All too soon, Brian was crunching on the last of the pumpkin seeds, chasing them with the dregs of his coffee. "Hell," he sighed, eyeballing his pumpkin. He might as well get it over with.

Gus chirped, "Ten, Daddy." 

Brian sighed again. ‘Hell' barely counted as cussing in his opinion. He didn't think he'd get very far if he tried to convince his son of that though.

With a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder, Justin got up and moved back around the table to sit next to Gus. "Remember," the blond artist cautioned, "the face of the pumpkin is thinner now, so it won't take as much force to punch through it. The bison is really large, so how about we cut out smaller pieces first?"

Gus nodded, and Justin looked over at Brian. "You might want to do the same thing with the tipi."

Brian almost blurted out a reminder about being a beginner, but then he decided to watch and see if he couldn't copy whatever his boys did.

He soon figured it out when Justin, his hand over Gus', guided the youngster into sawing through the middle of the bison, small chunks falling into the gourd as they proceeded to carve out the Great Plains' animal. 

Justin periodically stopped so Gus could fish out the chunks and drop them on the newspaper.

Picking up his keyhole saw, Brian imitated their rocking motion and cut a hole in the middle of the tipi, which he gradually enlarged. The wigwam wasn't as big around as the mammal, so he started working his way along the edges of the tipi before the boys got to the bison's hump.

Once he'd added the sawed-off pieces to the pile in the middle of the table, Brian swallowed hard and ventured along the edges of the design. He gradually started to feel confident that he could manage the tipi without any help from Justin. The two sides done, he then made his way across the bottom, saving the piece that projected from the bottom of the tipi for last. Maybe it was part of a fire pit? After studying it for a second, he decided it must be a door flap. That still didn't explain the slits beneath the tipi, but Brian shrugged it off. He'd figure it out later.

"Goddammit!" burst out of Brian when the point collapsed into the interior of the gourd. He'd been so careful and now this. "Fuck!"

He looked across the table at his boys and could've sworn he saw dollar signs lighting up Gus' blue eyes. "Sh- ucks," he muttered, annoyed when substituting a word as mild and inoffensive as ‘shucks' did absolutely nothing though to relieve his frustration.

He'd drawn his right foot back to give the table a good kick when he remembered what had happened to Melanie and hurriedly retracted it. 

A really colorful blue streak would allow Brian to vent, but he wasn't gonna let Gus win quite that easily. Besides, the rule of five dollars per blue streak didn't apply to him. He was not a lesbian, Brian reminded himself. He'd either exercise self-control or pay for every single curse.

Gus had opened his mouth - doubtless ready to shout something gleeful, like, ‘Zero! Zilch! Nada!' - when he saw what had befallen the wigwam.

"No," he gasped, instead of confirming that Brian had a zero balance and would soon have to shell out more. "I'm s'rry, Daddy," he apologized, as if he was to blame for the mishap.

The boy then turned a beseeching, hopeful gaze on Justin. "Can you fish it, Papa?"

His kid must really be distressed, Brian realized. For some reason, ‘Papa' by itself rarely slipped out except when Gus was genuinely upset. 

"No problemo," Justin replied confidently.

Brian lifted a sardonic eyebrow, doubting his blunder could be easily fixed. "Don't tell me, there's a glue made specifically for pumpkins," he quipped. 

Justin chuckled. "Hasn't been invented yet."

Of course not, thought Brian. That would be way too simple.

"There's no need for drama queen histrionics though," the blond deadpanned.

Gus giggled. The boy probably didn't know what histrionics meant, but he'd heard ‘drama queen' and ‘drama princess' so many times that he had no trouble getting the gist.

Not that there'd been any ‘histrionics.' All he'd done was spit out a couple of curse words; it wasn't like he'd thrown a temper tantrum.

Justin took a toothpick from the box at the end of the table and broke it in half.

Brian rolled his eyes. How was that supposed to solve the problem?

Smiling smugly, the blond inserted the toothpick into the missing piece and then pressed it into the pumpkin, right where it had broken off. "See? Easy-breezy."

Brian grumped, "You can see where it broke off, Sunshine." You could, although just barely.

"Don' be a drama queen, Daddy," Gus piped up, giggling.

Okay, maybe he was being a little peevish.

Justin promised, "You won't see the hairline fracture at night, when the pumpkin's lit up. Not until the pumpkin has been around for a while."

Brian felt a little better, although he was reluctant to pick up the keyhole saw again. What if he cut the feather in half? That wouldn't be nearly as easy to repair.

"Go on," Justin encouraged him. "You're doing fine."

Bolstered by the praise, Brian carefully cut out the slits beneath the tipi. That having gone okay, he started on the feather, moving cautiously from one bit of the feather to the next. "What are these called anyway?" he asked Justin, pointing at one of the sections.

"Hmm?" Justin looked up from where he was using an Exacto knife to carve out the bison's hooves, Gus watching raptly. "On the feather? Those are barbs."

"Who the fuck came up with that?" Brian wanted to know, pausing to wipe sweat off his brow. Why would the sections of the feather be called barbs?

"Five dollars," Gus caroled.

Justin posited, "Maybe some ornithologist had a wife named Barbara? Or they listened to Streisand a lot?"

That made Brian laugh and helped restore his good humor - along with the fact that he was doing okay with the feather, even if it was slow going.

"What's an ornithishisht?" The complicated word trailed off in an indecipherable muddle.

"It's a bird expert," Justin clarified. He set the pumpkin he'd been working on in an upright position, and after studying it thoughtfully, nodded, seeming satisfied.

Brian, who could only see part of the bison from this angle, thought it looked... okay. He knew better than to voice such a tepid assessment, but really, what was the big deal? It was just the outline of a Plains mammal and not nearly as interesting as his tipi and feather.

As long as Gus was happy, that was all that mattered. And maybe the bison would look more appealing lit up at night.

"What do you think, Gus?" Justin asked. 

Gus beamed at Justin, judging, "Hesh way cool!"

"You wanna name our friend?"

Brian smirked. That was a smart advertising gimmick: get the buyer invested and before they knew what had happened, they were sold on a product. There was no need for a sales pitch in this case, but nevertheless...

Gus looked excited but then his face fell. "Wush a good name for a bishon? Thersh Boma, but hesh not a bishon." The boy scrunched up his nose. "Hesh also not very nish."

Who the fuck was Boma?

Justin scrunched up his nose too, looking just like Gus. "You're right. Boma won't do for this fellow. Our bison would never hog a water hole and create problems for Mufasa." 

Mufasa made it click for Brian. Boma must be a character in The Lion King. Both of his boys were nuts about the animated film. By now, Justin must've watched it almost as often as Yellow Submarine.

His boys were going to be blown away, Brian thought proudly, his mind going to the arrangements he'd made for a trip to New York at Christmastime - for just the three of them. His plans included tickets to see The Lion King at the Minskoff Theatre on Broadway, from three of the very best Center Orchestra seats.

It was just as well that he couldn't get the seats he wanted last year. At seven years old, Gus would enjoy himself more and wouldn't wear out as easily as he would have a year ago.

Besides going to the theater, Brian had all sorts of other activities in mind: they'd hit FAO Schwarz - Gus would be in toy heaven; maybe take a boat out to see the Statue of Liberty; and there was always Coney-

Justin pulled Brian away from thoughts of the other things he had planned for the four-day trip, when he patted the newly created bison on the head and suggested, "Why don't the three of us put our heads together and see what else we can come up with?"

Shit. Naming things was Justin's shtick, not Brian's, but he'd try to come up with something.

Justin capped the sharp Exacto blade and held it out to Brian. "You wanna try this?" he asked.

"No thanks." The blade looked wicked sharp to Brian, and he feared he'd do more damage with it than with the keyhole saw that he'd grown somewhat accustomed to using. "I'll save the fiddly bits for you."

Justin waggled his eyebrows as he moved back around the table toward the two pumpkins that awaited him. Leaning against Brian as he sat down, he husked, "The fiddly bits, huh?"

