Work Text:
“I’m not her father.”
It was a ridiculous idea in the first place. Kay was seventeen, almost an adult in her own right, and Miles was nowhere near old enough to be her father. He was male, he was older than her, and he cared for her. That hardly made her his daughter.
Kay found the idea much more amusing than he did. To her, he was an old man, complete with gray hair. As soon as some clerk or waiter hesitated to address them, she hung on his arm and called him Dad. (Or, infuriatingly, Daddy.)
Kay hung off his arm, pouting up at him, until Miles rolled his eyes and pulled his wallet once again from his pocket. When he handed over his credit card, Kay stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks, Daddy!” she chirped as she trotted off to buy some ridiculous sugary caffeinated beverage.
“I’m not your father,” he grumbled, wiping his cheek. If he really was her father, he wouldn’t let her indulge in such things. Or wear such a short skirt in public. Or find himself quite so flustered by such a chaste kiss.
He did care for Kay. And he did provide her with support - a spare bedroom, a late-night retrieval from a shady neighborhood, a firm bit of advice. But she was a remarkably independent young lady. After all, she’d lost her real father at an early age - which he could relate to - and the aunt that had taken her in had a fairly lax disciplinary policy - which he certainly couldn’t.
She had no need for a father, frankly, and Miles had no desire to be one.
Publicly.
Kay didn’t literally drag Miles into the dark and trendy clothing store, but it felt like it. He stood by as she shopped, occasionally asking his opinion on things but mostly using him as a holder for the heap of clothes she intended to try on.
When she pulled him past the changing room attendant, she loudly declared, “C’mon, dad!”
“I’m not - “ Miles bit back the rest of the sentence before he gave away the game. Either it worked, or the attendant wasn’t paid enough to care - either way, Miles was allowed past, to loiter outside Kay’s little booth while she modeled various outfits. By the time Kay made her way to the last outfit, Miles was more interested in his phone than her clothes.
“Whaddya think, daddy?”
“I’m not - “
He looked up.
The skirt Kay’d worn to the mall today ended halfway up her thigh. The one she had on now barely counted as a belt. The waistband sat so low that it showed her hipbones, and the hem grazed the bottom of her shapely ass.
Miles nearly dropped his phone.
“Absolutely not.”
“Are you sure?” Kay waggled her hips. The skirt shifted and flashed her lacy white underwear. “I think it’s cute!”
Miles grabbed Kay by the arm and firmly guided her back into the booth. The door closed behind them and he turned her to face the mirror.
“That skirt is completely inappropriate,” he pronounced, reaching down to tug at the hemline. “It’s far too short.”
Kay leaned back against his chest, her gaze meeting his in the mirror. “Don’t be such a prude, dad.”
Miles leaned in close and kept his voice low. “No daughter of mine will be going out in a skirt like this.” His fingers curled under the hem. “It’s far, far too sexy.”
When Miles’s finger pressed against the gusset of Kay’s damp underwear, she threw her head back with a gasp. “Fuck!”
“Language,” Miles muttered against her neck, drawing her tighter against his chest.
Kay bit her lip. “Mmm… sorry, Daddy…”
Miles hummed against her neck, fondling her chest through her shirt. “That’s my girl.”
They both redressed quickly, Kay putting on her original clothes again, and soon there was no evidence of what they’d done.
Well, almost no evidence.
“Are you sure you don’t want to be a father?” Kay asked while she sorted her clothes. “Because I think that’s how you get to be one.”
Miles’s face flushed redder, but he couldn’t bring himself to reply. That was uncharacteristically reckless of him. If Kay got pregnant with his child, the results would be catastrophic for both of them. And any stupid, primitive instinct that boiled in his chest at the very thought was to be firmly ignored.
Kay pressed a stack of clothes into his hands. “I’ll take these ones.” She smiled at him, heart-meltingly sweet. “Thank you, daddy!”
Miles sighed, but didn’t correct her. Or make her put back the offending skirt.