Classic Rock Shorts

Not in That Way (TayTay)

Chris pulls into the driveway of the home he shares with his husband. Roger should be cooking dinner by now, it's roast Sunday and even though Roger can't use a microwave or boil an egg right to save his life, he can make a good roast in the slow cooker and remains convinced that having mastered one dish as a point of pride makes him a master chef. Chris is not inclined to argue. The slow-cooked meat is tender and pull apart delicious.

Chris wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he was beginning to drool on himself. He grabs the grocery bag of fresh veggies and heads inside, locking the car behind him. Humming  a tune to himself, he makes his way up the porch steps and unlocks the door, the keys jingling. "Hey baby, I'm home!"

When he hears no answer Chris frowns and proceeds to the kitchen. The slow cooker is on the counter. A heavenly smell dances around the room and Chris goes over to it. There's a small note. Chris gently picks up the paper.

I’m in the basement, doing the load of laundry you forgot about last night, you lazy bastard, the note reads. Do NOT touch the food! Rog x

Chris relaxes and takes the lid off the cooker. It looks so delicious already, Roger won't know if he takes a bite. He gently grabs a fork and scoops up a piece, putting it against his lips. The meat melts in his mouth. The sweet tangy barbecue taste is heavenly. Roger is a godsend. Chris’s deep sense of domestic bliss is ruined by a scream downstairs.

He jerks his head around and starts to go to the basement quickly. The door bangs off the wall and Roger is breathing heavily as he drops the basket of clothes. He looks worried about something seeing it’s just Chris he smiles. It’s almost eerie but Chris shrugs it off as seeing things,

“Hey babe you’re home! You scared me there!” Roger laughs,

“Is that why you screamed?” Chris laughs.

“Nah I stubbed my toe!” Roger giggles,

“You’re so dramatic, babe!”

Roger shakes his head and hugs Chris. Roger tilts his head seeing sauce above his lip. “You tried the food… Don’t want you to figure out the secret ingredient.” He pouts,

“Oh, don’t worry, you know I won’t. I can’t tell basil from thyme.” Chris kisses his head and heads down the hallway to use the bathroom.

“That would explain why you’re always late,” Roger calls after him. “Just can’t tell the thyme!”

“Comedic genius, you are,” Chris chuckles, playfully flipping him off as he goes. He glances at a nice black and white lamp by the living room doorway. Since when has that been there? Chris rubs his eyes and heads to the bathroom, maybe he’s just not remembering right. Once he’s done and washing his hands, Chris pauses and looks at the shower curtain. Since when has it had red flowers on it? When he walks back down the hall, the lampshade sports a bunch of cheerful, yellow duckies.

Chris swallows and hurries to the kitchen, overcome with a creeping sense of wrong and wanting Roger for comfort. “Babe, I-I think I’m getting sick.”

Roger quickly sets aside the bag he was pouring into the slow cooker. “Oh baby.”

He leads Chris away from the counter, kisses his forehead, and brings him into the living room.. “Just rest up, yeah?”

“Are you sure? Maybe the meat’s gone bad or something…” says Chris, shaking his head.

Roger chuckles. “You wouldn’t get food poisoning that fast, even if it’s the meat.”

Chris rubs his forehead, glancing at Roger, who is smiling sweetly. Maybe he is getting sick, because Roger's smile seems off, but he can’t put a finger on how or why. Settling down on the sofa, Chris rubs his eyes and puts on the telly.