First Impressions

by Devereauxs_Disease

Summary:

Michael Raki considers himself a good father, which is why he's determined to support his son no matter what. When that "what" ends up being a guy screwing his only child on the dining room table...well, Michael might have to rethink that undying support. Can Adam convince his dad he's misjudged Nigel? Can Nigel put his dick away before he makes things worse?

OR

Dev wrote Spacedogs from the POV of a concerned parent.

Notes:

Happy Thanksgiving Eve to my American friends! And Happy Wednesday to everyone else! This was just a jokey idea that came to me when discussing what parents would think of Nigel. And let's be honest, I love Nigel, but...he's not a "take home to mom and dad" sort.

...or is he?

Chapter 1: The Primacy Effect

          Michael Raki always took pride in the fact that he was a progressive dad. The moment he noticed his son wasn’t hitting typical milestones he and his wife had taken Adam to a specialist. He’d never seen the autism diagnosis as a disability, and he stood up for his son’s needs even when the schools suggested Adam be sent to a “special program”.

          His son was smart, there was no reason a little bit of social awkwardness should be held against him.

          When his wife lay in a hospital room, sobbing that she’d never see their boy grow up, he’d sworn to her that Adam Raki would have a full life with his father by his side. Their son would have a good, healthy life. He’d kept that promise, even when the world, and Adam, made it hard. 

          He’d been there for his son through school, through college, and through the job-hunting process. It had been difficult at times, but Michael’s frustration was always toward those who couldn’t see just how wonderful and smart his boy was. Even now, when he heard the word “weird” or “freak”, he felt his temper surging. His son wasn’t a freak. He was an open, honest little genius. Adam’s only fault, as far as Michael could see, was that he was a little too open and honest for his own good.

          When Adam was an appropriate age, he’d bought his son a book on puberty and then sat red-faced at the kitchen table every night for four months — Four. Goddamn. Months. — while Adam peppered him with questions from ball hair to blowjobs. Michael had answered honestly, and he’d always been proud of himself for doing so.

          Until today.

          It was true, that Michael had explained all forms of sex and masturbation to Adam. He'd never shamed Adam for buying pornography or exhibiting interest in sex. What he hadn’t done was explain appropriate venues for these activities. That was the only explanation for why he’d come home to find his son bent over the kitchen table moaning while a hulking man held him down and fucked him for all he was worth.

          Michael could admit to himself that he flinched.

          It wasn’t the ideal way to discover your son was gay, but Adam’s sexuality wasn’t really the problem. The problem was the thing looming over his precious baby boy. The man in question had scratchy tattoos all over his chest, and sandy hair falling in his face as he held Adam down and thrust. He looked like something that lurked in alleyways, robbing little old ladies and flicking lit cigarettes onto the pavement.

          Neither had noticed him, which was fair, they seemed busy.

          Michael had every intention of backing out of the kitchen and returning in an hour. Then, with open communication, Michael would let Adam know he loved him, he supported him, and that they needed to discuss appropriate sexual partners and locations for sexual encounters. He was already rehearsing his “we don’t have sex in the kitchen or any surface food sits on” speech in his head when he heard it.

          “You scream like a fucking whore, gorgeous. Clench up on my cock or I’ll beat that little ass again,” the creature holding his son down growled as his hips rolled. “I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a fucking week, you little cockslut. Listen to you, moaning at that? You fucking like it, you little freak?”

          It all rushed back to Michael. The countless times he’d held Adam, dabbing at a bloody nose or making soft noises as his little boy wept. All the tearful nights Adam begged not to go to school, to switch schools again. Every time Adam asked to rehearse social scenarios because maybe this time he’d get it right, maybe this time he’d make a friend. All the times Adam had thought allowing someone to take his toys or shove him was friendship, because that’s all the little monsters in his class were willing to give him.

          And now, it was happening again, and Michael couldn’t stand the thought that his precious boy would settle for this. Allow this thing to touch him when he deserved so much more, so much better.

          “GET THE FUCK OFF MY SON!” Adam and the creature both froze at the same time. Adam seemed to say something, but Michael couldn’t hear him with all the blood rushing to his ears. He acted on instinct, flying at the man and swinging as hard as he could.

          The first punch connected with the man’s nose, landing with a satisfying crunch. His second punch was deflected, landing on the man’s shoulder.

          What followed, was bedlam.

          They were all screaming, the man squaring up with Michael, but not swinging yet. It had been decades since Michael had been in a proper fight, and if he was honest, Harlan had saved his ass in that one, but he was ready to take a beating for his son.

          He blinked when familiar hands grabbed his face. He was turned away from the man and forced to look into Adam’s worried eyes. It took a moment to understand what Adam was saying.

          “Dad! Find your breath.” Adam’s grip was firm, his fingers stroking lightly against Michael’s cheeks. “Breathe with me. Inhale for four.”

          Michael obediently sucked in air.

          “Good now hold it.” Michael watched as Adam counted to seven. “I’m so proud of you. Now, let’s exhale for eight.”

