Find My Way Home [m×m; mpreg]

twenty four

I flinch at the sudden sound of shouting.  Ian left my room nearly half an hour ago with a look of intent and determination in his eyes.  I heave myself up from bed and limp toward the door, following the sound to my dad's study.  My heart stops when I hear them talk.

"I'm the baby's father," Ian says.

I hear dad laugh, a chuckle full of amusement that dies when Ian doesn't join in.

"You're joking... right?," my dad asks, voice growling as anger begins to set in.

"I'm not.  The baby Morgan carries is mine."

"You're... you're serious?" A pause, "Do you know how wrong that is? How wrong it is to involve yourself sexually with your own brother?"

"But that's just it," Ian sighs, voice growing soft and tired, "all those years ago, when you said you weren't even sure if I was your son... you said it didn't matter.  But it mattered to me, especially when I started falling for Morgan."

"Don't you dare," dad threatens.

"Please," Ian begs, "Please just listen to me."

It takes a few minutes of silence before I can picture my dad agree with a nod.

"The year I disappeared, I left because I knew Morgan was falling for me too.  I wanted to put space between us because I did know, I always knew, it was wrong.  I was conflicted, I certainly wasn't a pedophile (in case that's your concern) and at first I didn't even feel the same way, I never saw that little toddler trotting about and falling over as the person I'd fall in love with.  It was so morally wrong, thinking of each other as brothers and having these festering feelings of... of devouring him.  It was wrong.  I tried everything, I even put up a farce of an engagement, but I couldn't.  I fell for him so hard.  These past few months have been hell and frustrating and it was only after I had already hurt Morgan that I found out the truth.  I found out that I'm not really your son.  I never was, Max.  You said it didn't matter then, but it matters now.  I should be sad and angry and pissed, hell you should be too.  We were both lied to by my mother.  The truth is though, I can't help but feel relief at the discovery.  Relief that my love for Morgan isn't so taboo, relief that our child will be born healthy."

I bite my lip, a hand coming up to clamp over my mouth to stop myself from intervening.

It's then that my mother speaks up and I didn't even know he was there, "Thank you for telling us Ian.  Morgan does love you, he loves you so much, but that doesn't change the fact that you hurt him.  That doesn't change the fact that you violated our trust."

"I understand," Ian mumbles.

"I don't know what Morgan wants, I don't know how he feels.  I certainly can't speak for him, but I think it'd be best if you give your fa- Max and I some time."

"I understand," he repeats solemnly, voice growing smaller and breaking.

It feels like I can't breathe.

Does this mean they'll disown him?  Because he's not their son?  Because he told them the truth, about the baby?  Does this mean he'll-

"Morgan," he whispers, eyes a bit red rimmed.

"Ian," I say breathless, arms aching to give him a hug, to soothe the hurt he feels written so clear on his face.

But he steps forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, "I won't come around that often, not until everything's fixed between your parents and me.  I don't think I'll be in the office for some time either, but I'll text you and call you if you want me to.  Don't ever hesitate to contact me."

His hand rests on my belly as he leans down one more time to kiss my cheek before leaving, not even giving me time to say goodbye.

I feel my heart break and when I turn back my parents are there, waiting silently but oddly enough, no judgement.

"Mom," I call, voice wavering.

But it's my dad that answers, "Go to your room, Morgan."

"Dad I-"

"Not now," he says, voice tired,, "Now go to your room and add a month to your grounding."

I look at the ground and with a small nod and a sniffle I relent, "Okay."

I trudge back to my room and flop onto my bed where I cry just a bit inconsolably.  

It isn't until later at night that my mom appears, quietly stepping inside my room with a warm mug of atol de elote.  He takes a seat beside me and hands me the cup, and although any other time I'd be gulping it like no tomorrow, I don't particularly feel hungry or thirsty.

His voice is soft as he says, "Your dad is still a bit shocked, sweetheart, please understand him, understand us.  Give us time to figure it out, to assimilate everything.  Just know that he'll be alright and he'll forgive Ian sooner or later.  I promise we'll work everything out."

"And Ian?" I sniffle, "What about him?"

He holds me close to his chest, kissing the top of my head soundly, "He loves you, but he hurt you.  Whatever happens between you and him will strictly stay between the two of you.  This is your choice and this is your baby, your responsibility and proof of something beautiful.  In that matter, we will not intervene."

When he finally leaves I'm left exhausted.

My phone vibrates atop of my bedside table and when I reach for it, tears spring to my eyes.

From:  Bubba

To: Morgan

Sunday, August 17, 2036

Just wanted to say good night.  Sleep well and don't cry anymore.  I love you, Bambi, both of you ❤ [11:43]