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Author's Chapter Notes:

This is a humongous chapter - rather like Thanksgiving feast everyone is about to enjoy. You may want to give yourself time to digest one section before moving on to the next. :)

 

 

"Rise and shine, Sunshine!" a tenor voice called, knuckles rapping hard against wood.

"Huh? Wha-?" The teen jerked upright in the bed, eyes still scrunched shut, totally disorientated.

"Oh, Vic, isn't he cute?" a higher-pitched voice inquired.

A chuckle greeted that question. "Looks like a tufted blond owl, Sis. He should make a good playmate for our Harley."

Justin slowly opened his eyes, blinking blearily at the siblings. "You're a regular comedy act," he mumbled. He glanced blearily to his left, where an old clock, some kind of precursor to today's digital ones, rested on the nightstand. As he watched, the numbers flipped over so that the hand on the Captain Astro sticker that had been affixed to the front pointed at 6:00.

"Thank fuck," he grunted, "enough time for a shower before I catch the bus." His addled brain was a bit unclear as to why Deb and Vic were hovering in his doorway, but he supposed he should be grateful they'd awakened him so he could make it to school on time. He then thought, wait a min-

"It's Thanksgiving, Kiddo," the redhead reminded him, stepping inside the room and laughing at Justin's dismayed expression.

Justin groaned, flopping down on his back and shutting his eyes. "It's a holiday. Why the flaming heck are you waking me up so early?"

"You're the one who said he wanted to be involved in every aspect of the preparations for today's feast," Deb chided. "We're gonna have to get that fucking giant bird in the oven soon."

"But we won't eat till somewhere between one and two o'clock," Justin protested. "It's not gonna take seven hours to cook the fucker. My mum never needed more than three hours to cook a turkey."

"Jesus, it sounds like she didn't cook anything larger than a peahen," Debbie jested.

"Probably no more than ten pounds," Vic concurred.

"Must've been nowt but a poult, or maybe a jenny," the redhead cackled.

"Or vastly underfed," Vic interjected.

"What're ‘poults' and ‘jennies'?" the bewildered, half-awake teen asked. "Some special breed of turkey?" He hated it when someone stumped him with a new word that he couldn't immediately figure out; fortunately, that rarely happened.

"A poult is a baby turkey," Vic explained, "and a jenny is a young female turkey." The older man tugged at the coverlet as he continued, "The male equivalent is a jake-"

"Holy fuck!" Debbie interrupted. "You are well endowed, Sunshine."

Justin, who'd been resting his eyes for another minute, opened them in a hurry, flushing as he looked down the exposed, nude length of his body - stopping where Bob was nestled between his thighs. "Fuck!" he shrieked at a much higher pitch than Deb had just used.

He tried to snatch the covers from Vic at the same moment the man attempted to hurl them back over the teen, sending the bedding sailing over the other side of the bed. Justin, who was now crimson from head to toe, screamed, "Fuck!" again, doubling over in an effort to give himself a little privacy.

"Relax, Kiddo, you've got nothing I haven't seen before," Deb teased, kindly averting her eyes as she turned around and walked to the door of the teen's room.

"Except for the size," Vic muttered, as he followed his sister. "I haven't seen the like very often..."

"Brian must be missing that," Deb chuckled. "The boy's such a size queen." She shouted over her shoulder, "Grab a quick shower and come join us in the kitchen, okay, Sunshine?"

"Ehm," Justin squeaked, so embarrassed he couldn't emit another sound.

Twelve minutes later, the teen had showered and dressed, but he was still so mortified by what had occurred that he didn't know where to look as he entered the kitchen.

"Kiddo," Vic immediately tendered an apology, "I'm really sorry about that. I never considered that you might be sleeping in the buff."

"I'm sorry too," Debbie commented. "We didn't mean to embarrass you so badly, Sunshine."

"Hmm," Justin mumbled.

"But I always say, ‘if you've got it, flaunt it,'" Debbie gently teased. "And you've definitely got it."

The blond hmmed again, unable to smile just yet.

"You know, Sis, maybe we should replace that Captain Astro bedding," Vic suggested. "Michael was all of what - eleven years old - when you purchased it for him?"

Debbie chuckled, "I think he campaigned for that bedding - especially the coverlet - for six months before I broke down and got it for his eleventh birthday."

"It's not really suited to an older teenager, especially one as mature as this lad," Vic remarked, slinging an arm around Justin's shoulders.

The blond did smile now. He couldn't help wondering if Brian had learned from Vic - and adapted to suit himself - this ‘actions rather than words' type of apology. Warmth coursed through Justin's body as he recalled Brian's apology for that ruined dinner... Fuck, that had been the best memory ever to which to test out Bob.

"Huh, I hadn't even thought about that," Debbie reflected, bringing the teen's wandering attention back to her. "Michael has always seemed content to keep everything the same. But you're right, Vic," she acknowledged. "In fact, we should think about remodeling the entire room, not just changing out the bedding."

Justin barely refrained from punching his fist in the air and shouting, Yes! He was heartily sick of seeing Captain Astro wherever he looked - the bedding, the wallpaper, the curtains, the clothing which took up most of the space in the chest of drawers, the stickers glued to every available surface...

Vic smiled at the now beaming teen, jesting, "Besides, your proportions are more heroic than Astro's."

As a brief laugh escaped him, Justin decided there was no changing Deb and Vic's ribald humor.

"That's it," Debbie encouraged. "Laugh with us. Give as good as you get."

"Hellooo, Briaaan," Harley chirped at that moment, ringing first one, then another of the bells in his cage, making all of them chuckle.

"Okay, okay," the teen protested, laughing some more. "I've got the message."

"Then get your behind over here," Deb commanded, "so I can show you how to prepare a big bird to go in the oven."

The redhead turned to her brother and ordered, "Bring that monster over here."

"Your wish is my command," Vic replied with an extravagant bow, hefting up the turkey from the other counter - where it was resting on a large platter - staggering slightly as he brought it over to Deb, and thumping it down in front of her.

"Holy shit!" the teen exclaimed, testing the weight of the bird for himself by lifting up the ends of the platter, "This thing weighs a ton. Wouldn't it make sense to cook two smaller birds? I'd think the meat would cook more evenly and taste better."

"Ragazzo," Debbie chided, patting him on the cheek, "only amateurs who don't have a clue how to prepare a turkey think that. The flavour depends on the seasoning and how the bird is cooked; it has nothing to do with the size."

"Sis has that old General Electric oven well-trained," Vic quipped. "It'll roast this fucking turkey to perfection."

"It should know what to do after all these years," Deb agreed, turning the oven on to three hundred twenty five degrees Fahrenheit to preheat. "Slice up a coupla red onions, a few carrots, and two ribs of celery for me, would'ya, Sunshine?"

Justin quickly performed the task, delivering the cut-up veggies in a bowl, blinking his eyes rapidly. 

"No need to cry, Kiddo," Vic teased as he pared apples at the other end of the counter.

"Fucking onions," the teen griped, swiping at his eyes with his arm. "This always happens."

"Sis usually sticks me with slicing the onions," the older man noted, grinning as he added, "It's good to have you here, Kid."

"Victor Grassi," Deb protested, swatting his arse with a dish towel, "you make it sound like I've never cut up an onion myself."

"I didn't think you had," Vic jested. "Whoa, keep that lethal weapon away from me," he begged, rubbing his posterior as if he'd actually been hurt, when Debbie raised the dish towel again.

"What's next?" Justin inquired, laughing at the siblings' shenanigans.

"There's no need to get overly fancy with roasting the bird," Deb informed him, pulling out a large roasting pan from the drawer beneath the oven. "We just want to release the flavour. So, strew those veggies across the bottom of this pan, and then set that big buzzard on top. I've already rinsed the bird, patted it dry, and removed the bag of gizzards and the neck, so there's no need for you to do that."

"Good," Deb praised when the blond had done as instructed. She then wrapped one of Justin's hands around a turkey leg. "Tilt that fucker up on its end and generously season the inside with this mix."

"What is it?" the young man asked, before turning his head to the side, releasing a mighty, "Achoo!" after he began shaking the contents into the bird's cavity.

"As you've just discovered, there's some pepper," Debbie chuckled. "Mainly, it's just salt and pepper."

"Okay," Justin replied, wiping his nose on his shirt and assuring the laughing redhead, "Don't worry; I'll change my tee later."

"Good idea," Vic interjected. "A snotty shirt can be a real turn-off."

Deb recalled the flushed teen's attention by instructing, "Now, watch what I do. We don't want the wingtips to get singed, so it's important to tuck the wings under - like this."

"You're a quick learner," the redhead lauded, when Justin folded the other wing under in one go.

"Eh, you're a good teacher," the teen replied. "You make learning fun, Debs."

"Okay, let's sauté some sage and rosemary leaves in butter," the motherly woman directed, smiling at her protégé.

Justin followed her instructions, quickly searing the herbs and placing them inside the bird with tongs.

"That turkey's gonna stink good," Vic jested as he arranged the apple slices on a pie plate, before covering them with a crumbly flour and brown sugar mixture.

"Fuck, I can almost taste that apple crisp," the teen moaned. "Do we get a break for breakfast?"

"We're almost done," Debbie informed him. "Then we can inhale some coffee and have a bite to eat. Just tie that big fucker's legs together with this butcher string, and then you can practice your painting skills by basting this bird with the melted herb butter."

A few more sneezes later - Justin discovered he had to season the outside of the turkey too - and the bird was ready to go in the oven shortly after seven o'clock.

"Shove the pan on in there," Debbie ordered, the teen grunting from the weight of the pan as he complied. "We'll check on it around twelve o'clock - stab it in the thigh with the meat thermometer to check the internal temperature."

"It'll almost certainly need another half hour to finish cooking," Vic commented, "and then another half hour to cool down before it'll be ready to carve."

"Then we can devour it," the redhead declared. "Along with the ham Em is cooking, and of course, all the side dishes everyone is contributing."

Justin's stomach let out a hungry rumble, and he ran a hand across his chin in case any drool had escaped.

"Time to feed the beast," Vic chuckled. 

"Yes, please," Justin pleaded.

"You up to chopping some more veggies to earn your breakfast, Kiddo?" the older man queried, his eyes twinkling as he took over Deb's station at the cooker, placing sausage links in a pan and frying them.

"Don't tell me," the blond groaned. "You want more onion. Couldn't you have asked for that when I sliced the first two?"

"Nope. Far too simple," Vic chuckled.

"You know," Justin reflected as he took another red onion from the bowl and held it up to make sure that was all Vic wanted, waiting for the man's nod before resuming, "I've heard that keeping onions in the refrigerator slows down reactions and changes the chemistry inside the bulb. Not that doing that ever helped much at my mum's house," he shrugged.

"Supposedly, chopping the buggers underwater has the same effect," Debbie tossed out, "but-"

Vic interrupted, "They kinda frowned on that down at the Y - said it interfered with their underwater basket-weaving class - so Sis had to quit using their pool."

Justin and Deb both burst out laughing, the redhead finally gasping out, "Yeah, it just resulted in wet, soggy onion anyroad."

"Set that over there," Vic requested, when Justin tried to hand him the bowl with the chopped onion. "Since you've stopped bawling, how about adding some ribs of celery and carrots?"

"I'm naught but slave labor," the teen quipped, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow.

"You've finally cottoned on to why we wanted you to move in," Deb cackled, beating eggs together with milk, salt, and pepper at the other counter.

Once he'd finished slicing, Justin followed Vic's instructions, using another skillet to heat a bit of butter and cook the vegetables until they were tender. He then spooned the veggies into a bowl, melted some more butter in the pan, and moved aside so Deb could pour in some of the egg mixture. After the eggy underside had cooked evenly, he spread veggies across half the fried egg, while Vic added cut-up sausage. A couple minutes later, the redhead reached between the men to sprinkle shredded cheese on top.

"That's it," Vic judged approvingly as the teen used a spatula to fold one half of the egg mixture over. "Ecco!" he announced moments later as he began preparing another eggy creation, "You just made the perfect omelet."

On cue, Justin's stomach rumbled. "Sit down and eat," Debbie urged, pouring more of the egg mixture into the pan the teen had been using. "We'll be with you shortly."

 

"Fuck, that was good," the young man moaned appreciatively half an hour later, as he polished off his second omelet, washing it down with a third cup of coffee.

"I don't think that'll hold you till the turkey feast," Vic joshed, placing a pumpkin custard in front of the teen.

"I thought custard was supposed to be served warm." Justin looked at the cold confection in confusion.

"It's good both ways. Try one cold now and then hot later," Debbie suggested, digging into her own pumpkin treat.

The trio of chefs conferred about when they'd prepare the remainder of the dishes and desserts they were providing for the feast: the pumpkin bisque they'd serve first; Vic's famous triple-threat stuffing; cranberry sauce; the apple pies, crisps, and applesauce; and the dessert breads - zucchini, cranberry, and gingerbread.

"We've gotta have a couple of healthy options for Brian," the teen insisted. He wasn't sure why he was being so nice, considering what a shit Brian had been to him the night before, but no matter how rudely the brunet behaved, he couldn't stop caring about and looking out for him. "Otherwise," he continued, "he'll have conniptions about his arteries clogging and new fat cells forming just from looking at all the carbohydrate-laden food. How about a harvest succotash? This sweet potato and cauliflower mash sounds good too," he decided as he perused recipes from Debbie's box.

"You want to take care of those?" the redhead inquired.

"Sure," Justin grinned, "as long as I can ask one of you questions if I get stuck."

"Well... okay, we'll let the slave labor ask questions," Vic teased.

