It reminds me that he doesn’t know much about us, and I’m proud of him for asking.
“We grew up with each other,” Tatum explains. “Our dads work together, and it’s hard for me to remember a time when we didn’t hang out. I think I’ve known Alaric since I was about six, and Jamie a little after that. We just fit together well, and our dads kind of figured we’d be inseparable.”
“They didn’t have any issues with…” Beckham trails off, and I glance at the guys.
“They don’t care that we’re gay,” I finish for him. “Our dads feel that you love who you love. No secrets, or need for cloak and dagger. We’re very lucky to have them. Let’s eat.”
Beckham thinks about that as he stands, but Tatum gently sits him back into his chair.
“I’ll get it. Do you want some of everything?” he asks.
“Ah, yes. Can I try the sauce first? I don’t like anything too spicy,” he explains.
Grabbing a spoon, I put a little on it and pass it to him. If he were Tatum or Jamie, I’d hand feed it to him. I just don’t know if he’d get offended. We’ll have to work up to that.
Fisting and being hand fed are simply different kinds of intimacy that’s difficult to explain.
Beckham’s eyes widen as he tastes the sauce, and I can tell he likes it as his scent sweetens. Jamie squeezes my arm as he fills his bowl with food, and Beckham nods.
“That’s amazing,” he praises. “You looked like you were throwing random shit into the blender. You made this without a recipe?”
“Food is easy,” I say with a grin. “It has always made sense to me. You just mix things until you’re done and it tastes right.”
“He says it’s easy, but I burn toast. He’s modest as fuck,” Jamie grumbles, snagging a chair next to Beckham.
Smirking, I shrug as I get my food together and sit across from them so there won’t be a fight. Tatum places a bowl in front of Beckham and sits snugly next to him, and we all tuck into our food.
“I think you’re not seeing how good this is,” Beckham says dryly. “I’ll let you have your modesty, but as someone who grabs too much takeout, I’m feeling very spoiled.”
Hiding a smile, I continue to eat as he asks us about our families and how we grew up.
“Jamie liked to climb trees, play football, and has broken more bones than Alaric and I put together,” Tatum says. “We all had too much energy growing up. I learned how to box, Jamie got into trouble, and Alaric?—”
I raise my brow, chewing as I wait for him to finish that sentence.
“Alaric what?” Beckham asks.
“I learned how to blow shit up,” I say. “I made a bomb when I was ten, and blew up a pile of snow in the backyard. My dad wasn’t happy with me, but I thought it was the coolest thing.”
“You could have lost a finger.” Beckham hisses, looking like he wants to put me over his knee.
“We were wild growing up,” I explain. “My dad decided to put me in weapons training to keep me busy, I learned how to shoot and occasionally blow things up.”
“I know how to shoot, but that’s more out of necessity,” he says. “You seem like the one who is the most down to earth. Tatum and Jamie always seem like the wild ones.”
“Alaric grew into his leadership role,” Tatum explains. The food is rapidly disappearing, and I think a movie might be nice.Tatum usually passes out during them, which is how I get him to nap when he’s up too late.
“Someone has to keep us in line,” Jamie adds, shrugging. “Alaric is the most likely to take over whenever our dads retire. He knows the most about contacts, the businesses, and all that shit. I like to kill people when necessary, but I’d rather play football.”
“Which is why we’re enrolled with him,” Tatum says. “I’m the muscle, hacker, and enforcer. I’d rather be doing that than going to school, but life is a series of compromises for the people you love.”
Beckham is quiet as we finish up, and I have Tatum and Jamie do the dishes while I get the living room set up for a movie. I set up pillows, blankets, turn down the lights, and set the projector to play the movie along the wall.
While we have a television, I prefer this over it.
“You go hard when it comes to taking care of people, huh?” Beckham asks. Glancing up, I notice that he’s no longer wearing his shoes, and looks very at home here.
“I guess,” I say with a shrug. “I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s as easy as breathing.”
