When A Home Is A Menagerie
Part Three
Brendon wakes up when Gerard kicks him. It’s probably an accident, Gerard is not the easiest bed partner, always rolling around and stretching in his sleep. He’ll apologise if Brendon mentions it, but he doesn’t ever remember doing anything if Brendon doesn’t bring it up. Normally it’s easy to get back to sleep, the moment the movement stops he drops back off. This morning is different, Gerard seems to be wriggling his way through the bed. Brendon cracks open an eye to see why. The answer is immediate; Elena is standing holding out a cardboard cup of coffee. Gerard’s already in his hand, inhaling the fumes like a normal person smells vanilla extract or perfume.
“We weren’t sure if you liked coffee, but it’s a tradition here, and trust me when I say it won’t last five minutes if you decide you don’t want it.”
Of course. It has to be Christmas. Without the cues of his household; the decorating and the baking and church carolling, there’s been nothing to bring the date forward in his mind. Not even the days of the week help, he’s been going to Paws And Claws every day.
“I’m not supposed to drink hot beverages, but that doesn’t really matter now, does it.” It still does, in his head, but denying the hospitality of Mikey and Gerard’s grandmother hardly seems like the best reaction. He can apologise to God for the coffee later, presuming that repenting smaller sins matters when he won’t for bigger. Brendon takes the cup from her spotted hand and has a sip. It’s awful, bitter and grainy on his tongue, but he doesn’t make a face. Looking revolted is just as rude as refusing it in the first place.
“Got anything awesomely tacky and knitted?”
“Uh, no?” The Uries never went the Christmas sweater route, his Mom and Dad both preferring to look respectable over gaudy. He’s not even sure he has anything red or green stuffed into his backpack, he’s always been a blue and purple sort of guy.
“That’s too bad. I don’t have any either. One day I’ll live with a man or woman that has a grandma that knits all year long, and I’ll have epic sweaters. Maybe some of those tiny lights sewn in, or something.” Gerard smiles at the thought and pulls on a pair of sweatpants over his several days old boxers. Brendon doesn’t bother to wait until Gerard’s left the room to change into clothes for the day. One of the first lessons unravelled by living at the Way house was modesty, half the time they don’t even bother to close the door when they use the bathroom.
It’s with a heavy heart that he follows Gerard up the stairs to the living room. He’s not sure he can imagine a more awkward situation than having to be present and observing someone else’s Christmas. The Ways don’t seem to sense the awkwardness, Gerard just throws himself down on the shaggy orange carpet beside Mikey. The youngest Way has a baggie of Starbursts scattered on the floor and is sorting the colours into four piles.
“Brendon, we weren’t sure of your favourites, so we got you an assortment.”
“What? I mean pardon?” It’s not that he didn’t hear Mr Way, he just doesn’t understand.
“It’s a tradition,” Gerard explains. Pulling what must be at least six pounds of jellybeans from his stocking, he undoes the twist tie and plucks out a few yellows. “The stocking is Christmas breakfast, enough sugar to cause a diabetic coma.”
Unlike the five Way stockings, different colours of metallic fabric with the same Holly leaf embroidery, the stocking Mr Way hands to him is an obvious last minute dollar store buy. But it’s stuffed with candy, and no one waits expectantly to hear gratitude, everyone just digs into their own. It’s like they don’t have a problem with him infringing on their traditions.
“You remember what we were talking about the other day?” Gerard asks through a mouthful of half dissolved yellow beans.
“Uh,” is a more diplomatic answer than not at all. Mikey talks more at home than he does at work, but most of his words go through his phone or his laptop. From what Brendon’s experienced, Gerard picks up the slack and talks enough for the both of them. Talks enough for three or four people, really, unless he’s hidden away in his room working on something. Even then it’s not like he’s forbidden Brendon from entering, Brendon just doesn’t like the idea that he’s interrupting someone’s personal time.
“Have you started jerking off yet?”
The reactions of the room would probably be fascinating sociologically -at least Brendon assumes, he only knows about the class what he’s heard from Alex- if he wasn’t so horribly mortified. Mr and Mrs Way don’t tell Gerard off for talking about something so inappropriate, they just completely ignore it and continue to eat their macaroons. Mikey looks interested, with the amount of time he spends with Pete, Mikey probably thinks he’s some sort of robot for not fornicating.
It’s the eldest Way that speaks when the silence grows and it becomes obvious Brendon’s not going to reply. “It’s none of your business whether or not Brendon pleasures himself.”
“But I’m-”
“Gerard. No.”
Brendon throws Elena a red-faced look of gratitude, and at her acknowledging wink drives his hand into a baggie of chocolate covered pretzel bits. The less said about this conversation the better.
After everyone’s full, Mrs Way asks if it’s time to get the show on the road. To a room of agreement, Mikey crawls to the tree and hands each person a present. It’s weird to be opening gifts so early, at home gifts giving comes after Christmas dinner. It’s weirder still that Mikey gives him a box covered in penguin wrapping paper. He’s not part of their family, they shouldn’t be giving him presents. When he tries to explain that he’s thankful, but it’s not necessary Mikey tells him to shut up.
“No, but-”
“I’m pretty sure my son told you to shut up. Open your present, Brendon. It’s not much anyway. I don’t know what you’re used to, but here we get a handful of small things, and one big thing.”
Brendon doesn’t know how to tell Mr Way that at home each sibling gave everyone else one present, and for the most part it was what they thought you should want, not what you did, so he just tears into the paper. Inside the box is a pair of purple and white skate shoes. The regular white shoelaces have been replaced with children’s laces, smiling bunnies on a black background. It’s not a book of study techniques, or professional flash cards, or a CD of gospel music. It’s a pair of ridiculous shoes that don’t fit the personal style of anyone in the room, and still someone thought it was okay to get them.
“Thank you.” His voice is thick, and he barely holds himself in from hugging everyone in the room.
“If they don’t fit we’ve got the receipts, we can return them,” Mrs Way says casually. Brendon nods blankly. If they don’t fit he’ll shave off the sides of his feet, because these aren’t being returned.
His big gift comes maybe an hour later, after more ‘small’ presents, and bathroom breaks and Gerard stopping to get a cloth when a half eaten Mars bar melts under his butt and smears all over the carpet. The wrapping paper is green and covered in smiling Santa Clauses, and Brendon almost doesn’t want to open it. He’s not ready for this to be over yet. Unlike the other presents however, they’re all opening theirs one at a time, and he’s second up, and Gerard looks like he’s going to throttle him if he doesn’t get his turn soon.
“What do you think?”
“Alex said that you told him you liked to play music, so we figured,” Mikey trails off, and it’s only then that Brendon notices he hasn’t texted the whole morning. Clearly the holiday means something to him too.
“Well I already know how to play bass, but a refresher would be good.” He’s spent his life thinking it’s the thought that counts, never even wiping off his smile to say it. It’s the first time he’s truly meant it, not just used it as a blanket to cover disappointment. The Ways cared enough to get Mikey to contact the one person that knows stuff about him, how can he possibly be disappointed about something that comes from that?
“Screw it, we’ll trade. You can have the huge box that is so obviously hiding a new iPod, and I’ll have bass lessons.”
“No, it’s okay, really-”
“Shut up. I’ll be the next Les Claypool.” Mikey deftly reaches over and plucks the gift certificate off his lap and shoves a silver box with teddy bears printed into the space left. Brendon lets him take it. Maybe some time in the future they can play a song together.
***
“Last day today,” Pete comments, words a calm contrast to the way Stretch is frantically trying to drag the rope out of his hand.
“No, we have until the ninth. Three weeks off, public school is awesome.” Not that the classes are bad, but in a week’s time he’ll have to start waking up early again.
“I don’t go to Irving.”
“What?” Brendon’s sure he would have noticed someone that looked like Pete at Pine.
“Dude, I’m in college. Classes start Wednesday, thanks to Christmas and New Years both falling on a Sunday.”
Brendon looks at Mikey, who seems entranced with Pete and Stretch’s battle. “You’re dating a college man?”
“He’s not that much older than me, and Mom and Dad are hardly going to cry statutory.”
“And lucky for us, I’m the older one, and my total tool parents can’t do shit.”
Brendon’s not really in the mood for talking about parents. “I’m gonna wash the front window, it’s really gross.” It’s partially an excuse to get away, but it’s the truth. In the five months he’s been in the shop he’s sure they haven’t been washed once. It’s almost grey.
The cleaning supplies are buried in the back closet. It’s probably a bad sign that they’re all coated with a layer of dust. But as far as he knows Windex doesn’t have an expiry date, using it when it’s old shouldn’t make it suddenly corrosive and eat through the glass. Even if it does, it would probably look pretty cool. When he comes out, sneezing, Pete’s alone with Stretch, still wrestling for the rope.
The job doesn’t take long, aside from rewetting the places that dried streaky. Maybe he can convince Mr Sinthe that they need some of those soap markers, and Gerard can draw some sort of pet inspired scene. Gerard’s a great artist, if the work he’s doing before he goes back to university is any indication. Brendon will just have to convince him he doesn’t have to do a scene with gore or tentacles. The pile of nasty paper towels go in the garbage, and Brendon resigns the Windex back to the supply closet, knowing it won’t come out again until he takes it out.
There’s no indication something strange is about to happen when he enters the dog section again. It’s just one moment he’s standing, the next Pete’s hands are on his shoulders, pressing him relentlessly back. When there’s no more room to move back, just the row of cages, Pete pins him, and the tiny poles of the cages are digging into his back as Pete starts kissing him. Brendon opens his mouth, just to ask what's going on, not for anything else. Pete takes the opportunity to slips his tongue in Brendon’s mouth. He tastes the same as the first time, cigarettes and chocolate, and this time his entire body sparking doesn’t make him want to cry, just makes him want more.
This time, though, Pete’s hands don’t stay on his hips. One snakes between the cages behind him and his body, stopping on his butt. The other strays even more dangerously, cupping his crotch. Brendon can’t help bucking into the hard curve of Pete’s fingers. No one has ever touched him like this before. It’s impossible to say how long Pete kisses him, slowly rubbing the fly of his jeans with enough pressure that if Pete’s mouth wasn’t on him would moans would be filling the air. And then there are two hands opening his zipper and there’s a brief moment of cold before Pete’s hand is touching skin.
