Chapter Text
“…now, the trick to comfortable pushups is your form. A lot of people think you need to build up endurance before you can start hitting the high hundreds with pushups, but that’s a common misconception—”
“What’s ‘mithpepteshon’, Daddy?” Oliver interrupted.
His little face scrunched up in confusion, head tilted so earnestly to the side that Roman nearly lost his train of thought entirely.
Oliver stood at perfect attention across from Roman on the exercise mat, arms by his side as he held on to Roman's every word. At five years old, he was already a mini-me in the truest sense, dressed in miniature matching workout gear identical to Roman’s right down to the wristbands and small gym shoes.
Oliver was the brightest, most fiercely curious child Roman had ever encountered. And he wasn't just saying that because Oliver was his – although that played a very significant role in the assessment, as Roman was self-aware enough to acknowledge.
“Misconception…” Roman repeated. He pouted in deep thought, desperately scrolling through his mental dictionary to find a version of the definition suitable for a five-year-old’s vocabulary.
He hummed, closing the gap between himself and Oliver and dropping to a crouch so he was approximately level with him.
This space had always been Roman's sanctuary slash thinking room. Basically, the place he came to when the rest of the world pressed too close. But somewhere along the way, without any formal announcement, it had gradually become Oliver's too. There was the new addition of a small step stool now set up beside the pull-up bar, stickers on the bottom corner of the mirror, and a hook near the door, low enough for small hands, where a little pair of gloves hung beside Roman's own.
“A misconception,” Roman began carefully, “is when you think something works one way—but it actually works a completely different way.”
As he spoke, he reached past Oliver and picked up the Seth plushie propped humorously beside him on a nearby foam roller, standing sentry like the world's smallest, most poorly dressed security guard.
The plushie, naturally, was also dressed in matching gym wear, though it lacked the tiny matching shoes. Oliver had tried lobbying passionately for those too, but the logistics had defeated even Roman's considerable determination.
Seth, by virtue of being Oliver's favorite uncle by a margin so vast it bordered on humiliating for the other candidates, had gifted Oliver the plushie on his first birthday. Since then, it was safe to say that this particular plushie had since weathered considerable turbulence over the years.
It had been dragged across airports, hardwood floors, and carpeted hallways, dunked in bathwater and various puddles of juice alike; Plushie Seth had been crammed into backpacks, and fallen from heights that no stuffed toy should reasonably survive. It had, on more than one occasion, been accidentally left behind at various destinations, and venues, requiring Roman and Cody to make countless round trip drives, and even once, an impromptu flight to retrieve the forgotten stuffed toy.
There was also the great tragedy, where an arm had accidentally been ripped clean off during one of Oliver’s more enthusiastic cuddle sessions. The resulting cry had not been a cry so much as a full atmospheric event. To this day, they refused to speak about it in their household.
Roman had heard Oliver upset before, but that one had to have been the most violent one he had ever witnessed to date, and he was saying this as someone who had known Oliver when he was still a tyrannical six-month-old.
Oliver had cried with the kind of heartbreak usually reserved for tragic cinema and breakups, refusing to be consoled at every turn. Naturally, Roman had immediately ordered a brand-new replacement plushie, if only to buy back his peace and quiet. Except Oliver wouldn’t touch the imposter with a ten-foot pole.
No amount of gentle persuasion or promise had moved him. Not logic, not the distraction of every snack in the house, not even the emergency deployment of Seth himself was met with an ounce of reasonability. He didn’t want a Seth plushie; he wanted his Seth plushie. He had instead passionately insisted they take the amputee toy to the hospital, get its arm reattached by real doctors, and bring it home.
The hospital part of the instruction wasn't exactly accomplishable, but Roman and Cody had done the next best thing. They had stayed up nearly all night, teaching themselves how to sew through a series of increasingly hostile tutorial videos before performing what could generously be described as experimental surgery on Plushie Seth’s detached arm.
Oliver, to his credit, hadn’t seemed to care one bit for the hideous needlework. The second the repaired plushie had been returned to him, he’d hugged it so tightly that Roman thought the other arm might come off too. As far as Oliver was concerned, Plushie Seth had survived a terrible injury and made a full recovery.
The stitching job was so atrocious that Roman still winced every time he saw the toy. He was wincing now, in fact, two years removed from the accident, looking at the crooked seam running along the plushie’s shoulder. The only comforting thing about the entire ordeal and the thing he offered a silent prayer of thanks for everytime he saw the toy, was that he and Cody hadn't gone into actual medicine.
