Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), 4/10 (R)
Posted to house_wilson and betteronvicodin
Title: Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), Part 4/10
Author: Dee Laundry
Rating: R
Summary: House & Wilson's son Jack passes one of life's crossroads and makes an unexpected connection.
Note: Begins in June 2033. Sequel to My Fathers' Son, set in an AU that crosses over with simple__man's Churchverse, which began with Brilliant. Grateful appreciation to daisylily for beta and to simple__man for creating something wonderful and letting me play with it.
Part One - Part Two - Part Three
Mary smiled happily as she moved around the apartment, chatting with various guests and refilling drinks. For Labor Day weekend, in a town they’d moved to just three months ago, they’d managed a very good turnout at this party. The people from Jack’s pharmacy were mingling well with her co-workers, and the students she’d met at her evening literature class added a different and lively dimension.
The food had come out nicely (the guacamole from Church’s mother’s recipe was particularly delicious), people had brought excellent wine, and everyone was having a good time: success. Mary turned to share her satisfaction with Jack and then realized she hadn’t seen him in a while.
The first few guests she asked hadn’t seen him either, but Ramone was able to direct her to the balcony. “Out there, still,” he said, and then continued his conversation with Jennifer, a cute redhead from Mary’s department. They were leaning close to each other, Jennifer’s hand lightly grazing Ramone’s forearm, and Mary felt another quiet wave of satisfaction. It was always gratifying to help people make a new connection.
Sipping her wine, she headed out of the kitchen toward the balcony, but at a certain point she was compelled to stop and just look. From where she was standing, Jack was perfectly framed, and she took in the sight of the tall, lean, attractive man she’d fallen for. He stretched and she sighed, remembering those strong arms around her, remembering tracing each of the muscles on his back one lazy Sunday afternoon. He dropped his arms and leaned forward on the railing, inclining his head to the left, talking with someone out there with him. He was happy; he was laughing; he was - smoking a cigarette.
Mary’s eyes widened, and her feet moved almost without her. Five, six, seven steps, and she was to the sliding glass door, through it, tucked onto the small rectangle of concrete with Jack and his companion. Church. Who else?
After a quick glance at Church’s laughing eyes, she looked up at Jack. He had whipped around and was now leaning back against the railing, hands behind his back, lips pressed tightly together. He nodded at her, eyes locked on hers, and she paid no heed to the gentle snorts escaping the man behind her.
She made him wait a beat, watched his lips strain and his neck grow tighter, before she said, “Let that out of your mouth before you choke.”
He turned his head to the side and the smoke came out in a stream and then a ball: a horizontal mushroom cloud. Mary was disappointed, and disappointed in herself for being disappointed.
Jack said, “I can explain,” which was absolutely not the right thing to say. She ignored it.
“Church, there’s a woman here from my class,” she said, now with her back to Jack, not shutting him out, just the only way she could stand on this tiny concrete slab not really made for three, “that I’d just love for you to meet. Would you come in with me?”
Church’s eyes had never stopped laughing and if she could tell where that laughter was aimed, she didn’t think she’d like it one bit. “Sure,” he said, and followed her inside.
Stepping into the light and space of the living room, Mary felt something fall away from her and a tension eased. Silly of her, to worry and fret.
For the next hour, Jack was by her side, talking with everyone, laughing. He’d put a warm hand on the small of her back, or hold her hand and lightly tickle her palm. When he left to replenish the ice, she waved him gently away, engrossed in the anecdote Louis was telling.
The guests left around midnight, and Mary went to bed shortly thereafter. The balcony slider was unlocked; Jack and Church could come back in whenever they liked.
***
Dr. Wilson, I’m sorry to bother you at work.
Mary? It’s no bother. You caught me at paperwork time, and I’d love to put it aside. How are you? How’s Jack?
Jack is… fine.
You hesitated.
I shouldn’t have. He’s fine. More than fine. He has a new friend.
This boy Church. Oh, listen to me. I always still think Jack’s a boy, so his friends must be too.
My mother says she always pictures each of us being ten.
Five. Or two. Those were good years. Of course, Jack’s been great at every age, but that was when - Never mind. You don’t want to hear me ramble; you called for something.
I shouldn’t bother you with it.