Brendon pushes Pete off a little, enough to reclaim his mouth. He wants to say it's wrong, everything about this is wrong, but instead what comes out is, “not in front of the dogs.”
Pete snorts, then grins. “Dude, I jerk off with Hemmingway in the room all the time. Not my fault his bed is in the computer room.”
There is a hand on his dick and Brendon shouldn't be doing this for a dozen different reasons. But he's never even touched himself, just waited for an erection to go away, like God expects of his children. He doesn’t know how to say no. He doesn’t want to say no, so even if Pete stopped this moment he’d still be a sinner for wanting it, so what does it matter?
Pete's hand is warm, fingers a tight circle around his dick, the other steadying him against the cage. No prayer in the world could stop him from coming, not with the burn that’s in his stomach and rapidly heating his thighs and darting up his spine. He comes, spilling into Pete’s hand, and his head jerks backwards with the force of it, rattling the metal behind him. There’s no pain, just the need to spit out a hundred different expletives he’s never used before and make this feeling happen again and again and again.
Only once he’s got his eyes open, able to look at the world around him, does Pete let go of his dick. He takes a step back and raises his hand to his mouth. It’s wet with come, and Pete licks the fluids off. Brendon shudders, unable to look away. It shouldn't be hot, but it is. Palm wet but clean, Pete snickers. “It never tastes good, you know? But it's totally worth it to see the looks on people's faces.”
It’s a grand total of about fifteen minutes before Brendon starts to freak out. Having gay sex is one thing. That line was verbally crossed two weeks ago, crossing it physically doesn’t make it a whole heck of a lot worse. But cheating with someone to have it is another thing entirely. Mikey has said that he and Pete aren’t boyfriends, but they love each other as much as any other couple Brendon’s seen. Maybe Pete didn’t consider that cheating, but Brendon has to.
He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he can’t lie to Mikey. Mikey helped him, thanks to him he’s not sleeping on a cot with fifty other people, wondering if someone is going to start a fight with him for eating the last butterpan bun. He deserves to know. Even if he tells Gerard and Elena and Mr and Mrs Way, and they decide Brendon can’t stay with them any longer for doing something so bad to Mikey, it’s still better that he knows. He checks the fly on his jeans and wanders into the cat section to let him know.
Mikey shrugs. It’s impossible to read his face, and the worry makes the words tumble out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t even do anything, he just touched me! But I didn’t stop him. I’m so sorry!”
He shrugs again, then seems to decide that’s not a clear enough answer. “You know I texted him that you were a virgin and he needed to seduce you, right? I thought you might not want me or Gee because we're like your new family or whatever.”
There’s nothing to say so he just stares, then follows when Mikey wanders into Pete’s room. “Jerking him off on the dogs? That’s your seduction? So much fail.”
Pete shakes his head, grin spread over his face. “It worked, didn't it? He got off. You owe me a Ice Capp.”
***
After Gerard drives them home, Mikey goes to his room, and Brendon follows Gerard to theirs. For someone that needs to leave in the next two days, he’s got nothing ready, nothing packed or even organised. But it’s hardly the primary thought in his head. “Mikey asked his boyfriend to get. To help me lose. To-”
“Pete jerked you off. Yeah, Mikey texted me.”
Brendon doesn’t get angry often. It’s not behaviour fitting a Mormon, and he doesn’t have the temperament for it anyway. But this is just ridiculous. “Does he text everyone everything?”
Gerard doesn’t take offence to the shouted question, just shrugs much like his brother does. “Yeah, pretty much. For the record though, you are worth far more than an Ice Capp. I really hope you don't associate your value with-”
“This entire family is insane!” Between them accepting a perfect stranger into their house, the grandmother willing to talk about masturbation, Mikey’s apparent addiction to texting and instant messaging, and the way no one seems to need more than two hours of sleep, Brendon’s never met a more mental group of people.
“I dunno. Dad's pretty normal.” Gerard scuttles to his knees on the bed and leans forward precariously to hug Brendon. “Calm down. Mikey wanted to help you become a normal teenager, Pete had his fun, there’s no drama, and it’s all good. You are officially no longer repressed and sad.”
***
Apart from his first day, this is the first time Brendon’s had to walk from Paws And Claws to school. It’s not long of a walk though, and it’s made better by the company. With Pete separated from them and busy at college, Mikey seems both more drawn into his text messaging, and more willing to talk to the people around him.
According to Mikey, the whole of this and next week will be pretty slack, teachers handing out class time to finish final projects, along with time for revision before exams start during the last week of January. They don’t have to volunteer during exam week, but they’re supposed to start again the first day of second semester. In past years Brendon would have been happy about the extra free time. He would have used it to attempt studying so he didn’t disappoint everyone; chained to a table even though the sitting down and rereading method isn’t very compatible with his ADHD. This semester though, he’s not very concerned. Cooking is a practical, every student has an hour to make a dish. In English their project is worth far more than the exam, and he’s sure they’ll impress everyone with their varied articles about clouds. Math and biology are the hard ones, but he can manage.
When they arrive at Irving, instead of going in Mikey leads Brendon around the grounds to a part of the school he’s not used to visiting. He’s been through the smoker doors a grand total of once, the day Alex demanded he help him take pictures of the sky. Now that he knows who he’s looking at, a surprisingly high number of those clustered at the bike rack beside the doors are from Saporta’s party. Not all of them are actually smoking, most are just chatting for the few minutes they have before the bell rings reminding everyone that school actually isn’t just for socialising.
Alex is among the group, he nods his head at Brendon but continues talking to his friends. Brendon spends a minute in a conversation with Victoria and Ryland about who has better legs for a short skirt, bowing out of declaring a real position by pointing out they’re both wearing jeans and it’s impossible to tell. When Brendon excuses himself, impressed with his ability to not burst into coughing under a cloud of smoke -rooming with Gerard for two weeks was intense but successful training- Alex follows.
“So, tell me. What your winter break was like? Did you get anything awesome? Are Mormons allowed to fuck around on Jesus’s birthday? Oh, hey! Did you make cookies, and slash or do you want a recipe for some bad ass sugar cookies? I mean it’s too late to make them for Christmas, but you could be a pro by the time Easter rolled around. If Mormons celebrate Easter?”
The questions are rapid-fire, but luckily they’re close to the hallway his locker is in. If he can just hold out for a bit longer he can avoid answering. The fewer people he has to talk to about getting kicked out, the better. Gerard, Mikey, and Pete knowing is a big enough number.
Of course, because that’s the way life seems to be working lately, Kevin is standing in front of his bank of lockers. “Valerie told us what happened.”
Brendon ignores Kevin, moving around him to reach for his combination. There’s nothing he can say that will make it right in the eyes of the church and the worshippers, even if he’s not entirely certain God hates him.
“She told us all how you’re bowing to Satan. How you’re letting him in to ruin the family plan. Are you trying to bring them down with you?”
That accusation hurts. If anything, he’s worked to distance himself from them, so he doesn’t cause them trouble. “I moved out, I’m-”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? It’s one thing to feel the perversions you do. But to refuse to repent, to revel in them? Brendon I wish I could say I expected better from you but I never have. You’re worthless.”
Alex’s arm shoots out and shoves Kevin into the lockers. The move is with enough force that his head makes a loud cracking sound on the metal. Kevin’s hand moves up to cup his skull, and tears of pain are leaking from his eyes. Alex smiles pleasantly at the sight, then replies “and you’re clumsy, apparently. We all learned something about personality traits today. How interesting!”
Kevin eyes Alex almost like a fish would eye a shark, and darts down the hallway, arm still raised to his head. Brendon shouldn’t be happy about violence, even moving beyond Mormon values violence is never a good thing. Still, there’s no hiding that his main feeling is gratitude. Alex made Kevin shut up, and Brendon can’t make himself care about method.
***
Knowing how the family works, how Mr and Mrs Way are, it shouldn’t be a surprise that they don’t monitor their children’s internet usage. It is, freedom still isn’t something he’s come to expect or demand yet. It takes a roll of Mikey’s eyes and Elena’s snort to believe that they’re telling the truth. Not that he’ll ever admit to it if someone asks, but the first place his mind goes to is pornography. If there are no parental controls, he finally has the opportunity to Google things he’s never been able to before. He just has to take it before it’s somehow retracted.
At least, that’s the plan. Google Images quickly puts a damper in most of his search terms. There are places where human tongues go, and places where they definitely do not.
***
Either Pete doesn’t have a Friday morning class, or he doesn’t care about the information it’s trying to impart. Whatever the case, he comes in at five after nine, two coffees straddling one hand, a Slurpee in the other. Brendon takes the frozen sugary goodness with a thank you and sucks hard on the green straw. It’s a mixed fill, grape and blue raspberry, a sign that Pete knows him pretty well. After seventeen years without it, caffeine still has a strong affect on him. Coke Slurpees make him too hyper, the fruity ones are better.
Aborted search or not, Brendon’s still curious. He watches as Mikey plucks the Seven Eleven coffees from Pete’s hand and leans in for a kiss. If this is what he's going to do one day, then he should probably know more about it. He was never allowed to sit in during sexual education at school, he had to show his teacher a note from his parents then go sit in the library until another student was dispatched to get him. The internet was a bust, leaving him only with active questioning. His circle of peers is Alex, Mikey, Pete, and Gerard. Alex is great, but also straight and won’t be able to help him. Gerard is on the other side of the spectrum; he’ll have far too much to say. And Mikey will probably answer in short sentences and smirks.
So he waits until they separate, and stands beside Pete. He knows bright red and staring doesn’t give off the best impression, but he can’t quite make the words come out. Finally Pete tilts his head a bit and asks “are you going to, like, fucking swoon or something?”
“Whatsgaysexlike?” comes out a bit faster than he had intended, but embarrassment tends to make him speed up.
Pete looks at him for a minute. He's been leering and making sexual jokes at the Ways since Sunday, saying he's trying to desensitize him. But Pete's not looking at him predatorily at all now, he doesn’t even have the look of victory in his eyes. He's totally calm and entirely nice sounding when he asks "do you want me to show you? Not here, obviously. In a bed, and we could watch a movie too, after?”
