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No one could ever accuse Adam Parrish of vanity.
He couldn’t afford it for most of his life. He didn’t have money to buy nice clothes. He didn’t have time to go to a barber. He didn’t want to give up sleep to put more effort into getting ready.
After the dust settled from avoiding the end of the world, appearance still wasn’t a high priority for Adam in the sense he wanted to look good. Appearances mattered. He wanted to come across as put-together and competent. But putting time and effort into making himself attractive to others wasn’t something he cared about. Ronan found him attractive and that was more than enough.
Over ten years later, Ronan still found Adam attractive. Ronan didn’t need to say it, though he did, but the way Ronan’s fingers reverently traced Adam’s cheeks and lips and jaw was enough. The way Ronan took Adam apart with his hands and mouth and tongue spoke volumes, as did the way he held onto Adam’s shoulders, ribs, or hips.
But as Adam looked in a full-length mirror for the first time in over a year, he wondered why and how Ronan still found him attractive.
They didn’t have a lot of mirrors in their house in Danvers. Adam wasn’t vain, Ronan was but didn’t constantly need to see his reflection to remind himself of his good looks, so neither of them used a mirror for much more than shaving.
The beach house they’d rented on Cape Cod had plenty of mirrors, though, including a large full-length one in the corner of the master bedroom. Adam probably would have ignored it if he hadn’t noticed his reflection when he was grabbing boxers out of his weekender bag after showering.
After abandoning his search for boxers, Adam stood in front of the over-sized framed mirror leaned against the bedroom wall, a blindingly white bath towel wrapped around his hips.
He didn’t hate what he saw, but he didn’t like it either.
He wasn’t happy about it.
Adam was used to being long and lean, wiry from years of manual labor and a sub-par diet. He’d filled out slightly in college thanks to Harvard’s meal plan, but he’d still been trim through college then grad school then the rest of his twenties. Then through his early thirties, too.
At thirty-four, he was still long, but the lean part was questionable.
The part of his reflection that had drawn him to the mirror was the way his stomach folded over the edge of the towel around his waist. It wasn’t much, but it was noticeable, a roll of fat on his lower belly that creased when he bent over and didn’t go away when he stood up.
It wasn’t only his stomach, though. It was Adam’s hips, too, that had extra flesh above the towel, and combined, the two were why his pants were tighter and why he’d had to loosen his belt a notch.
Adam wasn’t in denial he’d gained weight, but that didn’t make it any less shocking to actually see that weight on his body for the first time. He wasn’t mad and he wasn’t disappointed. The past year had been challenging, stressful, and wonderful, often at the same time, and any change in his weight had been so gradual he’d barely registered the change in his muscle memory getting dressed, the slight sucking in to button his pants, not tightening his belt as much.
He just wasn’t happy about it.
Hesitating, he lifted a hand and pressed his finger into his lower stomach, watching in the mirror as his fingertip sank into the small mound of softness beneath his belly button. Adam prodded a few more times before he pinched the roll between his fingers.
It was more than a pinch.
Adam’s lips twisted as he let go. He spread his hand over his lower stomach and left it there for a moment before he squeezed.
It was enough for a handful.
He kept the cushion of fat in his hand, watching it push between his fingers. Then Adam moved one hand to each hip and squeezed there, too.
Another handful on both sides.
With a slight sag of his shoulders, Adam dropped his hands and tipped his head. He focused his eyes on the pudge around his middle. He wasn’t chubby, but he was doughy, soft. His flat stomach was gone. His narrow hips, gone.
He had kind of a dad bod, which he guessed was fitting. He was a dad, and being a dad had perpetuated him having a dad bod. He didn’t have time to make lunch to bring with him to work, so he got fast food or delivery. He wasn’t carefully meting out leftovers into Pyrex anymore because there usually weren’t leftovers after a hasty meal made for two. Then some nights, there was snacking instead of real dinner because, eight months in, they were still adjusting to parenting.
To having a baby.
Then Ronan would need to leave to go tend to a ley line somewhere, leaving Adam taking care of Connell and client appointments for days or weeks. Ronan hated it. Adam hated it. Con wasn’t old enough to hate it.
There was a network of people taking care of lines worldwide, but sometimes they needed the Greywaren and Ronan would have to go. Even though Adam and Ronan wanted to, Connell was the only one who complained, crying when Ronan wasn’t there to sing him to sleep. All Adam could do was rock him, kiss him, and murmur, “Same, buddy. Same.”