Mary, I want you to bother me with it. Please.
I want to ask your advice. This is very awkward.
Just take it slow. I’m happy to help whatever way I can.
Jack has mentioned that you were married before you became partners with his father. I mean, his other father.
Yes.
And… in talking with Jack’s Aunt Lisa, she said that you and Dr. House were very good friends during those marriages, and I got the impression - This is embarrassing; I’m sorry.
I’m not embarrassed. Everything you’ve said is true.
It seemed, from how things were described, that maybe it was difficult to split your time between your marriage and your friendship with Dr. House.
That’s one way to put it, certainly.
And your marriages didn’t survive.
Mm. You said you wanted advice?
What could they have done?
Excuse me?
Your wives, what could they have done to keep the marriage going? What would you have wanted them to do? How would you have wanted them to act?
Mary, what’s going on?
Church is a good person; I like him. Mostly. Jack has a lot of fun with him, and I want Jack to have friends, I really do. He shouldn’t have to be with me every minute of the day. It’s just there’s the writing, and his job, and now all the time with Church, and I don’t get to see him much. And more than that, I feel like I’m not where I used to be in his priorities. I don’t have to come first every single time, in every single circumstance, but I’d like to feel that he at least thinks of me, you know?
Mary.
I love Jack, and I don’t want to be a nagging shrew.
I can’t imagine you ever being like that.
But -
Wait. Listen to me. Yes, my first marriages ended in divorce. And, yes, some of that had to do with my friendship with House. But your relationship with Jack is much different than the ones that I had with my wives. I had reasons for being with them that had nothing to do with them at all. Nothing they could’ve done would’ve saved the relationships, because they weren’t built on the right foundation. Jack, on the other hand, loves you and wants to be with you. I don’t know if you’ll be together forever, but at this moment your relationship’s a good one, solid from everything I know, and I think you should trust it.
I do. It’s just that everything seems to be about Church lately, and I’m not getting much of Jack’s time, and I get frustrated. But then I think I don’t want to be one of those clingy women who has to have her man with her every second. I don’t want to be demanding; not everything’s about me.
I said you should trust the relationship, not let him walk all over you. It’s not good in general, and believe me, with anyone with House genes, it’s particularly ineffective. Decide what you need out of your relationship with Jack, and insist on it. That’s not being overly demanding; it’s standing up for yourself and your own needs. He’ll respect you for it.
And if he doesn’t choose me?
I can’t see that being the case. But if it is… at least you’ll know, and you can move on. I love my son, Mary, and I’d do anything to make him happy - anything but let him trample over the feelings of someone who doesn’t deserve it.
***
Jack sat on the couch, head thrown back, staring at the ceiling, and sighed. “Mary,” he called, although he could predict her reply with almost one hundred percent certainty.
“Just a minute.”
It had been just a minute for over two hours, ever since he’d walked in the door from work. First there were emails from her job, then a phone call from her sister, and now ironing.
“Mary,” he called again, dragging it out to three syllables. “At least let me help you so you’ll be done faster.”
“You’re terrible at this,” she replied from the other room. “You scorch everything you don’t wrinkle. Why don’t you do the dishes and get those out of the way?”
“They’re done; they’ve been done. If you’re too busy, just tell me now, and I’ll - do something else.”
She walked through the living room, arms full, and said eagerly, “No, I want to; I just need -”
“A minute, I got that.” He stared back at the ceiling, utterly frustrated, and then realized her footsteps had stopped. He pivoted his head, and she was in the doorway of their bedroom, looking back at him.
She was in lime green leggings and a very old off-white t-shirt, hair tied back sloppily and face already wiped clean of all makeup. Her toenail polish was chipped, and there was stubble on her lower calves. Smiling slyly over the huge pile of laundry in her arms, she rocked her hips in a little taunting move that always presaged good things, and the ache of Jack’s desire for her lodged so deep that he could hardly breathe.
He was off the couch in seconds, in their bedroom, trying to wrap his arms around her as she put the clothes into the dresser. “Just a minute,” she said again, in a slow, deep tone, and he groaned.
“Don’t tease me, Mary.” He kissed the back of her neck and felt her start to relax into him. “It’s been a long day, and I want you so much.”
