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He’d just finished draining the pasta and was stirring in the sauce when the front door opened and closed. Tristan came into the kitchen and leaned against his back, wrapping his arms around Leo’s waist. “Hey, babe,” he mumbled against the nape of Leo’s neck.
“Hey.” Leo put the spoon down and turned in Tristan’s arms, pressing their foreheads together. “Busy day, love?”
Tristan groaned. “So busy. Why am I doing this again?”
“Because it’s your life’s dream?”
“Is it, though?” Tristan scrunched up his face. “Seems fake.”
“It is,” Leo said. “You told me yourself that you’ve always wanted to be a dent—maxillofacial surgeon like your dad.”
“You forgot the oral,” Tristan grumbled.
Leo grinned. “No, I didn’t. I’m saving it for after dinner.”
Tristan stared at him. “I can’t believe I walked right into that. I’m blaming the fact I’m so fucking tired.”
“Too tired for me to take you to bed and make you come your brains out?” Leo asked, one eyebrow raised.
“I said tired, babe, not dead.”
Leo laughed—he seemed to be doing a lot more of that now that Tristan was in his life—and nudging Tris gently aside, plated their food.
They ate by candlelight in the dining room, and so much for Leo’s idea of a perfect romantic dinner, because the combination of low lighting, wine, and carbs worked hard and fast against Tristan. He was nodding off by the time he was halfway through his carbonara.
“Oh, shit,” he said, jolting upright when Leo reached to clear his plate away. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Leo said, and bent to kiss his temple. “My sexy surgeon has been working a lot of back-to-back shifts.”
“I love my job,” Tristan said. “And I know I have to complete my surgical rotation to qualify, which is fine. But also, I can’t wait to go into private practice with Dad. Like, you’re just finished up, and you think ‘Okay, I can grab an hour’s sleep in the on-call room’, then some drunken idiot drives his motorcycle into the wall of the Harbour Tunnel, and suddenly you’re holding his spleen while your boss tries to put him back together like the world’s wettest, slipperiest jigsaw puzzle.”
“Thank you for that,” Leo said, his mouth twitching. “That was truly a beautiful image. Dessert?”
Tristan’s laugh was rueful. “Sorry. You know what? I would really just love a shower, then for you and me to go to bed. Can we have dessert tomorrow instead?”
“Of course we can,” Leo said. “You go upstairs and get in the shower, and I’ll clean up here.” He picked up Tristan’s plate. “Did your motorcyclist make it?”
Tristan smiled. “Yeah. It was a good result. He’s still an idiot, though.” He let out a jaw-cracking yawn and stretched his arms over his head. “Shower and bed.”
“And a blow job to help you sleep?” Leo suggested. He figured anyone who’d spent a portion of the day holding a dripping spleen probably needed something to take their mind off it.
“Aw, babe, you know all my favourite things!”
Leo slapped him on the arse to get him moving. “Get upstairs. I’ll meet you there.”
Tristan scrambled up the stairs with more energy than he’d shown so far.
A moment later, in the kitchen, Leo heard the shower start. These days it was a faint whisper rather than an ominous banging in the walls. The stairs didn’t even creak when Leo climbed them.
He leaned in the bathroom doorway. “Need help scrubbing your back?”
“No,” Tristan said, pulling the door open. He leaned out, dripping on the bathmat. “My dick won’t suck itself, though.”
“Oh, smooth,” Leo said, laughing as he began to strip.
“You love me anyway.”
“I really fucking do,” Leo agreed. He bundled his clothes into the hamper, then stepped into the shower. “For some crazy reason, I really do.”