That was not what he asked. That was nowhere near what he asked! He shakes his head vigorously, a stream of ‘no no no’ pouring out his mouth.
Pete puts a hand on either cheek, forcing him to still his face. “Chill out. Your glasses come off and Chomper will eat them, and then he'll have glass in his stomach and they'll have to do something shitty like put him down.”
With Pete’s help Brendon stops shaking his head, but he can’t stop trembling. That wasn’t what he asked, and the idea is overwhelming.
“Okay, you don't want to have sex, that’s okay. But you want to know. I'm gonna advise you don't watch porn, most of that stuff is just for getting off to, not learning shit from. Do you want to, like, watch me and Mikey?”
It would be an exaggeration to call him hysterical. Hysterical means maniacal laughter and rocking back and forth or fainting, none of which Brendon is doing. That he can’t regulate his volume at all shouldn’t count. “Don’t you think you should ask Mikey first!”
Pete shrugs and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He starts to text, presumably to Mikey. “Are you serious? He's outside having a smoke. He's literally ten feet away!”
Mikey comes inside and Brendon’s expecting- Well, he doesn’t know. Most people would be furious, but Mikey was the reason that last time happened. What he’s not expecting is for Mikey to just sail on by them, and go into the cat section. Pete’s phone vibrates a minute later and after reading it he says “Mikey says cool.”
It’s possible Brendon can see the point one of the priests at church was trying to make about technology being a tool of Satan.
When he doesn’t immediately answer, Pete speaks again. “Well, if you want to, it's cool. If you don't, no one's forcing you.”
“Oh, like you weren't forcing me the other day?”
“Dude? Really? I thought you liked it.”
From the expression on Pete’s face, and the tone, it’s obvious he never even considered that Brendon might not have wanted a handjob. And Brendon didn’t exactly say no, or want it to stop, just wanted to want it to stop. But he can’t explain that to Pete, he won’t understand, just go off on another rant about parents stuffing you full of fake ideals. “I don't want to talk about this anymore. Never mind.”
***
Even though he doesn’t really understand the point of the stories, Brendon waits until Mikey stands before putting the book back on the shelf. At twenty after four they’re the only ones in the library, aside from Mr Zylack, the aide having gone home at four. Brendon waves a goodbye as he walks out behind Mikey, a non-verbal thank you for the recommendation. Just because he didn’t like any of the stories in Tough Tough Toys for Tough Tough Boys doesn’t mean it wasn’t nice of the librarian to try and help.
Brendon doesn’t need to ask if Pete is here, it’s the only reason Mikey would be getting up. Sure enough, the navy Pinto is idling in front of the fire hydrant. He knows by now to get on the driver’s side of the back seat, the passenger side seat-belt doesn’t click in. It’s not that far of a drive, barely enough time for it to be worth it to mess with the radio. But as Mikey explained it, since the house is off route, waiting for the bus and then the transfer time for the second bus gets them home at around the same time that waiting nearly an hour for a ride does. This way, at least, they have time to study before Pete spends most of the evening over. Elena’s theory is his constant presence is a combination of love and a test to see if they can live together. Mikey’s going to the university Pete is, and Pete’s currently in a dorm room. If they can live together it’ll be easier for the both of them.
Yesterday Pete tried to show Mikey how to play Creep by Radiohead. The problem was he’s a fairly bad bass player, and it was only so long before Brendon had no choice but to step in. Today Mikey and Pete go straight upstairs, body language making it clear they’re about to have sex. Brendon sits on the living room couch and picks up the remote without turning the tv on. He knows their earlier offer should be insane, that he shouldn’t give it a moment’s thought. But the porn on the internet freaked him out, and if even Pete says it’s not good, than he can’t depend on that to learn. And it’s not like he could hire a streetwalker. Even if he knew where to find one, he could never go through with it. Their offer is sort of the best option available.
Going up the stairs is fairly easy. Opening the closed door takes more courage, and walking through the entrance even more. That done he has no idea what to do with himself. He ends up with his back pressed hard against the hollow door of Mikey’s closet, arms crossed tightly. The only acknowledgement that he’s there is a slight change in angle of their heads, so he can better see their kissing. They continue for a while, and Brendon can see himself doing this, enjoying this with some other boy. He wants, not necessarily them, but the idea of it.
Eventually Pete crawls off Mikey, socked feet landing with a thud on the carpet. The socks are the first thing to come off as he gets naked, followed by his shirt, then jeans and underwear in one swoop. Mikey’s just laying there, watching his boyfriend. It doesn’t make sense to Brendon, surely nakedness is a two person event? His question gets answered sooner rather than later. Pete climbs back onto the bed, hand stroking his dick a few times before he focuses and starts stripping Mikey. It’s hard to tell who enjoys it more, they’re both hard by the time Pete is done.
It almost looks like they're wrestling. Mikey's legs are curled around Pete's back, and both of them heaving at each other. But this isn't wrestling, and Brendon can't take it anymore. He bolts, not even taking the time to slam the door behind him. He could leave the house, take a calming walk or run to the elementary school and swing until he can’t feel his knees anymore. Instead goes to the safe place that is Gerard's hovel of a bedroom. Even with the man gone for days the room still smells like smoke and paint thinner. It’s soothing.
When the house phone rings, Brendon ignores it, pulling the pilled blanket up higher. It takes five rings for him to break. Mikey obviously isn’t going to get it, and it could be Mr or Mrs Way saying they’re stuck in traffic and start dinner yourself, or that they’re working overtime. Or it could be Elena with a broken hip, needing someone to run the block to her house and help her wait for emergency services. The phone has to be answered, just in case.
It’s not. It’s Gerard, voice nasally and distant over shitty cell phone service. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, just gets to the heart of the reason he called. “So. Mikey says you're being really confusing, and they want to know if they should be waiting for you or not.”
“Seriously, what is it with you all? Weren’t you freaked out your first time?” It’s not like he doesn’t understand they’re trying to help him. It’s just it’s really more of a big deal than anyone he’s met recently seems to understand.
“But Pete and Mikey having sex isn't technically your first time.”
Of course he shouldn't be surprised that Mikey told him the details. If he cared enough to call him in the first place, of course he was going to tell Gerard everything.
Gerard sighs to break the tinny silence, and adds “would it help if I told them to call the house, and had them put the phone on the pillow so you could hear them but not watch? You know, go it one sense at a time? Or maybe just back off and first try to jerk off a few times and then-”
If he doesn’t say something Gerard is going to talk alternatives forever. “I dunno. I just. This is just really difficult.”
“Well, you sorta have to decide, you know? Like are your religion and your parents right even though they kicked you out and don't respect you? And you shouldn't be doing any of this? Or are people like me and Mikey and Pete right, just wanting to love and take care of each other and be happy? I mean, I can't make that decision for you. Shit, you take it back fast enough with enough regret they'll probably even let you move back in. Not that I'm trying to kick you out. I'm pretty sure you're grandma's favourite right now. But you need to decide what’s right for you, and fucking forge on with it, whatever it is, instead of being wishy-washy.”
Oddly enough, that's what gets him. Not the whole of the speech that's ridiculously peer pressurey even if Gerard doesn't realise it and isn't trying to be pressuring. It’s that Mikey and Gerard's grandma likes him the way he is. He's never, ever, been approved of by any of his grandparents, or by the elders of the church.
“Thanks.”
“So you’re going to-”
“Go back upstairs.”
“Embracing yourself instead of letting those asshats get to you. Good job Brendon, I’m really proud right now.”
He’s pretty sure if Gerard was here right now, he’d either get a hug, or witness Gerard doing victory arms. But he’s not, and that leaves Brendon to gather his courage and go back to Mikey’s bedroom. Mikey and Pete are curled into each other on top of the blankets, expanses of skin pressed together. They’re making out, not passionately, just comfortable with each other. Brendon can’t quite feel that, but he can try, and the first step is setting boundaries. “I'm not getting naked.”
They pull apart an inch to answer him. “No one asked you to.”
“And I'm not jerking off.” It's the first time he's used the phrase, and it doesn’t feel nearly as taboo and offensive spilling from his lips as he thought it would.
“No one asked you to.”
Brendon stands and watches as Pete darts his hand between and up after Mikey curls one leg around Pete's back again. Mikey lets out a low groan, which only serves to encourage Pete. They look happy. Not caught in a religious ecstasy, but finding joy with each other. Not passionate while talking about how everyone else that doesn't believe what they believe will suffer in the end, but passionate about their love. Brendon’s confident in saying the latters both sound better than the formers. It’s an opinion that outcasts him from his family, but the world of outcasts is slowly revealing itself to be more rich and open than he’d ever thought possible.
***
At the commercial, Pete mutes the tv. The insisted upon silence is a bit fussy, but better than someone that channel hops every three seconds, so there’s a house wide agreement to just let Pete have the remote when he’s over. He sits up, hair staticky and attempting to cling to Mikey, and looks over at Brendon. “By the power vested in me as your adoptive brother’s boyfriend I’ve set you up on a blind date.”
“What?” It’s completely out of nowhere, there isn’t any newly dating couple on the sci-fi show they’re watching. Stargate something, Brendon thinks.
“Don’t worry, Mikey’s approved him.”
A gay date. “I’m not wearing leather pants.”
“What the fuck? Sometimes I seriously wonder what’s wrong with your brain. Of course you’re not. You don’t have to change at all, just put on more deodorant.”
“I guess you could shower, or something. If you wanted.” Mikey says it in the tone of someone that finds showers entirely unnecessary, and knowing that Mikey’s hair sometimes gets three shades darker with oil before he washes it lends credit to the interpretation.
“Wait.” They’re both giving suspiciously immediate advice. “When is this date, exactly?”
“What time is it now?”
Brendon can’t really see Mikey’s face from where he’s sitting, but it’s pretty clear he’s rolling his eyes when he answers. “Check the weather channel. Though Carson is operating on the tumour, so I’d say ten to?”
“So about ten minutes.”
“What!”
“What? Like we were going to give you time to get worried, or bitch out.”
He strongly objects to the phrasing of that, but it’s not the time to argue that battle. He’s got ten minutes until someone is here, semantics will have to wait. “Look guys, I don’t know.”
Pete sighs. “I knew we shouldn’t have told him.”