“For example, Plushie Seth,” Roman continued, wiggling the stuffed toy to playfully nip at Oliver’s midsection, eliciting a delighted round of giggles. “What color is his hair?”
Oliver squinted seriously at the fabric face, his nose scrunching up. “Black?” he offered tentatively, his gaze drifting back up to meet Roman’s.
“Correct.” Roman nodded approvingly. “And what color is the real Uncle Seth’s hair?”
Oliver's face immediately lit up, the answer clearly a source of great personal delight. “Black like yours, and then yellow at the bottom like Papa’s!” He answered excitedly, his eyes shining with triumph.
“Exactly.” Roman booped Oliver’s nose with the toy before setting it back down on sentry duty. “That is a misconception. You thought the toy looked just like him, but the real thing is actually a little different.”
He pushed back to his feet, deeply regretting the decision as his back and both knees offered up a small symphony of angry pops and cracks.
“It’s still too hard to say,” Oliver muttered, his brow furrowing at the linguistic hurdle.
“That’s fine. You can just call it a mistake.”
“I can say that!” Oliver perked up instantly. He straightened to his full, impressive five-year-old height, chin lifted. “Mistake. See!”
He flashed his white milk teeth in a grin so wide and unguarded and purely him that Roman felt it like a hand around his heart. Oliver's eyes were wide, head tipped back to address Roman from below, and there was in his expression something so openly devoted and uncomplicated in its happiness, that it hit Roman the way it always did – with a total warmth that spread from somewhere behind his sternum and never fully receded.
There were moments, still, where Roman caught himself marveling at the fact of Oliver. That this child existed and was his. That there had been a version of Roman not so long ago or different, who had looked at the idea of fatherhood with something closer to dread than anticipation. Who had thought himself constitutionally unsuited for it, and quietly believed that some things were simply not for him.
Now he couldn't reconstruct the logic of the past, or imagine a life without Oliver in it.
Oliver was, without a doubt, the absolute best thing that had ever happened to him – a fact he had primly informed Cody of, resulting in no small amount of dramatic grumbling at being demoted to second place.
Oliver made Roman want to get out of bed every morning (whereas Cody was usually the reason Roman wanted to stay in bed, for entirely different reasons).
Oliver made him try harder, reach further, and hold himself to a standard he'd never previously bothered with. Oliver was the reason Roman picked himself back up after every loss and came back to the gym, to the difficult and necessary work of being better.
Oliver was the reason Roman was currently, against all biographical evidence, the most settled and at peace he had ever been in his life, and for that, Roman owed the kid everything.
“Now,” Roman said finally, clapping his hands together once. “Are you ready for pushups?”
“Uh-huh!” Oliver responded readily, nodding with fierce determination.
With the effortless, liquid agility unique to five-year-olds, he instantly folded down onto his hands and feet. Pose effortlessly accomplished, he tilted his head back, waiting in patient and cheerful expectation for his instructor to join him.
Roman watched the display and internally wept, profoundly jealous of a five-year-old's spinal flexibility. He thought, not for the first time about the cruel biological joke that allowed a five-year-old to achieve a perfect plank without warming up, while a grown man who trained professionally needed to conduct a full pre-flight checklist before crouching.
He also realized, with a wave of mild regret, that he hadn't thought this through. Rising from his earlier crouch had been a tactical error. Transitioning straight to a pushup from the floor would have been a breeze, instead of the inconvenience of now having to conquer the drop all over again.
Dropping to his hands from a full standing position was an exercise set in its own right, and Roman would not hear otherwise. Age, gravity, and a grueling training schedule had a way of making the floor feel miles away.
With one long, dramatically exaggerated groan – delivered solely for the benefit of his giggling son – Roman finally joined Oliver on the rubber mats. He planted his palms and extended his legs to their full length on his toes.
“Ready, Daddy?” Oliver asked importantly, settling himself into position beside Roman. “We’re doing a hundred today.”
He tried his best to stretch out his own much shorter legs, which, despite his best efforts, stopped a scant distance from Roman’s midsection.
“We got it, Chief,” Roman replied gravely. “Count ‘em.”
“One, two, three, four, five…” Oliver piped up, counting with grave seriousness while Roman executed a flawless, deep pushup with every single number.
