Chapter 7 #3
But clearly, it was not going to be Lane, so Trevor was going to have to make do with whatever insanity spouted out of him.
“I didn’t think it could be that good,” was apparently the flavor that Trevor’s brain was picking to go with. That made a lot of sense. Half of his wonder was that it was Lane. The other half was that it was like this.
Lane, leaning against the counter, body loose in a way that Trevor was beginning to associate with sex, froze. “Uh,” he said.
“I know you do this a lot, so I guess it must be really good like that all the time.” Trevor was babbling now and couldn’t make himself stop. “It’s not—I don’t usually—it’s just not like that for me.”
“You have bad sex?” Lane asked, because of fucking course that was what he’d focused on.
“No, it just isn’t like that.” Trevor wasn’t going to say there was an enormous distance between bad and then whatever that had been.
Lane swallowed. Looked away. To the chicken on the counter like he’d switched from thinking about what Trevor had said to what he was going to make for dinner. But Trevor was beginning to figure out some of his tells. And no question, this was one.
“It’s not normally that good,” Lane finally said.
No elaboration, but then Trevor had a feeling admitting even that had cost him, so it wasn’t like he could demand more. Even if he wanted more.
“Okay.” At the very least, that was good to know. It wasn’t just Trevor, then. Whatever insanity was happening, they were at least in this together.
It didn’t always feel that way, but then Lane had been clear about it. If Trevor wanted it, he could take it. He should take it.
Trevor had wondered, in the back of his mind the whole time, if that meant Lane was indifferent to whether it happened or not, but the one thing that was coming into clearer and clearer focus for Trevor was that Lane was the last thing from indifferent.
Lane cleared his throat. “You still want dinner?”
“Well, yeah,” Trevor said. Told himself he could make the joke—that he should make the joke. “I can’t survive on dick alone.”
Barking out a laugh, Lane reached out and ruffled Trevor’s hair affectionately. Not something he usually did, but then Trevor didn’t usually suck his dick either.
“Fine, fine, I’ll make us something. Don’t want you to starve.”
“I’d bet you don’t want to starve either,” Trevor retorted. But they might if Lane cooked—he’d made an effort, which he’d bragged-slash-complained about a lot since the season had started.
Not once had he ever asked Trevor if he knew how to cook, or wondered if Trevor should be carrying his own weight in the kitchen.
It was kind of cute, almost sweet if Trevor thought about it. But it also meant that Trevor had been stuck eating mediocre meals, food at the practice facility or takeout for the last four-plus months.
He hadn’t wanted to move into Lane’s condo—a situation that everyone had just taken for granted, nobody asking Lane once as far as Trevor knew how he felt about it—and immediately demand to take over the cooking duties because Lane sucked so bad at them.
He’d told himself he had time to settle in, and get Lane used to the idea that just because he was older, he had to take care of Trevor.
But then Lane had ended up being pricklier than Trevor had imagined he would be, and the last thing he wanted to do was confess, actually, dude, you suck at this, let me do it, please.
Trevor sighed, watching as Lane stared, uninspired, at his chicken breasts and bag of broccoli. Maybe it was inevitable that he’d confess the truth. At least he’d be doing it after giving Lane what had seemed like a pretty decent orgasm.
“What about this,” Trevor said as gently as he could, even though it probably wouldn’t matter, in the end. “How about you let me make dinner?”
Lane’s eyes flicked up to Trevor’s. “What? Why?”
Sighing, Trevor put his hand on Lane’s arm. Did he tense? Or did Trevor imagine that? Crazy that Trevor could suck Lane’s dick, but a simple friendly touch could make him freeze like that.
“Listen, I can handle this,” Trevor said as diplomatically as possible.
He really should’ve never let it get this far.
“You’re going to make dinner? But you’re—”
“Less than two years younger than you and totally capable of feeding both of us? Yeah.”
A crease appeared between Lane’s eyebrow as they slanted together. “Then why would you let me do it? Badly?”
At least Lane seemed to understand that he sucked at it. “You were trying so hard,” Trevor admitted. And it was nice, watching you try so hard. For me. Even if it was just tough chicken for dinner or shitty scrambled eggs in the mornings.
Choking down Lane’s mediocre food had been worth that feeling.
“Well, shit,” Lane said. He was staring at Trevor like he was seeing him for the first goddamn time.
“Sorry,” Trevor said reflexively.
Lane shot him a heated look. “Unless you want to apologize for making both of us eat crap for months, it’s not necessary. But yeah, if you wanna take over? I’m not gonna stop you.”
