Daddy [mxm]

19

Bret gets up and drags his chair around the table next to mine. And I'm finally seeing it, not as nuisance, but as a bid to get closer.

"Hi," he smirks, crowding in until our shoulders are pressed together. "How are you?"

"Um, I'm good," I smile shyly.

I twirl some pasta around my fork and stab a scallop before bringing it to my mouth. I can't suppress the instant foodgasm; the moan just tears from my mouth unbidden. The gnocchi is even better.

"How is it?" Bret can't eat when he's pressed this close to me except with his left hand.

"Amazing." I bring another forkful of spaghetti to my lips. It's creamy, lemony, with basil and Parmesan and mmm, just heavenly.

Bret leans over and grasps the dangling pasta in his lips, feeding himself from my mouth.

"So tell me what you've been reading. Anything good?" He asks offhand.

"No," I sigh. "I did get something, but... It's filled with the most tired tropes on the goddamn planet. And whenever one of those rears its stupid head, I dip right the fuck out."

"Tell me about these tropes. One you like and one you hate."

It takes me aback sometimes, his genuine interest in my hobbies. Sometimes he doesn't have a clue what I'm rambling about, but he listens so intently.

So I start explaining.

"I don't like anything predictable, like plain romance. I like forbidden romances, though, which is itself a trope, I guess, which therefore makes my claim kind of paradoxical... Actually, that's more like a genre; the trope is the tired, standard, boy-meets-girl theme." Looking up, I catch Bret looking at me funny.

"I love it when you talk that nerdy shit," he says, using his fork to stab a gnocchi from my plate.

I clear my throat, feeling my face flush.

"Those are so good," I enthuse, aptly changing the topic. "I can't stop eating them. Like, I put one in my mouth and crave three more."

"Put something else in your mouth. I've got just the thing that'll satisfy you." Cocky Bret is back again. I'll admit I knowingly walked into that one.

He kisses my burning cheek. "So how're you liking it, apart from the tropes?"

"It's kind of...vague and subtle. I had to reread some passages three times and I'm still not sure I get it."

"Why all the layers to decode? Just say what what you mean," Bret huffs.

"I hear you. But... Metaphors can help explain things better. They can help us convey abstract ideas and concepts using simple analogies and parallels that everyone can understand."

Bret pulls me onto his lap while I protest laughingly.

"Nerd," he grins. "I love you." I used to be embarrassed about his hyperactive antics in public but now I think it's kind of hot how he doesn't give a fuck. I wish I was that relaxed and carefree and suave. It's his charm.

After we finish eating, Bret gets the bill, refusing to let me see it. We box up our dessert, along with a bottle of wine, and start ambling around on foot.

"How much was it?" I fret.

"Doesn't matter."

"Bret, that shit looked expensive. Tasted expensive. You've gotta let me split this."

"Don't worry about it, Evan. Let me spoil you."

"Bret, you know I make money too, right?" I quirk a brow.