jacosta3

FIC: No Reason

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 14:31:47 GMT

Title: No Reason
Fandom: Brothers & Sisters
Author: Jan
Pairing: Kevin/Julia
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Brothers & Sisters belongs to ABC. This is only a work of fiction which is mine, not representing anything else.
Summary: You can blame the ABC promo department for this. Oh, and my increasing need to see Kevin fuck Tommy over. So you can see this isn't written from the most rational place.

--

Kevin couldn't give any rational reason for what he was doing with Julia. Of course, there was a reason, somewhere, but he was damned to understand the whys or hows.

During one of Tommy's out-of-town jaunts on behalf of Ojai, Kevin stopped by the house to spend some time with Elizabeth without Tommy's scowl burning holes into his well-pressed shirt. Scotty was busy at the restaurant. The Senate was on break, so his crucial role of squirming and remembering his place was eased for a few weeks.

He'd left his jacket in a chair, his tie on the coffee table. He felt oddly exposed without a tie, but Elizabeth had a strange habit of seeing the neck lock as a toy and nearly choking him to death. Julia took his tie off for him, her fading manicure brushing against his Adam's Apple. They both...tried not to react, and basically succeeded.

After he read some bedtime story about moons and spoons, Kevin had no reason not to say yes to one scotch, then another, and another. He didn't think Julia had deliberately planned all those drinks; given his last name, it wouldn't have been out of the ordinary for him to have simply inhaled the entire liquor cabinet.

Julia was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt which had exposed her flat stomach when she reached up into the cabinet to get a glass. Kevin just stared at her, remembering for the first time how quietly beautiful he'd always found her. She noticed him staring, and pretended not to notice.

Kevin told her some horrible gossip about various members of Congress and their aides, knowing without question she'd never tell anyone, because she never did. He'd always felt so comfortable with Julia. She told him horror stories about the couple next door and their unhealthy obsession with cheese, swearing she wasn't making it up, laughing in that less repressed way she only laughed when Tommy wasn't around.

When Julia handed him his coat, Kevin's hand had brushed against hers for a brief moment. No sparks going off. No raw sexual tension. Just comfort.

He kissed her on the cheek. Nothing more. Then she kissed him on the lips, for no reason other than his lips being there to kiss. A quick peck.

He ran his hand through her hair, blonde and across her shoulders with the scrunchie now in his hand. The type of hair, the type of woman his father had always wanted him to have.

They both paused for a moment, Kevin trying to come up with reasons why this was wrong, why they'd both have regrets. He assumed Julia had the same thought process.

He pulled her supple body to his, wondering why Tommy had never truly appreciated this gorgeous woman whose mouth melted against his, whose hands were in his jacket and slowly unbuttoning his crisp white dress shirt, both of them laughing from a brief flicker of nerves as they undid his cuffs, Kevin shivering slightly as the bottom of his shirt brushed against his treasure trail, as his naked chest adjusted to the chill of the air conditioning.

Kevin unfastened her bra, his hands slightly trembling as they had when he was a teenager. Her nipples erect in his hands, Julia whimpering as he traced in circles with his thumbs, as he put his mouth to her breasts, gently biting one nub while teasing the other.

Julia gently pushed Kevin downward, his dark curls in her hands as he kissed his way down her stomach, his tongue flirting with her navel while he made quick work of her jeans and panties. He tasted her, his hands on her waist, keeping her steady from the trembles set off by his mouth against her clit.

Kevin slowly stood up, licking his fingers as Julia undid his trousers and fished his erection from his sticky fly.

This was all so surreal. He pondered why he was doing this, why he, a gay man, was with a woman again, much less his sister-in-law, until Julia's delicate fingernail traced the underside of his cock, until Julia looked up at him, slowly swallowing him, that angelic face smiling and concentrating on nothing more than his needs.

Kevin thought of all the times Tommy had called him a faggot, a pervert, and much worse. He thought he'd gotten over those awful fights, complete with bloodstains all over unfortunate early 90's fashions, but the scars were still there.

The last thought Kevin had before he saw himself running down Julia's cheeks was, as he tasted himself on her lips, as he carried her to his brother's bed, was, "Now I'm a faggot fucking Tommy's wife."

--

What puzzled Kevin, at least at first, was his lack of remorse. When he left Julia alone in bed, he'd expected to go cry in the shower, or something, but he couldn't muster up the proper shame. He knew this wasn't about Scotty spending so much time away, or making more money, not really anyway. His relationship with Scotty was what it was, usually more good than bad.

He hadn't suddenly fallen in love with Julia. He assumed Julia wasn't in love with him. There was no pillow talk, no affirmations from him that her vagina had made him see the light, or any detailed notes from her about the differences between the Walker brothers.

He threw his towel in the hamper, quickly dressing as Julia watched him.

Julia stood up, murmuring a quiet gratitude when Kevin handed her her robe, as Kevin raked his eyes over her nude body.

"Kevin," she said, not sure what else to add, finally going with, "Do you...are you upset?"

Kevin buttoned up his shirt before shaking his head.

"No. I'm not. I mean, I can have an anxiety attack about forgetting a stamp. That's what Walkers do. But...no."

Julia smiled to match his own slightly embarrassed grin. She helped him put his cuffs on, as she probably had done for Tommy dozens of times.

"Thanks," was all she said.

Kevin turned a brief shade of pink.

"My pleasure," he replied.

---

The next day was one of those interminable Walker family brunches, cut down from the usual Walker family dinner due to lack of time. Tommy had just gotten back and would be spending another long day in the office. Kitty was going on about something with her book, and Justin was staring into space, as he was wont to do.

As Kevin did his best imitation of listening, he received a text.

"You forgot your tie..." was all the text said.

Kevin couldn't stop himself from smirking.

"Why are you so out of it today?" Tommy asked, lobbing a piece of toast at Kevin's head.

Kevin smiled.

"No reason. No reason at all."

FIC: All Alone (Hollyoaks, OB) (1/1)

Thu, 20 Dec 2007 22:43:08 GMT

Title: All Alone
Characters: OB (Max), Tony
Rating: PG (language)
Summary: Set after Simon attempted suicide.

---

Tony was so busy worrying about Jacqui and worrying about Jacqui's constant need for a child and about whether anyone would find out he'd slept with Mercedes that he didn't have the time to worry about the problems of those who'd once been closest to him. But today was different.

He'd barely taken notice of this new arrival Simon who had become so close to OB. He had been pleased OB had another friend, because under the happy-go-lucky facade, OB often seemed to be the loneliest man in the world. Next thing he'd known, he'd heard that Max had been arrested for assault, local yobs Gilly and Jake had rounded up a mob saying Simon was a paedophile, and Simon had taken an overdose.

He'd talked to Max, who could barely stop himself from shaking. He'd spoken to Tom, who didn't understand what was going on. The one person he hadn't seen was OB, even though OB had moved into his place because of the falling out with Max.

When he got home, all the lights were out. He remembered where a switch was before he tripped and broke something useful. It's a good thing Jacqs and Tina were staying with their family for a few days.

"OB?"

OB was sitting at the kitchen counter, holding a wine bottle.

"What are you doing!?"

As Tony ran over to him, OB didn't even seem to notice he was there. The bottle was unopened, but Tony quickly popped open the top and poured the contents down the sink.

"OB, you've been sober for years now. What are you thinking?"

OB didn't say anything for a long time.

"Wanted to stop the hurt."

Tony hated seeing his old friend in such pain, pain he had no way of healing.

"Where's Summer?"

"Rehearsal. With Sarah Barnes. Snogging the tranny. Fuck if I know."

OB chuckled, picking at an invisible scab on his thumb.

"Know how pathetic I am, Tony, that the girl I fancy hasn't even been in town long, and my closest friend is...was a man I only met a few months back?"

"That's not true, OB. You've got me."

OB said nothing, but an uncomfortable silence pervaded as they both knew just how much time Tony spent with his friends these days.

"And you've got..."

"Don't say it, Tony. Please."

"I was gonna say you've got Tom."

OB got up to grab his coat.

"We know what you were gonna say, Tony. 'Sides, Tom isn't my brother, really."

Tony shook his head, walking with OB as he put his jacket on.

"Why would you say that?"

"I didn't. Max did."

Tony's face was a picture at that moment.

"Oh."

OB laughed again.

"Yeah."

He began to open the door, but Tony blocked him.

"You're not going anywhere 'til you've got your head on right, OB."

OB scoffed, a pained muffle from his throat.

"Whatcha think I'm gonna do? End up in a gutter somewhere?"

Tony didn't need to respond, as they both knew the answer.

OB stared at the door for a moment, pondering a way out, before he finally gave up and sat on the couch.

"I hate him, Tony."

"No, you don't. Just take a breath and think about what you're saying."

OB furrowed his eyebrows, laserlike intensity at the switched-off television. Such intensity that Tony was afraid if OB looked at him, he'd burst into flames.

"Don't you think that's what I've been doing? I hate him. I hate his bimbo girlfriend. I loved him so much, Tony. Never good enough. Never gonna be good enough, am I?"

Tony had never had any idea just how deep OB's feeling for Max ran. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"OB, Max cares about you. You've been friends long as I've known you. That doesn't just die."

"Oh no, course no. Just lingers on, doesn't it? I get to know that I come third. Go me! Y'know, Simon was quiet, kinda like me. He listened to what I had to say. He wanted to know me. I barely got to know him. All he wanted to do was help kids. That's it. Such pain he had. Down to his bones the pain was. I thought I could help. How did I help him? Got his name slandered to the whole village, got him put in hospital for a suicide attempt, and now he's gone. And how fucking selfish am I to sit here sorry for myself while his life is ruined?"

Tony sat down beside OB.

"It's not your fault. Not Max's fault either. This just happened."

OB laughed again. Tony tried to think of the times that laugh had not been so encased in bitterness.

"Never Max's fault, is it? Things always just happen to him. It's the other people pay the price."

"OB, this isn't like you."

OB turned to him, smiling now. A forced smile.

"Better now? Why am I upset anyway, it's not like I should be surprised. My family never wanted me. Max doesn't need me. My friends are all gone. Guess I should be grateful. At least Simon's still alive, even if everything he had was destroyed. Least he's not rotting in the ground like Theo, or Mel. I sure know how to help my friends, don't I?"

Tony pulled OB into a hug, which felt very unnatural to them both. Tony had known OB for years, yet he had no idea what to say or do.

"Friends go through bad patches. Things'll get better. I promise."

OB whispered close to his ear, lacking the strength to say the rest out loud.

"Oh, I know. Tom'll tell me that I have to be friends with Max again. I will. We'll laugh and joke just like the old days. But every time you see me with Max, Tony, look at me eyes. I'm not seeing Max. I'm seein' Clare laughing at me. Mel's dead body on the floor of the Dog. Max hitting me. Max beating the shit out of Simon. Simon lyin' on the floor with his son's photo in his still hands. That's what Max Cunningham means to me now."

Tony had nothing to offer but platitudes, but they were better than nothing.

"But OB, Max is always gonna be there for you. You'll get past..."

OB stood up from the couch.

"I don't want to get past things anymore. I can't let my guard down again. Every time, Tony, every time it hurts more. I know that I'm going to let myself feel again, Tony, and get hurt again. I bloody well know it. Just let me pretend for tonight. Please."

Tony realized that platitudes weren't better than nothing. For tonight, perhaps nothing was best of all.

"Well, OB, I might pop over to the Dog for a pint. If you wanna come, I'm happy for the company. If not, I'll see you later."

As Tony walked away, OB cleared his throat. Tony turned around, waiting to see what he had to say.

"Could ya please kill the lights on your way out."

And Tony did.

FIC: Father Figure (3/?)

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 13:43:40 GMT

Title: Father Figure
Pairing: John Paul/Craig
Note: Chapter 1 ( http://jacosta3.livejournal.com/2007/11/08/ ) and 2 ( http://jacosta3.livejournal.com/2007/11/10/ )

--

Craig woke up from a somewhat restless night's sleep wondering why the love of his life had shrunk and covered himself in cloth. With the morning sunlight beaming down on Craig, he finally opened his eyes to see he was close to making out with a pillow.

He tossed the pillow aside and stopped in the bathroom to get ready for the day. As the suds ran down his naked body he thought about the vicious brawls he and his family had experienced over bathroom privileges when they'd briefly stayed in the McQueen home after the fire that had razed their home and pub. So much had changed since then...this place was practically a ghost town compared to that time. His own life felt much emptier of people, yet somehow fuller in accomplishment. He was on his way to a career...eventually, and he had the man he loved. He knew he was lucky, and that was almost enough to overcome the pangs of loneliness he felt as he toweled himself off.

As he looked for his clothes, the mysteriously vanished man showed up wearing nothing more than jeans slung ridiculously low around his hips. If Craig took the time - and Craig did - he could count every hair from John Paul's treasure trail down to...

"Made some breakfast if ya want some. If you're hungry for food, that is."

Hurriedly averting his gaze from his lover's crotch, Craig turned red just in time for the big smirk on John Paul's face.

"You're a right perv, Craig Dean."

"And you wouldn't want me any other way."

John Paul didn't bother to argue that point. He looked so at peace this morning that Craig could hardly fight the sadness creeping up on him as he remembered he was going to tell John Paul that his father had wanted to see him. John Paul quickly noticed his change in demeanor. Before he could ask Craig what was wrong, Craig asked him to sit down on the unmade bed.

"John Paul...I don't really know how to say this so I'll just say it. After you left yesterday, your dad told me he wanted to talk to you around the same time this afternoon. Told me if you didn't show up he'd get the hint and leave town."

John Paul didn't have much of a reaction at first, finally responding with a mournful chuckle, shaking his head in time with the laugh. Craig could sense him freezing up again.

"He's good, isn't he? No angle uncovered. Well, fuck him. I've said all the words I'm gonna say to him."

Craig wanted to leave it at that. John Paul had made his choice. But the young man beside him looked so fragile and empty, as if he hadn't believed a word that had come out of his own mouth. Craig knew he should stay quiet and just go with what John Paul wanted, but if he truly loved John Paul, he would say his opinion.

"John Paul..."

Before he could get more than the name out, John Paul began to make his way off the bed. His innocent face fell, marred with an unexpected hurt.

"Oh no! No way. He got to you, didn't he?"

When John Paul got like this, on the verge of hysteria, Craig often wondered what to do. Sometimes he wondered if anything he did would just make matters worse.

"John Paul, I just thought you'd want my say. Doesn't mean you have to meet him. Just means if I were you, and it were my dad..."

John Paul was now in the middle of putting on his shirt and trying to ignore the man in the room with him, not to mention the elephant in the room. He wasn't successful. He rapidly turned on Craig and gave him that look Craig always preferred to see used for the powers of good, not evil. Like he was going to say something they'd both regret.

"Craig, I used to have a life of my own. A real identity. Yeah, I was a McQueen, and I had to see people's hair turn white when they learned my last name, but I was still the only son. I was me. Now it's always John Paul and Craig. I don't have my own life. I don't have my own room. I don't even have my own mind anymore, Craig."

Craig reeled at the anger in John Paul's voice. He wasn't sure how much was directed specifically at him, but he still felt under attack.

"I can't even have a shred of my own opinion without feeling like I'm letting you down. It's not enough that I got my own baggage with my own dad. Now if I ignore him, for my own well being, then that means I have to carry you and your dad on my back. Oh poor Craig, he can't ever see his father again, so he'd better live through me."

That one hurt.

"Sorry that my pain is such an inconvenience for you."

Craig hissed out most of that last sentence. John Paul's fury finally returned to some of his normal empathy as he saw the pain in Craig's eyes. Craig stopped him before he could apologize. Craig was in no mood for it.

"How do you think I feel, John Paul? I gave up everything for you. Everything."

"You didn't have to!"

"I know I didn't have to, dammit! I wanted to! And now I find out I'm...what? Am I cramping your style, John Paul? You were in love with me for a year and I loved you too. This is what we wanted! It's not easy and we get on each other's backs but that's what we wanted. Or at least it's what I wanted. Or I thought I did."

Craig prepared to bolt from the room until John Paul stopped him. Craig tried to shrug off his arm but John Paul had surprising strength.

"Let me go, John Paul!"

John Paul wouldn't budge, and as they struggled, they fell on the bed. Their bodies intermingled as both boys struggled for dominance, for control. Any rational thoughts were replaced by the feel of their bodies against each other. Craig's towel slipped away and John Paul's denim jeans clawed against his naked hips and midsection, ground against his erection, an erection he didn't even know he had. He angrily unzipped John Paul's jeans and shoved them down his hips as John Paul pulled his shirt over his head. Their naked midsections fought as they had fought a few moments earlier. Blindly. Their mouths crushed against each other, bruising and furious and determined. Craig soon cried out as the delicious friction between them made him erupt. John Paul quickly followed, both boys naked, sweaty, sticky, spent.

As their ardor cooled, they were left with the remnants of hurt feelings. The lust and hate and rage replaced by remorse. They ran their hands over each other's bare chests and hips as a way of apology without having to say the words. Craig wished he hadn't let John Paul see his hurt. He tried to keep his hurt and pain bottled up as often as he could. He was going to go to the bathroom and wash his face when John Paul stopped him.

"I'm so sorry," John Paul whispered, staring at him as he lovingly kissed his chest and then made his way up from his chest. "I love you so much it kills me sometimes, Craig, and I don't know what I'm saying or doing. I'm so sorry I did that to you, Craig." He made his way to Craig's face and kissed and licked away Craig's tears. The tears John Paul had caused. That Craig's own pain had caused. The pain they both tried to heal but could never fully shake.

"I just, I felt like you had taken his side."

Craig clasped John Paul's hand, his lips pressed against the cool flesh.

"You don't have to explain, John Paul."

"Yes I do. I do, Craig. I hurt you badly and part of me wanted to hurt you. I can't ever do that again, Craig. I can't let my father win that way, and I can't use him as an excuse for my bad behavior. Otherwise I'm no better than he is. So yes, I'll go talk to him. All I ask, and please understand why I'm asking, is that you let me go alone."

Craig said nothing. He worried about what this would do to John Paul. Yet he had seen today what happened when he interfered too much.

All he could do was agree, and give his lover a long, deep kiss of comfort and support.

--

John Paul scanned around his room to see if he had everything. Seeing he had, he checked himself in the full-length mirror. He wasn't sure why he felt so nervous. Maybe because he would be without the most important accessory, the accessory which currently had two long yet very toned arms wrapped around his waist.

"Sure I can't getcha to change your mind?" Craig said while slowly making his way up John Paul's neck.

"You're so persuasive you could get me to have it off with Peggy Mitchell."

Craig turned up his nose in an adorably disgusted way, his head resting on John Paul's shoulder.

"You are SICK!"

John Paul watched Craig's bemused reflection in the mirror. He felt like a schizophrenic. Yestday he'd told Craig he only felt like his true self around him. Then today next day he'd told Craig he was suffocating his true self. Now a few hours later, John Paul couldn't imagine even a second of his life without Craig. Yet he needed this moment apart. He had to see his father on his own.

He could watch Craig all day. Some days, that's all he'd done. Yet their relationship had a turbulent side. John Paul had made him cry. He would never do that again if he could help it. He had to face down one of the reasons for all his bitterness and pain. Might not make him feel any better, but he had to try.

Sensing John Paul's melancholy, Craig squeezed him tighter.

"Craig, I love you so much. I really thought I'd get tired of hearing myself say that, but I do."

Craig slid his hand inside John Paul's shirt to tenderly caress his stomach.

"I love you too. And I'll never get tired of saying it or hearing it."

John Paul tilted his head to share a brief kiss with the man holding him, but they were interrupted by a disgusted snort coming from the hallway.

"Well I'm sure sick of hearing it. Like my opinion counts for anything 'round here."

Michaela's studied contemptuousness was followed by Carmel's scatterbrained charm.

"Aw, I think it's sweet! Craig's got that dark hair and those stormy dark eyes and he's well fit, and John Paul's got that light hair and blue eyes, and he's lush, if I can say that about my brother. They even look like the top of a wedding cake! I mean, if they were shrunk down to wedding cake size. Otherwise they'd flatten the cake and get it all on their shoes, and nobody eats flat wedding cake with shoe prints...not unless they're really, really hungry."

Craig was amused, but John Paul was more concerned about Michaela's reaction. She had seemed angry at him since yesterday, her usual sarcasm laced with malice.

"Which one's gonna wear the dress?"

Michaela seemed even more bitter than usual. John Paul began to suspect he knew why. He broke from Craig's grasp and went to face her.

"How did you know?"

Michaela sneered, but never looked him directly in the eye.

"Wot?"

"'Chaela, who told you?"

His tone was soft and sure. Michaela tried to stonewall, but he'd always been able to get through to the scared little girl under that tough exterior.

"I saw ya with Dad...Ricky when I was in Drive'n'Buy. Happy now?"

Carmel looked crestfallen.

"Oh no, John Paul. Don't tell me you fell for him too. I want to have a real Christmas this year!"

Michaela lobbed a furious glare in her direction.

"Oops. Sorry 'chaela."

John Paul sighed. He wasn't sure how to explain this to them when he could barely explain it to himself. As he began to try to figure out what to say, Craig squeezed his shoulder.

"Gonna go downstairs and watch Deal or No Deal with Myra."

Unspoken was the reminder he would be there if John Paul needed him. John Paul thanked him as he quietly left the room.

John Paul closed the door and motioned his sisters to sit next to him on the bed.

"Just hear me out, please."

Carmel looked on in desperate confusion, hanging on any verbal liferaft he was about to give her. Michaela looked like she was going to punch him, or cry. Or, most likely, both.

"Ricky showed up a few days ago. He cornered me yesterday with Craig. I told him I wanted no part of being around him. That was when you saw us, 'chaela. Then he told Craig he wanted to see me again, privately, today. I don't wanna see him, but I have to."

"So you're choosing him over us?" Michaela yelled.

"No." John Paul tried his best to remain calm, because if he lost it, then everything would be lost and he'd have an even more fractured family. "He hurts us all so much. We can't let him have that power anymore. He's like the monster under the bed. I'm gonna go talk to him, tell him what he did to us, tell him how I feel. How we all feel. This is the only chance I might have to actually talk to him."

