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“Oh, sweetheart,” James sighs after having been revealed the full extent of the horrible mess the Tunnel Snakes made of his son.
It’s a lot worse than he thought. Apart from the pitch-black eye and the skinned knuckles, it looks as if an abstract painter got high on jet and then splashed as much purple and red as possible on the canvas that is Tommy’s pallid abdomen.
“Bastards,” he curses under his breath and the other agrees with a pained sob.
If James wasn’t such a peaceable and pacifistic man, who firmly believes that violence is only okay if it’s to defend oneself, then he would probably be paying the Tunnel Snakes back in kind for every bruise they inflicted on his son right now.
But of course he cannot do such a thing. Even if it weren’t for his morals, the vault still has strict regulations on having brawls with juveniles, which wouldn’t exactly favor James’ side. And not just that, knowing Tommy and his turbulent history with the insufferable greasers, James feels once more forced to take off the parental veil concealing his objectivity and ask questions he’d rather not know the answers to.
“How did this happen?”
“They just like, came at me and dealt out blows like there’s no tomorrow. I defended myself and did manage to ‘hit the mark’ from time to time. Not like I really did much damage though, given it was three against one”
“I already know that part,” replies James whilst searching his doctor’s bag for stim-salve and bandages. “What I meant was what happened prior to the fig––”
“You mean the ambush”
“–––What happened prior to the ambush”
“Nothing,” mutters the younger man and with a gesture of his hand James reminds him to keep pressing the cold compress to his eye. “They’re a bunch of crazy ruffians, they don’t need a reason to beat the crap outta me”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the least bit similar to the last time this happened? When you showed them three peanuts and claimed you had ‘finally found the brains the wizard promised them’?”
“Maybe I suggested they change the name to ‘Tunnel Noodles’, since everyone knows what they have to offer makes even a macaroni look big”
James sighs. Of course.
He loves his little go-getter but… sometimes.
“You’re an adult, Tommy. You have a job and responsibilities and you’re far too intelligent to always stoop to their level. Not provoking them or giving in to their provocations would make your life a lot easier, too”
“Hey, I’m not the one who started it! Neither the bullying in general nor the small penis lines. Remember 8th grade? Remember ‘Tommy Tiny Tool’?”
“Unfortunately,” sighs James and a shiver runs down his spine at the memory. “But you don’t want them to start reusing something they’ve long forgotten by saying such things yourself, do you?”
“No... I… you’re the one who always told me to stand up for myself!”
“Yes, but I also always told you standing up for yourself and actively seeking negative responses are two different things. And I thought you finally understood this, because for almost a year now it looked like you guys finally buried the hatchet, or rather, that you realized you’re way too good to acknowledge them and their vulgarness. But this is the third time now I’ve had to doctor you this month – why the sudden relapse?”
“Dunno…” says the boy and shrugs. “Just remembered how much I hate them. Suckers never stop making me feel like I’m some pathetic wuss. But I’m not fucking scared of them anymore like when I was a kid, so I think settling old scores is my perfectly good right”
“Except it’s not them who suffer, but you, Tommy” interjects James. “They’re jerks, they don’t care whether you hate them or not, but you’ll stay bitter for the rest of your life over people who’re not even tiniest bit worth the attention. Let go, leave them be and be happy you’re not a miserable wretch like Butch DeLoria, Wally Mack or Paul Hannon”
The sudden whine his son lets out causes James to forget all about the point he was trying to get across and feel guilty instead.
My god, my child is in pain and I have nothing better to do than lecturing, he scolds himself before hurrying over to Tommy with the first aid equipment.
“Are you okay? How badly does it hurt? I’m sorry I kept you wai–––“ he stammers, aweing the colorful bruise tapestry on the other’s stomach with horror.
“I’m fine, dad. Okay, I’m not exactly fine but it’s not like I’m bleeding to death; they’re dense greaseballs and not Grognak the Barbarian” soothes him the boy. “Also I think I really did need that. I’ll… try to keep it in mind next time my asshole mode activates”
“You’re not an asshole”
“I’ve got an asshole certificate which says otherwise. Also you’re my dad, which means your body produces special dad hormones that make you so high you actually manage not to go crazy over having a brat like me to take care of”
“Don’t ever think you burden me, Tommy. You’re a good kid and I love you just the way you are” retorts James and gently touches his son’s cheek. “And I’m so unspeakably proud and thankful god gave me a son as wonderful as you”
With a low snivel Tommy drops the compressor to the floor, revealing the nasty swelling that’s like an ugly marshland surrounding his sea blue iris. And then he spots a tear coming out of that very eye, the work of people James hoped his son never would have to endure in the vault. And god, it’s like his soul bleeds every time he sees Tommy cry – pure, inexpressible pain only a parent can feel.
Hastily James retrieves two tablets of the pain killers he took from his bag and gives them to his son like he should’ve done way earlier.
Obediently Tommy swallows the pills, then puts on a crooked smile for his father.
“My poor boy,” he utters, “Whatever might’ve happened, you didn’t deserve this”
While James carefully disinfects and bandages the cuts, applies ointment to the bruises, he suddenly gets hit by a strong feeling of helplessness.
This isn’t like how it was two years ago when he could still talk to Mr. Brotch or the Tunnel Snakes’ parents about this and ensure the boys would leave Tommy alone for at least a few days.
His baby boy is a grown man now. Of course James has known that for a very long time, but being an adult also means Tommy has to fight his battles on his own, and that’s what gets to him.