          More counting. Michael wondered when his sweet kid had become so responsible. He hadn’t done this with Adam since his finals senior year. Now, instead of a loud scene setting him off, Adam was the one defusing it.

          Adam walked Michael through the 4-7-8 breaths a few more times. When Michael no longer felt his heartbeat in his ears, Adam blinked, his blue eyes flitting around the room. “OK, now name five things you see.”

          “I’m OK, Adam.”

          Adam wouldn’t let him go. “Five things.”

          “My son, the kitchen table, the salt and pepper shakers, the napkin holder you made in fourth grade… and a naked stranger.” Michael turned to glare at the man, whose nose was bleeding. He noted that the bastard had grabbed Margaret’s favorite tea towel and was using it to cover his crotch.

          Great, he’d have to burn that later.

          “Good. Now name four things you can touch.”

          “Adam, I’m fine. I-”

          “Four things you can touch.” Adam’s voice was even, but Michael could see the tension on his boy’s face.

          With a sigh, Michael brought a hand up to Adam’s hair. “My son, my shirt, my belt, and the table.”

          “Good job, Dad!” Michael smiled. Adam knew his script so well. “Now, three things you can hear.”

          “Your voice, the hum of the fridge, and that asshole panting.” Adam frowned. The asshole in question straightened up, but kept the tea towel in place.

          “Two things you can smell.”

          “Your shampoo.” Michael made a face. “and sex.”  

          “One thing you can taste.”  

          “My toothpaste.”  

          “Are you calm?” Adam was peering at his father. Michael nodded. Adam straightened up, running a hand through his hair. Michael decided not to mention the nudity. “Good. Dad, I’d like you to meet Nigel.”

          Michael squinted, turning to glare at the man with a tea towel draped over his dick. “Nigel? Nigel your new friend you met at the planetarium?”

          “Yes,” Adam smiled, but not at Michael. His stomach dropped when he realized his son was beaming over his shoulder. “Uh…I still think he’s my friend, but things have progressed to…I was going to tell you at dinner, let you meet Nigel. He was supposed to come over and help me cook, but we got distracted and-”

          Michael pulled out of his son’s grasp and stood to his full height. There was no way Nigel wouldn’t kill him if they got into another fight, but his son was worth dying for. “Hello, Nigel. Get your dick off my tea towel and get out of my house.”

          The man stepped forward, brow furrowed. Michael braced for a hit, but Nigel just turned to look at Adam. “Gorgeous?”

          Adam had grabbed a napkin and was now sweetly wiping blood from Nigel’s nose. “You should go. Dad and I need to talk. You can meet him properly at dinner.”

          “Adam-”

          “I don’t fucking think-”

          Both men stopped to stare at each other before turning back to Adam, who smiled at Nigel again. “Dinner is at seven, Nigel.”

          “Yeah, uh…” Nigel stepped forward again, hand absently wiping at this bloody nose. “I, uh, I just wanted to tell you, sir, that I really love your-”

          “Save it,” Michael sneered.

          “Dad’s right. Save it for dinner.” Adam petted Nigel’s jaw, looking positively blissful. “And please put some ice on your face when you get home.”

          Nigel, for the first time, smiled, eyes crinkling as he looked down at Adam. “I’m fine, darling.”

          “Ice, please,” Adam said pertly, leaning in to kiss Nigel’s cheek. Michael blinked at his stark naked son. “And when you come for dinner, dad will be ready to apologize.”

          “THE HELL I-”

          Adam frowned sternly at Michael. “Hitting is wrong. It’s a weak man’s response. Isn’t that what you always told me, Dad?”  

          Michael scowled. How dare his little shit of a son throw that back at him after all these years? “I meant bullies! He had you…and he was…”

          Michael sighed, gesturing at both of them. He turned to face Nigel. “He’s not a whore, a cockslut, or a goddamn freak you son of a-”

          “I know,” Adam was pulling Michael backward, giving Nigel space to leave. “Nigel knows that too, Dad. But when I asked for rough sex, Nigel asked if it would be ok to play a game. I find when he calls me names he thrusts harder and tightens his hand around my neck which-”

          “Adam, please!” Michael held up his hands to ward off another mental image he’d never be able to shake.  

          “I’m just trying to explain why Nigel says things like that. He calls it dirty talk.” Adam paused, mouth scrunching in thought. “I think it might be more correct to call it a humiliation kink since I don’t talk back, I just moan.”

          “God, Adam!”

          “But I promise it’s mutual,” Adam smiled. “It’s not like those times when I didn’t understand that people were making fun of me. I know this is a sexual gratification act. I like it when Nigel calls me a whore, it’s exciting for-”

          “Adam,” Michael ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he needed to do the 4-7-8 breathing again. “I need ten minutes alone in my room. When I come out, we can talk…alone.”

          Michael glared at Nigel, who gripped the tea towel tighter to his groin. He turned back to Adam. “Then, maybe, we can discuss dinner.”  