"But why did he want to see you instead of one of us?"

John Paul didn't know how to answer Carmel's question, but he tried.

"Cause he knows you'd give him what for, and chaela here'd give him a good kicking."

Slight smiles broke through the anxiety of his sisters, telling him his flattery was at least partially successful.

"We got our genes from Ricky Bowen, but that's all. What we are is a family. No deadbat dad's ever gonna change that or come between us."

John Paul put his hands in theirs, squeezing for emphasis.

"What about your boyfriend? Isn't he gonna come between us?" Michaela spat.

Michaela acted so tough, sometimes John Paul forgot just how young and vulnerable she really was. He knew that his relationship with Craig had taken a big part of him away from his family, but he wasn't going to give up the man he loved. Not after all they had gone through.

"Craig agreed to live in this nuthouse. That tells you how much he cares about me. About all of us. Craig's part of our family now. If he treats any of you the wrong way then he'll answer to me, and if any of you treat him the wrong way..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence.

Carmel gave him a deep hug. Michaela eyed him warily, but allowed him to hug her, which was always an accomplishment. His sisters went downstairs, John Paul joining them after looking at his reflection one last time to see if he was doing the right thing.

When he made his way to the living room, Michaela and Craig were fighting over the remote control, while Myra looked at her son nervously, almost mournfully.

"Be careful, luv."

John Paul knew he could take her comment either way.

As John Paul prepared to leave, Craig gave up the epic struggle for the television and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. Then another. As Craig told him goodbye, he wrapped John Paul in his scarf.

"This is your scarf," John Paul whispered, trying not to draw too much attention from his mother and sisters.

"I know. This way I'll be there." Craig smiled, a very complex smile, one of pride, reservation, and most of all, love.

John Paul felt so moved by such a simple gesture. John Paul gave Craig another quick kiss, hurriedly leaving before he began to cry and gave Michaela more reasons to laugh at him.

He was on his way to talk to Ricky. His father. He also had a proposal for Ricky. As he began to make his way to the bridge, he hoped he was doing the right thing.

--

The sky was sunny and clear as John Paul made his way to the bridge to meet his father. He'd been hoping for something more metaphorical for his father's presence in his life, like a constant drizzle. Then again, life rarely worked out the way John Paul expected.

In spite of the bright skies, there was still enough of a chill for John Paul to justify wearing his scarf. He tugged on the fabric briefly, smelling Craig's scent, knowing Craig was waiting at home to make him feel better. He wasn't sure if he was using Craig's scarf or Craig himself as a security blanket, but if it was the latter, then John Paul owned the fittest and warmest security blanket in all the land.

Part of him hoped Ricky had done a runner, and that way John Paul could pat himself on the back for trying and then that was that. His hopes were dashed when he saw Ricky, hands in pockets, anxiously awaiting his arrival. All the times Ricky had been absent when John Paul had needed him to be there, why did he have to show up the one time John Paul needed him not to be there?

When Ricky saw John Paul, Ricky smiled, a grin which seemed torn between genuine happiness at seeing his son and a forced idea of what he was supposed to be. John Paul felt so nervous. He'd had a big speech planned in his head, but this was his father, who by his endless lack of responsibility had been directly responsible for the man John Paul had become.

The men, father and son, studied each other silently, as if they could gain years of memories, hurts, loves, through that simple eye contact. Like Michaela, Ricky had a hard time looking John Paul in the eye. Finally, John Paul stuck out his hand, relieved to find it wasn't shaking. Ricky looked as if he wanted more, yet was smart enough to not ask. Their hands clasped together, and John Paul wondered if those would one day be his hands.

He had very little idea of what to say, so he just spouted the first idea in his head.

"I wanted to ask you how you could abandon me when a boy needs a dad so much, but you'll have some polished-up answer just for me, instead of the truth."

He expected to set Ricky back on his heels, but instead he was greeted with a resigned yet determined face.

"The truth is I was a coward. We both know that. But when I was a boy, having a dad around didn't stop me from growing up in a living hell. Made things worse, actually. I ran away when I was 15. You had a good home. If you'd had a home like mine I'd have never left you, John Paul. You have to believe that."

"I don't have to believe a word out of your mouth," John Paul sneered. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he sensed a grain of truth in Ricky's words. Of course, the best lies had a kernel of truth in them. "Maybe that's what you've told yourself, but it doesn't work on me."

"Then why are you here?" Said in such a direct, sharp tone. John Paul was used to more evasion from his father, and now felt like he was the one back on his heels.

"I...I don't know. So much of me hates you for what you did to me, to Carmel, to 'chaela. Part of me feels nothing for you, just a numbness, sorta like the space where a loose tooth used to be. Part of me says you're my father, and you wanted to talk to me, you want to try this time. I just..."

He didn't know what else to say. As he lapsed into silence, the seconds lapsed into moments, he felt his father's arm around his shoulder, leading him to the beautiful view from the bridge. They stared out for a few more moments.

"Why don't you tell me about your...I don't know what you call each other, but y'know, Greg."

John Paul rolled his eyes and smiled in spite of himself.

"The name's Craig, and I use that very complex term known as boyfriend."

"Right, Craig. He treating you right? He ever hurt you?"

John Paul's first thought was to rail at his father for the unbelievable arrogance in even asking such a question, but isn't this what he'd always wanted? A father who actually cared? He found himself answering, very hesitantly.

"I'm used to being hurt."

Ricky looked appropriately chagrined.

"I've always known I was different. When I met Craig, I knew for sure what I was supposed to be. No one makes me more furious and nobody makes me happier. I love him, I can't live without him, and if you have a problem with that, I don't wanna hear it."

Ricky smiled at him, with what looked to be a surprising amount of sincerity. John Paul noted all the stories his face could tell.

"Nah...I might not be up with the modern attitudes, but I'm not gonna tell you what you're doing is wrong. It takes a lot of bottle to be what you are, John Paul, to not hide away. I had a cousin, Kevin, he was gay. He never said it, but I knew. Everybody did. He had a job, wife, kids, and still he was the saddest man I ever saw. You coulda been like that, but look at ya now. You're a man. And I know you don't wanna hear it from scum like me, but I'm proud."

John Paul felt his eyes welling up. He hoped he could pass it off as the wind bothering his sinuses. He really didn't want to fall for these lies. They had to be lies. If he believed his father, if he ever had faith in him again, he'd hurt so much the pain would never go away.

"I know you don't believe this either, but I did love your mum."

"Loved her so much that you told 'chaela lies to try to turn her on your side."

"I'm not ever going to hurt you kids like that again, John Paul. I was desperate and had nowhere else to go. It cut me deep, cause I know Myra loves her children, all of 'em. A big part of me wanted to stay with Myra, make a real family, even though I knew your Jacqui and Mercy'd never accept me. I just wasn't strong enough. You, you're strong. Bet you fought for your love. I never could."

"Y-You didn't have to stay with her to see us. You could have still been a dad to us."

"I know, son. And I'll regret it for the rest of my life. That's why I want another chance to show how much I love you and Carmel and Michaela."

John Paul thought to himself that Ricky had spent decades fighting and winning a battle over his greatest love - himself. Ricky had had to do so little for the family he created, the family John Paul's mum had raised. And Ricky had gotten away with it. Even now, with Ricky's arm on his shoulder, Ricky's calm presence radiating and explaining every doubt John Paul had, making John Paul feel like a son who had made him father proud, John Paul wanted nothing more than to forgive him, than to accept him. For the first time in so long, John Paul's father had told him he loved him, and for the first time ever, he seemed to mean it. John Paul, in spite of himself, felt good. He felt more complete.

"Dad..."

The word shocked Ricky, and John Paul even moreso. Ricky looked so pleased, years seemed to fall away from his face. John Paul realized how soft and needy his voice sounded. He didn't want to be this way. He'd spent all his life without a father. He didn't need a father. But he still wanted one.

He remembered the proposal he had for his father. Originally he had planned to try to bribe him to leave town. He'd put all the money he'd saved up with his jobs and tips and being careful, put it all in an envelope. He only kept enough out for some small Christmas gifts for his family and Craig.

"Dad...if it were me...I'd give you a chance. I honestly believe you want to care about us, be there for us. I've given people chances and it's made me happier than I ever dreamed. But this isn't about just me. You hurt my sisters, and my mum. Every time they hear your name, eggshells crack underneath their feet. Every time I talk about you, I can feel their pain. It breaks my heart."

Ricky took a risk and slowly pulled John Paul in for a hug. John Paul didn't have the strength to resist. He hugged his father, for the first time in so long, for the first time since he was a little boy clinging to his daddy's leg, crying for him not to leave.

Finally, he pulled away.

"If you really mean this, Dad, then I'll be there for you. I'm not gonna make Carm and 'chaela see you, or Mum. That's up to them. I'll help you find a place 'round here, a good job. It'll take time, but I know you'll be happier than what you are now."

John Paul actually didn't know that, he knew that the eternal little boy beside him was not exactly likely to suddenly accept being a middle-aged man, but he couldn't give up hope so soon after finally letting it back in again.

He looked at Ricky, really studied him, waiting for a response. He didn't know what would hurt him more, Ricky saying yes or Ricky saying no.

"It'll take me a while to get ready, but I can give it a go."

He couldn't make eye contact with John Paul when he said that. John Paul felt the stings of pain, or maybe of that numbess he had grown to hate. So much grey, so much of not knowing whether to pine for a father or be glad to not have had the hassle. He wanted a father, but he didn't want a dad who didn't want to be there. Didn't want a dad who might steal all his stuff again and leave without telling anyone.

As much as it hurt, John Paul knew he had to do this. For himself and his family.

"There's just one thing, Dad. A...test, I guess you could say."

"Oh, I was never good at tests in school."

John Paul managed a half-smile, blinking back the wave of apprehension and self-doubt.

"This one's easy. Or should be, if you are what you say you are."

He pulled out the envelope. This time, his hand was shaking.

"This is all the money I have. Not a lot, but enough to help you have a merrier Christmas, I'm sure."

Ricky's eyes, often so dim, lit up like a child at Christmas. Even as he tried not to show his glee, his eyes gave him away. John Paul's life seemed to revolve around eyes.

"John Paul, I..."

"One condition. You take this, and we're done. You and me, and you and my sisters. Your daughters. You'll never contact us, and if I find out you have, you'll regret it."

John Paul's tough facade didn't hold up well as his voice cracked. He was supposed to be the tough one here, he really was.

Meanwhile, Ricky's face fell. He was either genuinely conflicted or one hell of an actor.

"Please John Paul, don't make me think about all this at once, please..."

John Paul felt for him, but also felt like this was another con, another game, another lie. Better to make the decision now than to slowly stab himself in the heart day after day.

"Sorry, Dad, it's a one-time deal. You say no, and you've got me, and I'll be there for you no matter what. You say yes, and you've got some fast money and a few less kids to burden yourself with. Just tell me. Yes or no."

John Paul used every ounce of strength he had to get through this moment. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he would soon have an answer.

Father Figure (2/?)

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 00:18:15 GMT

Title: Father Figure
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John Paul/Craig
Notes: Thank you so much for the kind words on the first chapter. It was a nice surprise! This story has ended up being a bit longer than I initially expected, so that's why this won't end at two chapters, as I first anticipated.

--

John Paul often tried to believe that his last meeting with his father hadn't hurt him. John Paul had been about thirteen, desperate to get away from his home and his school and everything else that no longer seemed to fit him as he'd started to transition from boy to man. He'd gone to the big city for the day, just that one day of skipping school, telling himself it was worth the punishment in order to save his sanity. He'd been walking around the streets, breathing in everything, when he saw his dad. Looked like his dad, talked like his dad, had the same desperate air about him as his dad always did. John Paul knew better, but something inside him made him try. Like one of those old movies, where by chance the parent and child are tearfully reunited by chance and swear nothing will ever break them apart. He tried. He went up to his dad. So polite and so sincere and so tentative.

"I don't know who you are."

That's what he had said to John Paul. John Paul never had told anyone about that day. That was the day, once and for all, Dad became Ricky.

"Son, you're looking well."

John Paul was jolted back into the present. Here was this man who had become such a figment of his pains and his past, standing right here, flesh and blood.

"Ricky."

John Paul had called him "Dad" a few moments earlier. A reflex. A weakness. John Paul couldn't afford to have weaknesses. He much preferred "Ricky". He liked the way it made the stranger in front of him flinch.

"I guess I should introduce you to Craig Dean. My boyfriend. That means we have sex."

John Paul sensed Craig turning about five different shades of red. Everything in him screamed at him to take Craig's hand, to not be entirely alone in the world, but he didn't want a crutch. He wanted to feel this pain, to exorcise it. He'd had enough of making everything about Craig. Craig often seemed to read him like a book, and was keeping a safe distance away while John Paul had this heart-to-heart with his dear dad.

"Son..."

"Why do you keep calling me that? Since when am I a son to you? Or do you just not remember my name?"

The insult was spat out of his throat with a bitter melodic tone, punctuated with a chuckle which sounded much older than his years.

"I remember you, John Paul. How could I forget my only son?"

John Paul felt a wave of pain and longing wash over him.

"Don't sell yourself short, Ricky. There must be countless other families you've abandoned."

Somewhere in his head, John Paul knew he might be making a mistake, but every time he looked at his father's beady eyes, he remembered this was what he had come from. This was the man he had had to pattern so much of his life around. He'd never really been able to have a childhood. No, Ricky was the one who'd had a childhood...over forty years of childhood. He'd always be incomplete, a statistic, a cliche of a broken home. John Paul knew he'd had a good life, he knew he had a mother and sisters who loved him. He knew there were countless homes with a full time mum and dad which ended in disaster. He could accept that. What he couldn't let himself accept was giving Ricky another chance, letting himself hope.

"How does it make you feel, Ricky, to know your son is gay?"

Ricky flinched again as John Paul gave sure proof that he was gay. He'd spent so much of this past year outing himself, to his mother, his sisters, Craig, his school, his mates, outing his affair to the whole town...now the man who was his father. He had always been defined by his dysfunctional family, and now by his sexuality. He wondered if he'd ever be his own man.

Ricky was so good at getting to people. Mum, Michaela...when he looked at John Paul this way, with those sad eyes pleading for forgiveness, with his body so small and so vulnerable, John Paul almost felt guilty. He almost wanted to take a chance.

"Son, I love you no matter what you choose."

From a real father, those words might have been exactly what John Paul wanted, needed to hear. From Ricky Bowen, the comments were like a knife to the gut. He could take his father throwing homophobic bile, telling him what a sick abomination he was. He couldn't take this. He couldn't sit and wonder whether his father actually supported him or just pretended to do so while his real support was for the inside of John Paul's wallet.

"I didn't choose to be gay. Just like I didn't choose to have a crap dad."

Just like that, the shutter slammed shut on any window of opportunity for father and son. John Paul continued his speech in a very deliberate monotone, afraid if he stopped for even a second, he would cry. He would not let Ricky Bowen see him cry.

"Michaela's so much like you, sometimes it hurts to be with her. She loved you so much, maybe cause you weren't around enough to show what a loser you were. Took care of that right quick though, I give you credit. What you did to her last Christmas...you broke her. She's never been the same. Carmel's so beautiful, yet she can't even look at herself in the mirror sometimes. She doesn't think any man will ever love her. Wonder why that is?"

John Paul couldn't talk about his own pain. He just couldn't. He was close to shaking. He felt Craig's arms around him, but he pushed them away. He couldn't let himself be comforted. He'd fall apart.

"That's why I came here. To make things right. I've learned this time. I swear. Son, if you just trust me, I swear."

John Paul knew he had to leave, as fast as his feet could take him. He only had one more comment to make to his father.

"I don't know who you are."

--

Craig wanted to run after John Paul, but knew his boyfriend well enough to give him some time to himself. John Paul had never had any time to himself in his whole life.

Impassively staring straight ahead, Craig turned his attention to the man standing in front of him. He wanted to ask Ricky Bowen so many questions, like, "Do you know how much you've hurt your son?" or "Your son is so wonderful and kind, why do you want to torment him?" He hesitated, because he knew the only answer he'd get would be silvery-tongued revisionist history, skillfully wrapped packages from a child who had spent nearly half a century trying not to grow up.

Finally, he settled on something more direct.

"I won't let you hurt John-Paul."

Craig Dean was only nineteen years old, a confused youth in the presence of a man over twice his age who had seen and done who knows what. Yet, his voice carried authority and force.

"I can tell you love him, Greg."

"It's Craig."

"Yeah, sorry, my memory ain't my best feature these days. Don't have a lot of good features to begin with."

The older man gave Craig the hint of a self-conscious smile, just enough to let Craig lower his guard. Craig rolled his eyes, but he knew Ricky was good at what he was doing.

"Don't try that on me, softening me up with your old man bit. I know a con when I see one...used to be one myself."

When Ricky laughed, his very tired eyes briefly sparkled with flashes of good times past.

"Can't fool you, eh? Fair enough. If you don't mind me asking, how did you meet my son?"

Craig didn't owe Ricky Bowen any explanations, but he was proud of John Paul. On some level, he hoped he could make Ricky feel the same way. Even as painful as the memories were, Craig was proud.

"Last year, I was getting bullied all the time at school. It was getting pretty bad until John Paul stepped in. Even set off the fire alarm. And this was when we'd first met, when I'd treated him like he was from outer space. He did that just for me."

Ricky smiled, wistfully. Craig could see John Paul's smile hidden in that weathered face.

"Sounds like John Paul alright. McQueen through and through. He may hate ya sometimes, but God help anybody who tries to mess with ya. He's your best mate and your worst enemy, all at once. He gets that from his mum."

Some days, Craig looked at his beautiful, normal, calm boyfriend and wondered how he could be related to any McQueen (except maybe Tina, she was normal enough). Then other days, like today, Craig had seen so much bitterness and hurt in John Paul, almost like he was standing next to Mercedes or Jacqui. He had leaned so much on John Paul, used him, expected him to always understand. Craig had taken for granted just how easy it might be to shatter John Paul into pieces, like when he'd accidentally broke his gran's teacup and tried to glue it back together before she'd notice. He'd convinced himself just because he thought the teacup was perfect, no one else would ever notice.

As he was lost in thought, he sat down on the edge of the bridge. Ricky stood over him. For a moment Craig thought it would be like a horror movie where the crazy in-law would push him to his drowning death, but then Ricky sat beside him, picking at the ratty imitation leather coat he'd obviously worn to pieces.

"Y'see, Craig, my boy's one of a kind. Special, ya might say."

"There's no might about it."

"Exactly. That's what I'm saying. That's why I left. Yeah, I'm a crap dad and all that. I shoulda been there for my kids. But I also know what I am. I just couldn't be a full time father and husband. I never had that in me. I had to make a choice. Was I gonna stay around in some lousy job, a slave, hating Myra and my kids more and more every day? Knowing Jacqui and Mercedes would never see me as anything more than an intruder? Taking my comforts in a bottle, or drugs, or the horses? Taking my pain out on my family with my fists or my belt?"

As the soft-spoken words sank in, Craig wanted to believe him. Then he thought about his own father and how easily he'd dumped Craig, Jake, and Steph, then the baby he'd had with the woman he'd abandoned the Deans for in the first place. Craig stood up, turning on the older man who had been sitting next to him.

"EXCUSE ME, are you trying to make me feel like you're a hero for abandoning your kids!? They didn't have you when they needed you and they felt like it was their fault and they wonder why you hated them and it never goes away, it never goes away. That's absolute shit, what you just said, and you make me sick. I. HATE. YOU. I am so fucking sick of you lousy, worthless dads who make your kids pay the price! You can fuck right off, Johnno Dean, you don't even deserve to breathe the same air as your son, much less..."

"My name's Ricky Bowen."

The venom Craig continuously spat at the older man dried as his mouth hung open.

"Oh God..."

He thought he'd gotten over what Johnno had done, he thought he was a man now, he thought...

"Now I see another reason you're so protective of John Paul."

Craig felt humiliated, and most of all, angry. Angry at the father who would never be around to answer his questions about why he had so easily flushed years and years of love and family down the toilet. Angry at Ricky for leaving John Paul. Most of all, angry at himself because he thought he'd gotten over his past. How could he ever be strong for John Paul if he was so weak himself?

Not really thinking of what he was doing, Craig closed his eyes and screamed. He screamed for what he would never have, what he would never be, what had been denied him. He screamed at the tears forming in his eyes and how they made him feel like less of a man. He screamed at the fact that the man he loved so dearly feeling the same pain he felt, pain no child should have to feel. Finally, a lump of tears formed in his ragged throat and his cry turned to a choked sob.

He had almost forgotten Ricky was still there, but he was.

"This is why I want to talk to my son. I want him to know he did nothing wrong, that I love him, and care about him."

Craig found his voice again in time to snappishly respond, the words short and to the point.

"And what do you get out of it? Money, more stuff to nick in time for Christmas, what?"

Ricky looked at him, straight on.

"I get to know my son doesn't feel like a failure."

He was either sincere or a very good liar. Or both.

"Even if I believe you, what does it have to do with me?"

"Craig, I've burned all my bridges with my son. He won't want to hear what I say. Look how he reacted to me today. He loves you. He knows you want what's best for him. If you..."

Craig realized just what this whole conversation had been about. He felt like such a fool. He gritted his teeth, so much so that Ricky took a step back.

"That's why you wanted to talk to me. Bring me in, make me feel good. You're gonna use me to do your dirty work."

"I'm not using you for anything. Nobody can control you, I can tell that. My son's not gonna love a doormat, is he? I'll just say this and then I'll be on my way. I'll be here tomorrow, around this same time. I want to talk to John Paul. Really talk. I want you to tell him, and since you care about him, I think you will. If he doesn't show up then I'll know he made his choice and I tried and I can leave."

"And what if I keep quiet?"

"Then you'll be denying the man you love the opportunity that your own father never gave you."