All Adam knew was he would move heaven and earth and eat two packs of s’mores Pop-Tarts for dinner every night for the rest of his life if it meant keeping Connell happy.
His body still worked and his mind still worked and all Connell cared about was that Adam could still bring him a bottle. But Adam cared what Ronan thought and he wanted to look good for Ronan and he did not look–good.
Adam sucked in to flatten his stomach. Then he stood up taller to see if that would smooth out the slight bulge of his sides.
It didn’t.
Adam relaxed and let out the breath he’d been holding. It didn’t matter but it did. Ronan loved him for more than his body. That was a certainty Adam had known for years. He could be eighty-five, bald, and fully deaf and Ronan would love him. If Adam put on a few pounds, Ronan wouldn’t care.
Adam just wasn’t happy about it.
Dinner eaten. Infant bathed. Same infant asleep.
Ronan was geared up for a few uninterrupted hours with Adam as he walked down the hall from the makeshift nursery they’d set up in the beach rental’s second bedroom. It was a quick getaway, two hours from Danvers, close enough to a ley line if stuff went to shit. Ronan wanted to get Adam somewhere other than home and his practice and Truro had delivered without having to take Connell too far in the car.
Ready to lay or get laid, Ronan was electric. He wasn’t going to be picky, he’d do whatever Adam was in the mood for. But when Ronan stepped into the doorway of the master bedroom, all thoughts of laying or getting laid stopped because Adam didn’t look like he was in the mood for anything.
He stood in front of the mirror in the corner of the room, towel from his shower still wrapped around his waist. Ronan would have found it hot if Adam wasn’t frowning at his reflection and poking at his stomach.
The past few months hadn’t been easy. Nothing about their relationship had ever been easy. But after their first few years, stuff wasn’t as difficult. Ronan came and went, fixing ley lines. Adam held down the fort, first in Cambridge then in Danvers, a town that rivaled Henrietta in energy and oddness.
They built a home. Together and with one another. Things settled down.
Then Ronan wanted a kid.
Then they both wanted a kid. Adam was fine with any size, but Ronan wanted a baby.
Acquired legally. Not dreamt.
It was a lot to ask of Adam, who had only lately come around to the idea of having kids at all. It was really a lot to ask of Adam when Ronan caring for ley lines took him away from home on short notice, sometimes for weeks at a time.
So Ronan gave Adam space and time to think about it and one Sunday morning Ronan came home from church and Adam surprised him by saying yes to the whole thing and then they fucked on the floor for the first time since they were about twenty-two.
Because Adam was reluctant to pass on his genes and Ronan was reluctant to pass on his dreaming, they found a sperm donor and a surrogate. Nine months later, Ronan saw more vagina than he ever cared to see in his life.
Then they had Connell.
While Adam was over-prepared and Ronan was determined to go on instinct, they both settled rather naturally into fatherhood. Ronan became a master of diaper changes and bath time. It might have been Adam’s psychic talents, but he was often out of bed before the baby monitor signaled Connell was crying in his room.
That didn’t make it less of an adjustment.
Sleep schedules were disrupted. The house was a mess of play mats, dirty clothes, and empty bottles. Cereal became a viable option for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Then three weeks after Connell came home, work on a ley line came calling and Ronan had to leave their cozy bubble of domesticity.
It was inevitable.
Ronan fucking hated it.
“We’ll be fine,” Adam had said when they’d kissed on Ronan’s way out the door. “Some dreamer in Manitoba might not be.”
Adam and Connell were fine. The near-constant stream of photo and text updates made trudging through the Canadian wilderness and sleeping in a rental car bearable. A week and a half later, when Ronan walked through the door, it was the best homecoming ever.
The first post-Connell trip didn’t make subsequent trips any easier, but when Ronan was home, he was home. He took the burden off Adam, let Adam work. Ronan became Connell’s primary caregiver then let Adam hog their infant when he got home from his metaphysical therapy practice at the end of the day.
But Ronan knew it wasn’t easy on Adam when he was away, juggling a baby with running a business and seeing clients. He knew Adam prioritized everyone and everything above himself when Ronan wasn’t around to make him take a breather.
