The morning sun had fully claimed the nursery by the time Lucas finished changing Sebastian for the third time. He'd mastered the art of balance, holding a squirming four-month-old in one arm while adjusting his own robe with the other, trying not to wince every time he moved his legs.
Every. Single. Time.
"Are you proud of yourself?" he asked aloud, without looking behind him.
There was a pause.
Then, from the doorway, entirely unrepentant:
"Immensely."
Trevor leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his bare chest like sin incarnate. There was a towel slung over one shoulder, he hadn't even bothered to fully dress, and a self-satisfied smile curled at the corner of his mouth that made Lucas want to throw something. Preferably soft. Or heavy.
Lucas turned, very slowly, and shifted Sebastian to his other hip with a grimace that could have written war treaties.
Trevor's smile widened.