In all honesty, Oliver was an atrocious gym partner. Roman loved him deeply, but facts were facts, and he would readily admit, even if only to himself, that he usually hauled the toddler along on his external gym runs strictly for the undeniable cuteness factor. When they weren't training at home, Oliver functioned as the single greatest weapon of mass distraction ever created by mankind.
Roman would strategically park Oliver somewhere highly visible, at a corner of the weight room, and station Plushie Seth right beside him. This brilliant setup allowed Roman to keep a watchful eye on his son while outsourcing the social tax of being a famous public figure.
Almost on a predictable cue, the gym’s ecosystem would completely derail. First, the women would flock to the corner, abandoning their cardio circuits to coo over the mini-me outfit and the stuffed companion. Shortly after, the gym bros would follow suit, unable to resist the gravity of the kid’s sheer cuteness while pretending they just needed to grab a nearby set of kettlebells.
With the whole floor safely occupied, Roman would quietly and efficiently go about his business in absolute peace, while Oliver happily charmed the room senseless through sheer weaponized adorable Oliver-ness. Something Roman was loath to admit looked far too much like Cody-ness.
Right now, however, in the absolute privacy of their own gym, there was no adoring public to distract him, so Oliver was actually forced to attempt the pushups himself. The display was nothing short of humorous.
His form was an absolute disaster, featuring his rear end pointed straight up toward the rafters and his back curved into a steep, rigid arch. Instead of executing anything resembling a standard calisthenic repetition, he looked exactly like Pharaoh, doing a deep morning stretch on the living room rug. With every single one of Roman’s counts, Oliver merely swayed his body lazily from front to back, his chest remaining miles away from actually dropping down toward his hands. Still, he counted with unwavering commitment.
By the time the count hit the mid-thirties, Oliver’s athletic ambition had completely evaporated. Abandoning the facade altogether, he scrambled forward and climbed directly onto Roman’s back, stretching himself out across the full length of his father’s shoulders and treating him like a piece of park equipment.
From that elevated perch, Oliver hitched a free ride, giggling hysterically in sync with Roman’s grunts as Roman effortlessly adjusted his breathing, absorbed the additional weight, and powered through the remaining repetitions.
It was precisely during this human-weighted set that the side door to the garage swung open, and Cody walked in on them.
“Papa, we’re doing pushups!” Oliver announced at the top of his lungs, his voice bursting with proud, vibrant excitement. He completely ignored the glaring reality that Cody possessed working eyes and could see exactly who was doing the lifting and who was merely mooching.
“I see you, Ollie, and you’re doing a very good job,” Cody responded, his voice dripping with fond indulgence.
Roman, as the only individual currently exhibiting any actual dedication to the workout, couldn't see Cody’s face from his position on the floor. He did, however, let out a loud scoff mid-count at that wildly inaccurate evaluation.
Cody rounded the mat, his feet stopping just a few inches from Roman’s face, even as Roman continued to power through the repetitions.
“Come on, love, let’s spare your father the extra effort,” Cody murmured. He reached down, smoothly hoisting Oliver off Roman’s back and tucking the boy securely into his arms.
With the toddler weight suddenly vanished, Roman shifted his weight seamlessly, tucking one arm behind his back to switch to single-arm pushups. Already in the eighties, he powered through the final stretch of the workout, executing the remaining reps with a single arm before exploding back up onto his feet.
Oliver rewarded the performance with an incredibly enthusiastic round of applause, his small hands pattering loudly in the echoing garage. Roman bowed courteously and dramatically at the praise before straightening himself back up.
“Good morning, Nightmare,” he greeted warmly, stepping into Cody’s space to drop a chaste, lingering kiss on his lips.
“Good morning, Papa,” Oliver immediately mimicked, punctuating the greeting with a loud, wet smack of a kiss directly onto Cody’s cheek.
Cody let out a long, loving sigh, leaning into the affection as he rubbed his nose against Oliver’s cheek dramatically before knocking their foreheads together lightly.
“Good morning, baby.” He pulled back just enough to look at him. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah!” Oliver beamed, his natural enthusiasm impossible to dim.
Cody hummed in approval before his gaze drifted slowly and long-sufferingly toward Roman. Roman immediately deployed his best imitation of Oliver’s devastatingly effective sunshine smile.
“Roman,” Cody said flatly.
“Might I say you look exceptionally handsome today, Nightmare?” Roman offered smoothly, immediately turning his eyes to their son to drag him into the bribery. “Oliver, thoughts?”
