How the Future's Done - A Future!AU fic - R (Part 4)

[chibirhm]

Freddy can't fall asleep that night. What Betsy said about Joey's proposal keeps playing on loop over and over in his head, uncomfortable words like practical and mature and too expensive echoing in the miserable caverns of his brain. He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on the comforting noises. He focuses on the crickets, the low hum of the barely-cranked AC, Mitzi's whistling snore from near the closet and Davey's similar snore from somewhere around his chin.

It's not right he thinks fiercely, pulling away from Davey so he can get a better look at his sleeping face. Davey makes an unhappy noise at the loss of his human pillow, his eyebrows drawing together as he fitfully moves around until his face is mashed into the sheets, one hand curling protectively to cover his mouth. Gently, Freddy pries it away and back onto his chest, where he lets it settle instinctively over his heart, like a talisman and a promise. Freddy feels so unbearably fond of Davey it's like he can't stand it, like his heart is going to grow too large and beat right out of his chest and into Davey's warm hand. You deserve better he thinks, as if Davey can hear him. If Davey actually could hear his thoughts, he would not be thinking these thoughts at all, but since Davey is asleep and not quite that omnipotent, he lets himself. You deserve something amazing. You deserve something you can brag about. Something you can tell everyone out. He likes that idea - something Davey can tell everyone about. Something Davey can look back at whenever he feels sad or doubts and say that is exactly how much Freddy loves me, only he will be wrong, because Freddy loves him ten million times more than that, about a billion times more than he thinks any human being has ever loved another (and Princess Buttercup and Wesley can suck it), a trillion more times than Freddy's ever going to find the words to say.

Comforted, Freddy rolls onto his side so Davey's arm curls around him, and his arm curls around Davey, their legs tangling together. He lets himself imagine it, puts the same happy and bashful expression on Davey's face that he gets when someone asks how they met. "Well it was my first day of high school," Davey always starts, "and I'm sitting in band class and this jerk trips over me. And he's really hot - movie star hot, but he's totally obnoxious, so I try to forget about him."

"He couldn't," Freddy always points out at this part. "Could barely keep his hands off of me -"

"And Freddy had an awful crush on me," Davey always continues gleefully, "like, he whined to his grandmother about it, awful," Freddy always attempts to look affronted at this point, but it's horrifically and embarrassingly true, "and so finally I gave in and went out with him once I realized he wasn't as big a jerk as I thought."

"Excuse me," Freddy always says, attempting to defend his former self's reputation, "but I was exactly as big a jerk as you thought I was. Probably even bigger than you ever knew."

"Yes," Davey always says softly, his eyes gentle with affection as he reaches out to lay his hand against Freddy's cheek, "but you weren't to me."

It's a very good story, Freddy thinks smugly. Classic. Much better than the shit other people say, like our eyes met across a crowded room, or my friends kept saying I had to meet this girl. And their proposal and marriage story's going to be even better. And they'll tell everyone they know about it. And one day, they'll tell their kids...

His eyes fly open.

"Davey," he hisses desperately, shaking Davey's shoulder. Davey's usually a sound sleeper, but after years and years of grueling conditioning, he wakes to the sound of Freddy's voice calling his name faster and better than any alarm.

"Don' wanna," Davey grumbles, turning over. "Tomor' morning."

"Davey, this is important," he says desperately, shaking his arm.

"I'm asleep," Davey mumbles grumpily. "No sex."

"This is more important than sex," Freddy insists.

"No such thing," Davey sighs, turning back over to watch Freddy blearily, and Freddy allows himself a momentary flare of lusty affection in between his mild panic. "Better be good."

"We need to think up a better story," Freddy says. "About how we met."

"Why?" Davey asks, crinkling his forehead. "In the middle of the night? It's a good story."

"We can't tell it to our kids," Freddy explains. "It will be a fucking catastrophe."

Davey's starting to look annoyed. "You woke me up to tell me that how we met won't be good enough for kids we don't even have yet? That is in no way more important than sex."

"No, no, no," Freddy backpedals. "It's a great story. It's the best story. But it sends the wrong message. Our kids are going to come home with their loser highschool boyfriend and be all 'don't worry, Dad, he's secretly not a jerk, just like you', only they'll be wrong, and drop out of high school knocked up and addicted to heroin."

"All because of our story," Davey says warily.

"Yes," Freddy agrees, "so we have to start thinking up something better to tell them. Or they'll date assholes out of spite."

