20: Luna Anne Rex

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another odd little (very long) chapter

ROCKET

It doesn't happen the next day.

Thank you, Luna Anne Rex and oddly indifferent Mr Rex.

It was all fine and dandy and a great day until just after 2pm. Håkon and I spent the morning sleeping in and eating a good breakfast before a long run around the lake behind the cabin (which, we just jumped in post-run)

It was probably a really good thing we were in a wrestling kinda mood instead of a lovey kinda mood when we saw the car pulling down the long driveway.

"Hey hey hey-" Håkon grabs my hands to stop me from splashing him.

"What?" I turn to look where he's staring, the driveway, what we can see of it, at least, down the hill and treading water near a dock.

"Parents," he mumbles. "That's my parents."

"What?" I manage. "Here? Now?"

"God they're gonna give me greys," he groans, pulling himself up onto the dock.

"No offense, but-"

"Don't." He casts me a small smile but is mostly caught up on squinting at the dirt driveway. I stare up at him, knowing his point of view is better than mine so I don't really have a reason to look. Plus, he's shirtless and in just soaked athletic shorts, do I have a choice? No.

"We should probably, uh," he looks at me, then back at the house. "Go up there before they realize we slept in the same bed."

"Oh fuck." I utter before turning and starting toward the shore, he's not slow to follow, eventually beating me.

"Here, just, are those my shorts?"

I look down at them. "Maybe. We really need to start separating our wardrobes, both of us being men and roughly similar heights is not working out well."

"Some of your stuff doesn't fit because of-" he waves at himself. "But yeah all my stuff fits you just fine and it's gonna get us in trouble."

I unroll the tops of the shorts, attempting to make them look less gay and he manages to pull his shorts down over his thighs with the same effort.

"So how bad is it gonna be walking up to that house and meeting your parents for the first time while soaking wet and shirtless?" I ask.

He winces. "Keep your hand over your tattoo, if that's something I can ask."

"Oh, they're that type of people?" I slip my hand up to my ribs, cupping it self-consciously. "Damn."

"When did you get that?" He asks, panic overtaken slightly by curiosity. "I'm- I dunno why I asked that, I just, you seem like not a tattoo person so wh-"

"I was nineteen." I respond, smiling at his embarrassment. "And nah, I'm not really a tattoo person, it's like stickers, I feel like I'm gonna put it in the wrong spot."

"Yeah, I feel like that would be me too," he nods. "Brace yourself, I guess."

"Got it." I respond, then he pulls open the front door after his parents.

"Oh, Håkon!" Is his mom's initial response, holding out her arms toward her son, squishing his cheeks and then giving him a little hug. Then she starts yapping at him in Swedish and I just stand there, making weird fleeting eye contact with his father who is inspecting something on the mantle.

"Mum, I know you're not used to it, but english, please, this is Rocket, he's my friend."

She turns to me, tipping her head and giving me a once over. "Paxton, right?"

I purse my lips. "While that's a compliment, no, I'm Stojanovič"

"Ah," she nods. "Are you... on the roster or...." wow she's passive aggressive.

I can't stifle a laugh. "Yeah, I'm rostered. Backup to Paxy."

She nods. "So, how did you come to meet Håkon?"

I shrug. "We met at the beginning of the season and kind of hit off really well from there. He's one of my closest friends now."

"It's awesome that you're here," she comments. "Now I can have some inside trade secrets on dating in Regina, he's just been single for so long."

I glance sideways. "He could get someone if he wanted to, but he's happy, so it's okay." I run my hand across the tattoo, trying to make this position seem like I'm just awkward about my chest being bare rather than covering up something that will make them not like me almost instantly. I mean, I probably already fucked it up, my hair is too long and she's been eyeing the silver around my neck for a few seconds now, not to mention the whole thing that I'm here in the first place and I assume she wanted her son to bring home a date, which, he did.

After all that, I slip off to the bedroom we didn't sleep in and do my best to make the bottom bunk look slept in, followed by sneakily bringing over my clothes while they're not looking to make it look like we didn't sleep in the same bed.

Then they just decide to announce that they're staying for dinner.

I swear I'm literally on the edge with these people and I haven't even spent that long around them in the first place. His dad is weirdly chummy which makes me incredibly uncomfortable because I just know the second I get chummy back with him he'll start with that alt-right conservative shit because he just feels like one of those american crazies all while being so Swedish I can barely understand him.

I just know he's gonna do that 'so what do you think about-' and then interrupt my opinions by trying to prove me wrong.

Håkon's mother? God.

I mean she's just one of those people that would flag down the waiter and tell them everything wrong with their entire existence based off too much salt on her pasta. She's commenting on every little thing that her son does and I watch him get stiff and fix it every single time and it's wrecking me mentally because I'm watching him sort of recede back into himself.

