baby, I'll show you the world [muke af]

Nashville, Tennessee (Friday, July 5th, 2019)

Nashville, Tennessee (Friday, July 5th, 2019)

Ashton opened his eyes first, surprised at his ability to sleep all the way until nine. (He doesn't count waking up to vomit as waking up). He pushed Calum off of his chest, the younger boy hitting his own pillow with a thump.

Ever since the Michael and Luke incident last evening, Ashton has really been thinking. He doesn't ever want to feel any form of hatred for Calum, not even a slither. He never wants to feel stuck or tied down, no matter how much devotion he has for his partner.

Cal wiggled his nose and breathed in deeply as he woke up himself. "Sleepy," he said with a yawn. He didn't get home from Mike's gig until close to four in the morning, he only had time to strip from his skinny jeans before falling flat into bed.

"Cal, I—I don't think I want to get married."

Cal peaked open one eye. "To me, or at all?" He asked.
Ashton watched him stretch out his back, all the muscles flexing so perfectly before answering him, "At all. Luke was such a mess, and, like, I don't know." He cracked his fingers nervously, not sure what Calum was going to say. He could be angry, he could easily be angry.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind being married, but we don't have to. As long as you and the girls are happy, I don't care what we are or what we do." Calum rubbed a hand through his hair, hating the feeling of old hairspray and dry shampoo.

"How did I end up so lucky?" Ashton rolled onto his stomach, then continued to roll until he landed on top of Calum.

Cal held his hips then pecked at his lips. "This may be cheesy, but I ask myself that every day."

Michael's mother handed him a large, wooden tray. "Now, you go make up to him, or I will kick you out of this house. Understand?"

"Yes, Mommy," Mike said with a roll of his eyes.

Ms. Clifford slapped the back of his head. "Don't you dare start with me, young man." She turned her back, going back to their poshly-furnished living room to finish her Southern Living magazine. Michael wondered if this was what her life was going to be like once retired.

He slowly made his way up the secret staircase by the kitchen, taking the thin, squeaky steps to the right wing of their second floor. Luke refused to sleep in Michael's bedroom. Technically, he didn't refuse, but he moved his luggage in the second story guest room, and he was fast asleep by the time his husband checked on him.

Michael made it to the bedroom door as he slowly began to slip in. Luke looked up from his phone—of course he was on his phone. He pulled the white sheets closer to his bare body as he looked his husband up and down with a solemn look.

"Hey," Mike said, taking a bigger step into the room. He closed the door behind him with his foot, a soft slam echoing through the quiet room.

"Hi." Luke's greeting was short, him not really wanting to start a conversation. But, at the same time, all he wanted was to start a conversation. They had two more months of tour and a hell of a lot more years of marriage to get through. Neither man was one to give up so fast, it wasn't really a thought that crossed their mind.

Michael placed the tray of breakfast for them on the left side of the bed. Even without Mikey in bed, Luke left his space open. "I brought some breakfast. I didn't make it, you know me, but I tried."

"It burned, didn't it?" Luke asked, a smile on his lips. The smile quickly faded as he remember that he was mad. He sat up in bed, his legs crossed underneath him as he fluffed the pillow up around his sore back.

Mike nodded, "Mom wanted to call the fire department."

Luke took a ceramic plate, pouring syrup on the side before grabbing two warm pancakes. Michael didn't even bother bringing up silverware, he knew neither of the boys would use it.

Mike began to eat, trying to figure out how to start this. He didn't know if he should jump in or apologize or put Luke in a good mood first. He tore off the sides of the pancake, mentally admiring his mother's godlike cooking. "So, I'm kind of a soggy lamp shade."

Luke nodded, "You should continue."

He shrugged his small shoulders. "I don't know. I feel like a stupid thirteen year old around his middle school crush sometimes. Like, I need to be mean and cruel to get them to notice me."

"I'm you husband."

"You're such a dream, that I often forget that."

Luke loved being married to a writer. He hated being married to a writer at the same time. Maybe he just gives in too easily, but every word falling from Michael's mouth was so lovely and filled with such compassion, Luke was under such a thick spell for him. "I'm sensitive, you know that," Luke whispered before shoving half a pancake in his mouth. He didn't want to talk—food solved his problem.

"I know, especially about the whole kids things. Do you wanna talk about that?" Michael took off the plate of pancakes, placing it the left of Luke's bony legs. He lifted up the tray, carefully lowering it to the ground without spilling the remaining contents. He started to get under the covers, placing their breakfast on top of his lap.

Luke watched him cuddle into the blankets, a warmth washing over both of their bodies. The older blonde nodded. "I want a civilized conversation about it, Michael."

"Well, I thought I wanted kids, I'm sure you remember. But, I'm scared. Lukey, you see how much the twins are like Cashton, I don't want our kid or kids to end up like me. I fucking hate myself, I don't want them like me."

Luke turned his head, as if it would help him hear better. He wanted to tell himself that he heard Michael wrong. "You hate yourself?"

"Not as much as I used to, but I still don't love myself. I don't want a mini-half-me running around here. They'll grow up, and they'll hate themselves, too. What if they don't have an escape like I did? I don't want my kid dying before me!" Michael's jaw started to quiver on instinct.

"You're thinking way too deep into this. They'll have two loving parents who love them and each other, they'll have a stable household, they'll have anything they could ever need." Luke pushed the empty plate off of his lap, putting it on the vintage side tables that probably cost more than his first apartment—each. "Plus, they'll be hella cute. Can't you imagine it?"

Michael looked down at his fingers, feeling extremely weak. "Maybe if they look like you."

"No, definitely not. They need your genes. They can have you sloped nose, the skin rounded at the bottom. Maybe your eyes, one blue one green. They should have your round shoulders and wide hips, they'll have the worst luck if they end up with mine."
"If they have your feet, they'll always trip over everything," Michael said with a laugh.

"They'll have your eyelashes, and win over the hearts of every human. Maybe even non-human."

Michael cautiously put his arm around Luke's shoulder, pulling him closer until his head laid on Mike's angled chest. "Do you love me just for my genetics?"

"Yeah, it's called good planning," Luke joked. He looked up at his husband, finally.

"I'm sorry for embarrassing you. They were all too drunk to remember, anyways."

"If you do that again, I will cut off your balls," he threatened.

"Fine, then you won't be able to get my genetics."

Luke sat up, leaning up on his arm until his collarbone stuck out. "Yes, I can. Ever hear of a test-tube baby?"

"Lucas, too far. I am not your sperm donor. I buy you dinner, too." Michael put two fingers under Luke's chin, pulling him close until their lips met in the middle. Everything was so warm and cozy, exactly the way it was supposed to be.

(a/n) do you guys read this just to cool down from reading "it's me".

what're you gonna do when that ends next week, hm? are you gonna start yelling at me for cyril in  "blondie" again?"

i'm kidding, i love you all so much. you mean the world and more to me.