"Freddy," Davey says with weary patience, "I have spent all summer supervising teenagers. Please believe me when I tell you that they don't really do that."

"That's what you think," Freddy says grimly. "How do you think I justified bringing guys home from clubs to my grandparents? I'd just pull the 'it's how you met Pops' card."

"By that logic, I'd have met you at a support group for people who had family members with drug and alcohol problems, and you'd have met me when I was burning my bra," Davey says. "And clearly, neither of those things is true."

"You're being too literal," Freddy explains patiently. "See, band was like a support group for nerds, and you hated me at first just like my mom hated my dad -"

"I did not hate you," Davey says defensively. "I just thought you were a jerk."

"Exactly. We're doomed," Freddy says with an air of miserable fatality. "We can never have children."

"Hm," Davey sighs thoughtfully, resettling himself and studying Freddy's face. "I still like our story. It's a good one."

"Why?"

"It's the stupidest reason ever," Davey shrugs dismissively. "Even I think it's stupid."

"Which makes it still way smarter than anything I ever say," Freddy points out.

"I like that we're both...guys," Davey says. "I mean, when Betsy and Joey fall in love you can explain it away, you could say it's just biological, like finding the right person to mate with. Doesn't that make it so unromantic? Like you don't really like the person, you like their complementary immune system. But with us, it's like there's no science or reason, you know? It's just...us."

"Huh," Freddy says after a long silence.

"What're you thinking?" Davey asks nervously. "Please say something."

Freddy's throat feels strangely choked. "I'm thinking," he begins, and then stops. It's very hard to think, with Davey peering at him nervously in the dark, with his shirt off and his smooth skin pale and luminous in the extremely low light. He isn't thinking much of anything, beyond an overwhelming feeling of adoration. "I'm thinking," he finally manages, "that I love you more than I've ever loved anything in the world." Davey makes a little happy noise. "But," Freddy continues, "that was full-on the most retarded thing you have ever said."

"Screw you," Davey laughs, grabbing his pillow and smacking Freddy in the face. "Here I go pouring my heart out to you..."

"Did you get that from Hallmark?" Freddy asks earnestly, fending off Davey's pillow attacks. "I want to know, Davey. Did the card have Snoopy on the front?"

"Hmph," Davey sniffs, stuffing his pillow under his head. "See if I ever tell you anything nice ever again. Jerk."

"I warned you," Freddy says, "I've always said that I'm a bigger jerk than you ever knew."

"You did," Davey says, reaching out to stroke his thumb along the line of Freddy's neck. "It's a good thing you kept that hidden until I was desperately in love with you."

"Yeah," Freddy says roughly, "Got fucking lucky there."

"Sap," Davey says, leaning over to chastely kiss him. "Now shut up and don't wake me again. I'll come up with a good way to lie to our future spawn in the morning."

"What if I'm dying?" Freddy asks Davey, who has already turned over to his other side and is pretending to ignore Freddy's inquisitively poking nose as he settles to curve around him. "What if I die and it's all your fault because I can't wake you?"

"Die quietly," Davey suggests. "Love you, shut up, good night."

"Love you too, asswipe," Freddy says, settling his nose into the line of hair on the back of Davey's neck and pressing a kiss there before he closes his eyes.

- - -

Freddy doesn't know where he is at first,when he wakes up the next day. The air is warm and balmy, but it smells too clean to be their apartment. It's fresh, bordering on a little too devoid of smell beyond damp earth for Freddy to be completely comfortable. It's almost silent, but he can hear distant strains of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. But that's not right either. It sounds like Gershwin, but someone's adding some broken chord legatos to it, stretching it out and adding a coherent tempo to make it bluesy, swaying back and forth gently. Slowly, he squints his eyes open and then groans and closes them again. The August sun is coming in the window far too bright, and it's two o'clock in the fucking afternoon and no one woke him. Irritated, he stumbles squinting around he room, trying to make himself less naked. It's still cool in there from the low air conditioning they'd turned on last night. After lying with his face in the direct sunlight, it feels dark and frigid, like stepping into an icy bath. Only instead of waking Freddy up, it makes him want to go pass out again. And he will, after he figures out where the hell everyone is and where the music is coming from. His guess, he thinks as he stumbles around the dining room, and tries to blink away the sun spots, is that Davey's in one of his weird nostalgic moods where he's playing his old recordings. He does that sometimes, convinced he's already thought up the solution to a compositional problem. Sometimes he does it when he's feeling in a self-doubting mood, so he can brood over how bad he is. Freddy would bet money he's doing it right now for the third reason - nostalgia. But when his eyes finally adjust, he's pretty sure all that laying in the sun has made him crazy, because Davey is actually playing the piano.

