fic: you come beating like moth's wings
you come beating like moth's wings
ryan lochte/michael phelps
pg13, 25183 words
just general warnings for curse words and one use of the word 'faggot'
one day i was having a lovely discussion with some people over at ONTD about how we think michael and ryan have taken conor dwyer in as their own even though he's 23 and somehow 23 became 6 and here we are. please take note that this is a work of fiction and i'm pretty sure conor's parents are some cool cats. also, I know little to nothing about the foster care system in the state of maryland so don't take this as actual factual information.
Michael eyes the manila folder suspiciously. “I think they spelt his name wrong.”
“What?” Ryan asks from under the bed where he’s trying unsuccessfully to get Herman to give him his shoe back. “What?” He asks again when Herman backs further under the bed.
“I think they spelt his name wrong,” Michael repeats and turns the folder at an angle. He brings it up to his face just in case his vision has gone bad but nope, it still says ‘Conor’.
Ryan emerges from under the bed, sans his shoe. Herman has been hoarding them lately as a way to say fuck you never leave me again and currently has a pile of them under the bed that he guards religiously. Michael keeps trying to tell Ryan to put his shoes in the closet and shut the door but the idiot just keeps leaving them out. Michael is suspicious that he’s doing it on purpose just so that he can have an excuse to buy new ones.
“Lemme see that,” Ryan says and takes the folder. He brings it to his face and crinkles his eyes and then scrunches his nose. “Dude,” he says. “I think they got it right.”
Michael doesn’t reply because, well - it’s Ryan. Ryan manages to misspell every single word on an iPhone. Michael isn’t expecting much in the spelling department.
Michael takes the folder back and opens it to double check that maybe, just maybe, Jane was in a hurry and just simply forgot the last ‘n,’ but he soon realizes that the kid really does spell his name ‘Conor’ - it’s written on his birth certificate and his social security card too.
“Well shit,” Michael says while Ryan makes a face.
“I just want to get this right,” Michael says to Jane, their social worker who keeps eying Ryan like he’s about to destroy her entire office, again. “It’s C-o-n-o-r not C-o-n-n-o-r.”
“Yes,” she says and slowly pulls her papers closer to herself. Ryan isn’t doing anything but jittering his leg nervously . Jane is still scarred from the first time they met - Ryan had tripped on thin air and taken out a lamp, pulled down the curtains and destroyed a couple of folders with Mountain Dew, all in one fatal sweep.
“He’s a very sweet boy,” Jane says when she finally trusts herself to take her eyes off Ryan, who’s looking at her as earnestly as he can. “He’s a bit shy, of course, and quiet. But he loves animals, especially dogs, and his favorite food is spaghetti.”
“I love spaghetti,” Ryan comments and leans forward; Jane smiles like Ryan is some sort of sad but cute puppy she wants to hate but just can’t.
“Great!” She says cheerily and shuffles the papers on her desk together and into Conor’s manila folder. “You two can bond over that. Now, Conor’s parents haven’t given up their parental rights and are going through their own therapy sessions, but Conor still has state appointed visits with them that will either be monitored by you two or by me, if you feel uncomfortable with the concept. He has required therapy sessions here every other Tuesday at 3.”
They both nod to say they understand and Jane beams. “Conor’s just about to finish his therapy session with Dr. Stevens so I’ll just let you two prepare yourselves while I go grab him.”
When Jane leaves Ryan leans over, eyes wide, and says, “MP we’re about to be dads.”
“Foster parents,” Michael reminds him for the hundredth time. “We’re not adopting him, Ryan. We’re fostering him.”
Ryan turns his nose up. “Well, whatever. We’re about to be responsible for a little dude.”
He grins brightly and laces their fingers together, their hands hanging loosely between their chairs. Ryan’s leg is still jittering and Michael is reciting the alphabet in French to himself. They’re about to be responsible for a fucking kid, a living breathing six-year-old who probably has a few abandonment issues and who might end up hating them or scribbling in crayon all over their walls.
Jane returns a few minutes later, Conor following close on her heels. He looks exactly like he did in the picture that was included in his folder. His brown hair is spiked in the front and his cheeks are rosy red, his face covered in a series of light brown freckles. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and chews it nervously as Jane ushers him closer.
Michael unlaces their fingers and smiles but Conor looks at him like he’s grown a second head and he won’t even look at Ryan. Michael frowns. Ryan looks like a kicked puppy.
Jane makes a noise and pats her skirt nervously. “Conor, this is Ryan and Michael. You’re going to be staying with them for a while. Can you say hello?”
Conor looks down at his feet and mumbles, “Hi.”
“Like I said,” Jane says and picks Conor’s folder up off her desk. “He’s a bit shy. He’ll come around once he gets used to you, won’t you Conor?”
Conor doesn’t say anything just shrugs off his bright red backpack so Jane can put his folder in it. Jane pats his shoulder when she’s done and then gives Michael and Ryan one of her bright I will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb if you don’t file your paperwork correctly smiles. “It’s getting late and I’m sure you two want to get home and get Conor settled,” they both nod because they’ve faced the wrath of the US Women’s Swim Team but there’s nothing like Jane. Jane is scary in the way that she seems just so sweet but in reality could, and would, tear them apart if she really wanted to.
“If you have any questions or concerns,” she continues. “You have my card and can call me at any time.”
Ryan stands first and when he comes close enough Conor fits their hands together. Ryan looks shocked and momentarily trips, but Conor still won’t look at him, just continues to stare down at his bright blue shoes.
Ryan looks back at Michael and Michael looks at Jane and Jane looks at them and just continues to smile, her best way of telling them to leave. Michael shrugs and pulls out his keys.
The walk to the car is quiet. Ryan tries to ask Conor questions but Conor either doesn’t reply or speaks so quietly that they can’t hear him. The ride home is even quieter. Michael decided a long time ago that Lil Wayne wasn’t appropriate music for a six-year old, but he hasn’t found any other music that doesn’t make his ears bleed.
“So uh,” Michael says when they’re almost home, “Jane says you like animals.”
In the rearview mirror Conor perks up. Ryan perks up too. “Dude,” he says. “We have like the best dogs ever.”