          “OK!” Adam smiled like he’d just won some sort of prize. He turned to Nigel. “You should go, I’ll see you at seven!”

          Nigel nodded, keeping his eyes on Michael as he slipped out the kitchen door. Before leaving, he bent down and kissed Adam softly. “Love you, baby. See you at seven.”

          Michael noticed the neck tattoo when Adam’s fingers ran over it. Was it a stripper?

          Great. Just perfect.

          With a grimace, Nigel held up the tea towel. “I’ll uh…just wash this before I bring it back, alright?”

          Michael said nothing, wondering if he could kill a man by glaring.

          Nigel nodded. “Yeah, well, nice to meet you.”

          When Nigel slipped out of the room and headed in the direction of Adam’s bedroom, Michael made a note to get the apartment fumigated. “Does he have a tattoo on his ass?”

          “A small one,” Adam said in his customary monotone. “He got it when he was drunk after his divorce.”

          “DIVORCE?” Michael turned to Adam with wide eyes. “How old is he?”

          “Thirty-seven.”

          Michael sighed. Wonderful. Tattooed, with a dirty mouth, physically aggressive, and almost a decade older than Adam. “Honey, I don’t care if you’re gay-”

          “I’m bisexual.”

          Michael nodded. “OK, bisexual. I’m glad you’re finally putting yourself out there. And Adam, you know I’ll support you no matter what, right?”

          Nigel rushed by the kitchen door, one boot clenched in his teeth as he hopped into leather pants. A motorcycle helmet dangled from his elbow. Michael looked up to the heavens. “But does it have to be that guy?”

          “Yes.” Adam stepped into the hallway as the door slammed. He had an odd little smile on his face. “I’ll probably marry him once you two become friends.”

          Michael snorted at that. “So I’ll just have to hate him forever. Easy enough.”

          Adam’s smile widened just a bit. His eyes were still on the door as if waiting for Nigel’s return. “He’ll grow on you.”

          Like a fungus. Michael thought as he watched his son. “Adam. Adam!”

          Finally, the spell broke and Adam turned back to his father. “What?”

          “I’m going to need you to put on some pants…” Michael frowned. “And maybe let me have 20 minutes alone to process all this.”

          “Oh OK!” Adam headed for his bedroom. “When I’m dressed I’ll start dinner.”

          “START BY CLOROXING THE TABLE!” Michael let himself slump against the kitchen cabinet.             

---

          Dinner was a quiet affair. Adam hadn’t turned on his shows, and Michael found himself missing the soothing tones of James Lipton. Anything to fill the silence.

          Instead, the only noises filling the kitchen were the squeal of knives cutting baked chicken and the moist squish of chewing. It made Michael’s skin crawl. Nigel, who had shown up to dinner with a bottle of wine Michael wouldn’t take, seemed to be white-knuckling it through dinner too. Adam was going through his social protocols like the two other men at the table weren’t locked in a staring contest, each trying to convey their hatred via their eyes.

          “Nigel? How was your day?” Adam asked around a mouthful of chicken.

          Nigel glanced at Michael before smiling slightly. Annoyingly his nose didn’t look that swollen. Michael made a mental note to go back to the gym, and maybe find a local boxing class. “Boring. Got up, did some laundry. Best part was getting to…”

          Nigel halted, swallowing. Michael sneered at the dancing girl on the man’s neck as she bobbed with his throat. “See you. That’s always the best part of my day, gorgeous.”

          “I found seeing you frustrating because I wasn’t able to ejaculate.” Adam smiled. “But I masturbated in the shower, so I suppose that’s alright.”

          Michael prayed to his late wife to give him strength. He stabbed aggressively at a sprig of broccoli. “I notice you didn’t mention a job.”

          “I have a job.” Nigel’s voice dropped, those hooded eyes glaring daggers at him.

          Michael got the sense that he was poking a tiger. Still, he needed to get the tiger away from his son.

          “Nigel works at night,” Adam added helpfully.

          “Drug dealer?” Michael kept his tone light, hoping Adam would take it as a polite inquiry and not a jab. Nigel’s grip on his fork tightened.

          “I work at a bar,” Nigel’s tone was flat, but he looked ready to reach across the table and take Michael by the throat.

          “He hasn’t dealt drugs since he came to America.” Adam popped a floret into his mouth and chewed, smiling at Nigel.

          Michael’s whole body ran cold. Nigel’s eyes widened just a fraction before he schooled his expression. “Get out.”

          “Dad!” Adam dropped his fork. “That was rude!”

          “I don’t share meals with criminals and neither do you!”

          “He’s never been convicted!” Nigel stood, chair screeching with the force of the movement. Upsettingly, Adam stood with him. “He doesn’t have a record. And he doesn’t do that anymore, do you?”

          “No.” Nigel’s lip curled as he kept his eyes on Michael.

