Everything You've Done Wrong

I wish I was like you
Easily amused
Find my nest of salt
Everything is my fault
I'll take all the blame
Aqua seafoam shame
Sunburn with freezerburn
Choking on the ashes of her enemy
-Nirvana, All Apologies

Chapter 17: Loving You

"You're a bitch," David commented, twirling the steering wheel of Jack's van as they drove down seventeenth towards Peter's Drive In.

Jack shot him a look. "Why?"

"Because." David shrugged, pulling into the drive-thru, and honking angrily at a car full of teenaged girls--Jack gave them all grins. "You're being mean to Tony and provoking him. When he's provoked, it's not fun. So cut it out, okay?"

"I'm sure not listening." David rolled down the window and Jack leaned across him to order. David hated talking into the drive through speakers. "Two cheeseburgers, one with extra onions, one extra cheese, one strawberry milkshake, one root beer, one case of onion rings, one case of fries." He turned back to David. "Besides, we reached an understanding. Mutual hatred. You want extra onion rings today?"

"No thanks. What the hell do you have against him?"

"What does he have against me?"

"The fact that you hate him and are a dickhead to him?" David suggested. "Seriously, what's your issue? I know you're not thrilled with him and Spot, but honestly, I've never seen either of them happier." He paused. "Oh, that's your problem."

"Shut up."

"You're Spot's brother and now he's got someone else to trust."

"Shut UP."

"I'm so right."

"I'm so not paying for your food today."

"Fine, don't." David dug into his pocket, grabbed his wallet, and covered the dual meal. "It was my turn anyway. But seriously, lighten up on Tony."

"How about I don't, and you let it fucking drop?"

"How about you tell me what's really bothering you, and then we let it drop?"

"How about you stop being such a fucking woman?"

"How about you stop being gay so people will stop calling me gay?"

"I am not!" Jack objected as he accepted the food from the window and David began to drive off. "And you know it."

"Yeah, I know. So what the hell's your problem with Tony?"

"You're not gonna let this drop, are you?"

"Doesn't look like it. Hand me my shake?" He paused again. "Jesus, we are dating."

Jack snorted and handed him the milkshake.

David sipped on his milkshake. "Will you take over driving? People don't know how."

"YOU don't know how."

"Neither do people. Get out." David pulled over and hopped out of the car, and Jack sighed as he unbuckled his seat belt and they quickly changed spots. Once back in the van, Jack started it up and checked his watch.

"Movie doesn't start until 7:30...we got twenty minutes."

"Drive and talk then," David said. "Jack, seriously, I know your deal. You think that--"

"It's not just Spot, okay?" Jack snapped. "I mean, he's most of it but...well, none of us freaking knew Tony before this and he comes barging in and suddenly everyone loves him and he can do anything. I'm fucking sick of it."

"Okay, but I did freaking know Tony before this, and he actually isn't as much of an asshole as you think he is."

"Yeah, right."

"It IS right, Jack. I mean, God, you're my best friend, but I would have died at school without him. Seriously, you want to see what spoiled kids who are actually jerks act like, you should see that fucking school."

"I thought you loved it."

"I love the classes. I love the newspaper. I detest the people. Even the idiot newspaper staff." He rolled his eyes. "It's a damn good thing I'm in charge next semester, because someone needs to teach those morons how to write in complete sentences."

Jack had to smile; David was so righteous when it came to 'his' newspaper, but that was beside the point. "So? Other people are jerks too. Tony's one of them."

"He's not."

"Jesus, okay, I expect everyone else to fight with me, but can't you at least support me?" Jack demanded. "You're supposed to be my best friend here, Davey, I'm not feeling the love tonight."

"And you wonder why people think we're gay."

"Not really."

"...And you're wrong about Tony, and you still haven't told me why you're pissed at him."

Jack sighed, and didn't say anything as he drove on. David didn't push it, knowing that Jack was just composing his thoughts, and he ate at his cheeseburger while Jack, like David knew he would, turned off of seventeenth and wound up on the hill just out of the suburbs where kids usually went to get romantic with each other.

"Jack, if anyone sees us..."

"I know, but I have to talk to you and it was a place to turn off. Besides..." Jack glanced around. "The make out crowd hasn't shown up yet. Too early."

David shrugged. "Fine, whatever you say. Let's get out of your van, it smells like...your van."

"Funny thing."

"A funny not good thing." David grabbed the bag of food and got out, taking a seat on the hood of the van without asking Jack if he was going to come.

Jack did, of course, and grabbed his own cheeseburger when he sat down next to David on the hood.

"So," David said. "What is it?"

"...I dunno." Jack shrugged. "A lot of it is Dutchy sometimes. Because I didn't even see he had a problem, and Tony did."

"...Jack, it's not your--"

"I was with him all the time," Jack interrupted. "You know, me and Dutchy hang out a lot. We used to smoke up together before I quit. So I should've noticed and I fucking didn't and he fucking did."

"So... you feel guilty," David surmised. "Because you think you failed Dutchy."

"I DID fail Dutchy."

"Well, so did I, and so did Blink and Itey and Spot and his mother and everyone at school." David shrugged. "Shit happens."

"How the hell can you just shrug it off like that? You're the ultra sensitive one."

David sighed. "I beat myself up a lot when Tony tried to kill himself."

"He tried to--"

"Dutchy was getting high for fun, I think; Tony was doing it to be numb. I don't think he thinks of it like that, but basically he was waiting for his father to notice and care--which he didn't, because his father IS an asshole--or to just... waste away. He was hurting so bad, he's real messed up. Could give Spot a run for his money. And Mush and I--we both missed it, until he was so bad we couldn't miss it, and then it was too late for us to do him any good on our own and he... OD'd." He reached for his milkshake, stared out at the city in front of him, not able to look at Jack. "And, you know, I eventually figured that it wasn't my fault."

"You, uh, don't sound like you figured that."

David shrugged. "I mean, I know it wasn't my fault, but... But you know, it wasn't my fault he started; it wasn't your fault Dutchy did. We didn't catch them in time, so we blame ourselves, but they love us anyway. And we can keep them from doing it again."

"We will," Jack agreed. "If it kills me."

