Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Make way for the two wise men!” Patrick bellows as he bangs through the front door. Jonny can hear the twins tumble inside after him: a flurry of kicked off shoes followed by what sounds like a herd of elephants coming down the hall.

Jonny looks up just in time to catch Bryan as he leaps onto the couch. His blond curls tumble over his eyes, and he blows them back before grinning up at Jonny with his trademark impish smile.

“Papa, Papa, Papa! I’mma be Frankenstein!” Bryan says, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “He’s the best wise man!”

“No he’s not, stupid. Everyone knows gold is better,” Eric scoffs as he climbs up on the sofa more sedately, pushing at his brother to make space for himself in Jonny’s lap.

“Eric,” Patrick says, putting Amelie down on the floor near a previously abandoned pile of blocks. “Six minutes on your think-about-it-stool for calling your brother names.”

Eric looks beseechingly at Jonny, wide eyes pleading but Jonny shakes his head and pushes him towards the corner of the living room. Eric sticks his tongue out at Bryan as he plops down on the stool and darts a guilty glance at Jonny, but Jonny lets it go and turns back to Bryan.

“Frankenstein? Since when is Frankenstein in the Christmas play?” Jonny asks, pulling Bryan closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek before Bryan squirms out of his grip.

“It’s not Frankenstein. It’s Frankenmurr!” shouts Eric, from his perch on the think-about-it stool.

Patrick frowns from where he’s finishing the complicated process of getting Amelie out of her coat. “It’s frankincense, and if I hear one more word out of you, you’re losing Dora the Explorer privileges for one week.”

Pushing Amelie in Jonny’s direction, Patrick mouths “fingers crossed” and disappears into the kitchen.

Amelie toddles over to the couch, brown hair escaping her pigtails and falling across her face. “Papa Papa,” she gurgles, arms stretched out to Jonny, and he scoops her up to tuck against his side.

She's inexplicably covered in chocolate, with an especially large streak across one chubby cheek, and Jonny watches, dismayed, as it smears on the paperwork he’d been reviewing for the big Carter presentation when chaos descended.

“Patrick, why is our daughter covered in chocolate?” Jonny asks, trying to twist the blueprint out of Amelie’s sticky hand. “Didn’t we agree not to give the kids treats this close to dinner?”

Patrick appears in the doorway, sleeves rolled up and capable forearms exposed; he’s tying a red apron around his waist with a few competent flicks of his hands. “Yeah, I know, but - Nutella stuffed churros, babe. Everyone is powerless in the face of Nutella churros.”

Jonny shakes his head at Patrick, who makes a face and calls Bryan into the kitchen to wash up and start his homework. Jonny is left with chocolate-smeared paperwork, an adorable demon in a smocked dress, and a dawning headache.

He’s not sure why he keeps trying to work from home. It’s clearly an exercise in frustration and futility. And occasionally chocolate.

Jonny slides the paperwork out from Amelie’s hands, and she scrunches her face up at him in displeasure. “Pwease?” She says, lower lip wobbling a bit as she makes grabby hands at his blueprints.

He makes a goofy face at her, and she chortles and slaps his face twice before squirming closer, crunching blueprints and documents once again under her hands and feet. Jonny looks at the papers now strewn over the couch. “Fuck it.” He stands up, sweeping Amelie up onto his shoulders and heading for the kitchen.

“Papa made a swear word!” Eric yells, turning around to look at Jonny. “Daddy! Papa made a swear word!”

Patrick sticks his head out from the kitchen. “Eric Timothy Toews, if I hear one more word from you while you’re in time out, we’re moving this act to your room, and I’m going to double the minutes.”

He pauses, looking at Eric steadily. “Now, do you want a twelve minute time out? Or are you going to finish this one quietly?”

“But Papa said - “ Eric stops when Patrick fixes him with an unimpressed look. He sighs but subsides, putting his thumb in his mouth and turning to look at the wall.

Bryan appears in the doorway, biting his fingernail and looking anxiously at Eric, but Patrick just turns him around and nudges him back into the kitchen.

Patrick turns his attention to Jonny, and Jonny can see him biting back a grin. “And as for you, Papa, you owe one dollar to the swear jar. You know we don’t use swear words in this family.”

Jonny rolls his eyes as Patrick waggles his eyebrows at that patent lie.

“Also,” Patrick leans in, murmuring softly enough that only Jonny can hear, “get that magnificent fucking ass into the kitchen and help me get dinner on the table, you gorgeous asshole,” Patrick murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear.

Jonny pinches Patrick’s - in his opinion - superior ass on his way to the table and laughs when Patrick squawks indignantly.

Jonny gets Amelie settled into her high chair and ruffles Bryan’s blond curls, longer and lighter than Patrick’s.

“Why don’t you go put Eric out of his misery so he can do his homework before we eat?” Patrick says. “I’ll put on some music.”

When Jonny releases Eric from his time-out, Eric looks up at him sadly. “I’m sorry, Papa,” Eric says. “Bryan’s not stupid.”

“I think you need to tell Bryan that, buddy,” Jonny says, giving Eric a quick hug before scrubbing a hand over his close-cropped hair.

When they walk into the kitchen, Patrick’s swaying in front of the stove, whistling along to “It’s a Hard Knock Life” while he stirs a pot on one of the burners in time with the music.

Bryan’s already at the table, papers spread out in front of him. He smiles when Eric climbs up and hugs him.

“I’m sorry, Bryan. I think you’re super smart!”

“It’s okay, E,” Bryan says. “Wanna practice spelling?” He hands a pencil to Eric.

Bryan catches Jonny’s eye and gives him a scrunchy-faced almost-wink, and he looks so much like Patrick that Jonny can feel his throat tighten a little.

“I miss Eric’s curls,” Jonny says quietly to Patrick as the boys bend their heads over their homework.

“Because you’re not the one who has to brush them,” Patrick responds dryly. “And there really wasn’t any alternative, Jon. He had a wad of gum the size of a golf ball stuck in there.”

“I know, I just really like the boys with long, blond curls.”

“Don’t I know it,” Patrick says, waggling his eyebrows.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Need help with dinner?”

Patrick nods at the chopping block, piled with vegetables that need cutting up. Jonny drops a quick kiss on his shoulder and starts chopping. Patrick starts humming again, and pretty soon Jonny’s joined in.

What even is his life that he actually knows this tune? It’s a far cry from his staid, sterile office, but when Bryan and Eric start singing along and Amelie joins in by banging her tiny fists on her tray, he remembers exactly why sacrificing a blueprint to chocolate handprints every once in awhile is worth it.

***

Jonny’s late. Again.

Bryan had spilled milk all over his uniform that morning, and of course no other shirts were clean. By the time Patrick had harvested one from the dirty laundry, washed out the spot of spaghetti sauce on it, and blown it dry enough that Bryan would consent to put it on, they were forty-five minutes late.

Brandon greets him at the door, grabbing Jonny’s briefcase in exchange for blueprints and a large coffee. Jonny thanks him around a mouthful of coffee as they hurry along the corridor.

“You’re late,” Brandon says.

Brandon is a presumptuous shit, and Jonny isn’t sure why he keeps him around. Except for how he brings him coffee and covers for him when he’s late. Again.

“I know,” Jonny says. He takes another gulp of coffee before handing it back to Brandon and shuffling through the papers. “Did you - “

“I stalled, but Mr. Carter’s been in the conference room for fifteen minutes. Shawsy’s trying to-”

“You left our new client alone. With Shawsy.” Jonny stops abruptly, giving Brandon an incredulous look before doubling the pace. “I thought I’d trained you better than that?”

“Bollig’s in there, too. And Geno. Shawsy’s just setting up the presentation.” Brandon looks offended. “I’m not that new.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m in a rotten mood.” Jonny’s pathetically grateful that Brandon doesn’t mention how he’s been in a rotten mood all week, preparing for this meeting. “Is Geno mad?”

Geno’s usually pretty easy going, until he’s not, but it’s still his firm, and he’s still Jonny’s boss.

“Nah, they’re talking smack about Olympic hockey,” Brandon tilts his head toward the conference room door. “I’m surprised Sid’s not in there, too. He’s got bat ears for hockey talk.”

“Jonny,” Sidney says, appearing as though Brandon had conjured him up. “We good? You’re ready for this?”

Jonny blows out a breath. Designing Jeff Carter’s house is the biggest project he’s ever been on, and the fact that Sidney and Geno are trusting him is gratifying and terrifying in pretty equal part. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says and opens the conference room door.

The relieved faces of Andrew Shaw and Brandon Bollig greet him when he walks in. They’re only junior architects on this project, but Jonny knows first-hand that they’ve been putting in just as much time as he has preparing for this meeting, and they’re as nervous as he is that it goes well.

Geno’s smile is less relieved and more amused as he beckons Sidney and Jonny over and to where he and Jeff Carter are standing by the head of the conference table. As he was the last time they met, Carter’s impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored blue suit.

“Sid, I’m tell Jeff that Russia best,” Geno says, giving Sidney a wicked smile, his tongue emerging from between his teeth.

Sidney huffs before turning towards Jonny. “You remember Jonathan Toews? Jonny’s going to be the lead architect on your project.”

Carter gives Jonny a lazy grin and shakes his hand firmly. Once they’ve exchanged greetings everyone takes their seats and Sidney calls the meeting to order, giving a brief overview of the firm and a quick introduction of the project, and then everyone’s looking expectantly at Jonny.

“Mr. Carter - “ Jonny starts.

“Jeff,” Carter interrupts, a smile playing around his lips. “Call me Jeff. We’re going to be working closely together, Jonny. I don’t think we need to stand on formality.”

“Jeff then,” Jonny smiles, feeling more at ease. “Let me walk you through the design we’ve put together.” Shawsy puts up the first schematic. “So our plan for your home has two stages, the first is the complete renovation of the interior of the main house, including a complete gut and rebuild of the first level."

“How is that going to work?” Jeff asks dubiously. "I don't see how that kind of construction can meet my timeline. Which is non-negotiable.”

“It should, actually. Even though we’re going to gut the first level, we'll keep some of the interior structure, which should - which will," Jonny amends when Sidney frowns at him, "allow us to meet the mid-December timeline you’re requesting. We’re going to remove the majority of the interior walls on the lower level, to really give you the desired open concept. The residence will feel much larger even though we won’t be adding additional square footage during this stage.”

“I like it,” Jeff says, looking at the design Shawsy’s displaying. “What about the rest of the project?”

“The second stage, which we’d start after New Year’s, will entail adding-on to the main residence to give you additional rooms with a layout that really capitalizes and enhances all of the gorgeous ocean views. Stage two is also when I propose we begin construction on your cabana and the guest house.”

An hour later, Jeff has approved the plans with only minor tweaks. Sidney’s beaming, Geno’s checking his phone, and Jonny’s completely drained.

“Lunch?” Jeff asks, stopping Jonny as he’s turning to leave.“I’d like to get to know my lead architect better, before we get started on this collaboration.”

All Jonny really has the energy for is to sit in his office in silence and go over the notes he’s taken, maybe while inhaling a salad from the deli downstairs. He spent all week getting ready for the presentation, up until two o’clock in the morning and awake again at five-thirty, but he can see Sidney watching them from the other side of the room where he’s talking to Jeff’s business manager, and he knows there’s no getting out of this.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds great.” Jonny turns to gesture at Shawsy and Brandon. “My team -“

“Just you, “ Jeff says, smiling broadly. “If that’s okay?”

It’s not like Jonny can say no, and quickly enough they’re walking to a pub just down the street.

“This is one of the first places we found to eat when we moved to L.A.,” Jonny explains, gesturing Jeff through the door. “Patrick and I watched the playoffs here last year, but we’ve been too busy this season to come in for a game yet.”

“Patrick?” Jeff asks, taking a menu from the waitress. “Is he at the firm, too?”

“Oh, no, sorry. I meant my husband, Patrick.” Jonny looks at the menu briefly, but he knows he’s getting the steak salad. He always gets the steak salad, and he doesn’t care that Patrick says it makes him predictable. Maybe he’ll get a local brew today instead of an ice water with lemon. He can be spontaneous.

“I didn’t realize you were married,” Jeff says.

Jonny glances down at his left hand and then back up at Jeff, raising an eyebrow.

“I tend to ignore wedding rings, as a rule.”Jeff shrugs. “So, what’s so great about this place?”

“We love to watch Hockey Night in Canada and this is one of the few bars that gets CBC. It makes me miss home, but I love to watch Don Cherry take his foot out of his ass and stick it in his mouth.”

“I knew I recognized a fellow Canadian!” Jeff says, delighted. “I’m from London, south-west of Toronto. What about you?”

“Born in Winnipeg, but I’ve lived in the States since I was a kid,” Jonny says.

“Winnipeg,” Jeff says with a shiver. “I can see why you ended up living in Los Angeles.”

“Yeah, you definitely can’t fault the weather here,” Jonny says.

“Are you taking advantage of the year-round sports?” Jeff leans back in his seat, spreading his arm across the chair next to him. “Surfing, tennis, that kind of thing?”

“Not so much - although both my sons play a lot of sports, so we spend a lot of time at their games. Amelie - she’s our youngest - loves to swim, so we get a lot of use out of our pool.” Jonny shrugs. “We haven’t even taken the kids down to the beach much, although they loved it the few times we’ve gone.”

“That’s nice, but I didn’t ask about your family. I asked about you.” Jeff runs a finger through the condensation from his beer, looking at Jonny intently. “What do you like to do for fun? That doesn’t involve your kids, I mean.”

Jonny can’t think of anything for a second; he’s not had time or energy to do much more than be a father the past six years.

“I don’t have a lot of time to myself,” he admits.

“And if you did?” Jeff asks.

“I love to golf,” Jonny answers. “I don’t get much chance to anymore, but in the summer I try to get out at least once or twice. I love Stephen King novels. Oh, and I’m great at Mario Kart.”

Jeff’s eyes light up. “The hell you say, Mario Kart. I bet I could kick your ass.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Jonny says, grinning.

“I love your confidence. It’s misplaced and sad, but I love it,” Jeff mocks. “Which character do you play? Princess Peach, right?”

“Haha. Nope, I’m Waluigi.” He shakes his finger at Jeff when he barks out a laugh. “I bet you’re… Bowser?

Jeff’s mouth drops open. “How did you know that?”

“I know a Bowser when I see one,” Jonny says, smug.

“Well, I’ll look forward to watching Bowser drop the hammer on your Waluigi,” Jeff retorts. “So hockey, golf, Mario Kart. Horror novels. What else makes Jonathan Toes tick?”

“Taves,” Jonny corrects. “It’s pronounced taves, like saves.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Duly noted, Mr. Toews-like-saves.”

Their food comes then, and they talk about Jeff’s car collection while they eat. Jonny can’t remember the last time he’s made such an instant connection with someone. They argue all the way back to the office about whether the Blackhawks or the Kings are going to come out of the Western Conference this year, and he realizes he’s whistling as he heads back up to his office. Working with Jeff is going to be fun.

***

A crazy two weeks later, things are falling into place on the project, but Jonny's exhausted. He signs off on the final plans for construction and heads home at a decent hour for once, looking forward to a drink and some time in front of his fireplace with Patrick in his arms. He's barely through the front door, though, still toeing off his shoes and attempting to hang up his jacket when the twins barrel into his legs, almost knocking him over.

“Papa!” they exclaim in unison, Bryan handing Jonny back his shoes and Eric trying to turn him towards the door. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

“Boys, boys!” The tension headache Jonny had earlier starts to flare back to life. “Go where? What are you talking about?”

Patrick appears in the door frame, holding Amelie and a Christmas tin.

“Don’t you remember, Papa?” Bryan asks, eyes always so wide and guileless.

Patrick jumps in, “Of course Papa remembers we’re going to pick out our Christmas tree!” He smiles ruefully at Jonny. “Why don’t we go load up in the car while Papa gets out of his work clothes.” Patrick says, ushering the kids out the door before turning back to wink at Jonny. “Five minutes, buddy. And you owe me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jonny says. “And thanks.”

The tree selection is an almost total success: tree procured (even if it does seem a little big to Jonny) in under one hour. Jonny thanks the proprietor, slipping him an extra twenty dollars for his help in getting the tree tied to the top of the car.

Once he’s behind the wheel, he sees Patrick's already passing around the tin of chocolate chip cookies and cups of cider.

“Just one, boys.” Jonny says, “We’ll save the rest for after dinner.”

They haven’t even gotten a block away from the lot when he sees Bryan sneaking another cookie.

“Bryan, what did I say? No more cookies right now and no cookies after dinner, either. Maybe that will help you listen.”

“But Papa!” Bryan whines, accompanied by what can only be described as an anguished gasp from Eric.

“Come on, Papa,” Patrick placates. “I think he can have another one, can’t he? This is sort of like a special occasion.”

“Yessss!” Bryan says, high-fiving Eric, as they both take another cookie and start eating.

“No,” Jonny says, reaching behind with one hand to try to rescue the cookies. He gets the tin back and drops it in Patrick’s lap, furious.

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” Patrick complains, tucking the cookies between them. “It’s just a cookie.”

Jonny can see Eric looking at him in the mirror and smiling around his cookie. He throws Patrick a dark look but doesn’t say anything, jaw clenched for the rest of the ride home.

But once the kids are all asleep, Jonny’s practically bursting with frustration and impotence.

“What the hell, Pat! Why do always do that?”

Patrick's not even all the way down stairs yet, freezing on the second step from the bottom for a moment, confusion giving way to anger on his face.

“What did I do this time?” Patrick says eventually, making his way over to the bar.

“Don’t give me that. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Words, Jonny,” Patrick says mildly as he pours them each a finger’s width of bourbon. “Use your words.”

“That shit you pulled back in the car,” Jonny replies, frustrated. “You’re always doing crap like that, undermining me in front of the kids, going behind my back, changing their punishments. You’re not the only parent here, Pat, they’re my kids too!”

Even though Patrick’s facing away, Jonny can tell from the rigid set of his shoulders that he’s gearing up for a fight.

“For fuck’s sake, Jon,” Patrick says, turning around and handing Jonny his glass. “I’m always doing this? Don’t be such a drama queen. Because I told the boys they could have another cookie? I don’t know why you’re making this such a big deal. It’s not like I let them eat cookies for dinner every night. It was one extra cookie.”

“It’s not about the fucking cookies,” Jon says, louder than he intended if the thump from upstairs is any indication. He lowers his voice with a wince. “It’s bad enough that you don’t respect me, but now you’re teaching the boys not to either.”

“I don’t respect you? I don’t respect you?” Patrick sputters, “Are you fucking kidding me with this?”

“You don’t respect me, Pat,” Jonny repeats, “or maybe it’s just that you think I’m a shitty parent. Because every time you undercut me in front of the kids, you’re telling them, ‘Don’t listen to Papa, he’s wrong, he doesn’t know anything.’”

“Jonny,” Patrick starts again, voice tight. “You’re being ridiculous. I don’t understand how letting them have an extra cookie -- one extra cookie -- means I’m undermining you somehow.”

“Jesus Christ, Patrick! Are you even listening to me?” Jonny shouts.

“The way you’re shouting, I think the whole neighborhood is listening, Jonathan,” Patrick sneers.

“Screw the neighbors,” Jonny says, but he lowers his voice. “What do you think the boys are learning here, Pat? Because I can tell you - that they don’t have to listen to me, that if they don’t like what I have to say, all they need to do is run to Daddy. And it's not fair.”

Patrick’s expression is sliding from anger into guilt, and Jonny’s satisfied to finally get that reaction out of him. “And when you’re not undermining me, you’re complaining that I make you the bad guy, that I always get to be fun Papa. Which is rich, considering that the few times I try to hold the line, try to tell them that they can’t, oh, I don’t know, have another cookie before dinner, you jump in and tell them they can!”

“I never-” Patrick throws back the rest of his drink before setting his glass down and stepping close to Jonny. He frames Jonny’s face with his hands, fingers tracing his jaw as he stares up at him for a long minute. Jonny can feel some of his self-righteous anger leave him at the love and guilt in Patrick’s expression. “I’m sorry, Jonny. Really sorry. I never meant to make you feel like that or to undermine you in front of the kids, and you’re right, I do do that.” Patrick says earnestly, his face soft with regret. “I’ll try not to. I promise.”

They breathe together for a minute, before Patrick speaks again, “You’re a great dad. The kids love you so much. I love you. I didn’t mean to ruin the whole night -”

The regret in Patrick’s voice cuts through the last of Jonny’s anger and he silences him with a kiss. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You didn’t ruin tonight. It’s just . . . this has been bothering me for a really long time, and -”

Patrick interrupts him this time, with a kiss of his own.

“I’m going to be better, Jon, I swear.” He leans forward to kiss Jonny again, but they’re interrupted by a pitiful wail from upstairs.

Patrick sighs and steps back. “Rock, paper, scissors? Or we could see if she settles down on her own?”

“No, it’s my turn, I’ll go,” Jonny says with a resigned laugh. “We’ll never get a second’s peace now that she’s up.”

“And maybe check on the boys, too?” Patrick says when Jonny’s on the stairs. Jonny looks back to see Patrick running a shaky hand through his curls, expression miserable, and that won’t do.

Jonny stalks back to Patrick, grabbing his face and kissing him deeply. “Hey, I’m sorry.” He smoothes Patrick’s hair back into place. “I love you.” He kisses him again. “Always.”

Patrick nods, his face clearer. “I love you, too.”

They stand together for another minute before Amelie’s cries pick up again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jonny says, kissing Patrick one more time. “But we’re picking this up later.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Patrick salutes, grinning.

Jonny rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning as he walks away. His phone rings just as he starts heading upstairs. He glances at the screen and makes a face at Patrick.”Sorry - I should really take this, do you mind going up?”

Patrick smiles and heads upstairs. Jonny watches his ass flex in his khakis are he ascends before he connects the call.

“Hi Jeff, what’s up?”

He’s still on the phone when Patrick comes back down. “One minute,” he mouths and Patrick smiles easily.

“Jonny?” Jeff asks, drawing his attention back to the call.

“Sorry, sorry, my husband just came downstairs from putting the baby down and he’s being very distracting,” Jonny says, smirking when Patrick gasps dramatically.

“Your life is so glamorous,” Jeff says.

“Yep, it’s all fast cars and expensive champagne,” Jonny snorts.

“Well, I know I’m a fan of both of those,” Jeff says. “You?”

“I can take or leave champagne, but I love cars,” Jonny says.

“Fast cars? Race cars? Matchbox cars?” Jeff teases making Jonny laugh. Patrick looks up from where he’s straightening up the couch cushions.

“Fast cars, man, I may be an old, married man but I’m not dead.” He winks at Patrick, who wrinkles his nose back at him. “And I love all those car auction shows.”

“I’m really more of a motorcycle guy myself, but I have a couple of fast cars. You like Benz’s?”

Jonny thinks of their own sensible Benz parked in their garage, the antithesis of the kinds of cars Jeff’s probably used to. “You could say that.”

“I have a 1999 CLK. It’s one of only twenty-six built,” Jeff says, laughing when Jonny chokes on air.

“You’re shitting me,” Jonny sputters. “A CLK? You have one? Holy fuck.”

Patrick groans. “Not cars,” he says, and Jonny waves a hand at him to hush.

He and Jeff spend the next few minutes debating the relative merits of restoring cars into hot rods versus keeping them authentic. Patrick sighs and pulls out a magazine, settling into the couch.

***

Jonny wakes up in a pretty great mood, fight from the night before forgotten. They’d fallen asleep before they’d had a chance to finish what they started, but this morning there’s no little foot kicking him in the face, no alarm blaring, and no little person in their bed - excepting Patrick, Jonny thinks, smiling to himself.

Patrick, who’s tucked into Jonny’s side, face lax with sleep, bare chested, and gorgeous.

A quick glance at the clock tells Jonny there’s almost an hour before the twins need to be up to get ready for school and forty five minutes until Amelie likes to start her day - plenty of time to make up for last night.

Jonny noses along Patrick's hairline, dropping soft kisses against sleep-warmed skin.

“Patrick,” he whispers into the shell of his ear. “Patrick, wake up.”

It’s been too long since they’ve had their bed to themselves - Amelie’s sleep training has been leaving something to be desired - and he fully intends on taking advantage of this rare quiet morning.

“Pat,” he murmurs again, his fingers skating gently up and down Patrick's sides.

Patrick stirs and arches his back sleepily, pressing into Jonny. He makes a satisfied hum after a few moments, rolling over and pulling Jonny on top of him.

Jonny shifts further into the vee of Patrick's thighs, slotting their hips together and thoroughly enjoying the broken moan that spills from Patrick's lips.

“Good morning,” Jonny smiles, lips against Patrick's in an almost kiss.

“Morning,” Patrick answers, lips catching against Jonny’s.

His voice is rough from sleep and it’s so reminiscent of how he sounds after sucking cock that Jonny’s hips twitch in response.

“Mmmm,” Patrick silently agrees, digging his hands into the meat of Jonny’s ass and pulling him in closer.

Jonny loves Patrick like this, hasn’t had Patrick under him in too long. Hasn’t had anything more than rushed rubbing off or hurried hand jobs in forever. He presses his lips to Patrick's, slow and soft, their lips just barely catching as they trade lazy smiles. With each kiss Jonny settles and shifts just that much more firmly against Patrick, nestling in the cradle of his thighs.

He noses along Patrick's jaw, brushing a soft kiss below his his ear and taking in the way Patrick smells: like their detergent and Jonny and something just undeniably Patrick. He bites the soft skin of Patrick's neck gently, the hidden spot that never fails to make Patrick's hips twitch, and he relishes the feel of Patrick pressed against him.

Jonny can’t stop trailing kisses over any part of Patrick he can reach, his neck, forehead, shoulders. The only sound in the quiet room is the rustle of sheets against bare skin. The near silence lends itself to the cocoon-like atmosphere. It feels a little like they’re the only two people awake in the world.

Jonny slows it down even more, revelling in all the skin before him, in the low moans spilling from Patrick's lips. He wants to draw this out, wants it to last forever.

Patrick arches up against him, trying to get more, and Jonny grabs his wrists, pulling them up toward the headboard and pinning them down. Patrick’s hips thrust up, almost involuntarily, pressing their cocks together in a way that makes Jonny’s pulse race.

Jonny can feel the tension in Patrick's arms, the quiet strength as he presses against Jonny’s grip. And he can feel the exact moment that Patrick stops resisting, when he lets go and sinks into the bed, body soft and pliant. As much as Jonny loves when Patrick resists, this is the Patrick he craves: open, accepting, and so fully his.

After pressing Patrick’s wrists into the bed in an unspoken command to keep them there, Jonny trails his fingers down Patrick's arms. Patrick shivers a little, but his arms stay right where Jonny put them. Jonny smiles before licking into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick’s body is still, but he meets Jonny’s kiss with flicks of his tongue.

Jonny settles himself deeper into the vee of Patrick's legs, while he mouths across his jaw to his collarbone, mapping the scar from his surgery eight years ago. Patrick squirms, but when Jonny hums he subsides, tilting his head back and exposing more of his throat. Jonny licks a stripe up the side of his neck, smiling smugly as Patrick's mouth falls open in a silent, breathy moan, his chest heaving.

He kisses Patrick's cheeks, the hollow of his throat, his chest, as he starts working his way down Patrick's body, pressing kisses and mouthing bites into the sleep-warm skin. He tongues over Patrick's nipples, biting one gently, and then harder when Patrick moans, his hand cresting over Jonny’s head for a moment, before he brings it back to the headboard.

Jonny huffs a hot breath across Patrick’s nipple, watching it pebble and twitch, before rewarding him by biting it harder, flicking the hardened nub with his tongue while squeezing Patrick's other nipple. He repeats it again, and again, switching sides without pause until Patrick's arching and sobbing under him, begging him to stop, begging him for more.