"Oh, we can't forget the gravy," Debbie decreed, slapping one hand down on the tabletop for emphasis. "We'll cook butter and onion, whisk in flour, add chicken broth and brandy, cook until thickened, and then add some of the drippings that have collected in the bottom of the roasting pan."

"Make sure to pour in plenty of brandy," Vic prompted. "A drunken bird always tastes best."

"An old sot like you should know," the redhead riposted.

"I do," Vic confirmed with a smug smile. "And I'm proud of it."

Four and a half hours later, almost everything was ready, both ovens going, dishes simmering away or just staying warm on the range, even the Crockpot called into use for the cranberry sauce. 

Vic and Justin dropped extra leaves into the small, rectangular dining table, expanding it to seat twelve people. The older man then took the first turn at showering and changing his clothes, while Deb and Justin set the table and kept an eye on the items on the stove.

"That felt good," Justin remarked as he came back downstairs, having been the last one to clean himself off. "Who'd have thought I'd need a second shower today?"

"You did well at decorating your clothes, your face, and your hair," Vic laughed.

"Maybe you should consider getting a wine-colored streak in your hair," Debbie proposed seriously. "Those cranberries formed an interesting contrast to your blond locks."

"Fuck, no!" the horrified teen protested, utterly disturbed by the idea.

"Gotcha!" Deb crowed, emitting a belly laugh.

As soon as they'd tested the turkey's internal temperature - Debbie pronouncing it ready when the thermometer registered one hundred sixty five degrees - and removed it from the oven, the doorbell chimed.

"Answer that, would'ya, Sunshine?" Debbie requested. "The bird needs to cool for thirty minutes. We'll add some of the drippings to the gravy in just a bit." A satisfied expression on her face as she looked around the kitchen, she declared, "I think we've got everything else under control."

Justin opened the door to discover Emmett on the doorstep. The flamboyant man was wearing an orange knit cap pulled low over his ears, a purple scarf wrapped around his neck, and a bright blue peacoat, holding a large electric roaster oven in his orange-mittened hands. "Here, Baby, take this," he requested, handing the roaster off to Justin and trotting back to the taxi waiting at the curb.

"Jesus Christ," Justin opined, carrying the pan into the kitchen, "this must be one heckuva a porker."

"Put that over here," Vic suggested, clearing a space on the kitchen table and plugging the cord into the outlet. "You'd better go help Em, Sunshine. He's like Deb - cooks for the army and the navy."

"And you don't?" Justin quirked an eyebrow at the older man as he headed to the door again.

"Of course, I do," Vic replied with a broad grin. "Otherwise, Nonna and Nonno would roll over in their graves and revoke my Italian-American card."

As the blond jogged over to the cab, from which his friend was indeed unloading a fuckton of food, he heard the driver mutter, "Considering how much all that weighs, I should charge you fare for a second passenger - even if the company's rates are calculated on a base fee and mileage - plus time, when applicable."

Emmett grinned at the swarthy, muscled taxi driver, revealing the gap between his teeth, and sassily drawled, "Or you could just take it out in trade in Babylon's backroom this weekend."

"Hmm," the driver perused Em's lanky frame before winking at the southerner, "grant me a dance beforehand and you're on. I've seen you shaking your tail feathers - you're fucking talented."

"Why thank you, kind sir," the queen flirted. "Just sashay on up to me tomorrow or Saturday, and we'll see how well we tango."

The bloke accepted what looked like his regular fare and a hefty tip from Emmett, touched two fingers to his forehead in salute, and drove off.

"Did you call it quits with Dijon?" Justin inquired, accepting a gigantic, stainless steel chafing dish, from which enticing aromas wafted.

"Of course not," Em huffed as he picked up a rectangular pan encased in a thermal cover. "But we're not married, so both of us are free to get our ashes hauled. All we've really had so far is an extended one-night stand."

"It looked to me like you wanted more," the blond observed as they carted the food into the house.

"Well," the tall queen admitted, setting the pan on the sideboard next to the dining room table and divesting himself of his outerwear, "I would, but there won't be much chance of that till Dijon's reenlistment is up in two years. There's no point pining after what I can't have, although we have been sexting."

"So that's what the sergeant meant when he said you'd be pen pals," Justin chuckled.

"Baby, surely you didn't think we'd rely on snail mail," Em gasped. "How would I get my daily quotient of sexy dick pics?"

"That would be a problem," Justin acknowledged. "What-"

He was cut off by Emmett yelping, "Shit! I must have forgotten the power cords at home."

The teen walked back outside as the man stamped his foot in aggravation, pulling out his cell phone to call someone. "Uh, Em, is this what you're looking for?" he asked moments later, holding out a plastic bag with the logo for The Big Q emblazoned in green on a bilious yellow background.

"Thank fuck," the queen muttered, dramatically waving his cell at Justin. "Michael's not picking up. I thought I was going to have to slog back to our apartment through the snow."

"What new concoctions are you testing on us this year?" Debbie shouted from the kitchen.

"Testing?" Justin wondered, plugging in the chafing dish after his friend handed him the appropriate cord.

"You lot are my guinea pigs," Em revealed. "I like to experiment with at least one new recipe each Thanksgiving."

"You don't give it a trial run first?" the astounded teen prompted. "My mum always claimed that was a surefire recipe for disaster - dried out turkey, burnt pie crusts-"

Emmett airily dismissed Justin's concerns. "Baby, like my Aunt Lula always said - as long as you ply your guests with enough alcohol, they'll never notice any deficiencies in the food. Not that my culinary attempts are ever anything less than fabulous, of course."

"Not one of your dishes has ever flopped?" Justin inquired disbelievingly.

"Hmm," the taller man mused, "it didn't go so well when I gave Michael directions on making a pumpkin pie. That was over the phone, mind you. It never dawned on me that he would put in the same amount of powdered milk - without reconstituting it - as condensed milk..."

As the blond stared at him in horrified fascination, Emmett's lips twitched. "That puffed-up pie looked like it was about to give birth."

"Oh, that pie-" Debbie guffawed from the kitchen doorway, "it was such a fucking disaster. When was it my boy made that for Thanksgiving?"

"Five years ago?" Vic queried. "If I recall correctly, Michael wanted to impress me when I visited from New York. It looked like Mount Vesuvius about to blow."

Justin's cheeks pinkened as he recollected his trial run with his Battery Operated Brian - how he'd recalled teasing his former lover that he looked like Mt Vesuvius about to blow...

"Baby, do share whatever has brought that delectable flush to your cheeks," Em prompted.

"Hellooo Briaaan," Harley chirped right then, causing Deb to cackle.

"There's your answer," Vic announced, a broad grin on his face.

"Spill, Harley," the tall queen invited, running over and placing an ear against the birdcage, which resulted in the budgie nibbling at the cartilage. "That tickles!" Emmett exclaimed, backpedalling away. "You're right, though, Harley. I'll have to winkle the details out of the lad."

Unsure whether that was a threat or a promise, Justin decided to stay mum as long as possible.

"Now, Emmett, tell us what you made this year, so I can get back to the cooker," Deb reminded the flamboyant man of her earlier question.

"Well, in here you'll find sorghum-glazed sweet potatoes, a southern speciality I haven't made in years," Em replied, tapping one side of the chafing apparatus. "The newbie is scalloped Hasselback potatoes with cheddar." He rapped his knuckles against the other side of the metal chafing pan. "It takes a while to prepare, but it'd be pretty fucking hard to mess it up, so I doubt I'll give anyone food poisoning..." Winking, he concluded, "...this year, anyhow."

"This must be your famous Chipotle buttermilk cornbread." Vic patted the flat, oblong pan approvingly.

"Fuck, I'm getting hungry," the teen muttered, lightly massaging his growling stomach.

"Not long to go now, Honey," the motherly redhead commented after glancing at the clock on the stove, which read 1:07. "Do you need another custard to tide you over?"

Emmett nudged Justin out of the way, claiming, "If he doesn't, I most certainly do. Cooking is hard work."

Vic rubbed his hands together, his eyebrows dancing up and down. "You hear that, Sis? The entertainment tonight should be extra-special, with all Sunshine's hard work."

Justin rolled his eyes but quipped, "Should I leave my door ajar?"

"That would be fucking considerate," Debbie joked, beaming at the teen.

"Maybe I should sack out on your couch-" Emmett started to suggest, just as the doorbell rang.

"Must be the lesbians," the redhead remarked. "Somewhere they got the idea that being on time means coming early."

"Ew," Em's face scrunched up. "Never mention ‘dykes' and ‘coming' in the same sentence."

"Gross," the teen concurred, heading to the door.

"Jushun! Jushun!" Gus crowed, stretching out his arms as soon as the blond had opened the door.

"Would you mind holding him?" Lindsay asked, handing over her son before Justin could answer. "Ever since we told him he'd see you later, he's been chanting your name. We couldn't get ready fast enough."

A delighted smile on his face, the teen declared, "I missed you too buddy."

He carried the tyke over to Deb, who planted a wet one on his cheek and greeted him, "How's my Gussy?"

"Gah! Mama!" the tyke burbled, tangling his chubby fingers in the redhead's wig and pulling it askew.

"Debs! I think he's calling you ‘grandmama,'" Justin gasped.

"What?" Lindsay called out, dashing over with a salad bowl in her hands, Melanie right behind her with a covered casserole.

"Gah! Mama!" the little one obligingly repeated before reversing it. "Mama! Gah!"

"Let me fix your hair," Lindsay offered.

"Who cares?" Debbie waved her off, despite her now lopsided wig nearly covering one eye. "Gus just called me ‘grandma'!"

"Don't worry. He uses every new word again and again," Melanie assured the proud grandmother. "You'll soon grow tired of it," she joked.

"Never," Deb vouched. "I could never get tired of hearing Gussy call me grandma."

"Allergies," the teen mumbled to no one in particular as he surreptitiously wiped at one eye. He felt better when he noticed Em doing the same.

The bell rang again, and Vic joshed, "Are we expecting any other lesbians?" 

After passing Gus back to Linds, Justin walked over to see who'd arrived.

"Really? That would be great," Melanie interjected. "This group needs more estrogen."

"Fuck, no," Vic retorted. "We're already outnumbered." When both dykes raised their eyebrows, he joshed, "Sis' estrogen outperforms the testosterone of any three men."

"Victor Grassi!" Deb reached out and whacked him on the back of the head.

"See," Vic proclaimed, staggering as if the redhead had dealt a mighty blow.

"Um," someone cleared their throat uncertainly. 

"Dr Dave!" Debbie gushed, embracing the man exuberantly, practically lifting him off the floor as she gave him a lipsticky kiss. Looking behind him, she asked in surprise, "Where's Michael?"

"Uh, he decided to stay at his apartment last night," the chiropractor disclosed, hastily tacking on, "I brought wine from France and a spicy acorn squash with feta cheese - from both of us."

Deb glanced at Emmett, probably wondering why Michael hadn't helped ferry the food from their apartment, but the queen just shrugged at her.

"Wine from France," Vic mused. "Are you training Michael to be a wine connoisseur?"

David coughed, flushing. "Uh, working on it," he deflected. "So far, Michael prefers beer."

A thumping at the door sent Justin, who'd toted in the doc's casserole as well as a cardboard wine carrier, back toward the entrance to the house. "Ted," he greeted the accountant with a welcoming smile, "come on in."

"I'm not late, am I?" Ted's brow furrowed. "I thought I'd allowed plenty of time, even with the heavy snow."

"Nope, you're right on time - a few minutes early even," Justin responded. "Can I take something for you?" he inquired, noticing the man had quite a stack in his arms.

"Please," the older man replied. "Sorry about knocking with my heel, but I didn't have a free hand. My usual parking karma deserted me," he jested. "I had to park half a block away."

"No wonder you didn't want to make more than one trip from your car," the teen laughed, relieving Ted of a large basket covered in a thermal warmer and leaving the man holding a casserole-shaped dish in an insulated bag. With so many casseroles, he wondered how they'd tell them apart, but he supposed the cooks would lay claim to their own creations.

"Put the smaller dishes on the table," Deb ordered, "and find space for everything else on the sideboard."

"You mean there's room for something besides this steel monstrosity?" Ted drily remarked. "What's in here anyway?" he asked, his fingers reaching for the handle.

"Hands off, Teddy," Em demanded. "I don't want my casseroles to get cold."
"Party pooper," Ted pouted.

"You won't say that once you have a taste," Emmett claimed, raising one hand to his lips and kissing the fingertips, before spreading his fingers outward.

"Just a tiny peek?" Ted wheedled, employing blatant flattery, "You're such a fabulous chef, Em."

Sensing the queen was about to give in, Justin interposed, "Dinner will be ready shortly, Ted. Why don't you put your dishes on the table, and we can all rave about each other's masterpieces once we start eating?"

Emmett nodded at Justin in thanks, quickly snatching his hand away from the chafing dish. "You almost got away with that, Teddy," he chided.

"It was worth a try," the man shrugged good-naturedly.

"Find a seat, everybody," Vic recommended at 1:52, shooing the girls out of the kitchen. "Just leave the chair at the head of the table - that's the seat nearest the kitchen - and the one to the left free."

"Is it okay if Gus' high chair goes at the foot of the table?" Linds asked. "If we need to get up to take care of him, that'll make it easier."

"Sure," Vic responded. "Why don't you girls sit on one side of him, and I'll take the chair opposite you."

Emmett squealed, "Dibs on the seat next to Vic," with Ted quietly claiming the space next to his friend.

The doorbell went off again, and Justin hurried to answer, suddenly speechless when he discovered Brian at the door.

"I'm expected, aren't I?" Brian sardonically inquired when Justin simply stared at him.

"Uh, yeah, of course," the nonplussed teen belatedly responded, opening the door wider. "It's just, like, you're almost early."

