Date: Sun, 29 Jul 2018 06:53:48 -0400 From: Orson Cadell Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 30 Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming. ***** I looked outside and, to my complete shock, saw Beaux laughing heartily with Matt at his side and a large, rather pudgy but handsome boy that I recalled from the party next to him. Several other teens were pooled around them. Suddenly, as a switch thrown, the entire assemblage of teens turned as one to the windows and Matt stuck his head in and said, "We're taking the boat out. Is that okay, Dad?" Beaux looked at me pleadingly and I nodded as Frank considered, smiled and agreed with a nod as the whooping teens boiled around the pool and toward the dock. ***** Beaux Thibodaux 30: The Power of Pain Saturday By Bear Pup ***** The comedy that always attends the boarding of a watercraft by youth ensued, Beaux openly in awe of the enormous (for the time), sleek and powerful vessel. It was crystal clear: Matt was showboating (in both fact and pun) for Beaux's benefit and, to a lesser extent, that of his friends. I was beaming, something that was noticed -- and well-approved -- by several of the parents. "You really are fond of that boy, aren't you Kevin?" Mary, the woman with the 'wish he we gay' son, asked me softly. I nodded slowly. "You have no idea. And I am utterly terrified at every turn. I just know I'm gonna screw this up." Several chuckled at that. 'Father' Rob had a kindly voice. He sighed deeply. "This is where bad luck comes into play for you. You see, the rest of us went through those terrors with infants, then toddlers then kids before the teen thing struck. I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like for you to have all that dumped on you in addition to the Dad Talk and all the rest." We settled ourselves back into the stark but comfortable furniture. "Are you religious?" I came dangerously-close to blurting out, 'No, I'm gay,' and caught the words just in time. With twinkling eyes, Rob replied, "Johnny, the other boy, um, 'young man', that met Beaux at the party is my son." He laughed richly as did a few other parents. "Lord in heaven, I hope to get you into a poker game. I could fund a mission!" I blushed and a schnork of a laugh burst through. "So, um, uh..." "Yes, I am a pastor and a priest, and I have a gay son. From your various looks through that sentence," another chuckle through the group, "I'm guessing you were raised Catholic? I'm Episcopalian, you might say we're Catholic Lite." I could tell it was a pat phrase that most around the circle had heard. "We, well, we believe that God is wise, merciful and infallible. He would not have made his precious children gay or lesbian or anything else if it meant they'd have to live a life of unfulfilled torment. We even," he lowered his voice conspiratorially without actually changing his volume, "have gay priests. I'll let that sink in while I refresh my beer." Gloria touched my arm and I turned. She was smiling sadly. "It takes some time to wrap your head around Father Rob. As it happens, I was mortified to tell my own pastor that Rick seemed to be, um, overly interested in boys a few years ago, so I went to Chapel at St Luke's. Most of us work at or have ties to the hospital. I stumblingly and without once looking at him explained what was going on. I babbled off into an awkward silence and he just said, '...and?' I got a crick in my neck I looked up so fast. He was smiling, kindly, understanding and I did the whole freak-out thing and ran for it." Most of the group were laughing now, even the parents of the straight kids. Apparently, Father Rob had gotten several of them through rough patches with the kids. I let the conversation ripple around me as I tried to shake myself into thought. I made an excuse to freshen up my wine and found Father Rob coming back from the bar area with a beer that gave off wisps of icy fog. "Fa, uh, um--" "A lot of people our age have trouble with the whole 'Father' thing when we're *off duty*. Just call me Rob." "Rob, I have a confession to make." "Didn't I just say I was off duty?" He laughed at my look of mortification. "I'm sorry. Priest humor doesn't translate well. You were going to ask...?" "I, um, well the fact is that I'm trying to make sure Beaux comes out the best human being he can be, and, well..." He steered me back past the bar area and snagged a replacement wine for me as he passed. There was a cozy if stark (yeah, I know; those don't fit together) sitting nook and he took one chair and motioned me to another. "And you think you've blown it because you haven't fed him religion yet?" He sighed deeply and sadly. "Tell me about Beaux, why don't you?" I did, in brief, avoiding any hint of sexual stuff (I didn't want to have