When Jonny kisses across his chest again, Patrick starts mewling soft protests, and Jonny licks his nipple, already so red and hard. Patrick bucks under him, and Jonny presses his hips down firmly, trapping him tight under the weight of his body.

Patrick's a mess: biting on his lower lip, moaning lowly, hips twitching and shifting. Jonny pulls back slightly, blowing a light breath against Patrick's nipple.

“I love seeing you like this, so desperate for me,” Jonny says.

“Jonny, Jonny, more, I can’t, please -” Patrick breaks off as Jonny bites down, harder, while Patrick squirms against him. Patrick’s chest is heaving when Jonny finally relents, releasing his nipple.

With one last flick of his tongue, Jonny moves lower, under the sheets, kissing a straight line down Patrick's chest, before finally pulling Patrick's sweats down to his thighs. Patrick's dick springs free, hard and leaking, but Jonny only presses a light kiss to the hollow of Patrick’s hip, drinking in Patrick's pleas for “more, more, please.”

Jonny nips at his hip bone and draws his fingers delicately across Patrick's thighs. He peers up the length of Patrick’s bared torso, watching the way Patrick's head thrashes against his pillow.

Jonny shifts lower still, hitches Patrick's legs over his shoulders, and noses along the join of his thigh, breathing in the heady scent of Patrick with a sigh.

“Please,” Patrick begs again, lifting his hips a bit.

Jonny loves the desperation in Patrick's voice, loves that it’s because of him. He huffs out a last breath over the head of Patrick’s dick before swallowing him down. He can’t believe they haven’t had sex in two weeks. Jonny’s missed the heavy weight of Patrick on his tongue, the salty bursts of precome, the way Patrick can’t stay still.

Jonny feels the sheet pull tighter across the back of his head, pushing him ever so slightly closer to Patrick, as Patrick moans loudly and arches further into Jonny’s mouth.

“Jonny, please, don’t - “ he says, breaking off into a deep groan as Jonny backs off again, just tonguing at his slit and trailing one finger over the spot behind his balls.

Patrick stills as Jonny’s finger moves back and presses dry against his hole, and Jonny feels him spasm a little. Maybe they have time to -

The loud bang of their bedroom door being flung open freezes them both.

“Daddy? Daddy!”

“Bryan!” Patrick yelps. He pushes Jonny’s head off and scrambles up the bed, taking care to keep himself covered.

Jonny emerges from under the covers just in time to see Bryan run out of the room, yelling “Eric, come help! Papa’s hurting Daddy! Papa’s hurting Daddy!”

“Oh Jesus,” Patrick groans, sliding out of bed and pulling up his pajama bottoms and grabbing a tank. He lets out a hiss as the material rubs across his nipples and then heads down the hall to the boys’ room. “Bryan, Eric, everything’s okay.”

Just then, Amelie’s early morning cries join in the commotion.

“Fuck.”

Jonny drops his head to the mattress, before throwing on his sleep pants and going to help out.

He swings by Amelie’s room first, bussing a quick kiss across her forehead as he scoops her up. She’s fussing and looking disoriented, but she quiets down to suck on her lower lip as Jonny pats her back.

Jonny makes his way to the boys room just in time to hear Patrick explain, “. . .not hurting Daddy, I promise. Your Papa would never hurt me. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

The boys are looking at Patrick with wide eyes. Bryan darts an unsure look toward Jonny and then back to Patrick.

“But Papa was mad last night. We heard him yelling at you.” He glances at Eric, as if for confirmation.

“Yeah,” Eric says, glaring at Jonny with an intensity that he might find comical if his heart weren’t currently breaking.

Patrick looks up at Jonny, a silent plea for help on his face. Jonny passes Amelie to Patrick, and squats down near the boys’ beds so he can look them in the eyes. “We were fighting last night, and Daddy and I are both sorry you heard that. Sometimes daddies fight. But we made up, and I’m not mad at Daddy anymore -”

“And I’m not mad at Papa,” Patrick interrupts

“Right,” Jonny agrees. “And I wasn’t hurting your Daddy. I would never, ever do that. I promise.”

“But Daddy sounded hurt,” Bryan insists doubtfully.

Jonny can feel himself flushing, warmth suffusing his whole face, and he’d like to fall through the surface of the earth now please.

“Breakfast!” Patrick exclaims, clapping his hands together brightly and standing up.

“But-” Bryan says.

“Breakfast,” Patrick repeats firmly. “We can talk more about this later, Bryan, but right now, I think we’ll all feel better if we have some breakfast.”

“Yay!” Amelie cheers.

“I”m going to, uh, shower,” Jonny says, scratching the back of his neck and watching Patrick and the kids troop downstairs. He ducks his head for a moment when Patrick turns to leer at him before nodding at Patrick’s pajama pants, where he’s still half chubbed up. Patrick shrugs. Unfortunately, they’ve gotten used to never finishing what they start.

“Yeah, you go shower,” Patrick says easily, smile a little rueful. “We’ll save you some eggs.”

***

Thankfully once Jonny gets to work, the rest of the day is a lot less eventful, dominated by non- stop meetings now that actual construction at Jeff’s home has kicked off. Antoine Vermette is the contractor, and Jonny’s pleased to have him. It’s been awhile since they’ve worked together, and Antoine and Jeff had hit it off immediately.

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” Jeff says once their meeting wraps up. Jonny nods, a little embarrassed. He and Vermette had lapsed into French for a few moments when they were grabbing coffee during a break. “You have hidden depths, Jonny.”

“My maman is from north of Montreal,” Jonny explains. “I grew up speaking it at home.”

“Ask him about going to French-immersion school until he was twelve,” Shawsy stage-whispers from just behind them as they’re walking to Jonny’s office. “Or should I say ‘douze’?”

“Fuck off,” Jonny says easily in French. “Your mother wishes you could spell twelve.”

Bollig grabs Shawsy by the nape of his neck, shaking him like a dog. Shawsy slaps at his hand, yelping. He dodges it easily with a laugh and says to Jeff, “I have to apologize for him. He’s not housebroken.”

When they get into Jonny’s office, Jonny echoes Bollig’s apology, but Jeff just waves it off. “No apologies necessary. You guys sound like my friends back home. It’s refreshing.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, rubbing the back of his head. “We can get carried away with that. Just be sure to ignore any mention of crop tops or ice bucket challenges. That way lies madness.”

Jeff laughs. “Duly noted.”

Brandon comes in then with material samples, and they get down to work.

***

When Jonny gets home that night, he can hear the racket before he even opens the door, crying and high-pitched screaming and the kind of banging that's more suited to one of his work sites than inside his own home. He tries to steel himself as he opens the door. He wants to embrace the chaos he comes home to every night - three young kids doesn’t exactly lend itself to calmness and order - but he knows he’s not exactly succeeding. He can feel the grimace on his face as he trips over tennis shoes and spots his new issue of Architectural Digest languishing in a puddle of something wet tracked in from who knows where.

He picks it up and is trying to shake out the pages a bit when two blond balls of energy come crashing into him.

“Papa! Papa! Papa!” they chorus. “You’re home!”

“Come see my tower,” Bryan demands, pulling sharply on Jonny’s hand.

“No!” Eric stomps his foot. “Come see Artie!”

“Tower!”

“Artie!”

“Tower!”

The boys have all but abandoned Jonny now, facing off against each other and yelling with ever-increasing volume. It’s in sharp dissonance with the sound of the baby crying and the clanking of pots and pans that’s coming from the kitchen.

The headache that’s been lingering around the edges after a day of intense meetings comes back with a vengeance, a sucker punch of sharp stabbing pain right behind Jonny’s eyes.

“Who the hel- heck is Artie?” Jonny asks, crouching down by the two boys.

“My frog,” Eric says proudly, big grin and dimples so like Patrick’s.

“His dumb frog,” Bryan mutters.

“PAAAAT,” Jonny calls out, fingers massaging his temples. He knows he’s a coward for wishing with all his might that he’d decided to just work a little later. Maybe he could have timed it to get home after dinner, when the kids are fresh from their bath and waiting in their soft pajamas for stories and goodnight kisses.

Patrick appears in the doorframe, looking just as harried as Jonny feels, an unidentifiable smudge on his cheek and Amelie still crying and perched on one hip.

“You’re home!” Patrick says, relieved. “Thank God. Here, you take Amelie and I’ll -”

“You bought Eric a frog, Pat? What the hel- heck?” Jonny interrupts. “We can’t keep this house clean as it is and you got him a pet?”

He’s trying to keep his voice down, he is, but the look on everyone’s faces is telling him he hasn’t been very successful. Patrick's face, so open and happy to see him only moments before, quickly shutters, all clenched lips and murderous eyes. “No, I did not buy him a pet. Andy -”

“Artie!” Eric interrupts helpfully.

“Artie,” Patrick continues, throwing Eric a small smile, “is the class pet, and it’s our turn to take him for the weekend. Eric, why don’t you tell Papa why Mr. Smith picked you to bring Artie home?”

“I got the best grade on my spelling test, and all the bonus words!” Eric exclaims, bouncing slightly on his toes. “You want to come see him now?”

“Yeah, buddy, I do,” Jonny replies, feeling more than a little chagrined. “And nice job on your test. That’s really great. Daddy and I are real proud of you.”

Patrick looks mollified, at least. Jonny’s really not interested in getting into another fight before he’s even had a chance to get out of his suit.

“Come here, ma coccinelle,” Jonny says, easing Amelie from Patrick's arms. “Let’s all go see Artie and then your tower, Bryan.”

He gives himself a mental pat on the back for heading that one off at the pass and moves to drop a quick kiss on Patrick's lips: part ‘hello,’ part ‘I’m sorry,’ part ‘I’d really like to finish what we started this morning before getting interrupted.’

But Patrick takes a half step back, scrunching his face up, “I’m so gross right now; Amelie didn’t nap today, did you, Lady Bug?” he bops her nose gently, “and I haven’t had a chance to shower yet.” He purses his lips up and mimes an exaggerated air kiss in Jonny’s direction. “Later, hot stuff.”

It’s not what Jonny really wants, but at least Patrick's no longer trying to set him on fire with his eyes, so he’ll take it.

The next time he sees Patrick, the casserole is in the oven, the salad is made, and the boys are playing quietly at the lego table. Jonny’s leaning against the counter, watching Amelie go into the closet, close the door and - he’s honestly not sure what happens then, but whatever it is, it’s occupying her for long minutes. He’s just hearing her call for “Papa” when Patrick comes down the stairs, wet curls still dripping onto his collar.

“I see you’ve been introduced to Lady Bug’s latest occupation?” Patrick asks, moving to open the closet and release Amelie, who toddles happily to him. She only consents to a quick kiss, though, before she’s heading right back into the closet, happily closing the door again.

“What do you think she’s doing in there?” Jonny asks. There are shoes and coats and maybe a few hangers on the floor, but beyond that, there’s not really anything to entertain an eighteen month old.

“Ours is not to ask why, Jonny,” Patrick says, pulling him into his arms. “I’m just glad she’s not in the laundry again.”

Jonny squeezes him a little. “Was she helping again?”

“If you want to call it helping,” Patrick says, pulling Jonny’s face down for a long, slow kiss. When he picks his head up again, he licks his lips. “Yum. You taste like. . .. raspberries?”

“Mmm hmm,” Jonny agrees, moving back in for another, deeper kiss. “Got the fruit out. Lady Bug and I had a pre-dinner snack.”

“What do I still need to do?” Patrick asks, pulling away, but Jonny holds onto his arms, keeping him close.

“Everything's done and all you need to do is stay right where you are,” Jonny says. They stand there, kissing intently, until Amelie bangs on the door again.

“Duty calls,” Jonny says with regret, pushing Patrick back a little so he can let her out. They both watch as she toddles out again, walks in a circle once, a receipt in one hand, and then goes back in, closing the door behind her again. They laugh, and Jonny’s just pulling Patrick back into his arms when the oven timer goes off. “I’ve got it,” Patrick says, rueful.

Jonny gathers up Amelie and shepherds all of the kids into the bathroom to wash their hands. Within minutes, they’re all at the table, the boys happily talking about Artie and spelling tests and Terese, who apparently tried to eat the frog food Mr. Smith keeps for Artie. Even Amelie seems to find that disgusting.

Jonny’s phone buzzes while he’s wiping off Amelie’s tray and he pulls it out. It’s Jeff, confirming that they’re going with slate in the foyer. Jonny taps out a quick thanks and is pocketing his phone when it buzzes again.

Jeff: catch the leafs/jets game tonight?

Jonny: No time. Also I’m not a Jets fan - now if it was the Hawks…

Jeff: i see how it is

Jonny: ??

Jeff: you jumped ship once the hawks got so good

Jeff: bandwagoner

Jonny: I was a Hawks fan when it was painful to be a Hawks fan. Trust me, I’ve earned the right to enjoy every bit of success they have.

Jeff: it’s nice to meet another hockey fan. they’re hard to find in LA

Jeff: i could get us tickets a kings game, if you want to come?

Jonny: I’d love to - are you sure it’s not too much trouble?

Jeff: i’ll call dean and see if I can get us a suite.

Jonny: you know dean lombardi?

Jeff: yep. i’ll pull some strings, see if i can get us a suite. do it up right for you.

Jonny: That’s not necessary - just getting us tickets would be great.

Jeff: anything for you

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Patrick says, smacking Jonny’s butt with the towel he’s drying the table with.

“Just Jeff - he’s going to try to get us tickets to a Kings game,” Jonny says, putting his phone away.

“Wow,” Patrick says. “That’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Jonny says. “And he knows Dean Lombardi.”

“Shit,” Patrick says, awed. “Those are going to be amazing seats.”

Amelie pulls on Jonny’s leg, and he swings her up. “I’m taking madame coccinelle up to bed.”

“I need my sugar first,” Patrick says, kissing her quickly and Jonny a little more lingeringly.

They all end up in the family room, the boys at the legos again. Amelie’s tucked in her bed, but she’s still awake, and Jonny’s keeping an ear on the occasional hiccups and whines over the baby monitor.

Patrick drops onto the couch next to Jonny with a thunk, and Jonny pulls him close. They kiss softly for a moment before Bryan says “gross, Dad!” and Eric makes a gagging sound.

Patrick laughs. “Okay, okay, back to your legos, guys.”

When the twins’ attention has returned to the task at hand, Patrick looks up at Jonny. “So, dear, how was your day?” he says, simpering and batting his eyelashes. Patrick probably doesn’t mean for it to be as affecting as it is, but Jonny has to pull him into his lap a little more, settling him firmly into the cradle of his pelvis.

“It started off great,” Jonny growls into Patrick’s ear. “Not exactly with a bang, though.”

Patrick snorts and nips at Jonny’s jaw before easing back, dipping his head a little towards where Eric is still staring at them, a disdainful look on his face. Jonny sticks out his tongue, and Eric rolls his eyes. Jesus, he’s got to stop doing that in front the boys.

“The day wasn’t too bad,” Jonny says, turning back to Patrick. “We’re really making great progress on the Carter house.”

He spends a few minutes detailing all of his plans for the house, how they’re going to make the four week timeline work. By the end, Patrick’s grinning at him wordlessly.

“What?” Jonny asks, self-conscious.

“I think you’ve said some version of ‘the Jeff Carter house’ at least fifteen times in the last ten minutes,” Patrick says. “It’s cute how excited you are about this project.”

Jonny flushes. “I just - it’s my first project as lead. I want it to go well.”

“I know, babe, I get it. It’s why I’m not giving you grief about how many hours you’ve been locked in the den the past week,” Patrick says. “But you owe me, buddy.” Jonny rolls his eyes again and then winces, looking over at Eric, who’s thankfully absorbed in the legos again.

“It won’t be like this for long,” he promises Patrick. “But with Jeff needing the house done the Friday before Christmas, it’s probably going to get worse before it gets better.” When Patrick raises his eyes at the deadline, he shrugs. “He’s having some kind of party, planned for months.”

“Blah, blah, blah, lifestyles of the rich and childless,” Patrick says in his worst British accent. “Can’t say I’m thrilled that you’re going to miss so much of the runup to Christmas, but,” Patrick sighs and settles back into Jonny’s arms. “I guess this is the deal we made when we moved to Los Angeles.”

“Regrets?” Jonny asks, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s head. “Do you wish we were still in Chicago?”

“No, not - not really regrets, so much as nostalgia, I guess?” Patrick replies. “You know I miss everyone back there. And with all this Christmas shit -- “ he looks over at the twins, but they’re still busy fighting over dividing up the pink legos -- “all this Christmas stuff going on, it makes me a little, I don’t know.” He bites his lip. “It’s just hard. So you being so busy with work, it’s not the best.”

“I-“ Jonny breaks off as his iPhone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, and it’s a text from Jeff. “Give me a second,” he tells Patrick, typing out a reply quickly. When Jeff texts back his approval, he puts the phone away and pulls Patrick more firmly into his lap. “What were you saying?”

Patrick pats his hand. “Nothing, babe, just whining. What do you say we get these two monkeys up to bed?”

The monkeys in question aren’t as enthusiastic as Patrick, and bedtime takes almost an hour. By the time Jonny’s done cleaning up the tub and getting Amelie settled back down, there are four new texts and six emails regarding the Carter project.

“I’ve got to go deal with this, Pat,” Jonny apologizes again after hanging up from his sixth call with an increasingly frantic Brandon Saad.. “Just finish the movie without me. I’ll catch it on a plane or when we’re on vacation.”

“Your loss, dude,” Patrick salutes him with his beer. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Jonny frowns as he turns back to his phone. This isn't the way he wanted today to go -- from start to finish -- but at least it didn’t end with a screaming fight. He doesn’t have time to think about it any longer because Jeff’s returning his call now, and Jonny needs to get his okay on the recycled Italian marble they’ve found so that Vermette can order it tomorrow morning.

“Hi, Jeff, sorry to bug you so late…”

***

Vermette proves he was the right choice, managing to keep the project on schedule, even if it's shockingly expensive and he's using crews pulled from three other job. Apologies from Sidney and a promise of a discount on the clients' next jobs smooth over any problems, but even though Jonny's entire workload has been freed up to focus on the Carter House, he's still working more than he has since joining the firm.

It’s been a non-stop barrage of phone calls and texts and meetings, and he’s on his iPhone again, making decisions about travertine versus marble for the steps out to Jeff’s infinity pool when Patrick comes back in with Amelie, the twins’ soccer bag in one hand.

“Shit, shit, I can’t find Bryan’s jersey,” he says, putting Amelie down so he can dump the bag onto the counter. “Shit.” He pulls at his hair a little, looking harried and unhappy. “Can you check the laundry room while I make their water bottles?”

Jonny duly heads off to the laundry room, shouting out a five minute warning to the boys when he passes by the sliding glass doors to the backyard. They’ve been in an intense nerf gun battle all morning, and they groan. “But, Papa!” Eric says, “We’re having fun! Can’t we skip soccer this week?” Bryan nods too, but looks more torn.

“We made a commitment, boys.” Jonny says, and he can see the question on Eric’s lips, so he answers before this becomes a debate. “A commitment is a promise. And you should always keep your promises.”

“Do you always keep your promises, Papa?” Bryan asks, serious. “Does Daddy?”

“Yes, buddy,” Jonny says. “And that’s why we’re going to soccer.” They groan again but dutifully head in, and Jonny locks the door before continuing to the laundry room. There are piles everywhere, and Jonny’s not sure what’s clean, or even where to start looking.

“Jonny?” Patrick’s voice filters down the hall to the laundry room minutes later when Jonny’s failed to locate Bryan’s jersey after searching through another pile of unfolded but hopefully clean clothes. “Are you still in there?”

“Out in a minute,” Jonny yells, gritting his teeth. It feels like they spend their whole life sorting through laundry. Patrick swears that it mates and multiplies when left alone in the laundry room. Jonny suspects it's more likely that Patrick buys new clothes when he can’t keep up, which judging by the state of things, is always.

“We’re going to miss kick-off!” Patrick walks into the room. “What’s taking so long?”

“I’m still looking for Bryan’s uniform. If you’d just fold this fucking laundry once in awhile - “ He knows as soon as he says it that he’s gone too far, but he always feels like he’s one step behind. Late for school, late for work, late for practice, late for games, late, late, late.

Jonny’s so tired of being late.

“Really.” Patrick's voice is flat, unimpressed. “What’s the matter with your hands, Jonny? I can’t remember the number of times I’ve asked you to help with folding all of this. I’m not the only one in this family capable of folding laundry.”

Jonny drops the handful of laundry he’s been sifting through.

“Apparently you’re not capable of folding laundry.” Jonny gestures to the multicolored mounds of clothing on every available surface. “What the actual fuck, Patrick? Are you even trying to keep up? We’re going to be sending the boys to school naked at this rate.”

“Ha fucking ha, Jonny. Doing laundry for five people is a lot of work. Did you ever think that I could use a hand?”

“After I spend my entire day working - “ Jonny bites out, but stops when Patrick’s face darkens.

“Oh, right, you bring home the bacon, can’t be bothered to help keep up with the housework. That’s a job for the little wife,” Patrick sneers. “Jesus, you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

“If I spent the whole day around the house, yes, Patrick, I would get the laundry done.” Jonny's just so done with this. “Or at least make sure my son’s soccer shirt was ready so we aren’t late for every fucking game.” He gestures around before grabbing at another load of blues sitting on the folding table and starting to sort through them. “Oh, and here’s an idea,” he says, “I’ll take the kids to the soccer game. You stay here. Maybe take the time to, I don’t know, get this fucking house in order. Jesus. If I operated any of my job sites like this - “

“Oh, right, I forgot, perfect Jonny and his perfect job.” Patrick simpers. “For his perfect clients.”

“My perfect clients pay for your fancy lifestyle. Unless you’re tired of your fancy house and your fancy clothes and your fancy life?”

“You know I’ve never cared about that shit, Jonny!” Patrick spits.

“Big words from the guy who insisted on the GL-Class Benz, even though we’re still paying off the crazy-ass hospital bills from when you were pregnant with Ammy. You know, the car that my ‘perfect clients’ paid for,” Jonny mocks. “And if it just so happens that car is all the rage with the moms in the carpool lane.” And also the one that cost north of a hundred thousand dollars, he doesn’t add.

“Oh, fuck off, you wanted that SUV, too. You’re the one who figured out that it’s the safest one on the market!” Patrick snaps. “And fuck you if you’re blaming me for those hospital bills, like I wanted to get put on bed rest and end up with an emergency c-section?”

“Shit, Pat, no,” Jonny says, deflating. He scrubs a shaking hand over his hair, shocked by how quickly their fight escalated. “I’m not. That wasn't -- I didn’t mean like that. I’d pay those bills a hundred times over to have you and Ammy safe. I’m sorry, that was a really shitty thing to say.” His apology is interrupted by a loud crash and the sound of running footsteps from down the hall, followed immediately by Amelie crying.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Just find the fucking shirt, I’ll handle the kids.” Pat says, and he’s out the door before Jonny can respond. “Boys! What did you do!”

Jonny finally spies Bryan’s jersey, pulling it free and following. By the time he gets to the living room, both of the twins are on a time-out stool, and Patrick is swinging a still screaming Amelie in his arms. He looks at Jonny, furious, and then looks away.

Jonny moves over to take Amelie, bouncing her and crooning in French until her cries fade away, leaving an awkward, tense silence in its place. When Amelie wiggles to be let down, heading for the closet and shutting the door behind her again, they both laugh and the moment is broken.

“I can’t-”

“I shouldn’t-”

Looking at the boys on their stools, Patrick beckons Jonny a little further into the foyer, where they can’t hear them. Patrick gestures for Jonny to go first, and Jonny rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about the car. I did want you to have it for the safety features. And I don’t have anything against the moms in the carpool lane. And I really shouldn’t have said anything about the hospital bills. Those were worth every penny.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an asshole.” Patrick says, but it's without heat.

“I really am,” Jonny agrees, nodding. “But you do know that I didn’t mean any of that?”

“I know.” Patrick sighs. “It feels like we’re doing this a lot, lately.”

“Fighting?”

“Being assholes to each other.” Patrick corrects.

"It’s me, you’ve been - you take great care of us, and I’ve been so busy lately. I’m just really stressed, and I’m sorry we’re fighting so much.”

Patrick makes a noise and then he’s pulling Jonny into his arms. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either,” Jonny agrees. They stand together just breathing for minute, and then he kisses Patrick lightly on the temple and steps back. “Now, who’s ready to go to a soccer game?”

Time on the stools have changed the boys’ tune about going to soccer, and they move happily out to the front yard, kicking a ball between them before Jonny rounds them up and into the car. Patrick grabs soccer bags and water bottles while Jonny gets Amelie secured in her car seat.

He knows they’re okay when their eyes meet when Radio Disney comes on and it’s playing “Let it Go.” Patrick’s grin is wide and dimpled, and Jonny can feel something in himself relax for the first time in almost a week.

Patrick’s pulling out of the driveway when Jonny reaches over and catches his hand, and kisses his knuckles. Patrick darts a quick glance at him and smiles again, fond, squeezing Jonny’s hand back.

***

The boys tumble out of the car, and Jonny gets them turned over to the coach while Patrick brings Amelie, a large blanket, a fit-to-bursting carryall, and a miniature soccer ball for Amelie over to a free patch of grass.

They’re a few minutes late, but two other kids arrive after they do, so Jonny consoles himself with the knowledge that at least they weren’t the last ones there as he joins Patrick and Amelie. And at least neither of his kids have grass stains on their shorts like Logan does, he can’t help thinking a bit smugly. When Patrick pokes him with a wry smile, he flushes a little.

“An hour ago we could barely find Bryan’s jersey in the laundry, Jon.” Patrick smirks. “You don’t get to be superior about our kids today.”

Jonny disagrees. He can be superior about their kids every day. They’re clearly the best. But Patrick’s still giving him a look, so he huffs and turns his attention to Amelie, but he’s smiling, too.

The game is - well - kind of hilarious, Jonny can admit. The teams are uneven: someone always seems to be missing because of birthday parties or the types of emergencies that seem to befall six-year-olds including misplaced cleats, lost pets, and parental mismanagement. And that’s just in their house.

Jonny hesitates to even really think of it as soccer. He used to play competitively, had been pretty good, even if he doesn’t like to brag, much. This game? This game is not that. The kids don’t stay in position, occasionally forget not to use their hands, and run after the ball as a single-minded herd. It’s not textbook soccer, but it’s adorable.

Jonny’s phone rings and he stands up. “Gotta take this, sorry,” he says when Patrick makes a face at him. He moves a few feet away so he won’t distract Patrick from the game.

“Jeff,” Jonny says. “Thanks for calling me back. Are you good with resurfacing the pool instead of demolishing it and pouring a new one? The current pool is in good shape, so resurfacing makes sense because it’ll save time and money.”

“Sure,” Jeff says easily. “You didn’t mention how resurfacing instead of demolishing is more eco-friendly, but don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.”

Jonny laughs and Patrick glances over, frowning a little. “Yeah, sorry, you got me.”

“Yeah, I’m on to you, Toews,” Jeff says.

Jonny hangs up after going over the details with Jeff, smiling at Patrick. “Okay, what did I miss?”

“It’s halftime, so not too much,” Patrick says. He opens and closes his mouth, but then shakes his head and smiles. “Take care of business?”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, and flushes when Patrick gives him a long look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Patrick says. “I just can’t wait to meet this Jeff Carter guy tonight.”

Jonny frowns in confusion. “Why?”

Patrick shakes his head at him again and laughs. “You’re so cute,” he says fondly. "And so clueless."