"See?" David slurped up the last of his milkshake. "If you kill yourself over these mistakes, then you'll be dead more times than you can count."

Jack stared at David, still chewing somewhat mechanically on his cheeseburger. He swallowed, and wrapped up the rest, sticking it in the bag. "Davey?"

David looked at him, straw still in his mouth, and raised his eyebrows.

Jack laughed. "I can't be serious when you're sucking on a straw, man."

David made a huge slurp and Jack laughed again.

"...So you feel guilty; don't blame Tony."

"He really didn't help Dutchy."

"He did try to, though. Cut him some slack."

Jack groaned. "Maybe I just don't want to admit the fucker is actually better than I am."

"Ooooh, now we get down to the actual jealousy."

"Shut UP."

"Hey, don't worry. I'm jealous of Tony. I mean, I'm the token poor kid at his school; I get to be stared at by two hundred Tonys every day. He's way nicer than the rest of them, trust me."

"Are they really that bad?"

"YES," David answered emphatically. "All but him and Mush, I swear."

"So why do you go, then? You didn't have to take the scholarship."

David sighed, and finally admitted, "I really want to do something with my life, Jack. I know--I guess I sound like a jerk, but I know I'm smart and all, and I want to go and do something with it and not a lot of people from our school really do. So..."

"So you got the hell out," Jack agreed, nodding. "Okay. That makes sense. But I like how it's still 'our school,' and 'Tony's school,' even though you've been there for the last three years."

"Well, you know. I'm a total freak there. Here I'm just..."

"A big dork?"

"Yeah." David smiled. "You love that about me."

"I so do. Geek."

David thwacked Jack's shoulder. "Jock," he accused.

"Wuss."

"Imbecile."

"Braniac."

"Neanderthal."

They paused and looked at each other, cracked up in unison, and finished their meal.

*

"I can't believe I have to meet your fucking mom, you asshole."

"She's not my mom. She's Jack's mom."

"I can't believe I have to meet her anyway."

"What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal?" Race stared at Spot. "You waited until NOW to tell me, and I look like shit, haven't had a chance to brush up on my charm, and now I have to meet her without being prepared what so ever, you JERK."

"Shut up." Spot smirked down at him, leaning forward to kiss him. Race dodged.

"You don't get a kiss, bitch."

"Baby."

"I am not."

"Pussy."

"Fuck YOU."

"Maybe once Denise goes to bed," Spot agreed.

"You're impossible. And an asshole."

"You know it," Spot agreed, and noted that Denise's car was parked in the drive. He lead Race into the house and saw that she was flipping channels in the living room, feet kicked up on a coffee table, and he suddenly wished he'd cleaned up before Race got there. It just felt strange, because Race's house was so immaculate and his was... Kind of a mess. Certainly not dirty or gross, but the carpet was about twenty years old and a shade of orange that wasn't found in nature anywhere, and the furniture was all faded and from the mid-70s sometime; stacks of old newspapers and magazines were piled on the coffee table and next to the couch, and there were a few dishes left sitting around.

"Uh, Denise?" he said hesitantly.

"Sean, what's up?" she asked, not looking up from the television.

"You wanted to meet Tony," he reminded her, and pushed Race into the room as she looked up. "So, uh. I brought him over."

She raised an eyebrow and gave Race the once over. He half-waved nervously, which was ridiculous, because he was never nervous to meet new people. But... Denise was sort of important to Spot, which made making a good impression sort of important to him. Which made him nervous.

He really missed the days when he didn't give a damn what people thought.

Denise sat up a little in her seat, and then glanced over Race at Spot. "He's cute."

Spot rolled his eyes. Race didn't even have to look to know that he was. She looked back at Race. "You got any life ambitions?"

"Yeah, I--"

"You going go graduate?"

"Yes, of--"

"Do you like salmon?"

"Yeah," Race said, then continued when he realized he could. "Yeah, yeah, I love salmon."

"Great, we got some stuff from the grocery store. Eh, Sean, I got salmon today, twenty dollars, doesn't come cheap, and I didn't even know he was coming."

"Nice call, Denise," Spot smirked. "Did you--"

"No. You eat nothing but that."

"So?"

"So you need protein and you're too skinny. You." She pointed at Race. "I hear you can cook?"

"...yeah?"

"Follow me."

"Denise," Spot objected. "Don't make him--"

"No, it's cool," Race interrupted. "I like cooking." He paused, and smirked. "You could set the table."

"I hate you."

"You do not."

"I so do."

Race gave him a look.

"Shut up and cook me dinner, bitch," he finally said, and Race laughed and followed Denise into the kitchen.

"So, salmon?" he asked.

"So, cocaine?" she demanded. He kind of gaped. "Look, that was blunt, I know. But Sean's my responsibility, and I get that you make him really happy, but if you're going to--"

"I'm not," Race interrupted, and he really wanted to tell her off for making assumptions but... Well, they hadn't been entirely incorrect; he was an addict, after all. Just not an active one. "I'm really not, I care about him too much for that. I wouldn't want to see him get as messed up as I was."

Denise raised her eyebrows, but the point was clearly not dropped. "I see..."

"No, really I--"

"Listen, Tony." She opened up the fridge, "I know you like my--I know you like Sean, and I know he likes you, but I also know Jack can overreact when he doesn't have enough attention. However." She slid a frying pan down the counter and he stopped it before it crashed into anything. "Nice catch. However, cocaine is cocaine, and my Sean is my Sean and he has a lot going on already."

"...so what?" Race gulped. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you better hold to your word of taking care of him." She pointed a finger. "He's a good kid. He just hides it, but he is."

"I know," Race agreed. "I--I sort of know him pretty well now."

"Oh?" She sounded surprised. "Well, that's good, if he likes you enough to act like himself instead of like..." She rolled her eyes, and he laughed.

"Yeah; he acted like that for awhile. I'm pretty glad he stopped."

"HEY I can HEAR YOU, dickhead!"

"Didn't I tell you to set the table?" Race yelled back.

"SHUT UP."

Denise gave him a confused look. "Do I want to ask what all that nonsense is?"

"Not really."

"Okay." She grabbed a large knife out of a drawer and turned towards Race, who jumped back a little. She grinned. "Awfully menacing thing, isn't it? Don't mess around with Sean."