"Early?" the brunet arched an eyebrow at the stammering teen. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm fashionably late, as always."

"Briaaan," a voice cried out from behind him, causing the adman to wince and wonder how he could've miscalculated so badly that he'd arrived before Michael. Maybe his fucking expensive Bvlgari Octo wristwatch wasn't keeping time accurately... Anyway, he really didn't feel like dealing with his clingy friend, who'd likely whinge on about how Brian hadn't been spending enough time with him.

Sure enough, one beat later, the shorter man protested, "We usually see each other every day," eagerly proposing, "Let's sit next to each other." He pushed past the teen, taking no notice of him, claiming, "It's been forever since we saw each other."

"Four days does not constitute ‘forever,'" Brian snarked, relieved to discover Dr Dave at the dining table. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for getting Michael and the good doctor back together; now he wouldn't be subjected to Mikey's inane chatter. "You should sit with your boyfriend," he advised, nudging his friend toward the other end of the table.

Ignoring both Michael's beseeching puppy-dog eyes and the furtive look he cast toward the chiropractor, Brian turned toward Justin, the bottles in the bags he was toting merrily clanking. "Where should I-" he began, halting when he saw Justin open the door again.

He scowled, thinking that all these latecomers were messing with his status as the last - and most anticipated person - at any event. His eyes narrowed on the bulky figure, stunned to recognize the portly detective. Surely the copper didn't plan to interrogate Justin about the robbery on Thanksgiving Day? Although Brian was still pissed at the teen for being so irresponsible as to leave his loft unlocked, he didn't believe the brat really knew anything about the burglary.

Belatedly, he realized the detective was carrying a bouquet of flowers and what looked like a couple six-packs of beer. What the fuck? Who'd invited the police to Thanksgiving at Debs? He hurriedly glanced toward the sidewalk, nearly sagging in relief when he didn't see the man's partner, the stone-faced, monosyllabic Detective Wen.

"Thanks for inviting me," he heard Horvath greet the teen. "This is much better than vegging in front of the TV this afternoon."

What the fuck? Brian fumed again. Not only was the teen irresponsible, he was also inconsiderate. The muppet had to know that most of them weren't comfortable around the police; there'd been too much unfair treatment from the fuzz. The blond might've done the right thing by reporting the vandalism of his locker to the police, but getting all buddy-buddy with one of them was something else entirely. In any case, he should have had more sense than to invite one into Debbie's home.

The brunet was startled out of his musings when a hand was thrust out toward him, a gravelly voice remarking, "Good to see you, Mr Kinney."

"Detective," Brian responded curtly, not about to say ‘likewise,' not when he didn't feel that way at all. "Are those flowers for me?" he mocked, trying to find his equilibrium with the policeman. "You shouldn't have."

The detective chuckled, quipping, "You don't look much like the vivacious Mrs Novotny to me."

Brian set down one of the bags he was holding, so he could shake the proffered hand, glaring and muttering, "I should hope not."

"Detective," a voice screeched, rescuing Brian from the need to formulate a better retort, "Sunshine told me you were here."

Jesus, the blond was like a jack-in-the-box, Brian reflected, as the teen popped out from behind Debbie.

"Um, these are for you," the suddenly bashful copper mumbled, holding out the posies.

The gobsmacked redhead placed one palm against her chest, declaring, "Jesus fucking Christ, I don't remember the last time someone gave me flowers."

The adman could practically see the gerbils scurrying about inside the teen's head. Ten to one the kid would be buying flowers for Deb on a regular basis - if Horvath didn't beat him to it, that is. The detective looked awfully smug, as if he'd just won the jackpot. Jesus, what was it about a few soon-to-wilt flowers that turned women and twinks into utter nitwits? Thank fuck that would never happen to Brian Kinney.

"Oh, tiger lilies," the bedazzled redhead breathed out, pulling the tissue back from the bouquet. "How'd you know they're my favourite?"

"They just reminded me of you," the copper confessed. "Vibrant and full of life."

"Oh, let's see," Emmett interjected, peering over Deb's shoulder. "You sly thing," he patted her shoulder. "You never told us you have a beau."

"Uh, I- it's new," the usually unflappable woman spluttered.

"Here, Deb, why don't we put those in water," Justin suggested, popping up again with a water-filled vase in his hand. "They'd make the perfect centerpiece for the table," he ventured, beaming at Debbie and then the detective.

As they filtered into the dining area, Vic emerged from the kitchen, pulling Brian aside. "You've met the detective before, right?"

"Couldn't avoid him, what with him and his partner investigating the burglary," Brian grumbled.

"He is doing a good turn by Justin," Vic allowed, "giving Jerkins a talking-to about the torched locker and the bullying, so I want him to feel at ease in Deb's and my home. Would you mind sitting next to him?"

"Whatever," the adman ungraciously conceded, "but with Wen for a partner, I doubt any of us will discombobulate him."

"Maybe not," Vic ruefully admitted, "but having him here is disconcerting me."

"Why don't we have a nip of this so we can deal with the detective and the rest of Thanksgiving hullabaloo?" Brian suggested, cracking open one of the paper bags so the older man could see the bottle of Beam Black Label.

"Can I join you?" Ted requested. "I could use some hair of the dog myself."

"If you're still feeling the effects of the last bottle we necked, that might not be such a good idea," Brian cautioned as he unloaded the bottles of Valpolicella wine and Roundabout IPA he'd purchased.

"That was three days ago," the exasperated accountant rolled his eyes. "It's Michael alternatively pouting at David and giving the detective the stink eye that's the problem."

"Fuck," Brian muttered when Vic glanced at him meaningfully, "I'd better get in there. Stash this somewhere so we can enjoy it later, would'ya?" What the hell had he been thinking, he wondered, agreeing to make the policeman feel comfortable in their midst?

"What're you doing here?" Michael rudely inquired of Horvath as Brian sat down between the copper and Lindsay, while Debbie, Justin, and Vic carried in steaming bowls of soup, placing them in front of everyone.

"Michael Charles Novotny," Debbie reprimanded her son, slapping him on the back of the head.

It must've been a pretty good whack, the adman judged, from the way Michael cried, "Ouch, Ma! What was that for?"

"Detective Carl Horvath is a guest in this house," Debbie explained, "and I raised you to be polite to visitors."

"Pleased to properly meet you," the policeman offered with equanimity, smiling at the scowling Michael. "Your mum's quite the gal."

"I'm David Cameron," the chiropractor intervened when Michael simply glowered at the policeman. "It's good to meet the fellow Debbie's dating."

"Uh, no, we aren't actually dating," the flustered redhead denied, almost dumping the soup into Dr Dave's lap. "Detective Horvath has struck up a friendship with Sunshine is all."

"Looks like I'm not the only one he's friends with," Justin murmured, cheekily grinning at his benefactress as he set a bowl of soup in front of Brian, his fingers grazing the brunet's. 

It took all Brian's wherewithal to appear indifferent to the teen's touch. Fuck, but he needed to get back to tricking, he mused. It couldn't be that difficult, right? Just like riding a bike...

Carl's flirtatious, "I'd be honored to take you on a date," recalled Brian to the present. He almost shuddered, more from thinking about the fucking trick who'd assaulted him a handful of days earlier than from the idea of hetero dating rituals.

Spoons were poised in midair as the others awaited Debbie's response with bated breath.

"Ehm, I don't know," the redhead dithered. "I haven't been on a date since the last century."

"Me neither," Carl shrugged, grinning at Deb's sassy comeback. "Maybe we could go bowling," he suggested hopefully.

"Big balls are always a plus," Em murmured from the other end of the table.

While Debbie mulled over her answer, Vic proposed, "Maybe we should have a competition, Sis. You know, cops versus queers."

"Sounds like fun," Justin commented as he served more bowls of soup, making sure everyone had gotten a portion before sitting down himself.

"Bowling's for heteros," Brian grunted irritably, thinking about how Jack loved the so-called sport. "Count me out."

"I wouldn't mind showing my moves at the bowling alley," Em announced.

"You'd certainly distract our opponents," Ted fondly stated.

"I used to be pretty good with a bowling ball in college," Lindsay reminisced.

"Ma! You're too old!" Michael abruptly blurted out.

"Too old for what?" Justin queried drily. "Bowling? I've never heard of an age limit."

"No, you idiot," Michael fulminated. "Too old for dating."

"Michael Charles Novotny!" Debbie reiterated in a loud voice, smacking her son on the head again. "I am not too old to date. I may have gone prematurely grey, but I'm not even too old to have another child."

While Michael gaped in open-mouthed shock at his mum, a smidgen of the pumpkin soup dribbling down his chin, Brian exchanged a horrified look with Ted. Another Michael was too much to contemplate.

"Ew," Emmett complained. "No alluding to hetero sex while I'm eating."

"I hate to be the one to tell you," Melanie revealed, smirking, "but as distasteful as the notion may be, we're all the result of het sex."

"Please," the queen dramatically begged, covering his ears with his hands, "no more."

"We probably couldn't have the match until the new year," Carl tactfully interceded, "since homicide is always swamped with cases during the holidays. We could still think about who we'd want on our teams though. My partner would be my first pick. No bowling ball would dare visit the gutter when she wields it."

That cemented it as far as Brian was concerned. He didn't want to go anywhere near that match, if it ever came to fruition.

"Oh, I bet Detective Wen is really good," Justin enthused.

"She probably is, son," Horvath nodded. "I don't know if I could talk her into participating, though, other than to glare the ball into submission."

"Fuck, we won't stand a chance," Em groaned. "Bowling isn't my forte - I'm afraid I specialize in gutter balls."

"Your mind is certainly in the gutter," Ted quipped. "But so is mine."

"Even if our team is the underdog, that doesn't mean we can't win," the redhead encouraged everyone. "There's time to hone our skills too, if we won't compete for five or six weeks."

The group pondered the merits of a bowling match while they slurped their soup, Debbie apparently unaware that she hadn't actually agreed to a date. As he observed Horvath, who was smirking like a Cheshire cat, Brian was certain that the detective hadn't forgotten. To his credit, the policeman didn't seem bothered by having most of the family tag along on his date.

Scarfing down the bisque, Justin mused about when he could practice bowling. He definitely wanted to participate, although he didn't think he'd bowled since he was Molly's age.

The teen suddenly realized that the detective hadn't met everyone. Setting down his spoon, he apologized, "Fuck, I'm sorry. I forgot to introduce you."

"No worries," Horvath replied, smiling at the teen.

"I'm sure you lot heard that we have a special guest, Detective Carl Horvath," the blond commented loudly, inclining his head toward the copper.

"So, as far as the ones you haven't met," Justin gestured toward the foot of the table. "The nipper down there is Gus - Brian, Lindsay, and Melanie's son. This is Lindsay Peterson, the one sitting beside Brian, and Melanie Marcus is next to her."

The lesbians murmured, "Detective," while Gus banged on his tray.

"Next to Gus is Vic Grassi, Deb's brother," the teen continued. "He and Debbie live here together." He wasn't sure if the copper could hear him clearly over Michael's muttering and Gus' excited babbling and banging, so he resolved to repeat the names later on.

"Thanks for welcoming me into your home," the policeman offered a polite greeting, while Vic nodded in acknowledgement.

"This is Ted Schmidt, and next to him is Emmett Honeycutt," Justin finished. "You know everyone else, I think."

Ted nodded at Horvath, while Em sent him an excited little wave.

"You're good friends with Brian, aren't you?" Carl offhandedly commented to Michael.

"He's my best friend," Michael proudly proclaimed.

"It's hard to tell whether Michael spends more time at our apartment or at the loft," Emmett laughed, "given how he's attached to Brian's di-, uh, hip." He paused, sending the chiropractor a contrite look, before amending, "Of course, all that will change now that he's together with Dr Dave."

"What? Why would that change-" Michael objected.

"Fuck, this is so good," Lindsay moaned, cutting Michael off.

Murmurs of agreement rose from around the table.

"It's so easy to make that it's almost embarrassing," Vic bantered. "Even Brian could prepare this."

The appalled brunet refuted, "I'd never make something so full of fat."

Carl chuckled, glancing at Brian's empty bowl, "That didn't stop you from eating every last drop though, did it?"

With a huff, Brian turned to Lindsay to engage her in conversation but the blonde merely spluttered, laughing, "The detective is right, Brian."

Justin was still giggling at the brunet having been caught out, when Debbie leaned over and whispered, "I want you to carry the turkey to the table, Kiddo. You've earned the honor."

The blond beamed at his surrogate mother, nodding in eager acquiescence, before he stood up and began clearing away the empty soup bowls.

"Let me give you a hand," Deb offered, beginning to rise from her chair.

"Relax," Justin urged, "you've been cooking up a storm all day."

After placing the bowls and soup spoons in the dishwasher, the teen transported a couple of the side dishes they'd been keeping warm in the kitchen, the diners oohing and aahing over each new delivery. 

Once all the sides - as well as an extra cutting board and platters to hold the carved turkey meat - had been ferried to the table, Justin arranged a sharp knife and a two-pronged meat fork alongside the turkey. The bird had been transferred to a wooden platter, where it rested on a kitchen towel to keep it from wobbling. He lifted the board carefully, so the humongous bird wouldn't slide off as he transported it, and shuffled toward the dining area.

"Holy shit, Justin!" Melanie exclaimed as he approached the table. "I can't even see you; that turkey's so big."

"It must weigh more than you do, son," Carl teased, his eyes twinkling.

"Maybe," the blond huffed out, relieved to set the platter down next to Vic, "but my thighs are more muscular."

Emmett leered, offering, "Shall I test your temperature?"