“What kind of dogs are they?” Conor asks, voice louder than it’s been for the past thirty minutes.
“We have a Doberman and a bulldog,” Michael replies and impatiently waits to make the left turn into their neighborhood. “Carter and Herman.”
Conor actually smiles. “Those are old people names.”
“Hey!” Ryan says and looks scandalized. Conor’s smile drops for a split second and then comes back when he realizes that Ryan isn’t really offended. They grin at each other in the rearview mirror while Michael pulls into the garage.
Ryan helps Conor get out of the car and guides him up the stairs and into the living room while Michael grabs the kid’s backpack from the back where they have a suitcase filled with clothes they were supposed to unpack a week ago but forgot about.
Carter and Herman are waiting for them in the kitchen behind the baby gate they put up just in case Conor wasn’t used to dogs. Conor makes a beeline straight for them.
“Hi,” he says to the dogs. Carter stares at him dumbly while Herman tries to lick his fingers through the gate. “Which one’s Herman?” He asks and struggles to reach over the gate to pat Carter’s head.
“Herman’s the bulldog,” Michael supplies and dumps the backpack and suitcase in the middle of the floor.
“Oh,” Conor says like he’s disappointed, but then goes back to trying to get to the dogs. The baby gate isn’t very tall, it’s not like Herman could jump over it and Carter’s kind of terrified of it, but Conor isn’t that tall either. He isn’t short per say but he wouldn’t be able to swing one leg over easily.
“They don’t have to stay in there,” Michael says and looks around for Sydney who isn’t in her usual spot on the windowsill.
“Jeah,” Ryan says and wanders over to Conor. He stares at the baby gate like it’s a Rubik’s cube waiting to be solved before he remembers how to take it down. Carter jumps away when the gate is finally out the way but Herman plows on through.
Conor looks at Ryan like he’s Jesus returned, his cheeks even redder than when they first met, and then he’s following after Herman. After a few seconds Carter finally gets his shit together and trots after Conor.
They leave Conor’s backpack and suitcase in the living room because Michael can’t be half-assed to haul it upstairs. When Herman and Carter lose interest in Conor, he joins them in the kitchen to make dinner.
He’s quiet again and just sits at the kitchen island watching them. Michael is kind of shit at making anything that doesn’t come in a microwavable dish and Ryan’s only a little bit better. Most of the time they just order take out from down the street but they’re determined to be responsible adults, or at least for the first week.
Somehow they manage to bake a few potatoes and give up on cooking the carrots after the third failed attempt and just put them on a side dish. It’s a miserable looking dinner but Conor doesn’t say anything when they present it to him. He just asks quietly for them to cut up his potato and struggles to eat with the fork because they forgot to get the kiddie ones from Wal-Mart.
After dinner Ryan lugs Conor’s suitcase up the stairs while the little boy follows behind him. He looks at all the pictures they have hanging on the wall next to the stairs with wide eyes before Michael nudges him gently to keep going.
Conor looks at his new room with mild interest. The walls are plain white, the sheets a pale blue and he’s only got a dresser and a lamp. He sets his red backpack down on the bed next to where Ryan dumped his suitcase.
“We can buy you some posters if you want,” Ryan tells him. “We didn’t know what you liked.”
“I like it,” is all Conor says and starts to pull things out from his backpack. He has a coloring book and a pack of Roseart crayons (Michael turns his nose up and decides to buy him Crayola ones tomorrow), his folder from CPS, a pair of socks, and a spelling book. The books don’t look fun at all.
Ryan helps Conor put his clothes away in the bottom two drawers and Michael stuffs the suitcase away in the closet when they’re done. After that, they all just kind of stand around awkwardly.
“Uh,” Ryan says after he’s flipped through Conor’s coloring book a couple of times. “You like to color?”
Conor looks at the coloring book in Ryan’s hands and shakes his head. Ryan looks dumbfounded because what six-year-old doesn’t like to color?
“I like to draw,” Conor finally says after Ryan’s started to look a bit panicked, “but Miss Jane didn’t have any paper to draw on so I had to color instead.”
Ryan and Michael sigh a breath of relief. “Little dude,” Ryan says and grabs Conor’s hand. “We’re gonna be best bros, come on,” and then nearly drags Conor out of the room and down the hall to what Ryan likes to call his art studio. Michael calls it a clusterfuck of art projects gone bad.
Michael follows behind reluctantly. He barely ever goes in Ryan’s art room because it’s a mess he’d rather not see, but he finds Ryan and Conor on the floor drawing on a giant white poster board. Ryan is drawing what looks like a spaceship and Conor’s got a huge ass circle going on. Michael doesn’t want to ask questions. Instead he just leaves the door cracked and calls his mom.
He spends an hour on the phone with her talking about Conor and Ryan and where they’ll be spending Christmas, which is right around the corner, and whether or not she should buy Conor a Christmas present and a million other things. Eventually Ryan wanders into the room and pries the phone out of Michael’s hand to talk to Debbie, “Dude I’m like her favorite son-in-law let me talk to Mama Debs,” and it’s only after Ryan has hung up does Michael realize that Ryan’s left their new six-year-old responsibility all alone.
“Michael it’s fine,” Ryan says when Michael’s just about to start. “The little dude’s knocked out. That’s why I came in here. Can we touch him when he’s asleep?”
Michael thinks that’s a dumb question. Of course they can touch him when he’s asleep.
Conor is passed out on the poster board; face smooched against the paper and his pencil still in hand. He’s got drool in his giant circle and his shoes are still on.
“Uh,” Michael says and tilts his head. They just can’t leave the kid passed out on the floor all night.
The training sessions never covered what if the kid passes out in the ‘art studio’ are you allowed to undress him while he’s asleep?
“Do we undress him?” Ryan asks and peers at Conor over Michael’s shoulder. It’s not like they haven’t undressed a few passed out kids in their days it’s just, Conor isn’t theirs. Undressing their nephews and or nieces who aren’t related to them is ok because they’re either Uncle Michael or Uncle Ryan and they’re at least related legally. This is like a whole different level.
“Maybe if we do it together,” Ryan suggests, “it’ll be less weird.”