"Uh--"

"I'm not actually going to stab you, Tony," she promised. "But keep the giant knife in mind."

He nodded quickly. "Where do you keep seasonings?" he asked, covering for being a little frightened, as she began to use the knife. "I know a great recipe--"

"Good, you cook," she said. "I hate it, I usually just order in. But since you volunteered..." She grinned and set down the knife. "If I send in Sean, can I trust that you two won't do anything disgusting on my food?"

He kind of stared at her again, and whimpered a little.

"I like him," she called to Spot in the living room. "He's fun to scare. Now you come keep him company."

Spot was more than happy to do as she suggested.

As Spot came into the room, she watched with amusement as Race grabbed a post-it (without asking, she loved it) from the counter and started jotting down the recipe he mentioned.

"He gets all squirmy when he's afraid," Denise said to Spot. "It's great."

"I know, and he's moody too."

"I am not!"

"Bye Denise." Spot pushed her lightly out of the kitchen by her back, and she slapped at his hands.

"I get some of that dinner, and it better be good. Oh oh! You wouldn't believe it, the back room of Babylon got closed down"

Spot made a face. "What?"

"No joke!"

"Is it going to reopen?"

"I don't know!"

"Probably."

"Yeah, Brian and Justin need another place to have sex." Denise smacked the back of his head lovingly, and left the room. Spot turned to see his boyfriend staring at him.

"What the hell?"

"Queer as Folk."

"...you watch that?"

"No."

"Then why do you know about it?"

"Brian's hot," Spot said simply, and then walked over to Race and slid his arms around his waist, kissing his neck. "I was fucking awesome earlier today..." he mumbled.

"You sure fucking were," Race agreed, and blushed a little. But Spot didn't see, because he'd buried his face in Race's neck, and just... Stood there. Race put his arms around Spot a little awkwardly. It was odd; he didn't think of Spot as affectionate, or as the sort who just liked to hug, but... Well, he reasoned, everyone just needed to feel someone's arms around them sometimes. So he set down the post-it note and pen, and leant against the counter and kissed Spot's cheek.

Spot smiled and pulled away.

"You okay?" Race asked.

"Yeah, just... You know, usually after something like that I disappear. I'm not used to seeing the same guy cook for me after and know that you'll actually be here later..." Spot shook his head a little. "I sound like such a pussy."

"You really do. But hey, it's cute. Now move, I gotta cook."

"Tonyyyyy."

"What? You sprung the whole 'meeting your m--foster mom' thing on me; now I've got to make a good impression."

Spot leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips before he could do anything, and Race softened a little, easing into the kiss and slipping his arm around Spot's tiny waist while Spot rested his hand on Race's elbow.

Right after Spot pushed his tongue in Race's mouth, Race pulled away, grabbing Spot's ass quickly, before turning back to his recipe. "Stop distracting me. Go jerk off."

"Nah, I'll keep it around for later."

Race made a face as Spot grinned and opened the freezer, grabbing a popsicle.

"Don't eat that before dinner!"

Spot flipped him off, and leaned against the counter, sucking a might too suggestively on his popsicle for Race to concentrate.

"You suck," Race mumbled at him, as he returned to cooking.

"I sure will, after dinner," Spot agreed, and Race stared at him. He shrugged, and smiled, and Race suddenly felt really nervous because... Well, it just felt as if suddenly the sexual portion of their relationship had been pushed in there, BAM, so suddenly. Nothing gradual about it. And Race felt nervous and...odd, but at the same time, he couldn't deny that he liked it. A lot. Still though, it made him a little...uncomfortable.

"Uh, okay," Race agreed.

Spot hesitated. "You are okay with what we did earlier, right?" he asked. "I know you didn't--"

"It's fine," Race promised. "Uh, yeah. You know. Just new to me."

"Viiiirgin," Spot laughed.

"Shut up. I..." Race smacked his waist as he walked by and turned the stove on. "Shut up, will you? I'm not a whore."

"Now you're my whore." Spot stamped his foot a little. "I want attentioooonn."

"SPOT. You know I love you, you know I want to, but not now."

"Fucker."

"Yeah yeah." Race turned to him. "You so love me."

"Uh huh."

"You do."

"Right."

Race frowned, feeling suddenly annoyed as he set up the kitchen for his Kelly Household Cooking Debut. "Sean, come ON."

"I said it first, thus, I don't have to say it all the time. I shouldn't have to say it more than once."

"HEY."

Spot stuck his tongue out, and Race, not willing to admit he had slightly hurt feelings, turned to the stove. He began to prepare the batter for the salmon, and ignored Spot's sucking on his popsicle, ignored Spot's whining, and ignored how much he wanted to kiss Spot's now purple lips. Until Spot sighed and sat down on the counter next to where Race was working. "Jesus, I do love you. Okay? I so do. I just don't say it much, 'cause I'm not... Used to loving someone. Sorry."

And Race beamed back at him. "I love you too. It's okay."

"It is?"

"Yes." He poked Spot's thigh with the end of his spoon. "Move, I need counter space."

"You're sexy when you cook."

"I sure fucking am."

"You'd be sexier when going down on me."

"Uh huh. Move."

Spot sighed and hopped off the counter. "So," he said after standing around, bored, for a minute. "Can I help?"

"You can-"

"I am NOT setting the damn table."

Race grinned. "You can chop those vegetables." He gestured with his spoon. "Don't mess them up."

Spot stared down at the vegetables, and then had to laugh. "Uh...is there a certain WAY to do it?" Race stared at him. "What?"

"For Christ's..." Race grabbed a red pepper, and proceeded to chop it up quickly and with an expert flip of his wrist. "Like that, okay? Watch your fingers."

Spot shook his head. "You're so hot."

"Yeah, well, you won't be until you chop those right."

Spot cautiously chopped the side of another red pepper, obviously paranoid of doing it wrong, and Race had to smile.

Something about cooking with Spot seemed...really amazing. And maybe even a little overwhelming because he'd never wanted to spend time with someone so much before in his life, besides Maria.

And it occurred to Race then that he actually really was seriously in love.

But he kept that thought firmly to himself as he finished off the batter and began to heat the pan. He glanced over Spot's shoulder and watched for a minute.

