(no subject)
Nov. 14th, 2011 05:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesTitle: Elderly Wisdom
Pairings: Bronx gen
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1821
Summary: If a teenager tells an adult something and he doesn’t listen, did the teenager really make a sound?
Prompt used: loss of voice for hc_bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's Note: today Pete replied to a tweet, saying he'd love Bronx even if he loved boys. I was not surprised, merely charmed. Then I was encouraged to write this. I completely understand how it could cross lines for some people. If it skeeves you, please don't read.
It’s not like Bronx is really worried about his dad knowing. Even with it being five years since he’s produced anything, certain circles online still have their insinuations. Besides, you can’t erase the past. All circumstantial evidence like make out king and Prop 8 poses point towards everything being fine. But he doesn’t tell him. Not until there’s a reason to.
Jason is mostly cool with hanging out at his house. Bronx is mostly cool with being there. They go hang other places sometimes, arcade or movies or paintball, but usually it’s just easier to go to Jason’s. There’s enough to do at the McMillans to fill an evening, which is all the time Bronx needs. He doesn’t have a curfew but he likes to be home to eat dinner. Both his parents tend to forget food is important if he’s not around. Jason doesn’t have every console system since Sega like his dad’s house does, but he’s got Wii3, and that’s what’s most important. Any media is available at the download of a torrent, and the McMillans have the same internet speed he does at home. Besides, just talking to, even just being with Jason is entertaining enough.
Jason’s parents are still married. His mom stays at home. Not because she’s between projects, but just because she thinks it’s proper or something. Bronx doesn’t really get it, but there are still warm cookies coming out of the oven when they get to the McMillans at least three days a week, so whatever. Mr McMillan works one of those high stress jobs that’s supposed to be a nine to five, except he gets home at eight every night, and a lot of times he still has paperwork with him. Jason bitches about it a lot. Bronx listens, even though he doesn’t really know what to say. It’s not like he can relate.
Eventually though Jason sends him this long ass email. Bronx reads it all, and the deeper he’s in the more he wants to headbash against the keyboard. It’s all about why can’t we go to your house, and I don’t really care who your dad is and fuck you if you think I’m using you for autographs or pictures or something. His bitchfit is really interrupting his chill, so he types what Jason wants to hear, spins in his computer chair a few dozen times, then gets up and goes downstairs.
Bronx knows this is gonna be dramatic. It’s just the way Mom and Dad are, along with all of Dad’s friends, and most of Mom’s. It’s a show business thing, he thinks. He’s not exactly anti-performance media, it’s worked out for almost all the adults he knows, and catching free plays and movies and concerts makes for a good night. But he’s not rushing to make his own band either. He’d rather be a grocer or something, where he can just be chill for an eight hour shift, and go home, instead of having to be awake and hilarious twenty three hours a day for eleven weeks.
Despite the big house it’s easy to find his dad. He’s sitting in the living room, watching an old episode of Jackass on one of the rerun channels. He stretches out a foot to kick the throw pillow off the other seat, but when Bronx doesn’t sit down he pauses the ep. “What’s up?”
“My probably boyfriend” they haven’t actually talked about that word yet, but Bronx thinks it fits, thinks Jason thinks so too, “is freaking out because I haven’t invited him over here yet. So can he come over?”
He waits. At the very least there will be a confirmation of pronouns. Or maybe he’ll pull a one eighty and he’ll demand he straighten up or he’ll be kicked out. Though it’s a light threat, considering he’s got Mom, and several bloodline aunts and uncles, and about two dozen declared uncles. And Travis is his godfather too, so he’s like bound by God to help him out.
He doesn’t wait long. Soon enough Dad busts out a shit eating grin. He completely bypasses shock or any other normal response and dives right into annoying. “My little Mowgli's growing up! Are you gonna buy him flowers?”
"He's on the football team."
“Football players like flowers too!” He reaches for his cell on the side table and starts scrolling through contacts. “I don’t actually know any florists, but I bet Navarro does. He’s always fucking shit up with his fiancee.”
Bronx knows that. Nancy -and seriously, if their eventual kids are Nichole and Nathaniel he’ll weep- says she won’t start planning the wedding until he doesn’t fuck up for a month straight. It’s been years. “I don’t want to give Jason flowers. Jason doesn’t want flowers.”
“Hey. B needs pretty first date lilacs or roses. Something, anyway. You got a dude?”
Oh for fucksakes. Bronx turns and heads for the kitchen, leaving his dad to discuss peonies or whatever. Might as well grab an after dinner snack before he holes up in his bedroom for the rest of the night.
Of course, he’s not off the hook. Not that easily. Not when Dad can just come upstairs a few hours later and pop his head in the cracked door. Technically there’s no ‘no locked doors’ policy, but sometimes his dad freaks out, and if he couldn’t get in the door he’d just climb onto the roof and rappel down the house. Seeing him plummet onto the grass once was enough, it’s easier to just leave the door unlocked.
