Well I'm finding it harder
to be a gentleman every day
all the manners that I've been taught
have slowly died away
but if I held the door open for you
It wouldn't make your day
-The White Stripes, I'm Finding It Harder To Be A Gentleman
Chapter 12: My Father The HeroThe next thing Racetrack knew, Spot was shaking his shoulder to tell him the shower was free.
"You look gone," Spot said driftily, sounding equally as exhausted. "You doin' okay?"
"...Been better." Race shrugged, and kissed Spot before walking lazily out the door to the bathroom.
Spot sighed, and shook his head--like a dog--and grabbed the remaining Skittles, pouring them all in his mouth.
Someone knocked on the door, and Spot jumped slightly. "Yeah?" he said, swallowing the Skittles. The door crept open and he saw Maria was the one peering in through the crack. "You can come in, kid."
She shuffled inside, and looked around for Race. "Where's Tony?" she asked.
Spot jutted his head towards the direction of the washroom. "Shower. He stunk. What'dya need him for?"
Maria blushed. "I didn't get to...it's none of your business!" She stuck her tongue out at him, and crossed her arms. "Izzy says you're a bad ass!"
Spot grinned. "I am. You better watch it."
"I could take you!"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
Spot rolled his eyes; he was never very good with kids. He found them loud and abrasive and annoying. Well, he found Race was loud and abrasive and annoying too, but in a sexy way. Kids were just... ugh.
But on the other hand, this was Race's favorite sister. And he wasn't going to suck up to her the way Jack did, but he had to at least play nicely. Because he didn't want to see Race throw a big brother fit, not when he and Race were... Not when they were what they were, which he could barely even think now that they weren't on the brink of death.
"So what's up, kid?"
She shrugged and made herself comfortable in Race's chair. "Something's going on that they won't tell me about. I wanted to ask Tony."
"Yeah?"
"Something with Dad. They think I'm too little to know, but I mean, I know what he does, so..." She trailed off. "But Marco just keeps saying he's at the office but I know he's not because I've heard Izzy ask him to explain again what happened three times and he doesn't know because he wasn't there."
She took a deep breath. "Tony was there. You were there. What happened?"
He hesitated. "Look, kid--"
"My name is Maria."
"Maria," he said. "It ain't my business what happened; if Marco and your sister don't--"
"It's MY business!" she yelled back at him angrily. "He's my dad and Tony is my brother and if Dad is dead I want to know about it!"
So apparently, the temper did run in the family. Spot shrugged. "Yeah, but I don't want to get Izzy mad at me," he said.
"She won't get mad."
Spot raised an eyebrow.
"She'll blame me. Or maybe Tony. And it's always fun to watch when she's mad at Tony."
He chuckled. "Look, Maria. Your dad..." He trailed off. "He's not dead."
"Then why won't--"
"He wasn't dead when we got out of there, okay? But he did get shot and no one knows if he'll make it. But you didn't hear it from me."
"Oh," she said quietly, then nodded. "Thank you, Sean."
"Sure, kid. Uh, I hope he's okay."
She nodded, but didn't move. "Um, do you mind if I wait for Tony?" she asked in a quiet voice, sounding very young all of a sudden. "I'd like to see him."
Spot nodded. "Sure thing, kid," he agreed. He sort of understood. She couldn't see her father, but she could see Race, and seeing Race was a reminder that people could get out of such things alive. And probably, Race had some secret big brother way of making everything okay.
She stared at him, looking expectant, and Spot stared right back, not knowing what the hell she was expecting from him, since she made it pretty clear that it was Race she wanted to see and not him.
None the less, she made her way over the bed, and sat down next to him with a defiant 'thump,' looked up at him, her arms folded, the glare almost so forced that it was oddly cute. Spot raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?"
"You're supposed to comfort me!" she insisted.
"I don't do that."
"Jack would," she mumbled.
"Yeah, but you want the inside track Jack?" Spot said. Maria looked skeptical, but nodded her head. "He's scared of heights."
"...really?"
"No kidding, he like, pisses his pants. It's great."
Maria giggled. "I like Gabriel best anyway; he brought Rosetta flowers." She poked Spot. "You're cute."
"Thanks. That made my day, really."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"...sort of."
"Sort of?" she demanded, then asked dreamily, "Are you just too shy to ask her out?"
"Uh, yeah. That's it." Spot was relieved the answer was provided for him. If all he had to do was agree, he could probably survive until Race got back from the shower.
"That's so romantic," she decided. "You should ask her. How are you going to ask her?"
"Uh." Spot shrugged.
"You need to think of things like that," she insisted. "Sophia would never have gone out with Gabe if he'd just said, 'uh,' a lot."
"Luckily, I don't have a thing for Sophia."
"Well, duh. What I meant was girls in general."
Spot wished she'd go away. But he couldn't actually say that, so he nodded.
"So tell me what she likes and I'll figure out what you should do."
"Uh..." he said again.
"Don't you even know her?" Maria demanded.
Spot wondered where the hell all of this was coming from. Probably, the part of him that had been to too many psychiatrists reasoned, from a need to distract herself from her father's possible death. But why the hell she'd take it out on him and his love life...
"I do know her," Spot said defensively. "It's just, see, I did ask her out."
"Did she say no?"
"Yeah."
"That's so sad!"
"Her loss." Spot shrugged again. Maria stared incredulously at him. "What?"
"No wonder she said no! Who wants to go out with someone who acts like a total Zen-freak all the time?" Maria made a monotone faced and shrugged her shoulders before saying "Uh," in a low voice. Spot smirked. "I mean really. You have a lot going, you should work with it."
"What, get some cologne, smile a lot and say 'gee whiz!' and she'll go out with me?"
Maria shook her head. "No, then she might think you're gay."
Spot really wanted to laugh right about then. "And we certainly wouldn't want that, would we?"
"Well, not unless you're trying to hit on boys, which would just be gross."
"Yeah," he said. "Disgusting." He was amused, not offended, he just hoped Race didn't overhear that. He knew Race well enough to know he'd probably feel all upset and guilty about lying to a family that would never understand. Where Spot's reaction was more, if they didn't understand, then fuck 'em all.
"What you need," Maria decided, "is to be nicer to people."
"Yeah, I'll work on that."
"I mean it!" she snapped. "You have an attitude problem."
He shrugged. She was right, after all.
"I thought that was part of my charm," he answered.
"It is definitely not charming. Charming is when a boy brings you flowers!"
"Like Gabe."
"Exactly. See, you're not hopeless."
"...Yes, he is."
They looked up to see Race in the doorway, hair dripping, with only a towel wrapped around his middle. He apparently hadn't been expecting company other than Spot when he returned to his room.
"Tonnyyyyy!" Maria covered her eyes. "Eeeewwwww, put something on!"
"Yeah Tony." Spot let his eyes obviously trail down Race's body. "Put something on."
Race smacked his head, and steered Maria out of the room. "I'll tell you when you can come back in, Carina," he said.
"Ewewewewew--" She ranted as he shut the door in her face. Race started towards his dresser, and as he pulled out his clothes, finally noticed that Spot was staring at him.
"Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
"Close your EYES."
Spot rolled and then closed his eyes lightly. Race let the towel drop before slipping on his boxers. He seemed to forget the horny specimen in the room with him was Spot.
"NICE equipment."
Race yelped and pulled his shirt on rapidly. "You ASSHOLE!!"
Spot was actually laughing. "I so lied to you!"
"Asshole!"
"And it was WORTH it!"
Race hissed, "My little sister is right outside you idiot!"
"I'm not the one who screamed. Like a girl."
"Shut UP. So what did the baby want?"
"Baby? She's twelve."
"Right, she's only twelve," Race agreed.
"She, uh, wanted to know about your dad."
"And you told her to talk to Izzy or Mom or Marco?"
"No, I told her the truth."
Race glared at him. "Dumbass," he muttered.
"Tony, she knew something was wrong anyway, she's not stupid."
"I'm aware, but she didn't have to know what--" He stopped. "Never mind." He pulled on a clean, non blood spattered shirt, ran a comb through his hair quickly, tossed the towel and dirty clothes in his hamper, and let Maria back in. "Carina--" he started.
"Sean told me," she interrupted. "And Sean is a jerk."
"For telling you?"
"No, for being a jerk."
He nodded. Sometimes, she sounded a lot like Sophia, who sounded a lot like Isabella. Something about his sisters. He sighed. "But he's a nice jerk, mostly."
"How does that work?" she asked.
He shrugged. "He's one of my friends."
"Whatever."
"So, um, about Dad--" he started, and she literally threw herself into his arms, the facade of cheerfulness that lead her to investigate Spot's love life breaking. Race put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "He'll be fine," he murmured comfortingly. "Fine."
Spot, feeling very much like he shouldn't be in the room, busied himself with grabbing a drumming magazine from Race's bedside table, and flipping through it. He knew nothing about drumming, but he figured he could scope out the hot drummer boys in the ads.
"What if he doesn't--" Maria was sniffling into his shirt. "What if--"
"He'll be alright, Carina." He mumbled into her hair. "I promise, okay? And if he isn't, I'll take care of you." He made eye contact with Spot, and made motions with his head to the door. Spot stared and Race nodded.
Then Spot flipped him off, snorted, and stormed out of the room.
Race sighed, and Maria pulled away a little to look at the door. "He's huffy."
"But nice huffy."
"He's a jerk."
"A nice jerk." He gave her forehead a kiss. "Come on, don't hate him. He's...a good friend of mine."
"I don't hate him," Maria mumbled. "I just hate everything right now."
Race knelt down to look at her. "Don't say that, okay? Because then sooner or later you feel like you mean it and then everything sucks, and you're above that."
"Everything does suck."
"Maria," he said seriously, "when I thought everything sucked, I started with cocaine. I forgot that I had you and Sophie and Izzy, and even mom and dad, and Michael and David. Just because I thought things sucked--it was very selfish of me and I almost ended up dying. I've still got problems because of it. So don't you dare think that, okay?"
She stared at him, and he waited for an answer.
"Tony," she finally said quietly. "It doesn't--it just--Dad..."
"I know, Carina. But I know Dad will fight to be able to come back to us. I mean, can you imagine him letting go a chance to yell at me?"
"...no," she snuffled.
"Right. So he'll do his best to get back and to be okay."
"What if he's not?" she wailed. "What if, what if, what if..." she gulped hard, trying not to sound like a broken record.
"If he's not, then..." Race trailed off. "He's not, but he'll always love you no matter what. He's very proud of you, Maria, and he loves you very much."
Maria hugged him again, and she just cried a little, back and forth between hard sobs and small sniffles. But Race hugged her hard, and held her against him, and hoped to God that his father would come home.
Then, like some sort of ironic God, he heard his mother exclaim loudly down the stairs, "Paulo! What Dear God!" Then she started spouting off in Italian.
Maria pulled away from Race and stared at him. Race broke into a smile and so did she and then they hugged again, before Maria pulled away and rushed for the door. She threw it open, saw Spot standing there, cracking his knuckles, and hugged him too. Spot stared down at her, and then at Race, looking totally at sea for what to do, but then Maria let go of him and rushed down the stairs.
"Time to get screamed at," Race said, glanced around, and gave Spot a quick peck on the lips. "C'mon." He nodded towards the staircase and started down, and Spot followed hesitantly.
From the foot of the stair, he could see his father in the doorway. Well, sort of; his father was being mobbed by his sisters and mother, who were once again all thanking God in Italian. Marco was also lurking in the hallway, closer than Race was, but still unobtrusively. Paulo started down the hallway once he'd hugged and kissed each of the women in turn, and stopped to shake hands with Marco.
Race got a good look at him, and suddenly, his father looked old. One of his arms was in a sling, probably so he wouldn't be able to move it and thus irritate his shoulder, and his face looked somehow more worn, and his hair looked grayer than normal. At the same time, he looked awful, but so much better than he should have, given he'd been shot. Race shuddered at the thought of it.
His father's eyes fell on him.
"Anthony," his father said quietly, and Race stepped from the last stair into the hallway, over to his father. There was an awkward pause.
Finally, his father held out his hand, the one that wasn't in the sling, and Race shook it. They studied each other. Race actually looked his father in the eye for the first time in what felt like years.
"We have much to discuss," Paulo said quietly, and Race nodded. "But not quite yet. I'd like to have dinner with my family first."
Race half-smiled at that, and Paulo searched out Spot, still on the stairs.
"Mr. Conlon; I see you're joining us for dinner again."
"Yes, sir."
And they let it go without another word. Race wondered if that was a good sign or a bad sign.
Race immediately set towards the kitchen, and Spot looked unsure of what to do. Race grinned an him. "Come on, you can help."
"Yeah, yeah." Spot shoved him forward a little, and made a face at Maria. "Dude, no one hugs me," he whispered to her.
"I sure did!" she exclaimed, and jumped up and down. "Daddy's okay!" She hurried off again, also into the kitchen, to jump onto Marco.
"She has some sort of weird mood swing thing going on..." Spot muttered.
"You." Race prodded Spot's chest with his finger. "Are officially the table setter. Go help Maria."
"No WAY--"
"Yeah way."
"He'll just mess it up," Sophia commented, falling into step with them. "You know, which side the fork goes on, where all of the glasses go--"
"I know how to set a fucking table."
"Yeah, but a fucking table with fifteen pieces per setting?"
"What?" Spot demanded.
"Oh, God," Race groaned. "Formal dinner. Who's coming? We wouldn't do it for just Marco."
"I think Dad's just freaked out by everything. But maybe Uncle Maurice or Mario."
"Right." Race sighed. "Okay, somewhere we have a chart that explains the formal settings, you can use that..."
"Can't you make Maria do it?" Spot demanded.
"No," Race said, "because unlike you, Maria knows how to cook. We need her in the kitchen." He grinned. "But Dad'll probably only yell a little when you mess it up."
Spot stared at them, and Sophia smiled and pinched his cheek. "But then you'll be part of the family!"
