The Defiant Claim (The Claim: Book 2) LGBT

Chapter 8 - Sam

Sam was kicking himself. He should have grabbed a little container of syrup instead of pouring it onto Mik's pancakes. He should have known better than to assume how much syrup Mik would have liked.

'You never do anything right.'

His father's words accused him vehemently as Sam hurried back to the kitchen, his head down and eyes stinging.

He thought the pancakes would be a nice surprise and he still managed to screw up.

Why couldn't he ever do anything right?

The dining area was mostly empty now with just a few stragglers milling about. The cooks were cleaning up and getting ready for a break before getting to work on lunch.

"Back already, Sam?" greeted Marla, one of the cooks as she wiped crumbs from the countertop.

Sam set Mik's plate on the clean side of the counter. Guilt pressed down on his head and shoulders. "I'm sorry but... are there any pancakes left?"

"Might be. Check the fridge." She eyed the plate. "Syrup got away with ya?"

Sam nodded and silently dragged his feet across the kitchen to the fridge. He found a few pancakes on a plate covered in saran wrap, crammed between other wrapped leftovers, and pulled it out. They weren't cold yet, but he took them over to the microwave to warm them up and grab the syrup. He found a little to-go sauce container and poured some maple syrup in it.

Returning to the infirmary, Mik grumbled along with his stomach; a sour mood that not even maple syrup could sweeten.

"Let's try this again," Sam said as he returned to his mate's bedside and cut a few pieces of the pancakes. "How much syrup would you like?"

"None."

Sam's brows furrowed as he studied Mik's face, looking straight ahead. "None?"

"I don't like sweet things."

The rough edge of his voice scraped against Sam's nape. He lowered his gaze to the pancakes before him. He could smell the syrupy sweetness smothering his own, now soggy and cold.

"Why's that?" he dared to ask as he lifted a piece of pancake to Mik's lips.

Mik's attention was still on the wall at the other side of the room, but he opened his mouth and accepted the food. He chewed and swallowed in silence. Sam waited for him to say something and when nothing came, he sighed and turned back to the pancakes for another piece.

When he turned back with a piece of pancake, Mik said, "Sweet things are messy."

Sam's brows furrowed again as Mik accepted the piece and closed his eyes as he chewed.

He dropped the subject and silently fed Mik, watching the muscles in his face as he chewed. The slight pull of his brows every now and then, as if deep in thought. Mik kept his eyes closed, allowing Sam to gaze at him as much as he pleased without feeling embarrassed for staring. He couldn't help the way the matebond lured him toward this male. It urged him to brush his fingers across those golden brows when they furrowed, to stroke the coarse hairs of his beard, and trail over his lips. He'd never looked at anyone this way before—male or female—and all he wanted to do was take care of him.

When Mik had enough, he thanked him and asked for something to drink.

When Sam had finished tending to his mate's needs, he took his breakfast to his own bed and sat down and ate his cold, soggy pancakes in silence. When he was almost done, Mik spoke.