“No still means no, even if he's a dude.”
“Dad.” He’s not fucking stupid, he knows what rape is.
“Use condoms.”
“Dad!”
“Or stick to handjobs, probably that's better.”
“Dad! Oh my god, stop. Please.” There is a reason schools teach sex ed. It’s so that conversations this horrific can be evaded. Bronx already knows about uteruses and wet dreams and gonorrhea. He doesn’t need to do this. Especially not the parts that Dad apparently has opinions about.
“I’ll stop now if you talk to one of your uncles about it.”
“Fine.” Whatever. He’ll ask Gabe or Travis or Brendon about sex, and they’ll tell him some weird funny gross shit and report back to Dad, and all’s well.
Except the more he thinks about it that night -so far he’s inherited his Dad’s insomnia, but none of the other craziness from either side- the more he thinks maybe real advice might be nice.
He tries Patrick. The choice seems sound at three fifteen in the morning. He’s more serious than most of his dad’s friends. More importantly, he’s pretty damn good at fighting against Dad’s wheedling for information. If he asks Patrick to not tell him something -or even if he doesn’t- Bronx can trust he won’t tell him.
At eight thirty, standing in the bus loop after he’s been dropped off, it’s a shit idea. Patrick's not fucking listening to him. He’s just all don’t have sex. You’re fifteen. It’s not sexing time. Bronx wasn't even thinking about sex. Okay, well, to be fair to Patrick he is thinking about sex. Like, constantly. But not with Jason. Not really. Just jerk off fantasy sex with Jason, not the whole buying a pack of condoms and finding good rhythmic music real sex thing. He just maybe loves him, or something, and he wants to know what you're supposed to do with that, and how do you tell someone?
In the end he hangs up on him. He doesn’t need a herpes rant before homeroom. Especially when that’s not even what he wanted information about.
He skips second period to call Gabe. He doesn’t answer the first five rings, which is fair since it’s just after ten in LA, and who knows what time zone he’s even in. But he sits on the toilet with his jeans up, breathes and keeps the faith and about fifteen minutes later Gabe calls back. Not that it matters anyway. Like predicted, it’s a second conversation about sex. A few differences; Gabe thinks he should go for it, enjoy himself. And then he gives a ten minute list of weird stuff he could try out. Most of it makes him laugh, but nothing Gabe says is relevant, and when Bronx tries to steer it into the stuff he really wants to talk about, Gabe just talks over him to explain donkey punching.
After he gets home it’s crunch time. Jason’s coming over after dinner, and Bronx needs to have this love shit figured out by then. It’s starting mess with his calm. Not being calm makes him fuckin’ upset, which is redundant and stupid, but true.
He borrows -okay, momentarily steals- Dad’s phone. He needs it if he’s gonna talk to someone. It’s not like he has any of their phone numbers keyed into his cell. That would be weird. There aren’t that many applicable numbers though. A deeply emotional set of aunts and uncles they aren’t. It would be sexist to call one of the girls just because they’re girls, and it’s not like Bebe knows a lot about man on man sex anyway. Maybe Victoria, but not Bebe. And the vast majority of the guys will chuckle. Sometimes Bronx wants to punch people that chuckle in the face.
It’s dumb, maybe, that the person he phones he calls because he’s known for being chill in interviews. Bronx has some pretty firsthand knowledge about what you see in interviews not always being what you get. But better the possibility of calm than the certainty of Carden putting him on speakerphone so everyone can chime in with sparkling wit.
“Hey Pete.”
“Not Pete,” he answers. Name that voice probably isn’t super fair either, it’s not like Dad and Mikey spend the time with him the few times a year they see each other. But really, it’s his dad’s phone. If Mikey can’t figure out he’s too stupid to take advice from anyway.
“Bronx. What’s up man? Everything okay?”
“No. I mean not with him, he’s okay.” Whether or not Bronx believes the internet, he hasn’t really decided yet, and definitely isn’t ready to ask anyone that would have been around then, he knows Mikey Way and his dad care about each other’s well being. “What do you do when you like a guy but it probably isn’t love because you’re just a fucking sophomore, but maybe, you know? And you don’t know what he thinks? And everyone is all yay sex, but you’re only sort of interested because making out is awesome and less painful?”
“I don’t know. What do you think you should do?”
And that...Well. That’s kind of more like it. Bronx opens his mouth, and he’s pretty sure whatever he says, Mikey will listen.
Pairings: Bronx gen
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1821
Summary: If a teenager tells an adult something and he doesn’t listen, did the teenager really make a sound?
Prompt used: loss of voice for hc_bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's Note: today Pete replied to a tweet, saying he'd love Bronx even if he loved boys. I was not surprised, merely charmed. Then I was encouraged to write this. I completely understand how it could cross lines for some people. If it skeeves you, please don't read.
