Author's Notes: Warning: We start with sex.
I'm trying to write them being playfully intimate but I don't know if it's working. Please let me know. I'm dangling off the tightrope here.
I used Google Translate for the French section.
Chapter 27
Maeve sat in the corner of the lounge, Otis sitting between her legs as they were half-wrapped around his waist. Her hand was around him as he emerged from his boxers and he tried keeping his voice steady as the sensations she was generating thrilled through his entire body.
"Are you sure you're not uncomfortable?" he asked, concerned.
"I'm fine," she said. "Now come on," she gently urged. "You're the song master. Tell me about this one."
"This isn't—" Otis began then let out a soft moan as Maeve gripped his tip and gently twisted.
"Concentrate, muppet."
"I am."
"On the song."
Otis tried to return his attention to the song. "It…" he began. "They…"
"Yes?" Maeve asked as she squeezed her hand the length of him. He really wasn't that much shorter than Jackson. Probably a little thicker. Definitely a lot more sensitive.
"Their manager told them they had to come up with…" Otis groaned as Maeve's fingers whispered around his tip.
"Come up with?" Maeve repeated, rubbing her thumb along his ridge.
"Come up with a couple of songs each but… the other's couldn't…" He sighed as Maeve gently stroked the skin below his tip.
"Keep going," Maeve softly commanded.
"He wrote this to fill in the gap on the record."
"Sounds like he just threw a bunch of songs together."
"He…" Otis moaned silently as Maeve softly stroked his length with her fingers. "He tells a story."
"Her boyfriend's fucked off and she shags somebody else. I bet the boyfriend comes back."
"Quelle surprise, eh?"
"I love when you talk French," Maeve murmured.
"The Stones were jealous because they blew them away and it was supposed to be a Stones show."
"Okay," Maeve conceded. "Just enjoy," she said as she ran her hand back and forth across his ridge.
"I have no idea why you wanted me to do that," Otis sighed in relief.
"Testing your concentration."
"Why?"
"Might come in handy."
"How?"
Maeve smiled to herself as her hand squeezed the length of him.
"We could use a condom," she murmured, biting her lip.
"Condoms break," he reminded her gently.
"We could use two," she suggested with a small smile.
"I just… I can't do anything like that for you tonight."
"You're still wanting to lick my cunt if my results clear, aren't you?"
"Yes," he murmured and his obvious desire to do so aroused her own desire.
"So you do that for me when you can. It's not a case of keeping a strict tally. As long as we're in the ballpark of even, it's fine."
"I like what you're doing now."
"Do you want me to talk dirty?" she asked softly.
Otis nodded. "Uh-huh."
"Gimme that man milk, big boy," she said mockingly.
"Not like a porn star," he breathlessly said as best he could, grimacing.
"What type of dirty talk do you want?"
"What other terms do you use for wanking?"
"'Polishing the pearl'. 'Tripping the switch'. 'Flicking the bean'."
She sensed him trying to hold back and ran her thumb across his blowhole.
"When I come, that's 'cresting the wave'," she continued. "'Shooting starbursts'. 'Topping the rise'."
"'La Petite Mort'," Otis managed to breathlessly say.
"Literally means, 'the little death'. Don't like that one."
Otis groaned as Maeve felt him involuntarily squirming against her.
"I also like 'melting'," she continued. "You made me melt so many times last weekend."
She sensed the depth of his breathing and knew he was close.
"When you come, that's 'dropping the yoghurt'," she said. "'Painting the ceiling'. 'Spraying the crops'. If you come on my tits, that's 'icing the doughnuts'."
"Feeding the squirrels?" Otis managed to gasp out.
She bent her head and murmured in his ear, "You can feed my squirrels, if you want," then realised she was too late as sticky warmth spread across her fingers.
Maeve lay back on her bed wearing only her pants as Otis leaned over her, tenderly kissing her, his hand gently squeezing her breast while his thumb slowly encircled her nipple.
"I really don't talk like that very often," she murmured when their lips parted. "Jac—other g— people aren't really into language like you are. It's fun being playful with the language."
"I wasn't complaining," Otis said as he kissed her again.
"Some of the ones Jean came out with I'd never heard of. Do you want to hear them?"
"I have no desire to hear my mother's sex talk."
"You knew what going to California meant."
"I used to think it meant we were going to see dad. I was about ten when I realised what it really meant."
"She used it with her boyfriends?"
"Mum never had boyfriends until Jakob."
"Like mother, like son."
"What?"
"You never had girlfriends until me."
"I'm not sure I like that parallel."
Maeve smirked and drew his head toward hers, tenderly kissing him, tongue flickering his as his hand gently pinched her nipple.
"Mmmm," she hummed as their lips parted.
Otis lowered his head and ran his tongue slowly around her other nipple.
"Mmmm," she repeated.
"Just let me know if I do anything that feels uncomfortable."
"Chip and Dale haven't felt sore at all this month," Maeve murmured.
Otis lowered his head toward Dale again and put his mouth over her nipple and gently drew in a breath.
"Mmmm," Maeve hummed for a third time.
Otis moved his head to her other breast and flickered his tongue across that nipple.
Maeve sighed contentedly. "Missed this."
He ran his tongue gently back and forth around her nipple then flickered across it again.
"Do you think it's ready yet?" Maeve asked.
Otis glanced at the container sitting on the bedside chest of drawers. "Seems ready to go."
"Great," Maeve said, indicating he should hold it out for her.
"Are you sure?" he asked as he held the container out to her.
"You said I probably tasted like strawberry ice cream," Maeve said.
"I said you would taste like strawberries & cream," he said, handing her a spoon. "And I was talking about your pussy."
"You weren't that specific," Maeve said and dipped the spoon into the container and let ice cream drip onto her left nipple. "Oh, oh," she gasped at the sensation. "Cold."
"That's the point."
"Hurry," she urged.