Race snorted as Sophia walked off and Spot glared. "You and your sisters suck."
Race paid no heed as if he flipped through the cutlery cabinet, and pulled out a laminated chart. "Here. If you're messing up, call for Maria. I'm busy with bread."
Spot whined.
"That's real attractive," Race said, and slammed the chart into Spot's chest, then walked into the kitchen.
Spot grumbled as he looked at the chart and his eyes almost bulged out of his head. "Oh my fucking god." He heard more snickering, and glanced up to see Marco sitting at one of the chairs, grinning. "Why aren't you helping?"
"Because they aren't making me," he answered. "AND I found the frozen pasta that Aunt Angelina has been looking for for months so I'm off the hook. But you..." Marco shook his head. "It's like watching a little dear."
"Seriously, fuck you."
"I wouldn't swear like that with Maria and Sophie around; someone'll hear you and kick your ass."
"I think I've been kicked around quite enough today, thanks."
"Then watch your mouth." Marco grinned.
"So what, you don't have any younger siblings to protect?"
"Only child."
Spot rolled his eyes and began unloading dishes from the china cabinet. He stared at the chart he'd been given, and then at the dishes, and then at the table. He looked kind of dismayed.
Marco rolled his eyes.
Spot began to set the first place.
Marco started laughing.
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were laughing your ass off."
"You were looking at the chart upside down; the fact that I didn't start laughing until you put the glass beneath the plate is impressive."
Spot glared at him, but had to admit, the textless chart did make more sense the other way around. "You're so smart, you do it," Spot snapped.
"Oh, no. I had years of doing this, 'cause I can't cook either. I'm just glad you're here; I still can't get half of it right. And Uncle Paulo still yells at me when I mess up."
"Great," Spot snorted.
A clang was heard from the kitchen and then sling of furious words in Italian, followed by, "ANTHONY! Do not speak that way!"
Spot grinned.
"You get used to that too," Marco nodded, and then coughed. "Uh, that fork goes on the other side."
"Shut up shut up shut uppp..." Spot muttered, fixing around the forks and glancing at the chart. "It's like a freaking..."
"So, what, are you and Race best friends now? Whatever happened to Michael and David?"
Spot shrugged as he continued wrongly placing everything on the table. "They're still his best friends."
"What are you?"
"A new additional best friend."
"But you're an asshole. How can Race be friends with someone like him?"
Spot looked up. "I thought you two were, like, favorite cousins and all that shit."
"We are." Marco grinned. "We're assholes together."
"MARCO, WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE and for the love of God, don't encourage Spot! And I am not a--" pause, "--jerk."
Marco shot Spot a bemused look. "He can hear us from there?" Spot asked. Marco nodded. So he added loudly, "Has he always been like that?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Has he always been such a fuck up?"
"HEY!" came from the kitchen.
Marco laughed. "No, that's more recent. Last few years."
Spot shrugged and went back to trying to figure out which piece of silverware was which on the chart, as compared to the actual, and turned to look at Marco. "Um," Marco said, then paused. "Maria, darling?"
Maria stomped into the dining room, looked at them, and rolled her eyes. "You two," she declared, "are useless." She rearranged the one setting Spot had managed to put together, finished with the correct silverware and pointed. "Just copy that," she said, muttered something in Italian under her breath, and walked back into the kitchen.
Spot looked at Marco, who shrugged. "You also get used to being ordered around by the twelve year old."
"She hugged me," Spot shuddered. "Mafia aside, this family is bizarre."
"I heard that!"
"At least I wasn't swearing!" Spot yelled back. He then looked down at the place setting, and groaned. "God, she made it so professional looking and it was in freaking two seconds."
"That as well." Marco pointed to the table. "You get used to them being abnormally good at abnormal things. Have you heard Race drum?"
Spot gave him a look.
"You could just say 'yes' you know."
"How would that be funny?"
Marco chuckled. "I like you."
"Everybody does."
"You're a jerk," Maria supplied, carrying the salad dressing into the room and placing it in the center of the table. "But Tony says you're secretly nice, so all you need to do is work on your attitude and you'll be fine."
"Go awaaayy..." Spot whined.
"I live here," she answered, and paused to examine the place setting he'd just finished. "And you still have the forks in the wrong order. Marco, help him." She walked back out.
Marco sighed. "I knew I should have avoiding the dining room if I didn't want to end up doing this." He sadly picked up a plate and began to work.
"So why didn't you?"
"Because it's either this, or get yelled at in the kitchen by the insane siblings, or interfere in my Aunt and Uncle's remembering how much they love each other after Uncle Paulo's near death experience. Given the options, you seemed the least..." He shrugged. "Tony needs some time with his sisters."
"Yeah. They're really close," Spot said, not looking up from his table setting. "That's kinda cool." He paused. "Would it be okay if I called my brother, do you think? 'Cause he's probably worried."
Marco hesitated, then mumbled, "Sorry."
"Why not?"
"Because I still don't know what Uncle Paulo is going to do with you and... see, if your brother suspects what's going on because you call him, we might have to kill him too."
"And we're back to me being killed." Spot slammed a wine glass down on the table.
"Don't break it, then you will get killed. By Aunt Angelina, and that would be even more embarrassing."
"Yeah, just..." Spot stopped. "Yeah, whatever. Fine. I won't call."
"Good. Sorry."
"Oh no problem, really." Spot gritted his teeth. "I just got in a freaking fight with him before I stormed out of the house in the first place, and so he might think I went and...I dunno, killed myself or something."
"So?" Marco shrugged, finishing up his setting. "That was what? This morning?"
"Last night," Spot said distractedly, peering at his arrangement.
Marco stared. "So where did you stay?"
"Here." Spot caught himself too late. "In the guest bedroom. Tony snuck me in."
Marco raised his eyebrows. "Wow. You and Race are good buddies."
"Yeah."
"So Race was driving you home," Marco reasoned, working it out in his head, "and you were both grabbed instead of just him on his way to school."
"I guess."
"You've got terrible timing."
"Yeah, I noticed that."
Marco shrugged and moved on to the next setting. "I hope no one shoots you," he finally said. "You don't seem like a bad guy."
"I hope no one shoots me, too," Spot answered flatly. "What with the dying and all."
"Hey; if your brother thinks you killed yourself, that makes our job easier."
"Gee. I'm so fucking relieved for you. I was afraid you'd have to work to cover up my death."
Marco ducked his head a little. "Not my fault," he said. "I just do what I'm told."
"Yeah? So did the Nazis." Spot smirked.
"We're not Nazis, we're Fascists," Marco shot back. "Italian, not German, 'member?"
Spot started to answer, but people suddenly began to yell in Italian in the kitchen.
"...Like I could forget," he said instead. "What was that?"
"Apparently, Race just threw something at Sophie, so she decided to destroy his bread."
"Ooooookay."
"Yeah; they're nuts. There's a reason I avoid the kitchen as much as possible."
Spot nodded his agreement as there was more screaming in Italian from the kitchen. Marco sighed and shook his head, amused, and they went back to the table. When they finished, it didn't look half bad, far more elegant than any table Spot had eaten at before. Marco told him where to find a centerpiece for it, and they stood back and admired their job.