Before Justin could issue a retort, Gus stretched out a hand, querying, "Bah. Bah. Bamama?" frustratedly banging his fists against his tray when he couldn't reach the bird.

"Turkey," Justin enunciated slowly. "Not banana." Looking at the munchers, he suggested, "If we cut up some turkey really fine, could Gus have a bite or two? I'd hate for the little guy to miss out completely on the main course."

"A bit of leg or thigh meat should mash up easily, since dark meat is usually moister than the breast meat," Vic recommended.

"That should be okay," Lindsay decided. "He digested the bangers you diced up for him at the diner without any problem, Justin."

"And he's almost two weeks older now," Melanie inserted, beaming proudly at her son. "Talking more and eating more than just baby food."

"He may be a miniature version of Brian," Em remarked, "but he's already more loquacious than his dad. Doesn't sound like he'll restrict himself to the same high-protein diet either..."

"Are you on some special diet?" Carl asked, turning to look at the man seated next to him, blushing when everyone guffawed.

"He's queer, detective," Debbie chuckled. "Think-"

"Oh!" the policeman cut her off as he got the reference, his face now a bright red.

Feeling bad for the mortified detective, Justin loudly stated, "If you'll carve the bird, Vic, then everyone can dig in."

"Where do you think you're going, Sunshine?" the older man asked as the teen headed back to his seat. "There's no better time than the present to learn how to cut up a turkey."

Justin smiled broadly as he returned to Vic's side. His dad had always claimed he was too young to be trusted with such an important task, so he'd never done this before.

"The first thing we want to do is expose the wishbone," Vic explained, slicing down on one side of the bone and then directing the blond to repeat the action on the other side. "Okay, tug hard to pull it out," he instructed.

Leaning down to whisper directly into his ear, Justin suggested, "Shall I give this to Debbie and Carl?"

Vic winked at his turkey-carving assistant. "Put it on my plate and you can do that after we've finished cutting up this bird."

"Next, I'll slice through the skin that connects the leg to the breast," Vic demonstrated, "pull the leg and thigh away from the body, and then cut through the hip joint. Your turn," he declared after removing the limb.

"Don't worry, Kiddo," Debbie called from the other end of the table. "Vic's an expert at carving a fucking bird."

"Ouch!" Ted winced. "At least let the cock finish fucking first. After all, it's his last hurrah."

The blond giggled, his nerves dissipating when he saw Brian's hands twitch, as if he wanted to cover his crotch. Copying Vic's motions flawlessly, he soon added the leg to the one already on the spare cutting board.

Using the smaller board, Vic cut through the joint between the hip and the thigh, gesturing for Justin to do the same. 

"Oops," Justin gasped, embarrassed when the leg plunked onto the tablecloth.

"You're doing great," his mentor encouraged. "Just put the leg back on the board."

"Heck, I already decorated the tablecloth with my soup," Melanie mumbled, "which looks a lot worse than a grease spot."

"Stains add character," Debbie cackled.

"Now you know why Sis and I are such characters," Vic punned, eliciting a round of groans.

After they'd each carved the bones out of the thighs and cut the meat into pieces, placing it and the legs on two serving plates, Vic showed the teen how to remove one half of the breast from the breastbone.

His tongue peeking out between his teeth as he concentrated, Justin had to slice a few more times than Vic, but he eventually freed the other half.

"Bravo!" shouted Debbie, whilst Em whistled, "Rock that cock!"

"Anyone can carve a turkey," Michael pouted.

"Michael," Debbie hissed, "as I recall, you refused to give it a try despite all the times your uncle offered to teach you. So, you shouldn't disparage Sunshine's efforts."

"But, Ma!" Michael protested, "Everyone's acting like that twinkie is so cool when, really, he'd be a homeless, two-bit lowlife without you."

"You're both part of this family as far as I can tell," Horvath intervened, "so wouldn't it make sense to try to get along?"

From the corner of his eye, Justin saw Debbie give the detective a grateful nod, Michael subsiding reluctantly as his boyfriend whispered something in his ear. Considering it wasn't as virulent as some of Michael's other accusations, the teen was startled to see Brian glowering at the shorter man - as if he strongly disagreed with his childhood friend. 

On the spare cutting board, he and Vic quickly sliced the breasts against the grain, progressing from tip to tip, adding the slices to the thigh and leg meat. 

Finally, the older man demonstrated how to pull the wing away from the turkey, cutting through the joint. "There," Vic declared in satisfaction as Justin removed and placed the second wing on the other platter, "you lot can squabble over who gets the wings."

"The wings belong to me and Brian," Michael immediately piped up.

"Too much fat," Brian rebutted. "I haven't eaten a wing since I was a teen."

"Unless you've gotten into your chronic," Ted jested, chuckling when he earned a glare but no retort from his friend.

"How would you know-" Michael sneered.

Debbie shrieked, "Aw, that's so thoughtful, Honey," cutting her son off. While Ted had been bantering with Brian, Justin had carried one of the platters of turkey down to the other end of the table and had extended the wishbone to the detective, indicating he should offer it to Debbie.

"Whoever ends up with the bigger piece should give the other person a kiss!" Em yelled.

Justin grinned happily, made up that romance was in the air for his surrogate mum and the kindly detective.

Debbie and Carl tugged at opposite ends of the wishbone, the redhead ultimately flourishing the larger bone in the air before standing up and walking over to the copper, flushing slightly as everyone avidly watched. Leaning down, she pecked the detective on the mouth, drawing back and murmuring, "I'll give you a proper kiss when we don't have an audience."

While most of the diners groaned in disappointment, Michael muttered, "Thank fuck. You really don't want to make a fool out of yourself at your age, mother."

"Your mum couldn't possibly do that," Carl interceded in a mild voice. "I've only spoken with her a few times, but I can already tell she's special."

"Gag me with a spoon." Michael sulked.

"Sweetheart," David interposed, running a soothing hand down his boyfriend's back, "surely you don't begrudge your mum finding someone, not when she's been so supportive of our relationship."

"I guess not," Michael allowed, although his countenance was still dark.

Dr Dave, the ad exec ruminated, should just take Michael upstairs and fuck the mad out of him. It wasn't something Brian had ever wanted to try with his childhood friend, but the doc should enjoy giving it a go.

Shifting in his seat, Brian attempted to relieve the boner that had been distending the fly of his new, dark grey John Varvatos jeans for the past twenty minutes. His hard-on had wilted slightly during the PDA between Deb and Horvath, but had sprung back full force as he'd watched the blond scurry into the kitchen, his delectable ass bouncing up and down in his khaki-coloured cargo pants.

In addition to lusting after Justin, Brian had felt strangely proud of the teen as he'd watched him carry out the turkey and help Vic carve it. Now, he felt a surge of warmth course through his body as the teen came back with a small dish, into which he scooped some finely-diced turkey before adding a dollop of gravy and handing the mixture to the bulldyke to feed to Gus. Ugh, he was behaving like a sentimental lesbian, the brunet chastised himself. Hurriedly turning to the detective, he offered as he stood up, "You want a bottle of Roundabout?"

"I'll stick with Voodoo," Horvath responded. "I prefer an aged brew."

"Fuck, so do I," Brian agreed. "I forgot to swing by their distribution center earlier this week. Do you mind if I snag one of yours?"

"Help yourself," the copper invited. "First come, first serve."

"Take this ham to the table, would'ya?" Emmett requested, intercepting the adman as he beelined toward the drinks on the sideboard.

"Can't you get Justin to help you, Honeycutt?" Brian grumbled as he caught himself eyeing the blond's ass yet again.

"What's got your panties in a twist, Bri?" the queen riposted. "Baby's been working his ass off. He deserves to enjoy the feast too."

Brian groaned as Justin's ass was mentioned. He couldn't get away from that admittedly fine posterior for one second it seemed.

When the brunet returned to the sideboard, reaching toward the beer, Em chided, "Uh-uh. First set this second platter of ham at the other end of the table."

"Fuck, you're a demanding bottom," Brian growled.

"And much less grumpy than the Kinney power top," Em cheekily replied. "Not getting any?"

"When do I ever have trouble getting action?" Brian snarled, stomping over to the table and plonking the pork down in front of the lesbians.

"No," he outright refused, bypassing Emmett when he headed to the sideboard for the third time. Whatever the flamboyant man was holding did smell good, but it was bound to be full of fat.

Em rolled his eyes at Brian, but the adman chose not to reprimand him for his juvenile behavior, certain that would end up with him shanghaied into helping out some more.

"No, Baby, you sit down," the brunet heard the queen tell Justin when the blond rushed over to lend a hand. "I've got it under control. You sit down and relax."

Brian rolled his eyes as he set one of Carl's beers in front of the copper. Just as he'd suspected, Emmett didn't really need any assistance. Fucking nelly bottom...

"The ham's on the table - with Mr Kinney's oh-so-gracious assistance," Emmett reported as he carried over two large bowls a few minutes later.

"What's that?" Melanie asked, pointing at one of the bowls. "It smells fucking good."

"For that astute observation, you may take the first serving of the sorghum-glazed sweet potatoes," Emmett announced, passing the bowl to the bulldyke.

"Teddy, help yourself to these Hasselback potatoes with cheddar and pass it along," Em requested, handing the other bowl to the accountant. "I couldn't resist this new-to-me recipe; after all, potatoes and cheese..."

"...go together like peanut butter and jelly," Ted chorused along with his friend.

As the two men exchanged grins, Emmett demanded, "Eat up, folks. There's plenty more in the chafing pans."

"Cheddar really jazzed up my kale salad with glazed onions," Lindsay cheerfully asserted. "Cheese is so versatile."

"Yeah, it's indiscriminate about ruining an otherwise perfectly acceptable dish," Brian scoffed, "and glomming fat onto all body types."

"I sacrificed a night with David so I could help my flatmate prepare the ham and these casseroles," Michael chimed in, "so - cheese aside - they're bound to be good."

"More like you came home whinging last night because you'd got into a fight with David; then you spent the next sixteen hours glued to the computer, bidding on more collectibles on eBay," Em muttered. "Why was it, again, that you couldn't help me transport the food over here to your mum's house?"

"I told you," Michael huffed, "I was shopping online for Christmas presents."

"Uh-huh," Em responded, skeptically arching an eyebrow at his friend.

"Did you get that item you wanted for your mum?" David diplomatically averted a meltdown, evidently no longer upset about whatever had caused their argument.

"Not yet. But I will," Michael insisted. "There's another one just listed for sale."

"You're a good son," the redhead declared, "but you shouldn't spend your hard-earned money from the Big Q on me, Sweetie."

When Ted exclaimed in delight, "Is that your famous triple-threat stuffing, Vic?" the adman gladly let his attention be diverted from the dysfunctional mother-son relationship. It worked for Michael and Deb, which was all that mattered.

"Yep," Vic replied, "herb-and-nut, sausage-fennel, and Tex-Mex cornbread. "You want Herb or one of the others?"

"Why did you separate Herb-and-his-nuts from his wiener?" Emmett jested, ladling some of the sausage-fennel stuffing onto his plate.

"That's something they do down Texas way, right?" joked Ted, taking a helping of the Tex-Mex cornbread stuffing.

"Yep, separating the steers from the bulls," Em contributed with a dead-serious expression.

Debbie cackled as she passed the dish with the herb-and-nut stuffing to Justin, "You'd better reunite Herb and his nuts with his sausage right quick - so you can lick them all clean."

Brian thought Horvath looked a little green around the gills when Justin handed him the stuffing, but he gamely took a serving nonetheless.

"Brian, you want some ‘vain-yay'?" Michael waved a bottle at his friend. "David had it shipped from France; it's really highfalutin stuff."

"No thanks," Brian curtly replied, futilely wishing his friend would employ his powers of observation. "I'm drinking beer."

"Would you like to try the Viognier?" Dr Dave asked Deb, giving the wine varietal the correct pronunciation. 

"Sure, although I have to warn you I'm partial to Valpolicella with my turkey," the redhead amicably assented.

"Your son's becoming quite the oenophile," the chiropractor asserted, pouring a small amount into Debbie's glass for her to taste. "He'll soon be-"

"Huh?" Michael interrupted. "What's a ‘peen file'? Is ‘peen' short for ‘penis'? Why would l want to be a ‘penis file'?"

Jesus. Brian cringed, almost spewing his last draught of beer all over the tablecloth. Mikey should just have the balls to say he didn't know what the word meant. The adman would bet at least one or two of the other people at the table were equally clueless.

"What's an ‘een-ah-file'?" Deb asked, puzzled.

As usual, Brian mused, the mother had more balls than the son.

"There's no ‘p' sound in ‘oenophile'." The teenager carefully pronounced the word, before elucidating, "An oenophile is a connoisseur of wines. Good for you, Michael. That's quite a skill."

Thank you, Mr Public Service Announcer, Brian chortled to himself, as Horvath let out an ungentlemanly snort, quickly disguising it as a cough. 

Snickers resounded from the other end of the table as Michael stared at Justin suspiciously. The blond gave the ‘penis file' a bland look in return, making it nearly impossible for Brian to suppress a laughing fit.

"Fuck," Brian kvetched moments later, hungrily eyeing the bacon and green bean bundles Ted had identified as one of his contributions, "couldn't you have made your usual green bean casserole, Schmidt? At least that was halfway healthy. Now there's nothing on the table that I can eat."

"We brought roasted sweet and sour Brussel sprouts," Lindsay recommended one of the lesbians' contributions. "You can't get much healthier than that."

"I didn't say I wanted to go fucking vegan," the adman complained some more. "The Brussel sprouts look like shrivelled balls."

"No way will I eat those." Michael predictably jumped on Brian's bandwagon, turning up his nose at the maligned sprouts.

