Pretender: Tradition (R)
Summary: Jarod's come up with a list of Thanksgiving traditions: turkey, television, family...
Notes/Warnings: Possibly a little early - I'd originally been thinking of posting this on New Year's Eve (since it didn't get posted even close to Thanksgiving), but I'm waiting for my beta to get back to me on the story I first intended to post today. (Whoops. My bad.) Contains incest and wonky continuity (a terrible shock, given the way I write this fandom, I know), and written for
thesilentpoet, my usual Jarod/Kyle ennabler.
TRADITION
*
Jarod's come up with a little list of Thanksgiving traditions:
1. Turkey. Turkey and stuffing and potatoes and, uh, other things. He has a list somewhere with all the other dishes that people serve at Thanksgiving and swear are what they grew up with. He can more-or-less understand green beans, but the onion strings still baffle him.
2. Television. Sometimes the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, which apparently involves balloons (the one involving flowers is New Year's Day, and on the opposite coast). More often football, which is apparently the archetypal 'normal' American fascination. Jarod doesn't quite get it, but that's not as unusual as he'd like.
3. Family. It doesn't begin with 't', but it's just as important. You gather around and share the other two things, but the family is really the important part.
He's never had a traditional Thanksgiving. The Center doesn't believe in big elaborate meals, any day of the year, and they weren't going to let him watch television either. And family...
Kyle.
The only family he's had, that feels real any more, that doesn't feel like a pipe dream slipping through his fingers every time he gets close.
On the other hand...well. Kyle didn't seem like the type to enjoy watching enormous balloons parade through New York, much less Broadway musical numbers. He might like football better, but the idea of mixing Kyle and the kind of passions football tends to arouse...Jarod isn't that stupid.
At least Kyle should enjoy carving the turkey. Assuming Kyle appears again like a ghost in the night. Assuming Kyle still isn't dead.
It's not a safe assumption. But nothing about Kyle is safe, not even to family.
*
He's come up with this because Thanksgiving is rapidly approaching. You can tell because all the stores are starting to advertise Christmas specials. A few holdouts like the grocery store still have turkeys all over their advertising, but that'll change soon enough. In the meantime, Jarod has gone out and bought the turkey and stuffing and potatoes and a random selection of other things. He's not too worried about getting it all cooked properly, even in his current, tiny, kitchen. It's a much better use of his skills than figuring out how to poison people, and it keeps him distracted from the lack of the other traditions. He doesn't have a television, and there's still no sign of....of anyone.
It does mean a lot of multi-tasking, though. He sets down the knife he was using to mince onions to turn around and stir the gravy that's at a simmer, then turns back and blinks. The knife is gone.
"You're so trusting, big brother."
Kyle. Kyle leaning against the wall, holding the chopping knife that Jarod had been using, examining the blade with a disconcertingly professional air. "I was hoping you'd come," Jarod says, and holds out his hand for the knife.
Kyle looks up at him for a long moment, then flips the knife in his hand and gives it back, handle first. "Are you expecting anyone else?"
"No." It had been an interesting balancing act, these past few weeks, dodging the Center and yet still leaving enough of a trace for Kyle to follow. He'd rather enjoyed his brief encounter with Miss Parker, though. They'd had a nice little chat about holidays and expectations and what she had grown up eating on Thanksgiving (ordinary food, she said, but she'd been startled enough to lower the gun and give him the chance to disappear).
Kyle looks at the stove, then the counter, then up at Jarod, eyebrows raised.
Jarod shrugs. There's enough food for a small army. In his defense, that's also traditional.
Kyle sighs and shakes his head. There's the faintest of faint smiles on his face. "Do you need any help?" He offers his hand, empty.
Jarod looks around at the food one more time. Kyle's timed his appearance well: it's only another few minutes until the turkey comes out of the oven. "Only if you want to set the table."
Kyle chuckles, a soft ugly sound, but he obediently leaves the tiny kitchen and goes out to the living room.
Naturally, everything's perfect when Jarod comes out, carrying the turkey. There's a tablecloth that Jarod doesn't remember owning (and probably shouldn't ask where it came from), plates, water glasses, wine glasses, silverware...did Kyle ever work in a restaurant? He even laid out knives for both of them, which is only partially reassuring.
Kyle does enjoy carving the turkey, which comes apart with surgical precision under his hands. He doesn't ask whether Jarod wants white meat or dark, just serves him. Jarod wonders if this is distant memory from their pre-Centre childhoods, or if Kyle's been stalking him. He doesn't ask, just takes his plate and begins eating.
Afterwards, they sit back on the couch, pleasantly full. There's still a lot of food left, but neither of them are the type to over-eat, and besides Jarod has read up on tryptophan and has no intention of sleeping through the approach of any uninvited guests. He's entertaining the mental image of leaving the meal just as it is, perhaps with clean plates and forks, for the inevitable arrival of his pursuers -- just ordinary thugs, or would Miss Parker and Sydney come along? -- when Kyle tips over, his head falling into Jarod's lap. Jarod stares down at him, startled, and Kyle smiles back up at him, an almost innocent smile. "Hi."
Kyle must be more tired than he thought, Jarod tells himself firmly. "Do you want me to unfold this? It turns into a bed, I just need to --"
Put away the table, he means, but Kyle's smile has an edge to it now, and he says, with an air of lazy indulgence, "If you want." And he turns his head and nuzzles Jarod.
"Kyle!" He should say no. He should've said no the time before, or the time before that, or the time before that.
"It's traditional," Kyle says, and nuzzles more firmly.
"We've never -- ah! -- never had Thanksgiving before."
"Sometimes, big brother, you have to invent your own traditions," Kyle tells him, and unzips Jarod's jeans with his teeth.