“You look very handsome, Papa,” Oliver agreed, nodding with all the solemn gravity the moment demanded.
“Thank you, Ollie,” Cody said sweetly, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before hardening again as he looked back at Roman. “But Daddy here is actually trying to distract me from the fact that he ignored what I asked him to do.”
Oliver considered this. His gaze traveled from Cody to Roman, who kept his expression very neutral and very innocent, before returning back to Cody. And because Roman had personally trained his son in the ancient and sacred art of flattering Cody Rhodes into submission – and because Oliver was an exceptionally stellar student – Oliver delivered his next line with flawless innocence.
“Well, you still look very handsome.”
“Aww.” Cody completely melted, cooing at the child in his arms and squeezing him tightly against his chest with his eyes scrunched shut. “Well, now I have to believe it because you said it.”
Over Cody’s shoulder, Roman flashed Oliver a discreet thumbs-up that Cody definitely did not see. He, however, almost caught Oliver's return thumbs-up to Roman. Oliver, quick-witted son of Roman that he was, tucked his hand away instantly, folding his arms across his chest and flashing Cody another brilliant, dazzling smile to throw him completely off the scent.
The seamless cover-up pulled a deep, chest-rumbling laugh from Roman. Cody immediately frowned at the sound, unaware of the silent conspiracy operating right under his nose.
“Roman,” Cody said again, and this time there were two syllables and a tone that meant they were past the prelude. “We need to talk.” The stern lecture in his voice effectively withered Roman’s amusement on contact.
“Nightmare, do we really have to do this right now?” Roman whined, turning and starting for the door as though he had somewhere specific and time-sensitive to be.
Cody tracked him effortlessly, following close behind with Oliver still balanced on his hip. “I checked the brochures I left on your nightstand when I woke up this morning. They are in the exact same position I left them last night. Not one single inch out of place.” He completely ignored Roman’s blatant escape attempt, chasing him down with the reprimand.
“I was going to—”
“Let me guess. You were going to look at them?” Cody interrupted.
"I was." Roman insisted. “After the gym.”
“Roman, you brought Oliver to the gym at six-thirty in the morning—”
“Plushie Seth!” Oliver suddenly exclaimed as they reached the threshold of the door. He began twisting urgently in Cody's arms, making frantic, grabby hands back toward the exercise mats where the stuffed toy had been left behind at the pushup site.
Cody carefully set Oliver down on his feet, watching as he spun around and raced back into the center of the garage to rescue his companion.
As soon as Oliver was safely out of earshot, Cody turned back to Roman, his expression dropping into something deeply earnest.
“He needs to go to school, Ro,” Cody said softly.
Okay. First of all, let it be known that Roman was an enjoyer of education. He was of the firm, unwavering belief that everyone needed more than just basic life knowledge to tide them through their days on earth. And he would never, under any circumstances, deny his own son what had been freely given to him.
The problem, however, lay in Cody’s deranged insistence on sending Oliver away for school, instead of – oh, maybe bringing the school right here to Oliver like any sensible millionaire family could.
“I never argued with you on that front,” Roman said, raising his hands guilelessly in a gesture of absolute surrender. “All I asked was that you not send him two counties over—”
“That was precisely what the brochures were for,” Cody interrupted exhaustedly, the sharp words interwoven with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. “And what do you mean two counties? Every single one of those schools is within a thirty to forty minute drive.” He shot Roman an unimpressed, razor-sharp side-eye. “That’s eight schools, Roman. Eight schools that I was up all night researching, tailoring the list to your extraordinary demands, and you didn't even look at them.”
“Got it!” Oliver reappeared at velocity, plushie Seth retrieved and restored to its rightful position under his arm. His fingers slipped seamlessly into Cody’s open hand upon his return.
“Nightmare, I really don't mind tutoring him myself,” Roman pressed on, stepping out of the garage gym and holding the door open for his husband and son. “I’m pretty sure between myself, Seth, and Mox, we could give Ollie a high-level, oxford-adjacent education. What do you think, Chief?” He directed the question downward, flashing Oliver a conspiratorial wink.
“Yeah!” Oliver answered with a ready, enthusiastic nod, which was the standard response to literally anything involving Seth and Mox.
“You’ll have to forgive my complete lack of confidence in an education for our son spearheaded by you, Seth, and Mox,” Cody said dryly. He subtly shifted Oliver behind his hip, as if to physically shield the boy from the sheer absurdity of the thought. “The three of you are barely functioning with your own educations as it is.”