Strangely, Mikey is the more patient one. “Why not?”
“The last time I had a date it went bad.”
“Really.”
“Bad!” he affirms.
“How about you clarify.”
“She kissed me and I realised I was gay and got kicked out,” Brendon answers flatly. It’s not like he’s hallucinating or over-exaggerating the badness, it happened.
“Well, that’s sort of a one time event. The Ways are hardly religious douchebags-” Pete wheezes a bit as Mikey slaps him in the chest, “er, I mean the Ways are hardly going to kick you out.”
“Well, who is it?”
“I don’t believe in spoilers. I don’t want to know which red-shirt dies, and I’m not going to tell you who your date is. He’s awesome, that’s all you need to know.” It’s nice that Pete’s feeling so confident, but Brendon doesn’t feel nearly the same. He can understand those from the church group that group dated a lot more now, surely this would be easier if Mikey and Pete were with him.
The doorbell rings, and when Brendon tenses at the sound Pete jams his hand between the couch and his back. He shoves him until it’s stand up or topple to the floor. Brendon picks the first, and manages to get as far as the front door before his nerves conk out again and Mikey has to open it for him.
On the front step is a familiar face. “Hi Brendon. I didn’t know you lived with Mikey. Sort of thought I’d be going on a date with Gerard.”
“Hi Saporta,” he answers. He doesn’t know why he sounds so stiff, his worries should be alleviated right now. Saporta was nothing but nice the morning after, and aside from Alex’s complaints about Saporta and Navarro he’s heard only good things about him.
“You can call me Gabe.” He grins, and Brendon’s first thought is that Saporta is pretty hot, and his second is confusion at not being horrified or guilty about his first thought. Gerard would probably think he was making progress.
Still, if he wants him to call him things other than his name, that’s probably a bad sign. “What?”
“You do know my name is Gabe, right? Alex is the only one that calls me by my last name. How could you think Saporta was my first name?”
Oh no, he’s not the crazy one. Brendon crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows as he reminds him “your close friends are Ryland, Leighton, and Z.”
“Point.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, then asks “can I come in? Can I ask you that, or do I need to ask Mikey?”
The floor creaks as behind Brendon Mikey shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Ask him, he lives here. His parents are jerkoffs.”
This time it’s Gabe cocking his eyebrows. “Worse than Pete’s?”
“At least equal.” Gabe looks impressed, in a bad way. Brendon only has a brief moment to wonder if he’ll ever find out what Pete’s parents did before Gabe is sidling his way into the house.
“So how’d you guys meet? Through Alex?”
“No. He volunteers with me at Paws.”
“Cool. I’ve gotten good shit there.”
Brendon’s never heard anyone refer to pets as shit, but at least it’s a conversation starter. “How many dogs do you have?”
“Huh?”
“Or cats? Did you get cats there?”
“I have, like, no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uh. You said you got good things, but you didn’t say what kind of animal?” He didn’t think that misunderstandings would come so early in the date. It doesn’t bode well.
“I meant I got good drugs there.”
Brendon turns to Mikey, utterly confused. Mikey shrugs. “It’s a front for a dealer. Mostly coke, some shrooms and E.”
“What? And you knew?”
“Dude, you didn’t know? Mr A Sinthe? As in Absinthe? Like, the best alcohol in the world, the kind that makes you trip balls?”
“Give him a break, he’s an ex-Mormon.”
No one’s said that before, and makes a whole host of uncomfortable thoughts rise in his brain so he shakes it off and goes back to the topic at hand. “You knew there was crime and you stayed?”
“Drug dealer cover pets need affection too. Besides there’s no dog fighting or anything that hurts the animals. I would have called that shit in in a second.” Brendon’s got a little over four months of memories of Mikey with cats, he has no doubt that that’s true. “Sometimes I bought, if he wasn’t trying to rip me off. He’s not a bad guy, just a dealer. You never guessed?”
“No!”
“Not even about all the illegal practices?”
Pete interrupts before Brendon can start emphatically denying any knowledge. “This conversation is going nowhere! I’ll set the scene for you; Gabe is taking Brendon on a date. And there may be cuddles and or kissing, no third base. And action!”
Gabe grins at Brendon, causing a flare of heat that disappears almost before it shows up. “That’s Pete’s incredibly subtle way of saying we should go have some fun. I thought bowling?”
Bowling requires more conversation than a movie, but less on the spot witty banter. His brain is going strangely mushy right now, so a lack of need for quips is probably a good thing. “Sounds good.”
The first game goes pretty well. Brendon wins by fifteen, Gabe declares a rematch with a faked look of thirst for revenge. When Brendon suggests a bathroom break first, Gabe shakes his head and asks what he wants from the concession. They settle on nachos and grape Slurpees, or whatever the house brand of flavoured ice is called.
It’s walking back to lane three that he sees it. It’s impossible to miss. Mason and Elizabeth are in lane five, both the picture perfect image of newlyweds. They’re even wearing complimentary colours, white capris and a cyan polo shirt against tan slacks and a teal shirt. Brendon can’t look away, can’t stop staring at all the things he can never have.
“People gazing? That shit’s more interesting on shrooms, but I can be accommodating,” Gabe says around a mouthful of tortilla chip. “Let’s play. Obviously the perfect American standard, repressed and a few years away from being stuck and miserable.”
“He’s my brother.” Brendon answers quietly. He can barely hear himself over the radio pumping over the sound system, and the balls crashing into pins.
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Let’s play a doubles game.”
“They won’t want to.”
“Why not? They’re only just starting.”
“They can’t. Gabe, just leave it.”
“Are they in on your parents bullshit?” Gabe washes back the chips then slams the Slurpee he’s drinking onto the table and storms past the two lanes between them. Brendon follows close on his heels. Not because he wants to witness whatever is about to happen. He doesn’t, Gabe obviously knows Alex and Pete and even Gerard, there’s no doubt that he’ll be good at making a scene. But with any luck he can stop this from spiralling into the worst case scenario.
It starts pleasantly enough. Gabe smiles a wholesome smile, and introduces himself. For the picture he’s creating, he might have done better at the reception than Alex did. “Hi. I’m Gabe. Me and Brendon wanted to play doubles with you.”
Mason answers, taking a step forward to half cover Elizabeth. “We can’t.”
“I told you,” Brendon tells Gabe. Maybe this can still be snipped in the bud.
“Why not? We’re two young couples in love-” He’s not sure if Gabe sees it, but Brendon can’t miss how they both cringe, “doubles is a perfect solution.”
“Gabe, we already paid for our lane,” he reminds desperately.
“But this way is more fun,” he answers, edge starting to show in his voice.
Elizabeth takes a step to the side to reveal herself from behind Mason. She speaks loudly and haughtily. “The family is above sinners.”
“Oh. You mean fags. It’s really not that bad.”
Before Brendon has a chance to react, Gabe starts forward and kisses Mason. It’s not surprise Mason clocks him, it’s what Packer would want, and Mason’s always been a good disciple. It is when Gabe hits him back, hard enough from Mason to crumple to the floor. Gabe stares at Mason for a second then turns to Elizabeth. “The prophet approve of violence? Or is your husband going to be in hell now, with the rest of us cocksuckers?”
The facts are the current president of the church actually recommends protecting yourself from immorality and homosexuality by whatever means necessary. Brendon knows better than to say that though, and Elizabeth seems too shocked to say anything.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say we’re kicked out now. We should probably go before the manager comes out.” Gabe grins and pulls Brendon through the building behind him.
They don’t talk again until Gabe’s parked in front of the house, making it the second awkward drive in two dates. “Shortest date ever, huh. Sorry about that, but we can hope for better company next time, right?”
Brendon doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t. He climbs out of the car, and Gabe’s door slams a fraction of a second after his. “I’m not expecting a kiss or anything. I’m just coming in to get ice. If my face starts swelling my mom’s going to kick my ass, and she’ll be a lot better at it than he was.”
While Brendon takes his time untying his shoes, Gabe barges straight into the kitchen. There’s a slam of the freezer door powering into the wall, and a following one a moment later as Gabe shouts “what kind of people don’t have ice cubes?”
He strides back into the front of the house, tossing at glare at Mikey before saying “looks like I’m going home. Call me later Brendon, Mikey will have my number. I really want to try this again.”
It’s not like he didn’t know it was going to happen eventually. But it still hurts. He ignores Mikey asking what happened and goes to the basement. Mikey doesn’t follow him, and he supposes he should be happy that judging by the missing Pinto Pete’s gone home. Pete would have followed him. He takes off his jeans and pulls on an oversized hoodie and crawls under the blankets. Soft things help, a little. Not enough. The fun of the first twenty minutes have nothing on the pain of knowing they hate him.
He hears the phone ring, but there’s nothing in the world that could make him care enough to get up and answer it. Mikey has it after one ring anyway. The silence only lasts a minute before Mikey’s opening the bedroom door and holding out the cordless for him. “Phone’s for you.”
After he takes it, Mikey closes the door and leaves him, granting him privacy. Brendon puts it to his ear, half expecting it to be his mother, yelling at him. “Hey.” Of course it isn’t. Yelling is too much consideration for the likes of him. “Mikey said that Gabe said that your family were tools, and based on toolish description Alex thinks it was Mason.”
“Mikey and his freakin’ texting.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what our brother is like.”
Gerard lets him stay silent without trying to prompt him, the glowing red numbers cycling without a hint of impatience, nothing more than light breathing in his ear. Eventually the words come out anyway. “I’ve always changed for them. Always. And the first time I can’t-”
“They totally desert you. That’s not real family Brendon, you have to know that. Real family doesn’t abandon someone for not being perfect.”
Brendon’s looking at his knees and the shadow his propped elbow casts, so he doesn’t notice Pete until he’s jiggling the bed. Pete puts an arm around his shoulder, a move which Brendon recognises is probably as close to a hug as he’ll ever get from Pete. But then he insistently tugs until Brendon is leaning over. A few more pushes and his head is in Pete’s lap. Pete’s hand strokes his upper arm as Gerard rants into his ear, and then the bed almost tips with the sudden weight of Mikey. Brendon can’t remember a single time there was a puppy pile in his house. His old house, this is his house now. And maybe that’s a good thing.