Ricky walked away. Craig put his hands to his forehead, feeling an awful pain in his stomach. Craig had not loathed anyone in his life the way he loathed Ricky Bowen at that moment. What he wanted Craig to do. What he made Craig feel. What he was going to put John Paul through once again. And worst of all, that Craig sensed deep down somewhere, for all his disgust at the other man's tactics and fake concern, that Ricky was right. That in the end John Paul would have far more regret if he stayed away, and Craig even moreso if he didn't tell John Paul his father wanted to talk to him one last time.

"Oh God, what do I do? What do I do?" he whispered to himself.

--

John Paul had wandered around the streets for a few hours, not really knowing or caring where he was headed. All he could think of was his father's eyes, and the man he might become someday. If he'd been straight, would Hannah have been sitting at home taking care of kids John Paul only bothered to acknowledge every time he needed to borrow some money? Even now, even with what he was, he'd slept with Hannah when he didn't really love her or want her, knowing how much she'd loved him. He'd used Spike to get over Craig, cheated on him, lied to him. Yeah he'd soon broken up with Spike, but he'd still hurt Spike, all to make himself feel better. What made his relationship with Craig so different? What would make him any more able to stay loyal to Craig? What would stop him from being just like his dad?

Finally John Paul made his way back home, his head pounding, his eyes red from all his crying. He just wanted to take a shower and get some sleep. At least now with Tina and Dom gone he had less brawls over the bathroom.

"Hello luv, I was getting worried. Have a good day?"

Myra's tone implied she already knew the answer to that question. He didn't want to face her. He didn't want to have a heart-to-heart or say how he was feeling or let her know just how much his father still had an impact on his life.

Myra put down the washing and gently took her son by the shoulders.

"What's happened?"

John Paul used every last ounce of strength he had to plaster a smile onto his haggard face.

"I'm alright, really. Just a long day with classes and everything."

He wanted to settle for a hug and some time by himself, some time away from his mother's knowing yet inquisitive stare that he knew too well. He thought she was going to let him have that moment to himself.

"As long as you told Craig what's bothering you, don't mind me, luv."

A few words, but enough to twist a small dagger into John Paul's heart. His mother had been the center of his universe all his life until he'd met Craig, and yet even while living under her own roof, mother and son had grown further and further apart. He knew he could and eventually would work out how to balance his mother with the man he loved, but it wasn't easy.

"Mum, I'm so tired now. I'm not trying to keep anything from you."

"Oh, I know you're not. It's only natural for a young man to want to confide in his sweetheart. Mum just isn't as important anymore."

John Paul began to sense he would say something he'd regret if he didn't hurry this along.

"Ricky came up to me today when I was with Craig."

Myra looked concerned, but underneath the concern there was a hint of pain at the mention of his father's name.

"Well what did he do, luv? What did he say to make you cry all those tears? Does he know about you and..."

John Paul smiled to himself as he remembered the look on his father's face.

"He caught us kissing, so he has a pretty good idea. He just gave me his old line 'bout how he wants things to be different this time and he'll be father of the year and this time he really means it."

Myra nodded, but didn't seem entirely convinced at her son's attempt to show his lack of hurt at the situation. She took him into her arms, and as much as John Paul had proven himself to be a man, he allowed himself to find comfort in those arms, to briefly retreat to a world where a warm hug and a gentle backrub could make everything better.

The maternal contact seemed to do good for both of them. He wanted to believe he could ask his mother anything, tell his mother anything, even if he had so often not been able to do so.

"Mum..." he whispered as he listened to her heartbeat.

"Yes luv?"

"Do you think he loves me?"

The room was silent for a few seconds, seconds that seemed to stretch into hours. Finally, John Paul received a halting, melancholy response from his mother.

"As much as your dad is capable of loving anyone."

What she hadn't said made more of an impact than what she'd actually said. He wanted to ask her so many questions about his father, but he knew how much hurt he would pass on to her, pass on to a woman who had already seen so much pain in her life.

"Thanks. I already ate, so I'm just gonna go on to bed after I take a shower. Craig said he could just eat something outta the fridge if you don't feel like making a meal."

Myra reluctantly let her son out of her grasp.

"I'm gonna be fixing something for Michaela, might as well make enough for Craig too. And you, when you come down to the kitchen in the middle of the night cause you don't eat meals at the proper time."

John Paul shrugged, guilty as charged. He wouldn't say he felt any better, but he felt more secure.

"Thanks Mum."

He rushed through his shower and then slid into bed wearing his T-shirt and boxers. His bed had always seemed small, but now felt much too large without Craig in it. He closed his eyes, not really sleeping, more like studying the back of his eyelids. A dreamless, exhausted sleep.

After what seemed like an eternity alone in his bed, he felt a pair of strong arms around his waist. John Paul practically melted into them, so surprised at his own neediness and vulnerability that he tried to mask them with a weak joke.

"I've been waiting for you, Darren. I've missed you."

Those soft lips he knew so well gently landed on his forehead, then his mouth.

"You're gonna have to do a lot better than that to wind me up, mate."

John Paul managed to open his eyes and turn his head long enough to see Craig. So handsome and solid and all his. Craig's face was scrubbed red, like he'd washed it thoroughly right before coming to bed. John Paul wondered if he'd been crying too. He looked like he wanted to tell John Paul something.

John Paul was still frightened sometimes by how much he needed Craig. How much hurt he and Craig had caused each other, and how he knew that the hurt was worth it. He'd always read about grand passion, and heard about it, but never came close to imagining what love was like until Craig. Sometimes he wondered if it was better to live half a life than live all or nothing with the tempestuous man beside him. Then he remembered just what a gift he had been given, and how nothing and no one in the world would ever take that away from him.

"Craig, please don't laugh at me, or tell me I sound like I'm up myself."

Craig looked over at him, blinking through his fatigue caused by the stressful, exhausting day.

"I just want you to know how much you mean to me. Before I met you, I was a...facade. What I thought the perfect son and athlete and brother was supposed to be. I had all the smart lines and never let my pain show. I was never really myself. I was scared of myself. With you, I'm me, no matter how much it hurts. Thank you for letting me..."

Craig interrupted him with a kiss, his long fingers curled in the back of John Paul's hair. A tender exchange which told John Paul more about Craig's feelings than Craig ever could with words. On many nights, the kiss would have led to much more, but they were both so tired. Both young men suspected the next day would bring them even more heartache and upheaval.

Until then, John Paul fell asleep in his lover's arms. And in those arms, he was at peace.

FIC: Father Figure (Hollyoaks) (1/2)

Thu, 08 Nov 2007 10:03:53 GMT

Title: Father Figure
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John Paul/Craig
Notes: This is the first part in a story that takes place if Craig had stayed in town and moved in with the McQueens. I'm writing this because the show barely touched on the relationship that John Paul had with his father, what he feels about his father. I didn't see most of the episodes that involve Craig and his father Johnno, and what their relationship was like. If any of you remember what their relationship was like, please let me know.

--

Life had been good for Craig and John Paul the past few months. They had faced Craig's worst fear - public exposure - and come out (no pun intended) stronger than ever. Craig had had to make some big sacrifices, sacrifices which hurt every time he saw his brother glaring at him or every time he saw the disappointment in his mother's eyes, but he'd finally realized he couldn't have everything in life. He had John Paul, and that's what mattered most.

While the boys attended HCC, they saved on dorm expenses by living with the McQueen brood. Since Steph was the only member of Craig's family who was currently speaking to him on a regular basis, she'd managed to "persuade" her boyfriend Max to give him some shifts at MOBS, meaning he was able to pay a small amount of room and board to Myra (as she insisted he call her) instead of feeling like a complete mooch. John Paul had befriended Katy Fox, and Warren was pleased enough at his sister hanging around a good influence that he gave John Paul plenty of gigs at the Loft.

John Paul kept their spare money hidden under his mattress. When Craig uneasily asked him about the chances of one of his many relatives or their acquaintances taking the cash, the response usually consisted of, "Won't happen," and, "I'll give 'em a thumping if they even try."

While they kept their hands off each other long enough to get ready for classes, Craig asked John Paul what he wanted to spend the money on.

"Thought it'd be good for a long weekend at a B&B, maybe sometime 'round Christmas. That way we can eat what we want and be as loud as we want."

Craig scoffed. "I'm not loud."

John Paul cast him a wary look. "Craig, last week Mum actually thought you were being stabbed."

"Well, I sort of was...in a good way."

John Paul usually couldn't resist that self-satisfied grin, and this morning was no exception. He was about to move in for a kiss when he heard the front door slam shut loud enough to break all the windows in the house. He was down the stairs in a flash, Craig following to see what McQueen melodrama was on the way next.

Jacqui, dressed in her Il Gnosh uniform, had even more of a snarl on her face than Craig was used to from her.

"Rat bastard," she muttered under her breath.

"Tell me what's wrong, luv." Myra quickly tried to be a comfort, but Jacqui brushed her away. Her hard features softened as she looked over at her baby brother.

"It's your Ricky."

Craig heard John Paul muttering, "He's not my Ricky," under his breath, and instinctively placed his arm around John Paul. Craig's beautiful and innocent John Paul had turned hardened and bitter in the space of a sentence.

"Yeah, well he was sniffing around Il Gnosh, saying he wants some contact with you, Chaela and Carmel. I almost gave my boot some contact with his privates."

Ricky Bowen was the father of the three fair-haired McQueen kids. He was a deadbeat unless he had a good reason for popping in, like using Michaela so he could steal their Christmas gifts, food, and even their tree.

John Paul had told Craig the bare bones of what his dad was like, but Craig wasn't quite expecting such a reaction. John Paul was so tense, Craig felt helpless as to how to make him feel better. John Paul had always been so strong for him, but there was so much about John Paul's own private pain that he'd never really understood, that John Paul kept so well-hidden.

The tense young man quickly shifted to a more flippant posture, casually shrugging away Craig's support.

"Just let him try to come by here. After what he did to 'chaela last year, what he did to m...to all of us, just let him."

John Paul then stormed upstairs with the body language of an iceberg. Craig could only stare at Jacqui and Myra, silently asking for answers he hoped they could give.

"Just leave him be, Craig," Jacqui whispered in a softer version of her usual ragged tone.

"I can't do that," Craig responded, surprised at the pain in his own voice. "If he's hurting, I hurt even worse."

Jacqui made a brief snarl, followed by a sour face, as if she was biting on her own tongue. Craig sensed she wanted to tell him what he already knew, that he had spent almost a year causing John Paul deep pain without thinking of the consequences.

Reminded of just how much of an outsider he still was to the family, Craig decided to end the conversation and go upstairs. John Paul was in the midst of kicking the mattress when Craig walked in.

"It's the money. He can smell it." John Paul laughed as his foot once again slammed against the bed, a mirthless laugh which made Craig want to cry.

"John Paul, let's talk about this."

John Paul whirled his neck over to face Craig, as if he'd finally remembered he was not the sad little boy constantly rejected or used by his father. For a moment his gaze softened, before the wall returned. Craig wondered how many people had hurt John Paul and then never cared about the consequences.

"I'm gonna be late."

Powerless to do anything else, Craig grabbed John Paul as he left with his supplies for the day. He planted his mouth against John Paul's, a halting kiss from one confused young man to another. They temporarily separated their mouths, staring into each other's eyes. Craig ran his hand down John Paul's cheek and moved in for another kiss, this one rougher, more passionate. They often knew how to communicate without words.

With a loud smack, their lips parted once and for all that morning. John Paul was on his way.

"We'll talk later," he promised Craig.

Craig would hold him to that promise. He would make this better for John Paul. He just had to figure out how.

--

Craig stood by the bridge, his scarf wafting in the breeze, his hands deep in his pockets. He was waiting or hoping to get to talk to John Paul privately before they returned to all the McQueen mania. Craig knew how much of a front John Paul had to put up in front of his family...and in front of Craig. Craig was determined to break that wall, even if a few heavy bricks came crashing down on his head. He had a hard head.

"Waiting for your lover?"

Few people could make the word "lover" sound so profane. Nancy had a gift. He stared out at the calming waters, not bothering to acknowledge her even with eye contact. He'd never really liked her very much, and now he had no reason to pretend otherwise. Nancy was constantly desperate for attention. The only way to hurt her was to treat her like she was invisible.

It worked.

"Well, I'm going to go have dinner with MY family. They don't want you anymore."

As she walked away, he congratulated himself on not sinking to her level. Not so long ago he would have descended into a screaming match. Unfortunately it didn't make him feel any less pain at being separated from the Deans. Thank God for Steph, or even Darren and Jack when they spoke to him, but he'd formed such tight bonds with his mum and Jake, he'd never realized how easily those could be shattered.

John Paul finally showed up long after Nancy had become a painful memory.

"Took you long enough."

John Paul shrugged. His expression implied he was mentally tap dancing around land mines. Craig was becoming very anxious, like the roles between him and John Paul had been reversed.

"John Paul..."

John Paul smiled, his eyes briefly vitalized with affection.

"I love the way you say my name."

Craig began to feel flush. The power of those eyes. Such a distraction. It wasn't going to work though.

"John Paul, I want...I NEED to know about your dad. I know you're in pain."

Craig knew how much John Paul cared about him, but he also knew that John Paul sectioned parts of himself few others could access. A defense mechanism. Their love had been so all-consuming that Craig almost felt cheated to feel any distance. He also wanted to ease John Paul's pain.

"This isn't about you, Craig. You can't make everything better."

Jolted out of his thoughts, Craig clasped John Paul's hand. John Paul looked down, obviously still slightly surprised Craig would touch him in public.

"I love you. Just because I can't help make up for your crap dad doesn't mean I need to be shut out."

John Paul yanked his hand away. Craig knew the other man was weakening.

"Whadya want to know? The time he showed up at my eighth birthday party drunk and with some slag on his arm? The time he gave me a puppy and a week later the cops came and told Mum that he'd nicked it out of somebody's yard? The times I went to the post day after day hoping to get a card or letter? The time he told Mum that she was such a whore there was no way she could prove me and Carmel and 'chaela were his kids? The time I found my piggy bank broken and my room stripped of everything but the mattress? The times I held Mum while she cried and waited for him to come back? The times I held 'chaela while she cried about how he'd fooled her? The times I cried and nobody held me cause Mum was too devastated at how he'd left her AGAIN and I was the man of the family and couldn't let anyone know what a burden that was for me?"

John Paul's eyes were beginning to brim with tears, even as made a forceful effort to blink them back. Craig wanted to take John Paul into his arms, but instead folded his arms into himself, too afraid of making the wrong move.

"I want you to tell me everything, John Paul. I need to know."

John Paul suddenly zeroed in on him with enough bitterness to decimate a small city.

"So that's what it's about. You get to be Superboyfriend and congratulate yourself on how nice and supportive you are. NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, CRAIG!!!!"

Shocked at the direct venom in John Paul's voice, Craig finally grabbed him in his arms.

"Dammit, this IS about me. I know how much you're hurting and I want to take that into myself and if that makes me a selfish bastard, then I'm a selfish bastard! Alright?"

Craig cupped John Paul's face in his hands, his lips pressed against John Paul's forehead.

"I know you hate him."

John Paul shook his head, choking back on his words.

"That's the worst part of it all. I do hate him, but he's my dad. I love him too. There are good memories. They hurt worse than the bad memories. I never wanted to give up on him, Craig. He made me...what I am. He..."

With that, John Paul couldn't speak any more. He turned to look at the view from the bridge and have time to himself. Craig tried his best to leave him alone, but slowly the stoic front turned to quiet sobs.

He held his hand over John Paul's, trying to give John Paul some reassurance.

"Tell me."

John Paul couldn't look at him, and snorted back his tears.

"I can't say it. I can't."

Craig took John Paul in his arms again, his hands against John Paul's temples, their foreheads pressed together.

"Tell me."

There was another long pause, Craig wiping John Paul's tears, John Paul finding the strength to say what he'd barely told anyone, least of all himself.

"I've always heard...people say, the people that hate people like me, that want to 'cure' people like me, they say you get gay if you're from a broken home. Or if your dad didn't love you. Or your mum loved you too much. When I started to figure out what I was, I wondered if it'd be different if I'd had a mum and a dad who were both there. I still...I know it's so stupid and wrong and cheers for gay pride and all that, but if I'd had a better dad, I might be...I might be..."

He buried his head in Craig's neck, quietly crying into his rock, completely spent as his secret was finally spoken out loud. Craig felt such shame radiating from John Paul, so much that Craig's own eyes filled with tears. He knew now the hurt coursing through John Paul's veins. He patted John Paul's blonde hair, his voice a reassuring whisper.

"Hey, mate, even if you were straight, you'd never have been able to resist me, right? 'Sides, John Paul, what you are is so special. Whether it's biology or where you grew up, you're the strongest, bravest, best man I know. You've got so much to be proud of, John Paul."

He felt such strong hate for Ricky now, just as John Paul did, for putting John Paul through this. Yet he also realized that different circumstances would have made John Paul someone other than the man he loved. Craig's own home life had not been the easiest, but Craig put his own relationship choices more on fate and chemistry than anything else. He'd never imagined his self-confident, out and proud John Paul might harbor such doubts about himself. Or perhaps he'd convinced himself that John Paul was the one who always knew more, who always had more strength. It brought back flashes of when John Paul had come out, when Craig had greeted him with fists and words of hate. Craig held John Paul tighter, wondering if he could ever make up for those dark days.

Soon, John Paul broke himself away from Craig's neck, hurriedly wiping his eyes.

"Please don't tell Mum, or anyone, I said that."

Craig understood.

"This is you and me, John Paul. Nobody else. Nobody."

Craig was crushed at seeing his boyfriend's pain, yet also somehow, in some way, pleased that John Paul had cared enough to tell him what he would never confide in anyone else.

He was surprised when John Paul let out a somewhat hoarse chuckle.

"What is it?"

"Oh, that it takes me being a blubbering fool to get you to treat me this way in public. The whole town's probably staring at us."

Craig looked around at the basically empty streets or the people who were distracted by their own troubles. But he knew John Paul wanted reassurance.

"Wait'll they get a load of this."

He kissed John Paul, sweet and simple yet telling all the world, most of all, John Paul McQueen, that they were together and nothing would ever tear them apart.

It was a beautiful, beautiful moment, one Craig wanted to keep hold of forever.

It couldn't last.

"Son?"

John Paul's blood froze to Craig's touch as the strange man called out to them. Their embrace broke away as John Paul, his eyes red and swollen, turned to face Ricky Bowen.

"Dad."

FIC: How Will You Make It On Your Own?

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 23:00:44 GMT

Title: How Will You Make It On Your Own?
Pairing: Rhys/Gilly
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This is the sequel to my first R/G story, Broken (http://jacosta3.livejournal.com/5426.html). This is mainly from Gilly's point of view. I hope you enjoy. I'd appreciate any comments you have.

Gilly could remember what his life had been like before the Ashworths.

He just didn't want to remember.

He'd been a gawky kid when he'd first started going around to their home for meals. Meals had turned into overnight visits. Soon he'd moved in. His family hadn't missed him. They'd been relieved to see him go.

Josh and Hannah had been his ideal kid brother and sister. Neville and Suzanne had been his mum and dad. Rhys had been...

Now Gilly wasn't sure what they were to him. He still cared about them, but he knew once and for all he was an outsider. No amount of nice gifts or shoulders to cry on could make up for the lack of blood ties. When he'd told them something was wrong with Hannah, they hadn't believed him. When Hannah had falsely accused him of touching her, Rhys, without even a second thought or doubt, had punched Gilly. Gilly put his hand to his face as he remembered the bitter salty taste of tears and blood mingling in his mouth.

What had hurt even more than the punch was when Gilly had realized he wasn't even shocked Rhys had wanted to hurt him, that Rhys had refused to believe him. Gilly had sat alone that day, the loneliest day of his life, shaken to the core that he couldn't even act shocked at just how worthless he was in Rhys' eyes.

That Rhys hardly bore a resemblance to the Rhys who'd groped him yesterday, who'd consumed him with every glance and every touch. Rhys had changed so much over the past year, but Gilly had never expected Rhys to kiss him. To touch Gilly...there. To make Gilly...oh God, even the flashbacks to what had happened with Rhys were making him squirm. In the middle of the Dog. Not exactly a great place for sex memories. Or whatever he'd done with Rhys.

Gilly blew his hair out of his eyes, his hands wrapped tightly around the ice cold lager he was about halfway done with. He still couldn't get that moment out of his head. He'd wanted to try to make Rhys feel better, to understand his pain, and then it had turned into something else. Something insane. What they'd done had been so rushed, and sleazy, and awkward, and had potentially destroyed any friendship they'd ever had. But it had also felt GOOD. Being touched that way. The desperation in Rhys' grasp, the softness of Rhys' mouth, his cool hands against Gilly's warm chest, the way Rhys made him needed, desired. To ever do that again could throw away their friendship, but had they ever been friends? Did Rhys ever care about him, or had he just been using him? Wasn't this simply being used in a different way? Would Gilly be better off enjoying what he could with Rhys while he had a chance, before Rhys went back to seeing him as something to scrape off the bottom of a shoe?

Gilly downed the rest of his pint. This was too much thinking.

Gilly wasn't a thinker. He wasn't a moron - no matter what other people might say - he just didn't see the point of overplanning. He'd known other people who had their wedding dates or their university choices or the names and ages of their kids all planned out years in advance, only to be decimated by the latest explosion, fire, car crash, murder, secret love affair, or rape which seemed to pervade the people of Chester. Gilly just wanted to enjoy each new day as something exciting, like a footy game, or a fresh packet of crisps, or pillaging Rhys in an epic battle of Halo.

He knew the way most people felt about him. That he was the dumbest person in the room. He liked to tell himself he didn't care, but he did. He wanted to be liked, and to do the right thing. There was no "right thing" here. Either way, their relationship would never be the same. Their relationship wasn't the same anymore anyway. Rhys had always been the one who had everything together, he was the looker, the ladies loved him, he could charm anyone into anything. Gilly was supposed to be lucky to even be in his presence, and to get a cool surrogate family in the bargain. He was supposed to do anything to fit in with them.

Now he hardly recognized them, especially Rhys. What did that make Gilly? Was he like the lead on that old American sitcom with the bird throwing her hat in the air? "How will you make it on your own". They did have the same type of hair, after all.