“Nonsense, Cody.” Roman waved the critique away dismissively and stepped out onto the front driveway.
The morning was well underway now, the sun properly up and warmer. It felt therapeutic on Roman’s still-damp skin as he trod over the driveway, the gravel crunching pleasantly under his shoes. Behind him, Cody and Oliver followed closely in his wake.
“I’m very close to retiring anyway, so I’ll definitely need the work.” Roman continued, keeping his voice light.
“What?” Cody’s voice cracked incredulously behind him, causing Roman to instantly bite his tongue.
It certainly wasn't the first time the thought of walking away had crossed his mind, but it was the worst possible moment to accidentally say it out loud.
Retirement was something Roman considered with every stray joint ache, every morning back pop, every grunt that accompanied movements that used to feel effortless, and every time he caught himself calculating the recovery window after a match in a way he simply hadn't needed to do five years ago. Which meant, realistically, retirement was considered on a regular basis.
He enjoyed the work. He truly, really did. Oliver had given that a second life in ways Roman hadn't anticipated, especially when he grew old enough to understand their line of work. His son looked at him and Cody as something akin to real-life superheroes. That innocent awe had given Roman a profound reason to fall in love with his job all over again. A reason that had nothing to do with championship dominance or the cold art of staying on top.
And now with Cody insisting on outsourcing Oliver’s education, Roman wouldn't even have the daily enjoyment of watching his son look at him with that awestruck wonder after every grueling match.
Roman immediately pivoted toward the house in tactical retreat, aiming to completely avoid the heavy line of questioning he knew was brewing. Except, being the gentleman that he was, he had to hold the front door open for his family, putting himself directly in the line of fire of Cody’s inquisitive, penetrating scrutiny.
“Breakfast, Chief?” Roman asked loudly, pivoting his gaze to Oliver to deflect the tension.
“Fried eggs and toast,” Oliver suggested dutifully, bouncing on his heels. “And a glass of milk.”
“Coming right up,” Roman nodded in swift, eager agreement.
He let the front door click shut, about to edge his way out of the foyer and sprint toward the kitchen to put some blessed distance between himself and Cody’s heavy gaze. He didn't even take one successful step away before Cody’s hand snaked out, firmly gripping his arm.
“Have you brushed your teeth, Ollie?” Cody asked, his voice calm, though his eyes remained locked onto Roman.
“Uh-huh! I did so with Daddy,” Oliver answered, completely oblivious to the silent standoff. He continued to bounce with restrained morning energy, Plushie Seth dangling limply from his left hand.
“Why don’t you go set the table, then? Daddy and I will be over in just a bit,” Cody said softly, his tone brook-no-argument gentle.
“Okay!” The words were barely out of the boy’s mouth before Oliver dashed away from the foyer, his feet thumping loudly down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen.
“Plastic plates, please!” Roman bellowed after him.
He turned back to Cody after a distant sound that may or may not have been confirmation from Oliver, and prayed fervently that his fine china would live to see another day.
Once the sound of Oliver’s frantic footsteps faded, Cody finally let go of Roman’s arm. He crossed his arms over his chest, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he carefully processed his words.
“You’re… thinking about retiring?” Cody asked gently.
“It was just a slip of the tongue,” Roman tried to wave it away, keeping his voice light.
Now was definitely not the time to pile onto Cody’s current stress of finding the perfect school. It wasn't like Roman was itching to drop his gear in the center of the ring tomorrow. He was fairly certain he had at least another solid year or two left in him before his physical frame finally caved in on itself.
“Come on, Ro. It’s me,” Cody said, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, quiet register. “There’s no need to posture here.”
Roman let out a long, ragged sigh, all the artificial bravado draining out of him at once. He carded a nervous hand through his damp hair, looking down at the floorboards before meeting his husband’s eyes.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Roman finally confessed.
“Okay,” Cody accepted softly. “Any solid date yet?”
“Not really? It’s just one of those persistent thoughts that accompanies a bad knee or an angry joint. But, yeah. I really do think it’s getting close to that time, you know? I’d rather walk out on my own two feet than be the old guy hanging around the office past his prime.”
As it stood, Roman had done literally everything there was to do in the industry. He had hit every unimaginable milestone and shattered every historic record available. His showing up to work at this point was purely superficial. If he walked in tomorrow and informed the relevant parties that he was finished, he would be met with nothing short of a thunderous, reverent round of applause.