Until Maria walked back in with a pitcher of ice water for the table, and rolled her eyes. "Salad fork, entree fork," she said, reversing the two on one of the settings. "Are you two stupid? Not one place is right!"
"That is really annoying," Spot muttered as soon as she was gone again.
"Yeah, a bit."
Race appeared from the kitchen, and Spot smirked over at him. He was very nearly coated in baking ingredients, and the smear of sugar on his neck was just so damn tempting... Spot fought back the urge to grab Race and lick him clean. "So, Maria says you're useless and Mama's kicked me out of the kitchen until my bread needs to be checked, because Sophia can't behave herself." He rolled his eyes. "So now I get to help, too."
Marco cracked up. "So, Sophia kicked your ass, cuz?"
"She did not."
"Uh huh."
"She didn't! She cheats." Race wiped some flour off of his face, but his hands were also coated and really, he just made it worse. "Mama says we were wasting things."
"You probably were."
"She started it," Race swatted his hands, trying to make the flour go away. "Auuggghh, there's no end to it!"
"Go wash your hands, Dennis The Menace." Spot grinned, his arms folded. Race made a face at him.
"Thanks for the advice, Huckleberry Finn."
"Any time, Little Boy Blue."
"I appreciate it, Pollyanna."
Marco grinned. "Race, cuz, you so won!" Race and him slapped hands. Marco paused and looked at his hand, which was now lightly sprinkled with flour, then ruffled Race's hair to wipe it off.
"HEY!"
Spot started laughing, and Race huffily made his way out of the room.
"I like you," Marco told Spot again. "Tony doesn't have a lot of close friends. He needs someone to keep him humble."
"Like anyone could do that," Spot answered.
"He's not so bad," Marco said. "He's... Well, look at this family. You can see why he'd be a little maladjusted, right? So I'm just saying, I'm glad he's got someone who can handle all of this insanity to hang out with." He paused. "You'll make sure he stays the hell away from cocaine, right? 'Cause with everything that happened today, we won't have enough people to follow him all the time."
Spot clicked his nails on the table, and let his face go slightly serious. "He won't be fucking touching it. Believe me, I only saw it once and that was enough."
Marco nodded, and watched the spot where Race had walked off. "He's a good kid. I love him, really. We all thought he was fucked over when it happened, y'know?" He turned to Spot. "It's weird that you aren't into that shit."
"Oh thanks."
"You're the one with the trash talk and the nicotine addiction."
Spot grinned. "I have 'fuck you' shirts too."
"See? You're also a smartass."
"I thought you liked me."
"I do like you," Marco answered. "If I didn't, I'd probably have shot you by now. Dwell on that for awhile."
Spot started to answer, then stopped. "That's real fucking creepy, 'cause you actually could."
"My point." He paused. "You know, I can't believe Uncle Paulo lets Tony hang out with you."
"I'm his teenage rebellion."
"I thought that was the cocaine."
"Considering you sell that shit, I don't think it counts," Spot shot back.
"Hey, I don't do it personally," Marco answered. "And no one in our Family touches the stuff anymore, anyway."
"Only because Tony almost died."
"...Yeah." Marco actually sounded like he felt guilty about that.
"Well, to be fair," Spot shrugged, "he did it on his own; not because you guys sold it."
Marco didn't get a chance to do anything but look oddly touched, because Mrs. Higgins burst in with a plate of food in her hands.
"Sean!" she exclaimed, and Spot jumped. "You take this and set it down, I have to rush back in and get the sauce; just right there, dear."
Spot didn't know which was more freaky; the fact she trusted him with the plate or the fact she called him dear.
"Uh." Spot quickly put the oven mitts Maria was shoving at him and grabbed the plate. "Sure."
"There you go with the 'uh's again," Maria snapped, then lowered her voice. "'Uh, uh'."
"'Look at me, I'm annoying!'" Spot shot back in a high pitched voice.
Sophia snorted.
"Race filled his quota of smart friends with David, I see," she said.
"You insulting your boyfriend?" Spot asked back, as he placed the plate on the table.
"No!" Sophia half-shrieked.
"Well, then." Spot smirked and took off the oven mitts, tossed them back at Maria.
"Who's she dating?" Marco asked, and turned to Sophia. "Who is this?"
"Marco, don't you get all idiotic about it," she snapped back. "I already went through that with Tony."
"Yeah, but two heads are better than one. So talk to me."
"No, I don't think I will." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked back into the kitchen.
Maria looked after her, hesitated for a second, then confided, "We all like Gabriel, except Daddy," and followed her out.
Race reappeared. "You're letting Sophia date someone?" Marco asked him, incredulously. "Seriously?"
"He's one of my friends," Race answered. "Better she date him than some creep I don't know."
"Better she date no one at all and join a convent!"
Race smiled wildly. "I said the exact same thing."
"As you should have."
"Don't worry--I'll keep them from having sex if it kills me."
"Hell, why not more than sex? I say they don't kiss."
"How?"
"We can try and put papayas in her dinner because she's allergic."
"And then her lips'll swell up like they did last Easter!"
"Brilliant!"
Spot was giving them both odd looks and finally decided to leave the two conniving, protective freaks alone and go watch people in the kitchen. "Your family is weird," he noted to no one in particular.
Isabella looked up from the meal she was cooking with her mother. "What tipped you off?"
"Tony and Marco planning various ways to foil Sophia's dating life."
"WHAT?" Sophia dropped what she was doing and stomped back into the dining room. A minute of yelling in Italian followed, with a few stuttered interruptions from Race and Marco. She returned, annoyed, and went back to work.
"Sean, you TOLD on us!" Marco called. "Jerk!"
"You are SO dead!" Race added.
"Um, can I hide in here for awhile?" he asked Mrs. Higgins, who smiled cheerfully and nodded.
"Just don't get in the way," Sophia snapped. "And hand me the confectionary sugar; it's in the cabinet next to you."
He did as she asked.
"Do you cook, Sean?" Mrs. Higgins asked curiously.
"I can, like, heat up fishsticks. That's about it," he answered.
"Ah, a shame. We'll have to teach you some time. We tried to teach Junior, but he, uh..."
"Is incompetent," Isabella interjected.
Spot snickered at that.
"Here, you get the honor of taking out Tony's bread." Sophia smiled. She seemed to be favoring him since he told on Marco and Race. "Here, take the paddle."
Spot stared at it. "A paddle?"
"A paddle."
"For bread."
"Just take it!" Sophia handed it to him, and he shrugged. Sophia looked at the counter, where she had a strawberry sauce waiting to be sweetened. "Oh, uhm... Izzy?"
"Cooking."
"Maria?"
"Salad! Duh!"
"Oh, damn," Sophia muttered. "Mama, help Sean."
"Si." Mrs. Higgins left the stove to Isabella, and walked over to Spot. Who suddenly felt really nervous. After all, this was his boyfriends' mother. He somehow felt uncharacteristically well-behaved.