"You're making me paranoid!" Spot yelped.

"That was the idea." Race paused, then licked Spot's ear, and went back to the batter and the salmon. Spot stared after him for a second.

"So I take it I was doing it right?" He paused. "Okay, how the hell do you cut a tomato without it getting all squished?"

Race left his fish again, walked over to Spot, stood behind him and put his arms around Spot, rested his hand on Spot's and took the knife. He chopped the first section of the tomato and let Spot's hands go so he could finish, but didn't move, just stood right there, his arms still around Spot.

"...You're not gonna lick me again, are you?" Spot mumbled. "'Cause that was distracting as hell."

So Race kissed his neck instead.

Spot swatted at him. "Fuck off and cook, you're too late."

Race grinned and licked at his neck again before reluctantly letting go and making his way back to the fish, and saw Denise standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Race yelped, turned beet red, and hurried back to his salmon, concentrating a bit too hard on temperatures.

Spot grinned at Denise who shot him a wink. "Sean, where's your brother?"

"Went out with Davey. Why?"

"His girlfriend left..." Denise looked at her notepad. She kept all phone messages on a notepad; it was her thing. "Four messages."

Race snorted. "That's so Sarah, it isn't even funny."

"Is the bitch just bitchy or bitchiER?" Spot asked.

"I didn't ask. That smells good." Race smiled. "Anyhow, it'd be great if Jack could stay at David's tonight. Because otherwise he comes in at... like, four AM and I'm sleeping and he wakes me up. So you leave him a message at David's and tell him that. Also, the school called. Why didn't you TELL me you submitted something to the Literary Magazine?"

Race stopped what he was doing and turned around.

"WHAT?"

"Denise, shut up," Spot said through his teeth, and turned back to the counter.

"I won't shut up, this could be your chance to actually graduate." She gave his back a pat. "We'll talk later. Call you brother. I'll be back in twenty, I have to pick up my prescription and then I'm gonna meet Debbie about carpooling tomorrow. Bye doll." She smiled at Race. "Mario."

"Angelina," Race answered, bowing his head.

"I do like him," she mused. "Behave yourself, kids. Leave me food. Don't set the kitchen on fire." And with those sage words of parental guidance, she left them on their own.

Race turned to Spot incredulously. "You submitted a story to literary magazine!" His voice was partially amazed and partially accusatory.

"I did NOT," Spot snapped. "My math teacher found it in my notes and submitted it for me, and my bitch English teacher said it was either let it go in or fail English. So." He shrugged. "Whatever, it's not a big deal. I'm just mad they didn't ASK."

"But Spot, your stuff is good," Race insisted. "REALLY good, like... You think it's hot when I play drums, I think it's hot that you can write. Okay?"

Spot smirked at him. "Good to know," he said, then hesitantly, "So, uh, what do you think of Denise?"

Race hunched his shoulders a bit. "I think she likes me, but I don't know if that's code for 'I'm going to kill you' or 'run for your life because I'm going to kill you TWICE.'"

Spot grinned. "Okay, so what do you THINK of her?"

"She's kind of like...a cool mom. I didn't think they existed anymore. She's really nice." Race paused. "And she really loves you."

Spot made a face, re-arranging all of his chopped vegetables into color coordinated piles. "Yeah, funny, 'cause I'm not her kid."

"So? You can tell she does. She smiled more when you did. I think she wishes you'd be more loving to her."

With a snort, Spot poked Race's ribs and nudged his head at his vegetables. Race grabbed them, hurried them into a small bowl, and went back to the food. "I'm not her kid. Things don't work that way. "

"But--"

"It'd be alright if they did, but they don't."

"Yeah, but they might if you LET them, Spot. I mean--you and I met less than a month ago, and I love you already. There's no reason why she shouldn't."

"Sure there is. Twice in three months I've been here I've run off and let her deal with the consequences and the State and all, if I was her I'd be kicking me out by now."

"But she hasn't, so that's gotta say SOMETHING."

Spot shook his head. "Whatever. Just--you know, she's not my mom."

"Yeah but... Seriously, Spot, she cares about you. She threatened me with a knife if I hurt you."

"She's pretty cool," Spot agreed, laughing. "I think she does like you."

"I hope so. Because this kitchen isn't very well stocked so I'm improvising half the recipe, so it'll be interesting."

"It'll be fine."

"Uh huh." Race shrugged. "I've gotta take care of the fish before it spoils."

Spot shrugged, and then looked down at his hoodie. "Heh. I'm still wearing Blink."

"Yeah, what is UP with you two all of a sudden?" Race asked, coming out far more defensive than he meant to.

"Awwww." Spot gave Race's foot a kick. "Look who's jealous."

"Shut up."

"We talked about you in Study Hall." Spot grinned. "And compared you and Mush in the penis area."

"Har dee har."

"It's funny 'cause it's true."

Race paused, and then turned back to look at him. "WHAT?"

"It's okay, you're doing pretty well. "

"Yeah, I know but--what the hell were you two doing? What did you tell him?" Race demanded.

Spot smirked.

"Oh, you are SO not having sex in the foreseeable future," Race muttered.

"...Blink and Mush are."

"I don't want to know!" Race yelled, then, "Wait, you mean they haven't yet? I don't want to know!"

"You so do."

"Yes, but it's none of my business and--"

"Those two are nuts, they do it everywhere. At Mush's job once, wherever the hell that is."

Race stared at him for a second, then blinked a few times. "Gross," he said finally. "Just... You know, I don't want to know."

"You do so."

"I do NOT." He paused again, turned back to the fish he was slicing, and finally asked, "So... what was up with Blink and Dutchy and Blink's dad...?"

"What?"

"Dutchy and Blink were arguing about it."

"Oh, that." Spot laughed. "It's stupid, really."

"So, tell."

"Eh... I guess, like, when they were kids or whatever, Blink's dad caught Dutchy 'borrowing' from his Playboy collection. Dutchy says Blink's dad was really mean about it and traumatized him. Blink says his dad tried to explain how it wasn't appropriate for a twelve year old and..." Spot shrugged.

"And Dutchy's still bitter about this?"

"Apparently."

"Wow. He needs therapy."

