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Irish Cuddle
by Juli
Unfortunately for the lovers, Steve’s bedroom at the Malibu home he shared with his father was located directly under the kitchen stairs.
“Ugh,” Jesse Travis moaned. “Does he do that *every* morning?”
Suffering too much himself from a hangover similar to his bedmate’s, Steve didn’t offer the younger man much sympathy. “The singing? Yes, that’s every morning.” The detective cracked an eyelid open only when a loud clattering joined the sound of his father’s cheerful tune. “The jig’s new, though. Must be in honor of St. Patrick’s Day.”
The other man grabbed Steve’s arm and attempted to wrap it around his head, as if it were a pillow he was using to block out the noise. “But that was yesterday,” Jesse complained.
Steve pried the other eyelid open. “Jess, have you ever known my dad to celebrate a holiday - *any* holiday - for only one day? We’ll be lucky if he drops the Irish brogue by the end of the week.”
In spite of his discomfort, the young doctor chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
Steve waited for the reality of their situation to hit his lover. Counting under his breath, the detective only got to seven before Jesse sat straight up in bed, a panicked expression on his face.
“Omigod,” the younger man panted. “We’re in bed…together… at your house… with Mark right upstairs! Steve, he’ll figure it out!” Instinctively, the doctor clutched the covers to his chest, as though Mark Sloan could see him right through the floor.
Stifling a groan, Steve struggled to sit. He didn’t have the heart to tell his lover that his father had probably figured out that Steve was attracted to Jesse before Steve had. “Just calm down, babe. He’s upstairs, we’re downstairs. We’ll just be real quiet until Dad leaves for work.”
“Okay, okay. We’ll just be quiet. Real quiet. That’ll work.” Jesse took a deep breath as he made a valiant attempt to settle himself. Turning a pale face towards Steve, he even gave him a shaky smile, no doubt meaning it to be reassuring.
Steve Sloan didn’t take it personally that his lover virtually started hyperventilating at the thought of his dad finding out about their relationship. The older man was aware of Jesse’s history and knew his mate’s hesitation had nothing to do with being ashamed of Steve and everything to do with worrying over Mark’s reaction. Steve knew he had a firm first place in his lover’s heart but Mark had a close, if platonic, second. Jesse had already lost one father due to his sexuality, he was terrified of losing his mentor over it as well.
Unfortunately, the detective’s musings were cut short by the distinctive creak of his father’s footsteps on the stairs.
Frozen in horror at the sound, Jesse just stared at the door, a glazed expression on his face. Although Steve didn’t share the dread of Mark’s reaction that his lover had, neither did he relish the thought of being caught in bed with his boyfriend like a wayward teenager.
“Bathroom,” Steve hissed at his bed partner. “Quick!”
With a muffled squeak, Jesse tumbled gracelessly from the bed and dove into the small bathroom that was adjacent to the bedroom. Moving quickly, Steve fluffed the covers, trying to hide the evidence. Practicing skills he hadn’t needed to utilize since high school, the forty-something man had managed to flop back on the mattress and slacken his features into a semblance of sleep right as his father opened the door.
“Steve?” Marked called cautiously. “You up? I thought I heard you stirring.”
“I’m awake,” The younger Sloan said. “I don’t think I qualify as ‘up’ yet, though.”
As his father entered the room, Steve noticed that the older man was carrying a tray. He didn’t have a chance to see what was on it, however, before his dad turned to set his burden on the dresser. Then, the elderly doctor turned and leaned against the bureau while he appraised his son with a knowing eye.
“From the looks of you,” Mark teased, “you and Jesse had one heck of a pub crawl last night.”
The detective grimaced. “I didn’t have a choice. Jess claimed that Los Angeles couldn’t beat Chicago’s celebration of St. Paddy’s. It was a challenge.”
“Uh-huh,” his father said, not convinced. “And who won?”
Steve didn’t answer him directly. “Never challenge a city willing to dye a whole river green. You can’t win, trust me.”
Mark laughed, shaking his head. “I could have told you that.” The father gave his boy a paternal look. “Please tell me that neither one of you drove home last night.”
His son rolled his eyes. Some things never changed. “No. We took advantage of the reduced cab fares for the night. That reminds me - I might need you to drive me out to pick up my car later.”