Gilly didn't have any answers. Even the questions made his head hurt. So all he could do was stay away. At least until he figured things out.

Or that was the plan at least.

While he was sitting near the fountain, trying to bury himself in a bench, he turned his mobile back on.

So many texts. All from the same person. Gilly was tempted to erase all of them, just erase everything until he was all alone. He'd been all alone before. Not the worst thing in the world. Maybe better than this.

Gilly tried to come up with some justification for looking at the last text, but there was none. He just went to his instincts.

The text was to the point.

"i need u"

Gilly blinked back his tears at that text, staring at the words for endless moments. At what arrogant, proud, cocky Rhys must be going through to ever send him such a message. At the shame he felt that somewhere deep down, he was pleased at how much Rhys needed him. Pleased and frightened.

Before Gilly could change his mind, he dialed the familiar number. Rhys probably wouldn't even talk about what had happened between them. Gilly hoped Rhys wouldn't bring it up, yet also hoped he would. The overriding thought was that no matter happened, he had to help his friend.

That's what Gilly was there for.

FIC: Empty Roads (1/1) (Brothers & Sisters)

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 20:08:12 GMT

Title: Empty Roads
Rating: PG
Characters: Tommy
Summary: This is set around the time of the current episodes (season 2 episode 4). Tommy thinks about what his life has become. This is a very loose interpretation of the Songfic flashfic challenge (http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/1073106.html?view=8047826) by http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/

Starting on Tommy's thirteenth birthday, his father took him out, once a week, or once every other week, to drive on an empty, useless plot of land owned by Ojai. They used a beat-up pickup truck, blue paint peeling off, a truck older than most of William's kids. The stated goal was to teach Tommy to learn how to drive, but Tommy never really learned all that much. He just enjoyed being behind the wheel, being given the responsibility, having something he could control in a sea of pimples and hormones and wondering if his parents loved his brothers and sisters more than they loved him. He could put his whole life between gas and brake and watch the dust floating up from the barren dirt roads and feel like he had all the power in the world.

He sat in his jeep now, in the parking lot of the drug store where those dirt roads used to be, and pondered going to see Julia, mused over some fantasy scenario where she would tell him how much she loved and needed him. A nice fantasy, but no matter how fast he drove or how much dirt he turned up, he'd still feel like the most powerless man alive.

Of all his siblings, he'd never been the wittiest, or the most charismatic, or the one with the most glamorous personal problems, or the one everybody turned to in a crisis. All he could do was try to be the most solid, give them the least reason to feel he needed them. He knew his family often bounced off the walls surrounding him, but they'd trapped him in those walls in the first place. He wasn't upset, or angry; that's just the way things were.

Tommy had thought he could wait for a family of his own and then he'd be important, he'd be needed. Instead, he was impotent, in every sense of the word. All the glasses of scotch or business deals in the world couldn't blot out the look on Julia's face as she'd left with her parents. In her eyes, he was worthless. He'd seen that look so many times before in his life, usually from people who didn't know how obvious they were being, but from her, it hurt. No matter how much he tried to remind himself Julia needed help, all he could remember her for was being the woman who told him he had killed their son.

Getting used to the sound of car doors opening and shutting as people filed in and out for their prescriptions and discount Halloween supplies, Tommy was lulled into the closest he'd gotten to sleep in quite some time. Sometime later, the sound of an incoming text woke him from an uncomfortable position.

"C U soon...L"

Lena. Sometimes he still expected to hate himself for being with Lena. Every time he touched her, he expected to see visions of his mother hovering over his head, shrieking at him about being just like his father. Instead, he felt nothing. He had no real feelings for Lena, no responsibilities, nothing. She was a nice person who didn't have to understand him, didn't have to care, she just had to be there. Not judging him. Not making him feel like a disappointment.

He wiped his tired eyes and fished out Lena's home address from some scrap of paper put in his pocket. He was happy he at least had somewhere to go.

At least until he made her hate him, too.

FIC: Halloween (1/1) (Hollyoaks, John Paul/Craig)

Sat, 27 Oct 2007 22:19:51 GMT

Title: Halloween
Pairing: John Paul/Craig
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This is just a quick PWP I wrote, probably not a masterpiece. It's set around the time of the current episodes, but in this version, John Paul and Craig are still together and still living in Chester.

--

Every day was Halloween in Hollyoaks. Masks, deceptions, double lives...people dressed in crazy outfits. But on that one day, residents could flaunt their flaws instead of being ashamed of them.

This had been a very scary year for John Paul McQueen and Craig Dean, but like the survivors of a horror film, the boys came out stronger and closer together than ever before. The true unending horror for Craig began the day he moved into the McQueen household, but for all the noise and lack of privacy and bodily threats if he ever hurt "our John Paul", he enjoyed how much they cared. Better to have people care too much than not at all.

Craig was sitting on John Paul's bed ("my bed now, too", Craig reminded himself), waiting for his boyfriend to return from the library. Finally, he heard the front door open and heard that lilting voice casually chatting with various siblings and Myra. When his footsteps neared the bedroom door, Craig called out.

"Oi, John Paul, I wanna show you the costume you picked for me!"

John Paul was confused, but knew Craig had a strange sense of humor.

Strange enough, apparently, that John Paul's books clattered to the floor as soon as he entered the room.

"Craig..."

Craig was dressed in little more than a white bedsheet trussed up into an amateurishly made toga. All that John Paul loved most about Craig physically - his sexy football player's legs, his perfect six-pack abdominals, his broad shoulders, the nipples so tempting to the teeth and tongue - were highlighted. The beaming smile on Craig's face told John Paul just how happy he was with his design. Although Craig was wearing underpants, John Paul quickly noticed Craig was indeed very, very happy to see him.

It took most of John Paul's concentration to not throw his lover on the bed right then, but his confusion won out over his hormones.

"Craig, I didn't tell you to get this costume."

Craig's grin turned to befuddlement. Soon a note was shoved into John Paul's hand.

"Michaela told me you had this in mind. You would be my slave, she said. And she gave me this, your handwriting and everything."

Shaking his head, John Paul scanned the note. He didn't want to laugh, really, but he couldn't help himself.

"Craig, our 'chaela's a first-rate forger. She made all this up. It's a joke."

Craig wasn't in a laughing mood, proven as one of his fists slammed into his palm.

"Why that little..."

John Paul shot him a warning glance. The McQueens could trash each other all day, but no one else had the right.

"...prankster. Ain't she adorable?" Craig gritted through a forced smile.

Craig's tensions were eased with John Paul's soft hands massaging his shoulders, John Paul's soothing tones soft in his ear.

"Just means she's accepted you, that's all. She only does stuff like this to people she cares about. I'll have a talk with her if..."

"No, no. It's alright. I've had worse days."

John Paul smirked as his expert hands began to slide lower down Craig's exposed back.

"I just bet. You love this, don't you?"

Craig whimpered out a half-hearted no, but John Paul's dirty chuckle reduced his defensiveness.

"Gimme a break, Craig. The thought of parading around town half-naked, everyone getting an eyeful of that gorgeous body you spend so many hours perfecting, everybody wishing they could touch you or be you, everyone wanting a piece of your tasty arse...that doesn't get you going?"

The bad thing about this outfit was when Craig blushed, he blushed all over. Instead of responding to an obvious question, Craig just grabbed John Paul's erection through his trousers, smirking at the loud gasp from the other man.

"Sure gets YOU going, you dirty bastard! Guess I'm the only jealous type in this relationship. You just wanna make me into a whore, huh?"

John Paul licked his lips through a smirk as Craig continued his hand ministrations, slowly unfastening John Paul's trousers to fish out his cock. His head on Craig's shoulder, nuzzling his neck, and his own hands sliding Craig's boxers slowly down his legs.

"Yeah, Craig. I do wanna show you off. That's my compensation for my boyfriend being such a royal PRAT all the time."

They shared a good laugh even as their bodies were charged from increasing desire.

John Paul paused for a moment to get some baby oil, his next few sentences delivered in a husky whisper.

"'Sides, at the end of the day, you're my whore. You're all mine."

Craig threw his head back to meet John Paul for a kiss. John Paul was coy.

"Mine," he muttered into Craig's long neck.

"Mine," he breathed against Craig's strong jawline.

"Mine," he kissed into Craig's full mouth.

Craig managed to snare him for a passionate pash before John Paul very reluctantly pulled away and stood beside the bed. Craig gulped at John Paul's full-on stare, the ocean tides dragging him underneath. Craig had never had anyone else look at him with such overpowering want and love and need. He'd do anything for those eyes.

John Paul pulled him off the bed to stand in his toga in front of the full-length mirror.

"What is a gladiator without baby oil?"

The cool liquid felt so good against Craig's bare skin. He was transfixed by his mirror image as John Paul methodically applied the oil to his naked pectorals and abs, biceps, and finally, crouching down, to Craig's well-muscled thighs and down his legs. Most of John Paul's self-control was sapped away as he somehow managed to avoid Craig's mouthful as it bobbed through the fabric of the toga.

Craig studied his reflection. He looked silly, he FELT silly, but he also felt fucking hot. He'd been the family bookworm, the nerd, the geek who was supposed to be lucky if he'd found some poor girl willing to settle for him. Instead, he had John Paul, who truly loved him, wanted him, had sacrificed for him, and made him feel like the sexiest man alive.

His train of thought was suddenly derailed as he heard the snaps of a camera phone.

"Hey!"

John Paul smiled as he circled his Roman Romeo.

"I couldn't resist."

Part of John Paul's lewd grin was based on his fleeting fantasy of showing his sisters the photos just to prove to them he had a fitter man than they'd ever catch.

As if Craig read his thoughts, the camera was quickly snatched away.

"NO ONE WILL SEE THESE PHOTOS. If they do, then I WILL kill you. Slowly and painfully. Lots and lots of torture. Lots..."

Craig trailed off as he watched John Paul kick off his shoes and socks and tug off his t-shirt. While undoing his pants, John Paul also flashed a dirty smirk at his partner.

"Can you grant me a last request?"

Sensing what that request was, Craig dropped his homemade toga to the floor beside John Paul's discarded clothes. The breath was knocked out of them both as Craig tackled him onto the bed. They were naked and well past the point of foreplay. Their desperate hands, mouths, and bodies knew this wouldn't last long. Fortunately they had all night for seconds, thirds, fourths...

Craig reached for the baby oil and slathered a generous portion into his hand. Coating his erection, he reached out to do the same for John Paul. He straddled John Paul, holding both their manhoods in his warm, eager hand. John Paul bucked his hips as his entire being transferred to the thickness between his legs. Craig was in control, which John Paul was both satisfied and frustrated with. He kept his gaze on Craig, Craig staring at him with those commanding brown eyes. Telling him to give all he had. Telling him to let go.

With a guttural cry, John Paul gave in, the friction of Craig's cock against his making him shoot his load all over his stomach and Craig's hand. With John Paul fully sated, Craig then came, shuddering as those blue eyes spied on the most intimate moment a man can have.

He collapsed on the bed beside John Paul, kissing between John Paul's pecs and up to his Adam's Apple.

"I win," he wearily smirked. John Paul just kissed his forehead and let Craig's head settle into his chest.

"Always a competition to you, huh," he whispered into Craig's hair.

Craig didn't have to answer.

--

After a short nap and afterglow, John Paul vanished to the bathroom for an inordinately long amount of time. Craig was getting horny again, and very impatient. When he was about to ask what was going on, John Paul yelled from the other side of the door.

"I want you to see my costume for the party they're throwing at Subar!"

John Paul walked out of the bathroom in time to Craig's jaw dropping.

He was wearing a short brown wig he'd borrowed from the drama department, tight grey slacks, and...

"My jumper! My snowflake jumper! You bastard, you told me to throw that out!! Said it was too ugly to keep!"

John Paul shrugged sheepishly.

"It is! C'mon, Craig, I thought it'd be good for a laugh. We're pretty much the same size, might as well take advantage of it."

Craig didn't have much to say. He was equal parts annoyed, flattered, and amused. Finally, he stood in front of the mirror, his naked body in contrast to John Paul's costumed version of him.

"I suppose I can go as myself. Can't improve on perfection."

He flexed as John Paul rolled his eyes in the background. After a few more moments of self-admiration, he slipped on one of John Paul's green t-shirts, followed by a pair of his pants, completing the look with headphones around his neck.

"Not bad. Now I can just get a blonde wig, and walk around with a glazed 'sensitive' look on my face like I'm deep in thought on the next act of my musical deejay genius. Or like I'm really baked."

Craig offered his best imitation. John Paul whipped off his wig and threw it at Craig.

"I do NOT look like that!"

In the midst of chuckling, Craig noticed a deeply angry glare on John Paul's face. So much so he was afraid he'd taken his joke too far.

"I'm sorry, John Paul. I was just going along, honestly."

John Paul exchanged his glare for a grin.

"That was the Craig Dean Special. When you look at me that way I'm afraid I'll have to call in the cavalry."

Relieved, Craig then scratched his head.

"I don't look like that...do I?"

Mock-mournfully, John Paul nodded. For once, Craig was speechless.

They then stood together in front of the mirror, fascinated by the strange yet familiar reflections, pondering just how much had changed in their lives the past year.

"Hey..."

John Paul turned to Craig, waiting for a profound comment.

"We could always go as Jacqui and Mercedes."

John Paul shook his head.

"Yeah, then enter witness protection once they find out."

Their eyes turned around the same time to the toga left near the bed. Craig nudged John Paul.

"Hey, Mr. We're-the-same-size, get in it."

"Why?"

"Cause I need blackmail to make sure you don't show off my goods to the whole town. Then I'd have too many suitors, and that doesn't suit me. I'm a one-man man."

John Paul dutifully complied, disrobing as the clicks of the camera phone filled the air.

The things he did for love.

FIC: Broken (Hollyoaks) (Gilly/Rhys)

Wed, 24 Oct 2007 20:30:42 GMT

Title: Broken
Pairing: Rhys/Gilly
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Just a story I dashed out based on some of the recent episodes. I'm not sure if it will continue or not, let me know what you think.

-

When Rhys had first arrived in Chester, he'd had everything. He hadn't realized it at the time, of course, but now he did.

Rhys ground his face into his pillow, trying to remember the time when his biggest problem had been shagging Sarah Barnes and her mother. When he'd known who his father was. When his sister was that cute, funny girl who wasn't puking her guts up. When...

*knock*

Rhys put the pillow over his head, not even bothering to tell them to go away.

He hated Beth. Hated her for making him care about a woman. Hated her for making love with him when he wanted to take things slow for the first time in his life. Hated her for being his sister. Most of all, he hated her because even now, even when she was his flesh and blood instead of his fantasy girl...he still wanted her. He felt sick, and dirty, but no amount of guilt made his desires go away.

*knock knock*

The heel of Rhys' palm began to grind into his left temple. Sometimes he wondered if he could just beat her out of his mind. He'd tried avoiding her, he'd tried drinking, he'd tried flirting with other girls. Thoughts of shoving a knife into his skull never seemed far away. It couldn't hurt any worse than the pain he carried with him now.

*knock knock knock*

Rhys finally just swung the door open, answering in his boxers.

On the other side of the door was Gilly, his old friend. Even with Gilly's bangs falling into his deep blue eyes, Rhys could still see the pity swimming in them. Unexpectedly, Rhys choked back a sob.

Gilly shut the door behind him and just stared at Rhys, his mouth hanging open as he tried to figure out what to say. Like some charity worker coming 'round to see if Rhys would have a proper Christmas. One of the reasons Rhys had befriended Gilly all those years ago was that he always knew he'd be smarter than Gilly, funnier than Gilly, better looking than Gilly, more popular with the ladies than Gilly. He couldn't take Gilly's pity. Anything but that.

"Don't look at me like that, Gilly. Please."

He couldn't look Gilly in the eye.

Rhys knew Gilly had been expecting some anger, some insults, a smirky facade. Gilly was so used to being insulted, he didn't know how to cope with anything else. Gilly fidgeted. Rhys could tell Gilly wanted to share a hug, but couldn't quite go through with his instincts.

"We're worried 'bout ya. All of us."

Rhys had no response. What was he supposed to say? Thank you?

"Told ya, I've told ALL of ya, I'm fine."

Gilly ran his long fingers through his hair, sifting like a fork in a spaghetti bowl. Rhys had never seen Gilly look so frustrated.

"You're not fine! Something's happened, Rhys. I know this has been a bad year, but c'mon..."

The anger coursed through Rhys. He was both pained and relieved to realize he could still feel anything beyond a dull ache.

"What do you know, huh? You got your life all sorted out. You know who you are, no matter how pathetic that is. My whole fucking life's a lie. It's a lie, Gilly. Why do you even care? You think you're gonna be a real member of our family if you pretend to give a fuck about me?"

Rhys felt as if he'd have hurt Gilly less if he'd punched him in the kidneys. Still, Gilly wouldn't leave. Even with the tears brimming from his eyes.

"We're mates, Rhys. You're my best friend."

At that point, Rhys turned his back on his friend. Better than to turn his back than for Gilly to see him cry. Rhys squinted his eyes shut, shoving his palms into his eyes, waiting for the click of the door shutting.

Instead, long arms encircled his waist. Long fingers resting on his bare midsection. Through the shaggy hair hanging over his ears, he heard Gilly's whisper.

"It's just us. Promise. No one else. I promise. Tell me. Please. Please."

"I can't."

"Please, Rhys. Please. Please. Please..."

Slowly, Rhys turned around to face his friend. His friend who remained so innocent and pure, the light to Rhys' darkness. He wanted to tell Gilly about Beth. He almost did. But if he said out loud what he'd done with Beth, he knew he'd die. He knew Gilly's pitying stares would turn to disgust and Rhys would lose the one last sure thing in his life.

All he could think of was Beth, and how she'd corrupted his soul. Gilly was so different from what she'd turned out to be. Gilly was good. Gilly was there for him. He'd always been there.

Their faces were pressed so close together, sharing breaths, sharing pain. Their tears mingled as Gilly tried to absorb what he could not fully understand. Without quite realizing what he was doing, Rhys tasted Gilly's tears on his lips and tongue. He needed more. He kissed Gilly, his best friend, his sycophant, his superior, now his lover.

When Rhys kissed Gilly, he had no idea if Gilly protested. His mouth was pressed tight to his friend's thin lips. Gilly's hands were pressed against Rhys' bare chest, torn between pulling him in and pushing him away. Rhys didn't know what he was doing, and he didn't really care. His hands were in Gilly's hair, holding him tight, keeping their half-naked and fully clothed bodies entwined.

He'd never thought about what it was like to make out with his best friend, with the man he'd so often humiliated and degraded and taken for granted. Soon he felt Gilly give way, Gilly's warm, hot mouth open for Rhys' desperate tongue. The confused, heavy hands on Rhys' pecs gave way to more tender caresses.

Gilly was a good kisser. Very giving. What else would Gilly ever be? Their kisses were sloppy but determined, as if they knew they were on borrowed time. Every time Rhys tasted Gilly's tongue or put his hands under Gilly's sweater, he thought less about what his life had become and less about...her.

Gilly pulled away, gasping for breath. Confused and barely in control of himself, he tried to meet Rhys' grey, haunted eyes. Rhys couldn't let him in again. Visions of stopping, talking, angsting all ran through Rhys' head. Gilly would ask him what he was doing and they were only friends and then Rhys would go back to being alone and in pain.

Finally, Rhys shoved his hand down Gilly's pants.

Rhys ignored whatever Gilly was trying to tell him. All he could concentrate on was sifting through the layers of clothes, finding the shaft heavy in his hand.

"Rhys...stop."

Rhys wasn't sure why, but the grunt from his friend as Rhys began to jerk him off made him smile. Gilly was so close, he probably hadn't had anyone touch him in a long time, the complaints had been replaced by...

Somehow, feeling his best friend's cock ejaculating in his grasp shocked Rhys back to reality. He pulled his hand free and washed it, then handed Gilly a washcloth. From time to time he tried to look at Gilly, hoping to show him remorse, but he didn't feel remorse. He didn't feel anything. Except for the dull ache beginning to creep up again.

Gilly took the washcloth, silently cleaning himself up. A long, awkward silence, eventually broken when his hand began to turn the doorknob.

"Feel better now, Rhys?"

Said with such a sad tinge of curiosity, longing, and bitterness. Rhys wanted to stay quiet. This had been bad enough already.

"Yes."

Rhys turned his back. He couldn't face Gilly. Both men knew he'd told a lie, but lies were all Rhys knew. Lies and cruel betrayals. The one person he knew he could trust was Gilly, and now...

"Oh God, Gilly, I'm so sorry, I..."

Rhys realized the room was empty. He was alone. Again.

Maybe he was better off that way.

FIC: Familiar Stranger (1/2)

Thu, 18 Oct 2007 15:18:09 GMT

Title: Familiar Stranger
Pairing: John Paul McQueen/Todd Grimshaw
Rating: PG-13
Note: This story is a crossover with "Coronation Street". Since Todd is back on Corrie for a little bit, I couldn't help thinking about what would happen if he ever met John Paul. If you have anything to say, please let me know! The second part should be out in a few days.

--

Maybe it was the sweater.

John Paul was in the Dog, listening to his HCC mates talk about some party. Or had he been until he realized he was the only one at the table. He remembered them asking him if he wanted to go, and he assumed the word "no" had come out of his mouth at some point, because they'd all left.

John Paul was concentrating on a very quiet man who was also by himself, only he'd been alone the entire time. He'd been nursing the same drink for what seemed like hours, all while he seemed to be staring into his own private universe. He was wearing a hideous, hideous red cardi that made him look like a color blind grandfather. The shirt underneath didn't look much better. Even Craig had better taste in cardis.

The young man with no fashion sense certainly wasn't the fittest choice around, but John Paul could find plenty of overmuscled nobodies prowling around campus if that's what he wanted. No, there was something different about this man. Something deeply intense, yet innocent and kind. He looked like he had a story to tell, a story John Paul could understand. His short dark hair offset his somewhat paunchy face in an unflattering manner, but brought attention to his deep, dark eyes. John Paul would do anything for deep, dark eyes.