"This was your idea, remember?"
"Hurry up, fuckwad," she gasped.
Smirking, Otis leant over and slowly licked the ice cream from around her nipple.
"Shit, I forgot how cold this was," Maeve sighed with pleasure.
A flicker passed across Otis' face then he murmured, "Now Dale."
Maeve dipped the spoon into the container again and let the ice cream dribble around her other nipple, gasping but loving the sensation.
"That really makes your nipples stand out," Otis teased.
"Come on," Maeve urged.
Otis leant over and slowly licked the ice cream from her other nipple.
"Ohhh, fuck," Maeve sighed with pleasure again.
"You really like this?"
"Did it once, years ago," she murmured then saw the flicker across his face. "I'm sorry."
"I don't have a right to be jealous," Otis said firmly. "It's my issue. Let me live with it."
"If it makes you feel better, I got an infection. Spread it all over my pussy."
"That would have been so cold."
"I think my flaps got frostbite."
"Probably not. They looked okay to me but it's not really a good idea to put any foodstuffs around your vulva. It can alter the pH level if any of it gets into your vagina."
"I know," Maeve said with intense feeling.
"Sorry," said Otis, sheepishly. "Teaching you how to suck eggs. They would have explained when you got the infection."
"Uh-huh," Maeve said then bit her lip and asked quietly, "Your turn?"
Otis shook his head and gently ran his finger between her breasts.
Maeve nodded, dipped into the container again for another scoop and allowed the soft ice cream to dribble along the skin between her breasts.
Otis bent over and slowly licked the ice cream from her skin.
"Mmmm," Maeve hummed.
"Okay, my turn," Otis said and rolled onto his back, preparing himself for the sensation.
Maeve shuffled into a kneeling position and dipped the spoon into the ice cream and dribbled it first around one of Otis' nipples, then the other, loving his gasps at the sensation.
"That is cold," he breathed.
Maeve put the container on the bedside chest of drawers then leant over and tenderly, slowly licked the ice cream from around his left nipple.
"Like that?" she asked breathily.
"Uh huh," Otis said.
Maeve leant over again and ran her tongue around his other nipple, taking the ice cream from his skin.
"Oh," Otis said, feeling the warmth returning. "That felt good."
"I know," Maeve said.
She grabbed the container again and dipped her finger into it and held it out toward Otis who looked at it for a moment, puzzled, before realising. He smiled gently then put his mouth around her finger and slowly sucked the ice cream from it.
She smiled and held out the container to him. He dipped his finger into it then held it out toward her. She bit her lip then used her tongue to lick one side of his finger then the other before taking it into her mouth and slowly sucking the remaining ice cream from it. She kept her gaze directed at his eyes.
He hitched a breath.
"Liked that?" Maeve asked.
"That…"
"Mmmm?" Maeve queried.
"That was so hot," Otis breathed.
Maeve smiled and put the ice cream container on the bedside chest of drawers then leant forward and kissed him tenderly, her tongue flickering against his.
"Congratulations," she said. "You have officially talked exactly like a sixteen year old boy."
Maeve lay next to Otis on the bed, slowly rubbing a handwipe across her breasts before rolling onto her side and using it to clean the remnants of the ice cream from Otis' chest. She tossed aside the handwipe, tenderly kissed each of Otis' nipples before laying her head gently upon his chest.
"So how are you feeling?" she asked quietly. "Any discomfort?"
"No."
"I wasn't sure…"
"I told you. You're helping me be more comfortable with intimacy."
"So are you comfortable enough to see my cumface again?"
"If you're willing to share it with me."
"You were supposed to check out my phone so you could take a video."
"Is this going to be the last time you orgasm?"
"I hope not."
"We can take a video another time."
"Sorry you won't get the full shebang. I just stay on the outside when I'm on my friendlies. And the pants stay on."
"It's okay. Whatever you're willing to share."
"Next week. If you still want."
"Uh-huh." Otis said. "And I've always thought that's a strange name. They've never seemed particularly friendly to the people they visit."
Maeve giggled then rolled onto her back, raised her hand to her mouth and moistened two fingers then dropped her hand to her pants, sliding it under the elastic, gently beginning to stroke her clit.
Otis glanced down then looked once more at her face.
"You're not watching," Maeve gently admonished.
"I'm watching the important part of the experience."
Maeve snorted and moved her fingers down to stroke her little labs.
"Is there anything you want me to do?" Otis asked.
"Talk French."
"What?"
"I love when you talk French."
"What do you want me to say?"
"Anything. I won't understand it. I just love the sound of it."
"You've spoken French."
"I know the obvious ones. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? Baiser. Merde. Vaffanculo."
"That's Italian."
"Whatever."
Maeve closed her eyes and her fingers began to stroke herself a little faster.
Otis glanced down again, swallowed in appreciation, then returned his gaze to her face.
"Afin de maintenir la vitesse de l'air, une hirondelle doit battre ses ailes quarante-trois fois par seconde," he murmured.
"God, that sounds so sexy. What does it mean?" Maeve asked with a gentle moan.
"'In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times every second'," Otis said blandly.
"What?" Maeve asked, startled, stopping the motion of her hand as her eyes flew open to stare at him.
"It's from Monty Python. You just said speak French."
"Dickhead," she said.
"Sorry," Otis said with a smirk.
"Something romantic," Maeve almost commanded as she began tweaking her clitoris again.
"Je ne sais pas quoi dire," Otis murmured.
"Mmmm," Maeve hummed, pleased.
"On m'a dit que mon français n'était vraiment pas sexy."
God, he really did sound so sexy.
"Mais tu me fais sentir comme si ce n'est peut-être pas le cas."
He sounded so good she could forgive him for calling her sexy.
"Tu me fais ressentir des choses que je n'aurais jamais pensé ressentir."
She thought she hadn't been feeling particularly horny tonight.