There's been a tiny, beat-up, upright piano in the lake house as long as Freddy's been going there. Davey told him the first summer that his grandparents had found it going cheap at a flea market when he was seven and kept it tuned so he could play them impromptu recitals whenever he came to visit. Consequently, Davey has also never touched the piano the entire time Freddy has been coming, except to keep it tuned. He says it makes him feel put-upon and besides, he always says in the face of Freddy's begging, it's his vacation, and he will do as he pleases, thank you very much.

"Davey?" Freddy asks the mirage, shuffling into the light and squinting. "What time is it?"

"Two," Davey says, lifting his hands off the piano and smiling. "Thought I'd let you sleep, you were up half the night worrying."

"Was not," Freddy lies.

"Were too," Davey says, looking up at Freddy, who has come to stand behind him, touching Davey's shoulder gently to make sure he's real. "Hi."

"Morning," Freddy says softly, bending over to give Davey's upturned mouth a kiss hello. He would stay that way, except he's pretty sure Davey will strain his neck, and at that moment his stomach chooses to let out an almighty rumble.

"Mom got you those muffins you like from the farmer's market," Davey says, "they're in the kitchen."

"God bless that woman," Freddy says fervently, shuffling into the kitchen and finding the said muffins under a cloth napkin on the counter. He lets himself wake up while he methodically plows through three of them to the sounds of Davey taking out some old books of music and making hmm-ing noises loudly before settling on Brahms. It takes him a while before he realizes something's wrong. Grabbing the last muffin, he goes back into the living room and sits down on the bench next to Davey, who stops playing and looks despairingly at Freddy.

"You can't even eat that over the plate?" He asks sadly, watching crumbs fall and dot Freddy's boxers.

"Dog'll get it," Freddy says thickly through banana-nut. It's true that Mitzi no longer outright begs and whines, but she still watches extremely attentively and waits to lick plates or pans or any food that might drop, which Freddy and Davey have decided counts as fair game, especially since it about halves the need to vacuum.

"Mitzi went into town with Joey and Betsy and Mom," Davey says. "There's some sort of end-of-summer fair, but you hate those sorts of things when they don't have roller coasters."

"That's because they're lame without them," Freddy says dismissively. "I bet they don't even have a ferris wheel."

"They had a bouncy castle," Davey says. "You love bouncy castles."

"Not when I have to be careful not to plow down children," Freddy says. "And I still maintain that little jerk was asking for it."

"Of course he was," Davey soothes, starting up the Brahms again. Sighing, Freddy swallows the last of his muffin and rests his head on Davey's shoulder. He smells like musky, cinnamon-y Davey and late summer and home. Everything feels very strange and yellow-tinted and amazingly quiet. There are no city noises, no other people around, no snoring dog, no crickets. It's as if they're the only people floating in a timeless, happy world, where nothing bad could ever happen. It's nice, Freddy thinks, opening his eyes to watch Davey's clever fingers dance up and down the piano. It would probably be nicer naked.

"Hey," Freddy says, his voice husky as he tilts his chin to nip at Davey's neck. "Have I ever done you on this piano bench?" Davey makes a strangled noise and flubs a few notes, which means Freddy's being pretty damn distracting.

"Not this one," Davey says tightly, and then - "No, we don't know when they're coming back from the fair, Freddy -"

"Uh huh," Freddy says, reaching over to unbutton Davey's jeans so he can tease at the sensitive skin under his belly button that trembles and jumps to his touch. "It's part of the fun, thinking about what Joey's face'll look like when he sees me blowing you."

"We already know what that face looks like," Davey says, his voice breathless and shaky as Freddy kisses him under his ear, his hand rubbing Davey's stomach back and forth in counterpoint. "And as I recall, there was a lot of screaming that followed it."

"I punched him in the face," Freddy says proudly.

"Yes, yes you did. And I'd like it if that never happened again."

"You're no fun," Freddy mutters, drawing away, but Davey makes an unhappy noise and pulls him back.

"I didn't say to stop," Davey says against his mouth, low and husky, and Freddy feels like maybe he's going to come in his pants for the first time since he was about eighteen.