Before John Paul lost his nerve, he walked up to the stranger. The other man jumped slightly, almost as if he'd suddenly realized he was in a roomful of people. John Paul tried to offer a reassuring smile.

"Sorry 'bout that. Name's John Paul McQueen."

The stranger looked John Paul up and down in a way which seemed completely normal, yet had the undertones of something more.

"Todd Grimshaw."

After a pause, he extended his hand, somewhat clumsily, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. Their handshake lingered just a second too long.

"Can I join you?"

Todd managed a combination of a nod and a shrug, leaving John Paul to occupy a space adjacent to him at the small table. The noise in the room had gotten so loud that John Paul only heard every other word as Todd tried to talk to him.

"...so that's how I ended up here for the night."

John Paul patched together something about Todd leaving for a trip at the last minute and stopping in Chester for the night because he was nervous about getting in too soon.

"So you were in a rush then?"

"Yeah."

Letting his lager intake push him into camp mode, John Paul ran his relatively bleary line of vision up and down Todd's mismatched wardrobe.

"That explains the getup."

Todd simultaneously blushed and winced, but when he saw the affection in John Paul's sparkling blue eyes, he let out a big laugh. John Paul saw this flirtation, conversation, whatever it was, as a distraction, as something new, but Todd reminded him so much of some combination of the men who'd occupied John Paul's life for what seemed like forever but then ended in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if Spike and Craig were put together in one body, only Todd was not quite that easy to categorize.

"Me boyfriend practically threw me out when I told him I was going back home for a visit, so I had to grab anything I could find."

Todd's mouth hung open a few seconds after he finished his sentence, as he realized he'd just come out to a stranger. John Paul could see the wheels turning as Todd then realized John Paul sitting down and having this conversation with him was pretty gay in itself. Still, they were in a public place, and Todd's eyes seemed to lose some of their luster.

"Sorry mate...I still get a bit anxious in public places, saying it, I mean. Maybe not when I know where I am, but not in a strange place, and..."

John Paul knew.

"I've had some bad experiences of my own with this pub."

Instinctively, he squeezed Todd's hand. He looked over towards the bar and saw the prat formerly known as Jake Dean shooting his usual sneer in John Paul's direction.

"Why don't we go someplace else?"

--

The streets were mostly empty and the stars were beautiful, so Todd and John Paul ended up sitting on a bench, watching the street light flicker in and out. It was oddly relaxing. John Paul felt very comfortable with Todd, a complete stranger. He didn't have to prove anything, didn't have to make a big impression, or hide what he was feeling. It was the most liberated John Paul had felt in a long time, because he didn't have to be liberated at all.

"Going back to see me mam. Well, me brother's having a stag 'do and I'm on the invite list, much to my surprise. We didn't part on the best of terms and I want to change that. But I mostly want to see mam again, I know she misses having me around."

"Must be nice though, never having to worry she'll come bounding around the corner, telling you all about how to fix your life and shaking her fist at anyone who looks at you funny."

The forlorn look on Todd's face told John Paul he wouldn't get the answer he wanted.

"Nah. I miss her. You don't know what you got 'til it's gone, like the song says."

John Paul didn't say anything. He knew he'd feel the same way if he left town, no matter how overbearing his mother could be.

"So you ever feel like you're the only gay in the village?"

John Paul laughed.

"At first, yeah, but not now. Well, sometimes I still do. People are cool here, long as you remember your limits. That's the hard part. I sorta made a spectacle outta myself not long ago..."

Todd put on a half-smile of sympathy, and as John Paul had done for him earlier, squeezed his hand.

"Before I left Weatherfield, it got to the point where I couldn't even leave me own home. If people weren't hurling abuse my way, they were eyeing me like I was a science experiment gone wrong. A real live poof, what will they think of next!"

Todd was so animated and jumpy. At first John Paul wrote it off as camp, then he realized that like him, Todd was just so relieved to have someone to talk to.

"So, Todd...if you don't mind my asking...when did you know?"

Todd was quiet for a few moments.

"I guess maybe part of me knew for a long time. Didn't really kick in 'til I got drunk and kissed my girlfriend Sarah's brother. She should've kicked me out for good, would've done us both good. Instead..."

John Paul groaned. Todd looked down with a mixture of shame and resignation.

"I know, ain't one of my finest moments."

John Paul mentally kicked himself for how he'd made Todd feel. Not really thinking of what he was doing, he ran his fingers down Todd's cheek.

"No, I just feel like we're both in the same bad script."

John Paul told him about falling in love with Craig, Craig kissing him when they were drunk, Craig having a girlfriend named Sarah. Discussing this with someone who could understand, someone who had been there, yet someone who had no emotional investment in the situation was a release for John Paul. Finally, he got to the part about trapping Craig during his engagement party at the Dog.

Todd's reaction was sympathy for his new friend, but also a look of what John Paul could almost interpret as envy.

"At least nobody was hurt."

Before John Paul could object to that statement, Todd went on unburdening himself.

"I really did believe I was straight. I did good after that, for months. Then I met a bloke at work. His name was Karl. He loved to wind me up and tell me how gay I was. He'd give me those looks and I'd just melt. Most of all he just loved me. Once I met him, I knew I was gay. Just about the first time I laid eyes on him, way he made me feel...no girl'd ever done that. Not even close. I made love with him. That's what it was. I never knew sex could feel that good. But I had a duty. I'd made a baby and that's what my priority was gonna be. I told Karl we were done. Hardest day of my life...up to that point."

Todd paused for a moment, blinking back tears, tears glistening in the lamplight. His hands trembled, knotting as he remembered those dark days.

"I couldn't go on any longer with the lie, even though I'd given up the man I loved. Sarah was in the last few months of her pregnancy when I told her. I thought I was doing her a favor. Me a favor. Oh, noble Todd, honesty's the best policy. I broke her heart, and then she went back to work even though she wasn't supposed to, she was already having problems, and we lost our baby...my son...I...oh God it's been over three bloody years, I thought I'd gotten over this already, and I still..."

John Paul pulled Todd to him, hugging him tight, letting Todd cry on his shoulder, trying to absorb some of his pain. In the back of his mind, he thought of what had happened with Craig and Sarah, and was so relieved that at least no children had been involved. He couldn't say anything to help Todd, all he could do was offer his support, his strength. They sat there for many moments until finally Todd gathered himself together, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. John Paul was a more gentle touch, rubbing his thumbs underneath Todd's big, sad, wet eyes, helping remove the tears.

Todd looked so ashamed at what he'd said to a complete stranger that John Paul tried for a joke.

"Hey, we both learned a good lesson. Our lives will be perfect as long as we avoid anyone named Sarah."

Todd laughed, more because he needed a laugh than anything else. Then he tried to change the subject, babbling about everything and nothing.

John Paul didn't want to stare, but all he could notice was what a lush mouth Todd had. He felt such a comfort with Todd. He knew the more he got to know Todd, the more that comfort might be replaced with the same complicated feelings he had already had for other men in his life, but this was probably the last night he would ever even see Todd Grimshaw.

As Todd still went on about something or other, John Paul kissed him. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew Todd had some of the softest lips he'd ever tasted. Todd seemed surprised at first, but did nothing to stop John Paul, and soon began actively kissing the younger man.

They had every reason to not take this further. They were almost complete strangers. Todd was living with someone. John Paul was on the rebound. They might get hurt.

Yet, as they left the bench and locked eyes one more time, they both knew how this night would end.

FIC: Transitions and Confessions (1/1) (Hollyoaks)

Tue, 02 Oct 2007 18:31:51 GMT

Title: Transitions and Confessions
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Max/OB, although John Paul is in there and still thinking about Craig
Summary: This one is a bit choppy, a lot of going back and forth. It took me a while to figure out what to say, pacing, etc. The story should be winding down with a few chapters. I know this story is a bit of a mess, but please, any comments, I'd love to read them.

"Do you think Posh will change if she stays in the States? Will she still be our Posh?"

OB said something. He couldn't remember what, but he desperately hoped it wasn't what he was thinking, which was, SHUT THE FU...

"Did you SEE Chanelle from Big Brother? She's the world's biggest Posh fan. How sad. Even dresses like her. At least get your own style if you're going to be in the spotlight. Don't waste those 15 minutes."

OB assumed Max must have had some grand idea in mind to make him and Tom sit down with Steph for a dinner, but Tom was already fast asleep at the table. OB envied him.

"You know I was gonna go on Celebrity Big Brother. Darren said he'd a gotten call from Davina herself. I have a fan base...somewhere, after what Joe Jones did to me. Then they told us the show was on rest for a series. I would have won, too."

Max stared at Steph as if his life was hanging on her every word. Had he ever looked at OB that way? OB picked at the burned meal she had cooked on Max's stove and thought about jabbing the fork in his hand just to get away from the table.

"Don't you think the twins should've won? Who didn't love the twins? They were legend!"

OB hated her. Hated her. HATE HATE HATE HATE...

"Fuck."

He didn't realize he'd verbalized his obscenity until he looked up from his plate and realized Max and Steph were staring at him.

"I hate peas. Shoulda told ya. Sorry."

Steph smiled, content to go back to telling the table about her failed X-Factor audition.

Near the end of the endless dinner, Tony showed up, brandishing some delicious dessert from Il Gnosh. While Max and Steph got some plates and had a giggle in the kitchen, OB went to the bathroom. On his way to the toilet he felt Tony's eyes burned into the back of his head. He knew this going to lead to some kind of talk, which Tony obviously hated. Tony was their mate, and more family to OB than OB's own family had been, but he wasn't a big talky type of guy. Sort of like OB.

While washing his hands, OB could barely stand to look at himself in the mirror. His face was lined, perhaps with marks of shame. He was being so rude to Steph, someone who had done nothing but try to be nice. He didn't like what he was becoming every time he was around Max and Steph. When Clare was around, OB was terrified and furious and repulsed all mixed up in the same bag, but he knew she'd never stay around. She'd just been using Max. Steph, on the other hand, was just as needy as Max, just as longing for affection she'd never had. OB couldn't shake the feeling that she would be a part of Max's life forever. Or at least until they had another audition for Pop Idol.

Trying to drag his alone time out as much as possible, he pushed the door open.

"OW!"

Tony's scream filled OB's ears. Panicked, he raced to the other side of the door to see Tony holding a hand over his right eye.

"Bloody hell! Why are you so careless?"

OB was about to apologize when Tony dropped his hand. He was perfectly fine. And laughing. Max and Steph were laughing too, he could hear them all, ringing in his ears, taunting him.

"I gotta go somewhere."

Before he could even hear the group pleas for him to stay, OB had his coat in his hand and was out the door.

--

OB knew he'd have to come up with some apology and prepare the usual lies when his friends asked him what was going on. He just needed these few minutes to himself. He'd never felt lonelier than when he was around Max these days. Max just took Steph with him everywhere, everytime OB was around, almost like he was testing OB or something.

The streets were surprisingly empty today, but OB saw a familiar face standing outside Evissa, Louise's beauty salon. He was tempted to walk by rather than subject another person to his surly mood, but John Paul waved him over.

"I'm just waiting for Katy and Louise to finish running their mouths so we can go to the bookstore."

A few moments of silence passed, a chance for OB to relax. John Paul, survivor of a house full of women, knew about the importance of quiet moments. OB looked so downtrodden...actually, worse than downtrodden. He looked like he was holding so much in that the vein in his forehead would burst at any moment. John Paul couldn't help himself. There had been too many times he'd felt he had no one to turn to.

"I hate to sound like my mum, but I think we're mates, right?"

OB tersely nodded.

"Well, any time you need to talk, just let me know."

Head down, hands in his pockets, a nervous OB responded. He so much wanted to take the offer, but it was so complicated, and he still thought if he kept his feelings to himself, somehow, they might not be true.

"Look, I get what you're doing, and I appreciate it, but I'm not much of a talker. I'm just no good at it."

Another awkward silence.

Shrugging, John Paul walked into Evissa. As he opened the door, he heard OB say, "We are mates, John Paul. Thanks."

--

Tony and Jacqui washed the dinner dishes while their guests...guested in the living room. Lazy bums who didn't want to help with the cleaning, but Jacqui didn't mind, as this gave her a chance to observe. Jacqui had invited John Paul over to see how he was doing. Tony had invited Tom, Steph, Max, and OB to make up for a few days ago with OB walking out after his little joke. Steph and Max had been over earlier with Tom, but they'd all left right after the meal to go to a movie. OB had arrived with them, but had spent most of his time talking with John Paul. Most of their conversation seemed to be about house music, techno music, and other wordless beeps and squeaks Jacqui thought of as sounding like an armpit fart.

Jacqui's glass-drying came second to her keen eye on John Paul. Jacqui didn't like to talk about her feelings, but she saw herself and John Paul as the strongest members of the McQueen family. Unfortunately, as she well knew, the strongest people usually suffer the deepest cuts. Seeing John Paul laughing and talking with OB, you'd never know just how much that Dean prat had hurt him. Jacqui wasn't sure whether to feel relieved, or concerned at just how much of an act John Paul was putting on for them.

She barely knew OB, outside of his friendship with Tony. He was a nice guy and all, but she'd always thought he was a little bit pathetic, walking around gooey-eyed behind Max, playing mum for Tom, and never trying to set out on his own. She'd covered for him when she'd suspected he'd pushed Clare, but that was based on his being Tony's mate. Her opinion started to change after her miscarriage. Yeah, sure he'd been nice to Tony, he'd known Tony forever, but to OB, Jacqui could've been that bitch who'd cost Tony another baby. Not even close. He'd never told her she'd done anything wrong, never spent hour after hour asking her how she was feeling, never tried to tell her it was a sign from God or it was for the best or some other "helpful" garbage which made her want to dislodge someone's eyeball with a fake fingernail. He'd just taken her hand and sat with her when Tony couldn't bear the pain. Exactly what was needed.

"You should've told me you were into knifeplay, Jacq."

Jacqui broke out of her brief spell to look down and see she'd been holding a butcher knife in her hand for the past few minutes. With nervous bravado, she laughed off Tony's comment.

"Just showing what happens if you don't stay a good boy. Hey Tony, when did your OB and my John Paul get to be such pals?"

Tony had no idea, which she could read all over his face, but she seemed to want his reassurance. He tried to do just that as he dried a glass.

"OB's a great friend, loyal, true. He's had a rough time of it the past few years, he probably just sees John Paul as someone he can have a laugh with. Like a little brother, but y'know, not a kid, someone who can sort of relate to him, I guess. I think he's having a problem with Max, don't tell anyone though."

Jacqui's tense face relaxed a bit. She knew she had no reason to doubt OB, it was only her usual cynicism and protective instincts keeping her guard up.

"Sounds fine. Just wanted to make sure he ain't pervin' on my little brother."

Tony caught the glass from slipping out of his fingers just in time. He sputtered, which Jacqui found amusing on some level.

"W-Why would OB...? Nothing against John Paul's charms, but something tells me he's got the wrong parts."

This was one of those moments where Jacqui felt very proud of herself for her deductive qualities. OB did a good job of hiding his feelings behind that impassive fortress of a face, but Jacqui knew how to read people. Every time Steph had shared a laugh with Max, or had touched his hand, or had eaten off his plate, OB'd wanted to dropkick her. Every time Steph and Max had had some fake family bonding moment with Tom, OB had looked like he wanted to cry. She couldn't really blame him. Max was trying so hard, she had to wonder just what he needed to prove. She knew blokes who were just buddies, but this was much more, she knew it. Not that she cared very much.

"C'mon, did you see the way OB was looking at Max during dinner? He's gagging for it."

Tony sputtered again.

"I don't think I can ever picture the words, 'Max', 'OB', and 'gagging for it,' in the same...oh God, I just did! Thank you so very much! You are a sick, sick woman. Sick. Just because your brother and Craig...you know...doesn't mean ideas need to go in your head. Sick."

By this point, Jacqui was so entertained by Tony's embarrassment she'd almost forgotten what she was on about in the first place. She leaned over to whisper a few impolite ideas as Tony began to leave the kitchen.

"Fine, if you don't want to think about OB's mouth on Max's..."

OB and John Paul never heard any of that particular conversation, but OB did wonder why Tony spent the rest of the night trying to get him to say Angelina Jolie was the hottest babe ever.

--

A few days later, John Paul dropped by MOBS to drop off a CD he'd burned with some techno stuff he thought OB would enjoy.

OB took a break long enough to thank him and have a quick chat. He turned the compact disc case over and over in his hands until the CD was practically glued to his fingers. He'd really come to enjoy spending time with the younger man. There was no baggage, no painful feelings to sort through, none of the complexities and pains of what he felt for Max. The initial awkwardness between them was still there sometimes, but most of what he felt was relief at a no-strings friendship. He was having a harder and harder time being near Max and not telling him how he felt. Max spent most of his time talking about Steph or being with Steph, and OB knew it was just a matter of time until they got married or Steph moved in. Max would never give up on Tom getting a mother figure. OB would never be good enough.

OB realized he was brooding again -- brooding came naturally to him. He apologized to John Paul.

"S'alright...you should have seen the way Craig used to sulk...oh, sorry." So much for not thinking about Craig.

OB looked at the song list again.

"Do they have that song, think it was a hit back when I was in school. Think it went something like," crossing his arms on his chest and tilting his head to the side, OB adopted a hip-hop pose and slang he'd kept in mothballs for a few years, "'Who's down with OBJP, yeah you know me!'"

John Paul then tilted his head to the side, puzzled. "Sorry, I haven't heard of..." he trailed off when he saw the sly grin on OB's face. OB. JP. He broke out into laughter, more because he really needed the laugh than because of the brilliance of the joke. OB could relate to that.

"I heard you used to be in music. Did you ever DJ?"

OB looked a bit sheepish, but decided his secret was sordid enough for Hollyoaks.

"No. Me and Max recorded a single, 'Get Down With That Thing.' Max's dad did the vocals. We even had our own dance moves, we choreographed ourselves."

John Paul tried to avoid another snicker, but OB saved him the trouble by giving a laugh at himself.

"I still know the moves. This place is dead anyway. Just lemme push this table out of the way."

OB then began to somewhat rustily revive a few fourth-rate boy band turns, poses, and tricks. John Paul was very amused...until OB asked him to join in.

"Oh no. No way. Myra McQueen's boy is not taking that or doing steps or being a boy of the backstreet or being in sync."

OB gave a friendly sneer as he sat back down. "Spare me. You know you'd be right at home with your shirt open, mist on your chest, staring all sad and pouty while the 12 year old girls faint."

John Paul shook his head in disbelief.

"This is the most you've said in...the whole time I've known you."

John Paul wondered if he'd cursed the mood when the silence began again. OB just stared at the table, pushing his hands together, working up the nerve for something.

"When did you know you loved him?"

The words were spit out so quickly, John Paul almost didn't understand them at first. OB couldn't meet his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying not to say the wrong thing. He wished he had some guidebook from the gay agenda people.

"I-I don't have an exact date. Bit by bit, I realized I was only happy when I was around him. If he was gone, I felt...incomplete. Even when he treated me like I was to be wiped off his shoe. I loved him, I couldn't ever turn it off, even when I tried. Eventually I stopped wanting to try. You know, he actually told me that when I cry, I look like I've lost all my teeth! He told me that and I still love him. Loved him, I mean. Loved."

John Paul cringed at his own fumbled feelings, but at least the humor, intentional or not, broke the ice. Finally, OB managed to look at John Paul. John Paul's eyes were the ultimate mirrors, enabling OB to see himself.

"I didn't realize how much I loved Max 'til I started hating him. Does that make any sense?"

John Paul laughed with a bit more bitterness than he expected.

"Oh God does it make sense."

OB still had such resentment over how Max ignored his warnings about Clare, even when Max was near his deathbed. He'd barely had a chance to let them out when he found out Tom wanted him and Max to be friends again. They'd been simmering ever since. He didn't want to explain to John Paul, as the more he thought about it the more annoyed he got, especially since there was nothing he could say or do to feel better. If he tore into Max, and Max apologized, he'd be angry, but if Max was defiant and told him to get over it, OB would be just as angry. The resentment just sat there and sat there...

Since they'd gone back to an awkward silence, John Paul decided to take another risk.

"OB, if you ever want to go to a gay bar to meet anyone, to see what it's like, I can help."

OB looked at John Paul like he was crazy.

"I don't love men, I love Max!"

OB laughed at how insane he sounded at that moment.

John Paul wasn't laughing, as it reminded him of something Craig might say (replace "Max" with "John Paul").

"John Paul, I enjoy women. They've got nice, well, everything. That hasn't changed. I just love Max too. Still can't believe the words are coming out of my mouth, that I love Max."

John Paul's curiosity began to get the best of him. He could never ask Craig these types of questions, because Craig would've flown off the handle. He'd always believed Craig was gay and just didn't realize it, that all men who claim to love the person instead of a man's gender were secretly gay. That OB was saying the same thing Craig used to say made him wonder if he'd misjudged Craig, unless they were both part of something strange in the Hollyoaks water supply.

And once again John Paul was making it all about Craig. He just couldn't resist.

Before John Paul could ask any more questions, Max walked in through the front door. OB joined his friend behind the counter, but gave John Paul one last look before he left.

"Thanks. For the CD, I mean."

John Paul said nothing, but noticed Max's ears perk up at just exactly what else they had been talking about.

--

At the end of the day, OB was ready to close up, after a day of avoiding contact with Max as much as possible. A few times he would see flashes of pain in Max's eyes, and almost tell him why he had been ignoring him, but he knew Max couldn't handle an extra burden right now.

Before OB could leave, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"OB, what have I done?"

Those eyes. If only OB could stay away from those soft, sad brown eyes, he'd be fine.

"Is it Steph? I've been bringing her around you more often cause I want you to like her. Instead I'm pushing you away. Has she done something? Is she like Clare?"

OB turned to face Max, to face those eyes. He couldn't let Max do this to himself, not this devastation.

"No. Steph's a nice girl. It's me, alright? I just can't see you with her."

"Do you have feelings for Steph?"

OB's brain said, 'Yes, yes!' and he would have an excuse to stay away from Max. From Tom too. They could have their happy family and OB could move on.