“I get it,” Cody said, his expression softening completely as he stepped forward to close the distance between them.
Roman blinked, slightly taken aback by the lack of resistance. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad? I’d probably be mad if my back and knees didn’t share the same sentiment as yours,” Cody said matter-of-factly, a faint, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. “In my case, I’ve just been too terrified to voice the ‘R-word’ out loud.” He grimaced slightly at the word, immediately feeling the need to rectify it. “I mean… I was talking about retirement—”
“I’m well aware, Nightmare,” Roman chuckled low, the vibration rumbling deep within his chest. God, he loved this man.
He looked into Cody’s eyes, searching for any trace of lingering doubt. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying this because you think it’s what I want to hear, right? Because I really wouldn’t mind if you wanted to continue running with it, you know.”
“And be the asshole who has to pack a gear bag and fly out to work while the rest of my family stays home, making long-lasting memories without me?” Cody scoffed softly, the sheer absurdity of the thought plain on his face.
He slid seamlessly into Roman’s personal space as he spoke, his arms looping snugly around Roman’s waist, anchoring them together. Roman's hands came up without thought, lifting to gently frame Cody’s face, his thumbs tracing the familiar line of his jaw.
“Not a chance,” Cody finished softly, his eyes locking onto Roman’s with absolute certainty.
“Mm,” Roman hummed in deep approval. He leaned forward, thumping their foreheads gently together in a quiet, comforting gesture of shared understanding. “Alright. I’ll set up a meeting with Hunter next week. We’ll see how it goes from there.”
“Let me know how the discussion goes,” Cody replied. His thumbs rubbed absent circles against Roman’s back before his expression shifted. “Now… about the school issue…”
Roman’s hands fell from Cody’s face with a highly performative, exaggerated frown. He made a half-hearted attempt to pull backward, but Cody’s grip merely tightened around his waist, keeping their bodies flush against one another.
“You can’t avoid this conversation forever, Ro,” Cody laughed softly.
Leaning forward into the crook of Roman’s neck, Cody began to gently nibble at his jawline, deploying a blatant, unapologetic wave of physical bribery.
“Cody, don’t for one second think I am not on to you,” Roman grumbled, though his head sideways despite the accusation, granting Cody a much wider canvas to work with. “I see right through these fraudulent attempts to coerce an answer out of me.”
Cody immediately took the opening for what it was. Within seconds, Roman found himself crowded backward until his back hit the nearby foyer wall, Cody pressing against him while stealing the breath straight out of his lungs with a kiss.
Roman let out a soft, low moan at the sudden joining of their mouths, his entire nervous system lighting up as Cody pushed the advantage. Cody’s hands snaked upward, slipping beneath the fabric of Roman’s damp workout shirt, his warm fingers tracing over Roman’s chest, fingers finding the sensitive peaks of his nipples. The touch pulled a sharp gasp from Roman, which Cody immediately swallowed, kissing him even deeper for good measure.
When Cody finally broke the kiss, Roman’s head tipped back against the wall automatically, chest rising hard while Cody buried his face back into Roman’s neck, his respiration hot and panting against the sensitive skin.
“Exactly… how long do you think we’ve got before Oliver returns?” Cody asked quickly, his hands scraping softly against Roman’s skin.
Roman didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The last time they’d experienced anything resembling long, uninterrupted, deeply satisfying sex – followed by the luxury of basking in its warm afterglow, Oliver had just turned three, and Cody’s mother had kidnapped him for an entire weekend.
So it was safe to say that the past two years had consisted of frantic bathroom quickies and foreplay that was too often abandoned in favor of the main event, condensed into precious stolen minutes before Oliver could burst in with his boundless, energetic presence.
Perhaps this outsourcing-the-education thing wasn't such a terrible idea after all. Lord knew Roman would finally have enough time to actually sleep after truly enjoyable, unhurried sex if the boy was occupied for eight hours a day.
“The good news is, this particular model comes with its own built-in alarm system,” Roman murmured, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “So you’ll know exactly when he’s nearby.”
His hands moved down to lift Cody’s face away from his neck, eager to plunder his husband’s mouth all over again.
“Roman—” Cody broke away from the kiss with a sharp, breathless smack, his eyes dark with desire.
“What? What is it now?” Roman asked, his eyes slipping shut in sheer anticipation as Cody’s hand drifted lower, grazing the waistband of his athletic shorts.
“The school thing,” Cody insisted, his voice a strained whisper.
