AN: This story was supposed to end where the last chapter ended, but then Brucie, my adorable *snerk* plot bunny, decided to chew on my ankles a little bit more. Thus, this extended scene. was born. If you liked the original story just exactly the way it is, then obviously, I don't want you to read this part. If you want a little more, and you're okay with it being a little over-exaggerated, then by all means, keep reading.

Extended scene

. . .

"Eliot," Lindsey says calmly (tamping his anger down to use later, probably) between swipes of doggy kisses, "I'm gonna kill you. After you clean this mess up. I'm gonna kill you. With a corkscrew. And possibly an ice cream scoop." His nostrils flare. "And then you're going to pull the splinters out of my ass."

. . .

"Okay," Eliot says. Then he adds with a touch of remorse, "Want me to get the splinters first?"

Lindsey shifts uncomfortably in his seat on top of the pieces of the fractured chair. "Yes."

At that, Bandit stops licking Smells-Like-Master and fetches the first aid kit out of the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom, tail wagging all the way.

"Good boy!" Eliot exclaims upon his return, and pats the dog's head and broad back. "Who's a smart boy? You are! Good boy, Bandit!"

Bandit barks joyfully.

"Good boy!"

"Arf-arf!" The spotted tail goes like a windmill.

All but forgotten, and with a sore, throbbing ass, Lindsey groans and fights back the tears. His life sucks so bad. So, so bad. He's being punished for his sins. He knows he is. This is hell. Hell is babysitting a de-aged big brother with a pet dog. A big, black-and-white spotted, muddy abomination.

He sighs again and gives up trying not to cry. Unfortunately, his bout of tears is interrupted by a big red tongue lapping up the salty trails.

"Go away! Leave me alone," he says, and pushes the muzzle away.

Eliot huffs. "Oh, you big drama queen. Drop your pants and go lie down on the couch." He holds up the tweezers and clicks them.

"There's mud on the couch," Lindsey protests.

"Linny!"

"Fine," Lindsey sighs and acquiesces. "You're still cleaning up."

"Okay! Just shut up already!"

Lindsey sniffles into a muddy sofa cushion. A tissue is waved in front of his nose.

"You're gettin' snot all over the furniture."

Lindsey's face thuds back into the cushion. His life sucks. A lot.

"Want pie later?"

"Mm-hm."

"What kind y'want?"

Shrug.

"Stop sulking and pick something." Eliot punctuates his order by tugging out a particularly large splinter.

"Ow! You sadist! Apple."

"You got it." Pause. And then "Can I really keep him?"

Lindsey sighs. The way he's lying belly-down on the couch puts him at eye level with Bandit. He looks into the dog's big chocolate-brown eyes (love me forever and ever and ever and I will be loyal and love you forever and ever and ever) and sighs again.

"Yeah. We can keep him."

Bandit kisses his nose.

Ew. Now he has dog slobber up his nose. This is hell.