to add him to my 'must murder later' list alongside Dr Silvers, Tala and Rob -- aw, fuck. I had two ROBs to keep straight now? There should be a law... never mind). "Now, part of my job is to read between what people are saying and tell truth from lies." I bristled. "I have to say I'm shocked that the story likely ran pure true. You skipped all mention of sex and Dad Talks, so I assume you'll blush purple if I bring them up, so let's skip to religion. "As a clergyman, I am loath to admit this, but Beaux seems completely untarnished by any of the faiths that have so mangled the Word of God, mine included." A priest willing and able to admit the possibility that someone else was right? Hmm. Interesting thought. "If it's not presumptuous, I would love a chance to talk to a young man who has read the Bible -- and likes it! -- without any of the preconceptions. Would you be open to that?" "Very, but you need, um, a bit of a... warning. Beaux is so much smarter than I am that it's scary. You put something to him that doesn't seem right, he'll challenge you. You had better be absolutely certain and still be ready to withdraw from the field of battle at points. And trust me, that kid can back you into a corner quicker than a floor painter." Rob laughed richly and replied calmly, "That is one conversation that I will treasure. Can I call you later and we can find a time? And, um, how would you feel about me bringing Johnny along?" "That would be ideal, um, Rob." I relaxed and we rejoined the parental pod. I was grilled for a while about Beaux's introduction to our world and explained his learning plan (the Perez one, certainly *not* the Silver/Baskin version). I was surprised and pleased at how interested and accepting all of them were. We all turned after a while at the sound of a motor as the boatload of teens swung slowly in toward the dock. The deck was filled with kids who flowed bonelessly across the seats of the boat and simultaneously managed to be a giant spiky gaggle of elbows and knees. The delightful farce of teens decanting themselves from the boat and into the pool, clothes flying in every direction, kept the rapt and delighted attention of we decrepit seniors. When the initial throes of the inevitable splash-battle died down, we regrouped at the bar and then the conversation pit. The talk drifted around to St Luke politics and it became clear why Frank seemed so like a generic executive. He was the hospital's Business Administrator which appeared to consist of charming little old ladies out of bequests and little old men out of endowments in exchange for naming the new maternity ward the Olivia S Stanton Nativity Centre -- the 're' at the end being essential, according to the elderly Mr Stanton, as a nod to his wife's British origins. They had met, he a young(ish) American officer and her an ambulance driver. It turned out, to the surprise of all of us, the ambulance drivers were used to shuttle officers around the country during the Blitz. They met and fell in love and, shockingly, both survived with reproductive parts intact and wed in London in front of an Army chaplain. Vivvy, as she was known, became one of the innumerable War Brides and they returned to Stanton's Kansas City roots where he immediately resumed his partnership in his grandfather's legal Firm, Stanton, Stanton and Oakes. I pricked my ears up at that, as that firm had frequently defended the Kansas City Mob. That launched a delightful interlude about the power of the influential Corrollo family. Tony smoothly dropped into the conversation with a grenade, "Yeah. Did I mention that my great uncle was Charlie the Wop?" At the sudden, shocked silence, Tony (Anthony Corrollo) and about half the others burst into exuberant laughter. Far from being offended, Tony relished the tangential connection to the family that ran Kansas City for decades. Tony's little bombshell had led to a spirited discussion of bootlegging, numbers-running and prostitution, topics with a long and storied history in KCMO. I perked up again at the mention of another Kansas City institution, the Pendergast Machine, a political racket that was easily as corrupt as (and interwoven with) the Corrollo mob. I looked out and found that the pool was deserted. I looked at my watch and ogled. Could it really be 4:00 already? Apparently. The guys were laid out and the girls had retreated to the tiny pool house. They emerged gradually and the guys replaced them. I let the conversation wash over me as I saw a furiously-blushing Beaux emerge fully clad with Matt and Johnny; the other boys appeared to still be finishing up. I heard the door open and Beaux stepped in followed by a visibly-worried Matt Lyons. "Ah'm so sorry, Oncle. I forgot. When did you say we had to leave?" While his