“Now? That is seriously what you’re thinking about right now?” Roman gasped slightly as Cody’s hand finally dipped beneath the elastic, palming him through the thin barrier of his briefs with agonizingly slow precision.
“It is kind of important,” Cody murmured thoughtfully, completely aware of the leverage he held.
“Fine! I’ll check out the schools tomorrow,” Roman surrendered completely, willing to promise just about anything to urge Cody along so they could get on with the actual touching.
Cody’s hand stilled instantly. His eyes narrowed into two suspicious slits. “That is the very same phrase you used yesterday about the brochures, and you didn't even—”
“Cody, I swear to God, I will make the drive to visit all eight schools in person tomorrow if you just touch me right this second!” Roman nearly cried out, his patience depleted.
“Daddy!”
Oliver’s high-pitched voice echoed down the hallway, perfectly punctuated by the rapid thump of little feet – usually his preferred mode of transportation – sprinting toward the foyer at maximum velocity.
Cody shot Roman a look of profound, deeply sympathetic apology before swiftly retrieving his hand from Roman’s shorts. He smoothed out Roman’s shirt before stepping back, restoring a respectable foyer-appropriate amount of distance between them just in time for Oliver to come crashing around the corner.
He skidded into the foyer, practically vibrating with countless ounces of unspent morning energy. He was wearing his small apron cinched at his waist over his gym clothes, while Plushie Seth, tucked securely under his arm, was sporting an identical, miniature fabric replica.
“I set the table, Daddy! I even set out a plate for Pharaoh, too,” Oliver announced proudly, beaming joyfully up at Roman as he waited for his well-deserved praise.
“That's—” Roman cleared his throat. “That’s awesome, Chief,” Roman responded, his voice approximately seventy percent normal, left completely high and dry after being thoroughly worked up. Oliver, blessedly, accepted the seventy percent without question.
“I can help you guys butter up the toast before I have to leave?” Cody offered, with a sideways glance at Roman that contained a full sentence's worth of apology and amusement per syllable.
“Where’re you going?” Oliver asked, his wide eyes shifting up to Cody in immediate curiosity.
“Tomorrow’s Friday, remember?” Cody supplied helpfully, bending at the waist to his son’s eye level.
“SmackDown!” Oliver perked up instantly at the realization. He turned the plushie over in his hands, some private recalibration occurring. “Can I please come, Papa? Please, please, please—” he pleaded, squishing Plushie Seth against his chest as he pressed his little hands together and looked up at Cody with the full and weaponized deployment of the Oliver eyes.
“Oh, Ollie, I would have loved for you to come with me,” Cody said, his voice dripping with faux-disappointment as he looked up to shoot Roman a thoroughly conniving, triumphant smirk. “But you and Daddy have a very important mission. You have to go look at schools tomorrow.”
Oliver’s continued presence in the foyer was quite literally the only thing keeping Roman from rightfully throttling his husband right then and there. It was a flawless, brilliantly executed checkmate. Cody had successfully coerced a binding agreement from Roman in a state of utter vulnerability, and then immediately roped their son into the execution of the plan to ensure there was no backing out.
Roman knew that armed with this information, Oliver would be up bright and early tomorrow before the crack of dawn, literally bouncing on his head in bed and demanding their school-scouting expedition begin that second. Roman would have no recourse or negotiating surface whatsoever, and there would be absolutely no way to escape the drive.
Cody - 1.
Roman - 0.
“I’m going to school?” Oliver asked, his attention tactfully distracted away from his initial pleading by the massive announcement.
“Yes. You’ll get to make all kinds of new friends your own age who are just as curious and energetic as you are,” Cody explained gently, reaching out to playfully boop the boy’s nose.
“Will they like wrestling, too?” Oliver asked. His little hand slipped naturally into Cody’s open palm, turning to tug his father back in the direction of the kitchen to commence the great toast-buttering operation.
“No idea,” Cody let himself be tugged out of the foyer, falling easily into Oliver's orbit. “But perhaps you could show it to them.” He moved toward the kitchen, Oliver leading, and at the precise moment he passed through the doorway, he paused to shoot Roman one final, winning wink over his shoulder.
His voice echoed warmly down the hallway as he and Oliver made their way into the kitchen, leaving Roman standing alone in the foyer. Roman remained frozen in place for a long moment, his mind cooking up a myriad of highly calculated, agonizingly thorough ways in which he would eventually repay his husband tenfold.