So Michael picks Conor up, who makes a noise and manages to drool all over his shoulder in a matter of seconds, and when they get to him on his bed Ryan works on getting Conor’s shirt off while Michael pulls out pajamas.
Conor is mostly boneless for the entire process and eventually they get him dressed and under the covers.
They leave the door cracked and the light on in the hall before they retreat to their own bedroom and spend the next several hours like they usually do; playing Halo and making out.
“Dude, you should blow me,” Ryan says after he’s won the second round of Halo.
Their own door is ajar just in case. “What? No. What if the kid wakes up?”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “We’ll hear him.”
“I’m not blowing you with a six-year-old down the hall.” Michael starts the game back up. Ryan slouches against him and pouts. “If I knew fostering the kid would mean getting no head I wouldn’t have said yes.”
Michael rolls his eyes. This whole thing had been Ryan’s idea in the first place and they both know even if the instructor had said in the training sessions you will never get laid again Ryan would have gone along with it anyway.
“Is my cock ever going to enjoy your mouth again MP?” Ryan asks, still pouting.
Michael shoots Ryan’s character between the eyes. “Maybe one day Doggy.”
Ryan makes a noise that sounds like a dying cat.
Michael wakes up to someone poking his leg. He thinks it’s just Ryan being annoying, like usual, so he ignores it for the most part. When it doesn’t stop he tries kicking Ryan and when that doesn’t stop him he sits up and says, “Ryan I swear to fucking god if you don’t stop poking me I’m going to smother you with a pillow.”
“Mr. Michael?” Conor asks. He’s standing at the side of the bed, eyes wide.
“Uh,” Michael says and blushes in embarrassment. “What’s up?”
Conor looks around the room. His hair is mussed from sleep and there is a red streak across his left cheek. “There’s a cat in my room.”
So that’s where Sydney got to. “That’s just Sydney.”
Ryan snores. Conor continues to stand there. “Do you not like cats?” Michael asks.
“Mommy says cats are nasty,” Conor replies. It doesn’t really answer Michael’s question. “She won’t let me pet her.”
“Sydney doesn’t like strangers.” Michael swings his legs out of bed and wanders out of the room, Conor following behind him. He finds Sydney crouched under Conor’s bed, back against the wall. She doesn’t look irritated, just meows pathetically when she sees Michael. He’s able to pull her out and sits down on the bed, Sydney in his lap.
“You can pet her now,” he tells Conor. Conor steps forward and strokes her head and Sydney meows until she gets used to Conor and then starts to purr.
“Want to hold her?” Michael asks and Conor literally beams. He sits down on the bed next to Michael and Michael deposits Sydney into his arms. “She stays up here because she doesn’t like Carter.”
Conor starts to play with Sydney’s tail. “Is Carter mean to Sydney?”
“He doesn’t mean to be. He’s kind of a doofus.” Conor giggles and Michael can’t help but smile.
They sit there for a while, Michael answering questions about their pets, and Sydney purring away. Suddenly Conor gets serious and asks, “You wouldn’t really smother Mr. Ryan, would you?”
“No,” Michael says immediately, ears turning red. “Ryan knows I didn’t mean it.”
“Okay,” Conor says and lets his face relax. “I don’t think he heard you. He snores really loud.”
Michael barks out a laugh and Sydney meows in agreement.
They don’t leave Conor’s room until Sydney decides she’s had enough attention and slinks back under the bed. “Are you hungry?” Michael asks as they descended the steps and Conor nods before he literally throws himself down the stairs to give Carter a hug.
Carter greets Conor like he greets anyone; he licks the boy’s face and then barks at him until he opens the backdoor and lets the dogs out. Conor watches Herman and Carter gallop down the back steps and looks like he wants to follow them but Michael steers him clear of the door and helps him get situated in his seat at the kitchen island.
Michael is a little better at making breakfast than he is at dinner. Bacon and eggs are easy; all you really have to do is lay them out on the skillet and make sure they don’t burn.
“Why do you and Mr. Ryan sleep in the same bed?” Conor asks around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He’s managed to get more on the island than in his mouth.
Michael thought Jane would have explained the whole you’re going to be living with gay people now thing to Conor. Conor stares at him and Michael stares back.
“Ryan and I are married,” Michael finally says.
Conor doesn’t ask any more questions, just chews away at his bacon and eggs and asks for a glass of milk.
Eventually Michael has to let the dogs back in and doesn’t say anything when Conor not-so-subtly sneaks them pieces of bacon.
Around noon Ryan wakes up and helps Conor get dressed. Conor seems less shy and chatters away to Ryan about Sydney and Ryan just listens intently and draws a cat on the back of his hand with a marker before deciding that they need to head to the art supply store ASAP.
Michael would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit afraid of this outing. He opts to stay at home but Ryan gives him his best confused, puppy dog face and Michael agrees to come along.
It starts to rain as soon as they get in the garage and Michael takes over driving duties because Ryan driving on a clear day is a little sketchy - all hell will break loose if Michael lets him drive while it’s raining.
It’s pouring by the time they make it to Michael’s. They try to sit in the car and wait it out but the rain doesn’t want to seem to let up and Conor is getting uncomfortable in his booster seat.
“We should run it,” Ryan says and is already working his door open. Michael watches him sprint across the parking lot and into the store while Conor laughs from the backseat.
“Do you want to run it?” Michael asks him and Conor’s eyes go wide. Quietly Conor asks, “If I don’t make it will you leave me behind?”
“Nah,” Michael says. “Just get ready to run.”
When Conor has gotten himself out of the seat and is ready to go Michael takes a deep breath, says “go!” and then is out the door in seconds. He has to wait for Conor to climb out of the SUV but once Conor’s feet hit the ground and Michael’s got a firm grip on his hand they’re dashing across the parking lot in the same direction as Ryan.
Inside the store they find Ryan twirling a shopping cart around. They probably don’t need the shopping cart but being able to glide down the aisles on it is one of the few luxuries Ryan allows himself to enjoy nowadays.
“I thought you two were never gonna make it,” he says and pushes away from them in the direction of the kid’s section.
“That’s not fair,” Conor says once he’s shaken his hair out. “Mr. Ryan got a head start!”
“I know bud,” Michael says and wipes water out of his eyes. “He doesn’t play fair.”