Stupid Tony and his stupid making me love him... Spot thought spitefully. But not too spitefully, because despite himself, he was smiling. Mrs. Higgins watched over his shoulder, gave him clear instructions, and just as he was depositing the bread on the counter, Race yelled from the doorway, "You LET HIM touch my BREAD?"
Sophia grinned nastily. "That's what you get for pissing me off."
"Ught, he'd better not have messed it up."
"Way to trust me, Racetrack."
"Don't you start calling me that."
"Raaaaaaacetrack," Sophia sang, and Race began to inspect his bread.
"You didn't damage it," he declared. "Luckily."
"Of course not," Spot answered smugly.
"He did a lovely job, dear," Mrs. Higgins answered. "You really should trust him more."
"Or be less defensive about your freaking bread," Sophia answered.
"Says the girl who forgot to put sugar in the cake two nights ago."
"Shut up!"
Spot stared almost helplessly at the bread, and glanced down at Mrs. Higgins (who was shorter than Tony was; if possible). "Uh?"
"The table, dear," she said distractedly, rushing back and forth in the kitchen. "Put it on this...and then..." She flipped the bread onto a fancy, wood carved board and handed it to him. "Go on! Anthony, would you bring in the salad? Maria has to clean up the floor, she's spilling the olive oil."
Maria looked confused until she glanced down and squealed, because she indeed was spilling the olive oil.
"Hah." Spot shoved her with his elbow as he walked by and Maria growled at him as Race patted her head and handed her a cloth before taking the salad and following Spot into the dining room.
Spot set the bread on the table and then grinned at Race. "Look. I didn't fuck up."
Race pinched his cheek. "Look how much he's grown, Marco!"
"Yeah; and you've been relegated back to salads. I'm surprised you're not throwing a fit, Fante."
"Shut up," Race sulked. "It's only because Maria is cleaning."
"...Otherwise, you'd be useless, now that we've got Sean around," Isabella added, bringing one of the main dishes into the dining room. She gave Spot a smile. "Welcome to the family."
He stared at her for a second. Because when she said that... She knew. And that was like... It was like when Race let Itey take out Sophia, it actually meant he'd won her approval not just as someone for Race to occasionally hang out with, but to date.
Wow.
"Thanks," he said sheepishly, and glanced at Race, who was also grinning.
"Marco, please let Uncle Paulo know that dinner will be served in a few minutes. Tony, go change your shirt, you're still covered in everything. Sean..." She shrugged. "Have a seat."
Spot let a close-as-Spot-gets-in-public smile cross his face as he nodded at Isabella. "Yeah, thanks."
As everyone was hustling by to get to seats and set down dishes, Race brushed behind him and mumbled "Be back in a sec, ok?" and let his hand touch Spot's back. Spot glanced up, but no one had seen but Izzy, who shot them a warning look.
Spot let out a slight, nervous sigh (not loudly, of course) and found that he was seated in between Race and Maria.
One out of two wasn't so bad.
Race was the last one to find his place, and he was now wearing a cleaner, plain blue shirt which was just tight enough to, well, attract Spot's attention. Spot forced himself not to look too much, though. Because he didn't want to have to deal with Race's dad.
And because Izzy would yell at him.
Sophia, Izzy and Marco were seated on the opposite side of the table, with Race's parents on either end. Marco looked vaguely confused when no one started eating immediately, and even more confused when he saw the looks being exchanged between Spot and Mr. Higgins.
He was about to ask what was going on, when Mr. Higgins requested calmly, "Marco, say grace please." Which was fine, but didn't explain why he was smirking, or why Spot looked vaguely uncomfortable. He didn't dare ask that, though; aside from being rude, he also had to say grace, which he did quickly and quietly, and after the round of "Amens," was relieved when everyone did begin to eat.
Spot, for the life of him, was making sure he ate this time. It didn't help that he'd had lasagna upstairs two hours earlier, but he was going to make sure his appetite was not going to be brought up at the table again.
"You're eating this time," Maria said casually. Spot stopped chewing, shrugged, and then kicked her sharply under the table.
But no one said anything else, because really, it wasn't too important considering what this dinner actually was and what had happened that day. He let his foot find another use then, which was to slide up Race's leg.
He saw Race's shoulders twitch slightly and then soon they were having a nice bout of footsie going on.
"Cuz," Marco said, nodding at Race with a grin. "Your cooking is getting better. Best damned bread in the city."
"Damn right!" Race bit into his own piece and Marco did the same; like some sort of odd male ritual.
Spot shot a glance at Mr. Higgins, who was eating contentedly, then paused to glance at his family. And he smiled. He actually smiled at seeing them gathered together, enjoying each other's company.
He stopped smiling when his gaze came to rest on Spot. A chill ran up Spot's spine as he remembered that even if Race loved him, and Isabella approved of him, and the other girls didn't seem to mind him, and Marco actually liked him, he was still facing a possible looming death. He was still an outsider who'd seen too much, and he was still poor.
Spot was still glad Mr. Higgins hadn't been killed, but incredibly resentful. Marco had said that Paulo had faced disapproval from his wife's family for being poor; how dare he look down on Spot? And of the two of them, Spot thought righteously, he was the one who didn't kill people for a living. Mr. Higgins had no reason to disapprove of him.
But that didn't matter, because Mr. Higgins disapproved of him anyway, and had the power of life or death over him, quite literally. He stabbed his fork at his salad angrily. It wasn't fucking fair.
"Daddy," Isabella suddenly spoke up. Spot glanced at her; he knew Isabella's angle. She looked out for Race, always, and that suddenly included looking out for him too. "Daddy, considering the day that he's had, shouldn't Sean just stay with us tonight?"
Mr. Higgins seemed to twitch a little. "Marco is in the guest bedroom, and the other two are being renovated."
"So? He can sleep on Tony's floor."
Spot doubted this was Isabella trying to let them have a romantic night alone; from what he could see, the longer he was allowed to stay in this house, the better the chance of Mr. Higgins not having him killed.
"We do not put guests on the floor, Isabella," Mrs. Higgins scolded. "The couch in the rec room ought to be large enough; we can make it up easily enough after dinner."
"Thank you," Spot said sincerely, and managed not to smirk at Mr. Higgins as he added, "I wouldn't want to be a bother, though."
"No bother," Marco said cheerfully. "I can't cook, but I can make up a bed, so don't worry. 'Specially since I get the guest room." He shot a look at his uncle, who glared back ever so slightly, but said nothing. His wife had made the decision before he could shoot it down.
Race wrapped one of his legs around one of Spot's under the table.
"Of course," Mr. Higgins finally said calmly. "And will anyone be looking for you, Sean? You've been gone all day; surely someone would have noticed you were missing at school."
Spot tapped his fingers against the table. "Well, uh, my brother would have," he said finally. "And I guess his mom."
"His mother?"
"Dad," Race interrupted. "C'mon, wait until after dinner, okay? We all had a really long day and..." he trailed off, then shrugged. "We shouldn't argue tonight."
"Tony is right, dear," Mrs. Higgins agreed. "We truly should be grateful that we're all here tonight."