Six foot six is enormous. He's huge. I love him and his height and how commanding he is in normal situations and how tough he is, but fuck it hurts to watch him cave his shoulders in the presence of his family. Like he's scared someone's gonna start yelling.

I can almost feel that if I wasn't here being as cringey and goofy as possible with the two of them that they would be giving him the full blown run-through.

Being goofy around adults like this is so fucking hard because all my jokes go flat until I start making them weirdly offensive or bland or about current events. Frankly, I hate current events jokes unless they're in the form of memes.

On the other side of wanting to scoop him up into my lap and kiss him and tell him that he's okay and he shouldn't listen to them, I keep wandering back to the same dumb fucking horny but proud thoughts about him that I have normally around teammates and other equally homophobic people. Like, look at him, that's my boyfriend, who knocks people out with one hit, who stands ten whole inches above the Canadian national men's height average, who holds the records for fastest slapshot who- who everything, who's just so so so fucking amazing, and is also the guy that grabs my hips and drops to his knees whenever he's bored at home.

That's only effective now out of raw goddamn spite. They're here, talking about him and girls and him and standard hypermasculine shit and he's the same guy I can turn on with a touch of my lips behind his ear, me and my lips and my Y fucking chromosome. It's spite because I've been spending this whole time between him and his parents like, yeah, that's your son, who you're 'proud' of but only under certain conditions and who I'm proud of all the time, rain or shine. That's your kid that is alternate captain of a goddamn professional ice hockey team that you show off to your friends like 'my son is better than yours' who you do all that to and that's my boyfriend who I love love love like nothing else and don't even get to show off like that.

God, I'd love to, I'd love to make a dumb fucking post on instagram like Steph and August, I'd love to kiss him in public, I'd love to be like 'this is my boyfriend, currently one of the world's best hockey defensemen' and get to be all proud of him and be dumb and cute and all that but I can't. So I'm proud of him in private and I love him in private and I stroke his hair and I make him dinner and I wear his hoodies and I shower with him and I kiss him in private because I don't need an audience to be proud of him.

And all of this started with one stupid tiny little vulgar thought of yeah that's your perfect fucking son who is gonna be begging for me the second I get him alone.

This whole thing is also sparking my rebellious streak again. It's sparking quite a lot of not-so-good things. I almost start to hope that they comment on my long hair and dainty fucking chain around my neck that's only missing the heart charm I accidentally broke when Kelly wore this in high school. I almost start to hope they notice the scar from where I had my ear pierced for a few years and the scars up my arms from when I so desperately tried to learn how to skateboard and I almost start to hope they comment on my ripped jeans and old band t-shirt that I went and found specifically to tell them we are not on the same side of Håkon's life. But I don't, I can't hope that because I know from the way that he's acting and the way that he's standing that he wants his parents in his life like nothing else and I absolutely do not want to be the one that pulls them further away from them. Even if they are hurting him, even if they're wrecking his self esteem step by step, even if they are shit to him. He's just a kid, he's a kid that needs his parents. Needed his parents. A kid that's still trying to hold onto what he wishes he had gotten from them.

I just want to fucking lay him down softly and kiss every damn inch of him and fix his head and fix what he thinks of himself and fix everything and show him he doesn't need that in his life, that he's strong enough and, and I don't know, that he's just enough to stand up for himself.

I wish I had known him when I was younger. I wish I could've been to him what Leo is to Isa, adoptive, in a way. She found him at nineteen, he took her in, helped her over the last ten damn years to accept herself and rebuild her confidence and I'm just starting with Håkon. I'm only here now when he's twenty six and the damage is done and not being done. I just hope I can pick him up and hold all the little bits in my arms at the same time while he heals.

We say bye just as the sun begins to set, mysteriously late into the night. I had the late sunset mansplained to me by Mr Rex. I had completely forgotten about the midnight sun phenomenon, the thing where it's sunny all night because the earth is tilted just perfect that Scandinavia is far enough north the sun doesn't go away. I knew that, barely, way back in my head.

I shut the door behind them, latching and locking it before turning to him, immediately setting my hands on his cheeks. "That was fucking miserable."

"Yeah," he mumbles, defeated. "Those are my parents."

"I'm so sorry, Håk."

He sighs, nodding, then caves to me, pressing his nose to my neck, arms around my back. "I definitely need you here."

"Yeah," I mumble, rubbing my hands across his back.

"I'm sorry you have to be a part of this."

"Mmhmm," I stroke my hand through his hair. "I'd do anything for you, you know that? I want to be here because you're here and you want me to be here."

He nods, sniffs, then stands up straight and I can't help but lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips.

"What time is it?"

I glance at the clock. "Ten."

"Can we shower and just go to bed? I'm burnt out."

I nod, taking his hand and pulling him toward the little bathroom.

"Milo you don't have-" I cut him off by pulling my shirt over my head.

"I'm gonna. I don't have to but I'm going to."