“Know what I want?” asked another voice, startling Jack and Mary both. “French toast.”
“Jesus, Church!” Jack let go of Mary and spun around to confront the lanky bastard currently leaning against the bedroom doorjamb.
“Jesus Church.” The bastard chuckled. “That never gets old.”
“What are you doing here?” Jack demanded, clutching hard to Mary’s hand.
Church’s lazy grin widened and he replied, “I told you - I want French toast.”
Jack huffed in frustration and drew Mary closer to him, keeping his eyes on Church the entire time. “We’re in the middle of something here.”
The grin had morphed into a smirk. “Unless you’ve got a weird way of doing sex, you have too many clothes on to be ‘in the middle.’ What about whipping up a snack beforehand to build your strength?”
Sternly Jack replied, “No.”
Mary had been standing at Jack’s side, looking between the two of them. At Jack’s refusal, she turned and put her arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder. Jack could feel his irritation subsiding in the warmth of her embrace, and he kissed the top of her head in thanks.
Church’s face twitched and he sighed resignedly, “OK.” After a beat, he continued, “Can I watch?”
“No.” The irritation flared again, and joined with Jack’s frustrated desire into a blaze of heat. He tightened his grasp on Mary and glared at Church. “Get the hell out.”
Mary kissed Jack’s shoulder briefly, and his chest, and then he felt a warm drag against his skin as she licked a long line up his neck to his jaw. As her tongue danced away, he looked down at her, surprised and aroused, and found she was smirking at Church.
Church’s eyes blazed speculatively as he crossed the room. Jack watched, spellbound, as Church leaned slowly down toward Mary’s upturned mouth, her lips still glistening with saliva.
In the next moment, Jack found himself almost snarling; he had pinned Church to the nearest wall, right hand around Church’s throat.
Church laughed. “Message received, buddy. No threesomes, got it.”
Surprised at his own reaction, Jack let go abruptly and stepped back. He’d moved without conscious thought, instinctively, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Church grabbed him and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. “OK, I’ll go.”
Jack was still shaking his head, bewildered, when Church called from the hall, “Shame, though. Both of you have such nice asses.”
Jack slammed the bedroom door shut.
In the morning, he was utterly unsurprised to find Church sleeping on his couch. Still, he felt compelled to ask, after he’d prodded Church awake and shoved him into one corner of the couch, “What are you doing here?”
Church yawned, and his morning breath was deadly. Jack waved the noxious cloud away.
“Told you. French toast.”
Jack settled back onto the couch and turned on the TV. “It’s Mary’s morning to cook, so you’ll have to wait for her to get up.”
Propping his feet on the coffee table, Church slouched into the corner of the couch and tugged the blanket he’d used the night before around his chest and shoulders. They watched in silence for a few minutes, and then Church began kicking Jack’s feet. “So. How was it?”
“How was what?” Jack asked, trying unsuccessfully to drag his eyes away from the sports recap.
“The nookie. I riled you up pretty good there; Mary must’ve been grateful.”
Jack refused to look at him, and decided to ignore the way Church was tracing a toe up and down Jack’s shin. “What Mary and I do is private, and absolutely none of your business.”
Church shifted suddenly, drawing his legs onto the couch and tucking his head into the crook of Jack’s neck. “She any good at blow jobs?”
“I’m not talking to you about that.”
A quick nudge to Jack’s cheek, and then Church whispered in Jack’s ear, “Bet I’m better.”
Jack leaned away just a few inches and flicked his gaze between Church’s mouth and eyes. “Know what I’m good at?” he whispered slowly, conscious of every movement of his lips. “What I’m really, really good at?”
“What?” Church breathed.
Tilting his head, in a move mirrored by Church, Jack opened his lips and replied, “Gay chicken. I’m great at it. Never lost one bout.”
Church pulled back completely and flopped into the couch. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Look at that - I won again.” Jack crossed his arms and looked down at Church in smug satisfaction.
“Nice,” Church replied, staring sulkily at the TV. “Make fun of the man hitting on you.”
“You weren’t hitting on me, you pussy; you were playing a stupid game. And now you’re pissed because I beat you at it.”
“I could’ve been hitting on you.”