face was placid, even deadpan, I saw that his eyes were sparkling like emeralds. Fuck. Something had gone wrong. I improvised wildly. "God, Beaux, you're right. We have to get that assignment done for Dr Perez. We need to be back at 4:00 or so." I looked at my watch for effect and found to my 'surprise' that it later than we'd thought. "Oh, Lord, Beaux! I'm so sorry, Time just slipped away. It's already quarter past!" I got several deep sighs from parents familiar with the inevitable, "just a few more minutes." All of them were rather shocked when Beaux gave a teen sigh and said, "It's okay, Oncle. Let me say goodbye and we can head on home." My heart swelled at the sound of him calling the house his 'home' and a burst of pride at his willingness to depart, all of that rent asunder by the pain I could see in his young eyes. Ginny turned to me in open-mouthed shock. "My lord, Kevin. I've never seen a teenager leave a party without a pout. What an extraordinary young man." "Matt had so hoped you could stay for some steaks with the kids," Frank added, the disappointment clear in his face and voice. "I am so terribly sorry, Frank, Ginny. I didn't realize you were having a cookout or I would never have let him goof off this morning. I feel terrible." I turned back to the youngsters who'd just returned. "Matt, this is all my fault. We'd love to return the favor and," I turned to the group, "invite all of you and the kids over to my place before long?" Many approving nods and murmurs greeted that. Ginny said, "I will make sure to get you the numbers, Kevin. I know that we'd be delighted and Matt," she smiled warmly at her now-blushing son, "will be over the moon." Beaux moved through the room to me, for all appearance completely unruffled, and we made our exit. We got into the car and Beaux dropped the mask and entered full teen-sulk mode instantly. I got us to Barry Road and found the parking lot of a long-defunct David's store. I pulled in and set the brake. Beaux had not looked at anything but the side window. "Okay, Beaux. Spill. What happened?" Beaux grunted and ignored me. I put on my recently-discovered Dad Voice. "Beaux, look at me when I talk to you. You owe me that much respect at least." He spun to me and I was shocked to see actual tears on his face. "You said they'd be nice, you! You said kids were safe to be around, you! You said -- You said--!" He sobbed once and looked away. A terrifying growl I didn't know I had suffused my voice. "Who hurt you? Tell me this INSTANT!" Beaux spun his head like an owl and his eyes were just as large. "They made FUN of me, Oncle! And when I was changing, one of those, those, those horrible boys popped in the be-hind with a towel and it HURT." "Oh, God, Beaux." I reached across and dragged him to me, his hands trying and failing to fend me off as I pulled him into a hug. "This is on me, Beaux." "Don't you DARE--" "Shut it!" Dad Voice again. "Part of being a teen is teasing and horseplay, Beaux. It is never meant to hurt... well, not really, or usually not. It's meant to sting, sure, and push your buttons. It's just how kids, well, how they interact. I never even thought about it, not after the way Matt and Johnny were at the party. Beaux, son, it's been a whole lot of years since I was your age and I just didn't remember that." "But WHY?" It was a wail of confused hurt and rage. I sighed deeply and, for some reason, that got his attention. "I can't really tell you, Beaux, but I think I have a guess. Everyone your age is scared to death by the changes happening in and around them. I think that, well, I think that teasing each other and roughhousing, like flicking you with a wet towel, is, I guess, a way to protect yourself and know that everyone is as terrified as you are? I know that doesn't make sense, but I think it's the general idea." "But it HURTS people, Kevin! Why they do that there?" I continued as if he hadn't spoken... well, yowled, actually. "And maybe being a little mean is a way to assert themselves, to overcome the feeling of being completely overpowered, like a way to feel for just a moment that you are in control and not just a toy for the universe to bat around." Beaux was quieting, maybe listening. "And, yeah, I guess there really are people that are actually cruel and want to hurt others. No, I don't know how to tell the difference. God knows that I wished I did. And maybe I've got it all wrong and kids do like to make others feel like insects." I looked for a moment at Beaux's face, his eyes locked to his clenched fists and the occasional tear dripping from the tip of his nose. I pulled back onto the roadway as I spoke, since I knew he wasn't going to look up anytime soon. "What I can tell you is that not everyone does that, and at least some people just