Work Text:
It's hot. A fucking oven. That's all Ewan is thinking when he pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it on the sofa. It's only the shocked gasp from behind him and the thud and fizz of Andy's Coke hitting the floor that remind him why he was wearing a shirt in the first place.
Fuck.
"Papa! What happened to your back?"
"I fell," Ewan says shortly, and fuck, that might have convinced Andy a few years ago, but at eight, he's not nearly that gullible anymore. Now it's probably only gone and made him suspicious.
Sure enough, when Ewan turns around, Andy's looking up at him like a miniature version of Jude, with his brows drawn and his nose wrinkled. "How'd you fall like that?" His eyes widen and he says accusingly, "And there's bruises on your chest, too, and your tummy!"
"I'm clumsy. Like someone else in this room." Ewan grins and shrugs, bending to pick up the nearly-empty Coke can. "Get me some kitchen roll and we'll clean up this mess, okay?"
"Okay..." Andy frowns, obviously not the least bit convinced.
Ewan drinks the last of the now-flat Coke and claps Andy on the back, nudging him towards the kitchen. "Come on. Daddy'll be pissed off if the floor's all sticky when he gets home." And thank God Jude's out, Ewan thinks, or he'd be pissed off at Ewan, too. Though he might be able to come up with a better explanation, something not as stupid as "I fell" but not quite as...candid as "your dad bit me", which would probably be met with equal disbelief anyway.
They lay sheet after sheet of kitchen roll on the spill until Ewan begins to think maybe they should have just used a towel. Andy's quiet the whole time, but Ewan knows he's not off the hook. They've nearly got it all sopped up before Andy finally says something, and it's too quiet at first for Ewan to hear.
"Hmm?"
"I said, parents aren't supposed to lie."
Well, fuck.
"You're right," Ewan says slowly.
"So how come you lied?"
"I di-" Ewan cuts himself off; denying it'll only make things worse. He picks up a soggy ball of kitchen roll and drops it in the bin he's dragged out. "It's, erm, to do with sex. It's something your dad and me, something we like to do."
Andy dumps the rest of the Coke-soaked kitchen roll in the bin, his face screwed up as he thinks it through. "You like getting bruises?"
"Sometimes." The floor's still wet, so Ewan grabs his shirt off the sofa and sops up the last of the mess.
"Okay," Andy says finally. "Can I have another Coke?"
Whether that's meant to be forgiveness for lying or permission to carry on, Ewan doesn't know, but it seems to be the last of that discussion, thank fuck, at least for now. The bin and his wet shirt in one hand, he gives Andy a one-armed hug, kissing the top of his head. "Wash your hands first." Straightening, he hesitates for a moment, then adds, "And don't-"
"Don't tell Daddy, I know." Andy grins at him. "If you promise not to tell about the Coke."
Ewan kisses him again. "Cross my heart and hope to die."