"But...I..." Luckily, Freddy doesn't have to try to form words and be confused about Davey's mixed messages because Davey's too busy covering Freddy's mouth with his own and destroying all semblance of rational thought. He's kissing him fast and hard, which is usually directly related to Davey being in the mood to fuck him through the mattress, and Freddy's developed a bit of a Pavlovian response. "Hel-lo," he finally manages when Davey's done and panting, his voice low and throaty.

"What were you saying about me not being fun?" Davey asks sweetly, climbing carefully into Freddy's lap and wrapping his legs around Freddy's waist. Freddy can't remember his own name, let alone the thread of conversation when Davey was wrapped around him like the world's lustiest eel and looking like pure, ridiculous sex.

"You're my favorite boyfriend," Freddy says finally, leaning in and breathing the words hot against his neck.

"That's right," Davey purrs, rewarding him with a kiss that's much lusher and slower, much more Freddy's speed, though he'd never admit it. Slowly, Freddy pushes himself upwards, Davey still hanging on to him like he's a jungle gym. It's really good, Freddy thinks hazily, that Davey hasn't really gained any weight since maybe his freshman fifteen, which was mostly late-blooming muscle anyways.

"I'm gonna carry you to our room," he says stupidly, because Davey's giving him the same dopey grin he always does when Freddy gets all manly and starts lifting things.

"You're gonna throw out your back, caveman," Davey mutters, and Freddy decides that clearly, he needs to go back to kissing Davey and going for the blind drunken stumble approach to finding the bed, which works really well because he's sort of been doing this exact same thing for years. He's obscurely grateful when the backs of his knees hit their bed and Davey's overbalancing him so he falls backwards.

"Mmmm," Davey says approvingly, pressing Freddy into the bed. "Think I'll take my time with you."

"'Kay," Freddy says, because really, did Davey think he was going to say no? Especially when he could be kissing Davey like they've got all the time in the world before people get home? Which reminds him, unfortunately, that people are going to eventually get home and that Davey hates getting caught. "Wait a minute," he says hoarsely, pulling away. Davey looks at him, mildly annoyed and rumpled.

"Yes?" he asks impatiently, thumbing one of Freddy's nipples in a purposefully distracting manner.

"Thought everyone could be home any minute," he says suspiciously, covering Davey's hand.

"Yeah," Davey says. "About that. Mom called while you were still asleep and asked if we wanted to come into town because she didn't feel like cooking and I, uh, told her we'd like a night alone."

"So you lied to me?" Freddy asks, bewildered.

"The bed is nicer!" Davey says defensively. "Sex is way, way better in one instead of curled up on a piano bench with sharp corners!"

"That's why you were practicing on vacation!" Freddy crows. "You knew it would wake me up! You knew I get off on your crazy fingers and you playing hard to get."

"Um, yes?" Davey asks sheepishly, and the only proper response to Davey looking so cute is for Freddy to flip him over and press him into the bed until he can't breathe from all the kissing.

"Why Mr. O'Brian," he drawls into Davey's ear. "I do believe that you're trying to seduce me."

"Little bit," Davey says tightly, his breath coming out in a sort of helpless laugh. "How's it working for you?"

"Surprisingly well," Freddy says. "Very, very well."

"Cool," Davey says, before covering Freddy's mouth with his own and undressing him slowly, carefully, sensually, like he hasn't in months. It's driving Freddy crazy, the way Davey's muttering about how much he loves Freddy in his ear, and Freddy hopes really sincerely Davey doesn't take it personally that when they're having sex Freddy pretty much can't form coherent words apart from "yes" and "Davey" and "please". But by the way Davey's touching and holding and kissing him, he doesn't want anything more than to take Freddy in as slowly as possible. He's in love with Davey's mouth, the way it part over his and drinks him in like Davey's dying of thirst - every time. He loves the way Davey feels, not even pretending that he's not greedy and desperate.

If Freddy wanted, he could get Davey off in minutes. They've gotten good at that, at maximizing pleasure in minimal time, but that's not what today is about, and Freddy can feel it. He hasn't had quiet, lazy, uncaring sex with Davey in what feels like years, the kind that's like an infinitely more pleasurable version of slow dancing, only vertical and with a different sort of soundtrack. When he's got time like he does right now, Freddy pretends that he doesn't know Davey's body's secrets, that he's learning for the first time where his hands go and where to kiss. He lets himself become re-enchanted by the way Davey's eyes go heavy-lidded and his hand comes up next to his head to clench at the sheets. "Can't believe it," Freddy whispers into Davey's neck feverishly, stroking his side.

"What?" Davey asks.

