𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙐𝙥.

News.

When it was all over, West collapsed beside Killian with a huff, his chest heaving like he'd just run up a hill. Killian stared up at the ceiling, his skin still tingling, lips parted in a lazy grin.

"Wow." Killian breathed.

West smiled to himself, being intimate with Killian had been even better than he imagined.

"Wow." He echoed

They turned to look at each other, and in the space between that one look, their serious expressions cracked, and they both burst out laughing.

Killian nudged him with his foot. "Do you think Paul heard us?"

West groaned immediately, dragging a hand over his face.

"Why would you say that? Ew. No. Gross. I do not wanna think about my dad right now."

Killian snickered, folding his arms behind his head.

"I'm just saying... you weren't exactly quiet."

"I was quiet." West responded jokingly, "You were the one moaning like you were being exorcised."

"Sorry I'm not dead inside like you." Killian teased.

West threw a pillow in his direction, "Shut up."

"You shut up." Killian giggled, catching the pillow before it hit his face.

West didn't argue. He just gazed at him, running his fingers across Killian's face like he was trying to memorize it. Killian's eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the touch like it was something sacred.

Without a word, they pulled each other in, legs tangling, arms wrapping around each other, and breaths syncing as the last of the laughter faded into something softer.
-------

The stairs creaked beneath their feet as West and Killian descended the stairs, hands still tangled together like neither wanted to break whatever invisible thread last night's events had spun around them.
West's hair was still a mess, and Killian wore one of his oversized shirts like it belonged to him now, which it sort of did.

The house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that hinted at awareness.

As they stepped into the living room, they were hit with the scent of burnt toast and instant coffee. The TV played cartoons, hoewever, they were muted for some reason. Paul sat on the recliner, mug in hand. Regina sat beside him, cross-legged on the couch, eyes already on them.

Paul cleared his throat. It was one of those meaningful, fatherly throat clears, the kind that carried generations of I know what you did in a single sound.

"You two have fun?" He asked none-too-casually.

West's face fell into his palm. "Seriously?"

"What?" Paul shrugged like it was a simple question. "Just asking."

"Don't ask." West muttered. "Jesus. No one needs that visual. Least of all you."

Killian chuckled under his breath, trying to cover it with the back of his hand.

"Speaking of sex--" Paul began,

"No one is speaking of sex!" West interrupted, louder now, shaking his head like he could shake off the conversation entirely. "God."

"I know, I know." Paul laughed, "Just figured now's a good time. We've got news."

Regina set her mug down gently. West glanced at her, unsure if he should brace or run.

"Oh boy." He muttered.

"Or girl." Paul smirked, like he'd just made the joke of the century.

There was a pause.