"Well, duh."

Spot cleared his throat. "Anyway."

Race looked down at his food. "Oooh, almost done. I'm the greatest cook EVER."

"You so ARE. God, you're like my own personal chef. My own, personal, sexy Italian chef..."

"You okay there, buddy?" Race asked, amused, because Spot sounded like he was getting off just on the concept of Race cooking for him.

"Fine. Just looking forward to dinner. And desert."

"What's for desert?"

Spot smirked, and licked his lips, and answered, "You," in a breathy voice. "I did promise," he added.

Race blanched a little. He wasn't sure he was up for too much more screwing around in one day.

Finally, after Spot finished off a second popsicle, Race scurried across the kitchen floor (at one point tripping slightly and crashing into the counter, which sent Spot off into hysterics) and grabbed a dinner plate from the cupboard, setting the salmon on top, and scattering the vegetables in a color coordinated fashion around it, while setting the broccoli and carrots in another bowl.

"Does your family drink milk or what for dinner? Because David's house has this Kosher Grape Juice, and Mushee's house has milk and--"

"Dude, Root Beer."

"For dinner?"

"For dinner."

Race shook his head, pulling out the bottle of root beer (and staring in awe at the two other bottles behind it in the fridge) and searched about for some matching cups.

"Perfectionist," Spot said lovingly.

"Damn straight."

"Your family has this thing with dishes, huh?"

"I believe it's called obsessive compulsive disorder." Race finally found a dusty set of cups in the back of a cupboard, rinsed them off and set them out.

"So, you've cooked at Mush's?"

"Of course. I practically lived at Mush's for awhile, I did everything I could to make them like me."

"That's... kinda sad."

"Well, I didn't do a very good job anyway. What with the cocaine and all."

"Yeah?" Spot asked. "You were getting high at Mush's?"

"I was getting high anywhere that wasn't my house, unless I was desperate, in which case... You know, my house worked."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

"You ever touch that shit again and I'll KILL you."

Race smiled at him. "You promise?"

"Sure fucking do."

"Good."

Race kissed him quickly, and when he pulled back jumped against when Denise appeared, out of nowhere, by the kitchen door.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. "What the--"

"Front door, can't hear it from here." She smiled. "I sure am hungry. Eating now?"

"Look, I did something." Spot pointed at the peppers. "See those? I cut those."

"I won't eat them, then."

"Har dee har."

"Did you call your brother?" Spot was silent. "You sure didn't!" Spot shook his head. "Go, scat, me and Tony here will set everything up."

"Yeah." Tony said, his voice having more of a vibrato-tone than he'd care for. "Tell Davey I say hi."

"Will do."

Spot walked off to find a phone, and Denise picked up setting the table where Race had left off. "Oooh, matching glasses. Fancy," she noted.

"I... Guess."

She shrugged. "I didn't think I owned a whole set anymore. Jack broke a lot of glasses when he was in his awkward phase, so I just started buying ugly plastic ones."

"Jack went through an awkward phase?" Race asked. "God, tell me you have pictures."

"He destroyed all of them. David has a few, though. I'm sure if you ask nicely, he'd be more than willing to humiliate his best friend for you."

Race laughed. "Jack and David are something else," he said vaguely, hoping she'd get the point.

"...Gay?" she suggested.

"Yeah, that's it."

"You know, they actually aren't." She paused. "I wondered for a long time but... Well, Jack really likes girls."

"Yeah, I know. He tried to get his meat hooks into my sister," Race grumbled, pouring an equal amount of root beer into each glass.

"Ah yes, the beautiful one? Gabriel's girlfriend?"

Race stared blankly at her.

"You do know she's dating Gabriel, don't you?"

"Oh yeah, I knew...I knew, I just didn't know you...met her."

"Of course!" She smiled. "She and Gabe stopped by the other day."

"Oh..."

"Temperamental girl."

Race beamed. "I'm the good one."

"I'll bet. Oh, don't set places, honey. Around here, we carry the plates about and eat dinner everywhere. And you two have a movie to watch, don't you?" She glanced at the clock. "You better get cracking. I have work to do anyway, I'll eat while I get it done."

"Sounds like a policy." Race gave her a plate. "Taste first, please, and tell me if it stinks."

Denise smirked, took a fork, and proceeded to sample some of her salmon. She wrinkled her nose and sneered at Race.

"Disgusting."

Race's face fell. She swallowed, and then burst out laughing. "Oh, honey, joking, I'm a smart ass, runs in the family. It's delicious." She gave his shoulder a pat. "Really."

Race started to breathe again. "Oh...okay, you really scared the hell out of me there."

"I like to do that." She grabbed her glass and took her plate, balancing them in different hands. "I'll see you around, all right, Tony? Talk to you before you leave. Oh," she glanced about, and lowered her voice as she looked at him. "Keep me posted on Jack and David. And don't bite my little boy."

Then she turned and left. Race had to smile.

Spot came back in the kitchen then, and grabbed a plate, smiling at the large portion. "You know, no matter how hard you try..."

"And if you love me you'll eat it all," Race simpered.

"I'd rather eat you."

"Spot!"

Spot smirked and they settled in on the living room couch for dinner, TV on in front of them. It was really pretty comfortable. Race, as usual, wolfed down his food; Spot ate a little of it and then picked at it for a few minutes.

"Don't you like it?"

"Don't pout, you know I like it. I'm just not hungry... Well... Maybe hungry for other things." Spot ran a hand down Race's side. "Since we're both finished eating..."

"Spot, come on," Race mumbled, feeling a little uncomfortable. "We can't... Not here."

"So let's, like, take it to the bathroom or something," Spot said. "'Cause my room would be bugged, right?"

"Yeah, but come on. Let's just watch the movie."

"I don't want to watch the movie, I want to screw."

"Spot..."

"Tony..." Spot mimicked. "Let's go." He took Race's wrist and stood, tugging, but Race yanked himself free and refused to budge.

"Spot, I don't... Want to."

There was a beat of silence, and Race highly doubted ever, ever seeing the type of expression on Spot's face he was seeing now. Or at least, he hoped not.

"What?" he asked, looking confused.

"I don't want to..." he mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Looked down at the floor. He heard Spot sigh.