OB's heart only noticed those eyes.

"Not for Steph."

Before OB realized what he was doing, he leaned over and kissed Max. Their first kiss. Gentle, but rough, the stubble against OB's shaven face. OB never wanted this to end, but he knew he was being selfish, and OB could never be selfish. Reluctantly, he pulled away, pulled away from a flush Max, bewildered.

"I love you, Max."

FIC: The Bed (Hollyoaks) (1/1)

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 18:01:29 GMT

Title: The Bed
Pairing: Max/OB
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This is basically a PWP that does not really fit into my other story. I hope people still comment. I know it's nothing just fantastic, but I had it in my head, I wanted to get it out.

OB hated that damn bed. Every time he had to change sheets or go look for something in Max's room, he'd stop and look at that damn bed and remember Clare, her awful stench of cheap expensive perfume, how she must've had her grimy hands all over Max, and probably the postman and random strangers she met in the bar or the street. He remembered seeing Max there like a ghost after his heart attack, when Clare wasn't giving him his medication.

This particular night was, for the time of the year, muggy and uncomfortable. Tom was at a sleepover. OB was in his boxers, back from the bathroom, when he heard Max cry out Clare's name.

He raced to Max's room, half-expecting to see the bitch standing over Max with a lead pipe. Instead, Max was alone, drenched in sweat.

"Max, are you alright? Max?"

Panting, Max tried to nod.

"Just...a dream. I...get used to it."

OB's concerns only multiplied as he realized this wasn't the first time Max had had nightmares.

"Max, you did nothing wrong when she drowned. You saved yourself. You couldn't save her. If she'd been in your place..."

OB stopped when he saw the need and the fear in Max's eyes.

"She'll never leave us alone...have to protect you and Tom..."

Soon OB sat next to Max on the bed, cool drops running down his hand as he wiped Max's forehead with a damp cloth and pulled Max's hair away from his eyes.

"Shh. Just relax, Max. See. That rhymes?"

Max rolled his eyes at the joke, but he also grinned, weakly, which was all OB wanted.

"Hey, don't worry none about protecting me. I'm here for you and Tom."

Max's head on his right knee, OB began to run the cloth down Max's shoulders. Max stared straight up at OB, looking into his best mate's eyes, serious yet groggy at the same time.

"You already saved me, OB. Didn't deserve it. I don't deserve..."

OB didn't like where this conversation was going, back to when he'd saved Max from a freezing lake Clare had left him to die in. He still harbored resentment over how many times Max had chosen Clare over him, and when Max tried to bring it up, the hurt just deepened.

"Shh."

He brushed his index finger against Max's lips, trying not to think of their softness against his skin. Max looked up at him, quiet, at peace, as OB gently rubbed his friend's temples. Soon, Max drifted off to sleep. OB managed to maneuver him onto his pillow, but as he began to go back to his own room, Max tugged at his arm. Max was curled up like the bed was going to swallow him whole. OB had slept in a bed with Max before, but that was back when the loudest noises they made were who could jump on the mattress the longest without breaking springs or falling off the bed. This was...different.

OB sighed.

"We're mates," he whispered to himself.

Staring directly at his crotch, he whispered it one last time, just to make sure.

Settling in beside Max, OB stared at his friend. His best friend. He watched Max sleep, breathing his same air, soaking in every moment before his own exhaustion overtook him.

---

This must have been a dream. Hands on his chest, running down his stomach and near the waistband of his shorts. Hot breath in his ear. A warm body pressed against his own sweltering flesh. This HAD to be a dream.

Then he felt the hand start to slide into his shorts.

Jolted into consciousness, OB could feel Max's stare boring into him. He'd forgotten how intense Max could be. That intensity had never really been trained on him.

Through the rush of emotions and sensations of Max's hands on his body and the eyes making feel dirty and desired, OB tried to convince himself he needed to say something to stop this. Max wasn't in his right mind, Max wasn't the one who ever had these feelings, Max wouldn't...

OB sat up, knowing he should leave. Knowing this would change their relationship forever.

"Max," he whispered, as he felt Max's stubble against his neck.

Max broke contact with OB's inviting form, staring at OB, almost staring through him with the strange ferality of a man who had put up with so much, been victimized by so many.

"We shouldn't do this." Half-heartedly gritted through OB's teeth, giving Max one last out.

Then Max kissed him. Leaned in and kissed him. Their lips together, an alien experience for them both. They were equally tentative, getting used to the stubble and the rough skin and the touch of another man. OB groaned as Max sucked at his tongue, conquering his mouth, their kisses deepening, sloppy, wet sounds as they made up for all the years they'd wasted. Their hard cocks pressed against each other as the two men were glued in embrace, touching, teasing, tasting.

OB couldn't shake the sense that this was the last time he would ever be able to touch Max in this way.

"I want to see you," he breathed into Max's ear. He eased Max out of his shorts, kissing his way down Max's hairy chest while sliding out of his own boxers. His hands cupped Max's backside, kneading his buttocks as Max pulled at the foreskin on OB's cock, sliding the skin up and down, his finger circling OB's sensitive glans, rubbing the precum into the head.

They knew very little about how to please other men, but had their instincts, their needs. OB knew he wouldn't last much longer, and Max's shallow breaths suggested the same thing. His fingers encircled Max's erection, while Max did the same to him. OB gasped, not wanting to say too much, not wanting to tell Max just how long he had wanted his best friend to jerk him off, not wanting to wake up from this dream.

He climbed on top of his friend, almost like rutting animals, back and forth, until OB felt the bittersweet release of his ejaculation. Max shuddered beneath him, going through his own climax as their bodies glued through semen and sweat. OB collapsed on his friend, wearily licking the salty perspiration from his neck. OB wanted another kiss. One last kiss to remember. One last look at those wild eyes before good old stolid Max returned.

OB rolled over onto his side, watching him return to an exhausted sleep. The next morning, Max would probably say this was all a mistake, or that he didn't remember anything happening. He'd go back on his hunt for the perfect mother for Tom, and OB would be the loyal best friend yet again.

OB didn't care. Not tonight. Tonight, he had not only a best friend, but a lover. A soulmate.

As Max dreamt, OB watched his chest rose and fell. He hoped Max was having more pleasant dreams now. Wishing the morning would never come, he rested his head on Max's chest.

"I love you," OB muttered, knowing Max would never hear, in his own way almost relieved.

As OB surrendered to sleep, he decided this damn bed wasn't so terrible after all.

FIC: First Anniversary (Hollyoaks) (1/1)

Mon, 24 Sep 2007 15:44:59 GMT

Title: First Anniversary
Rating: R-ish for some sexual dialogue
Pairing: JP/Craig and OB/Max
Summary: This is basically continuing my first story, Lucky. John Paul and OB each remember an anniversary. I'm not mentioning specific dates, as I don't really know them, but this will be September 2007 looking back at September 2006. Any feedback you have, I appreciate!

"How do I look?"

Max was getting ready for his first date with Steph, and, being his best mate, OB was naturally supposed to give him advice. Swigging a bottle of soda and leaning against the kitchen counter, OB tried his best to be supportive.

"You look like crap."

OK, not so supportive.

Max playfully pointed a stern finger at his friend.

"This is serious business! How do I look?"

Max did a little pose, like he was on Top Model. He was wearing a baby blue dress shirt with just enough buttons undone to offer a glimpse of his chest hair, and black trousers cut snugly enough to hint at a cute bum hiding underneath the fabric. OB was tempted to grab a handful and pass it off as just a friendly joke.

Instead, he put his soft drink down and gave a more hetero-appropriate whistle and catcall.

Max blushed, but truly appreciated the compliment. A goofy grin was plastered all over his face.

"So if you were a babe, you'd go for me?"

OB smirked and shook his head. This was all kind of funny in a sad way. He appreciated the humor of the moment, considering the difficult day he'd have tomorrow. He looked at Max again, beyond the initial humorous reaction he'd had to Max's question. He was surprised at just how much his friend needed the validation. Oh those puppy dog eyes...

"I'd go for you even if I wasn't a babe."

Both men seemed surprised at the comment, or maybe moreso the huskiness with which OB delivered it. This time OB was the one blushing, and quickly looking down at his feet. Good thing Max probably didn't know OB wasn't joking, good thing Max was so thick...and somehow, OB realized that thinking about Max and thickness right now was not a good way to bring down his lust levels.

Max broke up the awkward moment with a quick thanks before going back to the bathroom to check himself in the mirror. If Max paused in the doorway to look at OB one last time, OB didn't notice.

--

John Paul knew he should have been doing something productive. Only so many hours in a day, he was starting at HCC, blah blah blah. Instead he was stretched out on his bed, thinking back to a year ago and how much his life had changed in that time. Everything had changed for just about everyone in the McQueen brood, but all he could think about was (who else) Craig.

Had it only been a year since he and Craig had first met? Until John Paul had actually gotten to know Craig, he'd thought of him as...well...just a nerd, the brainy one who'd let everyone in school know he couldn't wait to get away from the place. He still remembered that scared yet proud young man who put up with day after day of torment from Sonny and Justin. Even though they were almost strangers, John Paul had pulled the fire alarm to save Craig from a beating. He'd barely known Craig, yet he'd felt that urge to save Craig, to protect him. When Craig had found out who was responsible for the rescue, he and John Paul became fast friends. What John Paul had noticed the most was the intensity; no one he had ever met, or likely would ever meet, had as much intensity as Craig Dean. His eyes flashed hate, love, and most of all, passion.

As John Paul closed his eyes, he remembered those hands, those hands trembling after Sonny had stepped on them. Those hands folded over John Paul's own as Craig had confided he'd never really had a friend until John Paul. Those hands on him as they sloppily drunk-kissed in the gym. Those hands pummeling John Paul, bloodying his flesh and leaving him with wounds which could never be fully healed. Those hands playfully grabbing him, tenderly bringing him into an embrace, carefully slipping John Paul's sweaters off his head, angrily ripping the buttons off his shirts, lazily tracing down his smooth skin, furiously jerking him off, methodically slipping inside his most private area, controlling his entire being with that one finger.

Those hands which refused to hold him in the airport.

Every day John Paul told himself he had no future with Craig. Every day he hoped he would wake up and the pain would be gone. And yet, every day, he missed the touch of those soft hands.

"Happy anniversary, Craig," he muttered.

"I love you."

--

OB had never told Mel that he loved her. Even at her funeral. The words in his throat, so close, so near. Unspoken. He had wanted nothing more than to love Mel. In his own way, maybe he had loved her. But he couldn't cheapen her memory by lying to her, no matter how much better he might have made himself feel.

The flowers at their grave today were beautiful, a fitting tribute for Mel and Sophie Burton. An array of their favorite bouquets. Sophie especially loved flowers. Mel was more practical.

Sitting on his knees and trying to ignore the pebbles cutting through his jeans, OB read a few cards. From their mother. From their brother, Justin, who did love his sisters dearly. A huge display from their friend and employer Louise. And a small note from Max. Max knew how much OB had cared about Mel. He was sure if he'd told Max he was coming to her grave, Max would've come along, but OB wanted to be alone.

OB just had a yellow rose. On one of his dates with Mel, they'd watched an old DVD, cowboys in black and white singing along to "Yellow Rose of Texas". Eventually, Mel and OB had joined in, complete with very, very bad cowboy twangs. It was one of the few times he'd ever seen Mel laughing and enjoying herself.

It was a little over a year ago that OB had been in the Dog, the old familiar pub, awash in flames and chaos thanks to psychopathic Sam Owen dousing the place with kerosene. Crazy, brave Mel had been one of those grabbing to try to get the lighter out of his hand, and when the lighter dropped, Mel was one of the first to die. The irony of a woman who'd finally managed to conquer her alcoholism dying in a pub. The sight of her corpse still haunted OB's dreams. He'd tried to save Sophie, but Sam had hit him in the head. He'd woken up in the hospital to learn it wasn't just Mel who'd died that day, or even Sophie, but also any remnants of the friendship between Max and OB. Mel had had video proof of what a lying slut Clare was, but Clare destroyed it and once again OB was left with nothing but his word against hers. Once again, Max had chosen Clare over OB. OB had to recover from his injuries, physical and mental, with no one but Tony to care about him. That had been the lowest, loneliest point of OB's life, and as much as he loved Max, as much as they'd papered over that very dark period, he wasn't sure he'd ever fully forgive Max for his blindness.

OB cursed himself for his selfishness. He was here to mourn Mel, not think about Max. He missed her and the potential of what she was becoming and what she brought to the people around her. He tried to figure out what he could say, if there was anything he could say. At first he wanted to ask her to tell someone hello, but he laughed bitterly as he realized so many of his loved ones were dead, he'd have to put them on a waiting list.

As he began to stand up, his wallet slipped out of his pocket. He picked up the few items which had scattered, including the photo of Craig Dean and John Paul McQueen that John Paul had left behind in MOBS. He'd have to drop that off on his way back home. He began to think about Max again, how close Max had been to death, how he didn't want Max to die without knowing how OB felt about him. OB knew it was getting more and more difficult to keep his feelings quiet.

OB touched his hand against the cold tombstone. He kissed the fingertips of his other hand, placing them by Mel's name. This was the closest thing to the goodbye they'd never had. Still unsure of what to say, he looked at his single yellow rose for inspiration. Clearing his throat, he began to sing in a somewhat off-key voice.

There's a yellow rose in Texas, that I am going to see,
Nobody else could miss her, not half as much as me.
She cried so when I left her, it like to broke my heart,
And if I ever find her, we nevermore will part.

--

Myra could usually tell when John Paul was having a down day. Today, John Paul had spent most of his time in his room, and when he'd finally come downstairs, he immediately gravitated to the couch, dead to the world. She'd experienced more than her share of young love, including the heartbreak, but John Paul's love for Craig was so all-consuming, it worried her. Her son was never happier than when he was with Craig, but he never really was with him. If only she could help make Craig into a better man, like Dominic or Russ or Tony. But if she did, would John Paul still be interested?

Her mental rambling was cut off by a knock on the door. She quickly answered to find, what was his name...

"BO?"

OB managed to give her a polite chuckle. He hadn't heard that one since school.

"OB. Sam O'Brien. I just wanted to drop something off to your son."

Myra wasn't sure what was going on, but she let OB in. OB and John Paul were only distant acquaintances, at best, yet she felt some unspoken bond between them.

"You left this at MOBS," OB flatly said as he handed John Paul his photo with Craig.

"Thanks."

More silence. A flicker of pain crossed John Paul's face as he pocketed the photo. He still had a hard time dealing with just how lonely he was without Craig. John Paul wasn't quite sure why, but he didn't want OB to leave just yet. He had few friends left in town and even though he barely knew OB, he felt like the older man could be a friend. Or at least someone who knew what he was going through. The problem was they had so little in common besides that one bond. John Paul, looking at OB, sensed OB felt the same way.

As OB was about to leave, John Paul came up with the tie that binds most men together.

"There's a match on in 15 minutes. Wanna watch?"

OB could hardly turn down a good football match. He joined John Paul on the sofa, and what had been a sad anniversary became the beginnings of a friendship.

FIC: Lucky (Hollyoaks, 1/1)

Sat, 22 Sep 2007 18:33:43 GMT

Title: Lucky
Rating: PG, I guess
Pairing: JP/Craig and Max/OB
Word Count
Summary: This is set around or a little ahead of the current episodes. John Paul is still upset about the end of his relationship with Craig. OB has his own angst with Max. John Paul and OB end up talking, or sort of talking. I know they don't interact on the show, but I thought this would be an interesting story and I might want to do more on this subject, how the two friendships/relationships are not as far apart as one might think. This is my first Hollyoaks story, so anything you have to say I appreciate it!

A drizzly day in Hollyoaks had meant a slow day at MOBS. Max wasn't even sure about bothering to open, but OB went ahead. He needed some time to himself, what with Clare's recent death and Max falling for Steph Dean. OB knew he should be grateful, since scatterbrained Steph was a vast improvement on that bitch from hell, but as much as he'd accepted that Max was looking for a mother figure for Tom and a wife for himself, the thought of Max with a woman still made him ache.

He had just finished wiping down the counter for the millionth time that day when he finally got a customer. John Paul McQueen. The young man - OB wasn't that much older than John Paul, but John Paul's angelic features made him seem even younger than he was - stood nervously for a few moments, pretending to study the selections. Both men seemed uneasy, which made no sense to OB, since he barely knew John Paul, but he knew what it was like to be vulnerable and alone. As John Paul began to make his exit, OB spoke up, tried to put on a professional tone.

"Can I help you with anything?"

John Paul looked startled, but his wide-eyed expression soon turned to relief.

"Sorry, didn't realize anyone wanted my business. I'm not exactly the most popular guy around these days."

Truth be told, OB didn't give a shit about any big scandal. He barely knew John Paul, or Sarah, or even Craig, but this was a small enough area that he knew all the details. Everyone in Hollyoaks had scandals, and considering how many of them had ended up with dead bodies or lengthy trials, John Paul was just a blip on the outrage radar. OB wanted to try to ease his mind, but he barely knew the boy. All he could do was smile, try to communicate his thoughts to the perceptive young McQueen. There was something so pure about John Paul, OB almost felt like the teenager could see into his soul. Fixing a smoothie had never been such a nerve-wracking practice.

As John Paul opened his wallet, a photo fell out. Courteous OB bent over to pick it up, John Paul murmuring a protest before OB's fingers gripped the small picture. John Paul and Craig Dean in a photomat with their school uniforms sloppy, ties missing, shirts untucked, arms around each other. The bright-eyed young man in that photo did not resemble the haunted creature with the clipped wings currently in front of him.

OB had a photo like that of Max and himself in some drawer somewhere. Tom had found it and humiliated them for days on end. They were wearing silly hats and doing poses no white men could get away with before the Justin Timberlake and Eminem days. They'd both had their whole lives ahead of them. OB had never fully understood why or when Max had gone from being his goofy best mate to the only person he'd ever truly loved, but he still remembered the shot of Max looking directly at the camera, and himself, OB, looking directly at Max, content, complete.

John Paul blushed, and OB reminded himself to play poker with the young McQueen sometime, he'd be rich in no time.

"Silly photos. Thought I'd cleaned out my wallet."

OB was half-listening, trying to remember what it was like back then, not even that long ago, really, but somehow a lifetime ago. Back when Max's dad Mr. C and Helen and Mandy were always around, when Max had those annoying sisters who eventually fled the country for one melodramatic reason or another. Back when Max wasn't crushed by burdens no one should have to face when they're barely out of college. Max and OB used to joke about the type of girls they fancied, but no matter how many women OB wanted, even when he managed to convince himself he'd fallen in love, he'd always seen Max as the person he would spend his days with. OB had just seen that as being mates, friends for life, until after Max's dad and Helen had died. He'd held a sobbing Max in his arms. Max who had to be strong for Tom and for Mandy and had to be the man of the family that had one by one deserted him. With Max's stubbled face imprinted against OB's neck, OB had wanted to comfort Max with his body, touch him, absorb his grief and add to his strength. He knew he wasn't gay, and if he was, then there were much fitter men he could go after than Max Cunningham. None of them, no men, no women, made OB as devastated or as happy as Max could and often did. He wanted Max, as a friend, a lover, a partner, as the man who could share all his vulnerabilities. And each day, OB died a little more knowing that could never happen. Knowing that Max would have rather shared his bed with Clare fucking Cunningham.

"You were lucky, John Paul."

The words just sort of fell out of OB's mouth. OB hadn't even realized he'd spoken until he saw the bewilderment in John Paul's expressive blue orbs. Surprised big eyes which soon turned to slitted, resentful scrutiny.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm lucky cause I haven't been dragged into the street and flogged?"

OB wanted to just spit out an apology. Words and eloquent speeches were never his strong point. But he kept this all inside all the time, to everyone, even to himself most of the time.

"You were lucky because you don't have to wonder. You don't have to wonder if your mate wants to be more than just a mate. You don't have to wonder how his hands feel on you, what his kisses are like, what it is to hear him say he loves you."

"All while he was telling Sarah he loved her. All while he used us both, and I let him!"

He couldn't make eye contact with John Paul, all he could do was keep wiping the counter, another wipe for every year he'd stayed quiet and every future year he would keep staying quiet.

"Yeah, maybe he was using you. Maybe you deserved better, but you didn't want better. You wanted him. He still loved you, and no matter how bad it ended, you know how that feels. His arms around you, his kisses, his love, everything he could give you. Whatever time you had him, instead of a bloody question mark dangling over your head, you were lucky."

OB had said too much, but this was likely the first and the last time he would ever say any of his deepest thoughts out loud. He finally regained the courage to look into John Paul's eyes.

John Paul understood. He smiled, and almost seemed to take pity on OB, probably relieved to feel pity for anyone but himself and the other people in his life, if only for a moment.

The rapport was broken was Max showed up to join OB behind the counter. Sensing that OB was down, he slung an arm around his friend's shoulder. OB managed a weak smile.

"Hope you'll be a repeat customer, John Paul," Max said, oblivious to the mood of the room.

John Paul just shrugged and paid for his smoothie. He didn't bother to look at OB -- he didn't need to. They understood each other.

OB suddenly realized the counter needed a fresh clean. Max, meanwhile, wanted to try out a new smoothie flavor. Before he did so, he cast a wary eye at John Paul's exiting back.

"Aren't you glad we're not kids anymore? We have enough problems as it is."

OB tensely nodded, feeling the familiar hand squeeze his shoulder. John Paul had left the photo of himself and Craig. OB just stared at the two young men, thinking about what once was, what would always be.

"Yeah, Max...we're lucky."

Brothers & Sisters: Eee! Kevin!

Mon, 19 Feb 2007 04:43:17 GMT

I continue to miss Scotty, but the sneaky Brothers & Sisters producers apparently want to do their best to appease me by:

A) Letting Kevin have a hot kiss with another man (he's still no Scotty)

B) Putting Kevin in that beautiful blue sweater that matches his eyes. Don't they know how gorgeous Matthew Rhys already is? Do they want him to have to come with a warning label?

This episode fits right in with the great fan fiction out there about Kevin. He was so clearly shattered from what happened with Scotty, he was a shell of his former self.