"Not bad," Vic opined, spooning up a mouthful.

One side of Brian's mouth quirked upward at the words of praise he'd long since adopted from the older man. Sighing, he helped himself to the sprouts. "It's okay," he acknowledged, "but a little sweet for my taste."

"Only you would suss out the smidgen of brown sugar in the dish," Mel commented, shaking her head in wry disbelief.

"There's far less sugar in a single serving than in one of your cups of coffee," Lindsay informed him. 

"Nope, too much sugar," Michael adamantly echoed Brian's assessment, when David tried to pass him the dish.

Brian snorted to himself when his friend immediately ladled a huge helping of the cheesy scalloped potatoes onto his plate. Talk about fattening...

"Try the sweet potato and cauliflower mash," Debbie recommended when Brian looked askance at the other dishes on the table.

"Is this another muncher concoction?" the tall brunet inquired when Vic passed the dish down the table. "It doesn't look very appetizing."

"Nope," Lindsay demurred. "I have no idea who made it; however, it looks pretty much like standard mashed potatoes to me - just orangey instead of a creamy color."

"Whateverthefuck," Brian mumbled, not sure whether he believed his blonde friend. "If you haven't offed me with your other vegan experiments, I guess this won't kill me."

Taking a tentative mouthful, Brian hmmed in amazement. "Not bad. Not bad at all," he reiterated, scooping more onto his plate.

Debbie patted Justin on the hand, noting, "You should thank Justin. He insisted on a couple of healthy options just for you, Mr Finicky Eater."

"A couple?" Brian latched onto that piece of information. "What's the other one?"

"Harvest succotash," Justin replied, "essentially baked veggies with dashes of olive oil and mustard. It's even healthier than the mashed taters and cauliflower."

"Where is it?" Brian looked down the length table, frowning at the notion that someone else was eating a dish intended for him.

"It's practically under your schnozz," the teen chuckled, pointing at the veggie dish.

"Fuck," the brunet muttered as he looked at the colourful vegetable medley that was, indeed, immediately in front of him. "Uh, thanks," he awkwardly acknowledged Justin's efforts on his behalf.

The blond simply nodded, before adding a piece of cornbread to his plate and dousing it in gravy.

Emmett took one bite of the turkey and hummed in delight, "Oh, this has to be a Honeysuckle - ever so much better than a Butterball."

Deb called down the table to Vic, "See, I told you! Honeysuckle is better."

Ted chimed in, "You been ‘suckling' balls in the backroom again, Em?"

Justin slyly deadpanned, "It must be a lot of work for turkey farmers to tag their birds as Honeysuckle, Butterball, Perdue, Hormel, and..."

"My Aunt Lula always got so frustrated when my uncles tagged the birds incorrectly," Em nodded sagely.

"Really?" Michael asked, frowning in consternation. "I didn't realize those were turkey breeds."

When everyone laughed uproariously, making Michael flush with embarrassment and anger, David patted him on the hand. "It's easy to get confused, Honey. Don't feel bad."

"You aren't the first to fall for one of the silly jokes we southerners like to indulge in." Emmett chuckled. "So there's no reason for you to be embarrassed, Michael."

"Justin started it," Michael mumbled, unappeased. "And the ninny's from Pittsburgh, not Hazlehurst."

"I'm sorry," the blond apologized. "I was just teasing, Michael."

"Christ," Brian muttered, "stop acting like hormonal lezzies and talk about something else." 

"Oh," Emmett bounced in his chair in excitement, "I had a call from Dijon last night."

"Who?" a bewildered Melanie interjected.

"He's Em's ‘pen pal'," the teen jocularly twitted his friend.

"Oh, pish," Emmett dismissed Justin's teasing. "You're just jealous because you don't have a sexting pal of your own."

"He has something better," Vic joked, "Bob."

Who the fuck was Bob? Brian wondered. In his estimation, it was far too soon for the blond to have moved on to someone else. Wasn't the kid still mooning after him just a few days ago?

The brunet noticed Justin narrowing his eyes at Emmett and shaking his head when the other man inquisitively mouthed, ‘Bob' at him. Unfortunately for Brian, the queen took the hint and went on to babble about someone named Heinz... or Colman... or Poupon, so Brian would have to winkle the details about this Bob character out of Vic later on.

"Anyhow," Em continued, "my hunky marine sergeant told me that he had been considering becoming a flight attendant when his current tour of duty ends, but now he's decided he'd do better as a bobby. I just know he'd be a great police officer," the tall queen enthused, gesticulating wildly with his fork. "Fortuitously, there's a representative of the PPD here this afternoon. Don't you think he'd be fantastic as your newest recruit, detective?"

"I hate to put a damper on your aspirations for your friend, but I'm in homicide," Horvath replied, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. "I have no sway over who personnel hires; that's not my department."

"But a marine who's seen active duty would have a good chance of being selected, right?" Em inquired.

"Tell you what, if he's able to spar with my partner and last more than thirty seconds, human resources is sure to hire him," the copper drawled.

Emmett's face fell as he surmised, "I bet he's some enormous, beefy, terminator-like bloke." His countenance brightened, though, as he asserted, "Dijon's got lots of muscles, too. Maybe it's your ‘terminator' who needs to watch out."

Brian blenched at the thought of facing Wen in the ring. No way would Sgt Mustard stand a chance, no matter how fit and muscular.

Once he was finally able to stop giggling, Justin gasped, "Detective Horvath's partner is female. Detective Wen may be petite, but she's fucking scary. One look from her, and Dijon would be lucky not to piss his pants."

Glancing to his right, Brian discovered that both he and Horvath were nodding in vehement agreement.

"Oh, is she the terrifying woman you reported the torched locker to?" Emmett asked.

"Yeah, to her and Detective Horvath," the teen affirmed.

"Wait a minute," Vic asked, frowning at the copper. "Why are you investigating the burgling of Brian's loft if you handle homicides?"

"I was in that neighborhood following up leads on another case when the call about the robbery came through from dispatch," the detective replied easily. "So it made sense for me to swing by and take a statement from Mr Taylor, who'd called 9-1-1."

"But why're you still conducting inquiries?" Vic persisted. "Shouldn't you have turned it over to robbery, or whatever you call the division that processes that type of crime?"

Detective Horvath took a sip of his beer, shrugging. "They're a bit swamped at the moment," he alleged, "and uh, it is standard procedure to finish investigating a case you start." 

"Really?" Vic's eyebrows shot upward. "Has the homicide rate here in the Pitts decreased so much that you can pick up the slack for the robbery squad?"

Carl's eyes narrowed slightly. "Mr Novotny-"

"Grassi," the other man curtly replied.

"Mr Grassi," the copper corrected himself, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't inquire any further into my investigation. Maybe it's the cop in me, but I tend to be suspicious of insistent questioning."

"Whatever," Vic muttered. "That's about what I'd expect from a bobby."

"I assure you," Horvath continued, sounding every bit of the cop he was, "that I am doing everything in my power to find the person or persons responsible for the burglary at Mr Kinney's loft. That's all you need to know."

Justin's head swung back and forth as he listened to the exchange. He hoped Vic wouldn't alienate the copper, since it would likely put the kibosh on the budding romance between the detective and his surrogate mum.

Fortunately, even though she didn't look any more satisfied than her brother by Horvath's response, Debbie returned the discussion to Dijon possibly joining the PPD. "Anyway," she began loudly, dispelling the awkward atmosphere, "even if Emmett's beau doesn't last half a minute with your partner, Carl, I think it would be great to actually have some diversity in the local police force - include some LGBT representation."

"Do the police have a policy like the military's ‘Don't ask, don't tell'?" Justin mused.

"Officially, no," Horvath disclosed, "but, unofficially, yes. Any queers on the force tend to stay in the closet. It's in their best interests because of all the harassment they'd face."

"Maybe Em's sergeant could change all that," the redhead suggested, her jaw jutting out. "Providing the PPD would stand behind its token queer."

"It wouldn't be easy for him," Horvath reiterated, "but if he applies and is hired, I'll have his back - as much as I can, depending on where he's assigned. 

The serious moment was broken when a "Hellooo, Briaaan," came from the direction of the kitchen.

"Oh, no," the dismayed blond declared, jumping up from the table, "I left Harley in the kitchen."

"Is he gonna bring that dirty bird out here?" Michael squawked.

Brian would have immediately voiced his agreement with his outraged friend, but he was intrigued by the budgie's greeting.

"Harley II is not dirty," his mother vociferously objected. "The cute little guy is a member of this family," the redhead reminded Michael, reprising their discussion of the previous Sunday.

Insisting the bird was a family member carried the point too far in the adman's opinion, but he bit his tongue - not wanting his surrogate mother to lay into him too.

"Here you go," Justin announced as he transported the parakeet into the dining room. "You were missing out on all the fun, weren't you?"

The budgie rang the bell suspended from his green mirror lantern, and twittered, "Hellooo, Briaaan," again.

"That bird knows who's important," the advertising executive bragged, while the teen blushed.

"Did you teach it to say that, Baby?" Emmett feigned insult, "Why didn't you go with, ‘Hello, Auntie Em'?"

"Don't be absurd," Brian snarked, preening along with the budgie. "Harley has good taste."

No one revealed the source of Harley's inspiration, although the brunet noted that Vic had a cheeky expression on his face. Something else he'd have to wangle out of the older man...

"Jushun! Mwah!" Gus called out.

"Did you want to say ‘hi' to Harley?" the blond guessed, bringing the birdcage closer to the tyke and resting it on the end of the table.

"Bah! Bamama!" Gus greeted the blue bird, enthusiastically banging his chubby hands on his tray.

The budgie cocked its head appraisingly at the boy. "Hellooo, Briaaan!" it chirped, inquiringly.

"Holy shit!" Ted laughed. "It recognizes your mini-me, Brian."

The brunet shrugged but didn't give a verbal response. The parakeet was probably just cycling through a small repertoire of greetings, and the adman didn't want to look like an idiot if he credited Harley with too much intelligence.

"Aren't you a smart fellow," Emmett cooed, rising from his chair. The queen opened the cage, apparently with the intent of examining the budgie more closely.

Harley, however, took the offered escape route, flying up into the air and circling the table. Swooping down, he snatched a piece of turkey almost as big as himself from Carl's plate, flapping his wings madly to escape Debbie's grasping hands.

"Stop him!" Justin yelled, chasing after the budgie. "Human food will make him sick."

Opening his claws, Harley let go of the piece of turkey, which dropped down into the cranberry sauce on Melanie's plate.

Gus chortled, "Mama. Bamama. Bah!" as purple-red droplets splattered the lesbian's ivory blouse.

"You're right, Gus, it does kind of look like purple banana," the bulldyke confirmed. She calmly removed the turkey from the cranberry sauce, set it on the edge of her plate, scooped up a spoonful of cranberries, and swallowed it down.

"What?" she asked when the others gaped at her, even Justin pausing in his pursuit of Harley.

"Uh, is that sanitary?" Vic questioned.

"I can tell you haven't raised an infant," Mel replied. "I'd never get a bite to eat if I let a little thing like that stop me."

"That's true," Lindsay and Debbie chorused in unison, the redhead sighing, "When I think of all the unsanitary things Michael - and I - ate..."

"Jinx," the blonde mother giggled. Turning to her partner, she inquired, "Don't you want to wipe off your shirt?"

"Nah," the lawyer shook her head. "It's off to the dry cleaner for this blouse. You were right that I should have worn a different color; ivory invariably attracts stains."

"Yeah, Gus almost got his grubby hands on it when you were feeding him the turkey puree," Linds concurred.

"Holy shit!" Ted reiterated at that moment, Harley having just released a load of bird dookie on his head.

"I'm so sorry," Justin panted, as he finally succeeded in catching hold of Harley, who had mistakenly chosen to perch on the back of Em's chair.

"I asked for it," Ted chuckled wryly. "Shouldn't have mentioned ‘shit'. I'll be back in a moment," he declared, standing up and heading to the downstairs WC.

"I'll just go see if Teddy needs any help," Emmett mumbled, a guilty expression on his face as he trotted after his friend.

"That's some ‘boyfriend' you have, Justin," Melanie quipped, shooting a sidelong glance at Brian. "Are your men always so much trouble?"

A devilish glint in his blue eyes, the teen replied, "Nope. Bob's no trouble whatsoever." He grinned at Vic, querying, "Isn't that right?"

"Oh, aye," Vic conceded, "a very decent bloke. Treats our Sunshine right."

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend," Michael interjected, grinning from ear to ear. "Maybe you can move in with him."

"He still lives with his family," Justin reported with a straight face.

"No worries, Kiddo," Debbie insisted. "You know we like it when Bob visits."

"Yeah, he's a very entertaining sort," her brother confirmed.

Brian sat stewing next to Carl. The little shit had a boyfriend. Well, that answered the question of how serious he had really been about Brian. Not at all, it seemed, if he was able to move on so quickly.

"When are you going to introduce him to us?" Lindsay eagerly inquired.

When Justin clarified, "Uh, Bob's really just a fuck buddy." Brian felt his gloom lift. Fuck, Kinney, he mentally chastised himself, you're acting like a carpet muncher. You've never wanted to be anyone's ‘boyfriend'. 

Even so, Brian couldn't help wondering where Justin had met this ‘Bob'. Was the guy trustworthy? Completely forgetting his resolution not to interfere again after the teen had ignored his advice about the go-go dancing, the adman resolved to check out the blond's ‘buddy'. He wanted to be sure the fucker wasn't taking advantage of Justin - the teen was sometimes entirely too trusting.

Smiling genially at the blond, Horvath inquired, "Would you perhaps like this ‘Bob' to be more than-" He paused, floundering, before finishing, "Um, a ‘buddy'?"