"Je ne veux pas dire que des choses physiques."
She thought she was doing this just because it would help her sleep better.
"Tu me fais sentir comme si je comptais pour quelqu'un."
But his voice really was making her juices flow.
"Je sais, maman et Eric, mais tu sais ce que je veux dire."
She wondered if he would ever tell her what he was saying.
"Je pensais que j'allais être si seule jusqu'à ce que j'aie fini l'école."
She rubbed her hand across her breasts and wished they were his fingers stroking her nipples.
"Et peut-être même au-delà."
She so couldn't wait until he was inside her.
"Quand je t'ai rencontré, je savais ce que c'était que d'aimer."
She imagined the things they could start to do next week and her engine really was hitting overdrive.
"Je sais ce que j'ai dit au bal."
She sensed the explosion approaching.
"Mais j'avais tellement peur que je ne saurais jamais ce que c'était que d'être aimé."
She felt her body squirming as the crescendo began peaking within her.
"Tu m'as tellement donné."
She knew she was mewling like a kitten but she didn't care.
"je t'aime."
"Otis," she squeaked and curled upon herself, hand clamped between her legs as her orgasm trembled through her.
Maeve emerged from the bathroom wearing her armour plating and slipped beneath the covers on her bed, snuggling into Otis, giving him a tender kiss.
"I got that last bit," she murmured. "I love you, too. But what was the rest?"
"Just something in French."
"What was it?"
"It's a secret."
"We're not supposed to have secrets."
"It was a recipe for garibaldi biscuits."
"Honesty."
"Just a lot of words."
"It sounded so hot."
"You looked so beautiful."
"Oh, and I forgive you but don't ever call me sexy again. Not even in French."
"Okay," Otis said, hesitantly.
"Never thought I'd be feeling like this while Lady Jane was visiting," she murmured.
"I never expected any of this tonight."
"I wish we could have done more."
"We've got plenty of time."
"So what did you say?"
"That I'm so lucky that you're letting me know what it's like to be loved."
Maeve gently stroked his cheek and raised her lips for a kiss. When it was over, she murmured, "You're letting me know what it's like to be loved… to be seen… to be so horny that the buzzing in my cunt is like a hornet's nest."
She noticed a flicker pass across Otis' face.
"What?" she asked, gently.
"Doesn't matter," Otis murmured, leaning down to kiss her.
Maeve drew her head back and stared steadily at him. "What?" she gently asked.
Otis sighed. "I don't… I'm not telling you what to do… I'm just saying…"
"What is it, muppet?" Maeve asked, gentle concern in her voice.
"It's just… I'm not fond of that word."
"What word?" Maeve asked before realising. "Cunt?"
Otis nodded. "I just… I find it… harsh. I'm not saying don't use it, just—"
"You prefer 'pussy'?"
"I know you use that one."
"Well, cats are independent, aren't they? They come to you if they want something from you and if they don't, they're off doing their own thing."
Otis smiled gently at her. "That's one way of looking at it, I suppose."
"I've been told that argument's unconvincing."
"It convinced me."
"I'll try not to use it around you," she gently promised.
"I hope I'm not—"
"I told you, if you say something I don't like, I'll let you know. Fair do's that you can do the same."
Otis smiled fondly at her then leant down and lost himself in her kiss.
When their lips parted, he asked, "So what other words do you use?"
"Fanny. Minge. Vag. Cookie," she smirked.
"Mystery box."
"I loved when you said that."
"I wasn't sure."
"You were stepping outside yourself."
"This past week, I've stepped so far outside myself I think I've gone walkabout."
Maeve snorted and settled against him. "Gonna have to get some sleep now, muppet."
"Are you sure you don't want me to sleep on the lounge?"
"No," she said, closing her eyes and settling her head against him. "Tell me about your dream again," she murmured.
"What?"
"I want to dream the rest of it."
Day 10
Maeve and Otis sat at a table near the window at the café near the supermarket, moving items around as the waitress placed their plates before them.
"Thank you," said Otis appreciatively as he looked up at her.
"Thanks," Maeve said, studying the omelette before herself and wondering if she could finish it before her stomach ate her alive.
The waitress moved away and Otis reached for the tomato sauce and spread it all over his omelette.
Maeve looked at it, crinkling her nose in disgust. "Yuk!"
"You eat your omelette your way," Otis said with bland dignity, "and I'll eat mine my way." He dug his fork into his omelette and lifted it to his mouth.
Maeve watched him as he ate then picked up the sauce bottle and poured a little on the edge of her omelette. She dug her fork in and ate that portion and recoiled in disgust.
"Nup," she said, grabbing her drink and gulping to wash away the taste.
"Try the Worcestershire Sauce," Otis urged. "You might like that better."
"Next time, maybe," Maeve said. "I want to enjoy the rest of this."
"I should have split half-and-half," Otis muttered, glumly, then took another bite.
"So have you figured out what movie to watch?" Maeve asked and took her first bite of unadorned, delicious omelette.
Otis sighed and reached for his phone sitting on the tabletop, twisting it to face her. "There's nothing I'm really interested in. Is there anything you really want to see?"
Maeve glanced at the phone as she ate, running the little finger of her free hand across it to scroll down. She grimaced, glumly. "Not really."
"Just choose something. We might be lucky."
Maeve re-studied the available options then tapped to bring up more info. She twisted the phone to face Otis. "How about that? The Greatest Showman?"
Otis studied her selection and shrugged in moderate approval. "Yeah, I don't mind Hugh Jackman."
"I don't mind your Hugh Jackman," Maeve murmured offhandedly, her smirk quickly turning into a grimace. "God, he must get sick of jokes like that."
"I once googled Hugh Jampton. There's a few of them."
"Poor bastards. How can anybody not know?" Maeve asked in disbelief.
"Somebody could have been trolling."