Mr. Higgins paused and then grunted and went back to his food. It didn't seem like much to Spot, but Sophia and Mrs. Higgins beamed, and Maria even stopped looking so huffy and pre-teen-esque to smile at Spot in a friendly way.
Spot sighed, and continued forcing food...and letting his toes trail on Race's foot. Under the table, Race's hand quickly grasped his thigh, and then was back to holding Race's cup as he drank some water.
The rest of the dinner actually passed without any major mishaps, and Spot, Race and Marco were selected to clear away the dishes. Marco was quickly reseated at the table after dropping and breaking four plates; Spot supposed it was things like that which lead Isabella to describe him as incompetent. Somehow, Spot had never thought that someone in the freaking Mafia could actually be clumsy. But then, he also had always thought he'd never get to meet someone in the Mafia to ask, so he supposed it wasn't that odd.
"I really want you," Spot murmured in Race's ear as they deposited plates in the sink.
"Yeah, back at you," Race answered quietly.
"I really hope no one kills me in my sleep," Spot added.
"Me, too," Race agreed, then, "Spot, no matter what--I meant what I said earlier, okay?"
"What that you said earlier?" Spot asked.
"You know what."
"Yes, I do. And, uh, thanks." He turned back towards the door that lead to the dining room. "And I meant it too," he hissed as they walked out to get the next load of dishes.
Race smiled brilliantly and could feel his face go red as he picked up Sophia's dish, and didn't notice the funny look she was sending him until she prodded his stomach with her finger.
"Ow--geeze, don't do that when I'm carrying dishes, you brat--"
"You have to tell me what's going on," she hissed.
Dread formed in the pit of Race's stomach. He knelt down slightly. "W-what are you talking about?"
"Have you met a girl?" Sophia asked, smiling giddily. "You've been acting so funny ever since your band concert, have you met someone? Oh, and please don't say it's Tracy, she is such a whore."
Race let out a sigh of relief.
"I'll talk to you later, Rosetta." He stood and walked back towards the kitchen, watching Spot's ass as he did so.
He was lucky that Isabella was the only one in the house who could put two and two together about something like this. Isabella was scary like that.
Finally, several dishes (and whispered sexual comments from Spot) later, and leftovers stacked in the fridge, Mrs. Higgins grabbed Spot by the arm and led him to the 'den', she said, to show him where he'd be sleeping.
Then Race saw Marco and his father giving him the eye and he knew they'd be talking to him before they talked to Spot. He'd thought they'd at least wait until after desert, but apparently not. Because his father stood and said quietly, "The office, Racetrack. Now, please." Which wasn't a request, it was an order, and Race obeyed nervously. He took the chair he'd sat in the last time, his father was, of course, behind the desk, and Marco sat on a couch off to the side.
"Let's start at the very beginning. What in God's name was Sean doing in your car at quarter of six in the morning?" Mr. Higgins demanded. He didn't even sound angry, just... Detached. Which wasn't surprising, because this had become Business, not Life. And there was a difference.
"Well, uh..." Race trailed off. "He had a fight with his brother last night and just sort of showed up here around one, and I couldn't not let him stay. I didn't want to wake you or Mom, so.." he shrugged. "I figured it would be easier to just sort of sneak him out than explain everything that early in the morning."
"Why would he come to you?"
Race had expected that and, for a change, wasn't off guard. "All of his other friends were Jack's--his brother's--friends first and he felt too uncomfortable imposing on them; like he was asking them to take sides or something. But I'm better friends with him than with Jack, so...."
"I see." His father considered. "What I don't understand is why you felt the need to lie to me about picking up you other friend."
Because you're a judgmental bastard about some things, Race thought. Aloud, he explained, "Sean didn't want me to bother you about it, sir."
Mr. Higgins thumped his hand on the desk--not hard, but more like a gesture of 'well, NOW look what you've done.' "Well, Sean is involved now. They know who he is, they'll track him down, because he knows too much and saw everything."
"Uncle--" Marco started but Race cut in.
"I swear to God, Dad, he won't tell a word. You...can't let anything happen to him, okay? You..." Race cleared his throat, hoping to hide how hard it was to talk suddenly. "You just can't."
Marco and his father watched him, and Race knew he was making things difficult; he had an eerie suspicion that they were hoping Spot was nothing really to Race. Like no one would miss Spot too much if he was killed off.
With that in mind, Race hoped Jack was beside himself with worry, but that was probably too much to hope for anyhow. Everything was at the moment.
"Anthony--"
"Dad!" he interrupted. "Spot came to me last night because he trusts me, and then he got involved with this because of it, and, and that makes me kind of responsible, doesn't it? How can I let something happen to him if he trusts me?" He wasn't sure he was making much sense, but figured the point probably got across.
"I understand that, Anthony, and I understand that you're worried about your friend. But please understand, I am worried about you, and about us--all of us, Tony. Having an outsider involved is dangerous, extremely so. Those were powerful people who kidnapped you today; if they know who Sean is, he could also be in danger."
"So what, it's better to kill him now?" Race demanded. "Because I know you're not talking about anything else, Dad. I know--he knows, too, and he still trusts me. You can't hurt him, you just can't."
"I may have to. I don't want to, please believe that." He saw the skeptical look his son was giving him and he sighed. "Just because I don't care for the boy doesn't mean I want him dead, Tony, and he had nothing to do with this. But he does now, and I can't just assume he's trustworthy."
"Then talk to him," Race insisted, and jumped on his father's next phrase. "Just do it!"
"Anthony, I will no-"
"Come on, Uncle Paulo," Marco said, looking at his hands. "Cut Racetrack some slack, Sean's a good kid. Talk to him." Mr. Higgins shot a glare at his nephew. "Please. Sir."
Mr. Higgins turned his gaze back on his son again, and Race sat up straighter in his seat.
"Please, Dad."
Silence.
"Please, Dad."
"If I talk to him, what is he going to say that'll convince me?" his father asked. "Because Tony, regardless of if I talk to him or like him or not--this is not, ultimately, my decision; I may have to convince... Other people."
"You should talk to him, not me," Race said, but had the feeling he'd won. "But Sean, uh... He didn't have it so great growing up, and it definitely taught him how to keep his mouth shut. I'd explain it more, but I can't really, because he won't even tell me and he trusts me."
"A bad childhood is not--"
"His is. Please, Dad."
There was a short pause, and finally Mr. Higgins nodded. "I'll speak with him, but make no promises about anything else."
"Dad--"
"Anthony, that is enough about Sean. I need to discuss what happened today with you; this could take quite awhile. Marco, you're welcome to leave."
"Uncle Paulo--" he stopped short, then nodded at the look he was getting. "I'll be downstairs playing video games with Izzy if you need me."
"You're how old again?" Race asked Marco as he left the room. "How long has Marco been involved in everything?" he added after the door was shut.
"Twelve years."
"Twelve? But then..." he frowned. "He's been involved since he was fifteen!"
"Yes, Tony; not everyone spends that year of their life feeding a cocaine habit."
"I just didn't realize."