“But you weren’t. You were hitting on Mary last night - and you’d better fucking never do that again - but that right here on the couch was clearly a gay chicken move.”
Church was slumped, arms crossed fiercely and a pout embedded on his face; he looked like an oversized petulant five-year-old. “Yeah, fine, it was. But I didn’t mean it to be. Why am I not attracted to you? It doesn’t make any sense at all. You’re a good-looking guy, reasonably interesting, and only a little bit moronic. I should be popping off to thoughts of you in the shower every morning and I’m not. What the fuck is up with that?”
“You’ve never been friends with someone you’re not attracted to? Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ve been attracted to people I didn’t like, but I’ve never liked someone and then not been attracted to them. I don’t know what to do about it.”
Jack laughed. “What’s there to do? Just be my friend. You’ve been doing fine at that the past couple of months.”
Church turned to him with a look of pure frustration. “It’s just weird, Jack.”
Jack punched him in the arm and then looked at the television again. It was almost time for the weather. “Welcome to the end of the Kinsey scale, Church. Maybe you’re straighter than you think.”
“Bite your tongue.” Church looked past Jack and then extended a hand dramatically. “There’s my love! Darling, you are radiant.”
Glaring, less than half awake, Mary staggered past them toward the kitchen. “Did you start coffee?”
Damn, he’d forgotten. “We were talking and -”
“Coffee’s done,” Church called. “I set it on the timer last night.”
Mary walked back out from the kitchen, her hands curled around a steaming red mug. “Church, you’re a godsend.”
“So that means I get my French toast, right? It’s easy to make.” He perked up and looked at Mary with puppy-dog eyes. Jack stifled a laugh.
“If it’s easy to make, why didn’t you just make it for yourself at home?”
Jack watched Mary take a long swallow of her coffee; she always needed the caffeine to feel fully herself in the morning.
“Mom always says it tastes better when it’s made with love.”
Mary snorted. “Made with love? Then why do you want me to make it for you?”
“You wound me, Mary,” Church replied, one hand clutching his chest. “Wound me severely. It’ll take weeks to recover, and since I can’t be transported safely, I’ll have to recuperate all that time on your couch.”
“French toast, coming up.”
Jack shook his head, gave Church a hard shove to the shoulder just for good measure, and went to take a shower. When he came back, Church was sprawled in a kitchen chair keeping Mary company as she cooked.
“Jack says your last name is Bayith,” Mary was saying. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it before; it’s unusual.”
Church looked up at Jack before answering, “Yes, I’m very unique.”
“Gah!” Jack growled, on his way to the coffee pot. “I hate it when people say that phrase. Unique means one of a kind! It therefore cannot have quantity! You can have a varying number of traits that are unique, but the word itself can't be modified.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “You were saying, Church?”
“Nothing. You know, I was thinking of my parents this morning, and how nice it is that they’re unconditionally proud of me.”
Jack could feel his teeth clenching, and he thumped his mug onto the table. “That’s another phrase that gets to me. I’m sure your parents love you unconditionally, Church, but they can’t really be unconditionally proud of you. ‘Unconditionally’ means in every circumstance, so what if you became a mass murderer? I don’t think they’d be proud of you then.”
Mary chastised him with a light “Jack”; she’d heard this argument before. Church, on the other hand was laughing, and Jack rolled his eyes as he realized why.
“Oh, you’re doing this on purpose?”
Wiping his eyes, Church replied, “Of course. I had a feeling you’d get all ranty about that kind of thing.”
“You fuckhead.” Jack shook his head, and tried to steal the first plate of French toast that Mary was currently placing on the table. She pulled it away from him and gave it to Church instead.
“Such language,” Church tut-tutted as he poured half the bottle of syrup over his plate. “I never. Well, I did, but it’s a long story and I’m not sure whether that part in the middle with the green goat was real or hallucination. Anyway, ‘fuckhead’ is such a gauche, archaic word. It’s more correct to use the preferred term, ‘people with fuckheadedness.’”
Mary rubbed Jack’s back as she put his plate in front of him. Bringing her own plate, she sat at the table between Jack and Church.
“Your parents hit you upside the head a lot when you were a kid, I’ll bet,” she said affectionately.
Church smiled. “You have no idea,” he said, and stuffed a huge chunk of French toast in his mouth.