"Why, what's wrong?" he asked, sounded tired, kind of frustrated. Worried also.

"Nothing, just..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing!"

"Well, obviously it's SOMETHING, Tony."

Spot sat back down on the couch, though, Race noted, out of convenient touching area. Race groaned. "We're moving too fast. I'm JUST getting used to being gay, and--"

"Oh don't give me that bullshit."

"It's true! It's not like I can just change my whole outlook on life overnight!"

"That's not what you said when we got together, or when you kissed me. Or when you said you loved me."

Race fell silent, feeling kind of guilty. Because he knew what Spot was implying, and remembered what Spot had said, about Jack thinking he was only using Spot...

He wasn't. He loved Spot. He really did.

And the blowjob had felt fucking amazing.

But the thought of going any further didn't feel so amazing. The thought of going down on Spot didn't feel so amazing, and he didn't want Spot to do it for him if he wasn't willing to return the favor. It wasn't fair.

"Sean..." he mumbled. "I do love you. I love you so fucking much."

"Then what? You aren't attracted to me?"

"No!" Race insisted. "No no, god, you're...you..." He let his eyes trail up Spot's thin body, taking in every inch, every shape, every curve. Eyed his thin neck, his perfect, improbably pretty face. "No. I'm so attracted to you, I am."

Spot bit the side of his cheek, biting back some sort of snappish remark, Race was sure. There was a moment of silence, Spot staring into him, when finally Spot said, "You aren't making any sense. What the hell do you want?"

"I don't know, I just know that if I want to go any further, I don't want to be uncomfortable."

That had been the wrong thing to say.

"Uncomfortable?" Spot snarled, leaning towards Race. "What the fuck does THAT mean? You sure have a HELL of a way to show you're UNCOMFORTABLE."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Race half-snapped. He didn't want to snap at Spot, but on the other hand, Spot was making this really hard. "I love you, you're hot, I'm just not ready yet."

"You sure were ready this afternoon."

"God damn it! If I'd known you'd start acting like this--"

"Acting like what? You're the one being a fucking girl about it, Antonia. Christ, it's not like it's a big deal."

"Don't you get it? It is a big deal. It's a huge deal because it's not just be saying that I'm gay, which is, you know, a BIG DEAL itself, but it's also me saying a big ol' 'fuck you!' to everything I've EVER believed. Okay? I spent my whole life thinking one man, one woman, missionary position for procreation after marriage only, and then you come along and suddenly I'm gay, and I love you, but it's still a big fucking deal!"

Spot stared at him for a second. Race wondered if maybe that had been a little overboard.

A second later, Spot had shoved him hard on the shoulder, and stalked out of the room.

"Spot, come ON--"

"Leave me ALONE, Mario!"

Race sat there, stunned, and then angry. This wasn't HIS fault, he couldn't control how he felt, and at least he was being honest! What the hell was he supposed to do? On that thought, he stood up, followed Spot out of the room. Saw Spot storming down his hallway, towards a bedroom.

"Spot!" Race snapped. "What did you want me to do? LIE so you could get off anyway?"

"I said leave me the fuck alone."

"Why are you being such a DICK about this?"

"Why are you being so fucking FRIGID?"

"I TOLD you!"

Spot whirled around, turned on him. "You coulda told me earlier, Midgito."

"I was confused, earlier," Race retorted. "You can't expect me to know everything."

"Ohh believe me, I never expected THAT."

"Yeah, well, I never expected you to be such a dickhead about it."

"Bad call on your part."

"Right, 'cause this fight is totally my fault." Race rolled his eyes.

"Well, it sure as hell ain't mine. I'm not the one being frigid."

"'Cause you know, calling me frigid is really gonna help you nail me. Which," he snorted disdainfully, "it turns out is all you wanted anyway. So fuck you."

"If only you would," Spot shot back.

And Race was a little surprised Spot didn't deny the accusation that all he wanted was sex.

A little surprised, and a lot pissed off.

"If that's all you care about, you can go fuck yourself for all I care!"

"I can't fuck myself any worse than your Family did to me."

"You dickhead," Race snarled. "This is between you and me, don't bring my family into this."

"Hard not to when they could be fucking listening in on it!"

"I don't like it any more than you do, but that's not what this is about!"

"You're right, this is about you being a goddamn lying spoiled bitch, just like everyone said you were."

"No, this is about you being a demanding, needy asshole who wants the world to think he's some kind of tough guy when you're nothing but a pussy and you think sex is gonna fix that."

Race had expected that one to hit home a little more, for Spot to show some weakness and back down. So they could get over this and Spot would apologize, since this was clearly his fault.

He didn't know Spot's bad side well enough to know that Spot did not apologize and he sure as hell didn't back down.

"I'M nothing but a pussy, Tony?" Spot said, his voice a bit dangerous, furious. "I'm the fucked up one? Yeah, fuck, fine, so sex is gonna fix my shit? Well you're a cocaine addict and nothing is gonna fucking fix that, so stop acting like you're some genius on what should and shouldn't be done, you fucking coke head!"

"Shut UP!" Race yelled.

"And DON'T you fucking think that sex was gonna fix my problems 'cause I sure as hell never thought you were gonna solve anything for me!"

"At least I wanted to help solve everything that's fucking wrong with you! All you ever wanted from me was to get laid." He shook his head. "And I actually believed that you gave a shit about me. You're right, I am a fucking moron."

"I never called you a fucking moron, but since you mention it, yeah, you are." Spot glared at him. "So you wanna get the fuck out of my house?"

"You want me to?" Race demanded, not wanting to go and leave it like this, desperately wanting Spot to back down so he wouldn't have to.

Spot brought his face close to Race's, his glare unfazed. "Did I stutter?"

Race jolted back, feeling sick to his stomach. He stared hard at Spot, and finally spat out "Fuck YOU!" before turning on his heel and storming down the hall, towards the door. He deliberately paused once touching the doorknob, wanting Spot to come after him, maybe snap at him to apologize himself, let them sort it out.

Once again, he underestimated a furious, hurt Spot.

"BYE!" Race yelled childishly, before pushing through the door and down the side walk, stomping.

Back inside, Spot kicked the wall viciously and wondered what the hell he'd just been yelling.