On one hand there’s his protective instinct that wants to shelter his child from all harm, on the other is his worry Tommy might never put a stop to this war between him and the Tunnel Snakes. Because while Tommy’s own toxic words seem to have no effect on the greasers, theirs fuel a very self-destructive side of the boy, the side which confidently gets into a fist fight with three other people although it’s obvious he won’t win it.
“Am I hurting you?” James inquires after his salve-coated fingers slowly rubbing over the purple marks on his sides have caused Tommy to whimper.
“No! No” snaps the younger man instantly. “No – the opposite. It feels good, it feels good how tender you are to me”
James can’t explain to himself why his son starts blushing all of a sudden, just like how he can’t understand the strange feeling the compliment has evoked in his chest. What he does know though is that whatever it might be, it shouldn’t be there.
“What… what do you mean by that?” he asks Tommy in wonderment.
“It’s hard to describe. I think you have healing hands, because when you treat my wounds, it’s like your fingertips absorb all the pain,” explains the boy, averting James’ gaze.
He’s oddly out of words, so instead of reacting, he continues doctoring Tommy in complete silence. And during this whole process James can’t get himself to look his son in the face again even once.
When he’s finished, they stare at each other for an uncomfortably long time though. He stares into Tommy’s tear-dimmed eyes and wishes he could make the Tunnel Snakes disappear with a snap of his fingers and Tommy… he’s looking at him as if James is the first human being he ever saw.
“Dad... can you do me a favor?”
“Anything for you, son”
“I know it sounds silly but… could you kiss my wounds?”
That James did not expect. He’d expected a request for stronger pain meds or that Tommy might ask him to assassinate Butch and his gang, but a kiss?
“Aren’t… aren’t you a little too old for such a thing, Tommy?”
The younger man hangs his head in shame, then tears drizzle to the floor, accompanied by a distressed sob.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked” whispers the other. “You used to do that when I was a kid and it always made me feel so safe and loved. And I need that right now, because I-- fuck, I’m such a dumb cry baby but it’s–– if your hands are the healing, then your kiss is the instant cure”
Pain only a parent can feel, a knife twisting in his utmost being. It didn’t when Tommy was four years old and scraped his knee, but now that he’s eighteen and is really hurting it suddenly feels wrong.
Yes, it’d be weird, admits James to himself but this is his Tommy needing him.
James gets closer to his son, then very carefully presses his lips to the swollen eyelids.
“Better?”
“Hmmh,” mumbles the younger man, “A little”
Despite the abuse he recently went through, Tommy still looks utterly beautiful with his eyes fluttered shut and his lips slightly parted.
James takes one of his son’s bandaged hands in his own, then slowly kisses each knuckle before he repeats the same process on the other. This isn’t his baby boy anymore, something which makes him both sad and happy.
Tommy is his own person now and James can only hope the special bond between them won’t wither with age. In this moment he feels the intensity of it so strongly, though. They’re closer than they have ever been before and oh god, he’s so terribly beat up yet still so gorgeous, still so perfect as if nothing could ever disfeature his beauty.
“Better?”
“Yes, but–––” Tommy gestures towards his stomach–––“it hurts the most here”
A little voice in his head tells James this is where he has to draw the line, that it would be very inappropriate to kiss his son there. But why that? It’s just his son’s belly and he used to blow raspberries on it all the time in the past, that hadn’t felt weird or inappropriate – so why should a little kiss?
He doubts his own logic pretty soon though. Tommy isn’t lying on the examination table in the clinic, but is slouched on James’ couch, meaning he has to take a very awkward and uncomfortably suggestive position between his son’s splayed legs in order to be able to fulfill his wish. A part of James urges him to ask the other ‘is this okay?’ but that would make this whole scene even weirder.
He plants a kiss on the corner of the wild swirl of hematomata, hoping it will be enough.
“Better?”
“Not yet. Please, dad, it hurts so much”
More is what he demands, so more he gets.
And to his own surprise, James starts to enjoy it. He wishes he could really just kiss away the wounds, wishes he could do something which would ensure Tommy will never ever be hurt again in his life.
The vault isn’t paradise, but James will do everything he can to hopefully make it one day.
Tommy’s flesh is so warm, so sensitive James fears just the tiniest bit of pressure could make his skin split open. It’s sticky too, sticky with sweat and ointment and for the fragment of a moment James wants to lick it, taste it.
Then, all of a sudden, Tommy groans audibly. From pain, of course, but James’ cock registers it as something entirely else, making it twitch in response.
In a flash James has jumped to his feet, heart pounding and his face just as flushed as his son’s.
The younger man blinks, as if to process everything that happened.
“Thanks, dad” he says after eons and it’s surreal how honest it sounds, how Tommy seems to be surrounded by some sort of faint, indefinable glow. “You always know how to make me feel better”
James has lost the capability of saying ‘you’re welcome’. Instead, he’s screaming inside.
As soon as the door has closed behind the other, James starts jacking himself off fiercely.
At first it’s Catherine’s chest he’s kissing, her nipples he swirls his tongue around, but then the lower he goes, the more it changes.
Suddenly it’s Tommy’s abdomen he’s licking, his sweat that he can almost taste on his tongue. It’s his pubic hair he nuzzles, his hands pushing him lower and lower, his hard cock that James takes deliriously into his mouth, his semen he swallows.
And it’s the memory of this sound Tommy made in real life, not his fantasy, that moan which pushes James over the edge.
The orgasm is the strongest he’s had in nineteen years. It leaves him sleepless.
Even after he has cleaned the mess, his oh-so-healing hands still feel filthy.
