Families. Oh yay.
“Gus,“ I yelled as I tucked the last pieces of work into my bag.
It’s his first summer with us and I’m trying to make it great but really I could cheerfully cold cock the kid from time to time. He knows it, I know it, Brian knows it and we all pretend to be fine. In other words, a typical family.
”M’here,” he mumbles, Hank trailing behind him with an unidentifiable soggy something in his mouth.
“It’s 11, lose the sleep attitude,” I tell him. The grunt tells me what I need to know and I turn my attention to the other near child of the household.
“Brian! Car! Now!”
Brian appears in his version of weekend mode, Townhouse slung over a shoulder, tubes of lube or three stashed in various and assorted places. .
Since Brian is “Daaad” I get to be “Him”
“Daaaad,” it starts on cue. “He” meaning me “says we can’t bring Henri’s toys with us!”
I roll my eyes and Brian smirks before doing a DiNozzo on Gus then patting Hank and kissing me.
“No,” Brian sighs, “What he said was that we didn’t need to take every fucking drooled over piece of cow skin and refugee felt with us. Which, by the way,“ Brian smirks, “I agree with. See?” he smirks at me, I do pay attention.
“You always agree with him,” Gus whines. “Just because you f-“
“Finish that word and die, child,” Brian admonishes Mini Him. “Car. Here. Go. Now.”
Our driver appears, smiles at Gus and takes both him and Hank in hand. There’s a reason we pay him what we do.
Okay, more than one.
Brian takes my hand and tugs me toward the car. “Relax,” he whispers into my ear, “It’s a fucking steep learning curve and there’s no end in sight.”
“This is supposed to make me feel better?” I tug my portfolio and bag up and sigh.
“Brian, I don’t think he likes me. Not really.” Yes, self pity, calling self pity party of one your table is ready. Hemlock already poured.
”Justin,“ Brian sighs as he tugs my arm , “ He’s ten. He hates everyone on the fucking planet. Besides,“ he stops us, “ Who is it he actually goes to when he’s worried?”
“You,“ I mutter, resenting it.
“No, you twat, you.” Brian yanks up my chin, forcing me to look at him, then looks to the side and waves off Gus who is rolling his eyes figuring it’s more Dads kissy face time, as he calls it.
“I may do the obvious heavy lifting, “ Brian continues. “But you do the real work. We’re in this together. He knows it. I know it. You know it. Now let’s go to the fucking expensive beach and pretend to play nice with the people who want to be seen being nice to the fags."
It’s his first summer with us and I’m trying to make it great but really I could cheerfully cold cock the kid from time to time. He knows it, I know it, Brian knows it and we all pretend to be fine. In other words, a typical family.
”M’here,” he mumbles, Hank trailing behind him with an unidentifiable soggy something in his mouth.
“It’s 11, lose the sleep attitude,” I tell him. The grunt tells me what I need to know and I turn my attention to the other near child of the household.
“Brian! Car! Now!”
Brian appears in his version of weekend mode, Townhouse slung over a shoulder, tubes of lube or three stashed in various and assorted places. .
Since Brian is “Daaad” I get to be “Him”
“Daaaad,” it starts on cue. “He” meaning me “says we can’t bring Henri’s toys with us!”
I roll my eyes and Brian smirks before doing a DiNozzo on Gus then patting Hank and kissing me.
“No,” Brian sighs, “What he said was that we didn’t need to take every fucking drooled over piece of cow skin and refugee felt with us. Which, by the way,“ Brian smirks, “I agree with. See?” he smirks at me, I do pay attention.
“You always agree with him,” Gus whines. “Just because you f-“
“Finish that word and die, child,” Brian admonishes Mini Him. “Car. Here. Go. Now.”
Our driver appears, smiles at Gus and takes both him and Hank in hand. There’s a reason we pay him what we do.
Okay, more than one.
Brian takes my hand and tugs me toward the car. “Relax,” he whispers into my ear, “It’s a fucking steep learning curve and there’s no end in sight.”
“This is supposed to make me feel better?” I tug my portfolio and bag up and sigh.
“Brian, I don’t think he likes me. Not really.” Yes, self pity, calling self pity party of one your table is ready. Hemlock already poured.
”Justin,“ Brian sighs as he tugs my arm , “ He’s ten. He hates everyone on the fucking planet. Besides,“ he stops us, “ Who is it he actually goes to when he’s worried?”
“You,“ I mutter, resenting it.
“No, you twat, you.” Brian yanks up my chin, forcing me to look at him, then looks to the side and waves off Gus who is rolling his eyes figuring it’s more Dads kissy face time, as he calls it.
“I may do the obvious heavy lifting, “ Brian continues. “But you do the real work. We’re in this together. He knows it. I know it. You know it. Now let’s go to the fucking expensive beach and pretend to play nice with the people who want to be seen being nice to the fags."