“Shut up,” Jonny grumbles half-heartedly, trying not to laugh when Amelie crashes into Patrick and tumbles over his legs, sitting back up with a pout. They spend the rest of halftime soothing her with kisses.

When the game starts again, Patrick cheers wildly every time the boys get within striking distance of the ball, every time the boys are on the field, to be honest. His wide grin is infectious and Jonny starts joining in, trying to be just that much louder. Amelie's clapping along too, in between rolling the soccer ball back and forth with each of them. Jonny’s thrilled she’s still sitting; by this point in the game last week she’d already tried to join her brothers three different times. You wouldn’t think two grown men could be outrun by an eighteen-month old, but she’s so sneaky that she almost always gets a pretty solid head start.

“I think Bryan and Eric are the best ones out there.” Jonny comments, focus ninety-five percent on the game at hand and five percent on trying to keep Amelie out of the snack bag. “Later, ma coccinelle,” he childes absentmindedly, handing her a board book in attempted redirection.

Patrick laughs loudly, and even after all these years, it’s still Jonny’s favorite sound. Getting Patrick to laugh like that, even unintentionally -- because he’s not joking, the boys really are the best -- is still something that makes Jonny feel like a million bucks.

“They’re good.” Patrick agrees, still laughing. “But, Brooke just scored an own goal, Matt's sitting by the mid-field line picking dandelions, and Amy just stopped playing to ask her mom if it’s snack time yet. Oh, and don’t forget Fergus.” Jonny looks over at where their goalie is picking his nose. ”I wouldn’t say the competition is incredibly high here.”

Jonny can’t argue with that, but he’s still hoping that once Amelie is a little older they can look into getting the boys into a more competitive league. He’s sure he remembers one of his colleagues talking about some traveling team. Maybe he’ll even coach.

“Jonny,” Patrick says with a knowing look, “let’s just let them enjoy their first season before you start signing them up for development camp.”

“I didn’t say -” Jonny protests.

“No,” Patrick laughs again, “but I know you. You were thinking it weren’t you?”

“Not development camp,” Jonny hedges, which only serves to make Patrick laugh more.

“Maybe not,” he allows, “but something. Just admit it: no one knows you like I do, baby!” Patrick knocks their shoulders together and he’s leaning in for a kiss when Amelie darts away.

Jonny’s up and after her, but thankfully she heads away from the game. By the time he’s corralled her, there’s a roar behind him, and he looks over to see Patrick jump up and cheer, shouting Eric’s name. Jonny runs over to yell for Eric and wave when he looks over proudly.

“Jesus, man,” Patrick shakes his head when they’re sitting on the blanket again. “It’s like she’s got a sixth sense for when he’s going to score.”

Jonny snorts. “I think I’ve missed, what, three goals by Bryan and two of Eric’s saves this season?” He shakes a finger at Amelie. “You, ma coccinelle, are going to get it. Ecoute-moi?” He tickles her and she screams in response, her eyes lighting up and her little hands clenching and unclenching with joy.

“Big talk, tough guy,” Patrick says. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger and you know it. She knows it. The guy selling ice cream over there knows it.”

“Like you’re not the same,” Jonny retorts. “All those tears at bedtime and you cave. Crocodile tears, aren’t they, cher? Daddy thinks he’s tough but you know how to get your way, hmm?”

When Patrick doesn’t respond, he looks up. Patrick’s looking back at the field, but a muscle is jumping in his jaw. “Aw, fuck, Patrick, I didn’t mean anything,” he says, reaching out to cover his hand. “I wasn’t - I was just teasing.”

“I know, it’s just.” He sighs and looks over at Jonny ruefully. “I don’t want to talk about anything serious. I just want to enjoy the rest of the day. We have an actual child-free night out tonight.” His face relaxes a little when he turns back to the soccer game. “Can we?”

“But I-,” Jonny says, wanting Patrick to understand that he hadn’t been criticizing him, but when Patrick looks at him pleadingly, he just nods. “Okay. Okay.”

They watch the game in silence for a few minutes until there’s a shout and the parents turn to see Micah’s little sister squatting under a tree just down from the swing set next to the soccer field.

“Is she peeing?” Patrick says, voice incredulous. He turns to look at Amelie and then in horror at Jonny. “Did you know they do that?”

“Fuck, Pat, you’re the one with sisters. How would I know?”

They both watch as Amelie pulls out the entire contents of the diaper bag.

“Well, shit,” Patrick says. “You’re not doing that,” he tells Amelie.

She grins toothily, “Dada Dada” in response and goes back to batting the wipes around on the blanket.

“Yeah, no, I’m not prepared for that at all,” Jonny says.

They sit for another minute watching Amelie. It doesn’t feel like they’ve resolved their conversation from before, and Jonny doesn’t want to lose their fragile truce from earlier, but when he inhales to say something else, Patrick interrupts him. “Jonny. It’s okay.” He smiles softly at him. “I know I’m just being sensitive. So. Let’s enjoy today.”

And Jonny really can’t think of any good reason why they shouldn’t, so he smiles back. “Okay.”

***

The party’s going well enough, Jonny thinks hours later, clients and partners mingling nicely with spouses. It took the interns the better part of six weeks to plan, but Jonny can see they’ve all relaxed enough to be enjoying themselves, too. Shawsy seems to be keeping them all entertained. Jonny knows he should join Patrick at their table, but he’s using the excuse of getting them drinks to grab a break from all of the small talk and schmoozing he’s expected to do.

“Hiding in the corner, Jonny?” he hears, and turns to smile as Jeff Carter walks up. “Aren’t you supposed to be out there, charming everyone?”

Jonny shrugs, sheepish. “Yeah, charming isn’t really my department.” He looks over at the table where Patrick is holding court with three of the firm’s biggest clients and their wives. “I leave that to my better half.”

“He looks like he’s good at it,” Jeff says. The band finishes up a song and they clap politely. “This music, though.” Jeff laments. “A little too old-fashioned -- or just plain old -- for my tastes.”

Jonny nods. “Yeah, this isn’t really my first choice, either.”

“I’m really more of a classic rock fan, myself,” Jeff says. “You?”

“I like more alternative rock, I guess,” Jonny says.

“Let me guess; Tragically Hip? Nickelback?”

Jonny laughed. “Yep. My favorite is probably Our Lady Peace.”

“Our Lady Peace,” Jeff wrinkles his nose. “You, sir, are a Canadian parody.”

“Yeah, well, I bet you’ve got some on your iPod.”

Jeff’s shaking his head when someone calls out to him. They both look over as Gary Bettman waves and strides toward them determinedly.

“Ugh,” Jeff says, swiftly finishing his drink. “I know the music sucks, but dance with me?”

Jonny demurs. “I don’t really dance.” He smiles to take any sting out it. “It’s one of Patrick’s biggest complaints; I think the last time I danced with him was on our honeymoon.”

“Well, I really didn’t come here tonight to talk about all the ways my holdings would benefit from an exclusive relationship with the law offices of Quenneville & Bettman,” Jeff says, taking Jonny’s drink and setting it down on a nearby table. Jonny lets himself be pulled toward the dance floor. “It’s your job as my architect to, I don’t know -- insert the appropriate architectural metaphor here -- save me from the evil attorney and dance with me.”

Jeff tilts his chin down, and if he weren’t a thirty-something billionaire, Jonny would swear he’s pouting. It makes him laugh though, and he gives in. He can suck it up for one dance. He looks around and sees Patrick watching them as they start swaying to the music. Patrick widens his eyes dramatically and clasps one hand to his heart. Jonny rolls his eyes, and when he looks back up at Jeff, he’s smiling.

“Not the jealous type, is he?” Jeff says, pulling Jonny a little closer to speak into his ear above the music.

Jonny snorts. “Hardly. Patrick knows that tonight is all about the clients.”

“You wound me,” Jeff gasps. “Am I really just a client to you?”

“Oh, no, 1135 Shoreline Dr., I mean Jeff, you’ve never been just a client to me,” Jonny deadpans.

Jeff throws his head back and laughs. “Touché, Jonny.”

They dance for a few minutes in silence and Jonny can see Patrick heading over to the bar.
He takes a moment to admire Patrick’s easy grace as he navigates his way around the room, deftly swiveling to avoid Shawsy when he scoots his chair back directly into his path, and nodding quickly at Bettman when they cross paths. He looks over at Jonny, tilting his chin, and when Jonny nods, collects a glass of white and a tumbler of whiskey before heading back to their table.

When he looks at Jeff, he’s watching him, his expression inscrutable. “Well, I know I would be jealous, if you and I were . . .” Jeff trails off. “I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone, even for one evening.”

“Patrick’s used to sharing me,” Jonny shrugs. “With the three kids, it’s rare when it’s just the two of us.”

“Yeah, three kids.” Jeff says. “That’s got to be a ton of work.”

Jonny nods. “Oh, it is. Hockey and soccer and baby art classes and homework. Luckily Patrick's on top of all of that, since he stays home with them.”

“I just cannot imagine.” Jeff shudders. “At least you have someone to deal with the house and the kids for you.” He laughs. “I guess I’ve got my PA, so I can appreciate that.”

“Oh, trust me, I do my share, but Pat keeps it all running smoothly.” He talks about Amelie’s latest art project, the renovation they’ve been slowly doing to their carriage house, and the twins’ hockey practices.

“It sounds like you’ve both got your hands full.”Jeff says. “I can see why it’s hard to find time just for the two of you.”

Jonny looks over at Patrick, laughing at something Shawsy's saying and thinks about how long it’s been since they’ve been out like this without the kids. “Yeah, tonight’s the first time in, God, it has to have been months.” Jeff gives him a thoughtful look, and he shrugs again, uncomfortable. “I miss it. But it’s worth it.” He rolls his eyes. “Usually, anyway.”

“Can’t imagine doing it myself,” Jeff says after they’ve danced in silence for a few moments. “Getting married, having kids. Any of it.”

“Really?” Jonny asks. “Why?” He’s busy and stressed and always tired, but he wouldn’t give up his life with Patrick for anything.

Jeff leans in closer as he spins Jonny toward the side of the dance floor, out of the way of Tracey and Laz, who are already drunk and listing a bit. “Because it sounds hard and exhausting, and frankly -- don’t take this the wrong way -- boring.”

Jonny laughs. “One thing my life never is, is boring.”

Jeff dips his head and smiles wryly. “I’m sure. I think I’m too selfish to put someone else first like you do. And four someone elses? I can’t imagine. I like being able to jet off to Italy at a whim, stay up all night and sleep all day. Walk around the house naked.” He turns them a little and pauses for a long moment, looking at Jonny consideringly.

“But it’s not just that - “ Jeff breaks off, pulling him closer. “I just can’t imagine being with one guy for the rest of my life. Although if that one guy were someone who looked like you. . ."

Jeff’s breath is hot on the side of his neck, and Jonny shivers, suddenly uneasy. He pulls back a little, putting some space between them. He’s not sure how to respond; this isn’t a conversation he ever thought he’d have with one of his clients.

“I guess that’s where we’re different,” he says finally. “Pat and I’ve been together so long I can’t even imagine ever being apart.”

The music stops and Jeff steps back. “Well, Patrick’s a very lucky man, to have a guy like you.”

“Sure am,” comes Patrick’s voice over Jonny’s shoulder. Jonny turns to Patrick gratefully, pulling him close with an arm around his shoulders. He introduces them quickly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jeff says, shaking Patrick’s hand. “Jonny was just telling me about your family and how you keep everyone in line.” He shakes his head. “Husband-nanny-housekeeper-personal assistant. I’d have to pay a lot of people a lot of money to do what you do.”

Patrick smirks at him. “Especially that first part, right?”

Jeff barks out a laugh. “Especially that first part.” He turns back to Jonny. “I like him!”

Jonny pulls Patrick more firmly against his side. “Yeah, he’s alright,” he says, then grunts when Patrick elbows him in the ribs.

“Anyway, sorry to interrupt, but I had to get in on this action. It’s been a long time since Jonny’s been willing to dance.” Patrick smiles at Jeff. “He never wants to dance with me. What’s the secret to getting him to do what you want?”

“Oh, just played the client card; Jonny knows he has to keep me happy.” Jeff says. They all laugh. “But no, actually I just asked, and he said ‘yes.’”

“Just asked, huh?” Patrick wiggles his eyebrows at Jonny. “Hmm. Well, I hope you won’t mind if I steal my husband away for a bit then. Jonny, will you dance with me?” he simpers, batting his eyelashes. When Jonny just rolls his eyes, he smirks at Jeff again. “I’ve got to get in a spin before he remembers that dancing isn’t something he’s willingly done in seven years.” Patrick smoothly turns them back onto the dance floor with a casual, “nice to meet you!” tossed over his shoulder at Jeff. Patrick guides them through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor and away from Jeff, and Jonny’s grateful for the feel of Patrick in his arms as well as the break from Jeff.

Once they’re out of earshot Patrick teases, “Someone’s got an admirer,” lips curving up into the dimpled grin Jonny loves so much.

“What are you talking about?” Jonny asks, looking around to see who Patrick's referring to.

It only makes Patrick laugh, tossing his head back so his curls shake a bit. His eyes are full of mirth. “Your boy, Jeff,” Patrick sing-songs. “He thinks you’re cute, he wants to kiss you, and, with how good your ass looks in that suit,“ Patrick slips a hand down for a surreptitious squeeze, “can’t say I blame him.”

“No way,” Jonny argues, pulling Patrick a bit closer to him before giving him the promised twirl. “If he’s even looking over here, he’s definitely looking at you, all the boys do.”

“Yes, way,” Patrick teases, sounding a bit too much like the twins for comfort, “he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night.

Jonny looks up and finds Jeff’s looking directly at him, his eyes hot and dark.

Oh, Jonny thinks.

Patrick must see the realization flit across Jonny’s face, because he’s laughing again, and stepping closer to Jonny as they dance. He smells good: a little like he’s fresh from the shower and a little like the wine he’s been drinking all night.

“There’s something hot about knowing everyone here wants my man,” Patrick teases, breath hot on Jonny’s cheek. He’s waggling his eyebrows ridiculously and gives Jonny’s butt another squeeze.

Jonny can feel his face getting hot, knows he’s got to be blushing something fierce. “Pat,” he starts warningly.

“No one’s watching us.” Patrick says, pressing a quick nipping kiss to Jonny’s lips, “Well, your boy Jeff is, but he can just look and be jealous about what’s mine.”

Jonny loves Patrick like this: happy, teasing, eyes bright, a little handsy, and just this side of drunk. It reminds him of being young college kids pressed together in the dark corners of frat house parties, trading punch flavored kisses. It reminds him of being in their first apartment, burning dinner, when the cheap bottles of wine they’d drink would convince them they would rule the world. It reminds him of toasting birthdays, holidays, new jobs, new babies.

Jonny spins Patrick again, before drawing him close, hands low on his back. “Want to get out of here?” he breathes into Patrick's ear.

“Can we?” Patrick asks, licking his lower lip and glancing around like one of Jonny’s bosses is going to storm over to stop them.

“Pat,” Jonny says, low, with a sharp bite to Patrick's earlobe.

Patrick makes a shocked noise, deep in the back of his throat, before taking Jonny’s hand and all but dragging him from the party.

***

The car ride home is tense, all heated glances, hands stroking over knees and thighs, and Patrick's perpetual -- and Jonny’s sure -- purposeful lip licking. They get there with no tickets and no accidents, so while Jonny doesn’t actually remember doing any of the driving, he’s going to call it a success.

***

Not a success, however, is their covert entrance home. Something about the cool night air makes Patrick giggly, and he’s absolutely no help as Jonny’s trying to get them into the house.

Patrick's plastered to his back, biting into his shoulder, putting his hands in Jonny’s pockets, and grinding up on him. “C’mon, babe,” he whines, as Jonny fumbles the keys. “Hurry up, don’t you want to get inside?”

Jonny finally gets the door unlocked and open, and they all but fall through, Patrick giggling and then shushing himself. When Jonny turns to face him, Patrick's got a finger to his lips and big wide eyes, like he’s imploring Jonny to, please, keep it down.

“Shhhhhh,” Patrick says again, not at all quietly, and Jonny’s has to kiss him to shut him up. They stumble into the console table, rattling the key bowl and knocking a magazine to the floor. Patrick starts giggling again, mostly muffled against Jonny’s shoulder this time.

“Pat, shhhh,” Jonny says, “you don’t want your sister to hear us. Or worse, wake the kids, it’s so late.”

Patrick nods agreeably, miming that his lips are sealed at the same time, an amused voice comes down the hallway. “Too late,” Erica says, looking an embarrassing combination of bemused and sleepy, “I’ll just let myself out then. Have fun, boys.”

Patrick tucks his head into Jonny’s neck and sends her off with a half-hearted wave.

***

The moment the doors shut behind Erica, they stare at each other for a long second, before making a mad dash for the stairs. Bumping into each other, the walls, and anything else in their way as they tear upstairs, taking them two at a time and giggling the whole time.

“I win!” Patrick crows, arms thrust up in the air in victory, Jonny sees a flash of white teeth and dimples, before he’s tackling Patrick to the bed.

Patrick's still laughing, clutching a bit at Jonny’s shoulders as Jonny starts making quick work of their clothes. He gets Patrick's shirt off quickly, and then settles back on his thighs, looking at Patrick as he strips his own shirt off. Patrick's laugh peters out to nothing but some heavy breathing, his eyes dark and hungry, and Jonny can feel how Patrick's muscles relax beneath his own thighs.

When Jonny’s hand moves to own his belt, Patrick presses a hand over his, stilling him, “Let me?” he asks, licking his lips and trailing his hand over the hot press of Jonny’s cock.

Jonny’s mind's gone fuzzy, stomach twisting with want, and all self control concentrated on keeping his hips still. He nods, before falling to the side, lifting his own hips up a bit as Patrick smoothly removes his pants and boxers, throwing them on the floor.

Patrick sits back on his knees between Jonny’s spread thighs, eyes washing over Jonny -- over his cock -- with a phantom touch. Jonny feels warm from the attention, can’t help arching a little into it.

Patrick looks for long moments before he starts brushing gentle fingers over Jonny: up his thighs, curving over the vee of his hips, skating across his belly. Fingers merely a light pressure, too light, and so close to where Jonny wants them most. And every time, they ghost past the head of his cock, the proximity the worst kind of tease.

“Pat,” Jonny all but growls, grabbing one of Patrick's trailing hands and freezing it, “touch me.”

“Hmmmm?” Patrick asks voice confused, but eyes teasing, “Touch you? Here maybe?” He presses a finger lightly to the tip of Jonny’s cock, sliding through the precome pearling at the tip, before circling the crown quickly and withdrawing.

“Pat,” Jonny chokes out, thrusting his hips up, chasing the fleeting contact.

“Like that?” Patrick asks, “or maybe - “ he scoots backwards and dips his head to lick up Jonny’s cock from root to tip.

Jonny’s hands fly to Patrick's shoulders, fingers edging into the wayward curls at the base of his neck, pushing him back down.

“Yeah,” Patrick breaths, eyes fluttering closed with a dreamy half-smile, “make me. Do it.”

Jonny’s head falls back sharply, but he looks down to watch as he pushes Patrick down onto his cock with a groan. He’s sliding in so smoothly, there’s just a tiny hitch as he hits the back of Patrick's throat, before he’s swallowing him down. Jonny holds him there for a long moment, until Patrick's grip on Jonny’s thighs goes tight and the tears start welling up at the corner of his eyes.

Patrick pulls off with a gasp, taking in deep lungfuls of air, before Jonny’s fucking up into his throat again and again. Each time he holds holding Patrick there for just a second longer, thumbing at the tears leaking from Patrick's eyes and clinging to his lashes.

He loves the wet, hot heat of Patrick's mouth; can’t get enough of the way Patrick moans around Jonny’s cock, the way he opens his throat so sweet every time Jonny thrusts in. “Close,” Jonny warns, fingers tightly woven in Patrick's curls as he holds him down on his cock, fucking in with minute little thrusts before coming hot down the back of Patrick's throat. He pulls Patrick off just as he’s finishing, loving the way the last drops of his come paint Patrick's lips, loving the way Patrick's tongue chases the taste.

Patrick drops his head to Jonny’s hip with a sigh, pressing an almost sweet kiss to the jutting bone there, as Jonny pats ineffectually at his curls. Jonny can feel the bump-bump-bump of Patrick's fist working his own cock between their bodies, hitting Jonny’s leg on each upstroke.

“No, c’mon, Pat, up here,” Jonny slurs, grabbing a little loosely at Patrick’s shoulders as if he has the energy to haul him up Jonny’s body himself. Luckily it doesn’t come to that, and Patrick shifts upward, kissing Jonny messy and wet, hips and tongue in almost perfect unison as he grinds into Jonny’s hip.

“Jonny,” Patrick whines, snaking a hand between their bodies again, but Jonny gets there first; he’s unable to do more than make a tight tunnel for Patrick to thrust into, but it seems to be enough, and he’s spilling over Jonny’s fingers, thick and hot, mere moments later, making that punched-out, guttural groan that Jonny dreams about.

Patrick rolls over onto his back, eyes closed and face totally contented. Jonny can’t get enough of that little smile, loves knowing he was the one to put it there. Patrick must feel Jonny’s gaze on him, and his eyes slit open, “Wha?” he asks, voice so rough that Jonny regrets not having the refractory period he had when they first started fucking.

“Tired?” he asks, grabbing the corner of one of their sheets and wiping down their bodies a little bit.

“Mmmmhhm,” Patrick agrees, eyes almost slipping shut again. Jonny can feel his lips quirk upwards at the sight; Patrick's always so fucked-out and sleepy after he comes. “Don’t be so smug about it,” Patrick grumbles, face already turning into the pillow, “‘s unattractive.”

“Oh yeah?” Jonny laughs, before dropping a kiss to the corner of Patrick's mouth, “I think we both know you think I’m super attractive.”

“You’re the worst,” Patrick groans, dragging Jonny back down and fitting his body around and over him, legs tangled and arms tight around his waist. “I don’t know why I love you at all.”

***

That night, with Patrick tucked into his side, snoring softly, Jonny thinks back on all the things Jeff’s been saying, the way he’s been looking at him, and he feels foolish that he put it all down to Jeff being just another oddball client. He can see now what Jeff’s been, well, what he’s been doing, for lack of a better word. He’s more than a little embarrassed to have missed it.

Now that he’s thinking about it, though, Jonny can’t stop remembering. The flirty uptilt to Jeff’s face, the hungry look in his eyes. So now that he knows, he’ll be able to shut it down. It’s not going to be a problem.

***

Patrick and Jonny are enjoying a few rare minutes alone and while Jonny wishes it wasn’t with one of them elbow deep in soapy water and the other on drying duty, this is apparently their life now. Amelie and the boys are occupied in the family room watching Frozen for the millionth time, and if he and Patrick move fast, they might get the dishes done before Amelie gets bored and comes to help, which usually consists of crawling inside the dishwasher or systematically unloading the utensils basket onto the floor.

“So then Tommy -- you know Tommy? Leah and Ashton’s kid? Brooke’s little brother? -- Anyway, so Tommy plants his ass to the wall, and Leah’s calling after him, ‘Tommy! Tommy, stop!’ but every time she says anything he’s scooting further away from her down the wall, and leaving a trail of poop behind him.” Patrick's laughing so hard he can barely tell the story, wet hands flicking through the air as he’s talking, sending a rain of droplets onto Jonny’s shirt.

“Pat,” Jonny grimaces, glancing quickly at the living room to makes sure they don’t have any eavesdroppers. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

“I know,” Patrick agrees gleefully, grabbing the last plate from Jonny and hip-checking him lightly out of the way, “disgusting, but hilarious. And that’s why we’re not trying to potty train Amelie right now. I’d rather deal with diapers than that.”

Jonny shakes his head a bit, “When I asked if anything interesting happened today, this was really not where I saw this conversation headed.”

“Suppose not.” Patrick acknowledges, hopping onto the counter and watching as Jonny dries the last plate and puts it into the cupboard. “Not much new going on in my world lately, just play dates, and school drama, and plenty of tragic tales of missed naps and potty training. I need some grown up time.”

“Maybe I can help you with that,” Jonny says, stepping into the vee of Patrick’s legs and raising an eyebrow pointedly.

Patrick snorts. “Well, yeah, that too, perv. But I’m talking, like, just an afternoon off without the kids, to go see Tyler, or watch a movie, or, hell, just get coffee without having to bribe anyone to ‘behave, please, and you can have a smoothie.’”

Jonny frowns, but Patrick hurries on. “It’s okay, I know you’re really busy right now, especially with this project, and all the holiday stuff going on, and the kids’ activities. I’m just throwing it out there, for when things settle down a bit.”

“Hmm,” Jonny says, pulling Patrick more firmly into his arms. “I think Lydia mentioned the other day that Susan gets her hair and nails done every week while she’s watching the kids.” He tugs on Patrick’s curls a little. “Not sure there’s any hope for this mop, though.” He kisses Patrick, and it quickly deepens, their tongues slipping together.

Patrick groans when Jonny pulls away, and his eyelashes flutter when Jonny tugs his hair again. “Don’t front, you love my hair,” he says, licking at Jonny’s bottom lip. “You especially love holding onto it while you fuck me.”

Jonny growls and pulls Patrick back in for a kiss. “I do,” he whispers, kissing along Patrick’s jawline. “Love the way you arch up when I do it, how it makes you tighten around me.”

They kiss more urgently for a long minute before Patrick pulls back and rests his forehead on Jonny’s collarbone. “God, Jonny,” Patrick says, his voice wrecked, “it’s been too long since we’ve had time to fuck.”

“It has,” Jonny agrees, and pulls back a little. “We need to fix that. Soon.”

Patrick nods, chewing on his lower lip again, now swollen and red and slick and Jonny can’t resist taking his mouth again. They kiss until they hear little footsteps coming down the hall. “Daddy?” Eric says, stepping into the kitchen and Jonny turns toward the sink to hide his erection.

Patrick hops down off the counter. “What’s up, buddy? Did you come to help with the dishes?”

Eric makes a noise. “No. I don’t feel good,” he says, and when Jonny turns around, he can see how flushed Eric is. Patrick picks him up and frowns. “Baby, I think you have a fever,” Patrick says, putting his cheek against Eric’s. “Jonny, can you get the ear thermometer? I’m going to sit down with Eric in the living room.”

By the time Jonny’s located the thermometer, Patrick’s laying back on the couch with Eric’s head in his lap, running a hand over the wiry brush of his buzzcut. He looks up as Jonny walks in, the worry on his face easing for a moment as he smiles wryly. “So much for later, huh?” He looks down at Eric. “I think he’s got a fever, but he says he didn’t feel bad until a few minutes ago.”

“Want me to get some water? Children’s Tylenol?”

“Not yet,” Patrick responds, checking the thermometer. “It’s only one hundred point two. The pediatrician says it’s not a fever unless it’s one hundred point four.” He hands the thermometer back to Jonny. “He’s definitely not himself, though. Says he just wants to lie down.”

“Sorry you’re not feeling good, buddy,” Jonny says, dropping down on the couch next to Patrick and putting Eric’s legs over his lap. “Are there any sick kids at school?”

“Maggie went home yesterday because she throwed up,” Eric says miserably, starting to cry. “Am I going to throwed up, too?”

“Shh, baby, shhh.” Patrick pulls Eric up and cradles him against his shoulder. “Do you feel like you have to throw up?” He mouths ‘bucket’ at Jonny and stands up. Jonny can hear them walking up the stairs on his way to the laundry room. He ducks his head into the family room but the other kids are engrossed in Frozen, and Jonny’s glad to see it’s only about halfway through the movie.