(Continued)
Title: Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), Part 4/10
Author: Dee Laundry
Rating: R
Summary: House & Wilson's son Jack passes one of life's crossroads and makes an unexpected connection.
Note: Begins in June 2033. Sequel to My Fathers' Son, set in an AU that crosses over with simple__man's Churchverse, which began with Brilliant. Grateful appreciation to daisylily for beta and to simple__man for creating something wonderful and letting me play with it.
Part One - Part Two - Part Three
Mary smiled happily as she moved around the apartment, chatting with various guests and refilling drinks. For Labor Day weekend, in a town they’d moved to just three months ago, they’d managed a very good turnout at this party. The people from Jack’s pharmacy were mingling well with her co-workers, and the students she’d met at her evening literature class added a different and lively dimension.
The food had come out nicely (the guacamole from Church’s mother’s recipe was particularly delicious), people had brought excellent wine, and everyone was having a good time: success. Mary turned to share her satisfaction with Jack and then realized she hadn’t seen him in a while.
The first few guests she asked hadn’t seen him either, but Ramone was able to direct her to the balcony. “Out there, still,” he said, and then continued his conversation with Jennifer, a cute redhead from Mary’s department. They were leaning close to each other, Jennifer’s hand lightly grazing Ramone’s forearm, and Mary felt another quiet wave of satisfaction. It was always gratifying to help people make a new connection.
Sipping her wine, she headed out of the kitchen toward the balcony, but at a certain point she was compelled to stop and just look. From where she was standing, Jack was perfectly framed, and she took in the sight of the tall, lean, attractive man she’d fallen for. He stretched and she sighed, remembering those strong arms around her, remembering tracing each of the muscles on his back one lazy Sunday afternoon. He dropped his arms and leaned forward on the railing, inclining his head to the left, talking with someone out there with him. He was happy; he was laughing; he was - smoking a cigarette.
Mary’s eyes widened, and her feet moved almost without her. Five, six, seven steps, and she was to the sliding glass door, through it, tucked onto the small rectangle of concrete with Jack and his companion. Church. Who else?
After a quick glance at Church’s laughing eyes, she looked up at Jack. He had whipped around and was now leaning back against the railing, hands behind his back, lips pressed tightly together. He nodded at her, eyes locked on hers, and she paid no heed to the gentle snorts escaping the man behind her.
She made him wait a beat, watched his lips strain and his neck grow tighter, before she said, “Let that out of your mouth before you choke.”
He turned his head to the side and the smoke came out in a stream and then a ball: a horizontal mushroom cloud. Mary was disappointed, and disappointed in herself for being disappointed.
Jack said, “I can explain,” which was absolutely not the right thing to say. She ignored it.
“Church, there’s a woman here from my class,” she said, now with her back to Jack, not shutting him out, just the only way she could stand on this tiny concrete slab not really made for three, “that I’d just love for you to meet. Would you come in with me?”
Church’s eyes had never stopped laughing and if she could tell where that laughter was aimed, she didn’t think she’d like it one bit. “Sure,” he said, and followed her inside.
Stepping into the light and space of the living room, Mary felt something fall away from her and a tension eased. Silly of her, to worry and fret.
For the next hour, Jack was by her side, talking with everyone, laughing. He’d put a warm hand on the small of her back, or hold her hand and lightly tickle her palm. When he left to replenish the ice, she waved him gently away, engrossed in the anecdote Louis was telling.
The guests left around midnight, and Mary went to bed shortly thereafter. The balcony slider was unlocked; Jack and Church could come back in whenever they liked.
***
Dr. Wilson, I’m sorry to bother you at work.
Mary? It’s no bother. You caught me at paperwork time, and I’d love to put it aside. How are you? How’s Jack?
Jack is… fine.
You hesitated.
I shouldn’t have. He’s fine. More than fine. He has a new friend.
This boy Church. Oh, listen to me. I always still think Jack’s a boy, so his friends must be too.
My mother says she always pictures each of us being ten.
Five. Or two. Those were good years. Of course, Jack’s been great at every age, but that was when - Never mind. You don’t want to hear me ramble; you called for something.
I shouldn’t bother you with it.
Mary, I want you to bother me with it. Please.