Conor pouts and starts to follow the other man. He still hasn’t let go of Michael’s hand and Michael isn’t about to be an asshole and jerk it away. Instead he just lets Conor pull him in the right direction.
They spend thirty minutes in the store finding various art supplies and dicking around. Ryan manages to knock over a display of glitter and gets it all over his soaking wet jeans and Michael and Conor just laugh at him and walk away as quickly as they can. When they eventually leave they have more art supplies than they really need but the rain has let up and the outing hasn’t been as disastrous as Michael thought it was going to be.
When they get home Ryan and Conor immediately disappear into the art room to work on a project that involves various amounts of glue and stickers and Michael logs on to his computer to work on his foundation. By the time dinner rolls around Ryan and Conor slink down the stairs, hands stained with markers, and Conor has glue in his hair. They make sandwiches for dinner and watch the news and a couple of cartoons before Conor passes out on the couch around 9.
“I got this,” Ryan says when Michael makes a move to pick Conor up. He disappears upstairs with Conor flung over his shoulder and returns fifteen minutes later. Michael’s sprawled out on the couch but Ryan wiggles his way between his legs and lies against his chest.
“I’m not going to blow you,” Michael says when Ryan opens his mouth to say something. Ryan lifts his head and looks scandalized.
“Don’t act like you weren’t about to ask.” But Michael grins and lets his hand slip down over Ryan’s hip and under the hem of his jeans.
“Oh,” Ryan says in his most scandalized voice, “So Mr. Goody Two-Shoes won’t blow me in the privacy of our own bedroom but he’ll jack me off in the living room?”
Michael starts to pull his hand back. “If you’re going to complain I’m not gonna do it.”
Ryan claps his hand around Michael’s wrist and shoves his hand down his underwear. “Don’t tease a guy like that MP. Come on, I love you.”
Michael snorts but he wraps his fingers around Ryan’s half-hard cock and starts to stroke. “You only tell me you love me when you want something.”
“Jeah so?” Ryan starts to rock his hips. “It’s what makes our marriage so strong. Saying I love you too much makes a marriage weak. Trust me.”
Michael rolls his eyes but he continues to work his fingers up and down Ryan’s shaft until Ryan comes. He wipes his fingers on Ryan’s jeans as Ryan makes a disgusted face and then says, “Come on let’s go upstairs.”
“Are you going to blow me?” Ryan asks as they climb the stairs and Michael resists the urge to kick him in the shin. “No,” he whispers as they tip-toe by Conor’s room, the door cracked, “I was hoping you’d fuck me.”
Ryan’s eyes get wide and then he’s shoving Michael into their bedroom and working his jeans off all at the same time. “I can do that. On the bed MP, hands and knees, I’m gonna tap that ass!”
“Quiet,” Michael hisses as he purposefully takes his time getting undressed just to piss Ryan off, “You’re going to wake the kid up!”
Ryan stares blankly at Michael and then he pounces, knocking the taller man onto the bed and kissing him hard.
In the morning Michael wakes up sticky and uncomfortable, Ryan sprawled over the bed and taking up more space than what’s fair, but thankfully Conor isn’t looming at the end of the bed. Michael slips out of bed and pulls on a pair of Ryan’s basketball shorts before he tip-toes down the hall to Conor’s room.
Conor’s lying face down and drooling all over his pillow and doesn’t look like he’s about to wake up anytime soon. Sydney’s at the end of the bed and she meows happily before she arranges herself to lie across Conor’s ankles.
Conor doesn’t wake up for another hour and he stomps down the stairs followed by Ryan, the both of them looking tired. “I’m hungry,” Ryan whines like a four-year-old and flops down at the kitchen table. “Michael feed me.”
“You’re thirty-two Lochte,” Michael says and continues to read the paper. “Feed yourself.”
“I’ll feed you Mr. Ryan,” Conor says quietly and opens the fridge to pull out a jug of milk. He sets it on the floor and then tries to climb onto the counter to reach the cabinet where they keep the cereal, but Michael has to help him get onto the counter and grab the Lucky Charms and then has to get him a bowl and a spoon.
“Can you hold the bowl?” Conor asks Ryan and Ryan lifts his head from where he’s been moping and does as he’s been asked. Michael hovers because he’s worried that Conor is going to spill the milk, but he pours the cereal and milk with only a minor spill.
Conor watches Ryan eat and when he’s done asks, “Did you like your breakfast Mr. Ryan?”
“Jeah!” Ryan says. “Like little bro, dude. You don’t have to call us mister. You can just call us Ryan and Mike if you want.”
Conor gets a peculiar look on his face before he breaks into a smile. “Okay,” he says and then starts to eat the marshmallows out of the box.
“Hey,” Michael says. “No just eating the marshmallows!”
Conor just giggles around a mouthful of marshmallows and looks put-out when Michael places a bowl in front of him.
Conor goes back into his shell the day before he’s supposed to start his first day at his new school. His old school is too far away from Michael and Ryan’s house for him to be in the school district and CPS thinks it’s best that he start everything anew while his home situation is being figured out - how being forced to go to a new, unfamiliar school helps Michael doesn’t know.
He keeps his old backpack - his grandma gave it to him for Christmas last year - but he gets all new school supplies and even new shoes. Michael and Ryan try to make the school seem like an exciting new adventure and the best place in the world but Conor just looks at them sadly and asks, “Do I have to go?” the morning of his first day.
“Sorry bud,” Michael tells him as they’re waiting at the bus stop. “You have to go.”
The mothers assembled at the bus stop are eying them. Ryan’s the one who’s always talking to them and charming their socks off like some pseudo episode of Desperate Housewives. They didn’t really make it known to anyone outside the family that they were fostering so Michael lets them side-eye. It is kind of weird for him to show up at the bus stop with a first grader that materialized out of nowhere.
“I want to stay with you and Ryan,” Conor pouts. He rocks back and forth on his feet and clutches Michael’s hand tighter when the bus turns the corner and starts to head their way.
Ryan’s on his way to some event downtown. Why they invited Ryan and not him Michael can’t figure out seeing as Baltimore’s his hometown but he’s not complaining. Not really.