When he gets upstairs, Patrick and Eric are in the bathroom and Eric’s crying between retching into the toilet. Jonny motions Patrick to switch places. “I’ve got him,” he tells Patrick. “You go get things set up in our room.”

Patrick stands gratefully, a little green and shakes his head at himself. “Sorry, it just always makes me, uh.” He shudders. “Ugh.”

Jonny snorts. “I know,” he says, and Patrick sticks his tongue out at him. “You. Bucket. Bed. I checked on the movie and we’ve got about thirty minutes left. I’ll get him tucked in.”

“And I’m going to call the pediatrician, just to make sure,” Patrick says.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Pat,” Jonny says, but at Patrick’s stubborn look, he shakes his head. “Fine, whatever, if it makes you feel better. Go.”

Jonny gets Eric settled into their bed when he finally stops throwing up and dry-heaving. By the time Patrick’s back upstairs, Eric’s asleep and Jonny’s settled in beside him, thumbing through emails on his iPhone. “I’ll stay here, keep an eye on him. You go get the other kids to bed.” Patrick bites his lip. “Pat, you said the the pediatrician told you that he’s going to be fine. If he keeps vomiting, has trouble breathing, becomes unresponsive, or his temperature is above one hundred and five, we call 911.”

“One hundred and three,” Patrick says. “We call the doctor if his fever’s higher than one hundred and three.”

“Right, one hundred and three.” When Patrick still doesn’t move, Jonny shoos him. “You’re going to wake him up. And it’s bath night for Bryan.” He waves his phone. “I’ll call you if we need anything.”

“I’m down the hall, Jon, not across town,” Patrick says drily, but his face has eased a bit as he heads out again.

Jonny’s getting a play-by-play of the Laker's game from his courtside seats via text from Jeff when Patrick walks back in, the sounds of Bryan splashing happily in the bathtub coming down the hall.

“What are you reading?” Patrick asks. “It must be good if it gets you to smile like that.”

Jonny flushes and pockets his phone. “Just work stuff, nothing important.”

“Sure,” Patrick says, eyebrows raised, smirking. “Were you looking at p-o-r-n while you watch our sick son sleep, Jonny?”

“No,” Jonny says, flushing a little with guilt. “It was - it was just work, Patrick. Fuck.” He's only lying because he doesn't want to fight again, he tells himself.

“All right, all right,” Patrick says soothingly. “I’m just teasing. I believe you.” But he waggles his eyebrows again, and Jonny snorts. “Anyway. How’s Eric?” His peers warily into the bucket. “No more throwing up?”

“Nope, he’s been asleep the whole time, his temp's still one hundred point two, and he’s breathing fine.” They both listen to his soft snores. “And the bathroom's clean - I Cloroxed the toilet and sink.”

“You’ve been busy,” Patrick says, moving to run a hand over Eric’s head. “Thanks. That’s, like, my least favorite thing to do.”

“Yes, Patrick, I know. You and vomit, man.” Jonny says wryly. “I’ll sleep with him tonight. You take the guest room.”

“No, you take the guest room” Patrick insists. “I’m sure you’ve got a big day at work tomorrow. You need your rest. I should-”

“Pat,” Jonny says. “We both know you’re a sympathetic vomiter, and this is basically the only thing I’m better at than you, so let me help.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick asks before relenting when Jonny just looks at him evenly. “Okay. Once I get Bryan to bed, I can give you a break, if you need to get anything done?”

“Nah, I’ve finished everything urgent, the rest can wait,” Jonny grabs a handful of Patrick’s shirt and pulls him down for a kiss before pushing him toward the shower with a smack on his ass.

Eric moans a little when he settles back in next to him, his eyelashes dark against his pale skin. Jonny's phone chimes again but he ignores it, focusing on his baby and resolutely tuning out all thoughts of work. Or of Jeff.

It isn’t a shock the next morning when Bryan starts throwing up after breakfast. The next few days are intense, between mopping up vomit and keeping up with the demands of the Carter house. Jonny feels like he and Patrick are so busy, they’re two ships passing in the night. Bryan’s been sleeping with Jonny since the day he woke up sick, and Patrick's sleeping in Bryan’s bed so Eric isn’t alone. They’re both exhausted, but so far, neither they nor Amelie have gotten sick, so Jonny supposes he shouldn’t complain too much.

Work isn’t any less busy. The Carter house is coming along quickly; they seem to be meeting all of the checklists necessary to turn the house over by the deadline but Jonny’s never worked on a job with such a tight time frame.

Things with Jeff have changed, too, since the Christmas party. Now that Patrick has mentioned it, Jeff’s glance makes his skin feel prickly and hot. Jeff’s been stopping by the site almost daily, usually to surf, but he always takes time to exchange a few words with Jonny about the project. And knowing that Jeff’s flirting doesn’t seem to be enough to keep Jonny from flirting right back.

***

Jonny’s bent over the plans with Vermette when Jeff walks in and whistles. “Wow, this is really shaping up,” he says, turning in a slow circle. “It looks like you’re actually going to be done on time.”

Jonny dismisses Vermette with a nod. “I think so, yeah. We should have the paint crew out of here by one o’clock on Thursday. You should have enough time to get the house into shape for your party on Friday night. You’ll have to do a lot of cleaning, though.”

Jeff laughs, clapping Jonny on the back. “Oh, Jonny, you’re adorable. That’s what I have staff for!”

Jonny smiles at him. “Not spending the day vacuuming up the sawdust shavings?”

“Not even for a second.” They do a quick walk through of the house, Jonny stopping to point out a few things that have been finished since the last time Jeff stopped by.

The tour ends in the master suite, where several of the external walls have been replaced by floor to ceiling windows so that there’s an unimpeded ocean view. The landscaping has been redesigned as well, providing a sense of seclusion and privacy, even though the house is part of a long string of beachfront homes.

“This is just spectacular,” Jeff marvels. “The glass wasn’t in the last time I was up here. Jonny, you’ve exceeded my every expectation.”

“It’s helps that we started with pretty great foundation,” he says, and gestures toward the ocean. “The view isn’t bad, either.”

“Mmm,” Jeff hums and looks at Jonny. “No, it’s not.” He winks, then laughs as Jonny flushes. “Actually, I think the whole place looks great,” Jeff continues easily. “I can really see your vision coming together.”

“It’s not all me,” Jonny deflects, “and like I said, we had a lot to work with. It helped knowing what you were trying to do.”

“You’ve certainly nailed the ‘elegant but comfortable’ aesthetic I wanted.” Jeff looks around again.

They walk out to the wraparound deck where the sounds of the ocean are loud enough to make conversation more difficult. It’s cold and the morning fog hasn’t quite burned off, giving Jeff’s section of beach the feeling of isolation even though they’re only minutes from L.A. and surrounded by neighbors.

“And I love all the little eco-touches you added. I’m as committed to the environment as the next guy, but adding solar panels to heat the floors and water in the bathroom? Genius.”

“It’s an easy way to give you the high-end luxury you’re looking for without having to add a second water heater.” Jonny shrugs. “Just smart use of all this California sun.”

They listen to seagulls calling over the roar of the ocean, and Jonny turns his face toward the sun that’s just peeking out of the clouds. “Even though we’ve all been working like dogs, I’m going to be sorry to see this project come to an end,” Jonny admits. It’s been nice to drive out to the beach and the relative peace and quiet of the construction site. Which probably says more about the chaotic state of things at home than anything.

“Me, too,” Jeff agrees. “I think we make a pretty good team. And I’m hoping we can collaborate on something . . . else.”

Jonny looks at Jeff. “What did you have in mind?” He asks, hoping Jeff's talking about business, but before Jeff can answer, his cellphone rings and he makes an apologetic face at Jonny. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Can you give me a minute?”

Jonny nods and steps back inside to give Jeff some privacy as he starts talking about something that sounds complicated and financial and way over Jonny’s head. He wanders back into the ensuite, absently checking the soaking tub they’d installed yesterday. When he looks up, Jeff's watching him from the doorway.

“You did a great job in here.” Jeff says. “It’s spacious and beautiful without feeling too . . . decadent.”

Jonny snorts. “The master suite is twelve hundred square feet. The cabinets are handmade from wood that cost fifty dollars a square foot. The floors are laid with marble that your designer flew to Rome to find. And that faucet cost four thousand dollars. I don’t think there’s anything in here that’s not decadent.”

Jeff laughs, putting his hands up. “Okay, sure, but you know what I mean. It still looks like someone could live here, not like a museum. And I’m going to really enjoy living here. Especially because I’ll know you designed it all just for me.”

Jonny ducks his head, flushing from the praise. He likes the idea that Jeff's going to live in this house. It’s a good house, and Jonny’s taken the time to add little touches that go beyond granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. “I’m glad. Its - I tried to keep you in mind with all of the design decisions. I think you’ll be happy living here.”

It’s not until they’re on their way out that Jeff stops him with a hand on his arm. “I meant what I said before, Jonny. We make a good team. I like how you think, I like the things you brought to this project, like the solar panels and the eco-friendly flooring. I’d like you to consider taking on a few more projects for me.”

Jonny blinks, stunned. If he can land Jeff as a long-term client of the firm, there’s no way he doesn’t make partner. “That would - that would be great,” Jonny stutters. “What would you - where would you want to start? And I’ll need to talk to Sid and Geno but I know they’ll be thrilled.”

“Let’s have lunch, just the two of us, and we can talk about what I’m thinking.” Jeff steps up to the limo that’s been idling while they spoke. “Can you do eleven thirty at Geoffrey’s?”

Jonny pulls out his phone. Fuck, Amelie’s art class is at noon. “Uh, yeah, I think that can work. Let me just make a quick call?”

“Just let me know. But if it’s not this afternoon, I’m not sure when I can free up time, and I’d like to get started sooner rather than later.”

Jonny makes a decision. “No, that’s fine, I can move some things.” He hopes. “I’ll meet you there.”

He watches Jeff drive away and tries not to think about how furious Patrick's going to be. Landing more work from Jeff for the firm could set them up for years. He’s going to have to trust Patrick to understand that.

***

“Hey babe, you on your way?” Patrick says when he answers the phone. “Lady Bug is ready to get her paint on, aren’t you?” Amelie makes a noise in the background. “She’s fed, got her apron on already, and just needs Papa to swing by and grab her.”

“Uh,” Jonny says, “Pat…”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Patrick says, incredulous. “You’re canceling on Amelie? Again?”

“It’s work, you know I’d rather be with her, but I’ve got obligations.” When Patrick scoffs, he finds himself getting angry, too. “And I’ve missed exactly one art class since she was eight months old and that was for a doctor’s appointment when I was basically dying. ‘Cancelling again.’ Dick.”

For a moment the only sound is Patrick’s breathing, loud and fast. “Fine,” he says finally, Amelie babbling something in the background. “I’ll take her. But this job - Jonny, your only obligation isn't to your job. Lately it feels like you’ve been forgetting that.”

“Oh cpme on, Patrick.” Jonny’s so tired of getting this bullshit from Patrick. “I coach the hockey team, I take Amelie to art class, except for today -- I -- Jesus, I - I - ” He trails off, and Patrick laughs, a short angry bark.

“Can’t think of anything else, can you?” Patrick mocks. “It’s fine. I’ve got this. Go do your, your, whatever it is that’s more important than your daughter.” He hangs up with a sharp click and Jonny bangs his head on the steering wheel. “God damnit,” he says, giving himself a few seconds to just breathe before he steps out of the car.

***

Jonny manages to keep thoughts of Patrick -- and Amelie -- out of his head for most of the lunch, mostly thanks to the plans Jeff has for his properties in Mexico and the Caribbean.

“But the place I’m most excited to show you is in Lake Como.”

Jonny tunes out as Jeff describes the property north of Lierna that he’s converting to an exclusive spa. The last time he was in Lierna was when he and Patrick were young and so in love it felt like they could conquer the world.

“Jonny?” Jeff says, sounding concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, no, sorry. Just spaced out for a second. Lierna, huh?” Jonny sips his water. “Beautiful location.”

“You’ve been to Lierna?” Jeff asks, astonished.

“Yeah,” he answers, not meeting Jeff’s eyes. “Pat and I went there for our honeymoon.”

“Ah.” Jeff swirls the wine left in his glass, watching him. “Good memories, then?”

“The best,” Jonny says honestly. It seems like so long ago. It seems like just yesterday. “We actually just stumbled on it on our way back to Milan.”

“Fantastic views, hmm?” Jeff asks, smiling. “And the food. Did you eat at Sapore?”

“No,” Jonny says, laughing. “We were poor college grads, backpacking around Italy. Mostly we ate fresh bread and sopressata.” And they’d slept in hostels, twined together in beds meant for one, drunk on wine and love. “Although we did find a great art gallery in Lierna.”

“Art? Jonny, you keep having these sides to you that are unexpected. And fascinating.” Jeff signals to the waiter for more wine. “So,” he prompts, once the waiter has uncorked and poured them both another glass. “You found a gallery in Lierna?”

Jonny smiles. “Well, Patrick found it, really. He’s really more of the art lover.” He shakes his head. “I think it’s all the time I’ve spent studying buildings, art just seems . . . small? Out of scale? I don’t know. But Patrick loves art. So when he saw this little storefront next to the hostel we stayed in, he was thrilled. I think we spent more time in Paolo’s shop than anywhere else in town.”

“What kind of art?” Jeff asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, he carried paintings, ceramics, lots of things. But what we really fell in love with were the sculptures.” Jonny remembers seeing the abstract piece that Patrick had gravitated to immediately. “Patrick loves abstract sculpture.” They had picked up a small piece on their honeymoon that Eric uses as one of the warriors in his battles, when he can sneak it out of the den.

“I love sculpture, too,” Jeff says. “Maybe not the same kind of thing you would be able to have in your house. With kids around, I mean.” He shrugs. “My art collection tends to have more of an . . . adult theme, let’s just say.”

Jonny laughs, uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, collecting art wasn’t really on our radar screen when we were there. Or since, really. Mostly we just bought what we liked, when we could afford to. Haven’t gotten anything in years, though.”

“You should collect art that you like!” Jeff says. “Otherwise, it’s just an investment. Buying art shouldn’t be an investment.” He wrinkles his nose. “I do enough of that in the rest of my life.”

Jonny snorts. “I think any art I could afford to buy would never be anyone’s idea of an investment. If we buy anything, it would be from a place like Paolo’s. But I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get back to Italy anytime soon.”

“Well, maybe sooner than you think,” Jeff says, looking at Jonny intently. “If we’re going to be renovating that property into a spa, I’m going to need you to be on site. And maybe I can show you a side of Italy you haven’t seen, yet.”

Jonny swallows and has to look away. “We’ll see,” is the only way he can think to respond.

They spend the rest of the meal going over the places Jeff has properties he wants to renovate, and Jonny realizes that Jeff's talking about redesigning a significant chunk of his portfolio. “Jeff, this is incredible. I’m really honored that you’re trusting us with so much of your business.”

Jeff looks at him steadily. “I’m trusting you, Jonny. Because I like how you work. And I like how when I push you, you push me right back.”

“Not sure why that’s something you like,” Jonny says. “Most people say that’s my worst quality.”

“I think I’ve shown you that I’m not like most people,” Jeff says, signing the bill. “So, do you think this is something we can make work?”

Jonny thinks for a moment, his head still spinning from all of the possibilities. “I don’t - I can’t commit for the firm,” he says, and Jeff nods in acknowledgment, “but it sounds like something I’d love to do.”

“And the travel - you can make it work?”

“I’ll have to talk to Patrick,” Jonny says. “But he’ll support me, if he knows it’s important to me.”

“Excellent!” Jeff says, and claps him on the shoulder as they leave the restaurant. “We can drink to it at my party.” When Jonny looks at him, puzzled, he goes on. “You will be at my party, right?”

“I - hadn’t planned on it?” Jonny thought that Jeff had invited him as a courtesy. “Fridays are always family night.”

“It’s just that I invited several of my friends who have homes that need renovating and I thought I could introduce you,” Jeff says. “But if you can’t make it . . .”

“No, I’m sure I can move things around,” Jonny says, not sure at all but he knows he’s not getting out of it. “And Patrick?”

“Of course.” Jeff says, a small smile playing around his lips. “Bring Patrick. If you want.”

***

Jonny stands outside the front door for an embarrassingly long time. He’s not afraid to go in; he’s just gathering his thoughts, he tells himself. He’s lying.

Patrick hadn’t just been angry earlier when he’d called to cancel the art class with Amelie. He’d been furious. The only time Jonny hadn’t been actively worrying about it all day had been the two hours he’d been at lunch with Jeff.

He doesn’t poke at that thought for too long, though.

Instead he squares his shoulders and opens the door. “Patrick? Kids?” When no answer comes, he sighs with relief. They’re probably still at Bryan’s karate class. He hangs up his coat and moves into the living room to make himself a drink.

“Jonny,” Patrick says from the couch. Jonny whirls, his heart racing. Patrick smiles grimly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Pat,” Jonny says, and then doesn’t know how to go on. “Want a drink?” When Patrick shakes his head, he moves over to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a scotch, takes two large sips before he can make himself begin the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, unsure even after seven hours exactly why Patrick's so angry. “I shouldn’t have just dropped that one you.”

“And?” Patrick asks, his face blank.

“And . . . I’m sorry I missed Ammy’s class?” Jonny isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be saying but he’s fairly certain he’s not coming close.

“And?” Patrick prompts again, mouth tight.

“Enough of this bullshit already, Patrick, just tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll say it.” Jonny knocks back the last of the scotch and pours another.

“How about being sorry for how often you’ve put all of us second to that fucking house and your fucking job?”

“That's not fair, you know I have obligations to the firm, responsibilities so that I can support all of us. Jeff wanted to discuss the firm taking on more of his properties, and that’s an opportunity worth, shit. Worth millions, probably. Probably enough that if things go well, I could make partner. I couldn’t just blow him off.”

“Jeff,” Patrick says, unimpressed. “Well. Lately it seems to be much easier to blow off your daughter and me than some asshole you work with.”

“I didn’t blow her off - “ Jonny shouts, but Patrick cuts him off.

“You did, though.” Patrick says flatly. “You blew off the only chance you have to spend time alone with Ammy all week. And you let me down. You know that Amelie’s class is the one time I get to do anything on my own, be anything other than your husband and the kids’ father. It’s two hours a week. Two hours, Jonny. But trust me, I grasp that what’s important to me -- important to your children -- isn't as important as your important client.”

And that’s just dirty pool. “Fuck off, Patrick. I never -- ever -- put anything before you and this family. I wanted to be there. There’s no place I’d rather be than with you guys. But-“

Patrick cuts him off again. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it. Lately the only time we see you is in the morning. You’re missing hockey practices, soccer games - fuck, Jonny, you missed the boys’ parent-teacher conferences last week! It’s like the only thing that exists for you anymore is Jeff Carter and this fucking renovation.”

“That fucking renovation is important to the firm - it’s important to me!” Jonny can feel the guilt receding as he gets angry himself. “And it should be important to you!”

“Why? Why would I give any fucks about Jeff Carter’s McMansion?” Patrick sneers. “That thing is a monstrosity and an embarrassment to everything you used to believe in.”

For a moment Jonny's speechless. “I’ve spent over a month pouring everything I have into that house. How can you call my work a monstrosity? I thought you were proud of me.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic, Jonny, Jesus, you’re missing the point,” Patrick shakes his head. “We used to laugh about these kinds of projects. You used to rail against the billionaires and the heiresses and their incessant need to have the biggest, the flashiest, the newest. Ten thousand square feet for a master suite. Heated and air conditioned stables for fucking cars.” He snorts. “Now, not only are you designing this kind of shit, but you’re putting it ahead of your family.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? This is my job. This is my career.”

“I think I’m your husband, that we’re your family. Which you used to think was more important than a job or a career or Jeff fucking Carter.” Patrick stands up and starts pacing. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard ‘Jeff said this’ or ‘Jeff said that.’ It’s always Jeff, Jeff, Jeff.”

“I keep telling you that you and the kids are more important to me than anything, Patrick,” Jonny bites out. “You’re why I’m working on homes like Jeff Carter's, so I can afford to provide for you and the children! And I can’t do my job because I’m too busy holding your hand at PTA meetings?”

Patrick narrows his eyes. “Oh, pardon me, you absolute dick, I thought we were in this together. You wanted these kids. You wanted me to stay home with them just as much as I did. Fuck you for saying that we get in the way of anything you need to do for work.”

“I can say it when you throw a fit because I missed one -- one -- of Amelie’s baby art classes! In all the months she’s been going, I’ve missed exactly two total, and one of those was when I had bronchitis. Excuse me for not getting all the toddlers sick just so you could have an afternoon off.” He pours himself another drink and knocks it back quickly. “I’m not allowed to miss one class?”

Patrick look at him with narrowed eyes for a long moment. “If this was just missing a class, do you think Niklas would be picking Bryan up from karate and Elina would be feeding Eric and Amelie tonight? If it was just about missing one class, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You know it’s not just about missing one class, Jonny,” Patrick’s voice shakes a little. He blows out a deep breath and looks away. “I’m starting to feel like this thing you’ve got going on with Jeff is taking precedence over everything else. I could deal with it when it was a short-term thing. But if you’re going to be working on more projects, we’re going to have to figure something else out.”

The prickle of guilt Jonny feels makes him angry and defensive. “Like what, Patrick? Because this is what you chose when you wanted to stay home with the kids.”

“Oh, fuck you, Jonny.” Patrick stands and pokes at Jonny’s chest, knocking him back a step. “I chose? I chose? Whose dick was that in my ass getting me pregnant? Whose kids am I choosing to stay home and raise? You know this wasn’t ever something I chose. We chose it. Together.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that choice means that I’m not going to be around as much as you want,” Jonny snaps.

“And I think I could deal with that if you looked at all like you minded,” Patrick says, waving his hand at Jonny. “But all I see is a guy who can’t wait to leave behind the chaos of our life in favor of building McMansions. What happened to that idealistic guy who wanted to build low-income, eco-friendly, energy efficient, inner-city housing?”

“You think I wouldn’t rather be doing that?” Jonny shouts. “I didn’t want this fucking job, I didn’t want this to be my fucking career! I hate it!”

The silence after he finishes is leaden, and Patrick is looking at him, wide eyes and stricken, and Jonny sighs, Jonny exhales, suddenly exhausted. “I’m doing this bullshit for you and our family, Pat. I’d go back to Seabs’ firm in a heartbeat if I could. But you’re right. We chose this life. And that means sometimes I’m going to be home late. Sometimes I’m going to have to cancel art classes and miss soccer games.”

"Jon," Patrick says, stricken.

“And I hate that I’m not here for you - all of you. I hate missing out. Even when it’s total chaos, it’s the best part of my day.”

Jonny says earnestly, his throat thick.

Patrick’s eyes are shining, and he walks over to Jonny. “Babe, God, I didn’t know. I’m - if this isn’t what you want, we can, we can do something, I can - I can go back to work.” He pushes Jonny down onto the couch, climbing into his lap to kiss chastely, reverently. “I’m sorry you’re so unhappy. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

Jonny leans his forehead against Patrick’s and they breathe in each other’s space for a few moments. He pulls Patrick tighter to him, and says, “I’m sorry, I’m really not - I’m not that unhappy. I was just mad and being an ass.”

"Really?" Patrick asks, searching Jonny's eyes. "Really," Jonny says, tamping down on the urge to take Patrick up on his offer. He snorts. “Who would have thought redesigning McMansions for billionaires would be kinda fun?”

Patrick laughs a little and snuggles in closer, and Jonny turns them so they’re lying down, Patrick stretched out over him. Jonny lets the familiarity of Patrick’s body soothe and relax him, and he kisses Patrick, moaning as Patrick deepens the kiss until they're both breathing fast and half-hard.

“I really would rather be at Amelie’s art class,” Jonny whispers against Patrick's throat, nipping a little at his Adam's apple.

Patrick chokes out a laugh. “We actually brought something home today.”

Jonny draws back. “She didn’t eat it?”

“She didn’t eat it. Saved it for her favorite father,” Patrick teases before sobering. “I - she - she misses you, Jonny. And the boys miss you - they're always asking why you're not around much anymore.”

Jonny closes his eyes, the guilt he’d felt earlier back in force. “God, Patrick, I’m -

“Shhh,” Patrick says. “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, I just want you to know that I didn’t mean it when I said you’re not part of this family.” He kisses Jonny gently. “You’re the biggest part. When you’re home, we revolve around you. I don’t know what we’d do without you.” He kisses him again, more deeply. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, my life revolves around you, Pat. You won’t ever have to find out. I may not be around as much as either of us would like, but we’re in this together,” Jonny says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, either.”

Things are better between them, but when Jonny lays in bed that night, he can’t help thinking about how dismissive Patrick had been about the Carter house and Jeff Carter. He knows Patrick hadn’t really meant it, but it still stings to think about what he’d said. Amelie starts moving around and crying over the baby monitor, and he sighs and gets up, moving Patrick gently from where he's tucked up against Jonny's side so he doesn’t wake up.

As he stumbles down the hall, he swipes a hand across his eyes, yawning. He’s so tired - tired of fighting, tired of the chaos, tired of dealing with children who don’t want to sleep. He’s just tired, and he feels like something’s going to have to give soon, and he has no idea what that will be.

***

The next few days aren’t uncomfortable, not exactly, because he and Patrick aren’t fighting, but it’s not the same, either. Jonny works hard to pitch in when he's home, taking over some of the things Patrick normally does to show him how invested he is in their life. The chaos and exhaustion of home means that despite what he’d told Patrick, being at work has turned into the best and least-stressful part of his day. Working - specifically working with Jeff - is fun, Jonny losing himself in the uncomplicated work of construction and design. They continue to make great progress on the house, and Jeff's interested enough in scaling Jonny’s green technology tweaks across his real estate empire that today the team responsible for overseeing his holdings in Europe has descended, and Jonny finds he’s talking himself hoarse explaining how his ideas would work in large, non-residential properties.

“I hope you’ve got time for a drink?” Jeff asks, shaking Jonny’s hand as Brandon and Shawsy pack up the conference room once the presentations are over.

Jonny looks down at his watch and grimaces. “I’ve actually got to get home,” Jonny apologizes. “It’s already after seven, and I can’t miss bedtime if I want to still be married.”

“Your priorities, Jonny . . . ” Jeff teases but he's smiling. “No, I get it. Gotta keep the hubby sweet. Go on, get out of here. I’ll give Andrew and Brandon a hand, we’ll get this place cleaned up, right guys? And then drinks are on me.”

Brandon and Shawsy give Jonny wide-eyed looks and nod. Jonny quickly says his goodnights and heads out, relieved that Jeff had taken him begging off so easily. He stops by Bollig’s office on the way out, where he’s happy to learn that they’re on the same page: that no good can come from having Jeff out with Shawsy unsupervised. So Bollig takes on Shawsy-watching duties, and Jonny heads home, exhausted but happy from a great day.

He’s going to make sure the rest of the night goes just as well.

***

Jonny’s still in a good mood by the time he makes it home. The meeting with Jeff had gone a little late, sure, but they’d been so damn productive, and it’s always exhilarating to work with Jeff, whose questions and intellect always keep Jonny on his toes and challenge him in ways that bring out his best.

It’s quiet when he opens the door, so quiet that he double-checks his wristwatch, having been fairly confident that he was in time to put the kids to bed. As he’s glancing down he hears a series of thumps and giggles coming from upstairs. When he makes it to the playroom he’s treated to a hero’s welcome, “Papa! Papa!” they shout happily, are running down the hall to get to him, and he swoops them into the air, one in each arm.

“Papa, Papa, Papa,” Amelie echoes, toddling towards him, a little unsteady in her footie pajamas.