"I hope they're taking the piss. But we are not calling our son Hugh, no matter what."
"Hugh Wiley," said Otis, running the name around in his mouth.
"Hugh Milburn," Maeve corrected.
"You'd take my name?" Otis asked, surprised. "That's very traditional of you, Maeve."
"Fuck," muttered a surprised Maeve under her breath.
"We could hyphenate. Wiley-Milburn," Otis suggested.
"Milburn-Wiley scans better."
"You think so?" Otis asked, scrunching his nose.
"Why are we talking about kids?" Maeve asked, annoyed. "It's been a week."
"You started it," Otis pointed out. "And it's nine days in…" he continued, glancing at the time on his watch. "Three minutes."
"When are you counting from?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"When you told me you felt the same way as your cookie monster."
"You checked the time?" she asked, surprised and a little offended.
"I, uh…" he began, sheepishly, "… needed to know how long I had to…"
"Get rid of the evidence?" Maeve smirked.
"That's one way of putting it."
Maeve ate a couple of bites of her omelette in silence then asked, thoughtfully, "Do you think we could invite Eric?"
"You want Eric to come?"
"Well, I mean," Maeve began, feeling uncomfortable. "You didn't get to go see your movie on his birthday and… I know it's not Hedwig, but—"
"I'll ask him," Otis said, quietly, gazing at her fondly.
"Do you know when Hedwig is going to be showing again?" Maeve asked, hoping for a good answer.
"They usually show it every few months for a week," Otis said. "Do you want me to keep an eye out?"
Maeve nodded. "Uh-huh. I haven't seen it and I was thinking, we could all go. Unless you two want to go, just the two of you," she concluded, tentatively.
"No, it'd be great to have you come," Otis said softly.
"Send him a text. See if he wants to come today."
Otis put down his fork and picked up his phone, tapping away.
Maeve continued eating in silence, fondly watching him.
"I don't know if he's got anything on this weekend," he said as he put down the phone.
"Movie doesn't start till this afternoon," Maeve said. "We can drop our bags off at your place. But make sure you tell him to come over. No meeting him there."
Maeve and Otis slowly walked in silence along the side of the road leading towards the driveway of his home, backpacks on, keeping a careful eye on the coming traffic.
"Did you bring your book?" Otis asked suddenly, as if a thought had just occurred to him.
"Brought a couple. In case you get hung up on Zelda."
"I won't be playing Zelda this weekend," Otis mildly protested.
"When Eric gets here, you can play Smash Bros. until it's time to get the bus."
"We should do something all three of us can do."
"Strip Queen?" Maeve suggested.
"With my mother there? No way."
"But if she wasn't there, you'd play Strip Queen with Eric and me?" Maeve asked, mischievously.
Otis took a deep breath and said, firmly, "That would be very unfair to Eric."
"Hunh?" Maeve asked, puzzled.
"Part of the enjoyment is seeing an attractive person slowly getting increasingly naked."
"Eric doesn't think you're attractive?"
"He keeps telling me I'm not his type."
"Who is Eric's type?"
"Denzel."
Maeve sighed. "Well, you got lucky. Maybe he will, too."
Otis sighed and shook his head.
They walked in silence for a few minutes then Maeve looked up at Otis, smirking.
"You've changed your tune since last week," she said.
"What?"
"Last week you went redder than with my cup size when Aimee suggested bringing Steve over for a game of Strip Queen. Now, you're all, 'Oh, yeah, it's hot seeing a babe get naked.'"
"It was seeing you naked," Otis corrected.
"You'd seen me naked."
"And I wanted to see you naked again."
"Pervert."
Otis sighed in frustration.
"Do you think Aimee's attractive?" Maeve asked, curiously.
"I am not attracted to Aimee," Otis said, sighing loudly.
"I didn't ask if you were attracted to Aimee. I asked if you thought she was attractive."
Otis shook his head and kept walking.
"Look," Maeve began to explain. "You can see someone and not be wanting to shag their bones but you can think, 'Hmmm, they're a really attractive person.' Eric's a really attractive guy."
Otis took a deep breath and conceded, "Yes, Aimee is a very attractive woman."
"Okay," Maeve nodded as if her thinking was confirmed. "So you do want to see Aimee naked."
Otis groaned in exasperated frustration, raising his head to the sky. "Maeve," he said, dragging her name out.
"We should ask Aimee and Steve." Maeve said as if inspired.
"I am not playing Strip Queen with Aimee, Steve and Eric."
"I meant, to the movie," Maeve said, blandly, keeping her face neutral.
Otis was silent for a moment then nodded and said, "Yeah. Invite Aimee and Steve to the movie. That's a good idea. I said it's nice to be able to hang out with a few more friends."
"And then after the movie, we can come back to your place and play Strip Queen until your mum gets home."
Otis groaned and shook his head in frustration.
"Do you think Ola would be up for it? We should ask," Maeve said, trying desperately to keep her face and voice neutral.
Otis picked up his pace as he saw the turn to his driveway just ahead.
"Lily," Maeve called out as she hurried to catch up to him. "She'd definitely be up for it, the way you talked about her."
Otis pressed his lips together, staring directly ahead of himself.
Maeve allowed her grin to break free. "You see the lengths I have to go to now to get to see Cute Otis? You're becoming comfortable too quickly, muppet."
Jean and Otis solemnly sat at the table on the balcony.
"I'll talk to your grandfather tomorrow night," Jean promised.
"I'm sorry," Otis said, subdued. "I should have asked first."
"If it was up to me, I'd have no problem with Maeve coming with us."
"I'm sorry for taking it for granted. And I should have asked about Maeve staying. I'm sorry."
"You have my complete permission for Maeve to stay here for the weekends and holidays or for you to stay at her place. I trust you. As long as you let me know as soon as you can."
"I will."
"And since it's the last week of term, she can stay here next week if she likes. But next term… we'll see."