          “See! He’s not-”

          “ADAM RAKI GET HIM OUT OF THIS HOUSE AND WE’LL DISCUSS THIS-”

          “NO!” Adam put a hand on Nigel’s chest. “Wait outside.”

          “Gorgeous, it’s fine, I’ll fucking go.”

          “Wait outside, Nigel.” Michael frowned at how calm Adam sounded, and how quickly the drug dealer obeyed him.

          They sat in silence until the door clicked shut. “Adam, people who deal drugs hurt others. They get them addicted, they ruin lives. This guy didn’t-”

          “Do you remember what you told me when I asked if you killed people in the Army?” Adam’s fist was clenched. Michael watched it tap frantically on his thigh as Adam fought to stay calm. “You told me people are complicated. I didn’t like that, but you said that no one does the right thing all the time, and sometimes people who do bad things deserve a new start.”

          “There is a big difference between going to Vietnam and dealing drugs! He was probably part of a gang!”

          “He smuggled heroin from the Balkans. He told me about it. He was honest, he didn’t try to hide it from me, Dad.” Adam swallowed, his breathing growing a little erratic. “He said in his neighborhood, it was the only way he could make good money. But he knows it was bad! You said we had to forgive people for their mistakes if they own up to it. You wrote a letter to our senator about prison reform when I was in 10^th grade.”

          “Adam, there’s a difference between serving your time and fleeing the country! I wouldn't let you date that Hannibal the Cannibal either!” Michael stood, reaching for Adam. “We’ll forget about this. We can go to the planetarium, and forget-”

          “I’M GOING WITH NIGEL!” Adam yanked back from his father’s grip. Michael felt like he’d been punched. In all his years, even when Adam’s meltdowns were violent, he’d never flinched from Michael’s touch. Adam took a long, deep breath. “I’m sorry you don’t like him, but I do. I… I’m not a little boy, Dad. I’m twenty-six. I n-need you to trust me.”

          “Adam, I love you.”

          “That’s not what I asked.” Adam backed away. “I’m going to go talk to Nigel. I don’t like his apartment, so I won’t spend the night, but I won’t be home before bedtime.”

          “Adam, this is a mistake. He’s a mistake.” Michael watched as Adam turned on his heel and walked down the hallway. His first instinct was to chase after him, to wrestle his sweet boy back to his room and talk with him until he saw sense. Instead, Michael slumped back in his chair, wondering when the hell his baby had turned into a man.

          He needed a stiff drink from the bottle he kept on his nightstand and maybe a quick call to Harlan. If he was going to get rid of Nigel, he was pretty sure he’d need backup.

Chapter 2: Never Judge a Book by It's Cover

Summary:

Michael implements his plan to get rid of Nigel. But...does he really want to get rid of Nigel?

          Adam Raki thrived in a structured environment. Michael had learned early on that schedules and routines made everyone’s life easier. When the routine had to change, there was always a period of adjustment, but Adam would eventually pick up on the new pattern and then everything smoothed out.

          Well, it had been four months of the new routine and Michael Raki hadn’t adjusted to shit.

          When Adam came back from Nigel’s place — five minutes before bedtime, as promised — Michael had caved. He’d apologized to Adam for treating him like a child and offered to have a discussion with him about Nigel in the morning.

          Ground rules were made.

          Nigel could sleep over three nights a week. No sex would occur outside of private spaces. Michael would not call Nigel a drug dealer and would be civil at all dinners unless Nigel…

1. Broke the law in front of him, or
2. Acted disrespectfully.

          Apologizing to that smirking bastard was one of the hardest things Michael Raki had ever had to do. But he’d done it, for Adam. It didn’t matter, he’d be rid of Nigel soon enough. He had a plan.

          Operation Nix Nigel was the product of several hours and at least three six-packs worth of planning. He and Harlan had laid out everything. Adam was a smart boy; he’d see Nigel for what he was eventually. Plus, a former drug trafficker with an ex-wife and a dead-end job would screw up eventually. Michael just had to keep prodding gently and waiting to comfort Adam when he realized what a disaster his “first official boyfriend” was.

          Only, the sonofabitch wasn’t screwing up.

          If anything, he was annoyingly attentive to Adam. Michael also had a gut feeling the bastard knew what he was attempting to do and got joy out of thwarting Michael at every turn.

          First, there was the dinner where Michael had tried to subtly dig into Nigel’s dating past. When he’d oh-so-casually mentioned Nigel’s past promiscuity, Adam had helpfully informed Michael that Nigel’s experience made him a knowledgeable and thoughtful lover. Michael tried to eject that little tidbit from his brain and picked a different course. He pointed out that couples without shared interests were doomed to fail; Nigel’s first marriage had. Instead of getting angry, Nigel had agreed.

          “You’re absolutely fucking right, Michael, I learned my lesson with Gabi.” He smiled and Michael felt like he’d just stumbled into a lion’s den. “That’s why I thought Adam and I might have fun here.”