Jonny puts the boys down, landing them on the large pillows scattered around the room and pretending to body slam them. They’re screaming with laughter, kicking their feet and rolling into each other as they try to get away. He scoops up Amelie, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, and tickling her belly until she’s squirming with laughter.

“Throw me again, Papa,” Eric pleads, tugging on his arm and trying to hang from it. Jonny obliges with a smile. There’s something pretty fantastic about making little people who think you hung the moon howl with laughter.

He’s got all three kids on the floor now, and has resumed tickling them with varying degrees of ferocity, laughing himself at their breathless pleas for “more!” and “again!” when Patrick appears, white tee shirt drenched and clinging to him. Jonny can’t help but take an appreciative look. "Hi, Daddy," he says throatily, enjoying Patrick's flush. "That's quite a look."

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Don’t get them too riled up now, it’s almost bedtime. I’m going to go change real quick,” he says backing down the hallway with barely a pause, “Ammy discovered how to use the handheld shower, and now I’m soaked.”

Jonny starts laughing, and Ammy joins in. “You don’t even know what’s so funny ma coccinelle.”

“I do.” Bryan chimes in knowingly, draping himself over Jonny’s back as if to climb over him, “Ammy got Dad all wet, and that’s funny.”

“Yup,” Eric nods sagely.

“Hilarious,” Pat’s dry voice precedes him as he comes back, still pulling his shirt over his head. He follows it up with a light punch to Jonny’s shoulder. “Late tonight,” his says mildly.

“Not too late,” Jonny returns evenly, determined not to be annoyed, “I made it for bedtime didn’t I?” He sees the boys share a quick glance, and takes a deep breath. He had a good day, he’s having a good night, he’s not going to fight in front of the kids. Again.

Patrick makes a noncommittal noise in reply, scooping up handfuls of toys into their respective bins. “And speaking of bedtime...”

The twins groan simultaneously in dismay, making Patrick and Jonny laugh. The subtle tension that had been building dissipates.

“Bed.” Jonny agrees. “Boys go brush your teeth, and if you’re both in your beds once I get in there we can read two chapters of Captain Underpants instead of one.”

Eric and Bryan fly out of the room like a shot, and Jonny and Patrick start laughing again, joined by Amelie, who claps her hands delightedly.

“You think everything is sooooooo funny.” Patrick teases, blowing a raspberry on her belly before scooping her up. “Come on, Lady Bug, say goodnight to Papa, and we’ll go read a book of our own.”

Jonny kisses her on each cheek and once on her nose for good measure, before taking advantage of Patrick's proximity to kiss him firmly, a little in apology for being late but mostly out of a need to be close to him after a long day. Patrick hums into his mouth, and smiles at Jonny, his face softer. "Hi again, Papa."

"Maybe after the kids are asleep, we can go to bed, too," Jonny says.

“Sounds a lot better than Captain Underpants,” Patrick calls over his shoulder, voice light and grin teasing. "Now get cracking, mister before the boys make you read three chapters for keeping them waiting."

“Yeah, yeah,” Jonny grumbles goodnaturedly, levering himself to his feet and making his way to tuck the tiny little tyrants in.

Patrick's asleep when he gets down putting the twins down, Amelie in his arms, and he gets them both in their respective beds. He smoothes a curl off Patrick's forehead, grinning when Patrick bats at his hand in his sleep. It's only eight thirty, but Jonny's exhausted, too, so he crawls in with him, curling around his warm, familiar body, and smiling as he falls asleep. This is why it's worth working as hard as he has, he thinks as he drifts off. Even if he's only been able to get a sliver of his usual time with them, he'll take it.

***

The next few days require a lot of Jonny’s time at work, and on the weekend when he carves out a few hours, Patrick drags him shopping before they go out for a family dinner. Patrick swears it’s not a punishment for not being around, but so far, Jonny’s not sure you can call it anything else.

Three hours in, everyone but Patrick seems exhausted and they haven’t even made it to Dave and Buster’s yet. Amelie has a meltdown in the Children’s Place and Jonny takes her outside to distract her while Patrick finishes getting the boys three hundred pairs of socks, or whatever it is that requires them to still be at the mall at four o’clock in the afternoon. On a Saturday. In December.

He’s got Amelie down to hiccuping whimpers and is keeping her distracted by pointing out the birds flying overhead when he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns to see Jeff, looking tall and gorgeous and immaculate. He's in a white sweater that clings to his firm pecs and the sun's glinting off his hair and he has a huge grin on his face.

“Jonny!” Jeff says, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping,” Jonny says lamely, pulling at his own stained and probably smelly flannel shirt.

Jeff laughs and takes off his glasses. “Really? At the mall? Who would've guessed," Jeff smirks. He turns to Amelie. “And who’s this little beauty?” She smiles a little at him before tucking her head down against Jonny’s neck.

“This is Amelie. She’s having a bit of a rough afternoon.” He bounces her gently, murmuring to her until she peeks up at Jeff again. Jonny makes an apologetic face at him. “She's not usually this fussy, she missed her nap today.”

“Well, that certainly always makes me cranky.” Jeff blows a little raspberry at her, and she giggles. “She’s gorgeous.” He looks at Jonny. “All dark eyes and dark hair, just like you.”

Jonny flushes and holds Amelie a little tighter. “That’s, um, uh. Thanks. She’s my bonne fille.”

Amelie's reaching for Jeff’s finger, but he’s looking at Jonny, moving closer. “Do you think she’d let me hold her?” Jeff asks, his hand coming around to rub Jonny’s shoulder, sweeping down to his lower back. “Promise I’ll be very gentle.”

Jonny inhales sharply, the light caress setting unexpectedly setting his pulse racing. He has to look away from Jeff's eyes; they're dark and hot, the way he's been looking at Jonny more frequently every day. "Uh - I - "

“Why are you looking at my papa like that?” Eric says from just behind Jonny. “Papa, why is he looking at you like that?”

Jonny startles and steps away from Jeff, but not before lets his hand linger lightly on the top of Jonny's ass. Jonny manages not to shiver in reaction, instead marshalling himself as he looks down at Eric. “Oh, er, baby, he’s not - he wasn't. Uh. This is just a friend of Daddy’s from work.”

"Still just a friend from work?" Jeff says, his lips twitching a little. "I'm a little hurt."

Patrick walks up just then, scolding Bryan. “I don’t care how many times you ask me, you’re not getting any candy. I'll never understand why they always put candy in the checkout lane.” Patrick says, exasperated. “Are they sadists?”

“Just smart businessmen, I’d expect,” Jeff says.

Patrick finally looks up from where he’s been digging in the diaper bag. “Oh! Didn’t see you there, Jeff.” He mouths ‘sorry’ at Jonny and turns to the twins. “Behave yourself, boys. This is one of Papa’s most important clients.”

Jeff squats down in front of the twins and offers his hand. Bryan shakes it briefly but Eric's still glaring at Jeff, who’s looking at his hand in dismay. “Is he - why is his hand dirty?”

Patrick winces. “Oh, shi-oot, sorry! They got into the flower pots front of Children’s Place on the way out, and I can’t find the fudging wipes. Wait, wait, I could swear I put some - yep!” He holds up a few crumpled napkins. “Ha, knew going to Cinnabon would pay off, Jonny. Be right back.”

He dashes over to a fountain across the courtyard, leaving Jonny with the uneasy tableau of Bryan and Eric in an apparent stare-down with Jeff.

“You shouldn’t look at my papa like that,” Eric says, fierce. “My daddy wouldn’t like it.”

“I wasn’t - we’re just talking about grown up things.” Jeff says, laughing a little and rolling his eyes up at Jonny. “You’re just too little to understand.”

Eric’s jaw tightens, and that’s all the warning they get before Bryan launches himself at Jeff.

“Don’t laugh at my brother!” Bryan's screaming, kicking and hitting Jeff, who falls on his ass, and puts his hands up, trying to protect himself from fifty four pounds of furious six year-old. “Don’t you laugh at him!”

Eric’s clinging to Bryan and sobbing, and Jonny’s trying to keep Amelie -- who’s started crying again -- on one shoulder while he holds Bryan back when Patrick runs up. “Bryan! What are you doing - stop that right now!”

It takes a few tense moments but eventually Patrick calms Bryan and Eric down and Jonny gets Jeff back on his feet. His white sweater's misshapen, there are two dirty handprints on one arm, and his sunglasses are hanging off one ear but Jeff shakes his head ruefully when Jonny’s asks if he’s hurt. “Is he always like that?” Jeff asks, gesturing toward where Patrick's holding on to both boys, rocking them a little as he speaks to them quietly. “Out of control?”

“God, no, I’ve never seen him like that,” Jonny says, wiping at his forehead. He’s sweaty and tired, and Amelie's still sobbing, and he needs to help Patrick, but his son just attacked his biggest client, and he doesn’t know where to start making this better.

“Jonny, I’m fine.” Jeff grabs his arm and shakes him a little. “Really. It’s a little dirt and a few bruises. I’ve gotten roughed up worse in one of my Board meetings. Honestly. It’s fine.”

“You’re being really nice about this,” Jonny starts, but then Patrick's leading Bryan and Eric over, and even though everyone seems to have calmed down, he can’t blame Jeff for flinching a little and subtly putting his hands in front of his crotch when they stop in front of him.

“Bryan, do you have something to say to Mr. Carter?” Patrick prompts when they're both silent, Bryan's face streaked with tears, and Eric crying silently. Bryan wipes his nose and looks up at Patrick, his eyes pleading. Patrick shakes his head. “Now, Bryan.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter.” Bryan says, glancing at Jonny quickly before squaring his shoulders and continuing. “I shouldn’t have hitted you or kicked you or yelled at you. My daddy says I don’t get to have ice cream for two weeks” -- Patrick clears his throat -- “three weeks as ‘punnament. And I’m not going to get my allowance for a month.” He looks back up at Patrick when he’s done, tears spilling over his cheeks again.

Patrick squeezes his shoulder. “Good job, buddy. Why don’t you and Eric go sit on that bench while Papa and I talk to Mr. Carter.” He hands them a packet of kleenex from the front pocket of the diaper bag, sighing as they walk away.

“I’m really very sorry,” Patrick starts, when Jeff cuts him off.

“Stop, both of you - all of you!” Jeff says, putting his hands up and shaking his head ruefully. “I’m fine, it’s fine! I’m not hurt, no harm done, honestly. My dignity's the only thing that got injured, but since I don’t use it that often . . .”

He smiles self-deprecatingly. When neither Jonny or Patrick laugh, he sobers and nods towards where Eric and Bryan are sitting, Eric whispering into Bryan’s ear. “And you really don’t have to take away his allowance -- or ice cream -- on my behalf! Now I feel terrible. Bryan was right, I shouldn’t have laughed at Eric, and I don’t blame him for sticking up for his brother.” He shrugs sheepishly. “I’m just not around children much, and it didn’t even occur to me that it would upset him like that.”

Jonny puts an arm around Patrick, who leans into him a little, and it’s only then that he realizes Patrick’s shaking. “We appreciate your understanding, but it’s important that Bryan learn that he cannot act like that, ever.” Jonny tightens his grip on Patrick’s shoulder, and he must squeeze Amelie a little, too, because she starts fussing again.

“Here, give her to me,” Patrick takes Amelie, rocking and shushing her. “Daddy’s got ya, Lady Bug.”

They stand there in awkward silence for a long moment, before Jeff clears his throat. "Anyway. I’m late for my dinner meeting - not that I mind!” he says when Patrick opens his mouth again. “I hate working on Saturday and not even going to Nobu for hand rolled sashimi is enough to make up for it.” He makes his goodbyes, promising to send Jonny the bill for cleaning his sweater and refusing any more apologies.

Jonny walks with him for a few steps, shaking his head. “That wasn’t the best introduction to my family,” he starts, but Jeff stops him with a look. “I’m not apologizing!” he protests. “It’s just not usually quite that dramatic.”

Jeff laughs. “Understood. Listen, I know I’m a client, but I meant what I said. I’d like to think we’re also . . . friends, I guess.” He reaches out to take Jonny’s hand, using it to pull him into a loose bro hug. Jonny’s not too distracted to fail to notice how good he smells, like saltwater and expensive cologne. He watches Jeff walk away and wonders what it would be like to have sushi in a quiet, dark restaurant that doesn’t have a children’s menu.

When he gets back to Patrick’s side, he feels like a traitor for noticing that Patrick still has sweet potato puree on his collar and smells like licorice and baby spit up.

***

“What on earth did Jeff do to make Bryan so upset?” Patrick asks later, when the twins are distracted by a movie in the living room. “Eric said something about him looking at you?”

Jonny doesn’t look up from the dish he’s drying. “I don’t know what that was about. He walked up and when I tried to introduce him, Eric got upset. And then Jeff laughed and it all went to hell.”

“Jonny. Stop pretending.”

Patrick says, grabbing a dish towel.

“Pretending what?” Jonny asks warily.

“That you don’t notice how Jeff looks at you,” Patrick says, smirking a little. “You see it, I see it, Eric sees it.”

“Jeff’s not, no, he’s just. He’s just being friendly!” Jonny protests, his face flushing. He hopes Patrick thinks it’s embarrassment and not guilt. It’s not guilt; he has nothing to be guilty about. “I don’t know why you keep insisting he’s, he’s . . .”

“Hitting on you,” Patrick says, turning away. “That man is hitting on you, Jonny. And I get it. I’d hit on you, too. I mean,” he looks back over his shoulder and leers, “if I didn’t have a hot as fuck guy locked down at home.”

Jonny swallows, relieved, then dries his hands quickly and sidles up behind Patrick and slides his hands into his pockets, pulling him back against him. “Locked down, huh?”

Patrick presses back into Jonny’s embrace. “Yep.”

“If memory serves,” he says, kissing along Patrick’s neck, pressing him more firmly into the counter, “I’m not the one who likes being locked down.” He runs his hands down Patrick’s arms and circles his wrists tightly, holding Patrick still, trapped between his body and the kitchen sink.

“Ohh,” Patrick whispers, his lashes fluttering. He pulls at his wrists, twisting as though to get away, but Jonny just tightens his hands, and he can feel Patrick shudder and still, breath quickening.

“This guy, does he hold you like this?” Jonny grinds into Patrick, his dick riding into the valley of Patrick’s cheeks. “Does he hold you down and make you just take it?”

Patrick moans, and his head drops back on Jonny’s shoulder, and Jonny catches his lips, catches his gasp. He licks into Patrick’s mouth for a moment, then pulls back, gratified when Patrick tries to chase his mouth. He mouths at the nape of Patrick’s neck, biting a little and licking the sting away. He used to keep a mark here, hidden under Patrick’s curls, and he bites down a little harder. “Do you remember, Pat?” He bites again, sucking a little this time. “When you always wore my mark? When I never let it fade?”

Patrick nods, his curls rubbing against Jonny’s cheek.

“Answer me, baby,” Jonny croons.”Do you remember when I used to bite you, right here?”

“Yes,” Patrick says, leaning his head forward a little, “I remember. Used to do it when you were inside me. Ohh, fuck.” He breaks off as Jonny sinks his teeth in a little deeper, pulling a little skin up between them and sucking hard.

“Did you like it?” he says when he lets the abused flesh go. He licks across it again, and Patrick’s hips hitch. “Knowing it was there, just barely hidden under your hair?”

Patrick nods. “Fucking loved it, Jonny. God.” Jonny spins him around, and pushes him gently until he’s bent backwards over the sink a little. “Loved knowing it was there, but it was secret, it was our secret. No one go to see it.”

“I bet you wanted to show everyone, though, didn’t you?,” Jonny licked across Patrick’s skin. “Wanted me to mark you up so anyone looking at you would know you were mine.”

He kisses Patrick then. He’s achingly hard, and he wants to turn Patrick back around and fuck him against the sink, hold him still and make him come, right there in the kitchen, in front of the window, where the neighbors could see them, if they looked out of the right window. He remembers this feeling, the need to possess and cherish and show off Patrick, and it drives him to whisper into Patrick's ear, “Maybe tonight I’ll remind you that you belong to me, hmm?” He kisses Patrick again, fucking into his mouth with his tongue. “Remind you that no one else gets to see you like this, no one else gets to have this.”

“Yes, God, yes, Jonny, please,” Patrick moans around Jonny’s tongue, the words warped into almost nonsense.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” Jonny pulls back a little to look at Patrick, his lips red and swollen, the blue of his eyes swallowed up by the black of his pupils. “You'd let me mark you here,” he kisss just behind Patrick’s ear. “And here,” he sucks lightly on his collarbone. “And here,” he says, as he bites at his jaw.

Patrick’s making a steady stream of noises, his hips grinding back against Jonny’s. The feel of Patrick falling apart underneath him, because of him, is making Jonny harder than he’s been in as long as he can remember. Unfortunately, he can hear Aladdin wrapping up in the family room, so he backs up a little, kissing Patrick softly, until they’re both breathing a little slower. Patrick's relaxed and pliant in his arms, and Jonny wants Patrick like this, always. He’s missed this, the past few months, the past few years. Nothing's ever been hotter than having Patrick in his arms.

Unbidden, the thought of Jeff rises up in his mind.

But before he can start feeling guilty, Patrick’s pulling away. “Later?” he asks, kissing him one last time. “In that witching hour between the boys falling asleep and Amelie waking up for the first time?”

“Later,” Jonny promises. This part of Patrick, the way he needs Jonny, the way he wants Jonny calls out to the part of himself that needs to take Patrick, to take him apart. Patrick's always in charge of their life, of their home, or their children. Of Jonny. Once upon a time, Jonny was in charge of Patrick, too, and maybe tonight's a way to take back a little of that control. If nothing else, it’s worth trying.

“Later,” Jonny says again, and kisses Patrick again.

But later, when the boys are conked out and Amelie's settled in her crib, Patrick's once again asleep when he gets to their room. Jonny contemplates waking him up, but he knows they’re both exhausted, so he just presses a kiss to Patrick’s hair and goes into the bathroom to wash off the day, resigning himself to jerking off instead.

He’s still keyed up from before, and as he strokes himself in the shower, he flashes back to the sound of Patrick’s moans, the way his hips stuttered when Jonny bit the back of his neck. He closes his eyes, and Patrick’s face flickers out, replaced by Jeff. The angular cheekbones and devilish smile he gets when he’s particularly happy about something. The way his eyes are dark and unblinking sometimes when Jonny looks up to find him already staring back. The way he licks his lips. The way he lets his eyes trace up and down Jonny’s body, like they're mapping out the path he'd touch Jonny, if he could.

Jonny moans and his hand speeds up as he remembers watching Jeff emerge, peeling himself out of his wet suit, breathing hard from surfing, water running in rivulets down his chest. He can see him, his chest bare, his nipples pebbled, his six pack disappearing into his board shorts. Once, when he caught Jonny glancing at him, Jeff had unashamedly adjusted himself, holding Jonny’s gaze the entire time. When he ran his hand slowly up the outline of his cock, Jonny had turned away quickly and made his excuses, practically running back to his car. It’s that memory that finally pushes him over the edge, the look in Jeff’s eyes as he touched himself. The knowledge that that look was for Jonny.

Jonny comes, his hand tight on his cock, and he has to lean against the shower wall so he doesn’t slip. He puts his head on his arm and as his breathing slows, he realizes what he’s done. What’s he been doing.

He’s been letting Jeff into his thoughts, into his life. And now he’s brought him into his home. Into his bedroom, where his husband's sleeping peacefully. It makes Jonny ache to think of Patrick knowing, of what it would do to him if he found out, but he can admit to himself that even that thought probably isn’t enough to keep him from doing it again.

***

“Ugh, are you sure you can't take the boys to hockey?” Patrick asks, stuffing the boys’ water bottles into the hockey bag. “I know you haven't been able to coach as much this year, and I-”

“Pat, we've been over this," Jonny says, exasperated. “I’ve got those emails to go over, and a conference call in forty five minutes. Plus we don’t want to leave Amelie with a sitter when she’s got a fever. This is a better division of labor today."

“It’s just that you’ve been working so much, and I hate that you keep missing things,” Patrick says with a sigh.

“I’m not going to be working that hard, and this way I won’t have to be on the computer after dinner tonight,” Jonny reminds him, “And spending a few hours alone with ma coccinelle is an okay trade-off. Go. The kids will survive hockey practice without me.” When Patrick still looks unsure, Jonny laughs, “for fuck’s sake, just go!”

Patrick sighs, relenting finally, and comes over to kiss Jonny. “If you keep swearing like that in front of her, her limited vocabulary is going to include the word ‘fuck.’” He swoops Amelie into his arms and busses her cheek with a kiss. “And we don’t want Lady Bug to get banned from Baby Fun Time, do we? No, we don’t. No, we don’t.” He makes a silly face at her, and she giggles.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Didn’t happen with the twins, not going to happen with Ammy.”

“We were too tired to swear when the twins were babies,” Patrick says, finally putting Amelie down and grabbing the hockey bag. “Okay, I’m going.”

When the door finally closes behind him, Jonny looks at Amelie. “I thought he’d never leave,” he says, snuggling her close. “Now I get you all to myself, Mademoiselle.”

Ten minutes later, she’s playing at his feet, looking more and more sleepy, when his cellphone buzzes with a call from Jeff. “Hey, Jonny, sorry to bother you at home, but I’ve got a quick question about the layout of the second master suite.”

“Good evening to you, too, Jeff,” Jonny says. Amelie looks up when he speaks, and he wrinkles his nose at her before standing and walking to the window. “How are you?”

Jeff laughs. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I’m just rushing to the airport, and I’m trying to tie up a few things before I head to Rome for a few days.”

“Jetting off to Rome, huh,” Jonny says, teasing. “Rough life.”

“Would you change your tune if I told you I’m going to be locked in a conference room for sixteen hours a day with my European financial managers, getting ready for an audit of one of my companies by the Italian tax bureau?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Jonny concedes. “Sorry. I guess I should have said: don’t work too hard.”

“Oh, I never let a little hard work prevent me from getting what I want, Jonny,” Jeff says, his voice low. “And I almost always get what I want. But I think you already know that.”

Jonny swallows, his throat suddenly dry. The silence drags on for a moment before Jeff continues. “I’m also hoping to have time to get some artwork for the house, so that when you’re done, it’s not just bare walls and floors.”

“Yeah, that, uh, you don’t want that,” Jonny says lamely, when he finally finds his voice, and he knocks his head against the window pane a few times. “What are you looking for?”

“Not sure yet,” Jeff says, “Art, maybe some rugs. Hold on a second, got to deal with this.” There’s some muffled conversation on the other end, and then Jeff’s back. “Sorry. So. You got any suggestions for me, Mr. Designer Man?”

“That's Mr. Architect Man; artwork isn’t really my department,” he says with a laugh. “And you should be glad of that. My tastes tend to run more to sports memorabilia than art.”

“I don’t know, from what you told me about your honeymoon in Lake Como, it sounds like you know a little something about art.”

“I really just know what I like when I see it,” Jonny says, and there’s a long, charged, silence.

“Do you?” Jeff asks, his voice deep and husky. “And do you-”

The front door crashes open and Jonny startles, almost dropping the phone. Patrick calls to him and Jonny blanches with guilt, stammering out an excuse to Jeff to hold on. He schools his face into a bland expression just as Patrick comes rushing into the living room and darts around the room, looking behind the couch and under the arm chair before moving into the dining room.

“Eric forgot his skate!” he explains, ducking to peek under the table and banging his head when he straightens back up. “Fuck! Ouch! His left skate. Have you seen it?” He doesn’t pause for an answer, barely pauses to take a breath. “Why his skates aren’t in his skate bag, I’ll never know. And of course he has no idea where it is-” his voice trails off as he heads out into the kitchen.

Jonny knows from experience that Patrick's prattling along, not realizing -- or caring -- that Jonny can’t hear him anymore. A few minutes later, he’s rushing back through the living room, rogue skate in hand, still chattering aimlessly, “-fireplace. I mean really, who puts a skate in the fireplace?. At least Amelie didn’t find it, I guess, but we need to have a serious talk to these boys about responsibility. Don’t you think - oh God, it’s already that late? Ugh. Traffic on the 405's going to be a fucking nightmare. Pizza tonight I think, I’m not going to the store now.”

He pauses for a quick second, eyes running over Jonny’s face, and stops. “You feeling okay, babe?” he asks, moving to press a hand to Jonny’s cheek. “You look flushed. You’re not catching the Ammy's bug, are you?” He steps back a little. “Oh, God, are you getting sick?”

“No!” Jonny responds quickly, moving a little away from Patrick, and Amelie makes a noise of protest from the floor where she’s playing with Jonny’s shoes. “No,” he says again, clearing his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m not getting sick. I’m just a little warm.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Pizza sounds great. Want me to make a salad?”

“Sure,” Patrick replies, but he looks a little like he wants to argue the point. Jonny drops a quick kiss on his lips and pushes him towards the door. “I wouldn’t kiss you if I didn’t feel well. Now, you’d better go or you guys are going to be really late.”

“Yeah, all right, love you,” and with a parting smile, Patrick’s gone. The silence behind him is pronounced after all of the activity, and Jonny takes a moment to just breathe before he puts the phone back to his ear.

“Uhhh,” Jonny says, “sorry about that. The boys -- I mean Pat -- he just-”

Jeff laughs warmly, “No apologies, I’m the one who’s interrupting family time.” Jonny can hear the noises in the background increase sharply. “Just walking out to the tarmac now. Give me a second to get into the plane. I want to continue where we left off.”

“Sure, yeah, no problem,” Jonny says lamely. “I’ll be here.” He rubs his hair absently. He’s not exactly sure where they left off. Amelie’s still playing happily, not showing any signs of fever anymore, and Jonny’s wondering if he shouldn’t have hung up on Jeff and gone with Patrick instead, when Jeff’s back on the line.

“Thanks for waiting, Jonny,” Jeff says. “Now, where were we?”

“We were talking about art,” Jonny says, running his hand up and down his thigh to dry it off a little, and switching the phone to the other hand to repeat it on the other side. “And, uh, what you’re looking for. For the house, I mean.”

Jeff chuckles. “Right, we were talking about what you like,” he says. “Maybe we can pick that conversation up later.” His voice drops an octave. “And by the way, I like things that are beautiful. Strong. Sexy.”

Jonny swallows. “Yeah, that,” he says. “That sounds like something you’d be attracted to.”

“Doesn’t it?” Jeff asks, “Do you think I’m going to find what I’m looking for in Rome? Or do you think I should look here in Los Angeles?”

Jonny’s pretty sure they’re not talking about art any more. “I - I. Uh. I don't know,” he says, heart pounding. “Maybe?”

“Mmm,” Jeff hums, “I like the sound of that.” They’re silent again for a moment. “Well, if you think of anything you think I’d like, be sure to let me know.” He pauses again. “You're going to give me something, though right? I mean, after all this time, it feels like you should.”

“What?” Jonny chokes a little. He looks down at Amelie and shuts his eyes in shame, trying not to think about what he’s doing. In his own home. With his daughter -- Patrick's daughter -- at his feet. It feels like he’s on the edge of a precipice that he’s either going to fall into or run away from. “What would - what would I give you?”

“Well,” Jeff drawls. “I can think of a few things I'd love to get from you. But right now I’m talking about for the house.”

“Oh,” Jonny says, relieved. He exhales loudly, and Jeff chuckles.

“I won’t ask what you thought I meant. Not now, anyway. I just wondered if you were planning to give me some art, I could coordinate with anything I buy myself.”

Jonny makes a face. “I’m not - we don’t have any plans to add art or anything like that to the project, Jeff. At least I don’t think we do. Let me call Brandon, see if he-”

Jeff interrupts him. “I don’t mean for the project. Not everything is about work with me, you know.” Jonny’s very afraid that he does know. “I mean for when we finish the project. Isn’t it customary to give your client a gift for his new home?”