"Forget how beautiful you are," Freddy says, pulling away enough to smooth his hands all over Davey's face and re-learn it touch by trembling touch. "Forget all the time, and then I look at you and fuck, Davey."

"That's crazy," Davey says, kissing Freddy's curious thumb, which has been tracing his lips. "See me all the time."

"Still can't believe it," Freddy says. "Can't believe I'm not pretending it's you again."

"You aren't," Davey says, his voice losing it's hazy edge. "You won't ever."

"Yeah," Freddy says with a shaky laugh, "it's taking me a while to learn that, too."

"I'm patient," Davey re-assures him. "We're okay, this time."

"Promise me," Freddy whispers, dropping his forehead against Davey's neck. "Promise me you'll never - "

"I'll never," Davey says firmly.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," Freddy says, looking up suspiciously. "I could have made you promise something really fucking stupid."

"But you weren't," Davey argues. "So I say yes."

"Could have been asking you to marry me, for real," Freddy says as lightly as he can, gripping Davey's hand in his own. "Could have been asking you to promise to stay with me forever." Davey just turns his head and looks down at Freddy, who is pointedly ignoring him.

"You know my answer's still a yes," Davey says, rolling over and covering Freddy's naked body in his own. "Now are you gonna shut up so I can fuck you?"

"Yes," Freddy groans. Davey asking that's the only time he ever regularly swears, and it's so fucking filthy and wrong it gets him every time almost more than the action does. And maybe it doesn't happen often, that Davey asks. In fact, Freddy's pretty sure this is the first time Davey's asked since they got back together, and it feels good. It feels like the right moment, now that they've got all this endless time. Davey's always been good at timing, at waiting until the exact right moment to do things like this. And this is the perfect moment, because it feels right, in the August late afternoon, to be so filled up by Davey and his familiar face and whispers and body, to go boneless and content in the circle of his arms. It feels right, like he can finally let a tiny bit of himself he's been selfishly holding back go. He feels like he's finally ready, that Davey's really all in and he's really all in and they're past that stupid stage of being to afraid to break things to give themselves up to each other completely, still too gun-shy to get down to what's important and fix what needed to be fixed. But when the summer and the daylight is dying, it's right that that last barrier they kept up from each other dies too with a tiny noise in the back of Davey's throat and something that feels a little like releasing a breath Freddy didn't know he was holding.

Everything feels right until afterward, when he and Davey are lying together, still mostly tangled, and there's a pervading sense of wrongness.

"Feels weird," Freddy says, nudging unhappily under Davey's scruffy neck.

"What?" Davey asks blearily, playing with the ends of hair curling sweaty around Freddy's ears.

"Dunno," Freddy says. "Feel like I need to do something."

"Dog," Davey says softly. "No dog."

"Huh." Freddy opens his eyes slowly, looking down at the foot of the bed, still expecting to see a furry face peering hopefully at him now that the noises have stopped. He misses it.

"Me too," Davey sighs, and it's only then Freddy realizes he's spoken out loud. "I don't know how to do stuff anymore without her."

"Feel like I should go for a walk," Freddy says, sighing and rolling over to grab some boxers and a t-shirt.

"I'm hungry," Davey says, stretching past Freddy to do the same. Freddy watches him lazily as he stands up and gets dressed, flashes of skin disappearing under thin cotton. He reaches out and pulls Davey to him, pressing his face against Davey's stomach and kissing it gently before rooting around for his own shirt while Davey clatters into the kitchen.

They float around aimlessly while they eat, finally settling on the couch to watch some Discovery special half-heartedly, pretending not to glance at the door at every little sound, hoping it's everyone returning home.

"This is pathetic," Freddy says finally. "We should be having sex. Right now."

"You want to?" Davey asks, turning his face up from one of Freddy's shoulders where it's been resting lazily.

"No," Freddy says sulkily. "But I wish I wanted to, because right now I feel old and lame."

"You're not lame," Davey says certainly. "You're maturing."

"Mature is one of those word boring people use to make themselves feel better," Freddy says with great conviction. "Admit it, next you'll sign us up for a gay cruise and we'll start singing showtunes and I'll never be able to take myself seriously ever again."

"You will not," Davey says, smiling his fond, indulgent little smile he only gets around babies, puppies, and Freddy when he's being particularly ridiculous. "Even when you're an old man, you'll be very refined and...foxy."