          He’d produced two VIP tickets to AstroFest at the Kopernik Observatory. The bastard had actually winked at Michael when Adam threw himself into his arms chattering about the speaker lineup and if they really had a private meet-and-greet with Alyssa Pagan. When Michael tried to redirect his son by asking who Alyssa Pagan was, Nigel answered before Adam could, asking Michael if he REALLY didn’t know who the James Webb’s Image Specialist was. Michael pointedly ignored the man’s shit-eating grin.

          Harlan suggested poking into Nigel’s usage history. Asking if he attended meetings. Nigel didn’t, claiming to only drink one beer a week when he was watching DVR-ed soccer games with his friend. When Michael scoffed at the idea of only drinking one beer while watching a game, Nigel had asked with concern how much Michael drank in a week.

          Now Adam was counting the beers in the fridge and telling Michael that his liver was aging.

          Michael had tried pointing out Nigel’s smoking, only to have the smug shit roll up his sleeve and reveal a nicotine patch. Adam was so proud that he’d suggested they go to bed early. Michael had stared at the ceiling for hours that night, mentally calculating whether he could afford soundproofing in his bedroom.

          The final straw had been when Michael had asked Adam if it wasn’t difficult to manage his schedule since Nigel worked five nights a week until late at night. Nigel mentioned that he was considering cutting back hours, maybe looking for a new apartment Adam might like. Michael had shut the hell up before that line of thinking went any further.

          Overall, Operation Nix Nigel had been a washout. But Michael Raki wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He’d meet with Harlan on Friday, while Nigel and Adam were learning about deep space imaging three-and-a-half hours away all weekend.

---

          Michael was ready to resume the battle for his son’s soul at dinner but was surprised when Adam burst through the door in the middle of the afternoon, red-faced and clutching a box.

          It took a good fifteen minutes of coaxing to get Adam to let go of the moving box, and another ten to get the story out of him.

          Fired.

          Tears filled Adam’s eyes as he tried to explain why he couldn’t settle for 60% functionality in the toys. Michael knew. His boy would never settle for average, he was too extraordinary for that.

          “I’m sorry, Dad,” Adam whimpered. Michael hugged him tighter.

          “It doesn’t matter, Adam.” Michael pressed a kiss into his son’s curls. “You got fired for having high standards. There are plenty of places that would kill to have a worker like you. When Nigel comes over tonight we can-”

          “No. I t-told him not to. I t-told him not to call me again.”

          “What?” Michael frowned. How could getting his wish granted feel like a kick in the nuts?

          “I- I don’t want to see him. I d-don’t want a boyfriend.”

          “Adam, you said you were going to marry him.”

          “You w-were right I shouldn’t have a boyfriend.” Adam stood, hugging himself as he paced the living room.

          “I never said that.”

          “I don’t w-want him to know. H-he’ll see…He’ll see I can’t even keep a job and I,” Adam gasped, trying to pull in air. Michael stood, but he was too late. Adam slammed his head into the mirror, cracking it. “I’M A FREAK. FREAK! FREAK!”

          Michael pulled Adam into his arms, holding on for dear life. It had been years since he’d had to physically subdue Adam, but the gasping breaths and jagged sobs were always the same. They crumpled to the living room floor, rocking together as Adam found his breath.

          Adam let Michael bandage his head, but he didn’t want dinner. Michael couldn’t get his son to meet his eyes, couldn’t get him to do anything but look utterly miserable. Adam promised he just wanted to be alone and Michael let him go to his room to lay down on the bed.

          Then Michael did something desperate – he called Nigel.

          Adam had insisted they exchange numbers last month. Michael had sworn to himself he’d never use the number, but now he grimaced and hit dial.

          “What? Calling to fucking gloat?” Nigel growled. “I don’t know what the fuck you said to him, but he sounded like shit on my voicemail. You’re a real piece of shit, Mich-”

          “Come over, right now.” Michael closed his eyes.

          “What’s wrong?” Nigel’s entire tone had changed. Michael could hear movement on the other end of the phone.

          “He got fired.” Michael sighed. “He had a meltdown about letting me down…letting you down too. He thinks…he thinks you’ll throw him away like everyone else has when he isn’t perfect. He doesn’t want to see you, but I think he might need to.”

          “Is he OK? Is he safe?” Michael blinked at Nigel’s tone. That greasy bastard sounded absolutely terrified.

          “Yeah.”

          “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

          Nigel made it in 15. Michael opened the door the second he heard the man’s heavy bootfalls in the hallway. “He’s in his room. He wanted to be alone, but I don’t think that’s what he needs.”

          Nigel tossed his helmet on the sofa, digging in his pocket and producing a phone. He hit a few buttons and Marvin Gaye started blaring from the speaker. Michael frowned, but Nigel winked. “Trust me.”

          Michael sighed, what other choice did he have?

          Adam’s door opened almost immediately. Adam stomped out, following Nigel to the kitchen. “I don’t want to see you.”