“Oh. Oh!” Jonny says. “Yeah, that’s not really my department. I’m sure Sid or Geno will have something nice picked out.”

“I’m sure they will. But I want something from you, Jonny,” Jeff says. “Something you picked out, something that when I look at it, will remind me of our time on this project.”

“Oh,” Jonny says again lamely. “I didn’t. I don’t usually.” He swallows, his throat clicking. “I’ve never done that before. But. Okay.”

“Well,” Jeff says, voice deeper again. “I’m happy to be your first, then.”

Jonny doesn't know what to say to that. The silence's charged and stretches on until it’s interrupted by Amelie. “Papa, Papa,” she babbles, holding her arms up and blinking at him sleepily. “Up up.” He picks her up and holds her tight to his chest, her head under his chin.

“Sorry, Jeff, I need to put my daughter down for her nap.” He pauses. “I’ll, uh, I’ll try to find something you like. For the house.” He squeezes Amelie against him more firmly, hoping the pressure will ease some of the ache in his chest.

“Sure,” Jeff responds easily. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you pick out. And to seeing more of you... soon. Ciao.”

With a click, the call ends, and Jonny puts the phone down. Amelie's snuffling a little into the crook of his neck, her hair tickling his collarbone, and he runs a hand over her head, smoothing the dark curls down. He’s going to have to get his shit together because this thing with Jeff is going down a road he’s not sure he’ll be able to come back from.

***

Once the suggestion's in his head, Jonny can’t stop thinking about a gift for Jeff. He’s in the den idly clicking around The Sharper Image website when it comes to him. Yesterday they’d gotten a postcard from Paolo for an exhibit of the sculptor that he and Patrick had fallen in love with on their honeymoon. Patrick had made a comment that he’d love to have another piece but there were so many he liked, he didn’t know how to choose. It’ll be a perfect Christmas gift for Patrick. The artist should have something that can work for Jeff, too.

He’s navigated to Paulo's site and is browsing through the choices when Patrick walks into the den. “Hey, did you ever-” he cuts off as Jonny hurriedly closes his laptop and swivels around to face him. “Whatcha doin? Oh my God, Jonny, are you looking at porn again?” He grins and makes grabby hands for the laptop. “You pervert. I want to see.”

“I wasn’t looking at porn the first time, Patrick,” Jonny says, moving the laptop safely out of his reach and then sitting on it. “It’s just something - something for -”

“Let me guess: the Carter house. Gotta keep the big man happy,” Patrick says, voice flat, and Jonny would protest except - it works perfectly as a camouflage for his gift. Patrick’s got some kind of sixth sense for where Jonny hides all of his gifts. He always finds them; the only exception might be right after the twins were born, when he was so exhausted that he couldn’t figure out where the bathroom door was, let alone where Jonny had hidden his birthday present. So he just blinks at Patrick, schooling his face into innocence, until he shakes his head at Jonny and moves on.

“Not sure why something for Carter's such a big secret but whatever. If you can spare a minute from your work, I wanted to know if you’d signed the boys up for hockey camp over Christmas break? Eric’s making noises like he doesn’t want to go.”

“He’s signed up, he’s going,” Jonny says firmly. “We didn’t spend five hundred dollars for him to sit at home while Bryan goes.”

“I just don’t know if hockey’s going to be Eric’s game, Jonny.” Patrick warns. “And I’d hate for him to start disliking it because we forced it on him.”

“Pat, if we give in every time Eric asked to stay home from something, he’ll never leave the house,” Jonny says. “I know it’s not easy, but we’ve got to make sure he keeps his commitments when he makes them.”

Patrick eyes him for another minute before shrugging. “Fine. But you’re helping me get him out of the house, I’m not going to fight that battle alone.”

“I should be able to take them” -- when Patrick clears his throat, he corrects himself -- “I will take them. The Carter House should be finished by then, and we don’t have anything starting until after the New Year.”

Patrick smiles brightly at that. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.” He peeks out from under his lashes, and his dimples appear. “Can you take some vacation? I’d love to take the boys skiing. Margie and Frank are going to their Tahoe chalet between Christmas and New Year and she emailed me yesterday and invited us to come with.” He leans in closer. “She’s got an au pair who can keep an eye on Amelie for us, a great ski school for the boys, and a hot tub in the guest suite. If you play your cards right, I bet you could even pick up a ski bunny to share it with . . .” He flutters his eyelashes, and Jonny snorts.

“That sounds amazing but you know there's only one ski bunny I'm interested in,” Jonny says, leaning across the desk to kiss Patrick briefly. “I could probably get away - it’s always dead between Christmas and New Year’s anyway. But my parents are going to be in San Francisco - I’d really like to get up there to spend some time with them.”

“We still can, that's what's so great,” Patrick beams. “San Francisco’s a couple of hours from Tahoe, we’ll just head there for a few days on our way home. We definitely need to see them since they’re not coming for Christmas this year.”

“Great, you tell Margie we’re in, and I’ll let Sid and my folks know.” He smacks Patrick on the ass. “Now out with you, so I can finish in here and help with bedtime.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Patrick says, and Jonny groans. “Not the captain anymore, Pat,” he says, and Patrick smiles at him fondly.

“You’ll always be the captain of my heart, Jonny,” he simpers and then dances away when Jonny growls and reaches for him. “Okay, okay, I’m going, I’m going.” He’s knocks on the door frame as he’s leaving. “This is going to be great.”

Jonny shakes his head and sits back down, opening up his laptop again. He does a search for Dipolito, hoping the artist has something that might work for Patrick. He finds one that he really likes of a father with a child, and the father has curls, longer than Patrick’s, more like the way he looked when they’d first met. It's seems like the perfect combination of the boy Patrick was, the man he's become, and the children he's given to Jonny in the process. It makes Jonny think about how he’s gotten everything he didn’t even know he wanted in his life, and how it’s always been with Patrick, because of Patrick. He puts the piece in his shopping cart and goes back to browse through some of the paintings to find something for Jeff’s house.

Forty-five minutes later, Jonny’s about to pull his hair out. Everything is wrong; he doesn’t even remember the interior designer’s presentation, let alone know a color scheme, and he’s about to say fuck it and just order Patrick’s when he notices another sculpture by Dipolito that might just work.

It’s a nude male, rising out of a large base, arms stretched up like he’s reaching for the heavens. The muscular definition of his torso reminds Jonny of Jeff after he’s been surfing and his wetsuit's rolled down, the cut of his abs stark against the dark rubber of the suit. The sculpture's a bright, burnished coppery color, bronze, Jonny thinks, and he likes it. He wants to see what Patrick thinks but he can’t do that without giving away his gift. He's just about to call Shawsy or Bollig to see if they think it’s too suggestive for a client, when Patrick yells for him to take the boys up for their baths.

Fuck it, it’s artsy enough that it should fit with whatever else Jeff has in his home, so he adds it to his cart, pays for the expedited shipping with a wince, and clears the cache on his laptop. He’s been married to Patrick long enough to know he’s going to check the browser history. He’ll probably have to take the stupid thing to work, because Patrick’s like a bloodhound about finding his gifts.

He shuts the laptop and heads upstairs, confident that Patrick will never see this gift coming.

***

Jonny’s waiting by the front door when the phone rings, making him groan. Patrick’s dicking around upstairs, the sitter's late and they’re never going to get to Jeff’s party on time. He’d yell for Patrick -- again -- but he doesn’t want to wake the baby. Again. The twins are watching some Disney treacle that Patrick insists is helping develop their compassionate, creative side, and now Jonny’s got a headache from listening to high-pitched voices singing songs that are complete ear worms.

So they’re late, Jonny's already exhausted from just trying to get out of the house, and he’s slowly losing what little grasp he had on his temper. It figures the whole thing would be a clusterfuck, because he’s been looking forward to Jeff's party all week, and frankly, he should have known better.

Patrick's coming to the party, though, he reminds himself, and that’s good. It’s great, really. Because Jeff has been - he’s been looking at Jonny a lot lately. And Jonny’s not exactly looking away. He can’t find it in him to brush off Jeff completely. If he’s honest, he doesn’t want to. So Jonny’s glad Patrick's coming. Or he will be, if he comes downstairs anytime soon.

Jonny’s reconsidering yelling for Patrick when he hears him coming down the stairs, still wearing his sweatpants and speaking quietly to avoid waking Amelie. “No, no, it’s okay Claire. We know how that goes. Don’t worry about it, it’s really not a big deal. Just a party for Jonny’s work. So stop apologizing.” Patrick winces at Jonny, mouthing ‘sorry’. “Yeah, yeah, I will. Feel better.” Patrick sighs as he ends the call. “Claire can’t make it. She’s got the same bug the kids a few weeks ago. She’s been throwing up all day. I'm sorry, but it looks like tonight's a bust.”

Jonny’s hands clench and unclench. “Pat, this is important. Call somebody else.”

“Jonny, no one’s going to be available at eight o’clock on a Friday night,” Patricks says evenly.

“Call Erica, then,” Jonny snaps. “She’s always around anyway.”

Patrick inhales sharply. “My sister is a huge help to this family when you're not around to do things, asshole. But I'm not asking her to rush over here to babysit at the last minute just so we can go to your stupid party!”

Jonny flushes with anger. “My stupid party? The most important project of my career, and it’s just a stupid party?”

“No, that’s not - I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that Erica has her own life. I can’t just ask her to drop everything for us,” Patrick says firmly, not a bit apologetic.

“Well, I can’t just not show,” Jonny insists, his voice rising. “This is the first house I’ve done as lead architect. The whole firm is coming to this party. I have to go.”

“Well, then you should go. You don’t really need me there, anyway. Go be dazzling and fantastic and whatever the fuck.” He glances into the family room where the movie is still blaring. “I’ll just stay here and watch Frozen with the boys.” He shrugs, and his shoulders slump. “Honestly, it’s all I’m good for tonight, anyway. I didn't really want to go tonight - it’s been a really long week and I'm exhausted.”

“A long week?” Jonny scoffs. “You’ve had a long week? Is that another shot at me for not helping enough? Because I've run myself ragged the past two weeks between work and making sure I was around more for you!”

"And I appreciate it," Patrick's eyes narrow. “But do you really want to argue about this again? Now? When you’re going to a party, and leaving me to deal with three kids alone?”

“No,” Jonny grits out, frustrated. “It’s just good to know that instead of a fun night out with your husband, you want to stay home and watch a fucking Disney movie. Don’t complain to me that we never do anything fun anymore.”

“Going to your work party isn’t really fun for me, Jonny,” Patrick sneers. “And it’s not a date, either. So don’t go complaining to me about skipping out on something 'fun' when the only reason we ever go out anymore is for your fucking career.”

“I knew you never wanted to go to the party,” Jonny accuses. “You're not even dressed and we were supposed to leave forty-five minutes ago!"

"No, I didn't really want to go," Patrick admits, his voice sharp. "I don't get why I need to be there, anyway. It's just another boring work party!"

"You know how important this project is to me, and I was looking forward to showing it to you," Jonny snaps. "Why can’t you just be honest and admit that what’s important to me is never important to you anymore?”

Patrick's scowling but before he can reply a small voice interrupts the silence.

“Daddy? Papa? Can I have more popcorn?” Bryan says, standing in the doorway to the family room, his eyes dark and serious, bottom lip almost quivering.

“Yeah, and I’m thirsty,” Eric echoes, close on his heels as always, usual smile wavering. He slips his hand into Bryan’s.

Patrick glares at Jonny, who looks away, sick with guilt and anger. “Sure, boys, give me a minute. And say goodnight to Papa. He’s going out,” Patrick sneers as he moves into the kitchen.

“Don’t go! Don’t go!” The twins yell, and suddenly Jonny’s got two six year-olds attached to his legs. He drops down to hug them, whispering quietly in French about how much he loves them, how sorry he is that he has to go out. “Daddy’s here, though, and I’ll kiss you both goodnight when I come home.”

“You never do bedtime anymore, Papa,” Bryan says, tears welling up.

"That's not true, Bryan! I know I missed last night, but we've been reading Captain Underpants for weeks!" Jonny protests.

“You missed two nights this week!” Eric chimes in, an angry set to his jaw that’s so like Patrick's face when he's mad that it makes Jonny’s chest ache. “We had to finish it with Daddy. Don’t you want to know what happens to Doctor Diaper’s evil robots?”

“Of course I do,” Jonny soothes. “It’s just that my work is really busy right now. I have to make money so you guys can have hockey skates and video games and fancy sneakers, don’t I?” Bryan hiccups but nods, while Eric just looks at Jonny, unimpressed. “I promise, it’ll be better soon. Promise.” After regarding him silently, Eric returns Jonny's pleading smile, but he doesn't look convinced. Jonny'll take it though, and prove to Eric that things will go back to normal now.

“I bet the popcorn’s almost ready. Why don’t you go start the movie again?” Jonny says, giving each of their heads a final kiss. “And be good for Daddy,” he adds as they head back into the family room, their hands entwined. Eric’s whispering to Bryan, and he puts his arm around him as they go.

Patrick looks over at him from the microwave, his face tired and resigned. “Just go, Jonny,” Patrick says. “We can talk about this tomorrow.” He raises his voice, calling to the boys in the family room. “More popcorn in two minutes, guys. And turn that volume down, Bryan!”

“But I can’t hear when you’re yelling at Papa!”

Bryan calls back.

“Yeah, and when he’s yelling at you!”

Eric adds.

Patrick's mouth twists, angry, but he keeps his tone even. “Well, you don’t have to worry about us fighting anymore because Papa's leaving now. Right, Papa?” He turns back to the microwave, and Jonny’s guilt gets consumed by anger at Patrick's dismissal. He stands there for another minute, watching Patrick's tightly clenched shoulders.

Jonny doesn’t slam the door as he leaves, but it’s a near thing. He’s still furious when he arrives at Jeff’s house, and he can barely manage to be civil with the valet. He grabs Jeff’s gift from the back of the car and takes a few deep breaths. If he goes in there this angry, he’s only going to end up saying -- or doing -- something dumb. This is his work, this is his career.

The sounds of the party are muted until the door opens and then Jeff's standing on the threshold, the light spilling out from behind him. He’s gorgeous in a deep blue v-neck sweater that matches his eyes. He’s got an easy smile on his face that widens when he sees Jonny.

“Jonny! You made it,” Jeff smiles, looping his arm around Jonny’s shoulder and squeezing briefly. He looks around, puzzled. “But I thought you were bringing Peter?”

“Patrick,” Jonny corrects automatically. “He wanted to come, but our sitter cancelled at the last minute.”

Jeff shrugs and squeezes him again before letting go, hand drifting down his arm before it drops to his waist. “That’s too bad. But I’m sure you can have fun without him, hmm? Maybe his loss will be my gain.” His thumb rubs just above Jonny’s belt, and Jonny shivers. That now familiar swoop in his stomach is back.

“I-” Jonny swallows thickly. “Here.” He shoves the wrapped gift into Jeff’s hands. “I got this. Uh. It’s for you.”

“Jonny,” Jeff grins, delighted. “That’s so thoughtful of you. You really shouldn’t have,” he says, a twinkle in his eye.

“A little birdy told me that I really should.” Jonny deadpans. “Just open it, asshole.”

Jeff’s laugh rings out in the foyer. “You know what I like most about you, Jonny? It’s the respect you have for me.”

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know what you really like about me.” His eyes widen and he stops. “I didn’t - uh. I meant you like my designs.”

Jeff just smiles. “Oh, Jonny, I don’t think you know all the things I like about you. Yet, anyway. But that’s a discussion for later. For now, I’m going to open this gift, because I’m dying to see what you picked out for me.”

Once Jeff has the sculpture out of the box, though, the tension between them only increases, because the way he looks at Jonny makes him feel like prey. “I love it. It’s elegant yet earthy, and I love the weight of it in my hands.” He puts it down on a small table and steps closer. “And I love that when you saw it, you thought of me.”

Jonny shrugs, uncomfortable again. “It just - I thought it might fit in the house. And you said you liked nudes, so.” He's realizing uneasily that he probably should've called Bollig after all, because he hadn't meant it to signal anything to Jeff.

“I think what I said is that I liked sexy, Jonny.” Jeff tilts his head to the side again. “But I think you already know that, hmm?”

Jonny flushes and looks away, nervous and not a little turned on. “I should really rejoin the party. And I want to show you around, show you off. Shall we?”

The evening passes in a whirl of excellent whisky, introductions to dozens of Jeff’s rich friends -- carefully curated to include those who might be in the market to renovate or build houses of their own -- and the warm press of Jeff’s hand to Jonny’s lower back. The few times Jeff's called away to deal with some crisis or another, Jonny can feel his gaze linger on him from across the room, heavy with an intent that makes Jonny flush.

The result is that Jonny's caught halfway between turned on and wanting to flee the whole night. The first time someone asks them how long they’ve been together, Jeff laughs. “No, no, we're not together. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind,” Jeff says, his eyes running over Jonny, "but unfortunately he’s very taken.” Jonny grins weakly at the knowing chuckles from Jeff's friend.

By the end of the evening, he’s gotten three requests for appointments to look at houses, and another five or six people who may call him. He’s flushed with pride and the low thrum of arousal that started at the door hasn’t abated. It’s been implicit that Jonny will stay until the end, and he tries not to think about what might happen when he’s alone with Jeff. The urge to flee hasn't passed, either, and he eyes the door as people begin to depart, suddenly wishing Patrick was there to take him home.

As Jeff escorts the last of the guests to the door, Jonny turns to look out the window at the expanse of the ocean visible just beyond the pool, the usual darkness lit by the huge moon reflecting off the surface. It really is an incredible view and he says as much when Jeff returns with another glass of whisky. Jeff fingers linger over Jonny's as he hands it to him, and when he turns back to the view, their shoulders rub together. Jonny doesn’t press into the contact, but he also doesn’t move away.

Jeff looks over at him after a minute of quietly watching the waves roll in, a small smile on his face. “You like what you see?” His eyes drift lower, running down over Jonny’s body and slowly back up. “Because I do.”

Jonny’s breath catches. Jeff has been more subtle until now, but Jonny knew this was coming. Fuck, this is exactly why he needed Patrick tonight. But when Jeff steps closer and turns so they're facing, all thoughts of Patrick slip away.

Jeff runs his finger over Jonny’s cheekbone and then down across his jaw. He tips Jonny’s head closer and leans forward, stopping just short of his ear. Jonny shivers at the puff of breath across the shell of his ear. “I’ve got other things I’d like you to see. Things I think you’d like.”

Jonny inhales sharply, his heart racing. He’s half-hard at just the sensual growl of Jeff’s voice, at his words. He’s been jacking off to the dark look in his eyes for days, and to see that look up close is heady and overwhelming. Jeff moves closer until he’s pressed flush against Jonny, running his finger up and down Jonny’s collarbone now, a touch that would tickle if it didn’t have so much intent behind it. “Do you want to see what I have to show you?” Jeff asks, his hand coming up to cup Jonny’s jaw, slowly moving his head to the side until his lips are hovering inches from Jonny’s.

“Jeff, I can’t -- I’m not -- I’m married,” Jonny protests, too late and too weak. “I don’t do this. It’s not - “ He stops, his voice dying out, throat dry. He takes a step back and raises his whisky to his mouth, taking a long gulp. “I just don’t do this.”

“Ah,” Jeff says moving back a little. “But you want to, hmm?” He looks pointedly at where Jonny’s erection is tenting his suitpants before turning back towards the view. “I’m not reading it wrong? Because if I am, just tell me, I’ll back off.”

Jonny downs more whisky, unable to muster the words he knows he should say. He’s been denying this thing between him and Jeff for the past few weeks, but now he has to face it. He wants to fuck him. He wants to let Jeff fuck him. He wants - he wants things he shouldn’t want, from a man who isn’t Patrick.

An image of Patrick rises, eyes bright with laughter, dimples flashing, and Jonny flushes as guilt washes through him. This isn’t him - he’s not this guy. He exhales shakily and a little further from Jeff, putting more distance between them. “I just can’t,” Jonny says more firmly.

“It’s okay, Jonny, I get it.” Jeff shrugs, looking patient and soft, seemingly not at all discouraged. “But if you change your mind -- and I hope you do -- just let me know.” Jeff reaches into his pocket, pulling out a condom and smiling at Jonny ruefully. “Guess I won’t be needing this tonight after all.” Jeff slides closer again, slipping his hand into Jonny’s pocket and Jonny's frozen, unable to move away. Jeff’s thumb rubs a small circle against Jonny’s hip through his pants before he withdraws. “You keep it. If you ever want to use it,” he smiles. “Well. You know where I live.”

Jonny squirms, uncomfortably aware of how much he wants to give in to everything Jeff's offering. He chokes back the last of his whisky. “I think I need to get home. Patrick will be missing me.”

Jeff nods, soft smile on his lips. “Yes, I suppose he is. I know I’m going to miss you, Jonny.” He leans in slowly, telegraphing his intent and when Jonny doesn't object, letting his eyes drift closed, Jeff kisses him, licking a little at the seam of Jonny’s lips until they part and then darting his tongue in. Jonny's head swims, the alcohol and arousal mingling and making him feel light-headed. He moans into the kiss, letting his tongue tangle with Jeff's briefly before he shivers and pulls back.

Jeff's watching him carefully, his pupils dilated so that almost no blue is showing. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

Jonny shakes his head after another fraught moment. His lips are tingling from the kiss, but he can’t do this. He has to go home. His shoulders droop at the thought of Patrick in bed. No doubt with Amelie tucked in next to him. The image makes his chest ache.

“Yeah, I should go.” Jonny pats his pocket for his keys and it makes the condom scratch a little against his leg. He inhales quickly, suddenly feeling completely overwhelmed. “Where are my keys? Fuck, where are my keys? I need to - I have to go, Jeff.” He’s on the verge of panicking because if he can’t leave, if he stays in this house for another minute, he’s not sure if he’s going to be able to resist dropping to his knees and blowing Jeff. “Where are my fucking keys?”

Jeff cuts him off calmly. “The valet has your car, remember?” He steps smoothly away, seemingly unmoved by the kiss, and pulls his phone out, texting quickly before collecting Jonny's jacked from where it's draped over a chair. Jonny follows blindly, the whisky and arousal combining to make him feel overcome. They walk outside just as Jeff’s limo is pulling up to the curb.

“You’re in no state to drive. My driver will take you home, and I’ll have your car dropped off in the morning.” Jeff pulls Jonny into a loose hug, and squeezes his hand as he steps away. “Or I can send the limo and you can come back here yourself. We can pick up where we left off.”

Jonny shakes his head. That’s not - he’s not going to do that. No matter how tempting it is. He can’t. “No - “

“Shh. Don’t say anything yet. Just think about it. Think about me. We can talk more tomorrow.” Jeff shuts the door before Jonny can respond, knocking lightly before the driver pulls away.

Jonny opens the limo’s well-stocked bar and pours himself something dark and strong that he throws back quickly before slumping in his seat. His head's swimming with guilt and anger and arousal as the car winds its way easily through the Los Angeles traffic, taking Jonny away from Jeff and back home to Patrick, where he belongs. The only problem is that he keeps letting himself forget that where he belongs is where he wants to be.

***

The limo pulls away, and Jonny looks up at the dark house with something approaching dread. He’s immediately filled with shame, because that’s his family in there. This is his home. And he almost put it all in jeopardy tonight for a quick fuck with a guy who probably collects men the way he collects art.

He puts his emotions down to the alcohol and adrenaline in his veins and eases the door shut quietly when he finally makes his way inside. The television in the family room is on, but he can’t hear any sound, which means Patrick's probably trying to get Amelie back to sleep while he catches up on the late games. He pauses on the threshold of the family room when he realizes both Patrick and Amelie are asleep.

Patrick’s lashes are fanned out and dark against his cheeks, and he’s got Amelie snugged up high on his shoulder, her little mouth open and drooling a little on his shirt. The twins’ mini-sticks are strewn in front of the television. Amelie’s latest art class production -- Patrick swore it was a robot, but Bryan and Eric had shared dubious looks with Jonny about that -- is now on the floor, a small, dirty footprint across one corner.

There are photos everywhere Jonny looks: their wedding; the twins with his parents, with Patrick’s parents; Patrick holding Amelie, a tiny, wizened little face hooked up to too many wires; Patrick looking wan and exhausted and amazed at what they’d done, at their beautiful little girl.

He thinks back to the cold, sterile, beautiful interior of Jeff’s house, all angles and sharp edges and cold, stark colors. It’s beautiful but vacant, and Jonny can’t believe he ever thought that he could want any part of what Jeff was offering.

This room has always been the heartbeat of their home; where they come together at the end of the day, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes all five. It’s different every day, what happens here, but it’s home, and it’s theirs, and Jonny realizes what a fool he’s been. This is all he’s ever wanted or needed. This man, this room, this home. Not because of the physical walls that surround him, but because of the things that the walls surround. And just as this room is their home’s heartbeat, Patrick is Jonny’s heartbeat.

When Jonny sits down next to him on the couch, Patrick stirs, smiling sweetly up at Jonny once he opens his eyes. He can see the moment Patrick remembers their fight because his smile falls away, and he looks down and bites his lip. Jonny says hi, softly, not wanting to wake Amelie up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was an asshole. Again.”

Patrick bites his lip. “Yeah, you were.” He sighs. “But so was I. Again. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, and I definitely shouldn’t have said those things in front of the boys. So. Yeah. I’m sorry, too.”

Jonny needs to be closer to Patrick, so he shifts until he can slide an arm around his back. They sit in silence, until Patrick lets out a long sigh and puts his head on Jonny’s shoulder. He sniffs a little, wrinkling his nose. “You smell funny. Were you smoking?”

Jonny grimaces, plucking at his shirt. “Not me, but, uh, there were some people smoking cigars on the patio.”

“Isn’t it a bit chilly for that?”

“Jeff has heat lamps and a fire pit.” He laughs at Patrick’s look. “Pretentious, I know.”

Patrick leans back against Jonny again, snuggling in tighter. “Nah, it sounds nice, actually. Being outside in the middle of December. The kids could roast marshmallows.” He snorts. “Bet nobody at that party was roasting marshmallows.”

“Nope.” Jonny breathes into Patrick’s curls for a minute. There hadn’t been a single thing at Jeff’s party that connected to his life here, that Patrick would have enjoyed. There was no place in that world for Patrick or their kids. There really was no place for Jonny, either, even if he’d been tempted to try to find one.

“You’re breathing mighty heavy there, mister.” Patrick pokes him. “Are you drunk?”

“Eh,” Jonny replies, and Patrick laughs. “Oh, yeah, you totally are. You always get so Canadian when you’re drunk.”

And that just makes no sense, so Jonny says so. “I am Canadian, Patrick. Not sure I can ‘get’ any more Canadian than I am always. Than always I am. Than I always am? Ugh, you know what I mean.” Maybe he's a more than a little drunk. He didn’t eat much and that last drink in the limo is hitting him hard.

Patrick giggles, shifting Amelie up to his shoulder and standing up smoothly. He offers a hand to Jonny and pulls him up, grin dimpling his cheeks. “Well, drunk or sober, it’s late. Let’s get you and Lady Bug up to bed. Because you are on early morning duty, buddy.” Jonny shuffles along behind him as they climb the stairs, losing himself in watching the way Patrick's ass bunches and flexes in his sweatpants. “You don’t get to abandon your husband alone while you wine and dine at the Jeff Carter House and not have to pay the price.”

Jonny lets Patrick lead him to their bed, and he strips before dutifully drinking the water and ibuprofin Patrick pushes into his hands. He’d like a shower to wash the evening off of his skin, but Patrick just presses him down onto the mattress and pulls the covers up. “Sleep. You can shower in the morning.” He kisses his forehead. “I’ll just get Ammy tucked in and be right back.”