"Oooh, foxy," Freddy says thoughtfully, stroking his hands through Davey's hair. "Good scrabble word. We should use that next time we play team scrabble and make Joey cry." Team scrabble isn't really teams, per se, it's just that Davey and Betsy are both really good, and Freddy and Joey suck, so now instead of playing they have a running, borderline-violent stake in who wins, though the actual players could care less.

"I don't want to make anyone cry," Davey says calmly, poking Freddy in the side. "If you want to make Joey cry, leave me out of it."

"Oh, you and your newfound standards," Freddy says with a sigh."Remember when you used to help me sneak into Joey's room and get blackmail material on him? Those were good times."

"They were," Davey agrees softly. There's a comfortable, nostalgic silence while they watch a car commercial.

"D'you think we've gotten, I don't know, weird?" Freddy asks. "I mean, is it bad that we don't feel right without a third person around? Especially if it's really a dog?"

"Nah," Davey says. "I mean, we're still happy, right? You wouldn't break up with me if the dog ran away." He says it like a statement, but Freddy can feel the slight tension in his shoulders.

"No," he says. "It just feels, you know, weird."

"Freddy," Davey says, lifting his head up to look Freddy in the eye, "maybe that's got nothing to do with us. Maybe that's got to do with just, just loving our dog, you know? It's okay to love the dog and love me. And love all three of us together."

"But I used to only love you," Freddy says. "Well, not only you, but -"

"But nothing," Davey says firmly. "That's what happens when you love something, Freddy. It feels weird when it's gone. But it doesn't mean you love everything else less."

"Guess so," Freddy says, running his hands over Davey's knee while he looks down. "Just takes some getting used to. I don't want to do it wrong and, and disappoint you, or - "

"Freddy," Davey cuts him off again. "I wouldn't have come back or still be here if I didn't think you could do this."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Davy says affectionately, running his hand soothingly over Freddy's neck. "In fact, I don't think you'd be all weird unless you'd already done it."

"You're a good teacher," Freddy says.

"I am, aren't I?" Davey asks proudly, grinning from ear to ear, and he's so adorable and amazing and everything Freddy's ever wanted all wrapped up in one that he has to kiss him into the couch until Davey's squirmy and giggling under him like they're teenagers and it's their first summer here, when they spent most of it making out on this exact couch. Freddy's not sure how long they stay like that, maybe a few minutes, before they hear a car pull up and Joey's distinctive, loud voice jabbering loudly about God only knows what.

"You hear what I hear?" Freddy asks, grinning down at Davey, who looks like the tooth fairy and Easter bunny are about to come bursting through the door at once.

"Uh huh," Davey says, and Freddy lets him get up before following him, going to investigate until he's interrupted by a tiny, fuzzy gray-brown bullet howling and running into him, circling frantically.

"Mitzi!" Davey cries, scoping their puppy into his arms. She's vibrating in joy, unable to kiss Davey fast enough. "Oh, Daddy missed you," Davey coos, scratching behind her ears. "We missed you so much." Mitzi whines a little in the back of her throat, as if agreeing, and leans out of Davey's arms far enough to start licking at air until Freddy takes the hint and leans into her reach. She makes a tiny contented grumble and proceeds to wash his face until his skin feels too tight and he's short of breath, when he pulls away.

"Yech," he says, scrubbing at his face.

"Mmmm," Davey agrees, burying his nose in Mitzi's fur. He looks sweet and content, and the things Davey said sort of make sense, in a weird way. Because it's nice, seeing Davey like this, and having this thing with him that's permanent, that neither of them can walk away from. It feels right that there's a tiny creature that's theirs, a living thing that keeps them together no matter what. A thing that puts that soft, fatherly look on Davey's face and makes him talk in silly voices and perform tasks that are both gross and degrading, or makes Freddy abandon all pretense of pride in the face of such overwhelming, innocent adoration. He thinks that maybe, even though they didn't mean it, this dog was their test baby, a way of proving to each other that they were both in it for real, this time.A way of silently re-assuring doubts neither wanted to admit to having. It's strange, that such a tiny, hairy creature that licks it's own privates while making grunting noises without an ounce of shame, a thing that would eat goose shit if Freddy wasn't watching it, is what they needed all along. And honestly, Freddy doesn't mind. Because if it means he has to pay to replace a million doors and clean up poop and vomit every day and have all of his clothing torn to shreds by tiny puppy teeth, he'd still do it all over again.

"Got your thinking face on," Davey says quietly, looking up from Mitzi's tiny, contented body. "Care to share?"