Kevin just wants to be happy.

Don't we all.

FIC: Soft Hands (1/1)

Wed, 14 Feb 2007 14:03:07 GMT

Title: Soft Hands
Author: Jan (Jacosta3)
Fandom: Brothers & Sisters
Characters: Kevin
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Kevin puts his hands to good use. Written for romanticalgirl's challenge.
Disclaimer: I don't own Kevin (is he available for my birthday?). This is just a story.

Today, work had to come first. Kevin had been so...distracted by other topics of late.

A warm spring afternoon, a lovely weekend. Kevin was trapped inside his apartment, trying not to resent all those happy people in the world outside. Unfortunately, the more he tried not to get stressed out, the more stressed he became.

One of the reasons Kevin stayed in his far-from-great apartment was the picture window in his room. He could sit on his window sill and look outside, but people weren't as able to see him. He could be what he'd always been best at - the observer.

After a few more moments of fruitless key-clacking and brow-furrowing, Kevin knew he had to take a break. The sill sang to him. Obediently, he went, sitting down to watch the blue skies slowly turn orange and pink. Sunlight streaks passed through the flimsy curtains and onto his body.

With his eyes closed, his back hunched as he arranged himself in the fairly roomy window space, his hands began to take on a mind of their own. One hand under his damp black tee shirt (when in doubt, buy black), against his stomach. His hands felt surprisingly cool on the sweaty flesh.

Kevin had always had such soft hands. Not like his father, or Justin, or Tommy. This used to make him feel weak, but the day in the shower room when he'd made the biggest homophobe in his senior high school class whimper and beg for one more stroke job, he'd realized how much strength softness can truly have.

Those were good memories. He heard himself purring, or what a purr would sound like if he were an emotionally stunted gay feline attorney. Soon he had slipped his shirt off and absentmindedly began to run his fingers across his chest, his nails scraping around his nipples just enough to create tiny goosebumps. His furry, sweaty chest glistened in the dusk while his hands began to leisurely travel down into his shorts.

His hands now surveyed his naked body, a body he proudly noted was perfectly proportioned. He worked very hard at perfection, at absolute control of every situation. He knew just the right touch, or tease, to bring himself off or cool himself down.

He licked his palm, the saltiness coating his tongue, before he began to stroke himself. Gently at first, pacing himself, his other hand exploring his chest and belly. His other hand then, when he was ready, massaging the base of his penis, sliding along a particularly sensitive vein. The stillness, the calmness of that moment, that moment he wanted to last forever, before the release, before he shuddered, before he bit his lip to avoid a sound even though he was the only person there. His ejaculate, on his hands, against his bare thigh, his shaft pulsating and tremoring like tiny little firecrackers had been set off inside his penis. His hands, slick with his semen, a brief finger put to his lips to taste himself against the salt and the sweat.

Kevin had to clean himself up, but after that, he wanted to take a nap. And he decided he would. Work would come second.

Today, he came first.

My guide to watching tonight's "Brothers & Sisters"

Mon, 12 Feb 2007 05:23:49 GMT

Step 1:

Shout "No! No! No!" when you realize Kevin is going to sleep with Scotty for all the wrong reasons.

Step 2:

Ogle Matthew Rhys' half-naked body.

Step 3:

Throw a sock or other non-heavy object at the television when smarmy Chad oh-so-conveniently tells Kevin he was going to drop his galpal if not for Kevin daring to be with another man.

Step 4:

Matthew Rhys. Pretty.

Step 5:

Shout "Why? Why? Why?" when Scotty and Kevin are so heartbroken at the end of the episode.

Step 6:

Figure out whether you want to kick Kevin or give him a big hug. As soon as I saw that body, my decision was already made.

Step 7:

Start work on a fan fiction that will make Kevin and Scotty get back together, so we can forget how heartbreaking this episode was.

Step 8:

So pretty.

FIC: Fun with Fox (1/1)

Tue, 06 Feb 2007 19:27:49 GMT

Title: Fun with Fox
Author: Jan (Jacosta3)
Pairing: Kevin/Scotty, Kevin/Bill Hemmer
Rating: NC-17, PWP
Summary: Kevin finds some pleasure out of a brotherly duty.
Disclaimer: This is a bit cheesy. I don't own these characters. This is only a story. I don't own Bill Hemmer either.
Any comments you have, thank you!

"Do you ever actually WATCH Fox News or does fair and balanced journalism make you break out into hives?"

"Kitty, 'fair and balanced journalism' is like 'healthy forests' or 'no child left behind'. Or Bizarro Superman."

"You know, Kevin, they have really cute guys on Fox News."

"Kitty, I'm insulted you think my cable news habits hinge on who I want to bone at that given moment."

Cut to a few days later. Scotty and Kevin plan to spend their night in enjoying a DVD of some foreign film with half-naked, brilliantly talented actors, who also happen to be half-naked.

Then the DVD player breaks.

As Kevin tries the always-successful method of spewing profanity and glaring at the broken machine, Scotty caresses his knotted shoulders. No matter how much he may grumble, Kevin enjoys the doting.

"You know, Kevin, there's a reason why we didn't want to leave the apartment tonight."

Scotty's sweet breath hums in Kevin's highly tempted and highly sensitive ear. Unfortunately, Kevin is too tense to enjoy much of anything. So tense that he needs someone or something to yell at. Something like...

"Kevin, why are we watching Fox News?"

Kevin's shoes are kicked off as his feet hit the coffee table and he shoots death glares at the anorexic bottle blonde "anchor" on his TV.

"Brotherly duty. Kitty loves this propaganda. Just look at this woman. No wonder she's so obsessed with Clinton - she hasn't eaten since he was President!"

Kevin continues to grumble and pout as he suffers through the news, stopping every few minutes to thank Scotty for rubbing his temples and generally for just being there.

After a few more minutes, a young, attractive anchorman replaced the toothpick, and Kevin's grumbles ceased. He didn't say anything at all.

"He is cute, isn't he?"

Kevin tries to come up with the appropriate snort of disdain.

"Cute? Him? He sold out. He used to work for CNN, not that CNN's great but it's not...this. He's a traitor. Look at him with the perfect hair and the plastic smile and the twinkly shiny eyes oh-aren't-I-sexy glasses and those lips pursed..."

Scotty begins to untie Kevin's tie.

"Lips pursed like they're waiting for your cock to slide between them?"

Kevin's transfixed stare at the boob tube briefly breaks as he looks over at Scotty. Scotty with his smirky yet endearing grin and twinkly shine eyes who thinks he knows EVERYTHING about Kevin, and he kind of does, and Kevin kind of hates him for it. Kind of loves him too.

Scotty leans over to briefly peck Kevin on the lips and run a finger over Kevin's flawless alabaster skin.

"Tell me what you want to do to him, Kevin."

As Scotty begins to pull Kevin's white dress shirt out of his pants, Kevin stares at him in disbelief.

"Are you serious? Maybe gay men really do watch too much porn."

"Come on. It'll be fun. Remember fun?"

'If only,' Kevin thinks to himself. Any further thoughts seem to get lost in the haze of Scotty's teeth on his neck and hands sliding into his increasingly rumpled shirt.

Then Scotty stops.

"Tell me, Kevin."

At moments like this, Kevin sees Scotty as manipulative somewhere on the level of a meth dealer...only with much nicer teeth. Those hands really are so very warm and persuasive.

"Well," and Kevin has to stop to laugh at himself for how stupid all this is, "I'm in my office, and Bill Hemmer shows up to talk to me about who the fuck really cares. I mouth his fat cock through his designer made pants while he looks down at me, never saying a word - he doesn't have to. He knows what I'm going to do to him."

Kevin's chest is bare now, his nipples hard and sensitive from Scotty's teasing. His stomach wet from Scotty's tongue tracing down his abs and navel and treasure trail. Scotty begins to unbuckle Kevin's pants.

"His eyes go back in his head when he finally hits the back of my throat. His fingers are so soft against my scalp, in my hair."

Kevin has to pause to collect his breath as the pants and boxers leave his body and his engorged penis is exposed to the cool room temperature. Scotty's hand, knowing, patient, wicked, pumping Kevin along with precise movements.

"I don't even take off my suit. Just unzip my fly. Everything thrown off my desk. Him on his belly. I take down his white briefs with my teeth. So warm and inviting and tight. Fit just for me."

Kevin's heart stops briefly as he feels the tongue sliding along the head of his penis, down his shaft, on his balls.

"Flip him on his back. Buttons fly everywhere with my hands tearing at his white shirt. His chest is smooth. Legs are so strong and firm. The way he smiles at me is like that soccer player I fucked in college, telling me to slam into him as hard as I can, cause he'll take it. I can tell he can take all I can give, and even more."

By this time Scotty's face is full force in Kevin's lap and Kevin throws his head back, short on breath. How does Scotty do that with his tongue?

"A-and I slam my hips forward as hard as I can, and then release, inside him, I'm...I'm coming inside him and it's so so so good and your mouth, Scotty, your mouth..."

Reality returns, Kevin's hips arching upward as he finds sweet release. Scotty's tongue cleans and preens until Kevin has to beg him to stop. Kevin tastes himself on Scotty's mouth, where he always wants to taste himself. Before Scotty can say a word the remainder of his own clothes are off his body and Kevin's kneeling in front of the couch, and those eyes, those eyes will stay with Scotty for the rest of his days. So dirty and knowing. Kevin pulls his mouth off and directs Scotty's load against Scotty's chest, licking the semen and sweat as his tongue slides its way up Scotty's body for a forceful, wet kiss.

They don't have to say a word to each other, their weary, yet wanting more expressions saying it all. Kevin goes to get a washcloth to clean himself up, Scotty watching those hot, tight buns in motion as he leaves the room. Kevin turns back, once, and his eyes are hungry. They both know what that means.

--

"Kitty?"

"Oh, hi Kevin. I've got a million things going on now and..."

"That's fine. I just wanted to say thank you for making me watch Fox News."

"Oh! I'm so happy Kevin. You're finally understanding how important that channel is to today's culture."

"Absolutely. I'd even film an ad for them. Kevin Walker says Fox News Gave Me The Hottest Night Of Gay Sex I've Ever Had. Thanks again. Bye!"

"What? Kevin...are you there Kevin?"

FIC: Sarah's Sacrifice (1/1)

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 21:41:29 GMT

FIC: Sarah's Sacrifice
Author: Jan (Jacosta3)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sarah/Noah
Summary: Sarah puts her family first.
Spoilers: Early season 1. This involves the dropped storyline with Sarah and her handsome coworker, Noah (Michael Beach).
Disclaimer: These characters and the show ("Brothers & Sisters") they are from do not belong to me.

If you have any comments, please let me know!

-

Sarah's hands shook through their deathly white grip on the phone receiver.

Sarah had spent most of her personal life waiting for a man she could love. Ultimately, she settled for affection, companionship, respect. Joe wasn't a perfect man, but he was a patient man, a good father and husband. A man to count on.

In Sarah's professional life, most men had treated her with a mixture of condescension, fear, and outright hatred. As she'd climbed the corporate ladder, bitch - and far worse - had become her name. Sarah wore the macho bullshit droolings with the same finesse as the baby spittle she'd learned to clean out of her power suits. She wasn't perfect - far from it. What mattered was that other people thought she was better than them. Often their fatal weakness.

After meeting Noah, she had been thrown off guard. From that first day he had shaken her hand, there was that twinkle in his eye, that utter, perfect sincerity and warmth. Few, if any men had ever stood up to her. He did so in a way which completely respected her intelligence, abilities, and reputation. On the occasions she would admit that he was right, that she had admitted she wrong about a client or pitch or business deal, some of the swinging dicks in the office had keeled over at the idea of the ballbuster admitting a mistake. The truth was Noah had reminded her to be human. He didn't ever make her feel weak. She'd never felt stronger than when she was around him.

She'd never allowed herself to be attracted to him. Too many careers died due to sex in the workplace. She did her utmost to respect him as a colleague and a friend. Until the night she dreamed of his dark fingers sliding down her panties, finding her wet center, guiding her, teasing her to a bliss she had only imagined. At work, Sarah began to watch his body in his tailored suits. His broad shoulders. His firm backside. His warm smile. His soft brown eyes. She desperately hoped he had no idea of what she felt about him, but his hands started to linger on her shoulders just a little too long. He stayed just a little too late for their late-night workload. All he had to do was look at her, and he could see every need, every desire. If Sarah had seen his eyes on her and sensed him laughing at her schoolgirl crush, she would have been humiliated, but at least she would have known the boundaries. Instead, she knew he felt the same way about her that she felt about him. No man had ever looked at her that way before. Ever.

When Sarah and her husband Joe had begun to drift apart, emotionally, spiritually, most of all, sexually, Sarah had quit her job in order to work at the family business. Ideally, she would have more free time and no temptations. Yet, Noah was still in her dreams. She had tried and tried to keep him as far away as she could, but when her father died, Sarah realized just how short life was. She'd made that call.

She'd gone to Noah's apartment. For the life of her she couldn't remember a single furnishing or memento. Just his skin. His beautiful, dark skin as he undressed. His soft, full lips on hers. When she'd fumbled with her own clothes, he'd kissed her fingers one by one, his own fingers skillfully removing her jacket, her silk blouse, her skirt, her hose, her bra and panties. His hands had slid up her pale flesh, his hands had cupped her breasts, his fingertips teasing her nipples. He had breathed in her scent. His mouth at the folds of her vagina, his tongue and fingers teasing, taunting her clitoris. She had wanted to take him in her mouth, to taste him as he had tasted her. He refused. She was there to be worshipped. The sheets so cool against her naked body. Her trembling fingers stroking his large shaft as she slid the condom on him. She remembered her whimper as he'd entered her. Filling her more than most men ever had imagined.

They had made love, over and over that day and several other days over the next few weeks. Sarah had shared her mind, her heart, her body with her true equal. A man who understood and respected her. Most people would never understand her actions. Cheating. Adultery. Lies. To Sarah, they were perfectly logical. With Noah, she stayed sane. She found peace. She never once had to restrain or contain herself.

Too good to last.

Sarah knew, in her heart, she would have left Joe for Noah. She had convinced herself she was doing herself, her kids, even Joe, a favor. Loveless marriage, end this before the pain gets too bad, all that. Until Kitty told her about their father's affair with another woman. Decades of little lies and betrayals added up to a huge sucker punch. In that moment, Sarah hated her father. He'd not only cheated his family and his employees out of their livelihood, he'd cheated his children and his wife out of all they had left of him - their good memories. Sarah imagined her children hating her the way she now hated her father. Imagined their home, their children, and Joe, good, solid Joe, torn to pieces because of her selfish needs.

Sarah had always believed in family first. Always.

She knew what she had to do.

Her white, shaking hands as she dialed Noah's number.

She told him. As quickly and as dispassionately as she could, because any spare word would have made her burst into tears and she never would have stopped crying.

"I understand," Noah said.

She'd never see him again.

Noah always understood.

FIC: Bad For Me (1/1)

Wed, 31 Jan 2007 20:55:38 GMT

Title: Bad For Me
Author: Jan (Jacosta3)
Pairing: Kevin/Scotty
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kevin runs into Scotty at a bar, and...it doesn't end happily.
Spoilers: The first half of season 1.
Disclaimer: The show and the characters don't belong to me. I'm using them for this story.

Any comments you have, please let me know!

-

Chad had stood Kevin up *again*, as self-loathing closet case actors with girlfriends were wont to do. Kevin was pissed off, but more at himself than anyone else. Kevin faced the choices of drinking at home alone like a C-list TV star in a Lifetime movie (he didn't MEAN to watch Lifetime, really...no, really), or going to see his family. Since one of the reasons he liked hanging out with Chad in the first place, aside from the rush of bedding a TV star with abs you could wash your laundry on, was that he had an excuse to not spend every waking second with the wacky Walker clan, Kevin opted to have this one night without family interruptions.

After putting on black jeans and a black dress shirt, buttons unbuttoned just the right amount to show off his chest hair, Kevin went out to a gay club. The same club he'd went to once with Scotty, although he didn't remember the place until he made his way inside and was assaulted by the particularly odious house music which suggested the owners were still stuck in the year 1994.

Nursing a watered down drink, Kevin swept the room with the laserlike vision you develop while sorting the refuse from the riches. Cute blonde, but he was a twink. Hot Latino, but he was glassy-eyed and teetering from side to side like a boxer in the final round. Then Kevin saw a familiar torso and pink shirt. The first and last time he had went to a club with Scotty, Scotty had asked him what he thought of the shirt. Kevin had snarked that he looked like the mayor of Gayville. Not his wittiest rejoinder, but what Kevin remembered most was the pain in Scotty's eyes, that brief flash buried under a weak smile. How many times had he hurt Scotty's feelings? Or forgotten Scotty had feelings at all? Now Scotty was here, enjoying himself, and Kevin was going to spoil things for him just like he always had. Kevin wasn't going to let that happen. So he decided to leave.

Until he saw Scotty dancing with some...asshole, somebody Kevin knew nothing about, wanted to know nothing about. All Kevin could focus on was that hand on Scotty's chest, and those lips on Scotty's neck. *My neck,* Kevin muttered to himself. Scotty was his. He knew Scotty would be with other guys, he knew their relationship was done, but knowing that and seeing some bar slut pawing Scotty's flesh were very different.

Kevin downed more of his drink and was about to leave when he noticed the bar slut had taken a bathroom break. While Scotty was alone, Kevin sprinted to the dance floor a little quicker than he realized and Scotty's shirt was suddenly stained with the remnants of a cheap drink. Scotty just stared at him, bodies in motion around them while their worlds stood still.

"My goodness. I knew you didn't like this shirt, but you stalked me all the way here just to..."

Scotty's forced attempt at whimsy died in mid-air. The longing and need emanating from Kevin took away most of Scotty's defenses. There was so much Kevin wanted to say, so much both men wanted to say.

"Scotty, I miss you. I...can we talk?"

Scotty had never seen Kevin like this before, or thought Kevin was capable of these feelings. He was too strong and proud for such a public display of need. Scotty was so close to giving in, to letting himself be hurt again. He knew he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much.

"My date's about done in the bathroom, and I'm sure you have somewhere to go. Say hi to Mrs. Walker...Nora...for me."

Scotty tried to put on his most chipper voice, like a flight attendant, as he waited for Kevin to stop looking at him that way. Stop making him feel what he felt.

"Scotty, I..."

Scotty began to walk away. While he still could. Kevin grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place.

The words lumped in Kevin's throat. Shit, he didn't even have the excuse of being drunk. He didn't want to say this. Not out loud. Not in front of all these strangers.

"I love...I love you, Scotty. I love you."

The tears began to well up in Scotty's eyes. He hated being a drama queen. Seeing his serious, staid lover - ex-lover, Scotty reminded himself - as the drama queen somehow seemed even worse. He wanted to take Kevin in his arms. Kevin really did seem to have changed. People changed. And what had Kevin ever said that was so bad anyway?

Scotty wanted so much to tell Kevin the truth. He almost did. The words were there. Then he thought of all the times he'd been taken advantage of. Picked on and bullied and beaten for what he was. None of that was Kevin's fault. Kevin truly did love him. Scotty knew that. But Kevin made him weak, and he made Scotty hurt. He filled Scotty's heart with such joy and pain and just seeing him there made Scotty feel so happy and sad and before Scotty knew what was happening, his autopilot kicked in. That cold, hard voice.

"You don't love me. You NEED me. You're bad for me, Kevin. You don't care about me. I'm your crutch to make you feel better, so you won't wake up every day and hate yourself. Too bad."

Kevin reeled from the harshness, the anger in Scotty's voice. It reminded him so much of the first time they'd met, when Scotty had assumed the worst of him.

"That's not true!"

Scotty wanted to stop. He really did. But he had cried for Kevin so many nights. Just being around him for a few minutes made all that flood back. Made him forget everything he'd learned about how to survive. He thought Kevin, of all people, might understand. Someday.

"I bet you told your last boyfriend you loved him, too. Was that before or after you fucked around on him?"

That did it. Those sad, sorrowful, hopeful eyes turned steely cold. The longing turned to a blank mask. Scotty saw Kevin return to the Kevin Walker sitting in the law office on that first day they met. He watched Kevin walk out of the bar. He didn't think he'd ever forget the look on Kevin's face, that final look. The knife he'd shoved into Kevin's heart.

Kevin was gone. Forever. Just what Scotty wanted.

The tears Scotty had hidden so well finally slid down his cheeks. He hoped Kevin could forgive him. Or maybe he hoped Kevin never would forgive him. He allowed himself to whisper the words he would never say again.

"I love you too, Kevin. I love you too."

FIC: Promise (1/1)

Mon, 29 Jan 2007 21:05:29 GMT

Title: Promise
Author: Jacosta3 (Jan)
Pairing: Kevin, Tommy
Rating: PG-13 ish
Summary: Tommy makes Kevin a promise.
Disclaimer: The show and the characters do not belong to me.
Spoilers: Up to midseason 1. This also in a small way ties in with my previous story where Kitty and Kevin have fallen out due to her working for McCallister.

When Tommy asked Kevin over for dinner, Kevin assumed there must be some surprise party, wedding, funeral, or sex tape in the pipeline. Thankfully the only nasty surprise was a rubbery casserole left in too long while Julia and Tommy were helping to ease her pregnancy hormones.

While Julia took a nap, Kevin and Tommy watched "the game". Kevin wasn't entirely sure why big bruisers in tight pants tackling each other and grabbing each other's backsides was so fascinating to straight men; the last time Kevin himself had enjoyed a football scene was something involving Falcon Video and gangbang jocks. Fortunately, Tommy had free beer, and Kevin believed free beer could unite even the bitterest of enemies. Free beer, and throwing large, heavy objects at Paris Hilton.

Not that Tommy and Kevin were enemies. They'd never been the closest of the Walker siblings, but they loved each other, they were family, that was all that mattered. Perhaps this was about Kevin's decision to - after some reluctance - grant Tommy's request and donate his sperm to Julia. Kevin shifted uneasily on the couch as he wondered what inquisitions or indignities or awkward huggy moments he might face under the guise of chewy casserole and free beer.