          Michael craned around the doorway just in time to see Nigel turn, dramatically lip-syncing the words to “Let’s Get It On”.  He was swaying, clutching a wooden spoon in his hand.

          Adam batted Nigel away when he leaned in. “I hate when you do this.”

          Nigel spun away from Adam’s hand, landing on his knees dramatically. “You hate it so much you always smile.”    

          Adam backed up a step but didn’t leave the kitchen. “No.”

          “And dance with me.”

          “Go away, Nigel.”

          “Alright, gorgeous, you asked for it.” Nigel straightened up, tossing the spoon in the air before bringing it to his lips. “Theeeeeeeeere’s nothing wrong with me…loving yoooooooou!”

          “You have a terrible voice.” Michael tilted his head. Was Adam laughing?

          Nigel was now hip-thrusting like Elvis, which Michael had to admit, was pretty funny. “And giving yourself to me can never be wroooooooooong, if the love is TRUUUUUUUUUUUEEEEE!”

          Adam was right, Nigel’s voice could shatter glass, but there was another sound Michael was more interested in: Adam’s laughter. His son’s shoulders shook, his posture more relaxed. Adam batted Nigel’s spoon-microphone away again and this time Nigel tossed it, grabbing Adam’s hands.

          Slowly, Nigel reeled Adam in, still singing and shimmying, looking like a total ass. Adam resisted for a beat but eventually allowed Nigel to spin him into a hug. Adam’s eyes closed as Nigel enveloped his back, strong tattooed arms snaking around Adam’s middle. They swayed gently, Nigel letting Marvin take over singing as he stroked Adam’s sides.

          “I got fired,” Adam mumbled as Nigel nuzzled his neck.

          “I heard.”

          “I got upset.”

          Nigel tipped Adam’s chin to the side, softly kissing the bandage on Adam’s forehead. “I know.”

          “I w-won’t, I’ll get another j-job. I’ll try-”

          “Adam?”

          “What?”

          “Let’s just finish the dance, yeah? We’ll worry about the rest later, gorgeous.”

          Adam sank into Nigel’s arms, his face finally relaxing. “OK.”

          Michael tapped the doorframe with the tips of his fingers. Adam’s eyes remained closed, but Nigel looked up. Michael held up his hand in a silent wave before slipping out of the apartment.

          He walked for a few blocks, no real destination in mind. He thought about the tattooed drug dealer in his kitchen, kissing his perfect son’s neck. Nigel was big, brash, and wrong in just about every single way. Except…he might actually love Adam as much as Michael did.

          Michael took out his phone, hitting dial. “Harlan? New plan. Adam needs to marry Nigel.”

---

          A few weeks ago, Nigel spending every night of the week at the Raki apartment would have sent Michael into a fit. Now, he was considering asking Nigel to just move in.

          He’d gotten used to the sound of Nigel banging in at 3 am, cursing as he tripped out of his boots and bumped into the hall table. Hell, he’d almost learned to ignore the ungodly moans that came out of his son’s room most nights.

          Almost.

          Michael knew why Nigel was sticking so close. Adam was tense. He’d never faired well on the job market, and he had a tendency to talk himself out of jobs if they had social aspects. Nigel, however, seemed convinced that every person on the planet would line up to hire Adam Raki. He’d spent every free afternoon with his son, rehearsing job interviews, scouring job listing sites for space-related work, and pushing Adam to apply for any and everything that caught his eye.

          Michael was content to take a back seat now. He would sit in the kitchen and grin to himself as the boys discussed the future.

          “I can’t. It’s too far! What about dad?”

          That caught Michael’s attention. What about dad? Was Nigel trying to take his son to Romania?

          Nigel scoffed. “It’s in California, darling, not Venus. There’s plenty of stuff for old fucks to do in California.”

          The Mount Wilson job, then. Adam had been fretting about applying for it going on a week now.

          “My work history doesn’t match the job description,” Adam objected. “I built circuitry for toys, not imaging systems.”

          “We both know you know how to do this, gorgeous. You just have to convince them of that.”  

          “But that’s not…I’m not supposed to-”

          “Adam, sometimes our story isn’t what we think it’s supposed to be.” 

          “What?”

          Michael stood, careful to keep his chair quiet as he scooted it back. He rounded the kitchen table to peer at the boys in the living room. Adam was sitting at the far end of the couch, legs draped over Nigel’s lap. Nigel was drawing a random pattern on one of Adam’s knees.

          Michael wondered if Nigel knew he did that whenever he was trying to soothe Adam.

          “I thought I knew what my story was.” Nigel sniffed, tossing his bangs from his face. “Typical fucking crime thriller, full of sexy big-titted women and guns. I was going to live fast and get shot while I was still pretty.”

          “You did get shot.”

          Michael’s eyes widened. Every time he thought he knew the full story, some new, horrifying Nigel Fact would hit him right in the chest.

          Nigel smiled at Adam. “Yeah, and that should have been the fucking end. But it wasn’t. I woke up and came to goddamn America. I got a shit job at a shitty bar, all so I could bump into a fucking angel on my day off.”