Instead of answering, Freddy just pulls Davey to him again and kisses him softly, all lips and chaste affection. He's not sure how long they go on kissing like that until he hears Joey going "Aw, fuck, you two, we left you alone all day to get that out of your fucking system." It feels like a long time, he thinks, as Davey chuckles against his mouth. It also doesn't feel like nearly long enough.

- - -

"You," Freddy says severely from the screen door, "are a terrible influence." Mary doesn't even look up from the outdoor picnic table, where she's putting away that night's barbecue dinner, if "putting away" means "feeding every other bite to his dog, who is sitting on one of the patio chairs like it is her throne and she is an empress."

"Shush," Mary says severely, handing Mitzi a piece of roasted zucchini, which she chomps down with extreme relish. "Grandmas get rights to spoil."

"Not when I have to deal with the fallout, they don't," Freddy argues, picking Mitzi up and resettling her on his lap, where she goes back to begging without missing a beat. "I just got her to leave me alone long enough to eat again."

"You boys did such a good job with her," Mary says fondly, closing the last tupperware and sitting down, reaching over to scratch under Mitzi's chin. "She's such a good dog."

"Tell that to Joey," Freddy grumbles. He's still a little bitter over Joey's strategic avoidance of their dog, since she's clearly the greatest thing to happen to any of them in years.

"Didn't I tell you?" Mary asks, looking up. "He spent the entire time at the fair doting on her like she was his baby."

"No," Freddy says, looking at her wide-eyed. "Really?!"

"Well he didn't hold her or touch her," Mary says fairly. "But he held her leash and admitted she was cute once or twice."

"Wow," Freddy says, giving Mitzi an scratch behind her ears for a job well done. "This one's a little seductress."

"She is," Mary says, resting her chin on her hand. "And remember how scared you were of getting her?"

"I'm still terrified," Freddy admits. "Like, all the time. Davey freaks out about everything out loud, like what if our dog has malaria or whatever, but I'm just afraid something bad's going to happen all the time, or I'm going to fail, and if I fail..."

"You won't fail," Mary soothes. "You aren't failing."

"I always feel like I am," Freddy mutters. "Like there's more I'm supposed to be doing."

"All good parents feel that way," Mary says, watching him with that look only mothers can get that's just little too wise for comfort. "That's what love is, thinking you should always love that thing more."

"That's what Davey says," Freddy says, "but I didn't love Davey enough and he broke up with me - "

"He broke up with you because you didn't tell him that," Mary says severely. "You didn't tell him that and he was always afraid he was loving too much and you weren't loving enough. He knows better now. You have to let that go, Freddy."

"If I let it go I'll just fuck it up all over again," Freddy says.

"You're a family," Mary says. "You've got a dog together now. You have a life together. You have a future."

"No," Freddy reminds her, "Davey does. I'm still unemployed."

"The money isn't important. You have a future as a great dad and good husband," Mary says. "That's all Davey ever wanted from you."

Freddy makes a little noise and stares out into the yard and sunset thoughtfully. Betsy and Joey are curled up on the top step of the dock, drinking beers and watching the sunset, looking like some honeymoon postcard for a couples-only resort or a page in a scrapbook. And Davey... Davey's sacked out in the hammock, one leg lazily escaping from it's ropey confines to brush the grass as he sways back and forth. Freddy watches him fondly for a few moments before sighing.

"I still can't make sandwiches," he reminds Mary. "Think I'll still be a good husband and dad if I can't make sandwiches?"

"The best," Mary assures him, putting the tupperware under one arm and picking up Mitzi to tuck under the other, leaning over to give Freddy a motherly kiss on the forehead. "Now go bring that boy in before he gets eaten alive. If I know him he's forgotten to wear bug spray."

"Thanks," Freddy says, his throat feeling a little tight.

"You can thank me by making sure Davey doesn't get West Nile and die," Mary says, pushing the screen door open with her hip and heading into the kitchen. Freddy tips his head back and sighs, looking at the darkening sky and listening to the buzz of incoming night bugs for a few moments before he gets up and walks over to Davey in the hammock.

"Hey, babe," Freddy says softly, bending down running his fingers across Davey's slightly-burned cheeks. "you're gonna get eaten alive."

"Don't care," Davey said with a massive, contented sigh. "I think it's because we just ate, like, an entire pig. It's the circle of life."

"The circle of life isn't supposed to be so itchy," Freddy explains. "And you don't even have bug spray on."

"You hate bug spray, says it tastes bad." Davey says, finally blinking his eyes open and smiling a little when he sees Freddy kneeling next to the hammock.