"Hmm," the pink-faced teen mulled it over for a moment. "I don't think so. I'll tell you about Bob later, okay?"

"Sure," the detective replied. "I can give you my impression of the bloke."

"Come on! Come eat! Hellooo Briaaan! Be quiet!" the budgie interrupted the stilted conversation, drawing chuckles from his admirers.

"Bamama! Ya! Dada!" Gus seconded Harley.

"Is he saying ‘yes' to his daddy but ‘bah' to his mama?" Emmett questioned in confusion as he and Ted returned to the table, the accountant's hair dripping wet but with all traces of budgie excrement removed.

"Of course, he wants Brian," Michael proclaimed. "Who wouldn't prefer him to-" He abruptly stopped speaking when he realised what he'd been about to say.

"Please, go on, Michael," the bulldyke urged, glowering.

"That is, uh. That's not what I meant!" the man shouted.

"‘Bamama' is how Gussy pronounces ‘banana'," Justin explained, ignoring Michael's outburst. "Maybe he's even associating ‘Brian' with ‘Daddy.'"

"Do you think so?" Lindsay interposed excitedly.

The teen shrugged. "We all refer to Brian as both ‘Daddy' and ‘Brian' around Gus, so it's possible."

"I don't believe Gus has quite figured it out yet," Melanie dissented. "After all," she snickered, "when we were watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on NBC this morning, he pointed at Ronald McDonald and yelled, ‘Dada!'"

"Hahahaha!" Emmett howled. "Brian and that carrot-topped fast food icon!"

"Sonnyboy," Brian declared solemnly as the others recovered from laughing themselves silly, "we need to have a talk. Your dada has nothing in common with that clown."

Justin laughed so hard that tears started leaking from the corners of his eyes. He was grateful for the levity, since Mel mentioning the Macy's parade had reminded him that he and his mum had always watched it together every year. Jennifer had told him that they'd first viewed the parade before he'd turned one year old - Justin babbling from his playpen and his mum sorting through recipes next to him.

As the pang of nostalgia eased, Justin looked at the people surrounding him and decided he'd never give up this family, especially Deb and Vic, even if sticking with them meant he couldn't restore his one-time rapport with his mum. This was his home, where he was loved and accepted just as he was.

The teen was startled when he looked down at his plate and saw his spoon rising into the air, covered with gravy-drenched turkey and cornbread. While he'd been lost in maudlin remembrance of past Thanksgivings, Brian had apparently stood up to stretch - or for a smoke break - and had stopped to chat with Deb. He was now leaning against the back of Justin's chair, absentmindedly spooning up the fattening food he'd earlier disdained. The blond didn't utter a word, finding it strangely comforting that his former lover still liked to eat off his plate.

He tuned in to the discussion between Debbie and Brian when the redhead suddenly screeched, "You got that much for your old mattress?"

"Huh? You sold your mattress? Why?" Michael demanded, turning away from David, with whom he'd just exchanged a kiss.

"I was hardly going to sleep on a mattress that the burglars had defiled," Brian snarled.

"You mean they-" Emmett asked, eyes rounded in shock.

"No, they didn't jack off on it," Brian impatiently replied.

"They invaded your personal space," Ted shuddered in sympathy, "stripping the bed linens and the pillows. I wouldn't want to sleep on it again either."

The teen couldn't help envying Ted for being so in tune with Brian, but he was glad that the two men were becoming friends. He'd always thought they had a similar sense of humor, even if Ted was more discreet about skewering others with his dry wit.

"Anyroad," the adman reported, "I auctioned the mattress off, and I've written a check to the AIDS hospice for the proceeds." Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he withdrew his wallet, removed a folded check, and handed it to Lindsay.

"That many zeros?" Lindsay marveled, staring goggle-eyed at the amount. "Are you sure this is right?"

"Holy cow!" Melanie gasped after snatching the check from her partner. "I take back what I said, Brian. You do give to the community, even if your way of doing so is unique."

"I heard through the grapevine," Emmett commented, "that the purchaser paid so much for the mattress because it was the place where Brian and Justin fucked. He's apparently quite enamored of our blond."

A growl that sounded suspiciously like, "Fucking Bob," emanated from Brian, but the teen was sure he couldn't have heard right. Even though his ex lover didn't know Bob was a dildo, not a man, Justin couldn't believe that Brian cared about who he might be fucking. Why would he? The brunet had thrown him out like so much trash and had rebuffed all of Justin's attempts to talk. Except, of course, for spouting unwanted advice about his go-go dancing. He supposed that did indicate a certain level of concern for his well-being, but it was a far cry from the way Brian used to lust after him, neither of them able to keep their hands off each other. Justin's dick stirred as he recalled the steamy sex the morning of the burglary, the final time he'd seen that lust - and something more - in those gorgeous hazel eyes.

When the blond considered the gossip Em had just shared, however, he ceased worrying about his ex's inconsistent attitude, and his burgeoning cockstand withered. It was kinda creepy-stalkerish that someone wanted Brian's old mattress just because Justin had slept and fucked on it. For the first time, he truly understood Brian's reaction to the invasion of his privacy.

As if he'd been privy to the blond's thoughts, the detective sharply questioned, "Did the rumors provide any clues as to the man's identity? It sounds as if the purchaser may be obsessed with Justin."

"Uh, no," the queen spluttered. "I just thought it was hilarious that the mattress sold for such an outrageous price because of the Boy Wonder instead of Super Stud. I can check with my source to see if he knows anything else, though."

"Do that," Horvath gravely recommended. "It would be much easier to forestall a possible incident if we have that information."

"Who's your source?" Ted hissed at Emmett.

"Todd," Em muttered. "Last night, he and his buddies were settling wagers in the backroom in regard to how much the mattress would go for."

Focusing his gaze on Justin, the detective instructed, "Son, I want you to be really careful, alright? Pay extra attention to your surroundings and make sure you aren't alone with anyone you don't consider a friend."

The teen swallowed hard, unnerved by the warning. "You think there's a nutter out there who might kidnap me... or something?"

"I wouldn't worry," the copper replied. "It's most likely gossip that has been grossly exaggerated in the retelling. As long as you're cautious while we suss out the truth behind the rumors, you should be fine."

Brian paled as he listened to the discussion. Fuck, he thought furiously, how could thumbing his nose at the prudish GLC hypocrites by auctioning off his mattress have resulted in this? His life was really for shit lately, what with the robbery, Kip Thomas' allegations, the trick who'd tried to assault him, and now Justin possibly endangered. 

"Kiddo," Vic advised, "maybe you should stop go-go dancing until this is resolved."

"Go-go dancing?" the copper quizzed.

Maybe something good would come out of this, after all, the adman mused. The brat might listen to the detective, even though he'd ignored Brian's efforts to get him to see sense.

"Uh, I dance at Babylon - it's a gay club - on Friday and Saturday nights," the teen explained. "It's perfectly safe, though; there are lots of people around."

"But you walk home alone, Honey," Debbie interjected, plainly worried. "That's not safe even if there isn't a psycho targeting you."

Justin groaned, "I can't take time off, not when I've just started the job."

Quit the fucking job! Brian wanted to shout, refraining only because he knew it would just make the lad more stubborn.

Emmett, who'd been conferring in a hushed voice with Ted, volunteered, "Baby, either Teddy and I will walk you home, or we'll spring for a taxi that'll deposit you on Deb's doorstep."

"Thanks, guys," Justin's voice quavered, "but I can't ask you to see me home. That'd completely fuck up your plans."

"I'd be glad to help out," Ted sincerely offered, smiling at the teen. "It's not very far from the club to your house anyroad."

"Me too," Em insisted.

"I know," Justin snapped his fingers, "I'll ask Smythe whether one of the bouncers could walk me home. Babylon closes when my shift ends, so they're done for the night anyway. I'm pretty sure Oscar would be willing to help, and no one would mess with a bruiser like him."

Horvath nodded thoughtfully, assessing, "Promise me you'll stick to that plan, and it should be okay for you to keep working at the club."

"I promise," Justin nodded.

Shit. Brian slouched in his seat, frustrated that the muppet had come up with a reasonable solution. The lad was too clever for his own good. He'd have a word with Smythe, he decided, just to make sure the club's owner was aware of the situation and ensured Justin was never alone...

"Don't worry," Justin tried to reassure both himself and his friends, looking around the table at all the concerned faces. "I'll be fine."

"You'd better be," the matriarch of the family declared, reaching out and patting the blond on the cheek. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Sunshine."

"Me neither, without you," Justin husked, smiling tremulously at the redhead.

"Now," Debbie declared briskly, rising from her chair, "why don't we clear away the dinner dishes and take a break before we have dessert."

"Go relax in your easy chair," Justin urged. "You've been cooking all day. I've got this."

"I'll help," Em sprang to his feet and began collecting dirty plates and silverware.

"We'll give you a hand," Linds offered for herself and Melanie. "Can you watch Gus, Brian?"

"Dadada," the tyke burbled, stretching out his arms and bouncing in his highchair.

A few minutes with his Sonnyboy was just the ticket to lift his spirits, the brunet determined as he released his son from the highchair and scooped him up, toting him to the living room.

 

"All done," Justin announced thirty minutes later, carting Harley's birdcage into the living room and setting it on the coffee table. "Pans washed; leftovers refrigerated; a second load in the dishwasher, first load put away; gingerbread and apple pie in the oven."

"Thanks, Honey," Debbie acknowledged. "It did feel good to put my feet up."

"Come eat! Come, come, come," the budgie chirped.

"In a bit, matey," Vic chuckled ruefully, rubbing his bloated stomach. "I shouldn't have eaten that last buttermilk biscuit."

"Those were sinfully good, Teddy," Em concurred, beaming at his friend.

"They're all gone?" the accountant inquired, moaning, "Thank fuck," when the queen nodded. "I think I put on a pound just looking at them when I removed them from the oven."

"It's about time someone else in this motley group displayed some interest in a proper diet," Brian jeered from his seat on the carpet, where he was keeping an eye on his son, "although I'm the only one who was truly careful about the fats and carbohydrates I ingested. You don't see me moaning and groaning about overeating," he sententiously decreed, gesturing at his trim physique.

"You smug prick," the bulldyke lawyer accused.

"Guilty as charged," Brian concurred, grinning proudly. 

"It wasn't a compliment," Melanie groused.

Gus looked up at that moment, sporting an identical grin as he babbled, "Bah! Mama!" a line of drool sliding down his chin.

The lesbian reluctantly smiled at her son, grumbling, "What was I thinking when I let Lindsay talk me into using you as the donor?"

"These photos that were clipped to the fridge are fantastic," Lindsay raved, interrupting the usual sparring between the frenemies, giggling as she glanced at the pictures.

"Let's see," Ted requested, chortling when the blonde handed him a photo of the attic cleaning crew. "You look good with a feather duster in your hand, Vic," the accountant quipped. "You just need a frilly apron to complete the ensemble."

"I have just the thing, darling," Emmett cooed, perching on Vic's lap. "I'll bring it round for you tomorrow."

"I like the one of Sunshine from his pre-Thanksgiving bake-a-thon with Vic," Debbie laughed. "All you can see of his face is his blue eyes peering through a flour mask."

"That's not the way to exfoliate, Baby," Em chided playfully.

"You missed this sketch, Linds," Melanie chuckled as the photos were passed around for everyone to admire.

"Oh, wow!" the blonde giggled, holding up the cartoonish drawing so everyone could see. The left-hand panel showed a fat spider busily tatting lace, its creation swaying in a breeze wafting through the attic window. In the other panel, the arachnid was scuttling away, shouting, "I no longer feel welcome here, so I'll set up shop elsewhere," as Justin chased after her with a broom.

"That looks like the dragon that guards the property and evidence room down at the precinct," Horvath declared, chuckling as he examined the sketch more closely. "Who drew this?"

"Uh, I did," Justin admitted, feeling unusually bashful. Except for the show at the GLC, no one besides friends and family had seen any of his work. He held his breath as he waited for the bluff detective to state his opinion.

"You're really talented, son," the copper praised him. "If I were you, I'd pass on the go-go stuff and concentrate on honing my art."

Calls of, "fucking A," "here, here," and "damned right," came from some of the others in the room, leaving the blond wondering if anyone other than Em approved of his second job.

"Ehm, I'm dancing so I can pay for college," Justin mumbled defensively.

"Apply for scholarships - and loans if need be," the policeman deliberated. "Then you won't need to dance except for fun."

At the teen's crestfallen look, Horvath held up a hand, encouraging, "Just think about it. I won't badger you further tonight."

Justin gulped. He had a feeling that meant the detective would return to the topic later on.

"Turn on the telly, Vic," Debbie requested. "Maybe NBC is showing a recap of the highlights from the Macy's parade."

"I doubt it, Sis," Vic contradicted as he pressed the power button on the remote. "It's more likely to be NFL football."

"I think the New England Patriots are slated to play," Horvath related.

The picture that came up on the screen soon confirmed that NBC was airing a football game, with an announcer informing viewers that the Minnesota Vikings were up six to nil over the New England Patriots.

"I like watching men in tight pants as much as any other gay boy," Emmett commented, "but I just can't drum up any interest in the game."

"Soccer's much more interesting," Justin opined. "Too bad there's so little coverage here in the U.S."

"What do you know about soccer?" Brian asked dismissively.

"I played for St James for three years, until I was outed as gay and kicked off the team," Justin disclosed.

"Huh? How didn't I know that?" the brunet probed.

"You never asked," the teen retorted. "You just assumed I wasn't interested in sports - which I wasn't, really, except for soccer."

Brian glanced out the window at the falling snow. He wished the weather were better so he could test the lad's skills - find out if his claim that he played soccer was boastful malarkey or not.