"Thanks."
Jean picked up her drink from the table and took a sip.
"I'm sure your grandfather will have no issues," she said, reassuringly. "It's just courteous to ask first before making the offer."
"Yeah," Otis murmured, contritely.
"You will, of course, have to sleep in separate bedrooms."
"I know. I told Maeve. That's fine," Otis said with a small smile.
"Of course, sneaking through the house to join the other can add a particular frisson to a relationship," Jean said, knowingly, taking another sip of her drink. "Finding moments and places to connect in secret."
Otis was silent for a moment, pondering, then he glanced at the doorway into the house before turning back toward his mother.
"We're not having sex," he said, quietly, staring at the ground.
Jean blinked in surprise at his words then carefully put her drink back on the table. "Because Maeve's experiencing her period?" she asked quietly, cautiously.
Otis shook his head. "We've never had sex. Intercourse. I… sometimes I think I want to… but sometimes I think I shouldn't… yet… Sometimes I think I'm ready… if Maeve's willing… but other times…"
"There's no hurry, Otis," Jean said, quietly, feeling her throat burning at his honesty with her.
"I know," he murmured.
"We all… pace ourselves differently when it comes to all aspects of our lives. There's nothing wrong with taking things slowly in this area."
"I know."
"It's perfectly normal."
"I know."
Jean studied her son carefully, then continued, "There are other things that can prove just as pleasurable until you think you're ready—"
The memory hit Jean like a tonne of bricks and she flinched, cursing herself.
"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I wasn't—"
"It doesn't matter," Otis said, shrugging. "It happened and… it didn't kill me. Or Maeve."
He looked up to see his mother carefully watching him.
"What doesn't kill us only makes us stronger, right?" he asked.
Jean frowned, trying to access a memory. "Adele?"
"Oh, come on, mum. You know that's Nietzsche," Otis said in disbelief.
"Yes, I know the original quote is from Götzen-Dämmerung," Jean said impatiently, "but there was a relatively recent song that quoted it. I just can't remember who sang it." She sighed. "All these current acts just blend into one for me," she continued, ruefully.
"It's Kelly Clarkson."
"Ah," said Jean, none the wiser.
"I can play it for you."
"It's fine."
Otis nodded and sat back, settling into silence.
Jean studied him for a moment then asked, quietly, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Otis nodded.
"Are you sure? If you still want to talk…"
"No, it's okay." He gazed directly into his mother's eyes. "Thanks, mum."
Jean was silent for a moment then said, quietly, "Thank you for sharing that with me, Otis. I appreciate it."
"The ground didn't open up beneath me, did it?" Otis asked, wryly. "A horde of flaming demons didn't burst through from another dimension, did they?"
"I don't believe so."
Otis stared at his hands for a moment. "I'm sorry I've been… I haven't…"
"You've done what you've needed to do for yourself," Jean said quietly. "I just… had difficulty accepting you were growing up." She finished the last of her drink. "I'm going to make another smoothie," she said as she stood up. "Do you want one?"
"No, thanks."
Jean started towards the doorway but stopped beside Otis and looked tenderly down at him. "I really do appreciate you opening up to me and I promise I will not take that for granted. And I will try my best not to push anymore. But if you ever need to talk…"
"I know," Otis said, looking up at her. "I will. When I'm ready."
Jean nodded, gently ran her fingers across his shoulder then walked into the house. As she passed Maeve, the girl glanced over and shared a small smile with her before returning her attention to the phone pressed against her ear.
"I'll ask him now," Maeve said and stepped onto the balcony, raising her voice slightly to ask, "Muppet…?"
Otis looked queryingly at her.
"Aimee says they've got a threefer next weekend and they were planning on going to that," Maeve said. "Is it okay if we put it off until next weekend?"
"That's fine."
"Do you think Eric will mind?" Maeve asked, gently concerned.
Otis shook his head. "He'll understand. It'll be a threefer next weekend."
"Great," Maeve said, pleased, then returned her attention to her phone. "Otis says that's fine."
Otis caressed her with his eyes for a moment then stood and walked over to the balcony to wander his gaze across the view.
"Hey, muppet," Maeve called.
Otis turned to face her. "What?"
"Is it okay if Aimee and Steve come over after lunch? They're not doing anything."
"Hang on," said Otis and walked across the balcony and through the doorway to look over at his mother standing near the blender sitting on the bench, preparing another smoothie for herself. "Mum, is it okay if a couple of people come over this afternoon? Stay for dinner?"
"Are you planning a bacchanalian orgy?" Jean asked blandly.
Otis turned to Maeve. "Are we?"
Maeve pressed her lips together and shook her head. "No."
Otis turned back to his mother. "No."
"Then you have my blessing."
Otis turned back to Maeve. "It's okay," he said.
"I heard," Maeve mouthed then returned her attention to her phone. "It's okay," she said. "Come on over. Otis is cooking dinner and I'm helping."
"Maeve is cooking dinner and I'm helping her," Otis called.
Maeve sighed and turned away to gaze across the view. "Did you hear? I'm cooking and he's helping me."
Otis turned away to walk over to his mother.
Maeve's voice floated in from the balcony. "He's a fantastic cook, Aimes."
Jean glanced at Otis. "You could consider becoming a chef if giving advice has lost its appeal."
"You think so?"
"It's no longer a mother's bias."
Otis frowned, pondering.
"You don't have to decide this moment," Jean said.
"Did I tell you Eric was coming over?"
"You have now."
"Is that okay?"
"Of course. He's my other son. Don't tell his mother I said that." She glanced at the fruit bowl with mild concern. "Should I hide the bananas?"
Maeve, Otis and Jean sat at the kitchen table with the remnants of their lunch sitting upon it, waiting while the noise of the blender overwhelmed them.
"I tell you, Jean," Eric said as he stood monitoring the blender. "That yoghurt makes it so incredible."