“You have to go to school,” Michael tells him and adjusts the hood on Conor’s jacket. “It’ll be fun.”
Conor looks at Michael like he’s caught him stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Michael just smiles weakly.
“You’re lying,” Conor says when the bus pulls up. “School’s never fun.”
Michael can detect no lies in that statement. Instead he just ruffles Conor’s hair and says, “I’ll see you at 4.”
“Bye,” Conor says and gives Michael’s leg a weak hug before he’s climbing onto the bus like he’s on a death march.
Michael watches the bus pull away and turn back onto the main street.
“So,” a mother says to his right. They’re all kind of huddled around him and are each giving him their own look of sheer delight. “You and Ryan have finally decided to adopt.”
Michael can’t remember the woman’s name but he knows she lives three houses down and has the ugliest looking cat Michael has ever seen and a kid in the second grade. “Er,” he says because he’s never done well in a group of middle-aged women, “we’re fostering him.”
“Oh,” another woman says and frowns before she smiles. “How long is he staying with you?”
Michael just shrugs and pulls his hoodie tighter to himself. It’s not as cold as it could be for the end of November but he didn’t really dress for the weather. He’s only got a hoodie on and a pair of sweats and some shoes that he’s not even sure are his. “It just depends.” They all look at him expectantly. “Uh it depends on when his parents complete their therapy.”
“Therapy?” The woman two blocks over questions.
It’s been five minutes and Michael just wants to get back to the warmth of their townhouse and go back to bed. “His parents go through like therapy and stuff and then CPS determines if and when they can have him back.”
Jane said the process could take anywhere from three months to a full year. “Well isn’t that a shame,” the original mother says. “They shouldn’t just give him back. There’s a reason he was taken out of their care in the first place.”
Michael’s never really thought about that part of the whole fostering thing. He stands there with his mouth open before he shuts it and says, “I have to go let the dogs out,” and leaves the women to chatter or do whatever the hell stay at home moms do.
He spends most of the day just lazing around and worrying whether or not Conor’s doing okay. Kids can be real dicks. Michael can’t really remember first grade but it must have sucked really bad if he can’t remember anything about it.
Just before Conor’s bus is supposed to arrive Ryan arrives back home and doesn’t even take off his jacket before he’s dragging Michael out the house and to the bus stop.
“We’re like ten minutes early,” Michael informs him. The moms haven’t even shown up yet.
“Jeah well,” Ryan says. “What if the bus gets here early? All the other parents are going to look like shit compared to us.”
Michael doesn’t correct him on the use of parents. Ryan looks far too excited in the cursed, hated cold for Michael to ruin the moment. “Dude,” he says instead and rubs his fingers together. “You didn’t even let me grab my gloves.”
Ryan grins. He laces their fingers together and then pulls both of their hands into his oversized coat pocket. Michael stuffs his free hand into his own pocket and knocks their shoulders together.
“Do you think he likes it here?” Ryan asks suddenly, face serious. It doesn’t suit him.
“He’s only been here a week.” Michael blows air out between his lips to watch it fog up.
Ryan frowns. “But like what if they give him the option of going to a different foster home. Do you think he’d say yes?”
“They wouldn’t do that,” Michael replies. “We have to really fuck up for them to place him somewhere else. And we haven’t fucked up yet.”
“What if we do?”
“Doggy,” Michael says and squeezes the other’s man hand tight. “We’re not going to fuck it up. We’re the Phelps-Lochtes. We’re fucking champions.”
Ryan snorts and pushes Michael away but Michael doesn’t let go of his hand and they almost end up toppling onto the cement. The moms and a couple of dads show up eventually and Ryan charms every last one of them - including the dads, Michael holds to his hand tighter to remind him who he belongs to - and answers their questions about Conor smoother than Michael could ever manage.
When the bus finally shows up Conor is the last to exit. His cheeks are red like he’s been out in the cold for too long and he can’t stop smiling when he sees them.
“Hi,” he says. He’s got a piece of paper in his gloved hands and his backpack looks heavier than when he left this morning.
“Dude how was it?” Ryan asks as they start the short walk back to the house. Michael’s still got his hand stuffed in Ryan’s pocket and Conor looks at the pocket suspiciously before answering, “I liked it.”
“I told you it would be fun,” Michael says and Conor snorts.
“I didn’t say it was fun.” But there’s a smile tugging at his lips like he doesn’t want to admit that he actually liked going to school. Michael doesn’t call him out on his bullshit.
“Did you make any friends?” He asks instead. Conor nods and shifts the paper in his grip. He doesn’t elaborate on his friends and they don’t push it.
When they get home Conor shows them the paper. It’s a crayon drawing of his family; he has a brother and a mother and a father. None of them look particularly happy.
“This is awesome!” Ryan says and hangs it on the fridge with some tape because they don’t have magnets but he gives Michael this look that says what the fuck and Michael asks, “Why isn’t anyone smiling?”
Conor shrugs. “Mrs. Parker told us to draw what our family looks like.” And then he just sits down on the floor with Herman.
Michael looks at Ryan and Ryan looks back at him before he shrugs and frowns at the picture on the fridge. It’s really damn depressing.
When Conor goes to therapy the next week they hand over the picture. His therapist, Dr. Stevens, just looks at the picture, sighs, and says, “Kids draw what they see. I’ll talk to him about it.”
The days get shorter and easier after that. Conor doesn’t come home with any more pictures of his family and he actually starts to enjoy school. He makes friends with a kid his age named Nathan. He comes over once or twice a week and kind of stares at both them in awe when they first meet and then chills out once he gets to know them better. Conor and Nathan spend hours running around the backyard playing tag and pretending to be superheroes or they disappear into the art studio when it’s too cold to be outside.
The first night Conor spends away from them is the weekend right after Nathan’s seventh birthday. They have to get the sleepover approved by Jane and she only relents after a phone call with Nathan’s mom, who is remarkably understanding about the whole thing and just smiles when Michael drops Conor off and apologizes. Conor’s supposed to be the only one spending the night but there’s another kid there named Matt who lives close by and is a bit older than Conor and Nathan.
“Nathan kind of worships Matt,” Cecilia, Nathan’s mother, explains to Michael as he’s leaving. “You could say he has a crush on him.”