"You weren't supposed to."
"But he went off to college--"
"Of course he did."
"But--"
"Tony, the subject at hand, please. I'd like you to describe everything that happened today for me, starting with the kidnapping itself. I'm going to interrupt you a lot; let me know if you need a drink or a cough drop."
"Am I going to be talking that much?"
"Yes. Start at the beginning please."
It was odd, Race thought in the back of his mind as he described getting gas and Skittles, how calm his father was. He was polite and detached, as though it wasn't his son in question, and his calm front only flickered when Race first mentioned Caesar and Paperelli. He interrupted more often than Race had expected, pressing for more details and repeating almost everything, and it was a good hour before Race got to the point when his father entered the room.
His voice was, indeed, tired.
"We'll take a break," his father finally declared, then added quietly, almost embarrassed, "None of this should have happened, Anthony, and I'm sorry. I failed you today, but it will never, ever happen again. And I assure you, Paperelli will regret this day for the rest of his life. Which is getting closer to ending by the moment."
Race wasn't sure if he found that comforting or terrifying. Race didn't if know his father even cared. And it didn't feel like this was caring, just... fierce possessiveness. Like his father was only angry because someone had taken some of his property. Not because Race was his son...
So Race didn't look at his father as the two left the room. He pathetically hung his head because he just couldn't have a moment with his father--a meaningful one--without suspecting there was some sort of angle behind it. Because there was an angle behind everything else.
Or maybe he was the only angle. He didn't know.
As he slumped down the stairs, he saw Isabella and Marco playing a furious game of Mario Brothers on the N64 in the second Rumpus Room (the main one was downstairs) and made eye contact with his sister. Without looking up, she said, "He's still downstairs, Mom's having a moment."
"Ah." Race nodded. His mother's 'moments' usually consisted of an overdose of... motherly. With that in mind, Race was quite positive that Spot was contemplating suicide.
"Fifteen minutes, Racetrack," his father said sharply and but still under his breath.
Without thinking, Race snapped back, "Twenty," and went on down the stairs without looking back to see his father's reaction.
He heard his mother's voice before he was even downstairs, and he had to smirk.
"Would you like the GREEN pillow cases, or the MAGENTA pillow cases?"
"You know, I really don't--"
"Oh green, it'll go with your eyes, LOOK at those eyes, aren't you handsome?"
He could picture Spot looking torn between agreeing and running away. Race waited a few moments by the door, trailing his finger down the glass frame of an autographed Rancid poster he'd hung downstairs. He wanted to hear his boyfriend squirm around his mother.
Which Race was sure wasn't very nice, or normal, but at least he got his kicks.
"Now, do you want three comforters or two?"
Spot, in a voice that screamed 'don't be RIDICULOUS' responded, "Three, Mrs. Higgins, come on."
"Oh, of course, silly me," she said cheerfully. Race tried not to burst out laughing; apparently the concepts of irony and sarcasm were ones his mother still hadn't absorbed. Which he already knew from experience, but the look on Spot's face as he realized it was fabulous.
Deciding Spot had suffered enough, he let himself into the room, kissed his mother's cheek, and grinned at Spot. "And how are things going, Tony?" his mother asked, which was a surprisingly direct question, especially given Spot's presence. But he'd never heard his mother ask anything about his father's work, ever.
"Uh," he said, his voice slightly scratchy from an hour of talking, "you'd have to ask Dad, I guess."
"I see." She nodded, and then glanced up at the linen closet. "Tony, dear, could you possibly get down a few pillows? I can't quite reach them."
He reached up to get them, discovered he was too short, and sighed. Spot stood up from the couch where he'd probably been forced to sit and chat with Mrs. Higgins, but she shot him a look. "We do not ask guests to get their own linens, Sean. Sit down."
Spot sat.
"So, I'll go get a stool, then?" Race sighed.
"Jump," Spot said grinning. "Come on, Tony, jump."
"I--"
"Oh, well, it's a way to get them down isn't it?" Mrs. Higgins observed the linen thoughtfully. "Well, mind you don't knock anything over."
"Mom, I am not--"
"Go ahead, dear. Jump away."
Race was quite positive he'd never hear his mother say 'Jump away' in his life ever again. However, hearing Spot say it made the word 'jump' seem kind of sexual, which was maybe why Race tried to forget the fact Mrs. Higgins had said it at all.
He must have been making a funny face because his mother whapped him on the back of the head. "Ouch. Mo-om."
"Stop daydreaming and get the pillows."
"I wasn't daydreaming..." Race grumbled, staring up at the closet shelf. Really, if he could just get his hand over the edge of the shelf, it wouldn't be too hard to get the pillows down; he could grab the bottom one and the rest would follow. He could probably manage it in a single jump.
He shot Spot a look which was a clear reminder of how much Spot had BETTER appreciate this, and jumped. Which had both good and bad results; the good being that the pillows came down, the bad being that they also landed directly on his head. He was sure that it must have been a brilliant moment to people not experiencing it from underneath, as they toppled one at a time and all managed to land on him and then slide to the ground in a pile.
His mother chuckled, and Spot started laughing uncontrollably. And more laughter drifted down the stairs; Marco and Isabella were looking down into the room, now, too.
"What?" he demanded of them, irritably.
"Marco got tired of getting his ass whooped. You wanna play, Sean?" she offered.
"You did not whoop my ass," Marco answered huffily.
"Marco, language," Mrs. Higgins scolded.
"Sure, don't correct her," he sulked.
"She hates you is all," Isabella said, and then smirked at Spot. "You in?"
Spot look about to answer, and then him and Race caught eyes and Spot's expression changed. "Nah, I'm gonna stick around and watch Tony pull another stupid."
"What else was I supposed to do?" Race snapped.
"Sounds good," Isabella replied, ignoring her brother. "Come on, Marco, let's see if you can do anything at all with Tetris or something."
"Shut up you antichrist..."
"Marco," Mrs. Higgins warned, and Marco made an astonished face.
"Come on, she starts EVERYTHING."
"Welcome to my world," Race said cheerfully.
"Man, how you can live with these people is beyond me..."
"Well, at least he actually LIVES here, instead of just coming over to eat our food and take advantage of our hospitality," Isabella answered and shoved Marco back towards the stairs.
"I do not..." Marco started to grumble, but that was a lie; he did, actually, invite himself over a lot. He'd gotten in the habit during college when they provided him with free home cooked meals, and Mrs. Higgins would cheerfully run his laundry; since then, the guest room he always used had actually come to be referred to as 'Marco's room.' Not that they really minded, though; Marco was fun to have around. Listening to him and Isabella bicker was priceless.
"Mama," Isabella called back from the top of the stairs, "could you come help me pack to go back to school tomorrow? Tony can finish making up Sean's bed."
She hesitated, then agreed and followed them out. Which left Spot and Race alone, at least for a few minutes. Spot looked relieved, though Race imagined that was more because Race's mother was leaving him alone for a few minutes than that he was with Race.
Though judging by the almost hungry look on his face, he liked that second part, too.
