Blood of the Father [boyxboy]

Disrupting The Friday Night Tradition

I crack another beer and settle down in front of the TV. Man, this is the life. Cool beers and a shitty rented action film to fill my Friday night with.

I've already done the rest of the Friday night tradition – I've shaved my legs and bathed in cheap, flower-scented bath bombs (because apparently cheap bath bombs can only ever be flower-scented) and now all I've got to do is get beer-drunk on my own while my mother is on her date so she doesn't see me drinking all these high-calorie beers and then roll myself into my bed-covers only to wake up the next morning with the shittiest hangover. Not to forget I've got to smoke through at least one pack of shitty fags so the house smells like a crack den, just with a little less OD'ing.

The hero of the film is just running out of the way of an orange explosion while leading his future girlfriend to safety while the professional killers in the background fail to stop his suave nature when there's a knock on the front door. I pause the TV, putting my beer down and taking my fag with me.

I look through the peephole but a couple of weeks ago the porch light had broken and I hadn't gotten around to fixing it, so basically I have no idea whose there. I heave a sigh, looking over to my discarded movie and my still-smoking cig before unlatching the door.

I stare at him for a long while. My cig smokes down and I can feel it burning my nail.

"Ernest!" he says jovially. "Wow – you look, um..." he takes in my appearance.

Old faded shirt, knee-high socks, chubby. I wonder what he's thinking.

"You look great!" he finishes with. He looks uncomfortable. I blow some smoke over my shoulder and look over his shoulder, drunk enough to feel okay with ignoring him but knowing I'm hardly tipsy.

There is a woman standing beside him. She looks to be a little older than him – perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties – ebony skin and ebony hair looking soft and smooth. Her rouge lips quirk up in a smile when I look at her but I don't reciprocate. Behind the pair is another man who is invisible in the darkness save for his tall silhouette.

"Why are you here?" I ask him once my eyes settle back on him.

Edwin seems uncomfortable as he shifts on his feet. "You aren't going to let me in?"

I grit my teeth in annoyance. "Fucking hell, fine." I take a step away from the door and towards the living room.

The house is immaculately clean, as always, and the coffee table has my lovely ashtray and semi-consumed six pack. They put their suitcases in a corner and I take a seat on the sofa.

They follow my actions. The man who was previously invisible in the darkness –

Bloody fuck he's gorgeous.

I have to take a deep breath and look away to remind myself that staring is both rude and embarrassing. In fluttered glances he's – mmm – dark brown hair, eye colour unknown – stocky frame – easily towering over me – tattooed arms – tattoos lining his neck – dark black and earthy tones – a piercing on his nose catches the light –

I usually identified as so asexual I hadn't figured out if I was gay-asexual or straight-asexual, and...whomp. At least now I know. He leans down to place a duffel bag down before sitting beside me on the small sofa, throwing his arm over the back of it. He's not sitting particularly close but the action itself displays a comfort only found in confidence and I have to try and ignore his obtrusive presence and look towards my esteemed sibling.

He stares at me and I lean forward to dab my cig in the ashtray. "Start talking," I prompt him.

"Should you really be smoking? You aren't legal yet, are you?"