He stares blankly at me for a moment, then strips out of his shirt. "I'm okay, it's not like I'm gonna break down or have some huge emotional reaction to that, they're just my parents."

I shake my head. "Who says I'm getting in the shower with you because of that? Maybe I just wanna shower with you."

He smiles softly. "You're a shit liar."

"Was it really that bad?" I grump, dropping my jeans as he turns on the water.

"Yeah, it was bad." He wraps his arms around my shoulders, settling his head on mine, body to body while the water warms up. He doesn't say anything, just hugs me.

"I don't like them," I mumble into his shoulder, giving it a little kiss. "M'sorry, I know as your boyfriend I'm supposed to try to be nice to your parents but I don't like them."

"They're fine," he sighs. "They're my parents, it just, exists like that."

I sigh, I can't really argue with him and I don't want to. So I pull him slowly back into the glass door of the shower and drench my head.

"I feel like we shower together more than normal couples," he comments. "This is like a once every other day thing with us back home."

I laugh. "I'll have to ask Steph how often he showers with August for reference."

Håkon runs his fingers up my back. "Nico and Fen, I feel like they either spend all their time showering together or have never done it and wont ever."

I think on it, letting him take the shower head, both of us just a little too tall for it. "They definitely shower together a lot, they have to. I mean, they're just so comfortable with each other I have no idea where else or how else to explain that."

He nods, stepping away to let me rinse the shampoo I've spiked my hair with. "Maybe. But showering together is fun."

I smile. "I like it cuz I get unrestricted staring time with your ass." I pat his lower back, letting him rinse his shampoo.

Håkon just shakes his head, smiling. "Pervert."

"C'mon you know your legs are hot." I pinch his sides, grabbing the bar of soap off the rack. "You know I've got a little thing for men whose thighs could crush my skull. Remember that one time you let me nap with my head on your thigh while you were reading? My legs were like, off the couch, but that was fucking amazing."

He raises his eyebrows, water dripping off the tip of his nose. "That was comfortable for you? I always thought it would be too stiff."

"No no, amazing. If I had your thighs I'd let you lay all over them to prove my point but I got runners thighs." I smack my chicken legs. "Speed."

He smiles, wrapping his arm around my hip and spinning me back under the shower head. "I personally like your legs."

"Well yeah, you're my boyfriend."

"This is one of your confident days, isn't it." He mumbles, leaning in to kiss my head.

"Yeah." I respond. "Kinda feeling it."

"I love you."

I grin, pulling him forward and dousing him in water. "I love you too."

"I'd like to argue my point by saying that your ass is better than mine." He brings up.

"Why's that." I grin at him.

"Well, it actually fits your body size-"

"And you're saying that fifteen pounds of sheer cake doesn't fit your frame? Incorrect." I set my hand just behind his hip and make sure he's okay with it being there before giving him a teensy little squeeze. He just rolls his eyes at me.

In a dumb romantic moment, I reach up and run my fingers through the underside of his unruly and getting unrulier beard, then up into his hair. I urge him down to my lips, locking mine with his, taking my time with no intention of having this be a short kiss.

He sighs into my lips, responding slowly, bodies connected under steaming water and a steamier room, water being the only thing slipping between our skin.

"Remind me of who I am," he whispers into my lips. "Please."

"Hm?" I frown, kissing his chin, then his cheek. "What do you mean?"

He winces. "I'm Håkon, I'm gay and I'm about to do something dumb and sexual in the shower with my boyfriend if he's okay with it."

I smile. "What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing... big, I just, just spite, Milo, just a lot of spite in me right now."

So, with spite, we hold each other against the cold tile walls and with spite he drags his lips down my throat and with spite I kiss behind his ear and with spite we do things that are only meant for us. And we go a little further, not too much further, just a little, but, it's, it's still spite. It's still anger that we can't have what we wish we could, anger that we can't love like our friends do, anger that we can be as deeply in love as possible but still have to somehow shut it off in front of people. I can't look at him with adoration in public, but in private, it's all I see.

Spite, with my hands in his hair and his lips on me, spite, with a probing tongue, spite with a gathering hand, spite with a heated gaze, spite with making him shudder, pressed chest to chest with me. Spite when he makes the olive oil in Greece joke for me, spite with watching his expressions through his eyes, spite with watching his eyelashes hit each other, eyelids squeezing shut, spite with watching his features come crashing down, spite when I whisper that he means everything to me in a tongue he doesn't understand just to watch his flushed features soften to my voice.

Love, when I let my head drop to the tile, love, when I wash my hands, love, when I pull on his team Sweden shirt, love, when I tuck him against my body, love, when I kiss the bruise I left on his collarbone with my lips, love, when I pull the covers up, love, when I touch my mouth to every bit of him, love, when he mumbles my name softly, falling asleep. 

****

working on the update that's gonna redo last chapter so keep an eye out for that. 

meanwhile, drop by my insta for memes and occasional story posts. @ rabideraser

-rabid

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