I want to ask your advice. This is very awkward.
Just take it slow. I’m happy to help whatever way I can.
Jack has mentioned that you were married before you became partners with his father. I mean, his other father.
Yes.
And… in talking with Jack’s Aunt Lisa, she said that you and Dr. House were very good friends during those marriages, and I got the impression - This is embarrassing; I’m sorry.
I’m not embarrassed. Everything you’ve said is true.
It seemed, from how things were described, that maybe it was difficult to split your time between your marriage and your friendship with Dr. House.
That’s one way to put it, certainly.
And your marriages didn’t survive.
Mm. You said you wanted advice?
What could they have done?
Excuse me?
Your wives, what could they have done to keep the marriage going? What would you have wanted them to do? How would you have wanted them to act?
Mary, what’s going on?
Church is a good person; I like him. Mostly. Jack has a lot of fun with him, and I want Jack to have friends, I really do. He shouldn’t have to be with me every minute of the day. It’s just there’s the writing, and his job, and now all the time with Church, and I don’t get to see him much. And more than that, I feel like I’m not where I used to be in his priorities. I don’t have to come first every single time, in every single circumstance, but I’d like to feel that he at least thinks of me, you know?
Mary.
I love Jack, and I don’t want to be a nagging shrew.
I can’t imagine you ever being like that.
But -
Wait. Listen to me. Yes, my first marriages ended in divorce. And, yes, some of that had to do with my friendship with House. But your relationship with Jack is much different than the ones that I had with my wives. I had reasons for being with them that had nothing to do with them at all. Nothing they could’ve done would’ve saved the relationships, because they weren’t built on the right foundation. Jack, on the other hand, loves you and wants to be with you. I don’t know if you’ll be together forever, but at this moment your relationship’s a good one, solid from everything I know, and I think you should trust it.
I do. It’s just that everything seems to be about Church lately, and I’m not getting much of Jack’s time, and I get frustrated. But then I think I don’t want to be one of those clingy women who has to have her man with her every second. I don’t want to be demanding; not everything’s about me.
I said you should trust the relationship, not let him walk all over you. It’s not good in general, and believe me, with anyone with House genes, it’s particularly ineffective. Decide what you need out of your relationship with Jack, and insist on it. That’s not being overly demanding; it’s standing up for yourself and your own needs. He’ll respect you for it.
And if he doesn’t choose me?
I can’t see that being the case. But if it is… at least you’ll know, and you can move on. I love my son, Mary, and I’d do anything to make him happy - anything but let him trample over the feelings of someone who doesn’t deserve it.
***
Jack sat on the couch, head thrown back, staring at the ceiling, and sighed. “Mary,” he called, although he could predict her reply with almost one hundred percent certainty.
“Just a minute.”
It had been just a minute for over two hours, ever since he’d walked in the door from work. First there were emails from her job, then a phone call from her sister, and now ironing.
“Mary,” he called again, dragging it out to three syllables. “At least let me help you so you’ll be done faster.”
“You’re terrible at this,” she replied from the other room. “You scorch everything you don’t wrinkle. Why don’t you do the dishes and get those out of the way?”
“They’re done; they’ve been done. If you’re too busy, just tell me now, and I’ll - do something else.”
She walked through the living room, arms full, and said eagerly, “No, I want to; I just need -”
“A minute, I got that.” He stared back at the ceiling, utterly frustrated, and then realized her footsteps had stopped. He pivoted his head, and she was in the doorway of their bedroom, looking back at him.
She was in lime green leggings and a very old off-white t-shirt, hair tied back sloppily and face already wiped clean of all makeup. Her toenail polish was chipped, and there was stubble on her lower calves. Smiling slyly over the huge pile of laundry in her arms, she rocked her hips in a little taunting move that always presaged good things, and the ache of Jack’s desire for her lodged so deep that he could hardly breathe.
He was off the couch in seconds, in their bedroom, trying to wrap his arms around her as she put the clothes into the dresser. “Just a minute,” she said again, in a slow, deep tone, and he groaned.
“Don’t tease me, Mary.” He kissed the back of her neck and felt her start to relax into him. “It’s been a long day, and I want you so much.”
“Know what I want?” asked another voice, startling Jack and Mary both. “French toast.”