Jonny turns over and looks at Patrick’s side of the bed, at his pillow, still rumpled from where he’d probably been sleeping when Amelie had woken him up. He lets his eyes drift closed to the familiar sounds of Patrick murmuring to Amelie over the baby monitor as he settles her down, but when Patrick climbs into bed, he reaches across and pulls him against his chest, arranging him until Jonny's spooned up behind him. “Love you,” he whispers fiercely into Patrick’s hair. "So much."

“Love you, too, you maudlin fool,” Patrick returns fondly. “Not drunk my ass.” Jonny grumbles, but when Patrick tilts his face back for a kiss, Jonny obliges, and he falls asleep, finally, with Patrick secure in his arms, the way he’s been for so long Jonny’s not sure why he ever thought this wasn’t enough -- wasn’t everything -- he’s ever wanted.

***

It’s early morning when Jonny wakes, and he groans, his head pounding faintly. His mouth is dry, but he doesn’t feel as he bad as he probably should given how much he drank last night. It’s still so early that the only sound is Patrick’s soft breathing, and he turns his head to look at him, his curls messy against the pillows, his face so familiar and beloved that Jonny’s heart aches.

He only has the sound of pounding footsteps as a warning before the door to the bedroom slams open and twin dynamos launch themselves onto the bed.

“Wake up! Wake up!”

“Daddy, Papa, we have to wake up and get dressed for the program!”

Patrick groans and rolls over, covering his eyes. “It’s too early, boys. The program isn’t for another” -- he opens one eye and closes it quickly -- “fourteen hours. Go back to bed.”

Jonny snorts at that, and Patrick's lips twitch a little. “It’s worth a shot!” he protests. The boys are now standing on the foot of the bed jumping and they’re terrifyingly accurate about landing on his junk when they get excited like this, so he rolls out of bed and claps his hands.

“Right. Downstairs, Papa pancakes, let’s go.” Screeches proceed the boys as the run out of the room and down the stairs, chanting “Papa pancakes, Papa pancakes,” and Jonny laughs as he pulls on a pair of track pants.

Amelie is peering up at him from next to Patrick, having apparently migrated into their bed at some point last night, her face happy as usual. “Come on, Mademoiselle,” Jonny croons, sweeping her up and rubbing his cheek against hers. “Let’s go before les petit montres destroy Daddy’s kitchen.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” Patrick says, but Jonny pushes him back with a hand to his shoulder. “Just sleep,” he says, leaning down to kiss him briefly. “I’m sorry about last night. I’ll get them some breakfast and then we’ll go to the park. You sleep in.”

Patrick rolls onto his back and squints up at Jonny suspiciously. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asks. “Did you wreck the car? Again?”

The reminder of where the car is makes Jonny flush a little. “Uh, no, just left it at Jeff’s. I had one too many whiskeys.” Jonny straightens Amelie’s sock, unable to meet Patrick’s eyes. “Thought it wasn’t smart to risk driving.”

“Good call on that, you don’t need a DUI on top of all those tickets.” Patrick stretches, the sheets slipping down to his waist, still tight and trim even after three babies and all these years. “Worst driver ever, Jonny, I swear to God.” He yawns loudly. “So we have to go pick up the car? Ugh, how do we fit that into today?” Patrick sits up. “I can’t sleep in, Jonny.”

Jonny swallows. He’s going to have to go back up to Jeff’s. He’s not sure he can face him yet, he doesn’t know - he’s not sure what’s going on, but he doesn’t think he should be alone with him again. He does know he doesn’t want Jeff anywhere near Patrick.

“I’m going to call Jeff and ask him to send his limo. The boys will love the ride, and it’ll kill some of today.” He pushes on Patrick’s shoulder again. “So stop protesting and enjoy a quiet morning at home, alone. Mademoiselle is going to come, too, aren’t you, belle princesse?” Amelie coos and pulls on Jonny’s ear. “Go back to sleep. We’ll try to keep it down.”

"That sounds good, but I'm keeping Ammy; I'm sure you don't want to deal with her carseat and that way I can put her down for a morning nap. She was up twice last night." Patrick yawns as he settles back against the pillows, tugging the duvet up under his chin. “Just for an hour, though, Jonny. I still have to fix the hem of Eric’s costume where Bryan stepped on it, and I have to get another layer of gold paint on the frankincense container Bryan is carrying. Some of it got chipped during the dress rehearsal.”

“I’ll wake you before we leave.” Jonny turns back to look at Patrick, mostly buried under the covers, only the top of his head visible. It’s an image he’s seen thousands of times, but today it makes him a little heartsick. “Sleep well,” he says, but all he gets in response is a soft hum, and he leaves quietly, closing the door gently behind him.

“Papa!” Eric bellows up the stairs. “I’m hungry for Papa Pancakes!”

“Shh, Eric, I’m coming, I’m coming.” He sniffs Amelie a little. “I have to change mademoiselle coccinelle and then I’ll be down.”

“Can I-” Eric starts.

“No, you cannot get out the chocolate chips and no, Bryan cannot get out the sprinkles. If you do, there won’t be either in the pancakes today.”

“But Papa!” Eric protests, but the way his voice fades means he’s already running into the kitchen, no doubt to tell Bryan to put the sprinkles back before Jonny comes down. Jonny lifts Amelie like an airplane as he turns into her room. “Let’s get you ready before your brothers make a complete mess downstairs.”

It’s an ordinary morning, really, in a lifetime of ordinary mornings, and Jonny finds himself thinking of Jeff, in his house with it’s pristine furniture, sharp corners, with priceless art placed on perilously low tables. He can’t imagine Jeff ever changing a diaper or childproofing his kitchen or eating pancakes with sprinkles and chocolate chips and strawberry faces. When he thinks about his life, his family, he can’t picture Jeff at all. He knows that he’s been a jackass, but he doesn’t want Jeff, not really, for all that he’s gorgeous and funny, he’s not Patrick. And Jonny has only really ever wanted Patrick.

***

Jonny sends Jeff a quick text after he gets the first batch of pancakes served, and Jeff replies quickly that the limo will be there at nine o’clock. Jonny figures can get everyone fed and bathed and dressed, if they rush, before the limo arrives. Once breakfast is demolished, he gets the boys in the bath while he dresses, careful not to wake Patrick, who's starfished in the middle of their bed.

Jonny might lose a minute or two watching him sleep before Amelie toddles in with the TV remote in one hand. She hands it to Jonny, and they both stare at it for a moment before she puts her hand back out.

“Moi moi, Papa,” she says, and Patrick groans from the bed. Amelie’s eyes widen and she claps delightedly before overbalancing and landing with a thud on the floor. She blinks up at Jonny and is just drawing breath to scream, he thinks, so he quickly hands her the remote and sighs, relieved, when she quiets and happily shoves it in her mouth. He should probably get that out of her mouth, but when he reaches for it, she pulls it away.

“Non! Moi!” she says, glaring at him with all the indignance only an eighteen month old wearing just a diaper can muster. “Pas tu!”

“Ugh, is she speaking French, or am I just that out of it?” Patrick asks Jonny, rolling over and blinking up at him. “Are you turning my children into French speakers, Jon?”

Jonny snorts. “Pretty sure my children are already French speakers, Pat.”

“That’s just cruel, man.” Patrick yawns, turning over and burrowing back into the pillow, his eyes drifting closed again. “And un-American. They’re ‘Merican, they’re supposed to, supposed to, to speak-” he drifts off in the middle, and just breathes heavily. Jonny watches him fondly and he’d feel bad about what he does next, but Patrick said to wake him up in an hour, so, desperate times and all that.

“Fuck!” Patrick yelps when Jonny yanks the covers off and pinches his ass. Jonny steps back from the bed, safely out of range. “What the fuck did you do that for?” He rubs the spot Jonny pinched sulkily.

“You said to wake you up in an hour. It’s been almost two, and you just fell asleep in the middle of telling me something important about the superiority of America.” Jonny steps back further when Patrick narrows his eyes. “I felt extreme measures were warranted.”

“Jesus, fuck, Jonny, that really hurt,” Patrick grouses. “And not in a good way.”

“Fu-fu-fu-” Amelie chants from the bottom of the bed, and they look at each other, horrified.

“Oh, God, Jonny, the fucking Christmas program is tonight!” Patrick hisses, panicked. “My eighteen month old cannot swear at the fucking Christmas program!”

“She’s not going to swear at the Christmas program, Pat,” Jonny soothes. “Are you, petite fille?”

Amelie blinks at him. “Fu-Fu-Fu,” she responds.

“Oh my God,” Patrick says, his face pained. “Couldn’t this be what you taught her in French? So no one would understand it?”

"Pretty sure it's not just me who's teaching her this particular word," Jonny replies dryly.

“Fu-fu-fu, Dada,” Amelie says again, looking at Patrick quizzically when he groans. “A toi?” She offers Patrick the remote and pats his leg consolingly. Patrick looks down at her hand, and when he meets Jonny’s eyes, his lips twitch before he bursts out laughing. Jonny joins him and Amelie stares, seemingly stunned into silence by the strange behavior of her idiot fathers before she resumes gnawing on the remote.

“Oh my God,” Jonny says when he can speak again. “We are the worst parents ever.”

“No, we’re really not,” Patrick responds, his voice hoarse, “we didn’t leave our kid at the mall by accident like Manny Diaz. And he didn’t realize for four hours.” Patrick’s swipes at his cheeks. “Four hours, Jonny. Who loses track of a three year-old for four hours?”

“Okay, maybe we’re not the worst parents,” Jonny allows. “But if we have to change schools because our daughter yells ‘fuck’ at the end of the Christmas pageant, I think we’ll be coming in a pretty pathetic second.”

“I know, I know,” Patrick says. “Shit.” Their gaze swings to Amelie, but she’s rubbing her eyes and doesn’t seem to have noticed. “Jesus, I’m a menace,” Patrick says, wincing. “So. What time is it, anyway?” he asks, looking at the clock on the bed. “Jonny, it’s almost nine o’clock! I’ve got so much to do! The boys need baths-”

“Done.”

“And Amelie’s dress needs to be ironed-”

“Done.” Jonny waits and when Patrick opens his mouth again, he says in unison with him, “Paint the frankincense chest. Which is also done.” Patrick eyes him narrowly for a minute. “And the boys’ robes?”

“Sorry, that’s above my pay grade,” Jonny says, shrugging. “Plus, I wanted you to have some reason to get out of bed. You can’t spend the whole morning lazing around. Think of the example you’re setting for our children.” Patrick squawks but Jonny grabs Amelie and walks out, whistling, before he can say anything. “Okay, boys, get your socks and shoes on. I’m gonna get mademoiselle coccinelle dressed, and the limo will be here in five minutes.” he calls down the stairs on his way to her room.

He ducks when a shoe sails out of the bedroom door, but he can hear Patrick moving around the bedroom, so he figures it’s safe to leave. They’re waiting for the limo on the veranda when Patrick comes out with a mug of coffee.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he says, bumping Jonny’s shoulder.

“Letting you sleep in? Or getting the kids bathed, fed, and out of the house before nine o’clock in the morning?” he asks, mock serious. “Or maybe it was repainting the trunk?” Patrick snorts and hits him in the ribs lazily.

“Fine, so maybe it was a little nice,” he says, sniffing disdainfully. He squints up at Jonny. “And I would have been down here sooner, but I was too busy in the shower. Washing important . . . parts.”

Jonny snorts. “Now who’s not being nice?” He puts his arm around Patrick’s waist.

“Eh, you deserve it. I was just lying there, sleeping innocently.”

“You don’t do anything ‘innocently,’ Pat,” Jonny says and Patrick smiles at him sweetly.

“Well, no, not since that time senior year, thanks to you.” Patrick peeks up at him through his lashes. “Innocence-stealer.”

Jonny’s about to respond about who stole what their senior year when Jeff’s limo pulls into the driveway, and the twins start yelling. By the time the door opens, though, Jonny’s got them both corralled and Patrick’s holding Amelie. To Jonny’s shock, Jeff steps out and waves.

“Oh, look,” Patrick chirps. “Your boyfriend's here to take you to the prom.”

Jonny's frozen, his eyes darting back and forth between Jeff and Patrick. He shrugs sheepishly when he catches Patrick looking at him funny. “I didn’t, uh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t know he was going to come.”

Patrick smirks. “I’m sure he didn’t want to miss a chance to spend time with you. Bet he didn't plan on having a bunch of tiny chaperones, though.” He tips his head toward the limo. “Think the boys can behave themselves? Or do you want me to keep them here?”

Jonny winces. “I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of them not coming. I promised them.”

Eric and Bryan look up at Jonny when Jeff says hi and tells them they can climb in, and he nods.

“Good morning,” Jeff says as he walks up. “Nice to see you, Patrick.”

“You, too,” Patrick says. “Thanks for sending Jonny home last night. And for picking him up this morning.”

“Glad I could help,” Jeff says. “So. Ready to get this show on the road?” He smiles easily at Jonny, nothing like the sensual looks he was giving Jonny the night before.

“Ur, I hope you don’t mind,” Jonny says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kind of told the boys they could come along for the ride.”

“Oh,” Jeff says and his eyes cut to where the twins are standing in the limo, looking out from the sunroof. “That’s. Okay. That’s fine.”

“I didn’t think you’d be coming, too,” Jonny explains. “We can leave them here, if it’s a problem? I was just hoping to give Patrick a little time alone, to make up for last night.”

“No, no, it’s not a problem,” Jeff says, although it's half-hearted. They all look over as Bryan and Eric start making elephant noises as they pop up and down out of the sunroof. “Are they going to be that loud for the whole trip?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Jonny, why don’t you just leave the boys home with me. I know they’ll be disappointed, but they’ll get over it.” He waves at the boys. “Time to get out, Papa and Mr. Carter need to go.”

Eric looks at Jonny, betrayed. “You said we were going to ride in the limo!”

Bryan chimes in. “You promised! Papa, you promised!”

Patrick sighs and looks at Jonny, who shrugs. “I’ll just take them, if it’s okay with you, Jeff?” Jeff nods, a wary smile on his face. “It’ll be fine, and I can keep them out of your hair while you get ready for the program.”

“Okay,” Patrick concedes after another moment. “Alright, boys, Mr. Carter says you can go, but you have to be quiet and listen to Papa.” Bryan and Eric nod frantically and disappear from the sunroof. “Good luck,” he says to Jonny, leading Amelie back inside as Jonny and Jeff move toward the limo.

Jonny stops and pulls Patrick in for a kiss. “Love you,” he says, and Patrick beams at him, waving as they drive away.

The boys are surprisingly shy with Jeff, who tries to engage them in conversation. Shy until he mentions that he has his own plane. The floodgates break then, and the boys spend the entire ride quizzing Jeff about it.

When they arrive at Jeff’s house, Jeff asks the boys if they want to go down to the beach. “If it’s okay with your dad, that is,” Jeff says. “You can wade around in the ocean a little while your dad and I talk.”

“Please, Papa, please, please,” they beg, each tugging excitedly on one of Jonny’s arms, making him laugh. “Okay, but there are rules. No going in the water higher than your ankles -- I mean it, Bryan -- and if I see you walking in the tide, we’re leaving. No throwing sand. You have to stay in front of Mr. Carter’s house, no walking away where I can’t see you. And when I say it’s time to go, no arguments.”

Bryan and Eric quickly agree, and Jeff leads them down to the deck and the stairs to the ocean. Eric and Bryan look at Jonny pleadingly, and he nods, then laughs as they take off running for the sand. Jeff's smiling when he looks over. “I’m not up for sand in my shoes,” he says, gesturing at the beach. “And I was hoping to talk to you. Can we keep an eye on them here, or do you need to go down there?”

Jonny looks at the distance between the deck and the ocean. “Nah, I can watch them from here, since they're not swimming,” he assures Jeff, “I wanted to talk to you, too.” Jonny squares his shoulders and faces Jeff but before he can speak, Jeff does.

“I take it that it’s ‘no’,” Jeff says mildly. “I’m disappointed. And surprised. I thought- Well. I know there was something there. Unless I've been reading you wrong this whole time?”

“No, I’ve-,” Jonny starts. “No, you haven't, not really. But it’s not going to happen. Patrick’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s... my family’s my whole world. And I’m not interested in risking that, in giving that up. Not for you, not for anyone.”

“Are you sure he’s enough for you? Because I’ve seen you looking at me. You don’t look at me like a man who’s getting what he needs from his husband.” Jeff steps closer, but stops when Jonny steps back. “The way you talk about your marriage, I get the sense that there’s something missing between you and Patrick.”

“My marriage is none of your business,” Jonny says, narrowing his eyes.

“Come on, Jonny. I think you’ve made it my business, over the last few weeks.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think about it, it’s none of your business,” Jonny bites out. “I want to make it clear. From here on, it’s business between us, that’s all. No more of this, this, thing between us.” He takes a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. “I'm saying no. It’s always going to be no. If that’s going to be a problem, then I’ll turn your holdings - including the new project - over to Bollig or Geno.”

“No need for dramatic self-sacrifice,” Jeff says, an amused turn to his lips. “I’m a big boy. I can take no for an answer and move on.” He looks back at his house, the windows gleaming in the sunlight. “We did good work together. I love the way you wove smart energy technology into every facet of the house. I want you for this project because of the way you think. Not because of the way you look or how much I want you in my bed.”

“Jesus,” Jonny growls. “If you can’t drop this, Jeff . . .”

“No, sorry, you’re right, I’ll stop,” Jeff grins, unrepentant. “You can’t blame me for being disappointed, though.”

Jonny scoffs. “I’m sure there are any number of men who’d be interested. Don’t try to make it out to be a romance. It wasn’t. It was - whatever it was, and it’s over. Now, if you want me to, I’m ready to design the shit out of your spas. If that’s enough for you, great. If not, well,” he looks back at the boys, who are using two pieces of driftwood as swords. “There are other firms, other architects you can hire.”

Jeff’s silent for a long moment, and when Jonny looks back at him he shrugs. “No, no, I want you on this project,” he says. “Strictly business, I promise.”

Jonny’s not sure if Jeff can keep things “strictly business,” but he’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. They stand together for a few minutes before Jonny calls the boys back in. He ignores the chorus of “but Papa” and reminds them of the rules, and they come back, dragging their feet through the sand and shooting pleading looks at him.

Jonny exhales deeply when he’s finally on his way back home. He hadn’t been sure how Jeff would take a refusal and knows it could have gone a lot differently. He knows how excited Sidney and Geno are about the new properties, and he’s glad he’s going to be part of the project. And if turning a string of luxury homes into eco-friendly boutique spas across Europe isn’t the kind of architectural difference he’d dreamed of making, at least it’s affording his family with the best life possible. That’s worth sacrificing anything Jonny ever thought he wanted, because he wants his family more.

***

“Daddy, we got to go in the ocean!” Eric yells as soon as they’re in the door. “Mr. Carter’s house is next to the Specific Ocean!”

Patrick laughs from the sink where he’s cleaning strawberries. “The Specific Ocean, huh?” He winks at Jonny. Eric details all the things they saw on the beach, and then hands Patrick the shell he found. “This is for you, Daddy,” he says earnestly.

“Aw, thanks, buddy,” Patrick says, taking the shell and placing it on the window sill. “It sounds like you had a lot of fun. Did you guys clean your feet off really well? We don’t need sand in the bed when you take your naps.”

The boys groan. “We’re big boys, Daddy, we don’t need naps anymore,” Bryan says, blinking his eyes up at Patrick as Eric nods his agreement. “We’re not babies like Ammy.”

At her name, Amelie looks up. “Awick!” She stands up and toddles over, offering the blue nerf ball she’s been playing with to Eric. “Pway?” She tugs on his hand and Eric rolls his eyes but walks over and sits down, and they start batting the ball back and forth between them, Amelie laughing in delight.

“Daddy, do we really have to take a nap?” Bryan asks, and Patrick nods. “But -”

“You were up at five o’clock in the morning. You’re going to be up tonight until after ten, most likely.” He points a strawberry at Bryan and waves it around. “And all those tears you’re about to cry? You can pack them up because you’re just making my case for me, buddy. You are tired. You're taking a nap.”

“But Daddy,” Bryan says, his voice quivering, and Jonny steps over and sweeps him up into his arms. “Buddy, B-man, here’s the deal. If you get into bed and close your eyes for ten minutes on the timer, you can get up. But if you open your eyes or try to get out of bed early, then you have to stay for the whole two hours.”

“Two hours!” Bryan asks. Jonny nods. “Two hours. Do we have a deal?”

Bryan chews on his lip a minute before he nods and offers his hand to Jonny. “And Eric, too?” Bryan asks. “Same deal?”

“Are you authorized to negotiate on behalf of Eric?” Jonny teases, and Patrick laughs. “It’s okay, buddy, I’m just teasing,” he says, at Bryan’s blank look. “Yes, same deal for Eric.”

It takes them another hour to get through lunch before they troop upstairs together, Eric yawning and Bryan’s eyes already at half-mast. Patrick gets Amelie down while Jonny’s sitting in the twins’ room, waiting the agreed upon ten minutes to expire, even though both boys fall asleep almost as soon as they close their eyes. Patrick closes the door on Amelie’s room just as Jonny’s coming out of the boys’ room.

“You want to shower first, or should I?” Jonny asks once they’re in their bedroom and the door is shut. “Or maybe…” He pulls his shirt over his head and grabs Patrick around the waist.

“Or maybe?” Patrick says, running his fingers over Jonny’s shoulders. “I pick ‘or maybe.’”

Five minutes later, Jonny’s got Patrick naked and wet at his feet, kissing his way up Jonny’s thighs and nuzzling in the join of his thigh and hip, his damp curls brushing the base of his cock. He runs his fingers through Patrick’s hair, pulling on a single curl gently until it straightens and then bounces back into place. “God, I love your hair,” he says, and Patrick laughs.

“Only you, Jonny,” he licks Jonny’s hip. “Only you would be talking about a guy’s hair when he’s kneeling at your feet, about to give you a blow job.”

“You’re not just ‘any guy,’ this isn't just ‘any’ hair,' he says, and pulls on it lightly, “and I think the key word in that sentence is ‘about’- Jesus, fuck, fuck.” Jonny stutters as Patrick takes him in and swallows around him. “Oh God, that’s so, fuck. That’s so good.”

Patrick hums and Jonny’s hips thrust involuntarily. Patrick chokes a little but he digs his fingers into the meat of Jonny’s ass to hold him in place. “You’re so good at that, fuck,” Jonny says, “God, I love your mouth.”

Patrick takes him in deeply and looks up through his lashes, holding Jonny in place but not moving. Jonny takes Patrick’s head in his hands, his thumbs brushing his cheeks where tears are mixed with the mist from the shower. “What do you want, Peeks?” he asks. “You want me to,” he thrusts a little deeper into Patrick’s throat, and Patrick moans. “That what you want?” Patrick tries to nod, but Jonny’s holding on tight, and he withdraws slowly before pushing back inside. He’s honestly not sure what’s hotter, the feel of Patrick’s throat around his cock, or the look on Patrick’s face as he plunges into his mouth.

Jonny loves to see Patrick like this, so open and free, so beautiful. He’s been crazy in love with him for almost fifteen years, practically from the moment he saw him, and he can’t believe that he ever thought anything - or anyone - else could make him even a tenth as happy. Patrick’s abandoned all pretense of sucking and is just keeping his mouth open for Jonny to fuck into. He can feel Patrick’s body shaking from the way he’s stripping his own cock, and Jonny loves this, loves how hot it makes Patrick, but it’s been too long since he was inside of Patrick -- or Patrick inside of him -- and they’ve got the door locked. He’s not going to let an opportunity like this pass them by.

He tugs on Patrick’s hair to get his attention and then grabs his shoulders and pulls him up, licking into his mouth to chase the taste of his precum. They kiss for long moments before Patrick breaks away, whining: ‘Jonny, come on, touch me, touch me.”

“Wanna fuck you, Peeks,” Jonny says urgently, and Patrick moans. “Shhh. Don’t want to wake anyone up,” he says. Patrick nods eagerly, zipping his lips with an impish grin, and Jonny grabs the conditioner he uses for his hair.

Patrick raises an eye at him. “My conditioner? Really?”

“I like the idea of my cock -- and your ass -- smelling like this, like you and me, mixed together inside of you,” Jonny says, and Patrick moans as he pushes his finger inside. “Oh, yeah, you like that idea, don’t you.” Patrick nods, his head tipped back, and Jonny licks his neck, sucking lightly on the skin stretched taut over his Adam’s apple as he adds another finger. “Do you like it when you walk around smelling like me?”

“God, Jonny, yes, yes,” Patrick says. “Love the way it feels, being so slick with your come.” He moans again as Jonny strokes lightly over his prostate. “Keep- keep doing that, oh my God.” He reaches up to pull Jonny into an open mouthed kiss, groaning when Jonny slips a third finger in. “Feels - oh my God - feels so good.”

Jonny spreads his fingers a little, working them in and out of Patrick slowly, tugging a little when they’re almost all the way out, grinding his knuckles up against Patrick when they’re buried deep inside. He’s mostly holding Patrick up at this point, so he pulls his hand free and hikes Patrick up until his legs go around his waist. Patrick’s throat's at the perfect height for Jonny’s mouth, and he finds that spot below Patrick’s jaw that always makes him writhe.

It’s no different today, and Jonny shifts Patrick’s weight a little so he can move his hand back, and shoves his fingers back inside of him, twisting and spreading them until Patrick's whimpering and shivering in his arms. As small as Patrick is, he's still a solid guy, and Jonny gropes behind him until he can sit down on the seat at the back of the shower, making Patrick giggle. “The sex seat? Really, Jonny? So cliche.”

Jonny retaliates by slipping his pinky inside of Patrick, just enough to play around the edges of his hole. Patrick makes a choked noise and bucks against him. “You were saying?” Jonny asks, and Patrick pants against his lips and shakes his head. “That’s what I thought.” He scrambles for the conditioner again, and slicks himself up before lifting Patrick again and lowering him onto his cock, in one slow, smooth slide. Patrick’s tight, really tight, and he’s trembling a little, so Jonny stills and pets his thighs, licking at his throat and biting softly at the spot he’s been sucking on. When he feels Patrick relax a bit, he shifts his hips, and Patrick hiccups. “God, it’s so much,” he says, tightening even further around Jonny.

“Too much?” Jonny asks, pausing, but Patrick shakes his head. He pulls him in for a kiss before resting their foreheads together and shifting up and down a little. Jonny blinks dumbly and then moans, his head tilting back, as Patrick moves up and down over him, his cock moving smoothly inside him. “God I’ve missed this,” Patrick says. “Missed having you inside of me, around me. Missed seeing you like this.”

"Pat," Jonny says helplessly, digging his fingers into Patrick’s hips and holding him tight while he fucks up into him, faster and faster, until his thighs and abs are screaming and Patrick's clutching his arms tight enough to bruise. He pulls Patrick snug against his body and they kiss desperately, fucking their tongues into each other’s mouths while Patrick takes over, grinding down on him, squeezing his cock in steady pulses that make Jonny's vision blur.

After a while, they aren’t kissing so much as panting into each other’s mouths. Patrick's making “huh-huh-huh” noises in time with the snap of Jonny’s hips, and Jonny can feel his legs start to quake as his balls tighten. He takes Patrick’s shoulder in one hand and wraps his other around his cock, and Patrick bounces down as Jonny thrusts up, hard.

“This what you wanted?” Jonny asks, sliding his hand up into Patrick’s hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat. He bites at Patrick’s collarbone and sucks hard on the spot he’s been worrying, the force of his thrusts making Patrick keen and shake. “Like this?”