want to make you feel, and them feel, like part of the group. I didn't really tease people much when I was your age. I was too shy, too worried, too ashamed. I thought I was the only guy who got instant erections at the worst possible times. I only had that couple of jack-offs with Joey and when he left I really didn't make any close friends for a while. I got teased a lot, but since I didn't really let it get to me, they normally backed off. "And that's another part of it now that I think about it. It's about, well, it's about getting a reaction out of someone, really. About feeling that you can get a rise out of someone. Maybe... maybe it makes a kid feel a little bit of power? I guess that falls into the 'in control' thing I mentioned." I let my voice trail off as I realized that I was rambling. I stole a quick glance at Beaux. His fists were so tense the knuckles were white as bone, and I could tell he was trying not to cry and failing, but still under a fierce control to prevent me noticing. I honestly had no idea what to do. We got to the house and parked. Barry had apparently already left. Beaux went into his room and closed the door, not even bothering to strip down. I knocked. "Beaux, can we talk? Please?" There was silence and I tried again. "Beaux?" I knew he'd lost the no-crying battle as his voice was stuffy with tear-driven snot. "Not right now, Kevin. Please." I wandered upstairs and into my office. I worked for a while getting more and more upset. After about an hour, I went back down and knocked softly again. "Beaux? What do you want for dinner?" "I don't think I want dinner tonight, Oncle." His voice was shaky and small. "I just want to sit a while." I went from nervous to alarmed quickly. A Beaux who wouldn't eat was a Beaux that was off-the-charts upset. I retreated to my office and found I had read the same sentence about six times before I slammed the letter down. As I did, I nearly unseated my Rolodex (as with wall telephones, please consult a museum if the term is unfamiliar) and I made a mad grab for it. I sighed deeply when I saw that it was open to the card where I had Hans' info. The gentle Norse god of a nurse reminded me of the whole 'Hunks for Grumps' effect he had on both Beaux and myself that first day in the hospital. I thought for a moment and spun the wheel to the J tab and dialed. "Hello?" "Will, this is K--" "Kevin!" His voice had gone from 'please-don't let-it-be-a-telemarketer' to 'it's-Santa-on-Christmas-eve' in an instant. "I need your help." "Oh, God! Is Beaux okay?" "He's not physically hurt, but I took him to a party with kids his age and, well, I never really prepped him for the teasing and horseplay. You know how kids are. He's really upset and I, well, I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm lying and that they actually were being cruel to him." The remorse in his voice was real. Gone was the puppy with a crush and I could hear the sincerity of an adult man worried about a scared kid. "What can I do?" "When does your shift start?" "Actually, I'm off until tomorrow at noon. Why?" The puppy was definitely trying to claw his way into the conversation again. The hope in his voice was clear and I smiled. "I'd like to swing by and pick you up, and have you just sit with Beaux and calm him down. Wait!" He'd tried to break in with what would undoubtedly be a quick YES!!! with all three exclamation points. "This is not a dating opportunity. I need you to be a friend." Will's voice dropped and got a pinch of menace in it, "That is unfair and uncalled-for. I am not going to, to, to take advantage of--" "I'm sorry, Will. I didn't mean--" "No, your turn to listen. I like Beaux more than any... anyone I've m-m-met in a long time. I want to be there for him. I'm fine if we never, you know, even *have* sex." I smiled and let it into my voice show it. "Liar." I could hear the blush. "But consider me suitably chastised. I was actually only halfway thinking about you, Will. Beaux... well, I don't *think* I'll be revealing any secrets to say that Beaux has the hots for you as much as you do for him." "Really?" Huh. I guess all guys turn into high-school girls on things like that, not just me! "Really-really. I think it's gonna be torture for you to not let HIM molest YOU. You hear what I'm saying? Beaux can be damned hard to say 'no' to, Will. Especially when he looks so kicked-puppy sad. You sure you can fend him off?" I chuckled, as did Will. "Promise. But, uh, is this a no-touch kind of thing? That might be, well, awful hard on both of us." He was right. Beaux needed a hug, probably a lot of them. I sighed deeply and replied, "You're right, Will. Let's just say the clothes stay on and nothing gets unbuckled, unbuttoned or unzipped. Other than that... it might be a