It’s why Ronan would never bring up the bit of extra weight Adam carried now, the bit of pudge on his stomach he’d started pinching as Ronan watched from the doorway. Ronan would love every handful on Adam’s stomach or hips because it showed how much he cared about Connell.
Ronan didn’t want Adam to feel bad about himself. For over fifteen years, Adam had been the hottest thing Ronan had ever fucking seen. A few extra pounds wasn’t going to stop that from being true. So a few moments after Adam dropped his hands to his sides, after he’d sucked in his stomach and then relaxed, Ronan finally spoke up from his place in the doorway. “Hey.”
Adam shifted his gaze from his reflection to Ronan’s. For a second he didn’t say anything, then Adam asked, “Con out?”
Ronan held up crossed fingers as he stepped into the bedroom. “Yeah. Hopefully all night.”
Adam nodded. They were lucky if Connell slept through until morning two nights out of three, but that was an improvement over a few months ago.
Ronan crossed to the bed, and when Adam couldn’t watch him in the mirror anymore, he turned around as Ronan sat down on the edge of the mattress. They looked at one another for a while, then Ronan jerked his head and said, “Come here.”
Adam stayed put until Ronan cocked an eyebrow. Then Adam sighed, rolled his eyes, and walked to stand between Ronan’s spread legs. “What?”
“Nothing.” Ronan lifted his hands and put them on Adam’s waist, just resting, not holding. Adam did a piss poor job of covering a frown as Ronan looked up at him. “What’s that face for?”
Ten years before the question would have launched an argument. Now, Adam just mulled over his response before asking, “Why haven’t you said anything?”
“What would you have wanted me to say?”
“I don’t know. Lay off the pizza, Parrish. You’re looking a little tubby.”
“You look fine.” Ronan didn’t think Adam looked tubby at all. He looked comfortable. He looked happy. “You look good.”
“I don’t.” Adam pinched the fat on his lower stomach again and shook it this time. It jiggled a little, but not much. Ronan barely felt it under his hands. “This does not look good.”
“I think you look damn fucking hot.”
“You have an inherent bias.”
“Get your psych bullshit out of here,” Ronan said flatly. He watched Adam’s face as he tightened his hands on Adam’s waist and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, “Adam, I don’t care.”
Adam made a noncommittal throaty noise in lieu of response. He moved his hand from his stomach, reaching to cup the base of Ronan’s skull, thumb brushing back and forth over Ronan’s buzzcut. “I know. I just–I’m not happy about it.”
Ronan nodded. He leaned forward and kissed the space between Adam’s bottom ribs before looking up at him. “Nobody said you had to be. Look. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. If you want me to make you nasty ass salads, I’ll make you nasty ass salads. I’ll even make you fucking gross kale smoothies if you want.”
Adam laughed a little, moving his hands from the back of Ronan’s head so he could rub his thumb over Ronan’s bottom lip. “I’ll pass on the fucking gross kale smoothies.”
Chasing Adam’s thumb, Ronan kissed it. “I’ll dream you something.”
“I’ll pass on dreamt weight loss supplements, too.”
Ronan drew Adam closer and kissed between his ribs again. “I’ll do whatever you want, but really, you’ve never looked hotter.”
“Thought you didn’t lie.”
“I don’t.” Ronan squeezed Adam’s waist. He paused before he leaned to kiss the slight swell of flesh beside his thumb. “But–look. Here’s the Thai food we had the first night we brought Con home from the hospital.”
“Ronan.”
“And here’s the burger you had the first time we took him out to eat and everyone was going fucking nuts over how cute he is.” Ronan pressed his lips to the pudge on Adam’s lower stomach. He glanced up and met Adam’s eye, waiting for him to complain. When he didn’t, Ronan leaned in again and kissed the softness of Adam’s other hip. “And there’s the Cheerio Con shoved in your mouth last week when you weren’t paying attention to him.”
This got another laugh out of Adam, louder than before. “Ronan.”
“Do you believe me yet?” Ronan pressed another kiss into Adam’s hip for good measure before looking up.
Adam nodded. “I do.”
Ronan wrapped his arms all the way around Adam, pulling him even closer. “Good. Because I really think you look fucking hot.”
As he ran his thumb over Ronan’s bottom lip again, Adam shifted to straddle Ronan’s lap. The corner of the towel around his hips came untucked and just as he leaned down to kiss Ronan, Adam said, “I really think you’re wearing too many clothes.”