For Keeps

43. The straight ace and the honeymooners.

{Cary}

No one stirred Saturday morning at the normal time for human and cat breakfast, and no one appeared downstairs by the time the sun was high in the sky. Finally, Misty trotted upstairs and jumped on Cary's bed, her little paws poking his legs through the blankets as she walked up his body to peer in his face, ears pricked, meowing a question.

Cary opened one eye at her. "I'm up." For once his hip had been quiet and let him lay in a couple hours. With a groan, he hefted himself out of bed and followed Misty's bobbing tail out of his bedroom.

There was a trail of discarded clothing down the hallway--Kurt's peacock suit jacket hung off-kilter on the end of the stair rail; Jon's sequinned top was crumpled outside the bathroom door.

Cary rolled his eyes, huffing a quiet laugh. "Subtle."

He stumped down the stairs to use the tiny main floor washroom, preferring to skip whatever further evidence of the midnight strip-show that might await in his master bath. Jon would make it all disappear the moment he got up--he must have been fairly preoccupied not to have done that already.

Cary put the yule log and carols on the TV and moved around the kitchen, getting Misty her breakfast and putting on a coffee. There were a dozen little touches in this room that reminded him of his housemates, from Jon's tea cup upside down on the sideboard, to Kurt's roses opening among the Christmas greenery on the table. It pretty much summed up his mixed feelings--it was super awkward to be a straight ace living with a pair of honeymooning gays right now, but as time went by he was going to miss them both.

Sure he'd enjoy going to bed early without having to wear his noise-cancelling headphones. But the thought of sitting down to a single-serving meal at this table, alone night after night, was so fucking depressing it took a moment to get over it.

Cary leaned down to stroke Misty's furry head while she 'nommed' down on her food. "Guess it's just gonna be you and me, Cat. Nice and quiet."

Sighing, he dropped into his chair and changed the channel to National Geographic. At some point in the next couple months, he guessed meercat tribes and intrepid Alaskan vets were going to be keeping him company full time.

He heard the creak of the shower running, and then steps padding down the stairs. Jon peeked around the arched doorway, his eyes softly glowing under his damp, rumpled hair. Traces of eyeliner still smudged his eyelids. Grinning, Jon held up his arms.

"I'm not a virgin!" he declared, his voice full of laughter.

Cary choked on his coffee. "Uh--congratulations?"

Jon giggled, disappearing into the kitchen. Cary shook his head, rubbing his bearded, blushing cheek. Apparently that had been weighing on Jon's mind. He guessed he just wouldn't know anything about that.

"Do you want eggs?" Jon called. "Or almond-flour pancakes?"

"Pancakes," Cary said, getting to his feet and joining him. "Want me to make coffee?"

"Uh-huh," Jon said, narrowing his eyes in a smile. "I stayed up way too late with Kurt last night."

"How was the night--uh, overall?" Cary asked cautiously.

Jon glanced up. "Mixed. Overall."

Cary frowned sideways at him--this was unexpected. "You okay?"

Jon waved his hand. "Very much yes--sorry, not that. Kurt was amazing, start to finish. And I loved everything." A private smile curved Jon's mouth as he cracked eggs into a bowl. "It turns out I am--um, versatile."