Nathan’s sitting really close to Matt on the couch while Conor sits on the floor by their feet and yeah, even though they’re like six Michael can definitely see that Nathan’s sitting closer than necessary but Matt doesn’t seem to mind and as long as they don’t leave Conor out Michael thinks it’s pretty damn chill that Cecilia doesn’t care.
Michael just might really fucking adore Cecilia Adrian.
Before they know it, Christmas break has arrived. Three days before Christmas they’re hit with a snowstorm; it’s nothing disastrous. The power doesn’t go out and they don’t exactly get snowed in but there’s something about the snow that just makes everything feel lazy. They decide to stay up in Baltimore for Christmas and spend it with Michael’s family - Conor has to visit with his parents the day after Christmas; he goes really quiet when Ryan tells him - and Spring Break they’ll head down to Gainesville and spend the week with the Lochtes.
Ryan can’t stand the snow so he stays inside with Carter and watches them pathetically as Michael and Conor do a lot of running around and building snowmen with Herman. When they come in they drink hot chocolate and eat cookies Debbie sent over and on Christmas Eve they all pile into Michael’s SUV and head over to Debbie’s.
Conor goes quiet when they arrive just because that’s how he is when he meets strangers but Debbie’s used to working with kids and slowly gets Conor to come out of his shell with a plate of homemade cookies.
The house is packed; both of Michael’s sisters have shown up, they would be dead if they didn’t, and they’ve brought their husbands and their kids too and then there’s him and Ryan and their dogs and cat along with Conor and the house feels like it’s about to burst at the seams. Michael worries that Conor isn’t going to get along with his nieces and nephews (it gets so confusing between Connor and Conor that they have to nickname Connor Con) but he soon gets over his shyness and joins them in climbing all over Ryan.
“You two are doing such a good thing,” Debbie tells Michael while they’re doing dishes. In the next room over Hilary and Whitney are leading a chorus in a horrible rendition of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer and other assorted Christmas songs while Ryan tries to drop a beat and remix them. The kids are squealing in laughter and Whitney’s husband is recording the whole thing.
Michael just shrugs and busies himself with scrubbing pasta sauce off a plate. Debbie made spaghetti to welcome Conor into the family and by the way Conor gulfed it down it must have been the best spaghetti he’s ever had. “It was Ryan’s idea.”
“It doesn’t matter who’s idea it was Michael,” Debbie says as she dries a plate. “You’re both doing a good thing and I’m proud of the both of you.” She kisses his cheek and then goes back to chatting away about anything.
Conor’s not allowed to sleep in the same room as Michael and Ryan so they set him up down the hall with Whitney’s youngest daughter and Michael and Ryan crawl into Michael’s too small bed in his old room. Debbie was supposed to convert it into an office when he and Ryan finally brought the townhouse but she keeps joking that she’s going to turn the house into a museum and needs to keep it just as embarrassing as it’s always been.
In the morning the kids wake them up by banging doors and screaming that it’s Christmas at the top of their lungs. Ryan climbs out of bed and soon joins the kids. Michael would be embarrassed and annoyed but it’s Ryan.
Michael’s the last to make it downstairs. The kids are sitting around the Christmas tree already ripping wrapping paper and Ryan’s digging through his stocking, already sucking on a candy cane. “It’s seven in the morning,” Michael comments and Ryan just grins up at him, lips stained red.
Michael and Ryan got Conor a sketchbook and a fancy set of colored pencils along with some new clothes and children’s books on different animals and as soon as he’s done unwrapping his presents he nestles between them and starts to read.
The day goes by similar to the day before; Whitney and Hilary sing horrible renditions of famous Christmas songs while Ryan raps along, the kids run around screaming and playing with new toys, and Michael helps his mom clean up after Christmas dinner.
They leave Debbie’s house late that night and by the time they get home Conor is passed out in the back seat, Herman sprawled across his lap and Carter whining from his crate in the back. Ryan takes Conor upstairs and gets him in bed while Michael lets the dogs in and keeps Carter from going after Sydney.
Conor doesn’t seem too excited to see his parents the next day. He goes remarkably quiet and doesn’t even want to play with Carter when Carter drops his favorite ball into his lap. Not even a go in the art room seems to get him out of his slump.
Ryan tries to ask him what’s up but Conor just gets this sad look in his eyes and scribbles in his sketchbook.
When Jane shows up to collect Conor she just blinks sadly at them and says, “It’s confusing, you know? One day you’re living with your parents and things just aren’t going smoothly and then the next someone’s telling you that you can’t live with them, not for a while, and it’s just. It’s a lot. He’s confused right now. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about his parents.”
Conor gives them both quiet goodbyes before he leaves, head hung low.
They spend all day trying to keep themselves busy. They both go to the aquatic center and swim a couple of laps and dick around in the pool for a couple of hours but when they get back, the house is eerily quiet like something’s missing.
“This sucks,” Ryan says from the floor where he’s trying to do a word search. It looks more like he’s just colored in the entire block of letters with a bright pink highlighter.
“Maybe if you didn’t just color the block in you’d find the words,” Michael comments and flips through the ESPN channels. Ryan stabs him in the knee with the highlighter.
“I wasn’t talking about the cross word you dick,” Ryan says. “It sucks that Conor’s not with us.”
Michael just shrugs and tries to pretend that he’s not bummed out either. It’s not like Conor’s their kid or anything but it’s just super fucking quiet without him around. “Well, we’re gonna have to man up because he’s not staying with us forever.”
Ryan’s quiet for a long time. It makes Michael nervous. There are only two reasons why Ryan is ever quiet. One: he’s got a dick in his mouth or two: he’s thinking really hard. Seeing as Michael’s dick is still in his pants it’s the second option.
“What if he could?” Ryan asks quietly.
When Michael doesn’t respond Ryan says, “Mike I’m being serious. Like what if CPS decides his parents are complete shits and he’s put up for adoption? He should stay with us.”
“Ryan -” Michael starts because they’ve talked about this. They’re fostering because Michael just - like he doesn’t not want to be a dad it’s just that shitty fatherhood skills run in the family and he doesn’t want to risk it. And it’s not like Conor’s parents are just going to sign their parental rights away, not if they’re doing all this stuff to get him back.