Art!
Music!
Brendon wakes up when Gerard kicks him. It’s probably an accident, Gerard is not the easiest bed partner, always rolling around and stretching in his sleep. He’ll apologise if Brendon mentions it, but he doesn’t ever remember doing anything if Brendon doesn’t bring it up. Normally it’s easy to get back to sleep, the moment the movement stops he drops back off. This morning is different, Gerard seems to be wriggling his way through the bed. Brendon cracks open an eye to see why. The answer is immediate; Elena is standing holding out a cardboard cup of coffee. Gerard’s already in his hand, inhaling the fumes like a normal person smells vanilla extract or perfume.
“We weren’t sure if you liked coffee, but it’s a tradition here, and trust me when I say it won’t last five minutes if you decide you don’t want it.”
Of course. It has to be Christmas. Without the cues of his household; the decorating and the baking and church carolling, there’s been nothing to bring the date forward in his mind. Not even the days of the week help, he’s been going to Paws And Claws every day.
“I’m not supposed to drink hot beverages, but that doesn’t really matter now, does it.” It still does, in his head, but denying the hospitality of Mikey and Gerard’s grandmother hardly seems like the best reaction. He can apologise to God for the coffee later, presuming that repenting smaller sins matters when he won’t for bigger. Brendon takes the cup from her spotted hand and has a sip. It’s awful, bitter and grainy on his tongue, but he doesn’t make a face. Looking revolted is just as rude as refusing it in the first place.
“Got anything awesomely tacky and knitted?”
“Uh, no?” The Uries never went the Christmas sweater route, his Mom and Dad both preferring to look respectable over gaudy. He’s not even sure he has anything red or green stuffed into his backpack, he’s always been a blue and purple sort of guy.
“That’s too bad. I don’t have any either. One day I’ll live with a man or woman that has a grandma that knits all year long, and I’ll have epic sweaters. Maybe some of those tiny lights sewn in, or something.” Gerard smiles at the thought and pulls on a pair of sweatpants over his several days old boxers. Brendon doesn’t bother to wait until Gerard’s left the room to change into clothes for the day. One of the first lessons unravelled by living at the Way house was modesty, half the time they don’t even bother to close the door when they use the bathroom.
It’s with a heavy heart that he follows Gerard up the stairs to the living room. He’s not sure he can imagine a more awkward situation than having to be present and observing someone else’s Christmas. The Ways don’t seem to sense the awkwardness, Gerard just throws himself down on the shaggy orange carpet beside Mikey. The youngest Way has a baggie of Starbursts scattered on the floor and is sorting the colours into four piles.
“Brendon, we weren’t sure of your favourites, so we got you an assortment.”
“What? I mean pardon?” It’s not that he didn’t hear Mr Way, he just doesn’t understand.
“It’s a tradition,” Gerard explains. Pulling what must be at least six pounds of jellybeans from his stocking, he undoes the twist tie and plucks out a few yellows. “The stocking is Christmas breakfast, enough sugar to cause a diabetic coma.”
Unlike the five Way stockings, different colours of metallic fabric with the same Holly leaf embroidery, the stocking Mr Way hands to him is an obvious last minute dollar store buy. But it’s stuffed with candy, and no one waits expectantly to hear gratitude, everyone just digs into their own. It’s like they don’t have a problem with him infringing on their traditions.
“You remember what we were talking about the other day?” Gerard asks through a mouthful of half dissolved yellow beans.
“Uh,” is a more diplomatic answer than not at all. Mikey talks more at home than he does at work, but most of his words go through his phone or his laptop. From what Brendon’s experienced, Gerard picks up the slack and talks enough for the both of them. Talks enough for three or four people, really, unless he’s hidden away in his room working on something. Even then it’s not like he’s forbidden Brendon from entering, Brendon just doesn’t like the idea that he’s interrupting someone’s personal time.
“Have you started jerking off yet?”
The reactions of the room would probably be fascinating sociologically -at least Brendon assumes, he only knows about the class what he’s heard from Alex- if he wasn’t so horribly mortified. Mr and Mrs Way don’t tell Gerard off for talking about something so inappropriate, they just completely ignore it and continue to eat their macaroons. Mikey looks interested, with the amount of time he spends with Pete, Mikey probably thinks he’s some sort of robot for not fornicating.
It’s the eldest Way that speaks when the silence grows and it becomes obvious Brendon’s not going to reply. “It’s none of your business whether or not Brendon pleasures himself.”
“But I’m-”
“Gerard. No.”
Brendon throws Elena a red-faced look of gratitude, and at her acknowledging wink drives his hand into a baggie of chocolate covered pretzel bits. The less said about this conversation the better.
After everyone’s full, Mrs Way asks if it’s time to get the show on the road. To a room of agreement, Mikey crawls to the tree and hands each person a present. It’s weird to be opening gifts so early, at home gifts giving comes after Christmas dinner. It’s weirder still that Mikey gives him a box covered in penguin wrapping paper. He’s not part of their family, they shouldn’t be giving him presents. When he tries to explain that he’s thankful, but it’s not necessary Mikey tells him to shut up.
“No, but-”
“I’m pretty sure my son told you to shut up. Open your present, Brendon. It’s not much anyway. I don’t know what you’re used to, but here we get a handful of small things, and one big thing.”
Brendon doesn’t know how to tell Mr Way that at home each sibling gave everyone else one present, and for the most part it was what they thought you should want, not what you did, so he just tears into the paper. Inside the box is a pair of purple and white skate shoes. The regular white shoelaces have been replaced with children’s laces, smiling bunnies on a black background. It’s not a book of study techniques, or professional flash cards, or a CD of gospel music. It’s a pair of ridiculous shoes that don’t fit the personal style of anyone in the room, and still someone thought it was okay to get them.
“Thank you.” His voice is thick, and he barely holds himself in from hugging everyone in the room.
“If they don’t fit we’ve got the receipts, we can return them,” Mrs Way says casually. Brendon nods blankly. If they don’t fit he’ll shave off the sides of his feet, because these aren’t being returned.
His big gift comes maybe an hour later, after more ‘small’ presents, and bathroom breaks and Gerard stopping to get a cloth when a half eaten Mars bar melts under his butt and smears all over the carpet. The wrapping paper is green and covered in smiling Santa Clauses, and Brendon almost doesn’t want to open it. He’s not ready for this to be over yet. Unlike the other presents however, they’re all opening theirs one at a time, and he’s second up, and Gerard looks like he’s going to throttle him if he doesn’t get his turn soon.
“What do you think?”
“Alex said that you told him you liked to play music, so we figured,” Mikey trails off, and it’s only then that Brendon notices he hasn’t texted the whole morning. Clearly the holiday means something to him too.
“Well I already know how to play bass, but a refresher would be good.” He’s spent his life thinking it’s the thought that counts, never even wiping off his smile to say it. It’s the first time he’s truly meant it, not just used it as a blanket to cover disappointment. The Ways cared enough to get Mikey to contact the one person that knows stuff about him, how can he possibly be disappointed about something that comes from that?
“Screw it, we’ll trade. You can have the huge box that is so obviously hiding a new iPod, and I’ll have bass lessons.”
“No, it’s okay, really-”
“Shut up. I’ll be the next Les Claypool.” Mikey deftly reaches over and plucks the gift certificate off his lap and shoves a silver box with teddy bears printed into the space left. Brendon lets him take it. Maybe some time in the future they can play a song together.
***
“Last day today,” Pete comments, words a calm contrast to the way Stretch is frantically trying to drag the rope out of his hand.
“No, we have until the ninth. Three weeks off, public school is awesome.” Not that the classes are bad, but in a week’s time he’ll have to start waking up early again.
“I don’t go to Irving.”
“What?” Brendon’s sure he would have noticed someone that looked like Pete at Pine.
“Dude, I’m in college. Classes start Wednesday, thanks to Christmas and New Years both falling on a Sunday.”
Brendon looks at Mikey, who seems entranced with Pete and Stretch’s battle. “You’re dating a college man?”
“He’s not that much older than me, and Mom and Dad are hardly going to cry statutory.”
“And lucky for us, I’m the older one, and my total tool parents can’t do shit.”
Brendon’s not really in the mood for talking about parents. “I’m gonna wash the front window, it’s really gross.” It’s partially an excuse to get away, but it’s the truth. In the five months he’s been in the shop he’s sure they haven’t been washed once. It’s almost grey.
The cleaning supplies are buried in the back closet. It’s probably a bad sign that they’re all coated with a layer of dust. But as far as he knows Windex doesn’t have an expiry date, using it when it’s old shouldn’t make it suddenly corrosive and eat through the glass. Even if it does, it would probably look pretty cool. When he comes out, sneezing, Pete’s alone with Stretch, still wrestling for the rope.
The job doesn’t take long, aside from rewetting the places that dried streaky. Maybe he can convince Mr Sinthe that they need some of those soap markers, and Gerard can draw some sort of pet inspired scene. Gerard’s a great artist, if the work he’s doing before he goes back to university is any indication. Brendon will just have to convince him he doesn’t have to do a scene with gore or tentacles. The pile of nasty paper towels go in the garbage, and Brendon resigns the Windex back to the supply closet, knowing it won’t come out again until he takes it out.
There’s no indication something strange is about to happen when he enters the dog section again. It’s just one moment he’s standing, the next Pete’s hands are on his shoulders, pressing him relentlessly back. When there’s no more room to move back, just the row of cages, Pete pins him, and the tiny poles of the cages are digging into his back as Pete starts kissing him. Brendon opens his mouth, just to ask what's going on, not for anything else. Pete takes the opportunity to slips his tongue in Brendon’s mouth. He tastes the same as the first time, cigarettes and chocolate, and this time his entire body sparking doesn’t make him want to cry, just makes him want more.
This time, though, Pete’s hands don’t stay on his hips. One snakes between the cages behind him and his body, stopping on his butt. The other strays even more dangerously, cupping his crotch. Brendon can’t help bucking into the hard curve of Pete’s fingers. No one has ever touched him like this before. It’s impossible to say how long Pete kisses him, slowly rubbing the fly of his jeans with enough pressure that if Pete’s mouth wasn’t on him would moans would be filling the air. And then there are two hands opening his zipper and there’s a brief moment of cold before Pete’s hand is touching skin.