Relief surged through Trevor that Lane didn’t look pissed, only surprised that Trevor hadn’t told him the truth ages ago.
Having gotten tacit permission, Trevor didn’t hesitate. Headed over to the fridge, took stock and pulled out a few things. Then found a metal bowl, and after opening the package of chicken, began to pile them in the bowl.
“What are you doing?”
Trevor looked up from where he was sorting through Lane’s limited spice selection. Lane had taken over the spot that Trevor had used to occupy, on one of the barstools.
“Making a marinade to make the chicken tender and tastier,” Trevor said.
“Huh,” Lane said, like this was a thing that had never occurred to him to do.
Which, having spent the last four months eating Lane’s terrible, tough, tasteless chicken, felt spot-on to Trevor.
“And this is why I’m taking over the cooking,” Trevor said, and Lane only grinned at him bashfully.
“Your fault for not speaking up sooner,” Lane said, not seeming pissed off about it, at all. And sure he’d just gotten a blowjob, so it would be hard to be in a bad mood, but despite that, he was even more relaxed than Trevor expected.
“It was nice, that you tried even though you sucked at it,” Trevor admitted. He had the excuse of mixing the chicken with the seasonings he’d liberally sprinkled in the bowl so he didn’t have to look up at Lane as he said it.
“Yeah?”
Trevor preemptively flushed, but said what he was thinking anyway. “Cute, even.”
“Couldn’t be as cute as you making faces at my spice drawer,” Lane retorted, but when Trevor glanced up, he was grinning.
“You gonna bitch if I take over the grocery ordering too?”
“Bitch that you’re carrying your weight around here?” Lane’s smile deepened. “Nah.”
Despite the lack of ingredients—and in some ways, a lack of equipment, which Trevor was going to remedy in a few minutes when he grabbed his phone and its app—dinner turned out really pretty good.
Lane looked over at him after his first bite and just said, “Are you freaking kidding me, Trev?”
Trevor just laughed. “We’re both kind of stupid, aren’t we?”
Lane didn’t agree, but then he didn’t argue either.
After they cleaned up and Trevor took five minutes to scroll through the app to add half a dozen things he really could not live without to his cart, he headed over to his puzzle.
“You gonna work on that for awhile?” Lane asked and Trevor nodded.
Tonight had been good, but also different enough that it had left him feeling a little shaky and uncertain.
Like it wasn’t just him forging new ground, but both of them together.
If he tried to watch something or read or just went to bed, he wouldn’t be able to calm his mind enough.
But focusing on the puzzle would settle him.
“I’m just gonna—” Lane gestured towards his bedroom. “Watch some stuff on my iPad.”
“Alright.” Trevor glanced over at him. He felt it too, the same draw and the same resulting awkwardness. It would be weird to kiss good night. He shouldn’t want to. Lane shouldn’t want to.
But it felt even weirder just sending him off to another bedroom with a shrug and a smile.
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning?” Lane said, still standing there, still shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes looking anywhere but at Trevor.
Trevor understood. Lane was feeling that shaky ground too. Didn’t know what the new rules were. The new norms.
“Yeah.” Trevor offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Hoping it might reassure them both.
“Night,” Lane said, and the look on his face right before he turned to go made Trevor think he wasn’t exactly reassured.
When he turned the corner towards the bedrooms, Trevor let out an unsteady breath and tried to get his brain to refocus on the puzzle in front of him.
But it wouldn’t.
Every time he went searching for a particular piece, he’d find himself spacing out, thinking of the uncertainty in Lane’s expression right before he’d turned—like he’d wanted something and wasn’t sure that Trevor would be into giving it to him.
The craziest part wasn’t even that he might want something; it was how much Trevor wanted to give it to him. No matter what it was.
Finally, he put one last piece in and stood. This wasn’t happening tonight, no matter how much he wanted it to.
Trevor flicked the last light in the living room off and headed towards his bedroom.
But in the hallway, he hesitated. There was light shining from Lane’s bedroom. Not just under the door, but the door itself was cracked, yellow spilling into the hallway.
There was every chance this was going to make everything between him and Lane even weirder, but Lane himself had said that whatever Trevor wanted, he could have.
It wasn’t that Trevor didn’t think Lane hadn’t meant it, but this was different. More intimate. Less sexual.
He let out an unsteady breath and knocked on the door. When he heard Lane’s, “Yeah,” he pushed it open.