"Spot, we don't have any time to--"
Then Spot grabbed his collar and bit into his neck, pulling Race down on to the couch. Race yelped as Spot started to live up to his name...
"Hey, d-don't--" Race bit his lip. "Come on, someone'll be down any second, would you cut-OW." He stared slightly wide eyed at Spot. "That hurt."
Spot shoved him harshly onto the mattress and resumed sucking at the hollow between Race's neck and shoulder. Race was having a hard time trying to convince him to stop, and he couldn't help but wonder for a few seconds how a Spot actually biting him, painfully, could possibly be a turn on.
"Tonyy-yy!"
Race jumped at the sound of his mother's voice on the top of the stairs. He pushed at Spot, who didn't budge. In fact, he started groping, all the while still nipping at Race's now slightly exposed shoulder. Because Spot was stretching the collar and most likely ruining the damned thing.
"Yea-ah?" Race called, arching his back.
"Make sure you're using clean sheets, we don't want our guest sleeping on anything dirty!"
"Who says?..." Spot purred into his neck. Race finally succeeded in pushing Spot away for a few moments to answer his mother.
"Yeah, I got it covered!" Race managed to yelp up the stairs.
Spot tugged further at the collar of his shirt. "Not for long."
"Would you please cut it out? Or else I'll give in and I won't be able to freaking stop and now is not the time--SPOT."
"What happened to, 'I'm so going to jump you as soon as we get out'?" Spot breathed into his neck, one hand groping under Race's shirt, and grinding his pelvis against Race's.
"Well," Race said, and tried to not thrust back towards Spot, which was quite an exercise in will power, "my parents, my sisters, and my cousin. Sto-ooooop thaaaaat..."
"You like it," Spot smirked.
"Yes, I do," Race groaned. "But I have to go talk to my dad some more and I don't want to walk in there with a fucking hard on."
"So, I'll take care of it," Spot murmured, and started to unbutton Race's pants, but Race grabbed his wrists.
"Spot, we can't. I..." He looked into his boyfriends face, still feeling the hot spots on his neck where Spot's mouth had been. "Fuck, this is an actual serious thing going on, and all you wanna do is mack?"
"Do you want the hard on taken care of or not?"
"..."
"Do you?"
"We'll go to the bathroom."
"HAH."
There was a bathroom on the basement level, just off of the rec room where Spot was staying, so they didn't even have to go upstairs. Still, though, Race was insanely nervous as he shut and locked the door, but all thoughts of nerves and--well, everything, really--flew out of his mind a moment later.
Spot was fairly abrupt. He half-shoved Race against the wall, unbuckled his belt, and just grabbed. Race gasped in a deep breath, startled as much as he was pleased, and his hands groped towards the towel rack behind the door. He grabbed a washcloth and ended up biting into it as Spot got busy; it was about the only way he could think of to make sure he wasn't groaning aloud.
Things didn't take too long. Spot was quite talented and Race had been extremely turned on and by the time he was pulling his pants up again, he wondered why he had objected to begin with.
"Spot, you want...?" he asked, glancing down below Spot's belt.
"You gotta go talk to your dad, right? Convince him not to shoot me." Spot kissed him hard for a minute. "I can get myself off while you do that."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Man, you should see the look on your face..."
"Proud of yourself much?"
"Shouldn't I be?"
"...yeah." Race opened the door and glanced around, then decided the coast was clear and stepped out.
Isabella was waiting around the corner. "And what was that, Fante?" she demanded.
"I was just making sure Spot had a set of towels," he answered with a grin.
Isabella was about to retort until the sound of Paulo Higgins' voice traveled down the staircase. "Racetrack." Race shot a look at Isabella--a nervous one. She shrugged. "It's time to come back upstairs.
"Jesus," Race muttered. "Okay, uh...don't go in the bathroom."
Isabella made a face as Race turned and hurried up the stairs. Meanwhile, Isabella resumed making up Spot's bed (she knew full well neither of them was actually doing anything her mother had asked while they'd been alone) and soon Spot emerged from the bathroom, looking very pleased with himself.
"You know, there's a clinic for people like you," Isabella said. "Something about being addicted to sex?"
"Yeah, well, you might want to wash those towels."
Isabella retched as Spot grinned and flopped down on the sofa.
"You two are going to get caught," she hissed. "And I hope you realize that won't help your chances of not being killed by my dad's associates."
"Hey, at least if I die, I die happy."
"Judging by the look on his face, if you die, my brother dies happy," she shot back. Spot shrugged nonchalantly. "As my dad would actually kill him. Keep that in mind. Oh, and speaking of the two of you..." She sat down on one of the overstuffed armchairs, which was angled slightly towards the couch. "I hope you're comfortable, because we're also going to have a long chat."
"Oh yeah?" Spot asked, suddenly on guard.
"Oh, yeah." She smirked. "Because on the off chance that you live out the night, you are dating my only brother, and that means it's time for you to have a nice, long chat about the birds and the bees, and the pleasures of safe sex."
"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered, and started to stand up.
"Hah. No. If I have to keep your secret, I'm going to make sure you two aren't actually being stupid. Sit."
He couldn't tell if she was joking or not, until he saw the look she was giving him. He sank back onto the couch for what was definitely going to be an awkward conversation.
*
B: I would like to point out that, despite the fact that Funkie blamed ME and said I'D be the busy one this semester, it was not MY fault this chapter took so long to get out... ::evil glare::
F: I would like to point out that I'm completely to blame, but...don't blame me. I'm so pretty!
B: ...well, fine, I can't argue with that. Damn you.
F: On this note, something else she can't argue with, FUCK SEAN PENN. Johnny! Bill!
B: God damn you, Academy Awards!!
F: And Johnny just looked so hot hot hot...plus, best original song? I wanted LOTR to win everything but that.
ANYWAY.
B: Yeah, uh, A Mighty Wind? Robbed. But yeah. Anyway... fic... right.
F: Yeah, uh, Triplets of Belleville? Robbed. FIC. You'll note Race gets a little hot action.
B: Of course he does. What you won't notice is that we're right around 200 pages into the fic now. 200!
F: And it gets better from here!! I'm serious, B is so freaking good.
B: Only because I don't take a month to edit chapters (grumble). But seriously, working on this fic is so much fun. Thanks for all of the support we've gotten from everyone, this is a MONSTER project, and it makes us feel like it's really worthwhile.
F: I feel like a jerk.
B: Aww, you know I love you.
F: Someone has to love the jerk.
B: You're not a jerk, just a slacker. But you're a great writer, so we forgive you.
F: -blush-. My english teacher told me something along those lines the other day.
B: Well, anyway. We'll try to get the next update out a bit more timely, and you won't want to miss it. Come on, Spot and Mr. Higgins have a show down. You know you want it.
F: Also, a note? Yeah, Spot is one fucking hot mama. If he were at the academy awards, he should win. LIKE JOHNNY DEPP.
B: Right, clearly it's time to break out the tranquilizers for Funkie. Thanks again for the support. Catch y'all on the flipside.
F: JOHNNY.
B: Hoo, boy. Wish me luck...