Brendon pushes Pete off a little, enough to reclaim his mouth. He wants to say it's wrong, everything about this is wrong, but instead what comes out is, “not in front of the dogs.”
Pete snorts, then grins. “Dude, I jerk off with Hemmingway in the room all the time. Not my fault his bed is in the computer room.”
There is a hand on his dick and Brendon shouldn't be doing this for a dozen different reasons. But he's never even touched himself, just waited for an erection to go away, like God expects of his children. He doesn’t know how to say no. He doesn’t want to say no, so even if Pete stopped this moment he’d still be a sinner for wanting it, so what does it matter?
Pete's hand is warm, fingers a tight circle around his dick, the other steadying him against the cage. No prayer in the world could stop him from coming, not with the burn that’s in his stomach and rapidly heating his thighs and darting up his spine. He comes, spilling into Pete’s hand, and his head jerks backwards with the force of it, rattling the metal behind him. There’s no pain, just the need to spit out a hundred different expletives he’s never used before and make this feeling happen again and again and again.
Only once he’s got his eyes open, able to look at the world around him, does Pete let go of his dick. He takes a step back and raises his hand to his mouth. It’s wet with come, and Pete licks the fluids off. Brendon shudders, unable to look away. It shouldn't be hot, but it is. Palm wet but clean, Pete snickers. “It never tastes good, you know? But it's totally worth it to see the looks on people's faces.”
It’s a grand total of about fifteen minutes before Brendon starts to freak out. Having gay sex is one thing. That line was verbally crossed two weeks ago, crossing it physically doesn’t make it a whole heck of a lot worse. But cheating with someone to have it is another thing entirely. Mikey has said that he and Pete aren’t boyfriends, but they love each other as much as any other couple Brendon’s seen. Maybe Pete didn’t consider that cheating, but Brendon has to.
He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he can’t lie to Mikey. Mikey helped him, thanks to him he’s not sleeping on a cot with fifty other people, wondering if someone is going to start a fight with him for eating the last butterpan bun. He deserves to know. Even if he tells Gerard and Elena and Mr and Mrs Way, and they decide Brendon can’t stay with them any longer for doing something so bad to Mikey, it’s still better that he knows. He checks the fly on his jeans and wanders into the cat section to let him know.
Mikey shrugs. It’s impossible to read his face, and the worry makes the words tumble out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t even do anything, he just touched me! But I didn’t stop him. I’m so sorry!”
He shrugs again, then seems to decide that’s not a clear enough answer. “You know I texted him that you were a virgin and he needed to seduce you, right? I thought you might not want me or Gee because we're like your new family or whatever.”
There’s nothing to say so he just stares, then follows when Mikey wanders into Pete’s room. “Jerking him off on the dogs? That’s your seduction? So much fail.”
Pete shakes his head, grin spread over his face. “It worked, didn't it? He got off. You owe me a Ice Capp.”
***
After Gerard drives them home, Mikey goes to his room, and Brendon follows Gerard to theirs. For someone that needs to leave in the next two days, he’s got nothing ready, nothing packed or even organised. But it’s hardly the primary thought in his head. “Mikey asked his boyfriend to get. To help me lose. To-”
“Pete jerked you off. Yeah, Mikey texted me.”
Brendon doesn’t get angry often. It’s not behaviour fitting a Mormon, and he doesn’t have the temperament for it anyway. But this is just ridiculous. “Does he text everyone everything?”
Gerard doesn’t take offence to the shouted question, just shrugs much like his brother does. “Yeah, pretty much. For the record though, you are worth far more than an Ice Capp. I really hope you don't associate your value with-”
“This entire family is insane!” Between them accepting a perfect stranger into their house, the grandmother willing to talk about masturbation, Mikey’s apparent addiction to texting and instant messaging, and the way no one seems to need more than two hours of sleep, Brendon’s never met a more mental group of people.
“I dunno. Dad's pretty normal.” Gerard scuttles to his knees on the bed and leans forward precariously to hug Brendon. “Calm down. Mikey wanted to help you become a normal teenager, Pete had his fun, there’s no drama, and it’s all good. You are officially no longer repressed and sad.”
***
Apart from his first day, this is the first time Brendon’s had to walk from Paws And Claws to school. It’s not long of a walk though, and it’s made better by the company. With Pete separated from them and busy at college, Mikey seems both more drawn into his text messaging, and more willing to talk to the people around him.
According to Mikey, the whole of this and next week will be pretty slack, teachers handing out class time to finish final projects, along with time for revision before exams start during the last week of January. They don’t have to volunteer during exam week, but they’re supposed to start again the first day of second semester. In past years Brendon would have been happy about the extra free time. He would have used it to attempt studying so he didn’t disappoint everyone; chained to a table even though the sitting down and rereading method isn’t very compatible with his ADHD. This semester though, he’s not very concerned. Cooking is a practical, every student has an hour to make a dish. In English their project is worth far more than the exam, and he’s sure they’ll impress everyone with their varied articles about clouds. Math and biology are the hard ones, but he can manage.
When they arrive at Irving, instead of going in Mikey leads Brendon around the grounds to a part of the school he’s not used to visiting. He’s been through the smoker doors a grand total of once, the day Alex demanded he help him take pictures of the sky. Now that he knows who he’s looking at, a surprisingly high number of those clustered at the bike rack beside the doors are from Saporta’s party. Not all of them are actually smoking, most are just chatting for the few minutes they have before the bell rings reminding everyone that school actually isn’t just for socialising.
Alex is among the group, he nods his head at Brendon but continues talking to his friends. Brendon spends a minute in a conversation with Victoria and Ryland about who has better legs for a short skirt, bowing out of declaring a real position by pointing out they’re both wearing jeans and it’s impossible to tell. When Brendon excuses himself, impressed with his ability to not burst into coughing under a cloud of smoke -rooming with Gerard for two weeks was intense but successful training- Alex follows.
“So, tell me. What your winter break was like? Did you get anything awesome? Are Mormons allowed to fuck around on Jesus’s birthday? Oh, hey! Did you make cookies, and slash or do you want a recipe for some bad ass sugar cookies? I mean it’s too late to make them for Christmas, but you could be a pro by the time Easter rolled around. If Mormons celebrate Easter?”
The questions are rapid-fire, but luckily they’re close to the hallway his locker is in. If he can just hold out for a bit longer he can avoid answering. The fewer people he has to talk to about getting kicked out, the better. Gerard, Mikey, and Pete knowing is a big enough number.
Of course, because that’s the way life seems to be working lately, Kevin is standing in front of his bank of lockers. “Valerie told us what happened.”
Brendon ignores Kevin, moving around him to reach for his combination. There’s nothing he can say that will make it right in the eyes of the church and the worshippers, even if he’s not entirely certain God hates him.
“She told us all how you’re bowing to Satan. How you’re letting him in to ruin the family plan. Are you trying to bring them down with you?”
That accusation hurts. If anything, he’s worked to distance himself from them, so he doesn’t cause them trouble. “I moved out, I’m-”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? It’s one thing to feel the perversions you do. But to refuse to repent, to revel in them? Brendon I wish I could say I expected better from you but I never have. You’re worthless.”
Alex’s arm shoots out and shoves Kevin into the lockers. The move is with enough force that his head makes a loud cracking sound on the metal. Kevin’s hand moves up to cup his skull, and tears of pain are leaking from his eyes. Alex smiles pleasantly at the sight, then replies “and you’re clumsy, apparently. We all learned something about personality traits today. How interesting!”
Kevin eyes Alex almost like a fish would eye a shark, and darts down the hallway, arm still raised to his head. Brendon shouldn’t be happy about violence, even moving beyond Mormon values violence is never a good thing. Still, there’s no hiding that his main feeling is gratitude. Alex made Kevin shut up, and Brendon can’t make himself care about method.
***
Knowing how the family works, how Mr and Mrs Way are, it shouldn’t be a surprise that they don’t monitor their children’s internet usage. It is, freedom still isn’t something he’s come to expect or demand yet. It takes a roll of Mikey’s eyes and Elena’s snort to believe that they’re telling the truth. Not that he’ll ever admit to it if someone asks, but the first place his mind goes to is pornography. If there are no parental controls, he finally has the opportunity to Google things he’s never been able to before. He just has to take it before it’s somehow retracted.
At least, that’s the plan. Google Images quickly puts a damper in most of his search terms. There are places where human tongues go, and places where they definitely do not.
***
Either Pete doesn’t have a Friday morning class, or he doesn’t care about the information it’s trying to impart. Whatever the case, he comes in at five after nine, two coffees straddling one hand, a Slurpee in the other. Brendon takes the frozen sugary goodness with a thank you and sucks hard on the green straw. It’s a mixed fill, grape and blue raspberry, a sign that Pete knows him pretty well. After seventeen years without it, caffeine still has a strong affect on him. Coke Slurpees make him too hyper, the fruity ones are better.
Aborted search or not, Brendon’s still curious. He watches as Mikey plucks the Seven Eleven coffees from Pete’s hand and leans in for a kiss. If this is what he's going to do one day, then he should probably know more about it. He was never allowed to sit in during sexual education at school, he had to show his teacher a note from his parents then go sit in the library until another student was dispatched to get him. The internet was a bust, leaving him only with active questioning. His circle of peers is Alex, Mikey, Pete, and Gerard. Alex is great, but also straight and won’t be able to help him. Gerard is on the other side of the spectrum; he’ll have far too much to say. And Mikey will probably answer in short sentences and smirks.
So he waits until they separate, and stands beside Pete. He knows bright red and staring doesn’t give off the best impression, but he can’t quite make the words come out. Finally Pete tilts his head a bit and asks “are you going to, like, fucking swoon or something?”
“Whatsgaysexlike?” comes out a bit faster than he had intended, but embarrassment tends to make him speed up.
Pete looks at him for a minute. He's been leering and making sexual jokes at the Ways since Sunday, saying he's trying to desensitize him. But Pete's not looking at him predatorily at all now, he doesn’t even have the look of victory in his eyes. He's totally calm and entirely nice sounding when he asks "do you want me to show you? Not here, obviously. In a bed, and we could watch a movie too, after?”
