Mitch passed Scott's breakfast to him, pushing it across the counter, before he grabbed his own plate and walked around to sit on the bar stool beside him.
Scott was looking down at his arm, scratching at one of his tattoos. He looked up quickly, and smiled. "Thanks, baby."
Mitch just shrugged, sitting beside him. "Not a problem. I know you can't cook."
Scott's smile faded a little. "But I try really hard."
"Doesn't matter. You still end up burning things."
Scott frowned even more. "You're so mean. So what if I can't cook?"
"First of all, you're lucky you're so damn cute, because not being able to cook romantic dinners for me is kind of upsetting. Second of all, it makes me worry about you, because I know you're not eating anything when your father leaves."
"I've got lots of snacks. I'm not just... Not eating."
"Yes Scott. And if I had a dollar for every time I've seen you call a handful of crackers a 'meal'--"
"That's not true. Sometimes I eat handfuls of like... Vegetables."
"You hate vegetables."
"Handfuls of fruit! I don't know... I'm insulted that you think I'm unhealthy."
"I didn't say you were unhealthy, Scott. I just know you don't eat a lot when you're home alone."
Scott hummed, taking his first bite of breakfast. "I guess you'll just have to come over and cook for me all the time, then."
"Even when your dad is here?"
"Yep. I'm gonna hide you in my room, and then you can just walk out and cook for me. Like a little Cooking Fairy."
"A fairy, hmm? That's cute. I'd be alright with that. As long as you promise to hang out with me sometimes."
"If you keep cooking delicious shit like this, I don't think that'll be a problem."
"Wow. 'Delicious shit.' That's one of the best compliments I've ever gotten. Very eloquent of you."
Scott turned to him again. "Okay, no. You don't get to criticize me until I've had my coffee."
Mitch reached over to poke him in the side, causing Scott to flinch away.
Scott moved from his seat, and walked into the kitchen. "Don't touch me. That tickles."
"No it doesn't. You're not ticklish. Is there a bruise there or something?"
Scott looked down at himself, and then met Mitch's eyes again. "Uh.. No. A tattoo."
"You got another one?"
Scott leaned on the counter, squinting at him. "Dear, I don't think I need to remind you. You saw me naked yesterday, and I'm sure--"
Mitch blushed a little, and hopped down from his own seat. "It was dark! Let me see it."
Scott rolled his eyes, and turned to the side to show him, but Mitch gasped.
Mitch smacked his chest, then. "Don't roll your eyes at me, Meanie."
Scott chuckled a little. "Sorry. Won't happen again."
"Better not." Mitch looked away, and reached down to the bottom of Scott's shirt to pull it up a little to see the tattoo.
Scott watched Mitch's face the entire time, genuinely curious about how he'd react to it.
Mitch stared at the tattoo, and then met Scott's eyes. "Scott..."
Scott took a small step back, bringing his hand up to cover the small spot of ink. "Do you hate it?"
"No, no! Of course not. But, uh..." Mitch tried a different approach, and looked back down at the tattoo, after pulling Scott's hand away from it. "Scott, you know I support you in all that you do."
"You're trying to let me down easy. You hate it."
"I don't hate it. Really. But it's just... Did you get this with Avi?"
"Mhmm."
"I figured. So he has one too?"
"Mhmm."
"Same place?"
"Mhmm. Tell me why you hate it."
"I don't hate it! I promise. I just think you should take it easy on the tattoos... They're expensive."
"Fifteen tattoos later, not including the two sleeves and you think I don't know that?"
Mitch huffed at him, and lifted Scott's shirt one more time, just to see the small compass that now took over a portion of Scott's rib cage. "It's cute, at least. Were you drunk when you did this?"
"Mitchie, I'm not even out of school yet. As far as you know, I don't even know what alcohol looks like."
"Incorrect. I've received plenty drunk pictures and texts from you, thank you very much."
"Well... Yeah. But none that you've saved. Right?"
Mitch smirked a little, and took a step away from him. "Right."