"I can't hear you, Eric," Jean tried to call above the noise.
"What?"
"I can't hear you," Jean tried again.
"I can't hear you," Eric called across the room.
"Wait until you've finished," Otis called across to him.
"What?"
Otis sighed and then the noise vanished and they bathed in the blissful silence.
"What did you say?" Eric asked. "I couldn't hear you."
"Doesn't matter," Otis said, shaking his head.
"That's a very interesting colour, Eric," Jean said, dubiously, as Eric poured the liquid from the blender into a glass.
"It's the yoghurt that makes it special," Eric said, carrying the glass across to Jean.
"It smells nice," Jean said, taking the glass, still looking at it dubiously.
"You still have that stomach pump, don't you, mum?" Otis asked.
"Oh, ye of little faith," Eric said scornfully.
"That was a breast pump, Otis," Jean said firmly. "You know that was a breast pump."
"Well?" asked Eric, watching Jean with anticipation.
Jean swallowed a sigh and took a sip and brightened with surprise. "That is nice, Eric," she said, taking a deeper sip. "This is really good."
"Told you," Eric said triumphantly. "I am the Smoothie Master. Master Smoothie," he amended uncertainly. "The Smoothman." He had a flash of inspiration. "I am Smooth."
"You certainly are," Maeve said, smiling gently.
"Do you want one, Maeve?" Eric asked her, expectantly.
"It's delicious, Maeve," Jean said.
"Yeah, I'll have one, thanks, Eric," Maeve said.
Eric walked back to the blender with a spring in his step.
"I'll have one, too, Eric," Otis said, "but can you add…"
"What?" Eric asked.
"I'll just have one, too," Otis said, subdued.
Maeve shook her head at him.
"I couldn't do it," he mouthed.
"Don't be mean," Jean mouthed.
"You sure you don't mind, Eric?" Maeve asked. "Today, I mean?"
"Noooo," Eric said. "We are having a Hugh Jackman threefer marathon next weekend. I am creaming in anticipation already."
Otis cringed. Maeve dropped her head to conceal her smile. Jean raised her eyebrows. Eric poured the remainder of the smoothie in the blender into another glass.
"I thought you liked Denzel," Maeve said as Eric handed her the glass.
"My celebrity affection is unlimitless," Eric said as he began preparing the next smoothie.
"Stay away from Brad Pitt," Maeve warned.
"And John Travolta," Otis reminded her.
"And John Travolta. Young John Travolta," Maeve amended. "This is really nice, Eric."
"And you, Otis?" Jean asked. "Any particular celebrity?"
Otis looked at his mother in disbelief.
Maeve smiled and put down her glass and waved both hands toward her hair.
"Ah, yes," Jean remembered. "He told me he made that comparison. I told him women didn't like being compared to other women."
"I'm just letting him run with it," Maeve said.
"You're undoing all my good work, Maeve," Jean said with a smile.
"And so who's yours, Jean?" Maeve asked.
"You can't guess? Don't tell her," she said to Otis with a wag of her finger.
Maeve thought for a moment then realised. "Hugh Grant," she said wryly.
"I will admit I have a real soft spot for Hugh Grant," Jean said wistfully and turned to Otis. "So much so that your father started to refuse to go to the cinema with me when he was in a movie."
"Why?" asked Otis.
Jean sounded a little embarrassed as she said, "It seems those movies reminded your father of how I made a supposed fool of myself when we met him."
"Hugh Grant?" asked Otis, surprised.
"Yes."
"You've met Hugh Grant?"
"Yes."
"Did you swoon?" asked Otis, smirking, dragging out the last syllable.
"Women no longer swoon, Otis," Jean admonished with a gentle smile.
Otis nodded in acknowledgement of the gentle chastisement.
"Did he say anything to you, Jean?" Eric asked, intrigued.
"Yes."
Otis and Maeve and Eric waited patiently for Jean to speak further before a slightly frustrated Otis finally asked, "So what did he say, mum?"
"'Could you pass the sugar, please?'"
"What?" asked Otis and Maeve and Eric in unison.
"Your father and I were in a café in Notting Hill and Hugh Grant came in accompanied by a very elegantly dressed younger woman who I have never identified and they sat next to us and since there was no sugar on his table when his tea arrived Hugh asked for ours."
"How did you make a fool of yourself?" Otis asked.
Jean took a deep breath and said with as much dignity as she could, "It seems I suffered a temporary loss of the ability to verbally communicate and my motor functions temporarily refused to activate."
Otis and Maeve and Eric stared at her without speaking.
"I just sat there staring at him until Remi passed over the sugar container," Jean said, giving an embarrassed smile at the memory. "Your father was so annoyed with me. When we got out of there he questioned my sanity, my commitment to our relationship, my taste regarding desirable sexual partners."
"Was this when they were shooting the movie?" Otis asked, hoping to forestall yet another list of his mother's grievances against his father.
"No. Long before then. Before we were even married. In retrospect, I should perhaps have taken that as a sign."
"Wow," smirked Otis after a moment. "My dad could have been Hugh Grant if only you had managed to control your biological imperative and passed him the sugar."
"As if I could have been so lucky," Jean murmured.
"I think as much as I'd be annoyed at myself for doing it, I'd probably do the same if I bumped into Brad Pitt or John Travolta," Maeve said.
"Or Kermit the Frog," murmured Otis.
Maeve gave him every indication that she was giving him the finger beneath the table.
"Just teasing… princess," he said as Eric started the blender again.
Jean stepped onto the balcony, dressed to the nines, putting in her left earring.
"Okay, Otis. Ola will be dropping Jakob off soon and then we're off. I'll—"
She looked up and noticed a new couple sitting at the table with Maeve and Otis and Eric, the girl cozily sitting on the boy's lap.
"Oh, hello," she said in mild surprise.
"Mum, this is Steve and Aimee," Otis said.