Emmett gushed, "I'd love to see you play, even though I'm not into sports."

Affronted, Brian questioned, "Why not watch me? I'm good; after all, I had a soccer scholarship."

"Oh, pooh!" Emmett leered at Justin. "I'd much rather watch Baby and his bodacious bubble butt in those clingy shorts, not your flat arse."

"Whatever," Brian shrugged indifferently and stood up. Hiding his irritation at the flamboyant man's comment, he glanced at his son.

"I've got him," Lindsay stated in a soothing, earth mother tone, sitting down next to Gus. "Go have a smoke; you'll be less tetchy."

Muttering that putting up with a bunch of lezzies and drama queens entitled anyone to be grouchy, Brian snagged his leather jacket from the entryway and headed for the back stoop, pulling out one of the joints he'd had the foresight to stash in the inner pocket. Once the doobie was lit, he inhaled deeply before blowing out smoke rings that merged with the swirling snowflakes.

"Mind if I take a toke?" Vic inquired as he closed the back door behind him moments later.

Brian didn't say anything as he handed the reefer to the older man.

The men puffed at the joint in companionable silence for a bit before the adman casually remarked, "The brat has certainly landed on his feet, finding a new home with you and Deb."

"Brian," the other man chided, "he's a good kid - always ready to lend a hand with whatever needs doing."

"Except when an alarm needs arming," Brian mumbled.

"Jesus, let it go," Vic recommended. "It's not like you to hold a grudge."

"Yeah, well, you're not the one whose privacy - and trust - was violated," the brunet countered. "I gave Justin a place to live, and look how he repaid me."

"You're fighting your own feelings, lad," the older man stated quietly. "No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, it's plain that you still care."

"Fuck," Brian cursed, taking another deep toke.

"That persistent little shit has gotten in under the wire," Vic averred. After a pause during which Brian didn't deny his assertion, he continued, "But if you don't get your head out of your ass, ragazzo, you're going to lose Justin. He won't wait around for you forever."

The brunet grunted noncommittally before suddenly blurting out in an accusatory tone, "Who's Bob?" Shit, he berated himself - so much for his vaunted subtlety.

"Bob's just a boy toy," the other man responded perfunctorily.

Attempting to appear indifferent, the adman conjectured, "The brat's just using him?"

Vic shook his head, chuckling, "You could say that."

Brian frowned. Couldn't the man give him a straightforward ‘yes' or ‘no', for fuck's sake?

"You need to let go of your anger towards Justin," Vic stressed, "regardless of whether he set the alarm the day of the burglary or not. The fuzz may never find out what happened, no matter how long they investigate."

"Can't trust him," Brian stubbornly reiterated, scuffing at the snow with one Gucci-shod foot.

"Bullshit!" Vic remonstrated. "That lad's as responsible as they come. And if he made a mistake with the alarm, so be it. Surely, you've heard, ‘To err is human...'"

"Yeah, yeah," Brian huffed, completing the proverbial phrase, "‘To forgive, divine.' I bet the Pope hadn't met anyone as annoying as that little shit, though."

"You seemed to enjoy the way he ‘annoyed' you," Vic jested.

"Hmm," the brunet evaded answering.

"Listen, I'd be the first to admit that I had a heckuva lot of fun before I got this fucking disease," Vic reflected, "but for a partner like Justin, I'd have changed." Clapping the younger man on the shoulder, he insisted, "Don't fuck this up. You may not get another chance."

Brian didn't turn around as Vic reentered the house, leaving him to the solitude of the falling snow and onrushing dusk. Could he forgive the teen? he wondered. Even a couple days ago, the answer would have been a resounding ‘No!' but now he wasn't so certain.

"Come and get it!" Justin shouted from the dining area, after carrying the warm apple pie and gingerbread, along with vanilla ice cream and apricot-lemon topping, to the table. On the sideboard, a full carafe of coffee, another carafe with hot water, a basket with a variety of teas, a sugar bowl, and a creamer awaited the horde that trooped in from the living room.

"Christ, do you want me to die from a sugar overdose?" Brian snarked as he sauntered back into the house, warily eyeing all the pies, breads, and custards.

"You'll do yourself in soon enough," the blond quipped as Brian approached the sideboard, where he began ladling sugar into one of the mugs. "You ought to leave a little room for coffee," he taunted as the brunet dumped in another heaping spoonful of white granules, before finally reaching for the coffee pot.

Michael, who'd tromped down the stairs moments before, wildly waving a sheet of paper, seconded Brian's complaint. "You'll give us diabetes, forcing all that sugar on us," he cavilled.

Justin was puzzled when he noticed Michael nudging one of the apple crisps over, until the appley dessert was immediately in front of his plate. Had the doofus deduced from the brown, crumbly topping that brown sugar had been used? It seemed that Michael had rarely, if ever, baked with Deb and Vic, so he probably wouldn't have personal knowledge of the ingredients in an apple crisp. Shrugging, the teen put it down to a lucky guess. Somehow, Michael had then leaped to the erroneous conclusion that brown sugar didn't cause diabetes. Justin was quite certain the dweeb hadn't a clue that raw sugar was generally brown in color.

"Sweetie," Emmett demurred, "it's more complicated than that. Sugar by itself doesn't cause diabetes."

"Yes it does," the other man insisted. "Diabetes is that you have too much sugar in your blood, no?"

"Then Bri would need regular insulin injections," Ted deadpanned as the adman stirred liquid into his sugar.

"You're a regular comedian, Theodore," the adman grumped. "You must've been on Laugh-In."

"Huh?" Emmett and Justin looked at each other in confusion.

Ted protested, "I'm not that old. I was barely four when Laugh-In went off the air."

Vic reminisced, "Rowan and Martin were so goddamned funny."

"I assume that's where you got some of your ‘quaint' expressions, Theodore - that and The Lawrence Welk Show," Brian mocked.

"Hey," Debbie objected, "that man had some smooth moves."

"By the way, look what I found," Michael interrupted excitedly, waving the piece of paper again. "The twink wrote this dirty love poem to Brian..."

"Where'd you get that?" Justin questioned angrily.

"It was in my desk," Michael sneered, "which means it belongs to me."

"Michael, Honey," Debbie tried to defuse the tension, "you know that's Sunshine's room now. You can't just go through his things."

"Pfft," Michael dismissed his mother's concerns, "it's a good thing I did. This is some sort of a sicko poem in Latin - I more or less translated it - it doesn't even rhyme. Brian's the one who should be upset; the little putz drew him naked." Begrudgingly, he mumbled, "The drawing's pretty good."

Flapping the piece of paper about again, he gazed at Brian earnestly. "I wanted to warn you about this hogwash. It's all about naked Brian getting scared by a pussy before the angel of love turns him into a mouse." Michael's brow furrowed as he looked at the poem again, "Or maybe you fall in love with a mouse, Brian. That part's kinda tough to translate."

"That's a smutty love poem?" Em asked Ted. "It doesn't even make sense."

"Exactly!" Michael crowed. "It's all weird and perverted. You really dodged a bullet, Brian. It's lucky you got rid of the psycho twink when you did."

By this point, Justin was laughing hysterically. Granted, his thoughts had been pretty fucking dirty when he'd crafted the poem, but how had Michael derived ‘a pussy,' ‘the angel of love,' and ‘a mouse' from what he'd written?

"That's an interesting interpretation, Michael," he gasped out between giggles. "We should have a translation contest while we eat dessert; perhaps someone will uncover a different hidden meaning in the ‘hogwash.'"

"What's the prize?" Em asked with a sly wink. "A kiss from you?"

"Nope," Debbie interjected. "You get to take home a basket of leftovers."

"No need to cook tomorrow," Lindsay rejoiced, grinning at Melanie. 

"Hmm, turkey and ham sandwiches," the lawyer murmured appreciatively.

"Let me see that drawing," Brian ordered as everyone reseated themselves at the table. After taking the sheet of paper from Michael, he scrutinized it, particularly the crotch area. He then nodded approvingly at Justin. "You sketched my proportions correctly. If you described my nine inches with equal accuracy in your ode, I don't mind being the subject of your youthful fantasies."

"Vain prick," Ted muttered.

"I've got it, so I flaunt it," Brian retorted smugly, swivelling his hips before strolling to his chair.

"Mhmm, gingerbread with ice cream and apricot topping," Emmett hummed in delight, cutting off a big chunk, adding a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side, and then drizzling everything with sauce. Offering the plate to his friend, he teased playfully, "This is the only time it's okay to be ‘vanilla,' Teddy."

"Licking vanilla ice cream off your lover's naked body-" Brian stuttered to a halt. What the fuck was wrong with him, blurting that out? He'd never hear the end of this from his friends. He rushed to hand the poem back to Michael, hoping no one had heard him above the other conversational babble.

No such luck, of course. "I'm all ears," Emmett declared, propping his elbows on the table, placing his chin in his hands, and staring at Brian avidly.

Fortunately, Dr Dave, who had intercepted the poem and had quickly read it, chortled loudly, before lauding, "Um, sweetheart, it's really great that you put such effort into your translation, but given my rudimentary knowledge of Latin from my medical studies, I can tell you're way off."

"It's perverted, though, right?" Michael inquired as he cut himself a generous wedge of apple crisp.

"I don't think so," the chiropractor responded tactfully, "but someone with more than my very basic knowledge of Latin would be a better judge."

"Ma," Michael implored, "you learned Latin in catechism. Take a look-see, would'ya? I just know the blond brat is a deviant." His voice rising, he shrilled, "He has Brian fucking a pussy!"

"Calm down, son," Horvath requested. "Your accusations are getting rather muddled."

"I'm not your son!" Michael yelled, stabbing his fork into his pie. A dollop of ice cream-drenched apple took flight, sailing across the table to land on Brian's forehead, from whence vanilla ice cream and apple slid down the brunet's nose.

Brian stuck his tongue out, catching part of the concoction and slurped it into his mouth.

Feigning enlightenment, Em drawled, "Oh! That's what you meant by licking..."

"Mel, what do you think this means?" Debbie asked, missing the byplay as she concentrated on Justin's poem.

"Hmm," the legal beagle frowned as she tried to suss it out. "Something about ‘beauty'..."

"Yeah, and ‘love'," Debbie concurred, smiling at her son. "You got the word ‘love' right, Honey, but there's no ‘angel'.

Michael scowled as the bulldyke whooped, "I've got it! You're praising the beauty of the male form, right, comparing it to the beauty of nature?"

"My form," Brian interjected complacently, "not just any male's."

"You're both right," Justin conceded. "The poem is about the beauty of the male form - specifically Brian's." Thank fuck, he thought, his face reddening, that Debbie hadn't realized he'd called Brian my love. The brunet was already overly conceited about the whole thing.

"I still think it's fucking dirty," Michael muttered sourly, slumping in his chair.

"Of course, it's dirty," Ted riposted. "It's about Brian, after all."

"Hellooo, Briaaan," Harley chirped, the brunet's name seeming more drawn out than before to his chuckling audience.

"That was delicious," the detective praised the meal thirty minutes later, spooning up the last bite of custard and setting the dish atop his plate, on which only a few crumbs from a slice of zucchini bread, a cube of gingerbread, and a wedge of apple pie remained. "Good thing I'm not wearing a uniform any longer," he observed, patting his belly, "I'd never manage to button up the shirt."

Glancing at Brian, he remarked, "Looks like you liked the custard, too, Kinney."

The adman gazed down blankly at three empty custard dishes. Where the fuck had those come from? he wondered. He might have eaten one custard, but three? No way. If the blond brat were sitting next to him, he'd suspect the teen of playing a practical joke by pushing them in front of him, but he had no ready culprit to blame in this instance. "Huh," he belatedly grunted at the copper, shrugging to indicate he had no idea where the custard cups had come from.

"Help yourselves to an after-dinner drink, a cuppa, or some more coffee," Vic recommended, "and relax in the living room. Sis and I'll join you after we clear away these desserts."

"I'll help-" Justin sprang up like a jack-in-the-box again, but Vic dissented, "Nope, you've done more than enough, Sunshine."

"Well, then, how about I change Gus for you?" the teen turned to the lesbians as a noxious smell wafted from the foot of the table.

"Fuck, Justin, you're a lifesaver," a relieved Melanie replied, pinching her nostrils shut and breathing through her mouth. "I shouldn't let you take on that nasty duty, but..."

"He's a glutton for punishment, if you ask me," Ted opined, standing up and backing away from the table.

"If Sonnyboy didn't look so much like me, there's no way I'd believe he's my kid," Brian stated, the custard he'd swear he hadn't eaten threatening to come back up. "I know I never smelled like that," he finished self-righteously.

"Oh, really?" Melanie snarked, raising her eyebrows. "It must have been your clone that hogged our upstairs bathroom for half an hour and then rushed out of the house, leaving me and Linds to fumigate..."

Justin giggled as he freed Gus from his high chair and carried the tyke out of the room. "Like father, like son, huh, buddy?"

Fifteen minutes later, the teen toted the freshly changed nipper into the living room, the tyke babbling, "Bah! Jushun! Bamama!"

"You just made room for the next course, didn't you, Gussy?" the blond chuckled.

"I was about to come check on you," Lindsay stated. "I thought maybe you couldn't find the diaper bag."

"Gus decided to fill another nappy - right after I'd finished changing him and snapping up his onesie," Justin ruefully explained.

"He loves to do that to me," Melanie laughed. "I'd swear he waits till Lindsay hands him off to me to perform that trick..."

"Good job, Sonnyboy," Brian praised his offspring, smirking at the lesbian and the teen.

Justin burst out laughing when Mel stuck her tongue out at the brunet.