Trust Justin to turn an innocuous remark into something salacious.

"Can I watch?" Gus asked as Justin tilted one of the pumpkins on its side.

Justin patted the bench on his other side before picking up a keyhole saw and setting it against the pumpkin. "Sure. I can't do this without my apprentice."

Gus scrambled off the bench and over to Justin, clearly thrilled to be his papa's apprentice. But then he dashed back over to turn around the pumpkin, so they could all contemplate the nameless bison.

Hopping up on the bench next to Justin, Gus watched avidly as the blond alternated between using the keyhole saw and the Exacto knife on one of the pumpkins. "Thash looks like our housh," he observed.

"Yours is the only one I know that's got trees around it," Justin remarked, a sad note entering his voice.

Brian arched a mental eyebrow. True, neither Debbie's row house nor Jen's town house had room for trees on the side, but Brian knew of another house that had even more trees... After the wedding that wasn't, Justin had never asked about Britin. Justin must assume he'd sold it, Brian thought, smirking.

Gus looked over at his bison pumpkin. "I dunno what to name him. He's got lotsa hair," he noted contemplatively. "I guess I could call him Hairy, but thash kinda mean."

"Mean?" asked Justin. "Why? Shouldn't a bison be hairy?"

"Yeah, but..." Gus gummed at his lower lip since he couldn't bite down without teeth. "Maybe H-a-r-r-y would be nicer?"

"Sure," Justin agreed, eyes twinkling. "Then he won't have to be self-conscious about all that hair."

"'zackly!" Gus exclaimed.

Brian laughed out loud. It was like a bear not wanting to be hairy.

Halfway done with the feather, Brian carefully positioned the keyhole saw to cut out the next barb. He didn't want to fuck it up now, after all his painstaking work.

"Shaggy," Brian threw in for the heck of it.

"I like that, Daddy," Gus got out between giggles.

"It beats out Harry," Justin concurred before proposing, "Short Tail?"

"Thash good!" Gus studied the carved bison. "He does have a short tail."

"Wouldn't expect you to make fun of someone for being short, Sunshine," Brian deadpanned.

"All bison have short tails," Justin responded in a haughty tone. "Besides, I've got the best tail you've ever seen."

Gus chimed in, "Yeah, Daddy, you're alwaysh admirin' Jushun's caboosh."

Justin's face went tomato red, and Brian guffawed. Telling a curious four-year-old Gus what a caboose was on a human and that ‘chasing tail' meant ‘admiring someone's caboose' had been inspired and kept paying dividends. Glancing over at the pumpkin he wanted bronzed, Brian smiled slyly.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Daddy?" Gus leaned forward to see around Justin, his brow furrowing in puzzlement when all he saw was the pumpkins he'd rejected a little while ago. He rolled his lips in, looking even more like Brian as he studied the pumpkins.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his gaze fixing on the double gourd. "That one looks kinda like Jushun's caboosh! Is that why you like it, Daddy?"

Brian could feel a dull red color creeping up his neck and into his face. Maybe he shouldn't have told Gus about Justin's caboose.

Despite laughing like a hyena, Justin got out, "It is a work of art." He levered himself up off the bench and wiggled his ass.

Brian leaned back, appreciating the way the threadbare cotton of the old cargo pants cupped Justin's buttocks, and let out a wolf whistle.

"Yinz're funny," Gus proclaimed between loud bursts of laughter.

His son's noisy merriment sparked an idea. "How about Thunderfoot?" Brian suggested, tilting his chin at the bison.

His laughter tapering off, Justin observed, "I bet a herd of bison galloping across the Plains would make the earth shake. Earthshaker?"

"I like Shaggy and Thunderfoot," Gus mused, "but... I dunno." His brow furrowed in concentration, the boy rested his head on crossed forearms and studied the bison carving.

After a few minutes, with nary a peep from the chatterbox, Brian looked around Justin, expecting the boy must've dozed off.

Nope. He was still contemplating the bison.

Brian lifted an eyebrow at Justin, who shrugged in reply.

Another ten minutes ticked by, both men concentrating on carving their pumpkins. He was done! Brian realized, elated. It even looked pretty darned good, he decided, pushing the pumpkin back for a better view.

Justin sat back at the same time, having finished with his second pumpkin, which, like the first one, was turned away from Brian. Brian refused to let it bother him.

"You sure you don't want to finish yours off?" Justin held out the Exacto knife again. "You did a great job with the feather."

Brian gave him an ‘are you nuts' look in return and nudged the pumpkin toward the blond. He was proud of his accomplishment and wasn't about to ruin it by slicing a giant gash in the tipi.

"Next year," Justin vowed as he cut out the smoke puffs in a matter of seconds.

Like hell. Otherwise, what was the point of having an artist for a partner?

"Let's see how they'll look." Getting up, Justin carried the bison pumpkin over to a series of tiered bricks that bordered a graveled area before coming back for the tipi and then his two pumpkins. He finally got to see what Justin had carved, thought Brian.

On the topmost ledge, Justin placed a pumpkin with a tree-shaded, two-story house, a ‘Happy Thanksgiving' greeting stenciled around it. He set his other pumpkin, depicting a roasted turkey fresh from the oven, on the step above the wigwam. The bison, on the lowest ledge, appeared to be leading the pumpkin brigade.

Gus' gaze never wavered from the bison, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Hiding a smile at the cheekiness of the roasted, about to be ‘twice-carved' turkey, Brian snarked, "Never knew you were so good at carving a bird, twat." Not that Brian could talk; he was anything but good at it. He didn't hunt down the turkey, dress it, stick the fucker in the oven, or slice it up for his sandwiches either.

Justin chuckled. "You shoulda seen the time I helped my da- er, Craig. I sent one of the drumsticks flying into Grandma Livvy's lap."

If she was the one who'd come up with the foul-tasting hangover cure that Justin'd practically spoon-fed him on more than one occasion, she fucking deserved it.

Distracted from his absorption with the bison, Gus looked up and worriedly inquired, "Do I hafta carf the turkey at Grandma's?"

Brian was tempted to answer, ‘That's what your mommies are for,' but he was a beat too late, Justin bantering, "Why do you think your grandma keeps Grandpa Carl around?"

"Oh, okay." Reassured that he wouldn't have to carve the monster bird, Gus returned to staring at the bison.

"You know, bison were really important to the Plains tribes, especially the Lakota Sioux," Justin commented, seemingly offhand. "They relied on bison for food, clothing... pretty much everything."

Gus looked up at him, clearly fascinated.

"The Lakota word for bison is ‘Tatanka,'" Justin went on, the name rolling off his tongue like the thunder of hooves across the prairie. "What if we name our-"

"Thash it!" Gus declared, jumping in before Justin could finish. "Hesh Tatanka!"

The youngster did a pretty good job of echoing the way Justin had pronounced ‘Tatanka,' the staccato syllables again lending a ‘thunder' to the name.

It was a good, strong name. Butch.

Jumping up, Gus ran over to the bison pumpkin and leaned down close to it. "Tatanka likes hish name," he confided a couple beats later.

"Good." Justin smiled at the boy. "Why don't you bring him back over here and we'll clean him up."

"Hold your horses," Brian ordered. "Or bison or whatever," he wisecracked, fishing around for his cell. The quality wouldn't be that great, but he wanted a couple of photos of the pumpkins as currently displayed.

Brian snapped a handful of photos, including a couple of gap-toothed Gus smiling proudly while holding Tatanka.

"Okay, finito," he announced once he felt confident that he had at least a few decent shots.

As Gus carefully transported Tatanka back to the table, Justin glanced at Brian. "Get the others for me?"

For appearance's sake, Brian heaved a put-upon sigh. A pithy remark about wasting time moving the gourds off the table only to want them back a minute later hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. Justin wouldn't fall for that, not after Brian had made a big production of snapping a fuckton of pictures.