"Hello, Mrs Milburn," Aimee said brightly.
"Hello, Mrs Milburn," Steve said. "I'd stand but…" he continued apologetically.
"Oh, babe, you should have said," Aimee said and stood.
Steve hurriedly stood and held out his hand.
"Oh, please," said Jean, shaking his hand. "Jean."
Aimee held out her hand. "I'm Aimee."
"Pleased to meet you, Aimee," Jean said, shaking her hand.
"This is a fantastic house," Aimee said.
"Thank you," Jean said.
"I wish I lived in a house like this," Aimee said.
"Aimee, you live in a mansion," Maeve said, smiling.
"Yeah, but it's not a house like this."
"You look glorious, Jean," Eric said enthusiastically as he stood, admiring her.
"Thank you," Jean said, pleased with the compliment.
"You look like a Goblin Queen," Eric continued.
"Elven Queen," Otis said softly in his ear.
"Elven Queen," said Eric. "You look like a splen-dif-for-ous Elven Queen."
"You give the best compliments, Eric," Jean said, sincerely. "When you meet someone – and you will – you make sure you compliment him everyday. He'll love you for it."
"I will," Eric said, beaming.
"You do look nice, mum," Otis said.
"You do, Jean," Maeve said. "You look… elegant."
"Thank you, both."
"You look amazing, Mrs—Jean," said Steve.
"Thank you, but I think all these compliments are about to make me blush. I haven't done that since I was a teenager."
"You're on him tonight, Jean," said Aimee, seriously.
Otis, Maeve and Steve cringed. Eric was lost in admiring Jean's splendour. Jean hoped she was keeping the amusement from her face.
"Thank you, Aimee," she said.
A car horn sounded from the driveway overlooking the chalet.
"Oh," said Jean, "that's Ola and Jakob." She turned to Otis. "I'm not sure how late I'll be but I will let you know when I'm nearly home."
Jean walked through the doorway into the house.
"Muppet," Maeve said urgently.
"What?" Otis asked, turning to her.
"Go and ask Ola if she wants to stay."
"What?"
"Ask Ola if she wants to stay. She's starting in three weeks. She won't know anybody. She can meet us tonight. At least she'll know somebody."
"She's met you," Otis protested.
"Yeah, right," Maeve said. "Go on."
Eric leant over the railing and looked toward the driveway. "I think she's starting to turn the truck around."
"Hurry, muppet," Maeve urged. "Please."
Otis hesitated a moment then hurried into the house.
"Who's Ola?" Steve asked.
"She went to the dance with Otis," Maeve said.
"The girl wearing the suit?" Steve clarified.
"Uh-huh," Maeve said.
"She looked fantastic in that suit," said Aimee, admiringly.
"She rocked that suit," said Eric enthusiastically.
Jean was at the front door as Otis hurried past her and toward the steps, dismayed as the truck finished its turn and seemed about to pull away.
"Otis?" Jean asked, puzzled.
"Got to stop Ola," Otis said as he began running up the steps. "Ola," he called. "Ola," he called again. "Hi, Mr Nyman," he said as he passed a bemused Jakob. "Ola," Otis called a third time, louder than previously.
The truck stopped and a relieved Otis hurried toward it.
Jakob looked at Jean with a frown as she reached the top of the steps.
"I think Otis wants Ola to stay so she can make some friends before she starts next term," Jean explained.
"He got away from the Dragon Girl. He should bless his good fortune," Jakob said.
"You should not keep calling your daughter a Dragon Girl," Jean said with a soft gently amused exasperation. "Ola is very nice."
"When you've known her as long as I have, you will not think so," Jakob said.
"You are so male," Jean said.
"Yes," Jakob agreed.
Jean rose to the balls of her feet and quickly kissed him on the lips then closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. "Pheromones," she murmured.
"Pesky pheromones," Jakob murmured as he took her arm in his and walked with her to her car.
Otis reached the truck window and gazed at a bemused Ola as he panted and tried to catch his breath.
"I thought you'd be in better condition," Ola said. "All that riding to school and back."
"Those steps are steep," said Otis, still panting.
"Is this your version of a dirty phone call because I've got a mace in the glove compartment."
"Pepper spray is illegal in this country," Otis said, his breathing approaching normality.
"A mace," Ola said, waving her hand as if waving a mace around.
Otis glanced at the glove compartment. "That's too small to hold a mace."
"It's a very small mace."
Otis gave a soft chuckle, his breathing returning to normal.
"What's up?" Ola asked.
"Are you doing anything tonight? This afternoon?"
"Why?"
"Maeve thought—"
"Maeve?" Ola asked.
"Well, we both thought… you're starting at Moordale in three weeks and you don't know anybody—"
"I know you," Ola corrected.
"Well, apart from me."
"And I know Maeve."
"Yes, but… we've got Steve and Aimee – they're a couple – and Eric and Maeve and we thought that, maybe, if you want to, we could… get to know each other… so when you start you have some friends… if you want to be friends with us, that us… if…"
"So what are you getting up to?" Ola asked, watching as Jean's car passed them with just enough room to spare.
"Well," Otis began, "Maeve's cooking – I'm helping – and we can play a game, watch a movie, listen to music – dance, we could dance – or we could just sit around, talk, get to know each other…"
"What game?"
"St- Scabby Queen. Monopoly."
"Not Monopoly," Ola said firmly, shaking her head. "Never play Monopoly when you're getting to know people. That way lies the apocalypse."
"No Monopoly," Otis nodded in agreement. "So…?"
Ola stared at him for a moment then nodded, pleased. "Yeah, okay. Sounds nice. Thanks."
"Great," Otis said, pleased. "Do you have to cancel any plans?"
Ola shook her head. "I was just driving back home. Can't afford to go anywhere this weekend."
"You drove all the way over here and back just to drop your dad off?" Otis asked, surprised.