“I’d be happy to,” Mark answered. “I brought you some of the secret Sloan hangover cure. Guaranteed to work wonders for those who have overindulged… as long as you don’t make a habit out of needing it too often.” Gentle admonishment delivered, the old man headed for the door but turned at the last minute for a final comment. “I hope Jesse’s better off than you are.” Then, with a wink, he headed back upstairs.
Steve’s eyes darted back over to the dresser. Sure enough, the tray had *two* glasses of hangover cure on it.
The cop pulled himself out of bed and stumbled across the room. “Jess,” he said softly, tapping on the door. “It’s safe to come out now. He’s gone.”
“In a minute,” came the younger man’s response.
Steve took one of the glasses and drained it one gulp. He didn’t know what his father used in the concoction, but it worked. It tasted awful, no doubt as an encouragement not to need it very often, but it did do the job.
“Oh, man,” Jesse said as he leaned against the doorframe. “Green beer always seems like a good idea when you’re drinking it, but the next day,” the young doctor shuddered. “Well, it’s not as appetizing.”
Steve didn’t like the wan look on his lover’s face. Grabbing the other glass, he crossed over to where Jesse stood. “Here, drink this. It should help.”
The shorter blond looked at the glass doubtfully. The viscous liquid didn’t exactly inspire thirst. Taking a delicate whiff at its contents, he recoiled sharply. “Ugh. What’s in this stuff?”
“Trust me, you probably don’t want to know,” Steve answered him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he pinned his lover with an authoritative look. “Just drink it, it’s good for you. It’s Dad’s special hangover cure.”
Thinking fast, Jesse tried to hand the glass back to his lover. “No, Mark brought this down for you.” Wide, guileless eyes looked up at Steve. “I couldn’t accept a potion that a father specially prepared for his son, it wouldn’t be right.”
“Guess again, babe,” Steve held up the other glass, already empty. “He brought two. Now drink up.”
Jesse responded automatically to the command, a fact that Steve soon regretted. As with when he’d first awakened, the import of the older man’s statement didn’t hit the doctor right away and he was halfway through his tonic when he realized what it meant. The reactionary sputtering resulted in more of the nasty stuff being spit out on Steve than going down Jesse’s throat.
“*Two* glasses?” The doctor gasped.
“Yes, two,” Steve dryly answered, flicking stray droplets of hangover cure off his bare chest. Seeing the dismay on his lover’s face, though, he quickly moved to comfort the younger man. Hurrying over to him, he gently took Jesse into his arms, glass and all. “Jess, it’s all right. You know my dad and he’s nothing like your father. Us being lovers isn’t going to be a problem with him.”
“I know, I know, but what if….”
“What if nothing,” Steve firmly interrupted. “My dad’s the most accepting person I know.” The detective smiled. “Besides, he doesn’t make hangover cure for just anybody. That alone should tell you that he’s okay with us being together.”
Jesse looked at his half-full glass ruefully. “Yeah, unless he’s trying to poison me.” The young man thought for a moment, then his expression became more resolute. Moving decisively, he drank the rest of his hangover potion in one gulp. Then, he deliberately placed the glass on the dresser before snuggling deeper into Steve’s arms. “You’re right. Mark’s a great guy. I’m worrying for nothing.” Looking up at the taller man, he hesitantly made a suggestion. “You suppose we should go up and join him for breakfast? Thanks to that cure of his, I might actually be able to eat something.”
Steve considered. “In a minute,” the detective said, keeping his arms wrapped around his lover and walking him backwards towards the bed. “but, we were too sloshed last night to do anything but strip down to our boxers and fall into bed.”
Jesse saw the glint in his mate’s eye and grinned. A heartbeat later, however, he remember where he was. “Steve! Your dad’s right upstairs - he’ll hear us!”
“Serves the meddler right,” Steve declared, bending in to sloppily kiss the other man’s neck. Lifting his head, he waggled his eyebrows and, in a Irish accent so bad that it made his father’s seem almost authentic in comparison, added, “Hmmmm…. magically delicious!”
Upstairs, Mark heard the laughter and smiling fondly, moved his pancake fixings back into the refrigerator. From the sounds of it, it looked like the boys were going to be late for breakfast.
~ the end ~