While Brian trotted back and forth, Justin took one of the wet wipes and held it over his coffee cup, squeezing it to eliminate excess moisture.

"Too bad your cup's empty," Brian muttered, returning a third pumpkin to the table. "It might've improved the taste."

Justin chuckled as he used the wipe to clean a couple of faint crayon marks and pumpkin residue off the face of the bison gourd. "You wanna check to make sure we got everything out of the inside?" he asked Gus. "Tatanka'll last longer if there's nothing moist inside him."

"Sure!" Gus peered through the giant hole left by the bison and then through the top of the pumpkin. Sticking his arm through the opening at the top, he used the shovel-spoon to scoop out a few minuscule bits.

Brian frowned, not having considered how long the gourds would last. He didn't want his tipi to collapse anytime soon, and he'd developed a fondness for Tatanka. "They'll be good for at least a week, right?" he questioned.

They had to be. Who'd want to go through all that work carving a masterpiece otherwise?

"'fraid not," came Justin's reply as he wiped off Brian's pumpkin and passed it over to Gus to check, before proceeding to the two he'd carved. "Pumpkins usually start to rot in three to five days, unless it's really cold."

They would be having an unusually warm November, Brian thought irritably.

Gus interjected, "Mommy kept teashin' Mama 'bout falling off her broom."

It took Brian a second to realize the boy must be talking about the Halloween witch Linds had carved, using Mel as a model. Although what that had to do with falling off a broom-

"But it was kinda cool when the pumpkins, like-" Dropping the plastic scraper, he put his hands together and curled them into fists. "-clapshed."

Brian chuckled, imagining the Wicked Witch of Pittsburgh getting even witchier looking and losing her ride.

"I don' want Tatanka to clapsh though," Gus said mournfully. "And get all stinky. Mommy shaid the pumpkins hadda go when they started to smell."

"There are a couple of things we can do to extend the pumpkins' life expectancy," Justin offered.

"Like what?" Brian practically barked. He was willing to do just about anything to preserve the gourds. He wasn't about to confess to getting attached to the darned things, but he was kinda proud of his carving, especially as a first-timer.

"Ideally, if we were really serious about preserving our pumpkins, after we cut the top off and thoroughly scoured out the brains - but before we carved - we'd clean the surface and the interior with a solution of water and bleach. That would sterilize the pumpkins." 

Justin shrugged. "But we'd have to choose the pumpkins ahead of time and allow plenty of time for them to dry. It's a pain and takes the fun out of carving, if you ask me." Justin shrugged again. 

Not only that, Brian thought, but it sounded like a lot of work for what - a gain of a few days? Besides which, who wanted to inhale bleach? The smell couldn't be pleasant.

Brian had thought the pumpkin preservation PSA was done, but apparently not.

"After carving," Justin went on, "you can even give the pumpkins a bleach-water bath, for up to twenty-four hours."

Gus enthused, "Wicked! I could skip-"

"Uh-uh, Sonnyboy," Brian nixed that idea. "Your moms aren't gonna let a bunch of pumpkins take over the bathtub." Never mind that the lezzies' bathroom would stink of bleach for days.

Justin informed them, "If you have the room, you can also put the pumpkins in the fridge overnight to keep them cold."

"Mommy shaid the groshries barely fit inna fridge," Gus piped up.

No shit, thought Brian. Even back in the days when practically all he had in his refrigerator was poppers and guava juice, he still would have had a hard time fitting in one jack-o-lantern, much less four of them.

"Yeah," Justin acknowledged. "Most people don't have the fridge space. Your grandma Jen said she'd buy fake ones if Molly and I tried that."

At least one of the Taylors had their wits about them, Brian thought.

"We just need somewhere dark and cool to put them during the day." Justin looked around the glassed-in porch. "We don't want the sun beating on them out here."

"Maybe the mun- er, girls' garage," Brian put forth, hastily correcting himself. He'd been trying not to call the lezzies what they were - munchers - around his son, and was getting better at it. 

As usual, he had to lead by example. If he didn't want the girls to make nasty comments about him, he had to can some of his own derogatory verbiage. Until recently, he would've said all the nasty remarks about him were spewed out by the bulldyke, but lately, he'd noticed Linds subtly undermining him. He'd put it down to job hunting stress at first, but now he wasn't so sure.

"That's a good spot," Justin noted. "Even if they're taking the car out a couple-"

"They aren't yooshin' it for the car," Gus supplied. "Mama shays the doorsh warped real bad and we needa get shomeone to replaysh it."

Jesus, why was it always up to a fag to take care of everything? Tomorrow, Brian would put Cynthia on tracking down a garage door specialist who could install a decent, non-warping, electric door pronto.

In the meantime, the pumpkin problem remained, and the blond twat had yet to offer any concrete advice. "You got anything we can do for the pumpkins now, Sunshine?"

Justin arched a blond eyebrow - no gray there, Brian thought resentfully - and while Gus finished a scoop-check of the pumpkins, retrieved his messenger bag. Flipping up the flap, he pulled out a can of PAM and plunked it down in front of Brian.

Brian stared at the can in consternation. "What the heck?" he snarked. "You had to bring the kitchen with you? You couldn't just borrow Linds'?"

Justin rolled his eyes. "It's a can of cooking spray, Bri, not an entire kitchen."

That might be true, but it didn't explain the reason for the can. Now it was Brian's turn to arch an eyebrow, one from which he'd recently had to pluck two gray hairs.

"It's for the cut edges," Justin explained. "You can either spray them with PAM or rub them with Vaseline to keep them moisturized and prevent them from drying out." Slanting his eyes at Brian, he teased, "I know you're better acquainted with rubbing, but I thought using PAM would be quicker."

"You are good at spraying," Brian retaliated, waggling his eyebrows at his lover.

The two men grinned at each other, both knowing that who did what was pretty evenly divided these days. 

"We got Vashline if thash bether," Gus piped up, turning a puzzled gaze from one of his fathers to the other. "It's in the medshin cabnet."

"We're good," Justin assured the boy, before asking, "You wanna PAM Tatanka?"

"Yeah!"

Justin had Gus shake the can and showed him how to hold it to spray the cut edges. While Gus sprayed, Justin pressed a couple of folded paper towels against the inside to keep the oil from seeping into the pumpkin. 

"We've just scooped out the brains," he explained, "and the skull isn't entirely dried out yet. We don't want to leave any zombie-producing bacteria behind."

"Shombies!" Gus lurched clumsily from side to side and accidentally sprayed Justin's T-shirt. "S'rry," he lisped.

Justin laughed, his tee not much worse off than before. "We're banishing the zombies to the pumpkin patch till next Halloween."

Once they were done with the bison and the rim at the top of the gourd, Gus asked, "What 'bout the brain... top?"

"Good catch." Justin smiled at the seven-year-old, who beamed at the praise. 

Brian doubted Justin had forgotten about the brain top or blossom end or whatever the fuck it was called, but letting Gus participate and ask questions made the carving process more fun for the seven-year-old.

"We need to spray around the edge of the skullcap-"

Brian's brow furrowed. Hadn't he heard Justin mumble something about skullcaps recently?

"Or brain top." Justin winked at Gus.

It took Brian a moment, but then he remembered where he'd heard it. Not long ago, he'd been lying prostrate on their bed while Justin gave him the most incredible massage. The kid had elected to take an anatomy class at PIFA this semester, and Brian had agreed to help him prepare for his upcoming final exam.

It had proved to be one of his best decisions ever. Justin had kneaded his way slowly up from Brian's toes, naming off the bones in his toes, feet, legs, buttocks, back, neck and head. Brian had been aroused of course - how could he not be with Justin's hands on him? - but mostly he'd just grunted and groaned as his lover eased knots of tension he hadn't even been aware of. 

When Justin completed the massage, his hands digging into the top of Brian's skull more pleasurably than any hairdresser had ever managed, the last thing he'd mumbled was some Latin word and then ‘skullcap.' Other than Brian's name, that is, which Justin chanted repeatedly when Brian had rolled over and fucked him into the mattress.