That was not what he asked. That was nowhere near what he asked! He shakes his head vigorously, a stream of ‘no no no’ pouring out his mouth.
Pete puts a hand on either cheek, forcing him to still his face. “Chill out. Your glasses come off and Chomper will eat them, and then he'll have glass in his stomach and they'll have to do something shitty like put him down.”
With Pete’s help Brendon stops shaking his head, but he can’t stop trembling. That wasn’t what he asked, and the idea is overwhelming.
“Okay, you don't want to have sex, that’s okay. But you want to know. I'm gonna advise you don't watch porn, most of that stuff is just for getting off to, not learning shit from. Do you want to, like, watch me and Mikey?”
It would be an exaggeration to call him hysterical. Hysterical means maniacal laughter and rocking back and forth or fainting, none of which Brendon is doing. That he can’t regulate his volume at all shouldn’t count. “Don’t you think you should ask Mikey first!”
Pete shrugs and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He starts to text, presumably to Mikey. “Are you serious? He's outside having a smoke. He's literally ten feet away!”
Mikey comes inside and Brendon’s expecting- Well, he doesn’t know. Most people would be furious, but Mikey was the reason that last time happened. What he’s not expecting is for Mikey to just sail on by them, and go into the cat section. Pete’s phone vibrates a minute later and after reading it he says “Mikey says cool.”
It’s possible Brendon can see the point one of the priests at church was trying to make about technology being a tool of Satan.
When he doesn’t immediately answer, Pete speaks again. “Well, if you want to, it's cool. If you don't, no one's forcing you.”
“Oh, like you weren't forcing me the other day?”
“Dude? Really? I thought you liked it.”
From the expression on Pete’s face, and the tone, it’s obvious he never even considered that Brendon might not have wanted a handjob. And Brendon didn’t exactly say no, or want it to stop, just wanted to want it to stop. But he can’t explain that to Pete, he won’t understand, just go off on another rant about parents stuffing you full of fake ideals. “I don't want to talk about this anymore. Never mind.”
***
Even though he doesn’t really understand the point of the stories, Brendon waits until Mikey stands before putting the book back on the shelf. At twenty after four they’re the only ones in the library, aside from Mr Zylack, the aide having gone home at four. Brendon waves a goodbye as he walks out behind Mikey, a non-verbal thank you for the recommendation. Just because he didn’t like any of the stories in Tough Tough Toys for Tough Tough Boys doesn’t mean it wasn’t nice of the librarian to try and help.
Brendon doesn’t need to ask if Pete is here, it’s the only reason Mikey would be getting up. Sure enough, the navy Pinto is idling in front of the fire hydrant. He knows by now to get on the driver’s side of the back seat, the passenger side seat-belt doesn’t click in. It’s not that far of a drive, barely enough time for it to be worth it to mess with the radio. But as Mikey explained it, since the house is off route, waiting for the bus and then the transfer time for the second bus gets them home at around the same time that waiting nearly an hour for a ride does. This way, at least, they have time to study before Pete spends most of the evening over. Elena’s theory is his constant presence is a combination of love and a test to see if they can live together. Mikey’s going to the university Pete is, and Pete’s currently in a dorm room. If they can live together it’ll be easier for the both of them.
Yesterday Pete tried to show Mikey how to play Creep by Radiohead. The problem was he’s a fairly bad bass player, and it was only so long before Brendon had no choice but to step in. Today Mikey and Pete go straight upstairs, body language making it clear they’re about to have sex. Brendon sits on the living room couch and picks up the remote without turning the tv on. He knows their earlier offer should be insane, that he shouldn’t give it a moment’s thought. But the porn on the internet freaked him out, and if even Pete says it’s not good, than he can’t depend on that to learn. And it’s not like he could hire a streetwalker. Even if he knew where to find one, he could never go through with it. Their offer is sort of the best option available.
Going up the stairs is fairly easy. Opening the closed door takes more courage, and walking through the entrance even more. That done he has no idea what to do with himself. He ends up with his back pressed hard against the hollow door of Mikey’s closet, arms crossed tightly. The only acknowledgement that he’s there is a slight change in angle of their heads, so he can better see their kissing. They continue for a while, and Brendon can see himself doing this, enjoying this with some other boy. He wants, not necessarily them, but the idea of it.
Eventually Pete crawls off Mikey, socked feet landing with a thud on the carpet. The socks are the first thing to come off as he gets naked, followed by his shirt, then jeans and underwear in one swoop. Mikey’s just laying there, watching his boyfriend. It doesn’t make sense to Brendon, surely nakedness is a two person event? His question gets answered sooner rather than later. Pete climbs back onto the bed, hand stroking his dick a few times before he focuses and starts stripping Mikey. It’s hard to tell who enjoys it more, they’re both hard by the time Pete is done.
It almost looks like they're wrestling. Mikey's legs are curled around Pete's back, and both of them heaving at each other. But this isn't wrestling, and Brendon can't take it anymore. He bolts, not even taking the time to slam the door behind him. He could leave the house, take a calming walk or run to the elementary school and swing until he can’t feel his knees anymore. Instead goes to the safe place that is Gerard's hovel of a bedroom. Even with the man gone for days the room still smells like smoke and paint thinner. It’s soothing.
When the house phone rings, Brendon ignores it, pulling the pilled blanket up higher. It takes five rings for him to break. Mikey obviously isn’t going to get it, and it could be Mr or Mrs Way saying they’re stuck in traffic and start dinner yourself, or that they’re working overtime. Or it could be Elena with a broken hip, needing someone to run the block to her house and help her wait for emergency services. The phone has to be answered, just in case.
It’s not. It’s Gerard, voice nasally and distant over shitty cell phone service. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, just gets to the heart of the reason he called. “So. Mikey says you're being really confusing, and they want to know if they should be waiting for you or not.”
“Seriously, what is it with you all? Weren’t you freaked out your first time?” It’s not like he doesn’t understand they’re trying to help him. It’s just it’s really more of a big deal than anyone he’s met recently seems to understand.
“But Pete and Mikey having sex isn't technically your first time.”
Of course he shouldn't be surprised that Mikey told him the details. If he cared enough to call him in the first place, of course he was going to tell Gerard everything.
Gerard sighs to break the tinny silence, and adds “would it help if I told them to call the house, and had them put the phone on the pillow so you could hear them but not watch? You know, go it one sense at a time? Or maybe just back off and first try to jerk off a few times and then-”
If he doesn’t say something Gerard is going to talk alternatives forever. “I dunno. I just. This is just really difficult.”
“Well, you sorta have to decide, you know? Like are your religion and your parents right even though they kicked you out and don't respect you? And you shouldn't be doing any of this? Or are people like me and Mikey and Pete right, just wanting to love and take care of each other and be happy? I mean, I can't make that decision for you. Shit, you take it back fast enough with enough regret they'll probably even let you move back in. Not that I'm trying to kick you out. I'm pretty sure you're grandma's favourite right now. But you need to decide what’s right for you, and fucking forge on with it, whatever it is, instead of being wishy-washy.”
Oddly enough, that's what gets him. Not the whole of the speech that's ridiculously peer pressurey even if Gerard doesn't realise it and isn't trying to be pressuring. It’s that Mikey and Gerard's grandma likes him the way he is. He's never, ever, been approved of by any of his grandparents, or by the elders of the church.
“Thanks.”
“So you’re going to-”
“Go back upstairs.”
“Embracing yourself instead of letting those asshats get to you. Good job Brendon, I’m really proud right now.”
He’s pretty sure if Gerard was here right now, he’d either get a hug, or witness Gerard doing victory arms. But he’s not, and that leaves Brendon to gather his courage and go back to Mikey’s bedroom. Mikey and Pete are curled into each other on top of the blankets, expanses of skin pressed together. They’re making out, not passionately, just comfortable with each other. Brendon can’t quite feel that, but he can try, and the first step is setting boundaries. “I'm not getting naked.”
They pull apart an inch to answer him. “No one asked you to.”
“And I'm not jerking off.” It's the first time he's used the phrase, and it doesn’t feel nearly as taboo and offensive spilling from his lips as he thought it would.
“No one asked you to.”
Brendon stands and watches as Pete darts his hand between and up after Mikey curls one leg around Pete's back again. Mikey lets out a low groan, which only serves to encourage Pete. They look happy. Not caught in a religious ecstasy, but finding joy with each other. Not passionate while talking about how everyone else that doesn't believe what they believe will suffer in the end, but passionate about their love. Brendon’s confident in saying the latters both sound better than the formers. It’s an opinion that outcasts him from his family, but the world of outcasts is slowly revealing itself to be more rich and open than he’d ever thought possible.
***
At the commercial, Pete mutes the tv. The insisted upon silence is a bit fussy, but better than someone that channel hops every three seconds, so there’s a house wide agreement to just let Pete have the remote when he’s over. He sits up, hair staticky and attempting to cling to Mikey, and looks over at Brendon. “By the power vested in me as your adoptive brother’s boyfriend I’ve set you up on a blind date.”
“What?” It’s completely out of nowhere, there isn’t any newly dating couple on the sci-fi show they’re watching. Stargate something, Brendon thinks.
“Don’t worry, Mikey’s approved him.”
A gay date. “I’m not wearing leather pants.”
“What the fuck? Sometimes I seriously wonder what’s wrong with your brain. Of course you’re not. You don’t have to change at all, just put on more deodorant.”
“I guess you could shower, or something. If you wanted.” Mikey says it in the tone of someone that finds showers entirely unnecessary, and knowing that Mikey’s hair sometimes gets three shades darker with oil before he washes it lends credit to the interpretation.
“Wait.” They’re both giving suspiciously immediate advice. “When is this date, exactly?”
“What time is it now?”
Brendon can’t really see Mikey’s face from where he’s sitting, but it’s pretty clear he’s rolling his eyes when he answers. “Check the weather channel. Though Carson is operating on the tumour, so I’d say ten to?”
“So about ten minutes.”
“What!”
“What? Like we were going to give you time to get worried, or bitch out.”
He strongly objects to the phrasing of that, but it’s not the time to argue that battle. He’s got ten minutes until someone is here, semantics will have to wait. “Look guys, I don’t know.”
Pete sighs. “I knew we shouldn’t have told him.”