"Oh, look, here are a couple checkerboards," Emmett declared, pulling them out of the credenza beneath the TV. 

"I'll play you, Em," Ted offered. "We can bone up for the New Year's tournament."

"You're a lost cause, Theodore," Brian snorted, "if you need a childish game like checkers to ‘bone up.'"

"Har de har," the accountant rolled his eyes before sticking out his tongue at the adman.

"Can't you and the bulldyke come up with a more mature retort than that?" Brian taunted.

"Sure," the accountant laughed, his eyes dancing as he placed his thumbs in his ears, wiggled his fingers, crossed his eyes, and stuck out his tongue again.

"I said more mature, not less," Brian snickered. "What is that - an imitation of Emmett?"

"It's a ‘Temmett,'" the slandered queen claimed.

"A what?" Brian gaped at the taller man as he dropped the checkers games on the coffee table.

"That's brilliant!" the teen interjected, drawing Brian's questioning gaze to him. "It's a combination of ‘Ted' and ‘Emmett'," he clarified when the adman continued to stare at him in bafflement.

"If you think something so... juvenile is ‘brilliant'," Brian scoffed, "you'll never have a future in advertising."

"Dadada," Gus burbled. "Jushun. Bah!"

Brian glanced at his son, to see him waggling his fingers near his ears, Justin guiding his motions, both boys sticking their tongues out at him.

Horvath guffawed, "That's told you, Kinney!" Grinning at Justin, he proposed to the teen, "If no one else wants to play, would you like to take me on?"

Forty minutes and two games later, the chagrined teen threw up his hands in defeat. "Fuck, I thought I knew how to play," he complained, "but you've trounced me two times in a row."

"I've got years more experience at cat-and-mouse contests," the copper opined. "Plus, you've got a couple tells that signal your moves, son."

"I do?" Justin asked in amazement. "What are they?"

"Hmm," the detective teased, "I'm not sure I should tell you. I might draw you as an opponent at the New Year's tournament. It'd be better for me if you were still disadvantaged."

"If I couldn't win with Gussy helping push my ‘men' across the board and Harley distracting you with, "Hello, Baby!" and "Come eat!" I don't think I'll improve enough to turn the tables that soon," Justin laughingly refuted, shaking his head at how thoroughly he'd been beaten as he tousled the tyke's hair.

"I'll let you drive yourself crazy for a few days, trying to suss out those tells," Horvath quipped, his eyes twinkling wickedly.

Justin pouted for a moment - he didn't like to lose - before deciding that he'd ask Daphne to clue him in. His bestie must've noticed if he had tells. Of course, he might have to bribe her since she wouldn't want to lose to him in the future either. He frowned as he tried to come up with a suitable inducement.

"You can't leave me hanging," he protested. The copper was really enjoying his frustration far too much.

"We can meet up at the diner sometime next week and play another coupla rounds," Horvath hedged. "Maybe I'll even reveal one of your giveaways then."

Justin groaned, fighting the urge to jump up and call Daphne right away, even though he knew that wasn't the right method for winkling the information out of her.

"Oh, Brian, I wanted to thank you for the box of Tinker Toys," Lindsay addressed the brunet, "but Gus is far too young for them."

Brian had been trying to unobtrusively watch the interaction between Justin and Horvath, while sipping on another Voodoo beer. He couldn't help admiring the way the teen dandled Gus on his lap, while also playing checkers and holding up his end of the conversation. For all he'd derided checkers as a puerile game, he doubted he'd have fared as well as the teen if he'd been matched against the detective. 

Lindsay's comment confused Brian at first. Why was she jabbering on about Tinker Toys? It was only when he noticed the furtive expression on Justin's face that he realised the teen must've been the one to make the purchase. After Vic's lecture, and considering the way he'd treated Justin the day before - when they'd switched off with babysitting Gus - he supposed he might have been a mite too hard on the brat. So, he just grunted, "Whatever," and took another swallow of beer.

"Asshole," the bulldyke muttered, "you don't even care enough to buy age-appropriate toys for your son."

Brian chuckled wryly. It looked like the détente between him and Melanie was a thing of the past.

When Carl rose, claiming he needed to stretch so he could maybe fit in another piece of pie, Brian also stood up. He eyed both Vic and Ted, tipping his head toward the door before following the detective out of the living room.

"Can I offer you a shot of Beam Black Label in exchange for the beer?" he inquired.

"Don't mind if I do," Horvath replied. "Beam makes a more than adequate digestif."

"I have to agree with you there," Vic winked as he walked into the dining area, pointing to the corner where he'd stashed the bourbon for the brunet.

"Yep," Ted concurred, eyeing the bottle avidly once Brian had retrieved it.

"Slainte," Brian toasted, raising his glass.

"Saluti," Vic chimed in.

"Prost," Ted declared.

"Na zdravie," Horvath offered, before they slammed back their shots.

"Maybe one more?" the accountant suggested, the others readily expressing their approval of that notion.

It didn't take long for the four men to kill off the bottle, Vic gazing into his glass mournfully once the last of the golden-tinted liquor had vanished. "You should've brought two bottles, stronzo," the man playfully accused.

Brian let out a rare, genuine belly laugh. "It's been an age since either you or Deb called me ‘asshole' in Italian," he huffed.

"Kokot," the detective jested. "That's Slovak for the same thing." 

"Arschloch," Ted muttered. "What?" he inquired innocently when Brian glared at him. "I thought you'd want to know the German too."

"It's ‘rassgat' in Icelandic," Horvath threw in. "I learned that one when a sloshed, belligerent tourist was hauled into the drunk tank the other day."

"Sounds like ‘rat's ass,'" Vic chuckled.

"There's no single word for ‘asshole' in Irish Gaelic, so I'll adopt the Icelandic," Brian decided.

Slinging an arm around Vic's shoulders, the adman promised, "I'll bring you another bottle in a coupla days. I intended to give you this one before we necked it."

"You're a good rassgat," joked Vic.

"Jesus, I'm so stuffed I can barely move," Mel carped as the rest of the diners emerged from the living room.

"I've got a wheelbarrow you can borrow," Debbie teased. "Linds can roll you and Gus home in it."

"That might be safer transportation than our car," the blonde woman stated uneasily. "The snow's been coming down fast and furious. The snowplows will be concentrating on the highways and main roads, not the side streets."

"I'll give you a lift," Brian and Ted both offered.

"None of us are driving," the detective lectured, "not after all we've had to drink. We'll either have to get home Shanks' pony or trudge a couple blocks to Liberty Avenue and catch cabs from there."

"But my car..." Melanie spluttered.

"...will still be here tomorrow," the redhead finished for the dyke.

"You don't have to work, Sweetie, so why not stay home and enjoy a little nookie?" Lindsay wheedled. She'd started speaking in a whisper, but then her voice had risen in pitch.

"Spare me," Em moaned, "I'm gonna hurl if you keep nattering about lezzie nookie."

"I'm gonna go find a trick to fuck, so I can erase that disgusting image," Brian snarled, before snatching his jacket and stomping out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

"What's up his ass?" Debbie asked in astonishment.

"Nothing. That's the problem," Emmett giggled.

"Brian wait," Michael called out, trotting down the stairs, a disheveled Doctor Dave behind him.

"Where've you been?" the redhead inquired.

Her son didn't answer, pulling open the door and shrieking, "Briaaan! Dammit, he's gone," the man huffed, finally closing the door ten seconds later.

"I'll keep you warm, Honeybun," Dr Dave promised. "Why don't we go take another nap."

The manner in which the chiropractor stressed ‘nap' made Justin suspect what they'd been doing upstairs. "Wait a minute," the appalled teen protested, "you weren't in my room, were you?"

"I already told you, it's my room," Michael retorted. "Besides, we only christened it a little."

"Ew!" Emmett interjected. "Baby, you'd better sleep on the couch tonight."

"Shit, I'm sorry," David apologized. "I didn't realise you were using Michael's old room, Justin. I mean, I thought, with those geeky sheets and wallpaper and curtains and-" He finally stopped talking as he looked at his angry boyfriend, probably realising he was nixing any chance of another ‘nap'.

"Here's that basket of leftovers you earned with your translation skills, Mel," the redhead announced, handing the lawyer a heavy wicker container.

"What's in here - bricks?" the dyke questioned, almost dropping the basket.

"Do you ladies live nearby?" the copper asked, gallantly holding out Lindsay's coat so she could put it on.

"Yes, we're only five blocks away," the blonde confirmed.

"Why don't I accompany you? I'll carry the basket while you tote your son," Horvath proposed.

"Are you sure? We don't want to put you out," Melanie stated.

"It's no big deal," the detective assured them, smiling warmly. "I'll catch a cab after I see you home."

Fuck, but the copper was a really good guy, Justin mused. He handed Gus to Lindsay, but the tyke tried to squirm out his mother's arms, insisting, "Mwah! Jushun! Mwah!" 

Leaning down, he placed a big smack on the little guy's forehead, before turning to Horvath and sincerely remarking, "I'm glad you could join us, detective," as he shook the copper's hand.

"Why don't you call me Carl?" the man suggested. "There's no need to stand on ceremony any longer."

"Alright... Carl," the blond bashfully replied. It felt a little strange to call the man he was beginning to think of as another surrogate father by his first name, but he guessed if he could call Vic by name, he could do the same with the detective.

"Fuck this handshaking shit," Debbie joshed, giving the copper a rib-cracking hug. "Stop by the diner soon, you hear?"

"I will," Horvath pledged, giving the redhead what looked like a besotted smile to the teen.

Once they'd shut the door behind everyone, Vic declared, "Fuck, I'm knackered."

"Me too," his sister concurred. "Even if it is all of seven-thirty."

"Why don't you go take a load off in front of the telly?" the teenager proposed. "I'll make us all a cuppa."

"Sounds about right, Sunshine. Make mine holiday spiced plum, would'ya?" Debbie asked, ruffling the blond's hair as she walked by on the way to the kitchen.

"Pumpkin spice for me," Vic requested, "and maybe a wee slice of pumpkin pie to go with it."

When Justin joined the siblings in the living room, he was carrying a trayful of tea and desserts, all three of them somehow making room for another bite from the Thanksgiving feast.

 

A frustrated Brian shoved open the door to his loft at eight o'clock. He still wasn't sure what had triggered his abrupt departure from Deb's house; it hadn't been the notion of the munchers going at it, disturbing as that was. It probably had something to do with that fucking teen, he mused, carelessly throwing his leather jacket onto his couch, from which it slid to the floor, landing in a heap.

The brunet hadn't even considered that it was far too early for anyone except losers to be at Babylon as he'd stomped off down the sidewalk. Then, the entire time he'd been inside the club, he'd felt like he was being watched - as if the trick who'd assaulted him was hiding in the shadows, staring at him, and licking his lips in anticipation of what he was going to do to Brian.

The brunet hadn't been able to abide the eerie sensation, plodding home after only twenty minutes and two shots of Beam. The whole way, he'd cursed the fucking trick who was messing with his mind, making him uneasy in a place that had been a safe haven since he'd first ventured into the club on his sixteenth birthday.

Now that he was home, he wanted to forget about the whole fiasco. Striding over to the liquor cart, he removed the cork and took a deep draught directly from a bottle of Beam. As he gulped down the bourbon, his eyes fell on the bare spot his dining table and chairs had once occupied. He'd been sitting naked on one of those chairs when Justin had dripped vanilla ice cream all over his body.

The tension in his muscles began to ease as Brian strolled toward his bed, abandoning the bourbon. Maybe he could recreate part of those ‘vanilla adventures,' sans ice cream. It would have to be in bed since the MomentoItalia chair had vanished with the other burgled goods.

The brunet swiftly dismissed all thought of the burglary since he didn't want to ruin his improving mood. He kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks, and quickly removed his shirt, tossing the garment aside. Then, he lay down on top of his duvet and slowly flicked open the buttons on his jeans one by one, palming his hard-on, grateful that he'd gone commando. Closing his eyes, he imagined another pair of hands gradually sliding his jeans down his hips and pulling them free of his legs.

Those lightly calloused fingers were now stroking his naked thighs, a hot mouth trailing along behind, lapping up pools of vanilla ice cream.

That ghostly mouth breathed out, "Hellooo, Briaaan," onto his balls, causing goosebumps to skitter across his thighs. 

Brian's hand flew up and down, his thumb brushing across his slit, as he tried to recreate the sensation a tantalizing tongue had once produced.

"Fuuuck!" the brunet screamed when he felt that warm tongue lap up the rivulets of imaginary ice cream from his shaft.

Brian passed out as the last streamer of jizz flowed out of his cock, a satisfied smile on his lips, a light, wheezing snore the only sound in the loft.

 

Chapter End Notes:

As best we could determine, this is how Michael came up with his translation of Justin's poem.

Michael assumes ‘nubes' means ‘nude'. (Let's be honest - what else could it be with a drawing of naked Brian above the poem?) He thinks ‘pulchra' means ‘pussy'. (It does kind of sound like some Spanish rude word.) Hence, ‘amor' must be ‘Amor, the angel of love' (clearly). He guesses ‘meus' is a ‘mouse'. And ‘formosa' is a ‘form'. So it's pretty obvious that Justin's written about a naked Brian who got scared by pussy and then Amor turns him into a mouse. Or he falls in love with a mouse.

 

          Sol, nubes, caelum caeruleum

          Quod est pulchra,

          Lunam, sidera, caelo noctis

          Quod est pulchra,

          At tu, amor meus, tu est formosa omnium

 

          (The sun, clouds, blue sky

          That is beautiful,

          The moon, the stars, the night sky

          That is beautiful,

          But you, my love, you are the most gorgeous of all)

 

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