"Daddy?"

For a moment, Brian stared blankly at the can Gus was holding out. Then, remembering where he was, he shifted uncomfortably and grunted, "Thanks."

Justin reached into Brian's gourd and pressed the paper towel against the underside of the feather, his head drawing close to Brian's.

Really, this was all his blond's fault, Brian mused crankily. If he'd just allowed more time for their usual morning activities, Brian wouldn't be in a semi-aroused state and unable to do anything about it. He could've massaged Brian's-

Brian smirked as he finished spraying the feather and moved on to the tipi. He had the perfect solution, even if he'd have to wait till later to implement it. Justin needed more practice, so he'd just have to hint that his front needed doing...

"I think that's enough," Justin commented dryly.

Brian started and looked down. He'd saturated the wigwam, and the cooking oil was now sliding down the face of the pumpkin.

"Fu-" he growled, the curse hovering on his tongue before he changed it to a lame-sounding, "Fudge." Christ, he sounded like an idiot.

Even though he had to be a little disappointed, Gus giggled, and aping what Justin had said to him just a bit ago, congratulated Brian, "Good catch, Daddy."

Gus' lisp made it sound more like ‘good cash,' which made Brian laugh, his crankiness dissipating. 

Justin laughed too as he removed the paper towel - also saturated, although it'd evidently served to keep the interior of the pumpkin dry. Dropping the oily paper towel on the newsprint, he tore a couple more sheets off the roll, folded them and wiped the excess oil off the front of the pumpkin.

"Here." He passed the folder paper towel over to Brian. "It'll be easier for you to hold it while you spray the rest."

It didn't take Brian long to spray the rim of the pumpkin and then the edge of the lid. Realizing he really would rather be ‘rubbing,' he laughed as he handed off the PAM to Justin and resolved to bring petroleum jelly to next year's carving fest.

As he was finishing up with his own gourds, Justin announced, "The other thing we can do is spray the insides with water mixed with a few drops of bleach once a day. It'll keep them moist and ward off bacteria."

"They'll lash longer?" Gus wanted to know.

Justin estimated, "A couple more days, probably, if we use the bleach spray on them every day and keep them out of the sun." He smiled over at Brian. "We might get a week out of them after all."

The gourds would still decay far sooner than Brian would like, but at least he'd be able to get photographs. He should've brought his Nikon camera with him; then he could get some quality shots of the pumpkins right now. But while he might've gotten a kick out of the Halloween carvings, those had hardly led him to expect to produce something worthy of more than cell phone snapshots.

Brian still should've brought his Nikon to casually take pictures of his boys; a proper camera might keep him from looking like a doting fool, and he'd get higher-quality photos. Speaking of doting fools, this was one time he could have actually made good use of Michael and the camcorder that was practically welded to his friend's hand these days. Mikey must have a thousand hours of his ‘honeybun' drooling, eating, crying and sleeping by now. Some footage of Gus with his dads would be a nice change-up.

Maybe he should call Michael and tell him to get his ass over here. Brian could feed him a line about JR calling for him - it did sound a little like she was wailing ‘Dadada' - and Mikey would be here, vidcam in tow, almost before Brian hung up. 

The issue was whether calling Michael would be worth it. Ever since the girls had returned from their sojourn to Mountie Land, Mikey came over at least three times a day, every single day. It was even worse than when Mel was pregnant, Michael always ready to tell the girls how to ‘do it better' when it came to Jenny.

That meant the bulldyke would be on Brian's case if she found out he was responsible for ruining a rare, so far Michael-free day. 

Gus interrupted his ruminations. "A week's pretty good. Right, Daddy?" He grinned at Brian.

Brian lifted an eyebrow. Something was off. He knew Gus didn't want the pumpkins to spoil any more than he did; the boy should still be fretting about prolonging their life expectancy instead of acting so happy-go-lucky.

When Gus cast a sidelong glance at the ‘pumpkin vault,' he gave away the game. His sonnyboy was trying to provoke a reaction. It had been at least eight minutes since the last one, Brian estimated. He could make his kid wait even longer, but he didn't see any reason for that.

"Hot diggity damn," he cursed on purpose, borrowing an Emmett-ism and saying farewell to another five-spot.

"Ten dollars!" Gus crowed, jumping around and clapping his hands.

Lindsay put an end to the impromptu happy dance when she opened the door to the patio. Her face was flushed and strands of blonde hair that had come loose from her updo were plastered against the left side of her face.

"Mommy!" Gus greeted her with a wide smile. "You gotta-"

A curl to her lip, Linds said stiffly, "That's not proper English, Gus."

Brian's eyes narrowed, but he held his peace - for now. He'd find out later what had crawled up Lindsay's ass.

The seven-year-old's smile dimmed, but he gamely tried again, enunciating carefully, "You got to see what-"

"Later," his mother replied curtly. "Lunch is ready." She cast a dismissive glance at both Justin and Brian. "There's enough for the two of you." With that, she backed up and closed the door.

That had to be the coldest invitation Brian had ever heard from his blonde friend. If it even was an invitation. He honestly wasn't sure. Linds had never sounded this pissed off, not even when he'd stood her up for dinner after promising to be there that one time. Heck, she usually begged him to stay, giving him flirtatious looks from under blonde eyelashes, coyly flipping her hair over her shoulder.

He didn't really mind. It was just Lindsay being insecure. Back in their college days, Linds would sometimes hit him up to be her escort and ask his advice on how to be a lesbian - like that was something Brian would have firsthand knowledge of. 

Even once Linds hooked up with Mel, she'd still used Brian as arm candy, primarily to piss off the brunette when the lezzies had one of their all-too-frequent tiffs. Brian hadn't minded that either. Sending Melanie through the roof was fun to do; she was so patently jealous of Brian's freedom to do whatever and whomever he wanted whenever he wanted.

Why the fuck the girls had stayed together was beyond him. Brian had long since recognized that getting them back together during the Gui episode might not have been best for either Linds or Mel. But he'd hated the Frog with a passion, and deep inside, he'd also been scared that he might lose access to his son. Most of all, he'd wanted Gus to have a good, solid, happy home with two loving parents. Which, most of the time, the girls did a pretty decent job of being.

What he'd always minded however was when they vented their anger about what-the-fuck-ever - usually him - in front of the kids. Even worse were the rare occasions, like just now, when Lindsay took out her frustrations on Gus.

"Maybe we should-" Justin murmured as he stood.

Gus was around the table in a flash, clinging to Justin. "Don't leave, Papa!"

"Justin's not leaving," came a cool voice from the doorway, where Melanie now stood. "Are you?"

Justin held out orange-stained hands, either as an indication that he planned to wash up or in self-defense.

The bulldyke eyed him up and down. "He's staying. Schmatte and all."

Finally, Brian thought, someone else got what he had to deal with - every fucking day. The trousers were tolerable given how they cupped Justin's ass, but the baggy, torn, paint-splotched shirt needed to go.

Justin bestowed a dazzling smile on Melanie. "What?" he protested. He clambered over the bench and pirouetted, not particularly hindered by having Gus attached to him like a limpet. "These are my best rags."

Mel and Brian both snorted.

"I like your clothes, Jushun." Gus beamed up at the blond.

Brian sighed. At seven years of age, it was already clear that his son wasn't going to be a fashionista.

Gesturing behind her, the bulldyke ordered, "Just leave everything and get in here."

The two men obeyed, Gus grabbing their hands and skipping along happily between them. So the boy didn't have to let go, Melanie unlatched the other side of the French doors for them to walk through.

Inside, Linds was banging dishes down on the dining table. She glared at her wife. "I don't know why you couldn't help."

Melanie glared right back. "I spent time - time I didn't have - to make the pies. That's enough."

"Your time?" Lindsay shrieked. "What about mine? I was researching!"

A muscle ticked in Mel's jaw. "You need to do more than just skim the want ads!"