He walked over to his window and saw Race walking towards the bus stop, cell phone in his hand, looking like he wanted to kill someone. Which, Spot realized, he probably did.

"Oh god fucking damn him," Spot snapped at the open air and turned on his heal to start down the hall, not thinking about what he was doing, because if he thought about it, his pride was going to stop him. Because Spot Conlon did not apologize to people.

"Hey, asshole!" he yelled after Race, who froze, tensed up, but didn't turn around. Spot sped up to catch up with him. "Hey," he repeated, as he caught up and Race began to walk again, still towards the bus stop, but he flipped his cell phone shut.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Damn it, Tony, you fucking know what I--"

"Yes. I do know what you want, get the fuck off me, faggot." He shoved Spot slightly, and it was all Spot could do to not shove him back. But he'd come this far, and he'd regret it MORE if it was for nothing.

"I'm..." he choked a little, like he was about to hurl or something. "I..." then he dropped his voice. "I didn't fucking want you for sex, you idiot." Race didn't say anything, still looked furious. "Maybe at the beginning, but if it had stayed that way then I would have fucked off and forgotten about you a long time ago. But if you don't fucking want it then stop being such a tease."

Race snorted, and shook his head. "That's not--"

"I'm not gonna say 'sorry', Antonia."

Which, somehow, was Spot's way of saying 'but I am sorry, I'm just not gonna say it'.

Race was silent for a long time, and Spot realized he was silently debating telling Spot to fuck off and accepting the... apology. If it could be called that.

"Listen, Sean..." Race said in a tired voice. "You're really, really fucking MEAN once you get going."

There was a beat of silence before Spot said, "PLEASE don't fucking tell me you JUST figured that out."

And Race had to laugh at that, and then Spot kind of smirked. "Sean, I'm really pissed."

"So am I."

"But you're sorry so I--"

"Never said I was sorry."

"--think we're just fine." He looked up at his boyfriend. "It's not you. I just want to take it slow, okay? And if you take it all personal, aren't YOU being the girl?"

Spot raised his eyebrows.

Race shut up. But Spot didn't shout.

What Spot did finally say was, "Now I know how Tracy felt."

"Oh, fuck off." Race rolled his eyes. "I just... I just need time. And as soon as the thought of screwing around some doesn't send me into a Catholic guilt panic, I'll make it up to you."

"Yeah, I'm fucking holding you to that."

"I figured."

There was a long quiet, and finally Spot said, "Movie?"

"Yeah, okay."

And it was awkward, but not too bad. Nothing they couldn't get through...

Hopefully.

There was about a meter of distance between them and Spot was very good at avoiding eye contact.

Race, half of him wanting to kiss and make up and the other half wanting to yell, was having a difficult time deciding on what exactly he was supposed to do now.

Spot wasn't talking, the movie wasn't making any sense, and his stomach hurt. He felt like he'd eaten too much, but knew that wasn't true.

He glanced over at his boyfriend... Whose arms were crossed.

Race grumbled something under his breath.

Spot shot him a glare--he hadn't meant it to be so mean, really--and then stared pointedly at the TV. Race made an exasperated noise and the next time Spot glanced at him, he was staring blankly at the TV, looking none too happy.

Spot cleared his throat. "I'm gonna eat more." He hoped eating would make his stomach stop bothering him.

Race raised an eyebrow. "No fucking way." But it sounded kind of forced.

"Yeah, well... It's good." And Spot stood up and walked into the kitchen. Race didn't follow. Race didn't respond to the semi-compliment. Spot stabbed at the fish viciously as he transferred it to a plate, and stalked back into the living room.

But Race sort of smiled as he took a mouthful.

Spot's stomach didn't want anymore. He felt full, real full. But it was better than having Racetrack sit there and silently gripe at him. Which was a stupid, girly thing to do, Spot thought. So he might as well have some food to shut him up.

Well, that and it made Race happy. He didn't mind that at all. Liked it quite a bit in fact.

Just right now, it seemed unfair to him that HE didn't get a blow job or an ANYTHING.

He swallowed words by eating the fish, which did taste good. Race looked at him. "You like it?"

Spot shrugged. "No complaints."

"...I like that shirt...looks good."

"Yeah, I'm hot. Which you wouldn't--" he stopped, and rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

"No, what?" Race demanded.

"Nothing, Mario."

Race glowered at him. Spot glowered right back. He'd cut off the comment, he was eating, Race should have been happy. And yet, he wasn't at all. Which, Spot hated to admit, made him kind of unhappy.

He set his plate on the coffee table and went back to watching the TV. But kind of subtly inched along the couch, closer to Race.

Race shot him a look, and didn't say anything. Bit his lip. Spot waited, and finally Race shrugged, and slid down the couch to Spot. Next to him, but not making more contact than he had to.

Awkward.

Very awkward.

Race shifted at one point, because part of his leg was asleep, and when their thighs touched, both jumped. Spot shot him a glare.

"What?" Race asked, defensively.

Spot sneered and said nothing.

Race got inwardly pissed off because the sneer was kind of hot.

Neither one of them said anything, and they sat in awkward silence, the movie playing away pointlessly.

It went like this for a good twenty minutes until Race's cell phone rang, causing them both to jump, accidentally touch thighs, exchange awkward glances, etc. etc before Race answered.

"Ciao," he said in a strangled voice.

"Hey, stupid!"

"...Hey fatty."

Sophia snorted in a very non-dainty manner on the other end. "Come home, moron."

"What?"

"Come home."

"Why? I told Dad I'd be late-ish, he--"

"Because we're having a family moment here."

"...um..."

"No, serious. I made Gabe come in to meet... Well, re-meet Mom and Dad, and, like, Dad spent twenty minutes making him squirm--"

"Good."

"--and then Mom went crazy and... Mom. Serious, he's just sitting kind of stunned in the rec room, and she keeps making him eat more cake."

"Um..."

"He needs backup. Come on," she whined.

"Rosetta, I'm kinda in the middle of--"

"Oh come on, come home early and get bonus points with Dad. What are you and Sean doing, anyway? Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

Race paused. It wasn't that he wanted to go home--though watching his parents torture Itey would be kind of fun--but he didn't want to leave while he and Spot were... doing whatever they were doing. He wanted it to be okay.