It’s not like Bronx is really worried about his dad knowing. Even with it being five years since he’s produced anything, certain circles online still have their insinuations. Besides, you can’t erase the past. All circumstantial evidence like make out king and Prop 8 poses point towards everything being fine. But he doesn’t tell him. Not until there’s a reason to.
Jason is mostly cool with hanging out at his house. Bronx is mostly cool with being there. They go hang other places sometimes, arcade or movies or paintball, but usually it’s just easier to go to Jason’s. There’s enough to do at the McMillans to fill an evening, which is all the time Bronx needs. He doesn’t have a curfew but he likes to be home to eat dinner. Both his parents tend to forget food is important if he’s not around. Jason doesn’t have every console system since Sega like his dad’s house does, but he’s got Wii3, and that’s what’s most important. Any media is available at the download of a torrent, and the McMillans have the same internet speed he does at home. Besides, just talking to, even just being with Jason is entertaining enough.
Jason’s parents are still married. His mom stays at home. Not because she’s between projects, but just because she thinks it’s proper or something. Bronx doesn’t really get it, but there are still warm cookies coming out of the oven when they get to the McMillans at least three days a week, so whatever. Mr McMillan works one of those high stress jobs that’s supposed to be a nine to five, except he gets home at eight every night, and a lot of times he still has paperwork with him. Jason bitches about it a lot. Bronx listens, even though he doesn’t really know what to say. It’s not like he can relate.
Eventually though Jason sends him this long ass email. Bronx reads it all, and the deeper he’s in the more he wants to headbash against the keyboard. It’s all about why can’t we go to your house, and I don’t really care who your dad is and fuck you if you think I’m using you for autographs or pictures or something. His bitchfit is really interrupting his chill, so he types what Jason wants to hear, spins in his computer chair a few dozen times, then gets up and goes downstairs.
Bronx knows this is gonna be dramatic. It’s just the way Mom and Dad are, along with all of Dad’s friends, and most of Mom’s. It’s a show business thing, he thinks. He’s not exactly anti-performance media, it’s worked out for almost all the adults he knows, and catching free plays and movies and concerts makes for a good night. But he’s not rushing to make his own band either. He’d rather be a grocer or something, where he can just be chill for an eight hour shift, and go home, instead of having to be awake and hilarious twenty three hours a day for eleven weeks.
Despite the big house it’s easy to find his dad. He’s sitting in the living room, watching an old episode of Jackass on one of the rerun channels. He stretches out a foot to kick the throw pillow off the other seat, but when Bronx doesn’t sit down he pauses the ep. “What’s up?”
“My probably boyfriend” they haven’t actually talked about that word yet, but Bronx thinks it fits, thinks Jason thinks so too, “is freaking out because I haven’t invited him over here yet. So can he come over?”
He waits. At the very least there will be a confirmation of pronouns. Or maybe he’ll pull a one eighty and he’ll demand he straighten up or he’ll be kicked out. Though it’s a light threat, considering he’s got Mom, and several bloodline aunts and uncles, and about two dozen declared uncles. And Travis is his godfather too, so he’s like bound by God to help him out.
He doesn’t wait long. Soon enough Dad busts out a shit eating grin. He completely bypasses shock or any other normal response and dives right into annoying. “My little Mowgli's growing up! Are you gonna buy him flowers?”
"He's on the football team."
“Football players like flowers too!” He reaches for his cell on the side table and starts scrolling through contacts. “I don’t actually know any florists, but I bet Navarro does. He’s always fucking shit up with his fiancee.”
Bronx knows that. Nancy -and seriously, if their eventual kids are Nichole and Nathaniel he’ll weep- says she won’t start planning the wedding until he doesn’t fuck up for a month straight. It’s been years. “I don’t want to give Jason flowers. Jason doesn’t want flowers.”
“Hey. B needs pretty first date lilacs or roses. Something, anyway. You got a dude?”
Oh for fucksakes. Bronx turns and heads for the kitchen, leaving his dad to discuss peonies or whatever. Might as well grab an after dinner snack before he holes up in his bedroom for the rest of the night.
Of course, he’s not off the hook. Not that easily. Not when Dad can just come upstairs a few hours later and pop his head in the cracked door. Technically there’s no ‘no locked doors’ policy, but sometimes his dad freaks out, and if he couldn’t get in the door he’d just climb onto the roof and rappel down the house. Seeing him plummet onto the grass once was enough, it’s easier to just leave the door unlocked.
“No still means no, even if he's a dude.”
“Dad.” He’s not fucking stupid, he knows what rape is.
“Use condoms.”
“Dad!”
“Or stick to handjobs, probably that's better.”