great distraction -- for both of you." He rather-squeakily gave me directions to his house. I went downstairs, knocked again, and said, "Beaux? I just wanted you to know I have to run an errant." The heartbreakingly-dejected voice replied, "I'll be fine, Oncle." Will shared a house with several other St Luke workers (all women) a short walk east of the hospital. While it technically had its address on 84th, it was one thin line of scraggly shrubs from fronting on Barry Road, the noise of which likely put the fairly-new home into their rental price-point. Will was standing out front rocking back and forth on his heels when I pulled up and I had little doubt he'd been there since hanging up the phone. He practically leapt into the Celica when I stopped. A little breathlessly, he said, "Sorry, I know. I'm all nervous and I shouldn't be. I just can't help it!" I put my hand on his shoulder and was shocked to find that he was shaking. "Calm down, Will. And for God's sake, *breath*! Beaux will be really excited to see you and I know you are exactly the medicine he needs right now. And, yes, you should be nervous. You are in for a very frustrating evening, I'm afraid." He smiled sheepishly and took a deep breath as I turned around and got back on Barry Road. Will was jittering again as I pulled into the garage. I took him through into the bar. "The other night, you said you don't really drink. Does that mean never, or..." "It means now! I'm a wreck and I haven't even seen..." His voice trailed off. I pulled out the club soda he'd had that night and held up a bottle of whisky questioningly. I am pretty sure he would have nodded to arsenic at that point. I poured him a very stiff whiskey-n-soda, the drink that fueled the British Empire just as much as tea, and handed it to him. He coughed after the first taste, but took a look around, obviously wondering where Beaux might be, and quickly downed the rest in a single, long slug. I refilled with a more balanced mixture and slid it across to him. "Stay here, Will. Nurse that drink and I'll see if I can get Beaux out of his room." Will looked terrified for a second then I watched him put on his poker face. He looked... edible. Sorry, there's just no other way to say it. Strong, quiet, intense and just fucking cute as a button. I was pretty sure that Will was going to have his hands full when Beaux got a handful of Will. I knocked again. Even through my excellent doors, I could hear the teen's eyerolling Sigh of Putting Up with Parents. "Yes, Oncle?" "Beaux, there's someone here to see you." "Is it one of those... kids? I don't want to see nobody, Kevin. Tell 'em that I'm, I'm sick. No. Tell 'em I'm dead, me!" "Okay, Beaux. Sure." I turned to a quizzical Will who could only have heard my part of the conversation and raised my voice more than required. "Sorry, Will, Beaux said to tell you he's dead." The explosion of movement behind the door and the speed with which it opened on a hastily-dressed Beaux left me just barely able to contain a fit of outright belly-laughing. Beaux's face was red from a blush and his eyes were swollen. He'd been crying, obviously, but didn't want Will to know that. "Will? You said 'Will'?" I stepped back and chin-nodded to where Will sat, bunny-frozen, at the bar. Beaux took one look at him then shot me a look that combined equal parts mortification, betrayal, excitement and lust. He'd thrown on a pair of dark blue exercise shorts and a white tank top. He took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled his features into a semblance of normal. When we both turned to Will, I saw that his own game face was back in place. "Hey, Will. Um, I wasn't expecting you?" Will blushed as brightly at Beaux and looked down. "I can, you know, go if it's a bad ti--" Beaux's answer was too quick and too high. "NO! I mean no." Beaux forced his voice back to its normal register. "Now's good. Anytime is good, Will." He looked at Will through his long lashes and I watched as Will tried manfully not to melt into a puddle of pre-cum. "Kevin says you had a bad day." Beaux turned to me with a look that clearly informed me that my slow and painful death was definitely on the menu. "Did he now." He had the scary-flat Voice of Doom down pat for a kid who'd never seen a horror flick in his life. Will got up and moved to Beaux. He put his strong hand on Beaux's arm. "I'm so glad he called me." Beaux turned to him and I watched the tension drain from my ward's shoulders. "Can we, you know, sit and talk for a while? Make you feel better?" Will's eyes moved briefly to mine and I nodded at the family room's cozy loveseat just off the side of the fireplace before his gaze returned to Beaux's. I moved away and trigged the fireplace controls, then quietly removed myself from the equation. 