“No listen,” Ryan says, dead serious. “Phelps, listen to me. You’re not your fucking dad, okay? And like you already kick ass at being a foster dad so why not be a real dad?”
“His parents aren’t just going to sign him over,” Michael replies weakly and refuses to look at Ryan’s face. Ryan huffs and then he’s in Michael’s lap, hands on Michael’s face, forcing him to look him in the eye.
“I know that,” he says.
“We’ve known him for like three weeks Ry,” Michael tries to argue.
“Jeah and you already adore the kid Phelps, don’t even try to lie.”
“It doesn’t just happen like that Lochte,” Michael says. “People just don’t sign their kids over.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I know, but like. Just think about it, okay? Just promise me you’ll think about it just in case.”
Michael sighs because when Ryan’s determined he’s fucking determined and Michael’s never been able to deny Ryan anything. “Fine,” he finally relents. “I’ll think about it but don’t get your hopes up, Ry. Chances are he can’t stay.”
Ryan breaks out in a grin and just to be a dick Michael stands up quickly, toppling Ryan to the floor.
“You are such a dick Phelps!” Ryan yells and then he’s got a hand around Michael’s ankle and is pulling him down to the ground with him.
“Fuck!” Michael screams when he hits the floor but before he can retaliate Ryan is climbing up his body to lie on top of him. “You are a big fat dick,” he says.
“I’m not fat.” Michael pouts and rubs self-consciously at his stomach. Just because he’s not freakishly fit like Ryan anymore doesn’t mean he’s fat. Ryan is just a twat.
“You know I love your body,” Ryan says, grinning and then kisses Michael’s stomach.
The kiss makes Michael shiver. “You’re just saying that to get laid.”
“Nah,” the other man replies and rolls off of Michael. “If I wanted to get laid all I would have to do is ask.”
Michael rolls his eyes.
When Jane drops Conor off later that night Conor has tears in his eyes. He runs up the stairs and slams his door before either of them can ask what’s wrong.
Jane looks gloomy. “It didn’t go well,” she says. “Just let him calm down a bit before trying to talk to him.”
They give it ten minutes.
Conor’s lying on his bed sniffling into the crook of his arm. He turns away from them and says, “Go away,” his nose clogged with snot.
“Hey,” Ryan says because he might be shit at interviews but he’s the better of the two of them at cheering kids up, “Don’t be like that.” He sits on the end of the bed and within a few seconds Conor’s crawling into his lap.
It’s the most physical contact either one of them has had with Conor while he’s awake, which sounds really creepy in Michael’s head.
“I hate them,” Conor says into Ryan’s shoulder.
Ryan doesn’t reply, he just rocks Conor back and forth and indicates with his head for Michael to sit down too.
“What happened?” Michael asks and pulls at a loose string on his hoodie. Conor sobs.
This is a prime example as to why Michael can’t be a dad, or at least a good one. He’s completely lost when it comes to situations like this.
“Daddy’s mean,” Conor says and rubs at his eyes. “He called you guys a bad name. And he said mean things about Nathan too!”
Michael and Ryan bristle. Parents, people, whoever the fuck they are, are complete and utter dicks. Michael’s been called his fair share of shitty things in his life, and Ryan too, and when you throw the both of them together there’s a whole other list of shitty names to be called. Michael can zone in on one in particular that’s always at the top of the list.
“What did he say?” Michael asks quietly. Conor peers at him from under Ryan’s chin and shakes his head. “Miss Jane said not to say it again cause it’ll make you and Ryan sad.”
It doesn’t make Michael sad - it pisses him the fuck off but he’s not going to tell Conor that. “Do you like to use that word?”
Conor shakes his head so hard he hits it against Ryan’s jaw. “Ship!” Ryan says and grits his teeth against the pain.
“Sorry,” Conor says faintly and looks like a kicked puppy. “It’s all chill dude,” Ryan says and rubs at his jaw. “Did your dad call Nathan that word too?”
Conor won’t look either of them in the eye. He looks down at the quilt covering his bed and nods. “He said boys shouldn’t like other boys and that Mrs. Adrian was raising a,” his voice goes so quiet that Michael can barely hear him, “faggot.”
Just the word, even coming from Conor’s mouth, makes Michael see red. Conor shrinks back into Ryan’s arms and hides his face.
“We don’t like that word,” Ryan murmurs. “It’s a mean word to call someone.”
“I know,” Conor says faintly. “I told Daddy that and then he called me one too. He said Miss Jane shouldn’t let me live with you two cause I’ll end up like you and Mommy said that it was okay cause you guys won a lot of medals and are rich and then Daddy started yelling and Miss Jane took me home.”
“Do you know what that word means?” Michael asks and Conor still won’t lift his head from Ryan’s shoulder but he shakes it.
“It’s what you call a boy who likes other boys to make them feel bad for liking other boys,” Michael says and balls his hands into fists. Conor is watching him and Michael lets his fingers relax on his knees. “Just promise us you’ll never say that word again, okay?”
Conor nods. He gives Ryan’s neck a squeeze and then slides off his lap to sit on Michael’s. It feels natural for Michael to pull the kid into a hug and when Conor pulls back he says, “I’m sorry I made you sad Mike.”
“It’s okay,” Michael tells him and ruffles Conor’s hair. “No more tears, okay? Did you at least eat?”
Conor shakes his head and Ryan yells, “Spaghetti!”
And then they’re both running down the stairs like a herd of elephants and Michael is left sitting on Conor’s bed. Sydney slinks out from under the bed to push against his legs and he gently lifts the cat into his lap and scratches behind her ears. He feels worn out but there’s a small side of him that’s kind of excited that Conor’s parents seem like complete shitheads.
They spend New Year’s at home and Conor falls asleep an hour before the clock strikes midnight. Michael’s a bit tipsy off champagne and Ryan is nursing a beer when Michael pulls him into a New Year’s kiss and says, “Let’s keep him.”
“What?” Ryan asks when they stop for air. It’s a good thing they’re at home and Conor’s knocked out on the couch because they’re bordering on obscene. “We need to talk to Jane,” Michael continues, “but if his parents - if Conor’s parents give him up or Jane forces them to give him up we should keep him.”
