Barking out a laugh, Lane reached out and ruffled Trevor’s hair affectionately. Not something he usually did, but then Trevor didn’t usually suck his dick either.
“Fine, fine, I’ll make us something. Don’t want you to starve.”
“I’d bet you don’t want to starve either,” Trevor retorted. But they might if Lane cooked—he’d made an effort, which he’d bragged-slash-complained about a lot since the season had started.
Not once had he ever asked Trevor if he knew how to cook, or wondered if Trevor should be carrying his own weight in the kitchen.
It was kind of cute, almost sweet if Trevor thought about it. But it also meant that Trevor had been stuck eating mediocre meals, food at the practice facility or takeout for the last four-plus months.
He hadn’t wanted to move into Lane’s condo—a situation that everyone had just taken for granted, nobody asking Laneonceas far as Trevor knew howhefelt about it—and immediatelydemand to take over the cooking duties because Lane sucked so bad at them. He’d told himself he had time to settle in, and get Lane used to the idea that just because he was older, he had to take care of Trevor.
But then Lane had ended up being pricklier than Trevor had imagined he would be, and the last thing he wanted to do was confess,actually, dude, you suck at this, let me do it, please.
Trevor sighed, watching as Lane stared, uninspired, at his chicken breasts and bag of broccoli. Maybe it was inevitable that he’d confess the truth. At least he’d be doing it after giving Lane what had seemed like a pretty decent orgasm.
“What about this,” Trevor said as gently as he could, even though it probably wouldn’t matter, in the end. “How about you let me make dinner?”
Lane’s eyes flicked up to Trevor’s. “What? Why?”
Sighing, Trevor put his hand on Lane’s arm. Did he tense? Or did Trevor imagine that? Crazy that Trevor could suck Lane’s dick, but a simple friendly touch could make him freeze like that.
“Listen, I can handle this,” Trevor said as diplomatically as possible.
He really should’ve never let it get this far.
“You’re going to make dinner? But you’re—”
“Less than two years younger than you and totally capable of feeding both of us? Yeah.”
A crease appeared between Lane’s eyebrow as they slanted together. “Then why would you let me do it?Badly?”
At least Lane seemed to understand that he sucked at it. “You were trying so hard,” Trevor admitted.And it was nice, watching you try so hard. For me. Even if it was just tough chicken for dinner or shitty scrambled eggs in the mornings.
Choking down Lane’s mediocre food had been worth that feeling.
“Well, shit,” Lane said. He was staring at Trevor like he was seeing him for the first goddamn time.
“Sorry,” Trevor said reflexively.
Lane shot him a heated look. “Unless you want to apologize for making both of us eat crap for months, it’s not necessary. But yeah, if you wanna take over? I’m not gonna stop you.”
Relief surged through Trevor that Lane didn’t look pissed, only surprised that Trevor hadn’t told him the truth ages ago.
Having gotten tacit permission, Trevor didn’t hesitate. Headed over to the fridge, took stock and pulled out a few things. Then found a metal bowl, and after opening the package of chicken, began to pile them in the bowl.
“What are you doing?”
Trevor looked up from where he was sorting through Lane’s limited spice selection. Lane had taken over the spot that Trevor had used to occupy, on one of the barstools.
“Making a marinade to make the chicken tender and tastier,” Trevor said.
“Huh,” Lane said, like this was a thing that had never occurred to him to do.
Which, having spent the last four months eating Lane’s terrible, tough, tasteless chicken, felt spot-on to Trevor.
“And this is why I’m taking over the cooking,” Trevor said, and Lane only grinned at him bashfully.
“Your fault for not speaking up sooner,” Lane said, not seeming pissed off about it, at all. And sure he’d just gotten a blowjob, so it would be hard to be in a bad mood, but despite that, he was even more relaxed than Trevor expected.