'Hmm,' I thought, 'Will doesn't have to be at work until noon tomorrow. That means he'll have a damned hard time refusing to stay for dinner... and zero chance that he'd want to.' I went to the Kitchen and assessed my options. I decided on something homey and filling to reduce the tension a bit, but also decided that a dessert was in order. I rarely did desserts myself, but it seemed... right, somehow. First, I pulled two 'logs' of pie dough (don't judge; I told you I leave real baking to the experts, my friends that do catering) to thaw. I grabbed a few green apples and ran them through my mandolin, peel and all, slicing down to the core and then turning a quarter and slicing more. I squeezed some lemon juice into a pan with water and some butter, then added the sliced apples and some brown sugar. I cooked that until the apples gave up their juice, then strained the apples out and set them aside. I added a cinnamon stick to the liquid and set it to simmer slowly on the lowest-possible heat. Throughout, I tried my best not to listen to the conversation in the room below. I heard Beaux start sobbing at some point and Will's low, slow voice soothing him. I heard Beaux half-yell something in anger and Will match his tone and raise the stakes with stern and reproving not-quite-dadness. I heard cooing and cuddling most of all, though, and smiled. The stew itself was a marvel of Yankee simplicity. As the meat thawed slightly, I cut carrots, onions, celery and potatoes in big chunks. I added lard to my Dutch oven, floured the meat and seared it hard on all sides, lowered the heat to medium then dumped in the onions and celery and some butter. When it was hissing and spitting to my satisfaction, I added the carrots and potatoes along with a lot of rich (if canned) beef stock with which I deglazed the pan. I lowered the temp to simmer and set the lid askew just as the pie liquid was beginning to caramelize. I removed the cinnamon stick and added a LOT more butter to mount the sugary sauce, then poured it over the now-rested apples. I added mace and nutmeg and a quarter-cup of rich, dark rum, tossing everything together. I unrolled the crusts, one into the deep pie dish and the other to the side then poured the apple mixture into the pan. The top crust went on and I crimped the edges and rolled them inwards the same way my own grandmother had taught me. A quick egg wash and a dusting of coarse sugar let me put the final touch on by carving W-I-L-L into the top; I had to have vents and why not make it special? Into the oven it went and I set a timer for an hour, stirring the stew to make sure it hadn't stuck and wasn't boiling, just bubbling slowly. I stepped quietly to the railing and looked down into the living room. Will petted Beaux as the younger, taller man curled into his broad, meaty chest. I stared for a while in awe at the picture. There was nothing remotely sexual about the pose or the petting, just the unmistakable signs of love and protection (on Will's part) and trusting comfort in the posture of my young ward. I pulled back silently and grabbed a beer, sneaking off to my office with a welter of roiling emotions. Beaux had been with me just short of a month; a month come Monday, actually. Yet I boiled with misplaced jealousy at the non-sexual intimacy Will was showing him. Some dad part of me was screaming "That's MY job, you prick!" Another part of me was nearly in tears that he'd found someone so loving so quickly, which brought yet-another part that was jealousy of a different sort. I was more than two decades older and I wasn't sure I'd ever had was I saw down there. Then came a violent, red-tinged flush of terror and rage. What would I do if Will hurt Beaux? I was not and never have been a violent man, but the thought of Beaux heartbroken was enough to make me actually think about buying a gun, the first non-hunting weapon I would have ever owned. Wrapped into that, *driving* that, was the most profound and breathtaking love I had ever known, with no taint of sex. I shocked myself -- complete with the whole stomachful of ice sensation -- at the realization that only my mother (and that by a humiliatingly-narrow margin) triggered the level of true love, care, fear, hope, and need that Beaux had brought into my life, into my soul. I heard the timer go off and made it to the kitchen moments before the Beaux's Nose Knows effect drew Beaux and thus Will up the stairs. I pointed to the kitchen island with a stern (fake) look and went to the stove. I pulled the pie out and Beaux's belly-growl of insatiable hunger literally startled the hunky man beside him. He, I kid you not, looked over his shoulder, obviously searching for the jungle beast stalking him. "Will you stay for dinner, Will?" Beaux turned