“Jesus, Church!” Jack let go of Mary and spun around to confront the lanky bastard currently leaning against the bedroom doorjamb.
“Jesus Church.” The bastard chuckled. “That never gets old.”
“What are you doing here?” Jack demanded, clutching hard to Mary’s hand.
Church’s lazy grin widened and he replied, “I told you - I want French toast.”
Jack huffed in frustration and drew Mary closer to him, keeping his eyes on Church the entire time. “We’re in the middle of something here.”
The grin had morphed into a smirk. “Unless you’ve got a weird way of doing sex, you have too many clothes on to be ‘in the middle.’ What about whipping up a snack beforehand to build your strength?”
Sternly Jack replied, “No.”
Mary had been standing at Jack’s side, looking between the two of them. At Jack’s refusal, she turned and put her arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder. Jack could feel his irritation subsiding in the warmth of her embrace, and he kissed the top of her head in thanks.
Church’s face twitched and he sighed resignedly, “OK.” After a beat, he continued, “Can I watch?”
“No.” The irritation flared again, and joined with Jack’s frustrated desire into a blaze of heat. He tightened his grasp on Mary and glared at Church. “Get the hell out.”
Mary kissed Jack’s shoulder briefly, and his chest, and then he felt a warm drag against his skin as she licked a long line up his neck to his jaw. As her tongue danced away, he looked down at her, surprised and aroused, and found she was smirking at Church.
Church’s eyes blazed speculatively as he crossed the room. Jack watched, spellbound, as Church leaned slowly down toward Mary’s upturned mouth, her lips still glistening with saliva.
In the next moment, Jack found himself almost snarling; he had pinned Church to the nearest wall, right hand around Church’s throat.
Church laughed. “Message received, buddy. No threesomes, got it.”
Surprised at his own reaction, Jack let go abruptly and stepped back. He’d moved without conscious thought, instinctively, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Church grabbed him and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. “OK, I’ll go.”
Jack was still shaking his head, bewildered, when Church called from the hall, “Shame, though. Both of you have such nice asses.”
Jack slammed the bedroom door shut.
In the morning, he was utterly unsurprised to find Church sleeping on his couch. Still, he felt compelled to ask, after he’d prodded Church awake and shoved him into one corner of the couch, “What are you doing here?”
Church yawned, and his morning breath was deadly. Jack waved the noxious cloud away.
“Told you. French toast.”
Jack settled back onto the couch and turned on the TV. “It’s Mary’s morning to cook, so you’ll have to wait for her to get up.”
Propping his feet on the coffee table, Church slouched into the corner of the couch and tugged the blanket he’d used the night before around his chest and shoulders. They watched in silence for a few minutes, and then Church began kicking Jack’s feet. “So. How was it?”
“How was what?” Jack asked, trying unsuccessfully to drag his eyes away from the sports recap.
“The nookie. I riled you up pretty good there; Mary must’ve been grateful.”
Jack refused to look at him, and decided to ignore the way Church was tracing a toe up and down Jack’s shin. “What Mary and I do is private, and absolutely none of your business.”
Church shifted suddenly, drawing his legs onto the couch and tucking his head into the crook of Jack’s neck. “She any good at blow jobs?”
“I’m not talking to you about that.”
A quick nudge to Jack’s cheek, and then Church whispered in Jack’s ear, “Bet I’m better.”
Jack leaned away just a few inches and flicked his gaze between Church’s mouth and eyes. “Know what I’m good at?” he whispered slowly, conscious of every movement of his lips. “What I’m really, really good at?”
“What?” Church breathed.
Tilting his head, in a move mirrored by Church, Jack opened his lips and replied, “Gay chicken. I’m great at it. Never lost one bout.”
Church pulled back completely and flopped into the couch. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Look at that - I won again.” Jack crossed his arms and looked down at Church in smug satisfaction.
“Nice,” Church replied, staring sulkily at the TV. “Make fun of the man hitting on you.”
“You weren’t hitting on me, you pussy; you were playing a stupid game. And now you’re pissed because I beat you at it.”
“I could’ve been hitting on you.”
“But you weren’t. You were hitting on Mary last night - and you’d better fucking never do that again - but that right here on the couch was clearly a gay chicken move.”