That prompted Lindsay to send a dark look Brian's way. "If someone would just give me some piecemeal work, then I could look around till I find the right job."

Mel hissed, "Someone is already doing more than enough for us - more than they should." 

Lindsay blinked at her through suddenly watery brown eyes, which Brian suspected was a ploy. Fuck knew, she'd used that look on him - successfully - often enough.

Brian gritted his teeth. He'd explained to Linds that she had no training in commercial art, never mind that she hadn't drawn or painted anything in years. If he did have something she could help with, he'd elaborated, Linds would have to adhere to strict deadlines and might have to put in long hours. She'd left his office in a huff a week ago and didn't speak to him for a good three days. He almost wished the silent treatment had lasted longer.

The bulldyke softened. "Babe, look, I want you to find something you like, but-"

Brian heard a soft whine and glanced down to see that his son's face had acquired a pinched, worried look. 

"Let's go wash our hands, huh?" Justin intervened. "Gotta get rid of the pumpkin brains, or we're gonna turn into zzzombies!" He staggered from side to side in the worst imitation of an undead creature that Brian had ever seen, but it worked to distract Gus. Giggling a little, the boy dropped his father's hand and led the way to the downstairs bathroom.

Pissed that they were fighting in front of his son, Brian growled, "This had better not turn into the unhappy, unfun house again," before following his boys to the bathroom.

"Sorry," Mel was the one to apologize. "We'll rein it in."

Linds directed another searing look at her wife and stomped off to the kitchen.

When had it become Melanie who made an effort to act responsibly? Brian wondered as he strode to the bathroom.

Brian stepped into the downstairs half bath to find Gus' hands covered in suds, a bar of soap clasped between his fingers. A gamine grin on his face, the boy turned toward Brian, losing his grip on the soap in the process. "Oops!" Gus yelled out.

The slippery bar shot out of his hands and hit Brian's Metallica T-shirt - right in James Hetfield's face - before sliding downward.

Justin grabbed for the soap right as it reached Brian's crotch but didn't get a good grip on it, the bar springing out of his fingers and onto the floor.

The two men bumped heads when they both reached for the soap, making Gus giggle madly.

Brian got his fingers on the soap, but then it squirted away from him and landed in the toilet bowl, which had a suspiciously yellow tint.

"S'rry," Gus lisped, giggling some more. "I forgotta flush."

"Unless you wanna reach in there" - Justin motioned at the toilet with his chin - "this should do the trick." Grinning impishly at his wording, he took Brian's right hand and rubbed it with his soapy fingers, before repeating the process with his left hand.

Good enough, Brian thought. If the lesbians wanted the soap, they could fish it out.

Hands more or less clean, he guided his boys out of the bathroom and back to the dining room. The argument between the girls appeared to have ended, although Lindsay didn't look particularly happy. Her lips pressed together, she went back into the kitchen as they approached the table.

"Where's Jenny?" asked Justin, looking around for the toddler.

His lover was almost as enamored of the junior she-devil as Michael, Brian thought in bemusement. He sat down at the table, snatched the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, relieved to see that this batch of joe didn't look nearly as dark and murky as the one Melanie had brought out to the porch. 

Stirring in his usual miserly amount of sugar, he took a swallow and thought some more about Justin's fascination with Jenny. Michael's absorption with his daughter made sense. He came by the mother hen gene naturally, and going on four years later, he was still puffed up about being a dad. You'd almost think he'd given birth to JR all by himself.

But Justin? Brian was still flummoxed by how much he liked kids. The occasional spat with Molly aside, he got along well with his younger sibling too. Which was a miracle considering she was a fourteen-year-old, hormone-driven hoyden.

Fortunately, any latent desire Justin might have for a kid of his own seemed to be satisfied by all the time he spent with Gus, as well as occasionally babysitting JR. Not that the notion of a kid with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes was completely unappealing... Brian shook his head, banishing the image. Where had that come from?

"She wore herself out crying, poor tyke," Melanie answered Justin's question, yawing as she spoke. "Me too."

"What about me?" Linds asked, also yawning as she came back to the table, carrying a large pot between oven mitts. Placing the pot on a trivet, she smiled tiredly at her wife, not sounding as snappish as she had a few minutes ago.

Right behind his moms with a wide yawn, Gus threw in, "JR, like, screams all night."

Melanie rebutted, "She's not-" 

"Isho!" Gus cried, his ‘is so' coming out as one slurred word.

Lindsay chided, "Gus," but it emerged too softly to be much of a reprimand.

"Okay," the bulldyke allowed, cracking another yawn, "she's awful, but she's had the worst time teething."

"Michael was just saying how he doesn't get enough time with JR," Justin observed.

Which of the ten times that Mikey had said that yesterday was Justin talking about? Brian wondered. He'd brought it up a record eight times during lunch at the diner and twice afterward.

One elbow on the table, chin propped on her hand, Mel appraised Justin. "Your point?"

Justin shrugged. "Ben's gone to that three-day conference, so why not have Michael stay here and watch Jenny?"

"Michael 24/7?" The bulldyke shuddered.

"You could let Michael take JR home for the night," Brian suggested an alternative.

"No," Mel shot down that idea. "When Jenny starts wailing and he can't calm her down, he'll just call us."

"At two in the morning," Linds noted sourly. "And then every half hour after that."

Justin shrugged again. "From the way Michael talks, he's over here all the time anyway."

No shit, Brian thought, snorting and flooding his nasal passages with caffeine. He couldn't talk with his childhood friend for a full minute without him bringing his ‘prodigy' of a daughter into the conversation.

"But I was really thinking of tonight, after Red Cape closes for the day" Justin followed up. "Just till Ben gets back from Harrisburg."

Lindsay looked over at Melanie. "You know, that might help. We could get some sleep. One of us will have to get up if he knocks on our door-"

"Which he will," Mel interrupted.

"Yeah, but it should only be once," Lindsay observed. "We get Jenny, and Michael, settled and then we can go back to sleep."

"We can have Michael stay overnight," Mel conceded. "It just goes to show..."

Linds eyed her wife warily.

"...that once we're both working-" The bulldyke paused.

That was surprisingly tactful, Brian thought. It made it sound like they were both looking for jobs.

"-we should get someone to help out," Mel stated firmly. "I don't want you wearing yourself out, babe."

Brian usually thought of Mel as using a steel fist to get her way, but she was proving that she could use an indirect, softer approach just as well. It would obviously benefit both of them, but Lindsay couldn't get her back up when Melanie couched it as looking out for her.

Linds half smiled and shrugged in acquiescence. "Okay," she agreed. "We can't do it all."

There'd been a little bit of a dig in there, Brian suspected, but not a particularly biting one given the way Melanie chuckled. "Apparently, you can teach a lawyer new tricks," the butch woman commented amicably.

Her smile becoming more genuine, Lindsay motioned at the three men. "Have a seat. I'll just get the bread and the salad, and then we can eat."

Gus clambered onto a chair between two others. "You here, Daddy," he demanded, patting the seat to his left, "an' you here, Papa." He drummed his fingers against the chair on his right.

Melanie shook her head at her child. "Don't tell, Gus. Ask."

Brian and Justin laughed, Mel joining in a moment later. "Whatever. At least it's not as bad as the retarded policy the military uses."

Fucking DADT, Brian thought, sitting down next to his son.

"You shaid nodda call anyone that, Mama," Gus piped up.

"I'm talking about a bad rule, not a person, kiddo," Melanie explained.

Gus still looked perplexed, but he sat back with a shrug, accepting the answer - for now.

Justin redirected everyone's attention as he sat down, leaning over and taking a whiff of whatever was in the pot. "That smells really good," he said happily. "What is it?"

A round metal tin in one hand and a wooden bowl, presumably containing the salad, in the other, Linds answered as she came back from the kitchen. "Pumpkin chili. Made with fresh pumpkin," she clarified. "It's a new recipe I've been wanting to try. It should go well with this cornbread."

