TOM
Max is not quiet coming through the door. Huffing and puffing, thrashing around, and Tom can hear the beat of whatever he is listening to seeping through the headphones that seem to be surgically attached to his head these days.
And yes, here he is. Straight in the fridge without even acknowledging Tom’s existence, despite him being right there at the table. With a random selection of coffee cups in front of him and the laptop plugged in to the socket by the stove behind him, making the whole kitchen a death-trap. They need to go to IKEA. Get some extension leads and one of those USB charging things, and plates and cups that match. Maybe. If that is still a thing. Maybe mismatched cups and plates are okay these days and Tom’s house is totally on trend, and he hasn’t even noticed.
Well, he knows nothing at all about interior design. Just that he had the entire house painted white before they moved in and furnished it with all kinds of stuff he had always owned, and some random tat from second-hand places, and they have learned to live with it. The kitchen table is still far too big, and two chairs might have been too few, but since they never have guests, he’s never gotten around to buying more.
Oh, yep. Here they go. The Polish dried sausage he splashed out on at that small Deli he passes on the way home, is now spread out on the table, along with the grapes and an open bag of crisps. And a random banana that Max is taking big showy bites out of.
“You okay?” he asks. Max just nods. He looks pale. A little worn out. “Did you have one today?”
He doesn’t need to clarify more. They both know. And Max doesn’t even argue when Tom reaches to open the drawer that houses his home stethoscope and medical supplies. Lifts his shirt up automatically and lets the cold steel rest against his chest. Max takes deep breaths just as he is supposed to. There is no arrhythmia. His heartbeat is good and strong. Pulse a little high but that’s just Max.
“Can I take your blood pressure?” He might as well since Max is cooperating. If he had the right equipment here, he would have liked to take some bloods. Check his liver function and iron levels just to make sure. But he knows not to push it. And Max usually cooperates with the twice-yearly full health check Tom insists on.
Max’s eyeroll comes as no surprise. He still lets his jacket fall off his shoulders, sliding onto the floor with a thud to expose the pale arms underneath. They could both do with an afternoon in the sun. Maybe a long walk around the waterfront?
“Did you send Lukas flowers today, Dad?”
Yep. Here we go. And Tom is blushing as he removes the blood pressure cuff and spends a ridiculous amount of time placing the equipment back into the drawer.
“Do you think it was too much?” Tom reluctantly replies. He didn’t think. Just went with the impulse of it all.
“Dad. He’s a bloke. What the hell is he supposed to do with a bunch of flowers?” Max is smirking. Like he is quite amused. Like it’s funny.
“I don’t know, give them to his Mum or something? I googled and there were boxes of handmade chocolate pralines and biscuit tins with hearts on them and catering packs of KexChoklad, or you could have some dude come home on a Sunday morning and bake you bloody breakfast rolls but that didn’t sound appropriate to me.” Tom is waving his hands around and pointing at the screen of the laptop. “It’s a Danish thing, some dude will turn up at your house and bake morning rolls in the buff and play guitar as you eat them. Fucking hell.”
He probably looks a little deranged himself, all flustered and embarrassed as Max takes another bite of dried sausage and shakes his head.
“Dad, I think you need to try a little harder. Lukas is cool. He probably has some shit hot boyfriend in the wings and you need to compete with that. Flowers are not going to cut it.”
“There’s this steak restaurant that will deliver dinner, with wine, and the food is already cooked except you flash fry the steak at home to get it to perfection. It had some kind of money back guarantee.” Tom is tapping away at the keyboard whilst Max giggles.
“Oh, Dad.”
“What?”
“You can’t send the bloke a steak.”
“Why not? Everyone likes steak? And it comes with a suitable bottle of red wine?”
“Maybe you should just talk to him?”
“He hates me. I need to do something nice for him to make him happy. So, he doesn’t hate me as much.”
“Talking to him and maybe spending some time with him will make him see that you are a nice bloke and he won’t hate you.” Yeah, Max doesn’t look convinced either.
“Go big or go home,” Tom sighs.
“So, limousine and red roses and someone playing the violin outside his front door?”
Tom actually laughs. It’s ridiculous. He hasn’t got a clue. Despite having spent most of the day googling ‘How to get your man’. He won’t mention the articles he has read on cock sucking, though. He’s not quite ready to face the fact that sucking Lukas’s cock might be very high up on his life goals list right now. Despite it being a terrifying thought.
“Max, help me out. How do I get him to like me? I have apologised, and I have made an arse out of myself by sending him flowers.”
“Did Lukas text you?” Max is on his fourth sausage. And Tom grabs the last one from the pack and chews furiously. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that Lukas isn’t his and it’s not fair that Max ate all the sausages. Tom loves these fucking sausages.
“Yes. I assume you gave him my number.”
“He told me to tell you to back off. I told him to do it himself. Along with your number.” Max snorts and walks over to the fridge, taking large gulps out of the orange juice carton and Tom just sighs. Whatever. He does it himself. “What did he say?” Max is smirking. His eyes twinkling with laughter.
Tom can’t help letting another embarrassed smile escape.
“Told me to fuck off and never contact him again. Tough. I now have his number.” Tom smiles triumphantly and raises a hand to high five his son who slides effortlessly back into the chair, shoving a handful of crisps in his mouth, chewing and spitting crumbs all over the table.
He might have the worst table manners in the history of table manners, but Max is laughing and Tom will gladly make a complete fool out of himself every day for the rest of his life if this is the reaction he is going to get.
“So maybe you should text him back? Say, sorry about the flowers and that you are a complete novice at trying to woo the love of your life and that you have a lifetime of mistakes to make up for and that you love him and want to do indescribably dirty kinky shit to his body and …” Max has kind of run out of steam whilst Tom is banging his head against the table top.
“Please don’t mention cock sucking. I can’t talk about cock sucking. Not yet.”
He doesn’t mean it. Really. He has questions about cock sucking. Questions that are totally inappropriate to ask his son and that Google has been most unhelpful in answering.
“Maybe you should ask Lukas for advice? Say you have no clue about sex and need some tips?”