Church was slumped, arms crossed fiercely and a pout embedded on his face; he looked like an oversized petulant five-year-old. “Yeah, fine, it was. But I didn’t mean it to be. Why am I not attracted to you? It doesn’t make any sense at all. You’re a good-looking guy, reasonably interesting, and only a little bit moronic. I should be popping off to thoughts of you in the shower every morning and I’m not. What the fuck is up with that?”
“You’ve never been friends with someone you’re not attracted to? Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ve been attracted to people I didn’t like, but I’ve never liked someone and then not been attracted to them. I don’t know what to do about it.”
Jack laughed. “What’s there to do? Just be my friend. You’ve been doing fine at that the past couple of months.”
Church turned to him with a look of pure frustration. “It’s just weird, Jack.”
Jack punched him in the arm and then looked at the television again. It was almost time for the weather. “Welcome to the end of the Kinsey scale, Church. Maybe you’re straighter than you think.”
“Bite your tongue.” Church looked past Jack and then extended a hand dramatically. “There’s my love! Darling, you are radiant.”
Glaring, less than half awake, Mary staggered past them toward the kitchen. “Did you start coffee?”
Damn, he’d forgotten. “We were talking and -”
“Coffee’s done,” Church called. “I set it on the timer last night.”
Mary walked back out from the kitchen, her hands curled around a steaming red mug. “Church, you’re a godsend.”
“So that means I get my French toast, right? It’s easy to make.” He perked up and looked at Mary with puppy-dog eyes. Jack stifled a laugh.
“If it’s easy to make, why didn’t you just make it for yourself at home?”
Jack watched Mary take a long swallow of her coffee; she always needed the caffeine to feel fully herself in the morning.
“Mom always says it tastes better when it’s made with love.”
Mary snorted. “Made with love? Then why do you want me to make it for you?”
“You wound me, Mary,” Church replied, one hand clutching his chest. “Wound me severely. It’ll take weeks to recover, and since I can’t be transported safely, I’ll have to recuperate all that time on your couch.”
“French toast, coming up.”
Jack shook his head, gave Church a hard shove to the shoulder just for good measure, and went to take a shower. When he came back, Church was sprawled in a kitchen chair keeping Mary company as she cooked.
“Jack says your last name is Bayith,” Mary was saying. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it before; it’s unusual.”
Church looked up at Jack before answering, “Yes, I’m very unique.”
“Gah!” Jack growled, on his way to the coffee pot. “I hate it when people say that phrase. Unique means one of a kind! It therefore cannot have quantity! You can have a varying number of traits that are unique, but the word itself can't be modified.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “You were saying, Church?”
“Nothing. You know, I was thinking of my parents this morning, and how nice it is that they’re unconditionally proud of me.”
Jack could feel his teeth clenching, and he thumped his mug onto the table. “That’s another phrase that gets to me. I’m sure your parents love you unconditionally, Church, but they can’t really be unconditionally proud of you. ‘Unconditionally’ means in every circumstance, so what if you became a mass murderer? I don’t think they’d be proud of you then.”
Mary chastised him with a light “Jack”; she’d heard this argument before. Church, on the other hand was laughing, and Jack rolled his eyes as he realized why.
“Oh, you’re doing this on purpose?”
Wiping his eyes, Church replied, “Of course. I had a feeling you’d get all ranty about that kind of thing.”
“You fuckhead.” Jack shook his head, and tried to steal the first plate of French toast that Mary was currently placing on the table. She pulled it away from him and gave it to Church instead.
“Such language,” Church tut-tutted as he poured half the bottle of syrup over his plate. “I never. Well, I did, but it’s a long story and I’m not sure whether that part in the middle with the green goat was real or hallucination. Anyway, ‘fuckhead’ is such a gauche, archaic word. It’s more correct to use the preferred term, ‘people with fuckheadedness.’”
Mary rubbed Jack’s back as she put his plate in front of him. Bringing her own plate, she sat at the table between Jack and Church.
“Your parents hit you upside the head a lot when you were a kid, I’ll bet,” she said affectionately.
Church smiled. “You have no idea,” he said, and stuffed a huge chunk of French toast in his mouth.
(Continued)