There were vinegar and oil cruets on the table, so Brian didn't have to worry about the salad being slathered in dressing. The cornbread would be full of carbs however, and the chili was doubtless a vegetarian dish. Brian stifled a sigh; he'd had just about enough pumpkin in any shape or form for the day. Justin was right though; it did smell good, so maybe it would taste okay, even without any meat. Besides, he could always eat-

For someone who'd gone on and off - mostly on - a vegetarian kick ever since college, Linds directed a surprisingly sympathetic look at him. "It's got chicken, Brian."

"Eat the meat," Melanie deadpanned, side-eyeing him and admitting, "I always did think that was one of your best slogans."

It scared Brian a little when the bulldyke read his mind like that. And to admit to liking one of his catchphrases, especially the one about meat?

"Frawley's is still using those commercials," Justin chipped in. "One of them aired during the Channel 5 news last night."

Brian laughed. "Probably gave them-"

"-a cow," Justin and Mel chimed in with him, seeming just as satisfied as Brian.

The way the Channel 5 crew had desexualized Emmett, making him into a glorified queer flunky - and then fired him after Drew found his balls and kissed him on air - had rankled for years. Honeycutt had thought Brian didn't care, just because he'd forced Em to see how the straights viewed him: a safe, sexless gay man, who performed on command.

Brian did care however. He respected Emmett, and had wanted the man to rediscover his self-respect. 

Drew fucking Boyd, on the other hand, could take care of himself as far as Brian was concerned. He'd made money hand over fist for years, so his ‘woe is me' act fell flat for Brian. Drew might've made Emmett believe he was hard done by because Brown Athletics had dropped him, but that was a crock of shit. Drew knew the price of coming out; he just didn't want to pay it. In the end, he got lucky when the Ironmen tanked without him and he was reinstated. He'd lost very little. Except for Emmett, who he didn't deserve.

Brian hadn't been able to get Honeycutt to see that, no matter how hard he tried. His southern friend still got a wistful look on his face when Boyd made the news - nowadays as much for whatever guy he'd been glimpsed with as for his football prowess. 

Although Em had proclaimed himself satisfied with the ‘kiss off' they'd given Channel 5, he'd scowl when their latest queer guy - they were on their fourth since firing Emmett - would pop up on screen. If Brian had thought Honeycutt and the first three successors were sexless, this guy outdid them all, displaying the worst stereotypes, making homophobic jokes and tittering like a complete idiot at his own ‘wit.' Unfortunately, unlike the first three, who'd come and gone in quick succession, the current queer guy had a large following and was still with the news team, almost two years after being hired.

Eight months ago however, the perfect opportunity to get a little payback had arisen. To celebrate a third banner year for Kinnetik, Emmett had organized a gala, going with scantily clad drag queens and trannies as the servers. Both Channel 5 and Channel 7 had been there, competing for the best footage and soundbites.

McGruder, who liked to style himself as a real-life MacGyver - you'd think that was actually his name - had ended up having to fill in for one of his reporters who took ill. He'd swanned around, acting like hot shit, and getting on everyone's nerves. Then, spotting Dick Frawley of Frawley's Open Fire steakhouses, and doubtless recognizing him from Brian's brilliant advertising, he'd horned in on the conversation Dick was having with a dolled-up Kiki, on loan from the diner. He'd blundered badly, making some off-color remark like, ‘Oh, it's one of those,' to Frawley.

Dick - really the guy should've instantly embraced the ‘eat the meat' slogan with a first name like that - had stared at the producer blankly and uttered, "Huh?"

MacGyver had stuck his foot in deeper, motioning at Kiki and muttering something disparaging about her being a man in disguise.

The good old boy from Louisville - with a wife and a passel of kids at home - had surprised Brian. "I think the lady's lovely," he'd countered. "Unlike your manners."

Brian, who'd just finished easing his way through the crowd of guests, Emmett and Justin right behind him, sneered, "Yeah, Angie. Or is it Angus?" Brian paused as if trying to figure it out.

McGruder had stood there with his mouth open, looking thoroughly pissed off.

"If your queer guy hasn't taught you better," Brian had delivered the coup de grâce, "maybe you should look for a new one."

"Not me," Honeycutt had singsonged. "I'm taken."

A flash of panic had then crossed Emmett's face - he wasn't there with anyone - but Justin had seized the moment. He'd dipped Em backward - how he'd managed that when he was so fucking short, Brian still wasn't certain - and planted a big wet one on him.

Brian had never been prouder of his lover.

Mel had stepped up, clasped Kiki by the arm and handed Angie one of her cards. "Defamation of character," she'd crisply stated. "You'll be hearing from us."

The Channel 7 news team had caught the whole thing on camera and aired clips for weeks.

"God," Mel said now, eerily in sync with Brian as she pulled out a chair and sat down, "that MacGyver guy paid through the nose for his stupidity."

"I don't get why Kiki keeps working at the diner," Lindsay observed, flags of red across her cheekbones. "She's set for life."

It wasn't exactly a secret that Linds was jealous of the tranny's ‘good fortune,' not with the way she periodically harped about it.

"Hon, Kiki wouldn't know what to do without the diner. It's a part of her - just like Deb."

Gus provided his opinion, "Kiksh cool. I like the green in 'er hair."

"Yep, she's pretty hip," Mel agreed. "So are you, Kinney."

Suspicious, Brian narrowed his eyes at the tough-as-nails lawyer. What was she talking about?

"Nice orange streak," Melanie expounded.

He didn't have- A giggle from his son and a smothered noise from the blond on Gus' other side had Brian reevaluating and examining how he could've acquired an ‘orange streak.'

He glared at Justin, growling, "You-"

Mel almost, but not quite, drowned out the "little shit" with laughter.

Brian outstretched a hand and flicked Justin on the back of the head. This was all the brat's fault.

Justin stuck his tongue out at him, making Brian chuckle. Danged kid.

"It adds some fuckin' class," Melanie teased.

Gus bounced in his chair and looked expectantly at his father. Resigned to his role as the ‘vakey fun' piggy bank, Brian pulled out his wallet and counted out three more twenties.

"Brian-"

Unsurprised that the only protest came from Mel, Brian raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to say more.

"Forty," Gus chirped, tucking the fresh wad of twenties under plate. "Thanks, Daddy. Thanks, Mama."

The bulldyke shook her head at her son but then subsided, muttering, "Fu- fudging vakey fun."

Gus' stomach growled, distracting him from his obvious disappointment at his mother's save. Standing, the boy reached for the ladle sticking out of the pot in the middle of the table.

Lindsay, who'd been silent during the byplay about the vacation fund, chided, "Hold on, lambskin."

Gus gave his mother a long-suffering look.

That pet name might've been okay when Gus was three, but for a seven-year-old? 

"It's hot. Let Mommy get it for you."

That wasn't much better, Brian thought, mentally rolling his eyes. It sounded like she was talking to a two-year-old. She was clueless when it came to young boys. Although it probably wouldn't go over much better with JR...

Justin stepped in, saving Gus from more embarrassment. "We'll do it together. We make a good team. Right, partner?"

Gus nodded enthusiastically.

"If it drips on our clothes, it'll just improve our schmatte," Justin joked.

Brian was amused that Justin had to stand up to reach the pot of chili. Shrimp, he thought fondly.

Gus' bowl filled, Justin asked, "Wanna do the rest?"

Bright-eyed, Gus nodded again. "Gimme-" He hastily amended what he'd been going to say when his mommy gave him an admonishing, pursed-lip look. "Pleash gif me your bowl, Mama."

Melanie replied, "Do your daddy's first, Gus."

"No, yours." Brian held out a hand for her bowl.

"No, you first," the dyke insisted.

His arm outstretched, Brian wiggled his fingers in a signal to hand it over.

Gus giggled. "Yinz're silly."

"Since your mama and daddy are being childish," Lindsay noted, "you can fill mine." She passed her bowl to Justin, who set it in front of the pot to be filled.