“Dad! Oh my god, stop. Please.” There is a reason schools teach sex ed. It’s so that conversations this horrific can be evaded. Bronx already knows about uteruses and wet dreams and gonorrhea. He doesn’t need to do this. Especially not the parts that Dad apparently has opinions about.
“I’ll stop now if you talk to one of your uncles about it.”
“Fine.” Whatever. He’ll ask Gabe or Travis or Brendon about sex, and they’ll tell him some weird funny gross shit and report back to Dad, and all’s well.
Except the more he thinks about it that night -so far he’s inherited his Dad’s insomnia, but none of the other craziness from either side- the more he thinks maybe real advice might be nice.
He tries Patrick. The choice seems sound at three fifteen in the morning. He’s more serious than most of his dad’s friends. More importantly, he’s pretty damn good at fighting against Dad’s wheedling for information. If he asks Patrick to not tell him something -or even if he doesn’t- Bronx can trust he won’t tell him.
At eight thirty, standing in the bus loop after he’s been dropped off, it’s a shit idea. Patrick's not fucking listening to him. He’s just all don’t have sex. You’re fifteen. It’s not sexing time. Bronx wasn't even thinking about sex. Okay, well, to be fair to Patrick he is thinking about sex. Like, constantly. But not with Jason. Not really. Just jerk off fantasy sex with Jason, not the whole buying a pack of condoms and finding good rhythmic music real sex thing. He just maybe loves him, or something, and he wants to know what you're supposed to do with that, and how do you tell someone?
In the end he hangs up on him. He doesn’t need a herpes rant before homeroom. Especially when that’s not even what he wanted information about.
He skips second period to call Gabe. He doesn’t answer the first five rings, which is fair since it’s just after ten in LA, and who knows what time zone he’s even in. But he sits on the toilet with his jeans up, breathes and keeps the faith and about fifteen minutes later Gabe calls back. Not that it matters anyway. Like predicted, it’s a second conversation about sex. A few differences; Gabe thinks he should go for it, enjoy himself. And then he gives a ten minute list of weird stuff he could try out. Most of it makes him laugh, but nothing Gabe says is relevant, and when Bronx tries to steer it into the stuff he really wants to talk about, Gabe just talks over him to explain donkey punching.
After he gets home it’s crunch time. Jason’s coming over after dinner, and Bronx needs to have this love shit figured out by then. It’s starting mess with his calm. Not being calm makes him fuckin’ upset, which is redundant and stupid, but true.
He borrows -okay, momentarily steals- Dad’s phone. He needs it if he’s gonna talk to someone. It’s not like he has any of their phone numbers keyed into his cell. That would be weird. There aren’t that many applicable numbers though. A deeply emotional set of aunts and uncles they aren’t. It would be sexist to call one of the girls just because they’re girls, and it’s not like Bebe knows a lot about man on man sex anyway. Maybe Victoria, but not Bebe. And the vast majority of the guys will chuckle. Sometimes Bronx wants to punch people that chuckle in the face.
It’s dumb, maybe, that the person he phones he calls because he’s known for being chill in interviews. Bronx has some pretty firsthand knowledge about what you see in interviews not always being what you get. But better the possibility of calm than the certainty of Carden putting him on speakerphone so everyone can chime in with sparkling wit.
“Hey Pete.”
“Not Pete,” he answers. Name that voice probably isn’t super fair either, it’s not like Dad and Mikey spend the time with him the few times a year they see each other. But really, it’s his dad’s phone. If Mikey can’t figure out he’s too stupid to take advice from anyway.
“Bronx. What’s up man? Everything okay?”
“No. I mean not with him, he’s okay.” Whether or not Bronx believes the internet, he hasn’t really decided yet, and definitely isn’t ready to ask anyone that would have been around then, he knows Mikey Way and his dad care about each other’s well being. “What do you do when you like a guy but it probably isn’t love because you’re just a fucking sophomore, but maybe, you know? And you don’t know what he thinks? And everyone is all yay sex, but you’re only sort of interested because making out is awesome and less painful?”
“I don’t know. What do you think you should do?”
And that...Well. That’s kind of more like it. Bronx opens his mouth, and he’s pretty sure whatever he says, Mikey will listen.
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(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-14 02:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 09:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-14 02:45 pm (UTC)i loved this a lot <333
(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 09:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-14 02:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 09:43 pm (UTC)I'm gonna admit that my summary makes me grin too. That's not too bigheaded, right?
(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-14 03:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 09:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-14 04:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 09:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-14 07:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 10:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-14 09:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 10:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-15 01:56 am (UTC)So cute. And awesome. And I loled a bit. Heh. XD \o/
(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 10:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-15 03:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 10:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-15 06:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 10:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 03:30 am (UTC)Brendon would give the worst advice ever. It would be hilarious. I think there needs to be a story showing the advice everyone gives. I would LOL. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-11-17 10:46 pm (UTC)