Scott's jaw dropped a little. "Mitchell... You didn't."
"So... As far as I know you've never had alcohol, and as far as you know, I don't have a picture of your bare ass as my lockscreen."
Scott hurried forward, reaching for Mitch's front pocket, where his phone was showing through his sweatpants. "Show me!"
Mitch turned to run, but was grabbed around the waist. "No!"
"Delete it, Mitch!"
"Never!"
Scott held him a little tighter, Mitch's body pressed completely against his own. "Don't make me tickle you!"
"You wouldn't."
"You and I both know that I would." Scott slowly ran his hands along Mitch's sides in a tease. "Last chance."
Mitch shook his head firmly, and braced himself for the assault. "Give me liberty, or give--" He shrieked, as Scott finally tickled him.
Scott grinned widely, and pushed him into a kitchen counter so he had no way to escape, as he continued dancing his fingers along Mitch's sides. "Just let me know when you're ready to show me the picture."
Mitch laughed uncontrollably, trying his best to shove Scott away. "No! Scott please!" He laughed again, tears springing to his eyes. "Stop stop stop!"
Scott paused a moment, and he tilted his head a little. "When the Hell did I send you a picture of my pale ass? And why didn't you break up with me right then and there?"
Mitch tried to catch his breath, his hands in front of himself in defense. "So maybe I lied a little. It's not your ass."
"What is it then?"
Mitch tried to push past him. "It's your--" He was interrupted by his phone ringing, and he quickly reached into his pocket to grab it. Mitch met Scott's eyes, a millisecond before he answered the call. "Dick." And then he swiped the screen. "Hi, Mother."
Scott's eyes widened, and he grabbed Mitch by the hips to set him on the counter. "You lying piece of--"
"Shh! What? Oh, sorry Mother. That's just... Kirstie."
Scott rolled his eyes. "I call bullshit. Ain't no way that my--"
"Kirstie, shut up!" Mitch snapped, eyes pleading rather than angry.
Scott obeyed, and his eyes fell to the counter. He leaned forward a little, hands sliding up Mitch's thighs to get to his hips, before Scott held him around the waist and waited patiently.
"Yes, Ma'am. Whenever you'd like me home." A pause. "Yes, Ma'am. I was just helping her with her homework."
Scott rolled his eyes again. How could his mom be so clueless? What teenage girl asks a boy to spend the night, only to do homework on a Saturday morning?
Mitch let out a loud exhale. "Yes, Mother. If you two are going out... Maybe I could just stay here another night?"
Scott looked up at him then, blue eyes searching Mitch's face for answers.
Mitch met his eyes, and then didn't look away. "Yes, Ma'am. I'm sure I could find something to wear. We'll find plenty to do to keep ourselves occupied and out of trouble."
Scott smirked slowly, hands moving from Mitch's waist to slide underneath his shirt and onto his stomach. He only paused there for a second, before he bit his lip and slid his hands down a little lower to just barely peek underneath Mitch's waistline.
Mitch tried to shake him off, dropping one of his hands to try to hold both of Scott's. "Would you maybe call me back after you've spoken with him? Kirstie is--" His breath hitched, and then he tried again. "Asking me something."
Scott looked up to meet Mitch's eyes, and then slid his hands down even further, finally coming in contact with what he'd been searching for.
Mitch threw his head back, though he bit his lip to stay quiet. "Yeah okay bye." He nearly dropped his phone, but ended up clutching it for dear life instead, as he leaned back a little further. "Scott, don't."
Scott just looked up, feigning innocence in his eyes. "Don't what?"
Mitch couldn't even respond, as he felt Scott's warm hand grip him firmly. Scott waited for Mitch's eyes to close, and then he brought one hand up slowly, and snatched the phone from Mitch's fingers.
Mitch then noticed the loss of both of Scott's hands, and he pouted. "Hey..." Until he saw Scott searching through his phone. "Hey!"
Scott glanced at him, and then ran out of the kitchen.
*