"True," Freddy allows. "But I hate bugs biting you more. You know only I'm allowed to do that. Otherwise I get jealous."

"Oh, don't worry,," Davey says gravely, "those mosquitoes mean nothing to me."

"C'mon," Freddy almost-whines, leaning his weight into the hammock so it tips at a forty-five degree angle. That move used to make Davey dump unceremoniously onto the ground in a pile of laughing, teenaged limbs the first few years, until Davey got wise enough to shift his weight. "Let's go break the ban on sex in the lake house."

"Freddy," Davey says patiently, "that ban hasn't existed for about five years."

"Can we pretend it exists?" Freddy pleads prettily into Davey's ear, slipping his hand under Davey's old, soft t-shirt. "We never get to do fun, sexy things like break the rules anymore." He feels rather than sees Davey chuckle, low and dirty and delighted.

"Are you saying our sex life is boring?" he murmurs softly.

"No," Freddy says, "I'm just suggesting how it could be even less boring."

"Huh," Davey says, turning over on his side so Freddy's wandering hand slides so his fingers slot between Davey's ribs, like a puzzle piece fitting into place. "You know what I want?"

"A pony?"

"No," Davey grins, leaning in millimeters from Freddy's mouth. "I want us to get up and go inside, and I want us to have sex, just like we did last time, and the time before that, and the time before that, because all those times were really awesome, and if we did anything more awesome than that, one of us is going to have an unfortunate heart attack and die, and I'd like to have sex with you a couple hundred times more before that happens."

"Hmmm," Freddy says thoughtfully, leaning in to kiss Davey, his thumb skating back and forth across Davey's stomach, which is quivering with happy laughter. Freddy can't hear it, but he can feel it and taste it, tumbling from Davey's mouth to his, fizzy and intoxicating like champagne, only it sweet and summery and still fresh after all this time. "Like your plan," he says finally in between kisses. "Except for one thing."

"What's that?" Davey asks.

"Those several hundred times," Freddy says, "I want you to make it several thousand, spread out until we die, and at least twice a week, unless separated by illness or a very long distance. Those are my terms."

"You drive a hard bargain," Davey says thoughtfully, tossing his legs over and sitting up slowly, smiling down at Freddy, who just then realizes he's on one bended knee like a total idiot.

"That's my proposal," Freddy says quietly.

"A real one?" Davey asks, looking a little nervous. "Not because of Joey?"

"No!" Freddy says. "I mean, a little, but I just, I love you, Davey, and I know I always say that, but this time I mean it a lot more than I usually mean it. And we've, we've got a family, and I've been thinking about stuff, like, the future, and how I want you in it all the time, and I thought I should, um, tell you. So you know that I'm thinking about it. I mean, I have thought about it. A lot, uh, sort of," Freddy fidgets. "I guess I sort of... think about it all the time now."

"Well when you put it like that," Davey says, grinning as he pulls Freddy up and into his arms, "I guess I do."

"Awesome," Freddy says, beaming down at Davey and pulling him into a big, lush, movie-star kiss that they're both laughing and smiling too hard into to make all that realistic.

"Think we should tell people we're pre-engaged?" Davey asks into Freddy's mouth, before sucking on his lower lip in a thoroughly distracting manner. "Give them a heads-up?"

"I could do that," Freddy says, giving Davey one last, loud smack before turning towards the dock. "Hey, Joey!" He shouts, "I just pre-proposed to your brother and now I'm going to go do him up the ass to celebrate!"

"Congratu-fucking-lations!" Joey shouts back, not even turning around. "Now fuck off. I'll give a shit when you do it for real - ow!" Freddy hears Betsy smack Joey and start murmuring indistinctly.

"I miss when that would have freaked him out," Freddy says, turning mournfully to go back in the house. "Nobody takes me seriously anymore."

"Aw," Davey says without any trace of repentance as he threads his fingers through Freddy's. "I hear there's a new cure for that called a dog. Apparently, they take you super-seriously."

"A dog, huh?" Freddy says thoughtfully, "I suppose I should get me one of those."




1. Can't Go Back Now by The Weepies (lyrics)
2. You and Me Song by The Wannadies (lyrics)
3. The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson (lyrics)
4. Summer Days by Phoenix (lyrics)
5. Wouldn't It Be Nice by The Beach Boys (lyrics)
6. Mushaboom by Feist (lyrics)
7. I Called You Back by Bonnie "Prince" Billy (lyrics)
8. Danny's Song by Kenny Loggins (lyrics)