          Nigel laughed, plucking at Adam’s khakis. “You know I passed that museum twice a day. Never gave a fuck. But on that day…I was bored and it was free, so I thought fuck it, I can sneer at the dinosaurs for a few hours.”

          “And you found me.” Adam’s smile was huge. He leaned up and brushed soft fingers along Nigel’s chin.

          “I did.”

          “And you told me that you wanted to learn more about decaying orbital cycles.”

          “A total fucking lie,” Nigel grinned. “But I admit, darling you did make it interesting.”

          Adam shifted, dropping his feet to the floor so he could cuddle into Nigel’s side. “So, your story is about trying new things?”

          “No, Adam, it’s a love story.” Nigel kissed the top of Adam’s head. “I never thought I’d have a real one, but here you fucking are.”

          “So it’s my story too.”

          “Maybe a chapter,” Nigel said, squeezing Adam closer. Michael found himself grinning. He’d never seen his son look so relaxed. “But it could be a biography about a NASA engineer…if you apply for the fucking job.”

          Nigel nudged Adam with his shoulder, pointing at Adam’s laptop idling on the coffee table.

          “I wouldn’t mind just a love story.”

          Nigel leaned forward, picking up the laptop and setting it on Adam’s lap. “How about a really filthy porno about a NASA Scientist who gets fucked over his telescope?”

          Adam laughed. “I like that…but just when we play at home. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to ejaculate in a government building.”

          Nigel rolled his eyes. “Fucking America. Can’t smoke indoors, can’t come indoors. You fuckers need to loosen up.”

          Michael stifled a laugh as he watched Nigel point at the screen. “Now get fucking typing Adam, I’ve got to go to work in an hour and I haven’t had your cock in my mouth all day.”

          Michael grimaced, glaring when Nigel turned his head, winking at him.

---

          Three weeks after Adam received the employment contract from Mount Wilson Observatory, Nigel disappeared. No more dinners where snide remarks had smoothed into playful barbs. No more finding the boys cuddled together on the sofa watching the news like contented puppies. No more animalistic moaning for hours on end at night.  

          Michael was loathe to admit it, but he fucking missed Nigel.

          Worse, Adam was clearly devastated.

          He’d gone quiet again. Michael never heard easy laughter anymore, or excited stories about something Nigel said or did. His boy was a shell, answering questions about moving and apartment hunting in a monotone as he stared off into the distance.

          It was agonizing.

          Adam didn’t seem to understand what happened. When Michael pressed, he mumbled something about the bar being busy.

          “Well has he given his notice? When are you two leaving?”

          “He said he’d come out later,” Adam mumbled. “Once I’m settled.”

          “What?”

          “He doesn’t want to distract me while I get used to a new job.” Adam looked like a kicked puppy.

          Michael frowned but nodded. “That’s probably for the best. You want to focus on the job first.”

          Adam met his father’s gaze. “You think he’ll come, though, right? He wouldn’t…”

          “Did he say he’d come?”

          “Yes.”

          Michael smiled, dropping a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Then he’ll come.”

---

          It took five minutes of hammering on Nigel’s door before he opened it.

          “Michael-”

          “You have my approval.”

          Nigel squinted, rubbing a hand over his eyes and scratching his stubble. “What?”

          “To marry my son.” Michael raised an eyebrow. “You must have been waiting for my approval, that’s the only reason I can think of that you’d pull this shit right before he leaves.”

          “Michael, we both know Adam deserves…” Nigel gestured to himself, opening the door a bit more so Michael could glimpse the dilapidated apartment. “Better.”

          “He does,” Michael agreed, setting his hand on the door and shoving it open. Nigel backed up a step as Michael barreled in. “He deserves someone with a degree.”

          Michael glanced at a sloppy stack of periodicals on Nigel’s ratty dining table, smiling when he saw they were copies of Astronomy Magazine. “He deserves someone with a career that doesn’t involve bar fights and coming home at three am.”

          Michael turned and shot Nigel a flat stare. “He deserves someone who doesn’t have a stupid fucking neck tattoo.”

          Nigel clenched his jaw but said nothing. For some reason, Michael felt a pain in his gut. He grabbed Nigel’s bicep, shaking the man. “But what he needs is someone who gets him. Who fights for him. Someone who’ll drive three and a half hours just to sit through a weekend of astronomy lectures. Someone who makes my son happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

          Nigel shook his head but Michael continued. “Someone who isn’t scared to come back to my house after I punched him in the face and threw him out for defiling my son and my tea towels.”

          “Fuck you.” A small smile curled the corner of Nigel’s mouth. “I washed that tea towel.”

          “Nothing could have cleaned that towel after that.” Michael snorted.

          Nigel’s smile grew. “Saw the fucking crabs, did you?”

          Michael’s mouth dropped, but after a moment, both men started to laugh. Michael smacked his hand on Nigel’s chest as the younger man snickered. As their laughter died down, Michael moved his hand, gripping Nigel’s shoulder. “You gonna pull your head out of your ass?”