to him so quickly he kinked his neck, and his look of desperate longing visibly broke Will's heart. Without looking at me, instead staring deep into the shining eyes of my ward, "As long as you'll have me, sir. Are you, um, okay with that? B-B-Beaux?" Vanished was the mournful and traumatized teen, replaced by a young man filled to overflowing with adoration and longing, and more than a little animal lust. "You'd better stay, you. We ain't finished 'talking' yet." He put an odd emphasis on 'talking' that made Will blush like a stop sign and avoid my eyes. Talking indeed! I turned back to the meal and threw a par-baked loaf straight from the freezer into the oven and tended to the stew. As I'd hoped, the flour in the stew had thickened and coated the bottom of the cast iron vessel but not burned or even darkened. I painstakingly reincorporated it into the broth and tasted it. I added several dried herbs plus fresh chives and stirred them in. I set the time for fifteen minutes and informed the delighted Will and horrified Beaux that it would be another quarter of an hour. I was surprised that they did not retreat to the loveseat downstairs, but simply moved closer on their kitchen stools and started murmuring to each other. I was flabbergasted at the role-reversal. Will was now the hesitant and unsure youth and Beaux, eight years his junior, was the confident and self-composed elder. Both were obviously relishing the personal intimacy, and I watched as the 'non-sexual' component of the interaction slowly faded. The timer's DING brought all of us back to the present. I pulled the bread, stirred a few glugs of heavy cream into the stew and got out the wide, shallow dishes that I'd always called soup plates. "Will, you know Beaux and I normally sit at the island to eat. Do you mind? I mean, you are, well, more than just a guest?" If Will had the hose from a helium tank shoved up his delectable ass, he could not have inflated faster. His already-stunning chest expanded (Beaux's eyes popped and breath left him at the same time) as Will nodded like a broken dashboard ornament. I dished out the stew and the bread. Will's praise was lavish, but (in all false-modesty) perfectly proportional to the quality of the meal. The stew was phenomenal, the long cooking time adding a deep and profound beef flavor with the cream rounding it out. The bread was, thanks to my friend Crystal, insuperable. He could do things with dough... never mind. The pie, when dished out, met with rave reviews as well. All of us left the table sated and somewhat food-drunk. Beaux took a very long look at Will and then a steely one at me. "Um, Oncle? I know it's Saturday and all, but do we...?" "Yes, Beaux, we do." I gave no (visible) notice at all to his glare that was equally mournful and mutinous. I turned to Will, noting that Beaux's expression had suddenly gone straight to utterly-betrayed. "Will, Saturdays are nights that Beaux and I talk about things related to, well, intimacy. It's part of the program that his doctors have mandated to help him adjust, and--" Will cut me off like a BMW would do a semi in a traffic jam. "I'm really glad. It worries me. Beaux is so..." he blushed adorably, treading through a minefield of terms and phrases, "special and, um," he looked at Beaux for a hint of anger or approval, "innocent? People could hurt him really badly. So, if you want to run me ho--" "No, he does *not*." Beaux's voice brooked no contradiction. "You are the guest and if this... Kevin wants to do what those medecins batards tell him, you can stay and... help out." The last part came out as something between a purr and a growl, and Will blushed crimson. Beaux's eyes snapped to me and quickly turned to glittering emeralds as I said, "Beaux, he might not want to. We need to watch the tapes that Dr Baskin gave us." I watched outright mutinous rage bloom in his face and quickly inserted, "Beaux, I don't like it either, but Dr Baskin will tell Dr Silvers if we don't. You know what he said he'd 'prescribe', right?" "Prescribe?" Will was understandably confused. I ignored Beaux spluttering of rage, embarrassment and horror, and explained, "Beaux is from one of the great culinary cultures of America. He is, to say the least, food-motivated." Will chuckled then blanched as he saw Beaux turn his glinting scowl at him. "Dr Silvers has made it clear that if Beaux refuses, he can't have any flavors at all, not even salt or butter, for a week." Will did not earn any points in Beaux's book when He guffawed. "Make a kid like Beaux eat hospital food?? Dear GOD, what an evil and effective threat!" He sobered instantly when I continued. "And Dr Baskin is an expert in heterosexual sex therapy." Both their eyes went wide, Beaux in fury and Will's in revulsion. "She has