Ola shrugged. "Saves Jean having to drive over there and back if they're going that way. Quicker to start from here."
Otis glanced in the direction she indicated then nodded, wondering why he hadn't thought of that.
"Let me just pull the truck over," Ola continued, "so Jean doesn't hit it if she gets back before I leave. Bit of a blind coming around there."
Ola stood on the balcony and finished shaking Aimee's hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Aimee."
"You rocked that suit at the dance," Aimee said with admiration.
"I said she rocked that suit," Eric protested.
"You were right," Aimee said in agreement. "You rocked that suit," she repeated to Ola.
"You did look nice," Steve said, holding out his hand. "I'm Steve."
"Hi, Steve," Ola said, shaking his hand.
Otis waved his hand in Eric's direction. "That's Eric."
"Hi, Ola," Eric said from the far side of the table, reaching out his hand. "Sorry, my arm's not long enough."
"That's okay," Ola said, smiling at him. "Hi, Eric."
"I'm kidding," Eric said. "I'll come around."
Ola waved her hand gently at him. "No, no, I'll come over there in a sec. Admire the view down to the river."
"It's a great view," Steve said.
"It's a fantastic view," Aimee said.
Ola turned her attention to Maeve who was standing beside Eric, leaning against the railing. She nodded at the latter girl. "Lion."
"Goddess," Maeve said, nodding back.
Steve frowned. Aimee looked at Ola in awe.
"You're a goddess?" Aimee breathed.
"I'm a goat," Ola corrected her.
"GoddessOfAllThings," Otis said quickly.
"What?" Steve asked.
Ola glanced at Otis and Maeve in turn then shrugged acceptance.
"I'm a goat," she said, smiling softly. "Maeve's a lion and Otis is a kangaroo. Or an armadillo."
"I don't…," Steve said, confused, turning to Maeve for clarification.
"It's a thing we have," Maeve said.
"Can I be a penguin?" Aimee asked. "I want to be a penguin."
"Okay," Ola said after a moment of nobody else speaking. "You're a penguin, Aimee."
"Hey, I'm a penguin," Aimee said happily. "Hey, babe," she said to Steve. "I'm a penguin."
"The most beautiful penguin the world has ever seen," Steve murmured.
Aimee leaned warmly against him, "Thanks, babe," she murmured, then lifted her head. "Hey, what's Steve?"
Ola glanced at Otis who took a step backwards, hands raised in surrender. Ola turned to Maeve, seeking help.
"A stallion," Maeve said firmly. "Steve's a stallion."
"Yes," Aimee said with conviction, glancing at Maeve with a knowing smile before leaning into Steve. "Hey, babe, you're a stallion."
Steve lowered his head, blushing.
Aimee put her mouth near his ear and whispered, "You look so gorgeous when you blush."
"What am I?" Eric asked enthusiastically.
Ola glanced at him and without hesitation said, "A gazelle."
"A gazelle?" Eric asked, slightly confused.
"Elegant, graceful, light on your feet," said Ola. "I bet you're a dancer. Do you dance?"
"He danced at the dance," Aimee said enthusiastically. "Him and Otis. They danced at the dance. They were fantastic."
"They were good," Steve agreed.
Ola leaned closer to Otis. "You danced with Eric?"
"He came late. You weren't there. You'd…"
"Gone to the art room," Ola muttered.
"It was just before Liam."
"I'm glad I went to the art room."
Ola noticed the momentarily flinch flicker across Otis' face and she patted his arm gently. "I wouldn't be here if I hadn't forgiven you. Armadillo. Kangaroo."
"Kangarillo?" Otis said.
"Armadoo."
"Hey, muppet," Maeve called gently.
Otis glanced across at her and she tilted her head toward the far end of the balcony, then slowly walked in the direction she had indicated.
Ola turned to face away from Maeve and looked up at Otis. "Muppet?" she asked, trying to conceal a smirk.
"I'm her cookie monster," Otis murmured.
Ola blinked in surprise then gave an impressed face. "Nice one, champ," she said as she stepped behind him to start walking around the table.
Otis frowned in puzzlement then realised and felt the burning spread throughout his face.
Steve and Aimee were gently snogging. Ola met Eric halfway around the table. Otis hurried to join Maeve.
"Why are blushing?" Maeve asked.
"I told Ola I was your cookie monster," he said sheepishly.
Maeve pressed her lips together to keep back a giggle. "I'm not the only one who calls it a cookie, cookie monster."
Ola held out her hand to Eric. "Hi. We haven't been completely introduced. I'm Ola."
Eric smiled and took her hand and said, "Eric."
"Nice to meet you, Eric."
"Nice to meet you, Ola."
Ola glanced at the other couples then tilted her head to indicate the stairs leading up to the other balcony. She started walking over to the stairs and Eric followed, puzzled.
Aimee murmured softly into Steve's ear, "Maeve says there's a spare bedroom somewhere downstairs."
"Won't it be a little obvious?" Steve asked.
"Do you think they care?"
"Good point."
"You want to go look for it?"
"Lead the way."
Aimee bit her lip then ostentatiously attempted to slip away through the doorway into the house. Steve watched her fondly then began to follow.
Ola watched them disappear into the house then glanced at Otis and Maeve at the far end of the balcony. She leaned closer to Eric, almost conspiratorially.
"Do you think we're being setup?" she asked quietly. "Like, this is a blind date they didn't tell us about?"
"I'm gay," Eric said quietly.
"Oh," Ola mouthed then nodded. "Single?" she asked after a moment.
"Yeah," Eric said ruefully.
"Looking?"
"Yeah," he said after a moment's hesitation.
Ola glanced wistfully at Otis then said with a soft sigh, "Yeah, me too."
Author's Notes: Ola is getting together with Lily. Eventually. She is not coming between Otis and Maeve.
As always, I hope this is working.