Patrick moans. “Yes, yes, yes, Jesus, please,” he says, pushing Jonny’s hand off his cock and stripping it desperately. “Going to, going to, oh, God, Jonny,” he says, and then he's coming in waves that Jonny can feel from the root of his cock all the way up to where the tip is buried deep inside of Patrick. That’s all it takes to pull Jonny over the edge, and he wraps his arms around Patrick while he pulses over and over inside of him.

Jonny’s legs are shaking when he comes back to himself to find Patrick kissing him, his tongue pushing lazily into his mouth. “Love you, Jon,” he says, biting at Jonny’s lip and pulling back a little to look in his eyes. “The things you do to me.”

Jonny licks along Patrick’s top lip before kissing him, wet and sloppy and sated. “Right back at you, sweetheart.”

“Ugh, Jonny, you’re so lame,” Patrick laughs, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “‘Right back at you?’ Really?”

“I’m sorry, are my witty comebacks not to your satisfaction?” Jonny smirks. “You’ll have to give me a minute because I think you just broke my brain.”

Patrick snorts. “That’s not actually that hard to do, you know.” His face falls a little. “Er, I didn’t-”

“Pat,” Jonny cuts him off with a hard kiss. “Stop. My brain's fine. It’s offline at the moment, though, so if we could table all that concussion shit for now, I’d appreciate it.”

"I just worry about you," Patrick says, his face still too serious, so Jonny kisses him again and stands up, hiking Patrick up, too. Patrick squeaks and grips his shoulders. “What the fuck, man, you’re going to drop me! I think I did break your brain.”

“We do actually have to shower,” Jonny reminds him once he's put Patrick down. But when Patrick reaches for the shampoo, he takes it first. “Let me?”

Patrick smiles at him a little dumbly. “What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment? Are you sure you didn’t wreck the car?”

“I’m being thoughtful, and all you can do is mock me,” Jonny says sadly. “And people think you’re the romantic one in this relationship.”

He rinses Patrick’s hair and they both laugh when he squirts the conditioner out. He pulls Patrick to his chest and kisses him while he rubs it through his hair. “This always makes me think of you,” he says. “The way you smell, God, Patrick.” He trails the fingers of his other hand back to Patrick’s hole and slips in two easily. Patrick gasps and rocks up against him, and Jonny pushes his thumb against the soft skin behind Patrick's balls, pinching it gently between his fingers inside and his thumb outside. Patrick sobs out a moan and Jonny brings his fingers out, sniffing them before feeding them to Patrick, who sucks on them before kissing him fiercely.

Patrick turns to rinse the conditioner from his hair and runs a washrag over his body quickly, completely bypassing his hole. When he catches Jonny looking at him, he ducks his head a little. “I want to - I don’t want to wash it away,” he says, blushing fiercely. “I like it.”

“God, you,” Jonny starts and then he’s kissing him. “We are doing this more often, I can’t even…” He trails off when Patrick starts laughing. “What?”

“Just. I did not think that today was going to include hot sex in the shower. In the middle of the day, even!” Patrick says, his tongue poking out of his cheek. “Like, if you’d asked me, ‘Pat, what do you think today will bring?’ I would not have had fucking on the list at all.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we need to make that list a little longer,” Jonny says, and Patrick rolls his eyes. “I’m serious! I just.” He pulls Patrick closer and kisses him fiercely. “I miss this. I miss you.”

Patrick pulls away a little. “I’m right here, Jon. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” Jonny says, kissing him again and then smacking his ass, laughing when Patrick yelps.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Daddy?” Eric says, his voice small. “Had a bad dream.” Jonny groans and puts his head on Patrick’s collarbone. “I’ll be right there,” Patrick calls out. “You finish showering, I’ll deal with him.” Jonny kisses him one more time before Patrick grabs a towel and opens the door. “What’s up, little man?”

Jonny can’t hear Eric’s response, but Patrick chokes a little. “Oh, no, uh, Daddy just scratched his neck a little funny with the washrag, E, it’s nothing,” he says and turns to narrow his eyes at Jonny. “Yes, it was kind of itchy.” Jonny grins, unrepentant, and Patrick shakes his head at him. “I'll get dressed and we can go get you a hot chocolate and a candy cane, okay?”

Jonny’s whistling when he gets downstairs just as Patrick's putting marshmallows in Eric’s mug. Patrick grins at him, and he drops a kiss on his shoulder. “I might have one or two other items to add to that list of yours,” Jonny says quietly. “Just so you know.”

Patrick’s eyes widen and he bites his lip. “Me, too.” He looks up between his lashes and Jonny can’t get hard again - it’s been fifteen minutes and he’s not sixteen anymore - but his cock twitches gamely all the same. Patrick laughs and smacks his ass as he walks over to the table to give Eric his hot chocolate. “You are so easy, man.”

“I’ll show you easy,” Jonny growls, but Amelie's cry over the monitor brings him up short. “I got her,” Patrick says, but Jonny grabs his wrist when he walks by and hauls him close. “What- ”

Jonny kissed Patrick, quick and hard, one hand on his collarbone, and presses into the mark he left that’s just visible under Patrick’s t-shirt. “I’ll go,” he says. “and I love you.”

Patrick lights up. “I love you, too.”

“Ugh, gross,” Eric says from the table, making Patrick giggle.

“You’ll understand one day,” Jonny says. “When you meet someone you want to marry.”

“I already met him,” Eric says, “duh. It’s Bryan.”

Jonny and Patrick look at each other and burst out laughing. “Uhh, buddy,” Jonny starts, but Patrick puts a hand on his arm.

“Divide and conquer,” he says and jerks his head toward the kitchen door. “Go get our baby girl. I’ll handle Jaime Lannister over here.” He winks and Jonny leaves, whistling again.

Yeah, he wouldn't have put fucking Patrick in the shower on his to-do list this morning either, total fucking oversight; he's not making that mistake again.

***

A quick glance at the clock tells Jonny that they’ve got almost an hour to kill before leaving for the boys’ Christmas program. He’s not sure they’re going to make it. Eric and Bryan are so excited about their self-proclaimed starring roles that they’re bouncing off the proverbial walls, hyper with pre-performance excitement and all the sugar from the candy canes they’ve been sneaking from the tree.

Jonny’s just about to suggest an episode of the Wild Kratts or, hell, anything he can find on TV that’s even nominally aimed at kids, when Patrick intercepts Eric mid-leap from the couch and catches Jonny’s eye.

“What if we each opened a Christmas present before we head to the program?” Patrick asks. “I think that might get us all in the Christmas spirit, right Lady Bug?” He deposits Eric gently on the ground and turns to Jonny mouthing, “and calm them the fuck down.”

Jonny can’t argue with that and doesn’t want to, thankfully, since the boys are already cheering, and even Amelie looks happier. Jonny helps Amelie wrestle the bow off of a present his brother sent last week, and they both watch the boys unwrap identical presents from his parents.

Soon Amelie's toddling around pulling a wooden dog behind her, and the boys are fighting each other with weird looking pixelated swords. Patrick must see his confusion, because he explains, “they’re from Minecraft: that computer, lego-y game they like.”

Patrick reaches under the tree and pulls out a small box that he places in Jonny’s hands with a little smile, “from all of us.” Once Jonny gets the wrap undone, it’s been sealed tightly with tape as well as copious amounts of Avengers’ stickers, he uncovers a picture frame, that can only be described as colorful.

Patrick fidgets, looking a little unsure. "The boys and Amelie painted it. I got the idea from that art class you missed with Amelie, they made ornaments remember?”

Patrick's still talking, Jonny can hear him speaking but the words aren’t really registering. All he can see is the picture Patrick picked for the frame. It’s of the five of them, taken after one of the boys’ soccer games.

Eric’s a muddy mess, Bryan’s jersey is covered in grass stains, Amelie has cracker crumbs all over her front, and they’re all grinning madly at the camera. Everyone except for Patrick, whose face is fixated totally on Jonny, lips curved in the soft smile that Patrick saves just for him.

Patrick's saying something about how the first frame broke, maybe, and Jonny will have to get the details later, but for now he has to pull him into a deep kiss, which goes on and on, interrupted only because the boys stop hitting each other with their swords long enough to call out, “Grooooooosssss!”

Patrick pulls back with a laugh, “You like it?” he asks, pleased grin in his face. Jonny punches him in the the thigh, “you’re an idiot.” Patrick’s dimples light up his face and they smile at each other dopily until the boys interrupt them again, clearly exasperated with them both. “Now you, Dad!” Bryan calls, sword forgotten, as he thrusts a gift at Patrick.

From the looks of it, Jonny’s willing to bet it’s his annual young adult novel from one of his sisters. But instead of opening it, Patrick hands it back to Bryan. “Thanks, Bry, but I’ve got my eye on a different present.”

Patrick ignores Bryan’s protest and unearths the large rectangular box that holds the Dipolito sculpture from the back of the tree. Jonny tries not to smile too smugly because he’d taken the gift to work, so he knows it’s going to be a surprise, and he’s sure that Patrick's going to love it.

Amelie plops into Jonny’s lap, apparently tired from her circuit of the living room, and starts gnawing on the dog’s red wooden tail as Patrick carefully slides his fingers under the wrapping paper.

“Hurry up, Dad!” Eric demands, impatient, and he grabs at the wrapping paper, but Patrick moves the present out of the way quickly enough that all he gets is a fist full of Patrick's shirt. “Open it, open it!”

“That’s Dad’s present,” Jonny admonishes, “you and Bry already opened yours, and now you need to be patient.”

“Borrrrrinnnnggg!” Eric complains, as Patrick finally gets down to the nondescript cardboard box. “C’mon Bry, let’s go build towers and knock them down with our swords.”

Over the sounds of legos spilling all over the floor, Patrick shoots an exasperated grin at Jonny. “God, where did they get all of that energy? It must be from from you, because I’m sure I was never anything but quiet and well-behaved.”

“Lies!” Jonny laughs. “Don’t even front, Pat. Everyone in your family has been warning me since we were sixteen that you’re a hellion.”

“Traitors,” Patrick mutters before shooting Jonny a look from under his lashes, “besides, you love it.”

“I really do,” Jonny agrees easily. “Now open your damn present.”

“Da! Da! Da!” Amelie starts chanting happily, keeping time as she hits her dog, making his tail shake.

“I’m going to pretend that she’s just saying ‘Dad’.” Patrick says with a grin, “and you should be very grateful the boys aren’t paying attention, or you’d be emptying your pockets into the swear jar. Again.” He laughs when Jonny rolls his eyes at him, and then turns his attention back to the gift and eases the lid off the box.

The way Patrick’s looking at the gift, Jonny can’t see his face, can only hear the choked out noise Patrick makes in the back of his throat. He’s holding the sculpture so tightly, his knuckles turn white. “As soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect for you.”

Patrick still can’t seem to find his voice, so Jonny goes on. “It reminds me so much of how you looked when you were holding our babies.”

Patrick makes another noise in the back of his throat and puts the lid back on the box. When he finally meets Jonny’s eyes, his are watery, and he looks pale and shocked.

“Thanks, Jon, it’s really - it’s really beautiful.” He swallows then, looking down again. “I’m just going to go put it in our room, so the boys don’t knock it over during their next sword fight.” He stands up and looks at Jonny again, head shaking a little and voice still wavery, “I really can’t believe you gave me this.”

“Who else would I give it to?” Jonny asks, bemused. “I can’t think of anyone else, can you?”

“No,” Patrick replies. “I can’t think of anyone else you would give this to, either.”

“And it was a total surprise, right?” He asks, but he’s pretty sure he did given Patrick’s reaction. “First time ever.”

“Yeah, I was surprised,” Patrick says. “I - I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jonny looks at Amelie as Patrick heads up the stairs. “I think we did good, baby girl,” he says, dropping a kiss on her head. It’s a couple of minutes later when he realizes Patrick hasn’t come back down.

“Pat?” He calls, walking over to call up the stairs. “Everything okay?”

“Can you get the boys ready to go? I’m just going to wash up, and then we better head out to the Christmas program.” Patrick says, his voice a little husky. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

When Patrick gets downstairs, they’re all sitting by the door, costumes on. Bryan’s even keeping his gold trunk safely on his lap. Jonny gestures at them with pride. “See? All ready.” Patrick nods, his eyes red, small wavering a bit. Jonny wants to tug him into a hug but Patrick hustles them out the door and then it’s the usual flurry of activity getting everyone into the SUV. Managing the robes of the wise men doesn’t make it any easier, but soon enough they're on their way.

It’s not until they’re almost at the school that Jonny realizes Patrick hasn’t said a word since he came downstairs, and when he looks over, Patrick’s face looks pinched and drawn.

“Everything okay?” he asks, putting his hand over Patrick’s on the console. Patrick’s fingers flex before he draws his hand away.

“Yeah, just got a little bit of a headache,” Patrick says, rubbing his forehead before placing both hands on the steering wheel. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Says the guy who got to sleep in until nine o'clock in the morning,” Jonny teases. “And I even got the boys out of your hair for three hours when Jeff sent the limo.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “Jeff Carter’s doing all sorts of things to this family.”

“What do you mean?” Jonny asks, confused. "What’s he doing to us?”

“Sorry, I meant doing a lot of things for this family. You know, it feels like working with him has really changed everything. With your career, I mean,” Patrick says as he pulls into a parking spot. He turns to look at the kids. “Okay, boys, walk, do not run, into school. Papa will take you.” He looks at Jonny briefly before turning away and climbing out of the car. “I’ll get us some seats.”

It’s a cacophony of noise in the staging area for the program, and Jonny’s happy to hand off the boys to one of the parents helping corral everyone and head into the auditorium to take his seat. Amelie's sitting in between them, reading a picture book and Patrick’s staring at the stage intently. Jonny stretches an arm over Amelie's seat and knocks his hand against Patrick’s shoulder. “Still got that headache?” he asks. Patrick looks at him briefly, nodding. “Can I do anything?” Jonny asks, concerned with how quiet Patrick's been.

Patrick doesn’t speak for a long moment. “No. I think - I think I just need to sit quietly for a while. Can you just keep Ammy busy?”

“Sure,” Jonny says, but he keeps an eye on Patrick while he reads to Amelie, and Patrick’s face looks even paler than it did earlier. Before he can ask Patrick if he wants to leave, the lights go down and Mr. Verhines is welcoming everyone. Amelie's looking tired, and he helps her lay across her seat, her head in his lap, and turns his attention to the program.

***

By the end of the program, Jonny’s crying with laughter. Eric and Bryan carried their parts off with aplomb, as expected, but the Johnson boy had pantsed the virgin Mary and then all hell had broken loose. The sheep started playing ring-around-the-rosy with the shepherds right in the middle of angel bringing them tidings of great joy, and the baby Jesus was dropped -- twice -- until his head had popped off and rolled off the stage into the lap of the poor guy asleep in the front row. There was really been no going back at that point, so Mr. Verhines had mercifully called an early halt to the proceedings.

Patrick’s been quiet through most of it, though, and when Jonny wipes the last tears out of his eyes, he catches Patrick looking at him. Amelie's asleep on the chair next to Jonny -- how she ever slept through all of that noise, when in her own room she wakes up if a mouse sneezes in the house down the street, is a complete mystery -- and he elbows Patrick a little and tilts his head at her.

“I guess that solves our worry that she was going to swear like a sailor at the Christmas program.” Patrick nods but doesn’t look over, and when Jonny turns to ask Patrick if he’s okay, he stands abruptly and gathers Amelie gently into his arms. She snuffles but doesn’t wake up.

“I’m going to take her to the car,” Patrick says, his voice quiet. “Can you get the boys? Don’t forget to give Mr. Verhines the thank you card the boys made.”

When Jonny nods, he turns and walks off, even after Jonny calls to him. It’s still loud in the theatre, though, and Patrick’s got his head buried in Amelie’s curls, so Jonny just shrugs and goes to find the boys.

Predictably enough, they’re having a impromptu light-saber battle using a couple of the shepherd’s hooks. Jonny gets their robes off and returns the hooks to their rightful owners, speaking briefly to Mr. Verhines before letting Eric pull him by the hand out to where Patrick’s waiting with the car.

“A Christmas Story” is just starting to play over the entertainment system when they pull out of the school parking lot. “Boys, put on your headsets,” Patrick says, and turns the sound down once they have them on.

Jonny's explaining about the light-saber battle when Patrick drives by the entrance to their neighborhood. “Are we going to someone’s house?” Jonny asks, gesturing as they drive by their street. When Patrick doesn’t respond, he looks over. “Pat?”

“What would you do?” Patrick asks, his tone curiously flat. Jonny looks at him, but he doesn’t turn his head.

“What would I do when?” Jonny asks, mystified. “Where are we going, Patrick? Did something happen?”

“What would you do if you were in my position?” he says, speaking in that monotone again.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, losing patience with whatever it is that’s upset Patrick. “Either tell me or don’t. This passive aggressive bullshit isn’t funny or cute.”

“Sure, Jon.” Patrick glances at him, eyes narrowed. “So, what would you do, if your husband bought an erotic sculpture, and when Christmas came around, he gave it to another man?”

Jonny’s breath catches in his throat. Patrick waits a moment and when Jonny doesn’t answer, he nods to himself.

“Because I’m not sure how I should react, is the thing.” He finally looks at Jonny, a brief cut of his eyes over to where Jonny’s sitting frozen. “Do I wait around? Find out if it’s just a sculpture, or if it’s sex and a sculpture, or worst of all, if it’s a sculpture and love?”

He puts the car into park, and Jonny realizes through the roaring in his head that they’re at Niklas' house. Patrick turns to him, his face lit by only by the bright lights strung around the front yard.

“So. What would you do? Would you stick around, knowing that life will always be a little bit worse? Or would you cut and run?” He looks at Jonny for a moment longer. “Nothing to say, Jon?” When Jonny doesn’t answer, he laughs, brief and brittle, and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I figured.”

Patrick gets out of the car while Jonny’s still gaping at him and when he opens the door, the overhead light so bright it makes Jonny wince. Patrick’s pulling Amelie from her car seat and hustling the boys up the walk before he can get his seatbelt unfastened, and Jonny sits in the dark, his mind racing. He doesn’t realize that Patrick’s back until the light comes on again and he climbs in.

“Patrick,” Jonny starts but honestly he doesn’t know what to say, where to start. “I was an idiot, I’m a complete idiot, but I didn’t-”

“Just shut up,” Patrick says, and his voice is so cold and flat that Jonny feels like he’s been slapped. “You’ve been a jackass and you’ve made a complete fool of me,” his voice wavers briefly, and he swallows before going on, “and, and, you’ve made the life we lead - the life we’ve built together - a lie. A joke. So. Just. Just shut up. ”

Jonny thinks - he thinks he needs to protest, he needs to explain but his mind is blank of everything except panic and so he just nods and leans his head against the window, letting the coolness of the glass ground him.

For long minutes he just watches the twinkling Christmas lights go by in a blur. They’re pulling up at a stoplight when then he catches sight of Patrick’s reflection and he has to close his eyes, then because Patrick’s face is set into an expression that Jonny’s never seen before, and he’s terrified that he’s done something he’s not going to be allowed to fix.

***

Jonny feels like he hasn’t been able to draw a deep breath since Patrick told him he knew about the gift for Jeff. Patrick, on the other hand, has been eerily calm. He hasn’t said a word since leaving the kids with Niklas, but the moment they’re through the front door, he’s practically spitting at Jonny. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Patrick this angry.

"Got anything to say for yourself?" Patrick says with a sneer. "Did I give you enough time to come up with a good story?"

“Patrick, I’m sorry - I didn’t,” Jonny trails off, unsure what he can say. What he should say. That he didn’t want Jeff? That he wouldn’t have cheated? That he’s sorry he ever let the thought enter his head? None of it is any kind of explanation. None of it is any kind of defense.

“You’re sorry? You didn’t?” Patrick mocks. “Sorry for what, exactly? For the gift? For the reason behind the gift? Sorry I found out about it? Exactly why are you sorry?”

“I just didn’t think - “ Jonny says, his voice shaking a little. “It was just a gift. It wasn’t - there wasn’t anything else. I promise, Patrick.”

“You promise,” Patrick scoffs. “And that’s supposed to mean something to me? Because you always keep your promises? Like the one you made to me ten years ago when you swore to be faithful?”

“I wasn’t unfaithful, Patrick!” Jonny shouts.

“Right. Are you really trying to pretend that all those late night ‘meetings’ over the last few weeks were just to finish up Jeff’s project?” Patrick demands, eyebrow arched.

“It wasn’t like that! We hadn’t done anything - “ Jonny knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words are out of his mouth because Patrick blanches and recoils.

“Then?” Patrick whispers. “You hadn’t done anything then - but now you have?” The anger that was there before has drained away and left Patrick looking devastated and small.

Jonny swallows and looks down. He can’t - he doesn’t lie to Patrick. He doesn’t even know how. Patrick makes a choked noise and turns away.

Patrick's still and silent for a moment and Jonny reaches for him. If he can just touch him, he can make things right, he can fix this. Somehow. He has to.

As soon as he puts his hand on his shoulder, Patrick whirls on him, jerking away. ““Don’t you fucking touch me, you asshole. Is this why we haven’t fucked in months? Because you’ve been fucking Jeff Carter instead?”

“No! I haven’t been fucking Jeff - and you, we fucked this afternoon,” Jonny protests, his head swimming.

“Yeah, and about that,” Patrick says, his voice icy. “Maybe you should have been wearing this.” Patrick flings something at Jonny. It bounces off his chest and falls to the floor. “It dropped out of your pants pocket. Merry fucking Christmas to me, huh, Jon?”

Jonny looks down at the foil packet that Jeff had handed him. His cheeks burn, and he doesn’t answer.

“Do I need to go get tested?” Patrick shouts, his voice breaking at the end. When Jonny doesn't respond, just staring at him blindly, he growls, “Answer me, Jon! Were you at least safe, or do I need to worry about a fucking disease? Because God knows where that fucker’s dick has been.”

Jonny always forgets what a vicious little shit Patrick can be when he's angry, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard this level of venom in his voice before. But this is Patrick -- his Patrick -- and Jonny knows him. So he can also hear, under the fury, the pain. And he did that. He did that to Patrick. Jonny’s chest tightens and suddenly he can’t breathe.

“Nothing to say, Jonny?” Patrick mocks. “Answer me, you asshole! Jonny? Jonny? Jonny!”

Distantly, Jonny can hear Patrick’s voice, can hear the anger turn to worry, but he can’t respond. He’s too busy trying to catch his breath, which doesn’t make any sense since he’s doing nothing but breathing in. The room is getting darker and then somehow he’s on the couch and Patrick's pushing his head between his knees.

After a few moments, Patrick steps back and turns to leave, but Jonny keens and grabs for his wrist. He can’t - he can’t let Patrick go. Patrick reappears in his view. “Jon. Focus. You’re hyperventilating.” Patrick’s voice is firm, steady. “Jon. I’m just going to get a paper bag, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

He spends the few moments Patrick’s gone to concentrate on not sliding off the couch. After what feels like hours, Patrick's back, cool hand on his forehead and a washrag pressed to the back of his neck. He shoves a paper bag into Jonny’s hands. “Breathe, Jonny,” he says, his thumb running back and forth just below Jonny’s hairline. "Just breathe, just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Jonny clings to Patrick’s words, to the gentle but firm way he’s holding his head. If Patrick can still do this, can still care enough, maybe - maybe Jonny hasn’t lost him forever.

That thought, more than the paper bag, calms Jonny down, and his breathing slows. When he finally sits back, he regrets it immediately when Patrick moves away. “Better?” Patrick asks, and Jonny nods. Patrick sighs, his face pinched and pained.

“I didn’t,” Jonny says, his voice wrecked. He doesn’t know if Patrick will believe him, but he’s got to get it out, can’t let Patrick worry about it another minute. “I didn’t sleep with Jeff. I wouldn’t. Patrick. I wouldn’t.”

Patrick searches his eyes for a moment, and then he relaxes, just a bit, just enough for Jonny to know he believes him. “Okay, maybe you didn’t. But. Do you have any idea what it feels like, to sit through your kids’ Christmas program, sore and leaking your husband’s come, wondering if he’s been fucking someone else?”

“It was- ,” Jonny starts, but he stops when Patrick raises a hand. Jonny can see it trembling.

“I don’t want to know,” Patrick says, his voice wavering. “Just, just answer me one thing.”

Jonny nods, knowing that he doesn’t want to hear the next thing Patrick says. He wants to shout at Patrick, beg him not to ask, to shut up. He wants to grab him and kiss him and make all of this go away. He wants to go back and stop Jeff, to reject him the first time he realized that this thing wasn’t just harmless flirting. He wants to go back and stop himself from going to Jeff’s party last night. But he can’t do any of that, and he owes it to Patrick to face this, to face him.

“You wanted him, didn’t you?” Patrick asks, and Jonny flinches. Patrick blanches and steps back. His tremors have turned into shaking, and for a long moment it looks like Patrick’s going to faint, but in the end he just sits down. His eyes never leave Jonny’s and it’s only the smallest part of what Jonny owes him to not look away.

“You - you really wanted him?” Patrick’s voice cracks, and Jonny shakes his head, desperate. “Don’t lie to me,” Patrick whispers, “don’t you fucking lie to me.”

“It wasn’t like that, Patrick, I swear, it wasn’t.” Jonny stands up and reaches for Patrick, who jerks away. He lets his hand drop. “It was harmless; I let it get out of hand. I never - I would never have done anything. I love you. I want you. I want our life together.”

Patrick looks down, makes a bitter, choked sound, a laugh or a sob or both, Jonny’s not sure. “Our life together. You want our life together? I thought you hated all the piles of laundry, and the kitchen that’s always sticky, and how loud it all is? That life?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Patrick. You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Jonny pleads.

“I think you did mean it like that,” Patrick says, his voice flat. He’s not meeting Jonny’s eyes anymore. “Well, good news. You don’t have to worry about that life anymore.”

“Patrick,” Jonny’s voice cracks.

“I want you to leave," Patrick says, hoarse but firm. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my home. You need to leave.”

“Please,” Jonny says, “please don’t. I’ll do anything - what can I do? I’ll do anything. Just tell me how to fix this.”

“You can’t fix this, Jonny,” Patrick says, his voice terrifyingly steady. Sure. Cold. “If you want to do something for me, leave. That’s all I want from you.”

Patrick turns and walks into the kitchen, his shoulders hunched and still shaking a little and it takes everything in Jonny not to follow him. He looks down at the washrag Patrick had brought him, abandoned on the couch, soaking into the cushions. He picks it up. Patrick loves the couch, Jonny thinks. He wouldn’t want it to get ruined.

Jonny looks around the family room, at the table in the corner, covered with stickers that Bryan had applied and Jonny had never been able to get off. At the arm chair where he’d sat with Amelie when Patrick had been so sick after she was born, hours spent there feeding her so Patrick could sleep. At the mantle, covered in photographs of their wedding, the boys’ baptism, the family portrait Jonny’s mom had made them take, all of them in white shirts and jeans. At the carpet where, once upon a time, Jonny had fucked Patrick twice before he let him come. When Patrick had come, he’d sobbed Jonny’s name, and Jonny had felt like he could conquer the world as long as Patrick loved him.

Jonny looks around and he wants to collapse. This is his everything; Patrick is his everything. this is the life they’d built together. Jonny had forgotten, he’d been bored and stupid, he’d let himself get drawn into something meaningless. He’d forgotten who he was, what he’d built here with Patrick. Jonny looks around and he wants to collapse, but he doesn’t. Because this is the life he built with Patrick, the life they’ve built together, and he’s not giving up that life without a fight.