Strangely, Mikey is the more patient one. “Why not?”
“The last time I had a date it went bad.”
“Really.”
“Bad!” he affirms.
“How about you clarify.”
“She kissed me and I realised I was gay and got kicked out,” Brendon answers flatly. It’s not like he’s hallucinating or over-exaggerating the badness, it happened.
“Well, that’s sort of a one time event. The Ways are hardly religious douchebags-” Pete wheezes a bit as Mikey slaps him in the chest, “er, I mean the Ways are hardly going to kick you out.”
“Well, who is it?”
“I don’t believe in spoilers. I don’t want to know which red-shirt dies, and I’m not going to tell you who your date is. He’s awesome, that’s all you need to know.” It’s nice that Pete’s feeling so confident, but Brendon doesn’t feel nearly the same. He can understand those from the church group that group dated a lot more now, surely this would be easier if Mikey and Pete were with him.
The doorbell rings, and when Brendon tenses at the sound Pete jams his hand between the couch and his back. He shoves him until it’s stand up or topple to the floor. Brendon picks the first, and manages to get as far as the front door before his nerves conk out again and Mikey has to open it for him.
On the front step is a familiar face. “Hi Brendon. I didn’t know you lived with Mikey. Sort of thought I’d be going on a date with Gerard.”
“Hi Saporta,” he answers. He doesn’t know why he sounds so stiff, his worries should be alleviated right now. Saporta was nothing but nice the morning after, and aside from Alex’s complaints about Saporta and Navarro he’s heard only good things about him.
“You can call me Gabe.” He grins, and Brendon’s first thought is that Saporta is pretty hot, and his second is confusion at not being horrified or guilty about his first thought. Gerard would probably think he was making progress.
Still, if he wants him to call him things other than his name, that’s probably a bad sign. “What?”
“You do know my name is Gabe, right? Alex is the only one that calls me by my last name. How could you think Saporta was my first name?”
Oh no, he’s not the crazy one. Brendon crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows as he reminds him “your close friends are Ryland, Leighton, and Z.”
“Point.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, then asks “can I come in? Can I ask you that, or do I need to ask Mikey?”
The floor creaks as behind Brendon Mikey shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Ask him, he lives here. His parents are jerkoffs.”
This time it’s Gabe cocking his eyebrows. “Worse than Pete’s?”
“At least equal.” Gabe looks impressed, in a bad way. Brendon only has a brief moment to wonder if he’ll ever find out what Pete’s parents did before Gabe is sidling his way into the house.
“So how’d you guys meet? Through Alex?”
“No. He volunteers with me at Paws.”
“Cool. I’ve gotten good shit there.”
Brendon’s never heard anyone refer to pets as shit, but at least it’s a conversation starter. “How many dogs do you have?”
“Huh?”
“Or cats? Did you get cats there?”
“I have, like, no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uh. You said you got good things, but you didn’t say what kind of animal?” He didn’t think that misunderstandings would come so early in the date. It doesn’t bode well.
“I meant I got good drugs there.”
Brendon turns to Mikey, utterly confused. Mikey shrugs. “It’s a front for a dealer. Mostly coke, some shrooms and E.”
“What? And you knew?”
“Dude, you didn’t know? Mr A Sinthe? As in Absinthe? Like, the best alcohol in the world, the kind that makes you trip balls?”
“Give him a break, he’s an ex-Mormon.”
No one’s said that before, and makes a whole host of uncomfortable thoughts rise in his brain so he shakes it off and goes back to the topic at hand. “You knew there was crime and you stayed?”
“Drug dealer cover pets need affection too. Besides there’s no dog fighting or anything that hurts the animals. I would have called that shit in in a second.” Brendon’s got a little over four months of memories of Mikey with cats, he has no doubt that that’s true. “Sometimes I bought, if he wasn’t trying to rip me off. He’s not a bad guy, just a dealer. You never guessed?”
“No!”
“Not even about all the illegal practices?”
Pete interrupts before Brendon can start emphatically denying any knowledge. “This conversation is going nowhere! I’ll set the scene for you; Gabe is taking Brendon on a date. And there may be cuddles and or kissing, no third base. And action!”
Gabe grins at Brendon, causing a flare of heat that disappears almost before it shows up. “That’s Pete’s incredibly subtle way of saying we should go have some fun. I thought bowling?”
Bowling requires more conversation than a movie, but less on the spot witty banter. His brain is going strangely mushy right now, so a lack of need for quips is probably a good thing. “Sounds good.”
The first game goes pretty well. Brendon wins by fifteen, Gabe declares a rematch with a faked look of thirst for revenge. When Brendon suggests a bathroom break first, Gabe shakes his head and asks what he wants from the concession. They settle on nachos and grape Slurpees, or whatever the house brand of flavoured ice is called.
It’s walking back to lane three that he sees it. It’s impossible to miss. Mason and Elizabeth are in lane five, both the picture perfect image of newlyweds. They’re even wearing complimentary colours, white capris and a cyan polo shirt against tan slacks and a teal shirt. Brendon can’t look away, can’t stop staring at all the things he can never have.
“People gazing? That shit’s more interesting on shrooms, but I can be accommodating,” Gabe says around a mouthful of tortilla chip. “Let’s play. Obviously the perfect American standard, repressed and a few years away from being stuck and miserable.”
“He’s my brother.” Brendon answers quietly. He can barely hear himself over the radio pumping over the sound system, and the balls crashing into pins.
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Let’s play a doubles game.”
“They won’t want to.”
“Why not? They’re only just starting.”
“They can’t. Gabe, just leave it.”
“Are they in on your parents bullshit?” Gabe washes back the chips then slams the Slurpee he’s drinking onto the table and storms past the two lanes between them. Brendon follows close on his heels. Not because he wants to witness whatever is about to happen. He doesn’t, Gabe obviously knows Alex and Pete and even Gerard, there’s no doubt that he’ll be good at making a scene. But with any luck he can stop this from spiralling into the worst case scenario.
It starts pleasantly enough. Gabe smiles a wholesome smile, and introduces himself. For the picture he’s creating, he might have done better at the reception than Alex did. “Hi. I’m Gabe. Me and Brendon wanted to play doubles with you.”
Mason answers, taking a step forward to half cover Elizabeth. “We can’t.”
“I told you,” Brendon tells Gabe. Maybe this can still be snipped in the bud.
“Why not? We’re two young couples in love-” He’s not sure if Gabe sees it, but Brendon can’t miss how they both cringe, “doubles is a perfect solution.”
“Gabe, we already paid for our lane,” he reminds desperately.
“But this way is more fun,” he answers, edge starting to show in his voice.
Elizabeth takes a step to the side to reveal herself from behind Mason. She speaks loudly and haughtily. “The family is above sinners.”
“Oh. You mean fags. It’s really not that bad.”
Before Brendon has a chance to react, Gabe starts forward and kisses Mason. It’s not surprise Mason clocks him, it’s what Packer would want, and Mason’s always been a good disciple. It is when Gabe hits him back, hard enough from Mason to crumple to the floor. Gabe stares at Mason for a second then turns to Elizabeth. “The prophet approve of violence? Or is your husband going to be in hell now, with the rest of us cocksuckers?”
The facts are the current president of the church actually recommends protecting yourself from immorality and homosexuality by whatever means necessary. Brendon knows better than to say that though, and Elizabeth seems too shocked to say anything.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say we’re kicked out now. We should probably go before the manager comes out.” Gabe grins and pulls Brendon through the building behind him.
They don’t talk again until Gabe’s parked in front of the house, making it the second awkward drive in two dates. “Shortest date ever, huh. Sorry about that, but we can hope for better company next time, right?”
Brendon doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t. He climbs out of the car, and Gabe’s door slams a fraction of a second after his. “I’m not expecting a kiss or anything. I’m just coming in to get ice. If my face starts swelling my mom’s going to kick my ass, and she’ll be a lot better at it than he was.”
While Brendon takes his time untying his shoes, Gabe barges straight into the kitchen. There’s a slam of the freezer door powering into the wall, and a following one a moment later as Gabe shouts “what kind of people don’t have ice cubes?”
He strides back into the front of the house, tossing at glare at Mikey before saying “looks like I’m going home. Call me later Brendon, Mikey will have my number. I really want to try this again.”
It’s not like he didn’t know it was going to happen eventually. But it still hurts. He ignores Mikey asking what happened and goes to the basement. Mikey doesn’t follow him, and he supposes he should be happy that judging by the missing Pinto Pete’s gone home. Pete would have followed him. He takes off his jeans and pulls on an oversized hoodie and crawls under the blankets. Soft things help, a little. Not enough. The fun of the first twenty minutes have nothing on the pain of knowing they hate him.
He hears the phone ring, but there’s nothing in the world that could make him care enough to get up and answer it. Mikey has it after one ring anyway. The silence only lasts a minute before Mikey’s opening the bedroom door and holding out the cordless for him. “Phone’s for you.”
After he takes it, Mikey closes the door and leaves him, granting him privacy. Brendon puts it to his ear, half expecting it to be his mother, yelling at him. “Hey.” Of course it isn’t. Yelling is too much consideration for the likes of him. “Mikey said that Gabe said that your family were tools, and based on toolish description Alex thinks it was Mason.”
“Mikey and his freakin’ texting.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what our brother is like.”
Gerard lets him stay silent without trying to prompt him, the glowing red numbers cycling without a hint of impatience, nothing more than light breathing in his ear. Eventually the words come out anyway. “I’ve always changed for them. Always. And the first time I can’t-”
“They totally desert you. That’s not real family Brendon, you have to know that. Real family doesn’t abandon someone for not being perfect.”
Brendon’s looking at his knees and the shadow his propped elbow casts, so he doesn’t notice Pete until he’s jiggling the bed. Pete puts an arm around his shoulder, a move which Brendon recognises is probably as close to a hug as he’ll ever get from Pete. But then he insistently tugs until Brendon is leaning over. A few more pushes and his head is in Pete’s lap. Pete’s hand strokes his upper arm as Gerard rants into his ear, and then the bed almost tips with the sudden weight of Mikey. Brendon can’t remember a single time there was a puppy pile in his house. His old house, this is his house now. And maybe that’s a good thing.
Art!
Music!