Christ, he couldn't believe he'd been caught engaging in such a dumb game of one-upmanship with the bulldyke. Brian flushed and locked eyes with Melanie, who appeared to be equally embarrassed, a red hue staining her cheeks and chin.

His hand over Gus', Justin snorted as he helped the boy ladle chili into everyone's bowls, serving himself last.

A little while later, Brian was feeling pleasantly full - not stuffed, just satisfied. He mopped up the remainder of the pumpkin chili with a smidgen of cornbread and then washed it down with a swallow of coffee.

"No more?" Gus asked, a wistful look on his face as he rattled the empty cornbread tin.

"Your daddy got the last piece," Lindsay informed him.

That was weird. How could he have had the last piece when he'd cut one of the slices in half at the beginning of the meal and made it stretch till the end? Whatever. Brian decided to be polite and shrugged off his friend's confusion.

"God, that was so good." Justin gave his wiped-clean bowl - Brian couldn't see a speck of the chili left inside - a wistful look identical to the one on Gus' face. "Can I get the recipe?"

Brian didn't have any objection to Justin occasionally making the pumpkin chili. While the orange squash was in season, he could trade out the pumpkin chili for the jambalaya that Brian had become accustomed to eating.

"Of course." Lindsay smiled, justifiably pleased to have her culinary endeavors praised. "I substituted apple cider for the hard cider, so none of us would get inebriated. You might want to try it with the hard stuff instead."

He'd have to stock up on hard cider, Brian reckoned, so it would be ready to hand.

"Now, how about some pumpkin pie made with more fresh pumpkin for dessert?" Linds asked as she stood up.

Gus promptly voted for a piece. "Me, Mommy." As an afterthought, he tacked on, "Pleash."

Justin got up as well and collected Gus, Brian, Melanie's and his own dishes, stacking the empty cornbread tin on top of everything else. "I'll help clear in exchange for a piece of the pie."

Brian groaned. Where in the heck did his boys put it? They were both bottomless pits.

Lindsay led the way to the kitchen. "Thanks, Justin. You're always a big help." 

Showing no sign of movement, the butch woman remarked, "That told us, didn't it?"

"Brian?" Justin's voice floated from the kitchen. "Could you bring the pot?"

The sarcasm would carry over better if he had a blond boy ass to grope as he answered, but Brian nevertheless called back, "Yes, dear."

"I'll help, Daddy." Gus grabbed the salad bowl, in which only a couple lonely bits of lettuce remained.

Brian set the pot next to the sink and then ran a hand over Justin's ass, giving one cheek a good squeeze. Leaning down, he nuzzled the skin behind one ear and breathed in his lover's scent.

"Mmm," Justin hmmed, turning his head and giving Brian a kiss on the lips.

"Can't that wait-"

"No," both Brian and Justin responded in unison, cutting Lindsay off.

Justin shrugged. "Can I help it if he keeps getting hotter?"

That should be his line, Brian figured. These days, all the clubbers were panting after Justin, watching every move the blond made. At twenty-four, he'd filled out, put on muscle and was sexy as fuck.

"Pie?" Gus asked, focusing on dessert.

"Just a minute, sweetie," Lindsay said. "Let me get the dishwasher going and start a fresh pot of coffee."

Justin winked at Gus. "I'm all for pie as soon as possible. How about I finish up here and you start the coffee?"

Lindsay laughed. "Where do the two of you put it?" she unwittingly echoed Brian's question. "Especially you, Justin."

"Good genes."

"Daddy says you don' have any good zheans," Gus spoke up, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

Brian was saved from having to explain that one when Melanie came into the kitchen, carrying a fretful JR.

The tyke whimpered in distress.

"Let me have her." Justin plucked Jenny out of Mel's arms and began crooning to her, rocking from side to side.

"Zhush." JR smiled as Justin swung her around, everyone getting a good look at the teeth that were causing so much trouble.

"No fair." Gus looked at the floor, stubbing a sneaker against the linoleum. "JR's got teef."

The adults couldn't help laughing, which had Gus' bottom lip sticking out big time.

Brian crouched down. "I've got some old photos from when I was your age. I was totally toothless - even worse than you. But a few weeks later, presto! My teeth came in."

"Promish?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Brian suited the motion to the words. "I'll even show you the photos, okay?" God, the things he did for his son.

"'kay." His usual happy self again, Gus grabbed hold of Brian's hand. "Can we show Mama and Mommy the pumpkins before we have pie?"

"We should get them out of the sun anyhow," Justin noted. "I'll help you bring them in." Bussing JR on the forehead, he lowered her down to the floor.

She clung to the leg of Justin's cargo pants until Mel took her hand. "Come on, sweetie. Let's draw the curtains in the living room so we can see the pumpkins all lit up."

"Zhush," Jenny reiterated, presumably in agreement.

Moments later, out on the patio, Justin cautioned, "Careful," as he set the bison pumpkin in Gus' arms.

His face a mask of concentration, Gus made his way back inside, Brian following with his pumpkin and then Justin with one of his gourds, his messenger bag looped over one shoulder.

For several long moments, the seven-year-old examined the placemat that had held his lunch dishes, and then, apparently satisfied nothing there could harm Tatanka, placed the pumpkin on the mat.

"I got the last one," he proclaimed, giving his dads a gummy smile. 

With a nod of permission, Brian opened his mouth, but before he could issue a cautionary injunction, Gus beat him to it.

Giggling, he said, "Be careful. I know."

Just like his Jushun, Brian thought, turning to watch the other boy arrange the pumpkins on the table, leaving space for the turkey.

After Gus vanished onto the porch, Melanie came out of the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee in her hands. Setting it down on the table, she looked around, her brow furrowed. 

Not finding whatever she was looking for, she peered through the open French doors. Then, her eyes widening in horror, she shouted, "Jenny, no!"

Brian and Justin crowded into the doorway behind Mel, their jaws dropping as they watched JR pop up from beside the picnic table, hands full of raw pumpkin. She shrieked in glee and threw a handful at Gus.

"Jenny!" Gus yelled, ropes of orange gunk in his hair and more goop slipping down his face. "I'm gonna kill you!"

Brian was impressed that his son had the presence of mind to set down the pumpkin he'd picked up before taking a threatening step toward his bratty little sister.

JR shrieked again, raised her other hand, which was full of more carroty sludge, and aimed at her brother.

Brian stepped through the doors, intent on stopping the little demon from wreaking more havoc.

He was too late to stop the she-devil's get, although he did succeed in distracting her. Her aim wild, Jenny sent the pumpkin sailing - right at Brian.

"Oh, no!" Brian heard someone gasp from behind him. That was followed by a guffaw, which he recognized as coming from Justin.

Turning around halfway, he scowled at his lover.

Justin gave him a half-hearted shrug of apology and tried - not very successfully - to contain his laughter.

"Say ‘pumpkin,'" Lindsay chirped and began snapping photos in rapid succession, while Brian watched, too stunned by her effrontery to do anything.

A series of unladylike snorts came from Mel but then she groaned, "Shit," her amusement suddenly cut off.

Brian swiveled around, concerned that the witch in training was going to pelt him with more squashy effluvium.

It wasn't her hands that JR now had in the pumpkin, but rather a foot, which was mired in one of the metal pie tins. She must've knocked over the tin when she was grabbing for the orange glop, Brian surmised.

Jenny howled, not happy to have her foot trapped.

Mel sighed and went to free her offspring. Her efforts earned her orange handprints all over her clothes. "I only took my eyes off her for a second-"

"I tol' you she was fash!" Gus exclaimed, shooting an accusing glare at both of his moms.

Lindsay snapped a couple more pictures before holding out a hand. "Let's get you cleaned up, lambskin."

"No!" Gus yelled, understandably upset, the juvenile nickname only making matters worse.

"Your daddy needs to change too," Justin noted. "Why don't you take him upstairs while I get his gym bag?"