On the other hand, it would probably take a long time to be okay. And he kind of wanted to just get out of it all.

"Yeah, all right."

"Thank you," she said in a relieved voice.

"Don't thank me, I'm on mom and dad's side."

"TONY."

"Tell Itey that if he pulls anything while I'm not there, I'll break his thumbs." He grinned. "Bye!"

"Fuc-" but he cut her off as he shut off the phone.

He turned to Spot. Spot was watching him. "...gotta go."

Spot didn't even blink. "'K."

"So uh..." Race stood up, successfully avoiding contact. "I like your house."

"'K."

"And your mom."

"Not my mom--"

"Denise, I like Denise."

No response. They stared at each other. Finally, Spot just said, "'Kay."

"Uh... So... G'night." Race stood, and so did Spot, and they walked to the door. Race hesitated, then turned to Spot and pressed onto his tiptoes for a second, for a quick kiss, but Spot pulled away totally. Race fell back on to the flat of his feet and glared.

"Come on, Tony, don't you think a kiss would be moving awfully fast?" Spot said, smirking.

"You're such a bitch." Race glowered, but at least Spot had decided to talk to him. Even if he was being sarcastic and bitchy. Race could handle sarcastic and bitchy; he preferred it to silent any day.

Spot raised an eyebrow.

"Well... Bye," Race said childishly and opened the door, started to walk out. But Spot grabbed his arm, pulled him back around. "What?" Race demanded.

"I love you."

Race gaped. Then beamed. Then said, "I love you too. Ciao, caro mio."

"Oh, don't get me turned on as you're leaving—"

"GoodBYE, Spot." But Race kind of laughed as he said it, then walked out to his car.

*

Race, feeling considerably better as he dropped his keys in his pocket, could finally laugh for the first time in the past two hours when Maria swung open the door before he had a chance to open it and said, "Gabe is gonna wet himself, Tony, it's hilarious."

"Dad has that affect on people."

"Only because he loves us."

"I don't wet myself because he loves me." But Race followed her inside, and she led him into the kitchen, bouncing, giggling. Race's mind, until that moment, had kind of been somewhere else, with Spot, and thus the sight was a bit more surprising then it normally would have been.

Although it was pretty funny, still.

Itey was standing on a coffee table in the living room, arms out at his sides, while Race's mother scurried around behind him with a measuring tape. Sophia was sitting on the couch in front of them, giggling, and Race's father lurked ominously in the background, probably waiting for Itey to say or do something wrong so he could descend like a vulture on road kill. And probably make Itey into road kill.

Itey looked so confused and vaguely scared that Race had to laugh.

"Are we crucifying Gabriel?" he asked, noting Itey's arms-out position.

"Tony..." his father said warningly.

Sophia snickered, and Mrs. Higgins announced, "I'm taking his measurements, I'm going to make Gabriel a sweater."

Race's eyes almost popped out of his head and he choked slightly, laughing. "Gabe gets a Higgins sweater?"

"Welcome to the family!" Mrs. Higgins smiled sweetly and swatted Itey on the arm. Itey smiled in return, but then caught Mr. Higgins glare and eeped.

"This means, of course, that you will remain FAITHFUL TO MY DAUGHTER--"

"Daddy!"

"Are you sure, Gabe?" Race asked Itey. "I mean..." he wrinkled his nose and looked at his sister. "LOOK at her."

"Oh shut up, loser," she snapped.

"Brat."

"Moron."

"Fatty."

"You're not a brat, and you're not fat," Itey piped in quickly.

Sophia gave him an amused look, which clearly said, 'I know, dear,' but then stuck her tongue out at Racetrack instead.

"What colors does he get?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm thinking maybe something in browns or reds... Don't you think red would look lovely on him, Sophia, darling? It would bring out his skin tone so nicely."

Racetrack had a sweater his mother had made him the previous year. It was ribbed and itchy and deep blue. Sophia's was a striking purple, and less ugly; Izzy got green and Maria had pink. Even Mr. Higgins had one--in black--but he never had been sighted wearing it.

Mrs. Higgins liked to knit for the people she loved the most.

Race's cell phone rang and he reached into his pocket to answer. The display was Sean and Jack's house. "...Hey?"

"Guessss what I'm doing right now?"

It was Spot's voice. He sounded amused, which came as a relief to Race, who started out of the room, shut the door behind him.

"What?"

"Wrapping my hand around my--"

"Spot!"

"What?"

"Would you stop being so gross?"

"I'm not gross, I'm hot."

"AUGH. Listen, I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"..."

"No I will, I..."

"Yeah yeah. Just letting you know."

"What?"

"No hard feelings....well, I'M hard, but--"

"I GOT IT." Race had to smile though. "Yeah. Me too. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He left a significant silence. That said what he felt. "Bye."

"Yeah...bye Tony."

He flipped the phone shut and started into the other room, where Itey was still standing on the table, but now Maria was poking him with the measuring tape instead, while Mrs. Higgins began to jot down notes on a pad of paper.

Mr. Higgins gave Racetrack a significant look. Probably wondered who had called him and why. Race just shrugged easily, like it was nothing. Like it hadn't been a call from his boyfriend an hour after their first fight.

As Mrs. Higgins began to talk giddily about the sweater she wanted to knit, and Itey was finally allowed off of the table, Race couldn't help but feel a little bit mellow. Depressed, almost.

He loved Spot, but could never tell his family that. Could never bring Spot home, have him accepted and tortured lovingly by his folks.

Spot would never get his own Higgins Family Sweater.

Race realized that he wasn't angry, anymore. At all.

*

F: I may have fucked up considerably...regarding this chapter. By all rights I should have been hung.

B: You have no idea. But luckily I love her... what's having to rewrite three pages lost in the shuffle, after all? But then, we rewrote a good third of this chapter because we could. That was fun.

F: Then I started loading boy problems on her and she suggested ANs. I love talking about myself see?

B: Well, I only changed the subject because it's quarter after 5 in the morning and my parents will be up in 20 minutes... So, that said, we're cutting the ANs short. Ta ta!

(This chapter celebrated with alcohol and birthday cake, because dude, B just turned 21.)