-end-
This entry is crossposted at Dreamwidth.
Notes/Warnings: Possibly a little early - I'd originally been thinking of posting this on New Year's Eve (since it didn't get posted even close to Thanksgiving), but I'm waiting for my beta to get back to me on the story I first intended to post today. (Whoops. My bad.) Contains incest and wonky continuity (a terrible shock, given the way I write this fandom, I know), and written for
thesilentpoet, my usual Jarod/Kyle ennabler.
TRADITION
*
Jarod's come up with a little list of Thanksgiving traditions:
1. Turkey. Turkey and stuffing and potatoes and, uh, other things. He has a list somewhere with all the other dishes that people serve at Thanksgiving and swear are what they grew up with. He can more-or-less understand green beans, but the onion strings still baffle him.
2. Television. Sometimes the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, which apparently involves balloons (the one involving flowers is New Year's Day, and on the opposite coast). More often football, which is apparently the archetypal 'normal' American fascination. Jarod doesn't quite get it, but that's not as unusual as he'd like.
3. Family. It doesn't begin with 't', but it's just as important. You gather around and share the other two things, but the family is really the important part.
He's never had a traditional Thanksgiving. The Center doesn't believe in big elaborate meals, any day of the year, and they weren't going to let him watch television either. And family...
Kyle.
The only family he's had, that feels real any more, that doesn't feel like a pipe dream slipping through his fingers every time he gets close.
On the other hand...well. Kyle didn't seem like the type to enjoy watching enormous balloons parade through New York, much less Broadway musical numbers. He might like football better, but the idea of mixing Kyle and the kind of passions football tends to arouse...Jarod isn't that stupid.
At least Kyle should enjoy carving the turkey. Assuming Kyle appears again like a ghost in the night. Assuming Kyle still isn't dead.
It's not a safe assumption. But nothing about Kyle is safe, not even to family.
*
He's come up with this because Thanksgiving is rapidly approaching. You can tell because all the stores are starting to advertise Christmas specials. A few holdouts like the grocery store still have turkeys all over their advertising, but that'll change soon enough. In the meantime, Jarod has gone out and bought the turkey and stuffing and potatoes and a random selection of other things. He's not too worried about getting it all cooked properly, even in his current, tiny, kitchen. It's a much better use of his skills than figuring out how to poison people, and it keeps him distracted from the lack of the other traditions. He doesn't have a television, and there's still no sign of....of anyone.
It does mean a lot of multi-tasking, though. He sets down the knife he was using to mince onions to turn around and stir the gravy that's at a simmer, then turns back and blinks. The knife is gone.
"You're so trusting, big brother."
Kyle. Kyle leaning against the wall, holding the chopping knife that Jarod had been using, examining the blade with a disconcertingly professional air. "I was hoping you'd come," Jarod says, and holds out his hand for the knife.
Kyle looks up at him for a long moment, then flips the knife in his hand and gives it back, handle first. "Are you expecting anyone else?"
"No." It had been an interesting balancing act, these past few weeks, dodging the Center and yet still leaving enough of a trace for Kyle to follow. He'd rather enjoyed his brief encounter with Miss Parker, though. They'd had a nice little chat about holidays and expectations and what she had grown up eating on Thanksgiving (ordinary food, she said, but she'd been startled enough to lower the gun and give him the chance to disappear).
Kyle looks at the stove, then the counter, then up at Jarod, eyebrows raised.
Jarod shrugs. There's enough food for a small army. In his defense, that's also traditional.
Kyle sighs and shakes his head. There's the faintest of faint smiles on his face. "Do you need any help?" He offers his hand, empty.
Jarod looks around at the food one more time. Kyle's timed his appearance well: it's only another few minutes until the turkey comes out of the oven. "Only if you want to set the table."
Kyle chuckles, a soft ugly sound, but he obediently leaves the tiny kitchen and goes out to the living room.
Naturally, everything's perfect when Jarod comes out, carrying the turkey. There's a tablecloth that Jarod doesn't remember owning (and probably shouldn't ask where it came from), plates, water glasses, wine glasses, silverware...did Kyle ever work in a restaurant? He even laid out knives for both of them, which is only partially reassuring.
Kyle does enjoy carving the turkey, which comes apart with surgical precision under his hands. He doesn't ask whether Jarod wants white meat or dark, just serves him. Jarod wonders if this is distant memory from their pre-Centre childhoods, or if Kyle's been stalking him. He doesn't ask, just takes his plate and begins eating.
Afterwards, they sit back on the couch, pleasantly full. There's still a lot of food left, but neither of them are the type to over-eat, and besides Jarod has read up on tryptophan and has no intention of sleeping through the approach of any uninvited guests. He's entertaining the mental image of leaving the meal just as it is, perhaps with clean plates and forks, for the inevitable arrival of his pursuers -- just ordinary thugs, or would Miss Parker and Sydney come along? -- when Kyle tips over, his head falling into Jarod's lap. Jarod stares down at him, startled, and Kyle smiles back up at him, an almost innocent smile. "Hi."
Kyle must be more tired than he thought, Jarod tells himself firmly. "Do you want me to unfold this? It turns into a bed, I just need to --"
Put away the table, he means, but Kyle's smile has an edge to it now, and he says, with an air of lazy indulgence, "If you want." And he turns his head and nuzzles Jarod.
"Kyle!" He should say no. He should've said no the time before, or the time before that, or the time before that.
"It's traditional," Kyle says, and nuzzles more firmly.
"We've never -- ah! -- never had Thanksgiving before."
"Sometimes, big brother, you have to invent your own traditions," Kyle tells him, and unzips Jarod's jeans with his teeth.
-end-
This entry is crossposted at Dreamwidth.