sent home a set of VHS tapes of interview with girls and women so Beaux can see that not all females are... um, well, the type of people who raised him." Will turned a look of true bafflement at Beaux, who was trying to fry me with laser-vision at that moment. "Story for another day, mon cher. Not a pretty one, either." Beaux, trying to will me into nonexistence, didn't see that 'mon cher' nearly made Will swoon and his prominent erection gushed a little dogwater-stain into his jeans. Beaux could have told the very non-hetero young man to have sex with a ninety-year-old nun and he would have assented. "So, downstairs in five minutes." I retreated to the library where I'd stored the videos that I prayed would somehow be either stolen or destroyed by a freak lightning strike. I pulled all three and headed down the stairs. Beaux and Will were once again entwined in the loveseat and I took the overstuffed chair that gave me a clear view of both them and the television after inserting the tape into the player. I took a moment (or an hour; I fucking hated remote controls) to queue up the first video and started it. "Hi! I'm Samantha. I'm nineteen and a junior at Colorado State. I always wanted to be a senator, but ended up deciding that I'd rather be a nurse and, you know, help people directly?" She was a little too bubbly for my tastes, but cute as a button. Her segment ran for nearly fifteen minutes as she talked about what she wanted (a loving husband and two kids, complete with house, dog and mountain views), what she loved (skiing -- I paused the video and explained the concept of skiing, with a detour for Will to explain the concept of snow to an utterly perplexed Beaux) and hated (snakes and hypocrites) and wished were true (people not hating each other). She was, not to put too fine a point on it, adorable. I paused when her segment was done. "She real?" a skeptical Beaux asked. "There's women like that there?" I was a bit taken aback when Will, voice confident, mature and straightforward, answered before I could. "I know lots of women like that, Beaux. Especially in the medical field. They want to, you know, *help* people. You were on Angelica's ward when you had the, um, the accident?" Will blushed delightfully as Beaux furrowed his brow. "You know bout dat there?" "I work there, Beaux. I, well, I didn't *know* you then, but I heard from Hans and Angelica -- she is really wonderful, by the way -- what happened." Beaux's voice had an edge to it. "What that Hans say bout me? What you know afore that party, you?" "Nothing! Nothing, really! Just that, well, a young man who was..." Will colored wonderfully and looked at Beaux with sidelong glances, "simply beautiful had almost been killed by a lightning strike and that his guardian was, um, was, uh..." "Yes?" My own voice had a growl in it. Will blanched at the sudden realization of what he'd talked his way into. "Um, uh, er, um. That the guardian was a hunk?" Will looked at me in desperation. "Nice save. Go on." Will heaved a sigh and kept shooting shy (and sexy-as-fuck) looks to my ward. "And that Dr Martin had said something that made all three of you blush like--" "That be enough, there." Beaux was smiling, though, and Will was in serious danger of acute meltification. I picked up since Will was obviously out for the count, lost in the depths of Beaux's sea-blue eyes. "So, Beaux," he wrenched his gaze to me, "what do you think of, uh, Samantha? Would you like her as a friend? As someone you could talk to?" "That's a girl, she! No. Non! N'arrive pas." "Why, Beaux?" Will's voice was full of concern. "I don't like girls, me." "Really? I live with three girls. Well, women." Beaux spun to fully face the older young man. "Why?!?" Will was taken aback. "Well, cuz they're really nice people and make great roomies? They pay the rent on time and buy their share of groceries? Because when I've had a horrible day they do whatever they can to make it better?" "'Make it better', huh? They make it better for you, them? You just pretending to like me, you? You got girls taking care of you?" Beaux's voice was cutting. "Beaux!" I was too late. Will stood up and the blaze of anger was clear and intense. "That is nasty, mean and disgusting. I won't put up with that. I *room* with them, I don't *sleep* with them. You, you, you..." Will heaved a deep sigh that promised real tears, and soon. "You aren't the person I thought you were, Beaux Thibodaux." Beaux's face had gone from outrage to desperate guilt. "Mr Faolan, please drive me home." Thanks to Roy, Rob and the other Rob for beta-reading this and finding my never-ending typos. Also, that you for waiting as I get back into taking dictation from Kevin, Beaux and the other characters who write their own stories through my keyboard.