"You OK, Kev?"

Only then did Kevin realize he'd been staring into space for a solid 10 minutes.

"Sorry. Just trying to avoid saying something horribly stereotypical like, 'Don't they all have such nice asses,' or, 'I just love when they score a home run, but when do they put the ball in the hoop?'"

Kevin glanced at Tommy to see if Tommy bought his cover, but Tommy was too busy fidgeting his own personal fidget. Kevin noticed Tommy trying to get something out. Tommy was always very intense (since the rest of the Walkers were so carefree and easygoing), and although years in the family business had improved his skills immensely, still had a poor poker face. When they were kids, any schemes or tricks fizzled out as soon as their mother had a chance to grill Tommy. Her words echoed in Kevin's ears.

"Telephone, telegram, Tele-Tommy."

Tommy smiled, nervously.

"What?"

"You have something to say to me, Tommy. I can see it all over your face. Right beside the ketchup stain."

Tommy wiped the stain away with his meaty paw of a hand.

"Kitty's the one who can't keep secrets..."

Tommy paused as he remembered Kitty and Kevin weren't on the best of terms right now. Kevin, damn good at a poker face when he had to be, had no reaction, so Tommy pressed on.

"I just wanted to...fuck, I don't know how to say it, men aren't the ones who say stuff like this...I had this time with us because I wanted to say thank you."

Kevin began to inwardly wince again. He didn't like talking about this.

"What about Justin?"

"Justin too, but he wanted to help us. I know how hard this was for you, Kevin. I just wanted this to be for us."

Kevin waved his hand with a forced amount of carelessness.

"I donate sperm all the time. The hot guy at the gym who looks like that stud from the Horatio Hornblower movies, Julia...no big deal."

Kevin looked down at his hands. Suddenly he was the one with the melting poker face.

"Kev, I just want you to know - cause I never had a chance to tell you, Sarah went way out there on a limb at dinner and I was as pissed as you were, I should've said something to her, but then the whole family got involved and we got our usual Walker clusterfuck - why I wanted you to be...the one. Geez, that sounds gay. Oh shit, I didn't mean..."

Kevin briefly looked up from his hands.

"I know what you meant, Tommy. Don't go all PC on me, you're the only conservative in the family I'm still on speaking terms with. I know why you picked me. I'm not a drug addict. I'm gay and childless. If Justin were clean, he would have been your only choice."

Tommy vehemently shook his head, like he'd been waiting for this answer.

"No! Justin's problems were part of it, but Kevin, I picked you because you're the smartest man I know, because you're driven and focused, most of all because you always put your family first...even when we don't deserve it."

Kevin looked up at Tommy now, the way he'd looked up to him when he was a little boy, before he realized just how different he and Tommy were, and assumed the different paths life would take them on meant they were never going to be that close again.

"Kevin, I never told anyone this, but when I found out you were gay, I used to pray every night that it was all some mistake. I always felt sorry for you, for what you wouldn't have. I was wrong. I'm proud of you, Kevin. I asked you to help me because of how great you are, and even though I want to smack you in the head sometimes, I love you so much. I'm going to love this kid so much, Kevin, and I just want to promise you, if my kid tells me he's gay, then I'll love him and support him and fight for him every step of the way. I'll do my best to make sure he doesn't hate himself or feel like he's lost something in life. I won't let him feel the way you had to feel, Kevin. I will be there for him every day of my life, and I know you will be too. As his godfather. I'm going to ask Justin too, but you're the first. I..."

Kevin finally managed to find his way off the couch.

"Tommy, please shut up. Otherwise, I'm going to start crying, and my eyes get puffy. If real men don't eat quiche or cry, they certainly don't get puffy eyes. And the answer is yes!!"

Tommy pulled Kevin into a long Tommy Walker bear hug. The two brothers had never felt closer, and the occasion was such that, for the first time in his life, Kevin Walker was speechless.

When they finally ended their brotherly embrace, all Kevin could think of to diffuse the atmosphere of open emotions and affection was to awkwardly punch his brother on the arm. Tommy clumsily wiped his tears with the back of his hand, and grabbed a football off the mantle.

"C'mon, LITTLE brother, we're going to throw the ball around outside."

"Tommy, I don't..."

"Then you better learn how, cause my boy's gonna kick your ass."

Kevin smirked. "How do you know it's going to be a boy?"

"OK. Then my girl's gonna kick your ass."

Kevin could only pause at the mental image.

"Very well. Just be warned, Tele-Tommy, that I have a black belt in briefcase."

Interview with Matthew Rhys!

Mon, 29 Jan 2007 06:17:16 GMT

Afterelton interviewed Matthew. 4 pages! Matthew plays the landmark role of Kevin Walker on "Brothers & Sisters". He's so smart and sweet and has such a great attitude. It's a must-read. I was especially happy he mentioned how upset people were when Kevin and Scotty broke up. I have so much respect for him as an actor (he ain't bad to look at either).

Anne Heche on Another World - final days on Soapnet

Sun, 28 Jan 2007 18:38:46 GMT

I realize Anne Heche tends to get more press for her personal life than her talent (as we just saw yet again, but she is a phenomenal actress. I don't think this has ever been showcased effectively in any area of her career, aside from her 1987-1991 stint on Another World. Heche played twin sisters, "good" Marley and "bad" Vicky. Marley and Vicky had been separated at birth because their evil grandfather, Reginald, had sent Vicky away and lied to his daughter Donna that the child was dead. Marley was then raised as Donna's SISTER. Vicky showed up in town around age 18, embittered and hungry for money. Her boyfriend, Jake, quickly fell for Marley, and this was a triangle which would chug along for several years and several recasts. Jake and Marley married and left town; Vicky also left town. In 1987, Heche brought Vicky back to Bay City. Marley returned in 1988, on the rocks with Jake due to his infidelity.

When Heche played the roles, Marley reconciled with Jake, discovered she was infertile, and left him after he had a one-night stand with Vicky that led to a paternity crisis. Meanwhile, Vicky stole sanctimonious doctor Jamie Frame from his girlfriend, married him, bore his child, and lost him when he found out she'd slept with Jake. Jamie then took their son in a custody battle. Vicky refused to let herself be beaten down by the hypocrites and moralizers of Bay City, and she managed to find true love with a very handsome, smart, funny, wonderful man named Ryan Harrison. Meanwhile, Marley returned to town, again set on reconciling with Jake, but instead fell in love with...Jamie! When Jake found out, he raped Marley, and was shot soon afterwards. As he lingered in a coma, Marley went on trial for attempted murder. Anne Heche had to play out all the beats of these two very different sisters, both murder suspects, Vicky doing everything she could to protect Marley, to the point where she even impersonated Marley during the trial when Marley fled town.

The episodes on Soapnet are now around March 1991. Heche left the show in early July. Much of her best material is behind her, but there's still some great stuff ahead, and the show as a whole is much better than any soap on today (even to this day I still wish Kathleen were on my TV screen).

So, anyway, if you get a chance, watch Another World on Soapnet, Monday through Friday, 1 PM EST.

FIC Naked (1/1)

Fri, 26 Jan 2007 16:44:40 GMT

FIC: Naked (1/1) PWP

TITLE: Naked (1/1)
AUTHOR: Jan (Jacosta3)
PAIRING: Kevin/Scotty
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: PWP. Scotty appreciates the natural side of Kevin.
DISCLAIMER: The characters don't belong to me. I'm a Kevin/Scotty shipper (*tear rolls down cheek*). I hope I can do them justice.

-

Black.

Sunlight.

Scotty's eyes.

After a particularly splendid night of sex, Kevin woke up in his very own bed, with his very own Scotty standing above him with a cup of coffee. Scotty's hair was mussed from the shower, but the rest of him was dry...and completely naked. Not a bad way to wake up.

Kevin crawled out of bed and stretched away the aches and pains that come with the territory of a great lover and a not-so-great mattress. The slightly chipped mug glued itself to Kevin's fingers as the caffeine burst zapped away his remaining grogginess. Once Kevin got his tongue off the roof of his mouth he thanked Scotty.

"If you had anywhere to go, you didn't have to wait for me."

Scotty smiled back at him.

"I'm a waiter. I...wait."

Kevin chuckled into his coffee at the appropriate time, but he wondered how many times Scotty had used that line before. A flash of irritation soured his otherwise good mood. Why did Scotty - so sweet and funny and supportive - annoy him? How cruel of a bastard must Kevin be to be so cynical about such a great guy? Sometimes Kevin felt like Scotty never looked at him as much as he looked inside him, seeing every imperfection, every flaw. What was worse, Kevin almost wanted Scotty to see those flaws. Wanted Scotty to make him a better man, loving and kind and self-sacrificing and all the other junk Kevin imagined the mythical perfect gay man was supposed to be.

Judging by Scotty's sudden expression of concern, Kevin realized how transparent he was being - in mood as well as body - and almost as a shield of armor, picked up his boxer shorts from the foot of the bed.

"Shower. Thanks for the coffee."

Warm water cleansed Kevin's body and mind in a way only a good hot shower can. As his mostly dried body slipped into a silk robe, he pondered whether or not Scotty had left. He'd given enough signals to suggest Scotty go, but deep down, he was hoping Scotty was still there.

When he slipped out of the bathroom he found Scotty, still there, still naked, and doing the dishes.

Scotty's voice rose above the sound of the spigot.

"Sorry. Hope I didn't give you any cold water. Force of habit!"

Kevin smirked. Somehow when he'd bought his new dishwasher the manual didn't mention the power bottom setting. Scotty's tight, smooth buns jostled slightly up and down as he dried the wine glasses from the previous night's date. Like two melons ripe for the pinch. Kevin was losing track of his original objection to why he didn't want Scotty in his house all the time, naked and hard and on his back and on his knees and everywhere else, so he tried to find focus.

"Are you some kind of nudist?"

Scotty shrugged.

"I think the term is naturalist. I'm just not in a rush to get dressed. Don't you ever have that urge to just be like you were when you were born?"

"When I was born, I looked like Abe Vigoda."

Kevin idled at the refrigerator over the apple or orange juice. Those teasing, watchful eyes bore into his back. He could tell Scotty was unsure about what to say next. Scotty being Scotty, he said it anyway.

"Kevin, why did you put your shorts on just to make it from the bed to the bathroom? Are you ashamed of your body?"

Kevin wasn't sure how to react. The truth was a large part of him still thought of sex and the naked body as something to keep hidden away until the scheduled times of release. He'd heard plenty of compliments about his body, about his looks, but he just didn't see himself that way. Something in him said he couldn't, that he had no right. Finally selecting the orange juice, Kevin did his best to diffuse the latest psychoanalysis.

"Let's just say that accidentally walking in on my Uncle Ira's bathroom break at the last family reunion gave me a life lesson in the perils of freeballing. Ever heard of low hangers? His were somewhere around the ceramic tile."

"No, seriously Kevin. You have such a beautiful body."

Unwittingly, Kevin's shoulders tensed up a bit at the compliment. Scotty soon slinked behind him to put those nimble fingers to work on the tension, his plea whispered in Kevin's sensitive ear.

"Kevin, we're all taught to be so ashamed of ourselves, and I don't know why. Skin is skin. Nothing shameful. I've seen you half-dressed and totally dressed and I've done things to you in the dark that I still can't quite believe, but I've never really seen you. ALL of you."

The tension still wasn't going away. Kevin had no idea what the point of this latest adventure in Scotty's Guide to Gay Shame was, but he knew Scotty well enough to know a losing battle.

Sighing, Kevin slid his robe down his torso, briefly concerned with the welfare of the silk material as it hit the floor.

Scotty's mouth fell open as he drank in every detail before him. Kevin felt embarrassed, degraded at being worshiped, although he wasn't entirely sure why. He also felt, among other swellings, a swelling of pride. Scotty's eyes, and soon his hands - what those hands could do - explored every area of Kevin's body. Kevin knew he was on display, that the man he was on exhibit for could truly appreciate what he viewed as a work of art.

Scotty tenderly kissed him, as if to thank Kevin for crossing this boundary he was obviously hesitant to cross. The tender kiss threatened to turn rough and passionate, but Scotty soon broke away.

Those fingers which knew Kevin so well finally settled in a pattern gliding up and down his chest and stomach, especially fascinated with Kevin's chest hair. Memories of Scotty's head heavy against his chest as they slept at night made Kevin smile, before teeth on his left nipple elicited a carnal groan.

"Hair...nice..." were all the words Kevin could make out as Scotty muttered, kiss, and bit his way down Kevin's flat, furry stomach.

"When I was in college my first boyfriend told me gay men should shave off all their body hair or they were self-hating, straight-acting sellouts. Oh yeah...tongue in my navel...oh God Scotty...anyway, he lives in Utah now, he's married...oh fuck baby you need to patent that thing...and swears Jesus made him straight. What a loser...oooohhhhhhhh FUCKKKKKKK take me all the way, just like that..."

Scotty interrupted his deep-throating to smile up at his lover.

"Peaks and valleys, huh?"

Kevin wasn't sure if Scotty meant Utah, or something else. The something else became apparent when Kevin felt a sharp set of teeth nip at either side of his buttocks, followed by practiced fingers spreading him open for a hot, wet invasion. Kevin's knees buckled as the persistent tongue began to tremor inside him, a finger joining to enter the tight hole. This wasn't the first time Kevin had been given a rim job, but Scotty was so good at knowing how to make him feel good, and was someone he cared about, maybe even more than cared about.

Soon the pleasure of Scotty's drilling and massaging became almost unbearable, and Kevin pulled him up. Sitting Scotty on the countertop, he buried his face in Scotty's neck, moaning and panting as they rubbed their tumescent shafts against each other, furiously, faster and faster, Scotty's nose buried in Kevin's still-wet hair as Kevin's musky chest stuck to Scotty's smooth abs, sweat and sex binding them together in this moment, a moment neither wanted to end. Soon, all too soon, Kevin cried out as their lovemaking spilled all over their naked legs and stomachs. Then they rested, breathing heavy and frantic, slowly calming as their tired eyes gazed into each other's souls.

The afterglow was often Kevin's favorite part of sex, but being able to see Scotty's orgasm in the bright sunlight had made this even better. On impulse, he kissed Scotty's forehead and nose. Scotty, still panting, began to blush.

"Oh God! I really don't know what came over me - besides you just a few minutes ago. I might as well say it - I've wanted to take a bite out of your ass since the first time I saw you, when you were in those tight suit pants you wear so well."

Kevin just rubbed Scotty's temples, soaking in his angelic yet devilish smile.

"Well, Scotty...they always say breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Sounds of raucous laughter filled the apartment. Somehow, the two men never did make it out of the apartment that day, and their clothes never did make it off the floor.

FIC Laundry (1/1)

Wed, 24 Jan 2007 16:45:21 GMT

TITLE: Laundry (1/1)
AUTHOR: Jan (Jacosta3)
PAIRING: Kevin, Nora
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Kitty and Kevin drift apart. Nora wants to help.
SPOILERS: Family Day, Something Ida This Way Comes
DISCLAIMER: These characters don't belong to me. This is just a quick story based on some recent episodes. I'm new to writing so please give me comments (if my comment thing is working!) and tell me if you want to see another part to the story. The next will have Kitty and Robert McCallister, and maybe Kevin.

-

Family spats were normal to the point of boredom in the Walker family. Fighting, cursing, screaming, crying, you name it.

What wasn't normal was utter silence.

When Kitty and Nora were estranged for a few years, they still talked about each other even when they weren't talking to each other. Nora knew, deep down, she would bond with her daughter again at some point. What was most important to Nora was that the children stayed on good terms.

Kitty had moved back to California, mother and daughter reunited, and after oh-so-small little roadbumps like William's death, a bankrupt business, and an obnoxious mistress were put out of the way, Nora thought the future was bright.

Then Kitty began working for Senator Robert McCallister, a very handsome and charming man who happened to be not only Republican, but opposed to gay marriage. Kevin was disgusted, and when he realized his sister also opposed gay marriage, an ugly fight ensued. Nora thought a fight was good to get the kinks out of the system, but when Kitty started dating Senator McCallister, something seemed to shift inside Kevin. He soon stopped making rude comments in Kitty's direction. He stopped making any comments at all. They simply didn't speak. The first few times, Kitty tried to hurl a few sarcastic barbs in Kevin's direction, tried to rile him up so they could talk things out, but he had nothing to say. Kitty was too proud to ask for a real conversation. They were both too damn proud. Weeks and weeks had gone by and they hadn't spoken to each other, they hadn't spoken ABOUT each other, and the rest of the family had had to tiptoe around them.

Finally, when Kevin skipped a family dinner, Nora had enough and went to his apartment to talk to him. Kevin answered the door as he almost protectively clutched a laundry basket in his other hand.

"Mom, I don't want to hear about that dinner again. I told you I was busy at work. Now unless you have a need to product test Tide-to-Go, I..."

No such luck for Kevin. Nora invited herself into his apartment and sat down on his couch. Kevin's shoulders slumped. He recognized that particular Mom Face - Determined Mom Face. That meant she either wanted him to give up a kidney, or speak to Kitty again. It's a good thing Kevin had two kidneys.

"Kevin, I called your secretary, who always tells me the truth because she's like my own - and don't you dare threaten to fire her because I'll legally adopt her and then you'll have another sister you shun - and she said you weren't at work."

Mentally cursing out his secretary, Kevin finished putting the load in the washer, then sat down beside his mother. He wanted to offer up an excuse, but he knew she wasn't going to buy any attempt.

"Mom, please. I can't."

Nora gave him that concerned face, the face that worked even better now than it did when he was 10 and trying to hide a loose tooth he got from the school bully.

"I know you and I know how you love this family. If you need to come to dinner and mutter under your breath and cut your eyes and make Tommy smack the back of your head, then fine. But please, son, at least come to dinner. Don't let this chase you out of the family."

Kevin sighed.

"I just can't look at her right now. This is easier for me. Whether you believe me or not, this is easier for everyone else too."

"Kevin, Kitty thinks you hate her."

"I almost wish I DID hate her!"

The vehemence in Kevin's words surprised them both. His hands were clenched and his eyebrows furrowed deep. His eyes brimmed with bitter tears. Only then did Nora truly realize the pain her son was going through. They paused for a few moments, until Kevin finally found his voice again.

"Kitty's always been an overacheiver. It wasn't enough for her just to be a Republican, or just to oppose my rights, or to work for a man who hates people like me. No, she has to date him. She's going to marry him and be one of those Stepford Senate wives with the red power suit and the glassy-eyed zombie kids named Mitt and Muffy. I'm going to be that weird uncle they're never going to be allowed alone in a room with."

Nora was shocked at the depth of her son's bitterness towards his sister, but she tried to stay focused.

"Son, you know Kitty's not like that. She's always supported you."

A derisive snort emerged from Kevin.

"How noble of her! Hate the sin, love the Walker, right?"

Nora grasped her son's hand, gently, but firmly enough to make her point.

"We've done this all before. You fume, and you're indignant, then your head clears and you move on."

She searched his drawn face for any sign of her words hitting home. Instead, she seemed to stir him up.

"Mom, I'm sick of appeasing Kitty's great conservative misadventures. You know me. I don't care about getting married. I'm not some militant who boycotted Tommy's wedding or Sarah's wedding because of equal rights. This goes beyond me! Everyone keeps going on about McCalister's looks - you don't think they're going to try to push Senator Dreamboat into the White House? With Kitty there every step of the way? What if he gets elected and his Supreme Court pick is the deciding gay marriage, or sodomy laws, or anti-discrimination laws? Or Roe v Wade? My sister, your daughter, as First Lady as our rights are spit in our faces? Do you really think his backers are going to let him put anyone but some crazy lunatic on that bench? What about Justin? Isn't one war enough for him to suffer through, Mom? What wars will we get if we put this person in the White House? I can't be a part of enabling this. If you think that's selfish, just imagine how Kitty would react if I started dating Hillary Clinton. How would she react?"

Nora smirked.

"Well, she'd be too busy picking me up off the floor to say much of anything."

Kevin laughed, in spite of himself. Nora loved the sound, so deep and oddly reminiscent of her husband's laugh.

"Kevin, I've talked to Robert..."

"Robert? First name basis? Don't tell me he ate your brains, too?"

"Shush. I was calling out politicians before you were even in the womb. I've talked with Robert extensively and I respect him a great deal. He's a genuine man and he genuinely cares about Kitty. We both know how hard it is to find a man who respects us. His voting record for a Republican is not all that bad. I think he can be persuaded our way. You know very well if he does run for President that's going to happen whether Kitty is at his side or not. At least we can say we tried to make a difference. Besides, he has a gay brother and he's also going to have you there on his case."

Kevin rolled his eyes.

"Mom, they all have gay relatives. It's like God's little joke. Do you want me to call them out? Mary Cheney, Candice Gingrich, that kid of the woman who stopped the ERA..."

"I know all that. Wait, Phyllis Schlafly has a gay child? OK, I didn't know that. Ugh, that woman, I worked so hard to ratify the ERA in California and...where was I? Oh, yeah. Kevin, first of all, don't you think the senator is MORE likely to be hostile to gays if he only knows you as the brother that broke Kitty's heart?"

"Mom, I..."

"And as much as you care about gay rights - and I share that concern so strongly - I think you're really hurt because you'd become so close to Kitty that you assumed she was going to agree with you. You think this means she doesn't accept you, or she's ashamed of you? Isn't that what this is really about? Oh son, that's not true. Kitty is still there for you. She just needs time. I know how hard this is..."

Nora felt Kevin's hand tense up. She'd hit a wall. Or, more accurately, a nerve. His eyes, those beautiful expressive eyes, clouded over like an early morning frost.

"Mom, you really don't know how hard this is. There's no way you ever could. I love you, but...I can't talk about this anymore."

With that said, Kevin went into the laundry room, assuming Nora would let herself out.

Nora began to walk towards the door, stopping halfway.

"Kevin, one last thing."

Kevin stuck his head out the open door.

"WHAT?"

"Is that a grass stain? Because I just read about a great way to get out grass stains. Let me look."

Kevin sighed. He really did love his mother.