blondie [muke af]

twenty five

twenty five

Michael hit his head on the desk. He was beyond exhausted, yet the clock hasn't hit noon yet. He was surrounded by paperwork that he needed to sign, but he hasn't read any of it.

He lifted his head once more, placing it against his bent arm as he opened another vanilla folder, his green eyes aching as he read the first few sentences.

Luke rolled around on the couch, trying to find a comfortable spot. The cramps in his lower stomach were beyond painful as he couldn't move. Luke buried his head under the blue blanket laying upon his body, trying to fall asleep.

"Are you alright?" Cy asked from the opposite couch.

"I'm in so much pain right now," he cried out, his voice wavering.

Cyril's eyes widened as he realized Luke was serious, "Do you want me to call Mikey?"

"No, don't bother him," Luke answered. He peaked his head out from the blanket cocoon he made for himself. He grumbled as he rolled onto his stomach. Applying pressure to the pain only made it worse as he yelped out in pain, tears prickling his eyes.

"Michael Clifford of C & C Incorporations," he grumbled into the phone. His eyes were half closed as The 1975 played from his computer. Mike did indeed grant himself a nap time.

"Hey, bro, it's me," Cyril said, his voice calm and quiet.

"Oh, what's up? Is everything alright?" Michael sat up in his seat, suddenly waking himself up and turning off the music. He rolled the sleeves of his button down up more. Even with the air conditioning blasting he still remained sweltering hot.

"Luke didn't want me to call you, but he's really sick and I'm a little worried," he said. Cyril was sitting in his bedroom, his wooden door closed and lights turned low.

"Do you know his symptoms?" Michael asked, sounding more like a father than a partner.

"He's just complaining about his stomach and cramps," Cy responded.

"Is he still throwing up? He was this morning and it was—."

Both boys realized it at the same time. Neither said anything.

"Holy shit, Mike," Cy said quietly, "you got him pregnant!"

Michael would laugh if he wasn't still trying to accept it. His mind was flowing with every other possibility, it could be something he ate? It could be a bug? Maybe flu? "I'll be there in half an hour," Michael said before hanging up the phone.

He started shutting off his computer as he tried to wrap up his half eaten lunch with his other hand. Mike sat back in his seat, a smile wide spread so wide on his lip that it could split his face in two.

Luke had a wet wash cloth on his forehead when Cy came down for lunch. The fifteen-year-old was dressed even though he hasn't left the house in two weeks and wasn't planning on leaving any day soon.

"Mike is coming home," he announced before walking into the kitchen.

"What? Why?" Luke called. Their house plan was rather open, the living room attached to the kitchen, only separated by a wall with three arches.

"You're sick," Cy answered, putting something in the microwave.

Luke listened to the buzz of the microwave as the smell of a tuna melt filled the air. A wave of nausea wiped over him. He took the wash cloth over his head, trying to start looking alive before his fiancé got home. "Did you call him? I told you not to!"

"I felt it was my duty as your future brother-in-law," he said as he sat down on the opposite couch once again. "Besides, it's not like he actually wanted to be at work."

Over the last two months of Cy's summer break, he practically inhabited the living room as his own. His laptop was on the black ottoman, a few pairs of cords and earbuds laying next to it. Blankets and matching pillows (thanks to Luke) were on his couch.

Luke cringed at the smell of the tuna as he left for the bathroom. He held his hands on the insides of his hips, massaging his lower torso where it hurt the most.

The blonde closed the bathroom door behind him, leaning over the sink and splashing water on his makeup-less face. He warm hands patted his cheeks a few times, trying to add color back to the pale skin.

Michael parked in the garage next to the other cars, killing the ignition and jumping out. He carried his briefcase and computer case with him as he headed towards the house.

Once entered the house, greeted with the usual sounds; some CD playing from the sitting room, the television on in the living room, a conversation going between Luke and Cyril.

"It's gross!" Luke's voice filled the echoing household.

"It's just tuna!" Cy responded, putting the plate under Luke's nose as he walked past.

Luke gagged, trying to hold his vomit down. "I'm never buying that for you again. Even if it's on the shopping list."

Michael walked into the kitchen, placing his work items on the stone ground. "I am home," he announced.

"Go back to work," Luke said, laying on the couch with a blanket on his lower half.

Michael chuckled, walking over to place the back of his hands on Luke's forehead. "How're you feeling?"

"Perfect, go to work," he answered, looking up at Michael with glassy blue eyes. "You don't need to come home every time something little goes wrong."

Mike got up, finding the remote and turning off the large screen hanging off the walls. Young Rising Sons was still playing from a few rooms over, but the dark-haired boy left it on. He looked up at his brother, giving him a look.

Cyril gladly accepted it, running upstairs to his room, his other dungeon.

Michael unbuttoned his work shirt, leaving him in only his white undershirt and grey slacks. He sat at the end of couch, patting his lap for Luke to come over.

The almost-thirty-year-old rolled his eyes as he sat up, repositioning himself so his head was now laying on Michael's lap, their eyes staring back at each other. "Let's talk," Mike said.

"I don't want to," Luke responded, closing his eyes and brushing a hand through his hair. He curled up into a ball, the pain in his stomach starting to subside. His face was in Michael's clothed crotch which would probably be odd, misleading, or uncomfortable in any other situation.

"I think we need to," he put his own hand in Luke's hair, softly tugging at the sweaty strings of the dirty blonde color. "Are you really just sick?"

"Are you trying to imply I'm faking?" Luke laughed, opening one eye and looking at Mike.

"No, it's just—fuck, you're making this difficult." Michael tilted his head back, his Adam's apple poking out and bobbing as he swallowed. This was harder than anything he has ever had to do. "Luke, are you pregnant?"

"I don't know," he whispered, rolling onto his back again and looking at the vaulted ceilings.

"Do you think you are?" He asked, tilting his head back down to look at the tired boy with dark purple lines under his eyes.

"Maybe."

"Babe, you've gotta give me some type of answer here," Michael sighed.

Luke sat up, crossing his legs underneath his body like a kindergartener. He looked down at his hands, the skin around his nails peeling. Michael watched him with fascinated, he was so utterly in love with the boy in front of him. From the stoop in his nose to the tiny toes on his thin feet. "Yeah, I am."

Michael grinned like a child, pouncing on Luke and kissing his entire face. Luke laughed as he made himself small underneath Michael. He turned his face to the side as Michael continued to leave kisses in every possible space of Luke's face. "That's amazing!" He spoke with such gratitude and happiness.

Luke giggled wrapping his arms around Michael's neck, he wasn't sure how they ended up here.