Daddy [mxm]

5

A blazing sun hangs high in the afternoon sky, creating a radiant effect on the surface of the lake water.

This is about the best my life has ever gotten. Reposing languidly on a pale purple chair float, I relish the warmth of it on my skin, seeping through each pore, feel my muscles slacken with relaxation. A balmy wind gently ruffles my hair as I bob gently around the lake, absorbing the sun's golden rays.

And then the sensation is shattered as my chair pitches forward into the scintillating water. My cry slices the hot air and I gasp sharply for breath just before my entire body slips underwater. Chilling cold is all I know in this moment. Every nerve screams out in shock at the abrupt temperature change. I kick madly for a moment, when I feel an arm wrap around my waist and lift me towards the surface. Coughing and sputtering, I brush my sopping hair out of my eyes and blink them furiously.

"Bret," I gasp, still winded. I sag reluctantly in his arms, my body still tingling with the shocking chill. Pert and cheeky, he smiles down at me. And that strikes flint inside me.

I punch him square in the face.

"Fucking asshole..." It's not an overreaction because he keeps doing this shit.

The big, brutish oaf came into my room this morning with the sole purpose of smacking me in the face with a pillow - and then promptly ran out of the room. I wanted to choke the vexatious prick with my bare hands.

"Calm down, darling."

"Ugh..." I groan, raking my hand down my dripping face. "Aren't you supposed to be making out with Sammy or something?"

He hikes a shoulder in a half-shrug.

"She wanted shopping, dude. I'd rather stay here and swim with you."

I wasn't swimming-

"Where's your dad?" I ask deftly, and it's a marketable skill the way I can so causally bring Rudy into any conversation.

Another shrug, and this time the passivity irritates me.

"How should I know?"

Sighing, I hoist myself up the ladder before clambering onto the dock. My punching hand smarts all the while; as it turns out, punching is painful for both parties involved.

"His birthday's coming up."

"Yeah, so?"

"So I don't know what to get him."

"You always figure out the best present," Bret assures me, following me to my towel. "He still has that big, colorful-ass card you made him last year on his desk, you know."

I flush, drying myself off. "Hey, man, how come you never get me anything for my birthday?"

I hum noncommittally. We're too close for that. It would kind of be like getting myself something. Pointless. Besides, I know our friendship isn't contingent on formalities like that. Rudy... Rudy needs to be wooed.

We find the man doing some outdoor cooking, looking deliciously scruffy in the morning light filtering through the treetops.

As for what he's cooked up, I don't know what it is. Something hardy, and gritty, with red beans floating around in it.

"Dad, that looks disgusting," Bret sneers.

"Siddown and eat, son," Rudy retorts, and suddenly I feel weirdly yearny.

I grab a bowl and spoon some of the stuff into it, then bravely take a sip.

"It's delicious, Rudy," I declare loyally.