oliver sighed, a heavy exhale through the speakers all around him. “That’s Ben-speak for he’s concerned about you and wants to take care of you, because he’s about seventy-percent of the way toward forgiving you. You have to ignore everything he says and just pay attention to the gestures.”
Ben glared at a camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Dickhead. I didn’t say that.”
“That’s Dickhead, Sir, to you, oh, love of my life,” Oliver teased back.
Ben snorted. “In your dreams.”
“Mmmm…” Oliver agreed. “In all of my dreams. But you two are both exhausted. Ben, go to sleep.”
Ben stuck out his tongue. “We talked about this. I don’t use clocks. I don’t have to use clocks.”
“No, but you’re about to do the wired-and-tired dance where you start to break stuff and then get mad at inanimate objects. Go to bed before I drag you there.”
Ben huffed.
“I’ve got a surprise for you…” Oliver cajoled.
Wallace did not want to know what that surprise was. There was a chance that it wasn’t sex… No, it was probably sex.
Ben huffed again, but he still stomped across the room. “Night, Wallace,” he called out over his shoulder.
Wallace could hear the two of them bickering as Ben went down the hall, their tones filled with increasing innuendo.
Oliver’s voice still came to Wallace softly from the lab’s speakers. “Wallace, there’s nothing more you can do right now. I’ve got a guest room ready for you. Eat the dinner the brat made and get some sleep. I know your Daddy would want you to. I’ll wake you up if there are any changes.”
Wallace smiled a little bit at the thought. His Daddy would want him to eat and sleep. And, god was it a relief to have a simple command like that, even if it was from somebody else’s Dom.
“Okay,” he agreed meekly. He took a bite of the summer roll, then raised his eyebrows, still chewing. “This is really good!”
“Thank you,” Oliver replied warmly. “They’re one of Ben’s favorites.”
Wallace’s life was officially weird. He hadn’t in a thousand years seen himself here, in Ben’s home, eating Ben’s favorite food that Ben had ordered to be made for him.
He tried the noodles, which were also amazing. He hadn’t realized that he was hungry, but his stomach made itself known with a growl.
He scarfed down the meal, barely pausing to breathe. Somewhere in his apartment building lobby was a bag of Japanese food that he’d never claimed. Hopefully someone would throw it out.
He looked at Daddy one more time. He looked serene now. Relaxed and sleeping, or at least something close to it. The bots still hummed busily around him, routinely checking every circuit and logic chain.
He found himself blinking and rubbing his eyes, exhaustion hitting him like a hammer. He’d hardly slept last night, rehearsing his exit speech with his father, and he didn’t even want to know how many hours he’d been sitting by Volt’s bedside, telling stories that Daddy might not be able to hear.
“It’s time for bed, Wallace,” Oliver told him.
He looked around the cluttered office. There wasn’t a bed there, but he would be fine sleeping in this uncomfortable chair. His eyes were gritty, hardly staying open.
“I made up a room for you. Just sleep. I’ve got him.”
“Yeah,” Wallace said. “Thank you.” He was beyond tired. Words weren’t working. But, remarkably, he trusted Oliver when he said that. At least enough to bend over and give Daddy a kiss on his scratched, motionless forehead and head toward the door. “Which way?”
“Up the stairs, second door on the left. I’ve left some things on the bed that you should be able to sleep in, and I’ll wash your clothes if you leave them outside the door.”
“Thank you,” he said again, hoping that Oliver understood how much he meant it. “Really. Thank you.”
“Of course, Wallace. We’re glad you’re here.”
He went up the stairs, not quite smiling, since Volt was still unconscious, but something pretty close to it.
Daddy was going to be okay.
And Oliver wanted him to be there.