          Nigel nodded.

          “Good.” Michael nudged the kid toward his couch. “Now let’s talk rings.”

---

          Michael looked around the living room, eyebrows raised at the leather sofa and giant flatscreen TV. When he and Margaret had first started out, they had barely been able to afford a loveseat. Though Adam said he and Nigel had bought a house, Michael had been afraid it was a little shack. Now, he was hoping there was space for an in-law apartment so he could retire to the beach. “You sure he isn’t selling drugs?”

          “Dad!” Adam frowned, dropping Michael’s bag in the doorway. “Nigel hasn’t sold any drugs in the United States!”

          Nigel cleared his throat.

          “In the last decade.” Adam amended. Michael turned to look at his soon-to-be son-in-law, but Adam had apparently moved on. “The bar he opened with Darko is doing very well. He says the rich cunts who work around here will pay anything for a beer.”

          “Well, that’s nice to know.” Nigel’s friend Darko had moved out with them, and they’d opened some high-end arcade-themed bar that catered to people who liked video games and booze. Michael had no idea what that meant, but apparently, it paid well and freed Nigel up to plan for the wedding.

          Frankly, Darko looked just as scuzzy as Nigel had, but Michael had learned that his son might be a better judge of character than he’d given him credit for. Currently, Nigel’s scary partner was in the kitchen, fretting about a pound cake that wasn’t baked through.  

          “We’re thinking about franchising the bar,” Nigel said, pulling Michael in for a hug. “Nothing definite until after the wedding, but the deal looks good.”

          Michael smiled, squeezing Nigel back. “Franchise, huh? You marrying him for his money, Adam?”

          “Mostly for the sex.” When everyone stared at him, Adam frowned. “What? I can make jokes!”

          Michael rolled his eyes, hoping his room was at least a few walls away from Adam and Nigel. He missed his son like hell, but he didn’t miss the moaning.

          Nigel laughed, bending to kiss Adam. When he straightened up he raised an eyebrow at Michael. “In two days, we’ll be family, huh?”

          “I’ve come to terms with it.” Michael grinned. “I’m glad I didn’t call the cops on you when I had a chance.”

          “Who’s calling the cops?” Darko came out of the kitchen holding a loaf pan between two ratty oven mitts.

          “No one, fucker, we were talking about the first time I met Michael.”

          “Let me guess,” Darko sat the pan on a trivet. “Nigel didn’t win you over with his fucking charm.”

          Nigel glared, hitting Darko, who smacked him back without looking.

          “We were having sex on the kitchen table,” Adam supplied. “Dad was upset…were you upset about the sex or Nigel specifically?”

          “Both.”

          “No shit?” Darko laughed, he slapped a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’ve walked in on that too.”

          “You have?” Michael’s eyebrows shot up. How often were Nigel and Adam having sex in semi-public?

          “Fuck yeah, I used to be Nigel’s roommate. Why do you think I moved?” Darko pulled a face. “You can only hear your best friend scream fuck me daddy so many times. I gotta say your son is a lot fucking stronger than he looks to hold Nigel’s leg—”

          Nigel smacked Darko harder. Michael took a seat, feeling a little lightheaded. Darko scowled at Nigel. “STOP HITTING ME!”

          “STOP TELLING MY FUCKING FATHER-IN-LAW MY FUCKING BUSINESS!”

          The two men squared up and Michael looked to Adam, who seemed to be ignoring them as he set the table.

          “I WOULDN’T KNOW YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS IF IT WASN’T SWEATING ON THE FUCKING TABLE I EAT AT!”

          “SOME SHIT IS PRIVATE, YOU FUCK!”

          “WHERE THE FUCK WAS THIS FUCKING ATTITUDE WHEN YOU WERE DRIPPING LUBE OUT OF YOUR ASS ON MY CLEAN KITCHEN FLOOR?”

          The men were snarling at each other, but switched to Romanian, still screaming and gesturing. Michael glanced at Adam, who waved vaguely at the chaotic scene behind him. “They’ll be about five minutes, should we start the coffee?”

          Michael nodded. He stood and followed his son past the shouting men and into the kitchen. As Adam pulled out coffee mugs and grounds, Michael rummaged in his travel bag. Michael pulled out a small box and held it aloft. “Oh, before I forget. Here’s your wedding present.”

          Adam turned, brows furrowed. “You already sent us a check.”

          “Yeah, well, this is just something small, mostly for Nigel.”

          Adam opened the box and frowned. “Tea towels?”

          Michael grinned. “You tell your husband I expect him to have one on hand while I’m staying with you.”

Notes:

Next Up:
A longer story where Will's empathy extends to his tastebuds. He can literally taste emotions. Now, if only there were a mildly psychotic doctor/amateur chef that would intrigue...

Notes:

Next Up:
Nigel and Michael battle it out for Adam...who's gonna win?