That was a good idea, Brian thought, feeling ever so slightly mollified.

A little while later, they all reconvened in the dining room, everyone except Justin in fresh attire. Justin had helped Gus wash the squash out of his hair and somehow got the boy giggling madly about how ridiculous his ‘pumpkin monster' of a sister had looked.

Brian didn't say it out loud, but he could admit that the whole thing might have been funny - if it had happened to someone else. Someone who didn't care about their clothes. A clean pair of sweats and a fresh A-shirt had improved his mood considerably though, enough that he was willing to be in the same room as the devil spawn - as long as Jenny didn't splatter him with something else.

Since he didn't have another spare in his gym bag, Brian didn't want anything getting on his wife beater. The way Linds kept eyeing his biceps and running a tongue over her lips was disconcerting enough. God knew how she'd react if he went shirtless and she got a gander at his abs.

"JR got me too," Lindsay provided an unasked explanation for her change of clothes.

"Sheesh, babe, all she did was touch your pants, after I scrubbed her hands."

Linds dragged a finger down the neckline of her plunging, V-neck blouse. "I didn't know that."

Brian had to physically restrain himself from running to get the dirty T-shirt out of his bag. Lindsay knew their fling - if drunk, desperate fucking on four different occasions even qualified as a fling - was over by their sophomore year at university. Her current behavior left him wondering what the fuck she was up to and looking anywhere but at the blonde.

Maybe she was trying to make her wife jealous? In his opinion, the tightness around Melanie's eyes spoke more of being pissed off, but he could be wrong. He didn't speak ‘bulldyke' and didn't intend to learn.

"Let's see those pumpkins," Mel said a little stiffly, although the smile she gave Gus seemed genuine enough.

"Hang on," Justin requested. "There's one more pumpkin."

He double-timed it out the door, returning quickly with the pumpkin.

Lindsay pulled the drapes across the French doors and then produced a pack of tea light candles from the tableside hutch. "Here."

"Can't use those," Justin declined the candles. "The PAM we put on the cut edges is flammable." He dug around in his messenger bag and fished out a box. "These LED tea lights are safer anyhow," he elaborated. "They look like real flames and even come with a remote; if you turn them off at night, the batteries will last longer."

The kid had to be some kind of ‘pumpkin whisperer.' Brian'd had no idea that his lover knew so much about carving, preserving and lighting the gourds. While he'd stealthily put up Christmas decorations the last couple of years - like if they magically appeared Brian couldn't object - there'd never been anything to mark Halloween. No pumpkins. Not even a dish of the tooth-rotting candy that popped up everywhere during the month of October.

The Christmas decorations had been tasteful, so a pumpkin or two for Halloween and Thanksgiving might not be too awful, Brian reasoned. Roasted pumpkin seeds too - those had his stamp of approval.

While Brian was mulling over granting a limited license for Halloween decorations and goodies, Justin inserted the LED candles in the pumpkins, each gourd getting two or three of the tea lights. He then pressed a button on the remote, and artificial flames sprang to life.

The flames really did look realistic, flickering away inside the pumpkins. The two-story house looked ready to welcome visitors for Thanksgiving; steam was rising from the turkey; a fire was flickering inside the wigwam; but best of all was the bison. A fire was burning inside his belly, and it looked like he might be about to charge.

Oohs and aahs came from the girls, and Jenny cried out, "Zhush!"

"The bison..." Lindsay breathed out in awe.

"Holy shit," Melanie gasped, equally admiring.

"Tatanka's mine!" Gus was hopping from foot to foot, thrilled with the reception his pumpkin was getting. 

"Tatanka?" Linds asked.

"It's Laktsha..." Stumbling over the unfamiliar word, Gus looked to Justin for assistance.

"Lakota - Sioux - for bison," Justin clarified.

Melanie lauded the choice, "What a great name for a bison."

"Zhush!" JR cried out, seeming to approve just as much as her mother.

Gus smiled so broadly that his incoming tooth was visible.

Mel placed the wriggling toddler on her booster seat with a stern admonition. "Look but don't touch."

"You know." Lindsay wrapped an arm around Melanie. "I wouldn't mind snuggling in that tipi with you."

Brian took a closer look at the tipi, only realizing now that it was lit from within, that what he'd taken for slits beneath the tipi were actually decorative horizontal stripes in the hide covering. "Not too shabby," he murmured.

"Is that the new ‘not bad'?" quipped Justin.

Brian flicked Justin's ear. "Brat. See if I share the wigwam with you."

Unsurprisingly, Gus took Justin's side. "Don' worry, Jushun. I'll share wif you."

Justin's eyes danced with amusement as he looked at Brian. "Guess you'll have to sleep outside."

Like that would ever happen. One or the other of his boys, probably both, would cave and let him in before he got his sleeping bag unrolled. Then again, maybe he should apologize anyway. Brian could still vividly remember how he'd frozen his balls off in that damned tent during the Liberty Ride and had no desire to repeat that experience.

"These are all amazing," gushed Lindsay. "Where'd you find the designs?"

Justin stared at the blonde, apparently rendered mute by the stupid question.

A couple long beats dragged past.

"Jushun drew 'em, Mommy!"

"Oh! Of course," Linds said, her face going bright pink.

Justin not mentioning that he'd freehand drawn the patterns on two pumpkins spared Lindsay further embarrassment.

"Next year," Justin informed his fellow carvers, "if we choose the stencils ahead of time, we can eliminate one of the steps. The day before we're gonna carve the pumpkins, after we've prepped them, we can spread a thin layer of Elmer's glue over the back of the templates and mold them to the pumpkin faces. Then, the next day, we can just cut along the stencils, instead of taping them down."

"What 'bout the paper?" Gus asked the logical question. "It'll be schtuck."

"Nope. A little bit of warm water and it'll rinse away."

"Now you tell me," Brian grouched, although he wasn't really upset. That sounded pretty neat, besides which he was in favor of anything that would make the carving process easier.

Lindsay sighed. "I wish I'd known about that method back when I was teaching. My high schoolers would've loved it."

"It's not too late," Brian observed. "You could go back to teaching. Maybe even at CAPA." He wasn't sure what had possessed him to say that, but fuck, he was tired of everyone pussyfooting around Linds and avoiding any mention of her ongoing unemployment.

"God, I, like, would've killed to go to CAPA," Justin said. "It's the best. But Craig wouldn't hear of it. ‘My son at a public school!'" he mimicked Craig's sneering, superior attitude.

Melanie commented, "You loved teaching, babe, and your students loved you."

Lindsay got a thoughtful look on her face. "I don't know," she said uncertainly. "Teenagers - especially teenage boys - can be quite a handful."

"I'm no expert," Justin admitted. "But I bet the straight boys would do anything for ‘a hot chick' like you."

Lindsay preened.

Good one, Sunshine, thought Brian. "And it's not like you lack experience in dealing with queens," he noted dryly.

Melanie bit her lip, probably to keep from asking, ‘Like you?'

"I do have a pretty good record," Lindsay agreed, batting her eyelashes at Brian. "I'll think about it," she allowed, still wearing a contemplative look. "Now, how about pumpkin pie?"

Brian was feeling logy when he followed Justin to the front door a little later. He'd ended up eating a large wedge of the pie because Justin claimed he'd taken too much - and Brian had for some reason felt compelled to help out. Never mind that the little twat had turned around and helped himself to another portion as soon as Brian started noshing on the ‘too much' piece.

"Hey, Kinney," came Mel's voice from behind him.

"Yeah?" One foot already over the sill, Brian turned slowly. Damned pie was weighing him down.

Melanie smiled as she glanced over at Gus, who was bouncing on his chair, pointing at the pumpkins and talking excitedly with Lindsay.

"Just... you done good, Brian."

Brian's gaze lingered on his son for a moment before he looked down at the bulldyke. "We done good," he corrected her.

Mel was still gaping at him, flabbergasted, when he shut the door.