come home 🥀 sequel to sued into submission 🥀 tracob

21

Jacob Bixenman

Waking up with a small protective hand wrapped around my body is enough to make my morning. I hold him close as he hugs onto me like a koala, his gentle snores falling passed his lips every now and then. I run my fingers through his hair as the sun rises and shines down through the window, the shallow breathing sounding like music to my ears. Years ago, I never thought this boy would turn me into such a lovesick twat, but here I am, thinking of ways to make this whole Jesse situation up to him. I hate to see him so distressed, so ready to guard himself against me as I let in the kid, but I feel as though Troye isn't the only person I have a responsibility to look after.

Even once I notice he's woken but not quite ready to open his eyes, I don't stop my movements through his hair. I just kiss his forehead and whisper a gentle good morning, to which he hums back to, tilting his head up with eyes closed and going in to kiss me, landing on my chin instead. A sleepy one, he is.

"Sweet potatoes," He mumbles, smoothing a hand up my back and sighing.

"Hmm?" I ask.

Peeling an eye open, he pouts, "Dreams about sweet potatoes and killer bagels."

I let out an oh and nod, "I see. Are we ready to say good morning to the world?"

He shakes his head no and hides away into my hold, his face pressed against my neck as he pulls the blanket over our heads. I look up at white fabric in amusement though he can't see me and just sigh, "I will let you get away with five minutes, then we need air and to get up."

I can hear him whine just the slightest, pouting his lips against my neck, but keep it to a minimum. He's a good boy like that, at least when he chooses to be. Giving him his few minutes of comfy snuggles, I pull the duvet from his fingers and off from over our heads, moving up the bed into a slight sitting position. He breathes in deeply, probably not breathing as properly as needed, and sits up with a little crazy curled mess we call bed head.

"What time is it?" Troye asks while rubbing his eyes with little fists. I pull his hands away from his face, silently reminding him not to go overboard, and glance over at the alarm clock.

"Eight thirteen, why don't I go find you one of Daddy's big shirts?" I offer, to which he perks up and nods excitedly.

"Pretty please," He smiles.

I get up and pull the duvet further down the bed so he doesn't get any ideas to curl back up into it and head to the closet, searching through swiftly. Button ups, button ups, grey, white, black, suits, work out tees, and then to my v-neck softer shirts, I hum in satisfaction. As I pick out a navy blue one, I hear a knocking at my door.

"Troye?" I question, looking out of my closet to see him at the edge of the bed staring at the door.

"Your boy." He murmurs distastefully.

I roll my eyes and shuffle to the door, shirt in hand as I place my hand on the doorknob and pause, "You're my only boy. Quit pouting."

Before he can respond, I open the door and meet myself with Jesse, "Yes?"

"Margret made breakfast, asked me to wake you two." He says with a cigarette in hand, hanging between his fingers as he looks between it and me.

"We will be out when we're ready. No cigarettes in the house." I gesture to him and step back, opening the door more for him and Troye to meet eyes. Glancing back, I notice Troye give him a dirty look, and I return a stern one to him though he isn't gazing in my direction.

"Troye," I warn, looking back to Jesse and sighing, "Okay, go. You know where the garden is."

Closing the door, I turn back to him and shake my head, "I give you Daddy's shirt and that titles you his good boy. You hear me?"