“He’s not a dog MP,” Ryan says but he’s grinning.
Michael’s eyes light up. “We should get him a dog.”
“You’re drunk Phelps,” Ryan says while laughing. Conor stirs on the couch. “Did I miss New Year’s?”
“Yeah sorry bud,” Michael tells him. Conor doesn’t look that disappointed. He just leans over and gives Herman a kiss before he curls back up.
“You’re being serious?” Ryan asks in a whisper. “Mike don’t fuck with me. You’re serious?”
Michael takes a swig from Ryan’s beer and kisses him again. “Dead serious. We… We might not get him because his parents are trying to get him back but what if his parents sign him over? What’s the point of giving him to CPS if he can have a home here?”
Ryan’s smile is ridiculous and Michael’s eyes cross trying to imagine Ryan with a grill in. He’s missed that shit.
“Herman doesn’t like that you’re whispering,” Conor says and peers at them over the arm of the sofa. “It’s keeping him awake.” Herman is asleep at Conor’s feet.
“Sorry,” Michael says in a whisper, too happy and drunk to realize how ridiculous that is. Ryan laughs and kisses him again while Conor makes a face and says, “Eww!”
part two AO3
ryan lochte/michael phelps
pg13, 25183 words
just general warnings for curse words and one use of the word 'faggot'
one day i was having a lovely discussion with some people over at ONTD about how we think michael and ryan have taken conor dwyer in as their own even though he's 23 and somehow 23 became 6 and here we are. please take note that this is a work of fiction and i'm pretty sure conor's parents are some cool cats. also, I know little to nothing about the foster care system in the state of maryland so don't take this as actual factual information.
Michael eyes the manila folder suspiciously. “I think they spelt his name wrong.”
“What?” Ryan asks from under the bed where he’s trying unsuccessfully to get Herman to give him his shoe back. “What?” He asks again when Herman backs further under the bed.
“I think they spelt his name wrong,” Michael repeats and turns the folder at an angle. He brings it up to his face just in case his vision has gone bad but nope, it still says ‘Conor’.
Ryan emerges from under the bed, sans his shoe. Herman has been hoarding them lately as a way to say fuck you never leave me again and currently has a pile of them under the bed that he guards religiously. Michael keeps trying to tell Ryan to put his shoes in the closet and shut the door but the idiot just keeps leaving them out. Michael is suspicious that he’s doing it on purpose just so that he can have an excuse to buy new ones.
“Lemme see that,” Ryan says and takes the folder. He brings it to his face and crinkles his eyes and then scrunches his nose. “Dude,” he says. “I think they got it right.”
Michael doesn’t reply because, well - it’s Ryan. Ryan manages to misspell every single word on an iPhone. Michael isn’t expecting much in the spelling department.
Michael takes the folder back and opens it to double check that maybe, just maybe, Jane was in a hurry and just simply forgot the last ‘n,’ but he soon realizes that the kid really does spell his name ‘Conor’ - it’s written on his birth certificate and his social security card too.
“Well shit,” Michael says while Ryan makes a face.
“I just want to get this right,” Michael says to Jane, their social worker who keeps eying Ryan like he’s about to destroy her entire office, again. “It’s C-o-n-o-r not C-o-n-n-o-r.”
“Yes,” she says and slowly pulls her papers closer to herself. Ryan isn’t doing anything but jittering his leg nervously . Jane is still scarred from the first time they met - Ryan had tripped on thin air and taken out a lamp, pulled down the curtains and destroyed a couple of folders with Mountain Dew, all in one fatal sweep.
“He’s a very sweet boy,” Jane says when she finally trusts herself to take her eyes off Ryan, who’s looking at her as earnestly as he can. “He’s a bit shy, of course, and quiet. But he loves animals, especially dogs, and his favorite food is spaghetti.”
“I love spaghetti,” Ryan comments and leans forward; Jane smiles like Ryan is some sort of sad but cute puppy she wants to hate but just can’t.
“Great!” She says cheerily and shuffles the papers on her desk together and into Conor’s manila folder. “You two can bond over that. Now, Conor’s parents haven’t given up their parental rights and are going through their own therapy sessions, but Conor still has state appointed visits with them that will either be monitored by you two or by me, if you feel uncomfortable with the concept. He has required therapy sessions here every other Tuesday at 3.”
They both nod to say they understand and Jane beams. “Conor’s just about to finish his therapy session with Dr. Stevens so I’ll just let you two prepare yourselves while I go grab him.”
When Jane leaves Ryan leans over, eyes wide, and says, “MP we’re about to be dads.”
“Foster parents,” Michael reminds him for the hundredth time. “We’re not adopting him, Ryan. We’re fostering him.”
Ryan turns his nose up. “Well, whatever. We’re about to be responsible for a little dude.”
He grins brightly and laces their fingers together, their hands hanging loosely between their chairs. Ryan’s leg is still jittering and Michael is reciting the alphabet in French to himself. They’re about to be responsible for a fucking kid, a living breathing six-year-old who probably has a few abandonment issues and who might end up hating them or scribbling in crayon all over their walls.
Jane returns a few minutes later, Conor following close on her heels. He looks exactly like he did in the picture that was included in his folder. His brown hair is spiked in the front and his cheeks are rosy red, his face covered in a series of light brown freckles. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and chews it nervously as Jane ushers him closer.
Michael unlaces their fingers and smiles but Conor looks at him like he’s grown a second head and he won’t even look at Ryan. Michael frowns. Ryan looks like a kicked puppy.
Jane makes a noise and pats her skirt nervously. “Conor, this is Ryan and Michael. You’re going to be staying with them for a while. Can you say hello?”
Conor looks down at his feet and mumbles, “Hi.”
“Like I said,” Jane says and picks Conor’s folder up off her desk. “He’s a bit shy. He’ll come around once he gets used to you, won’t you Conor?”
Conor doesn’t say anything just shrugs off his bright red backpack so Jane can put his folder in it. Jane pats his shoulder when she’s done and then gives Michael and Ryan one of her bright I will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb if you don’t file your paperwork correctly smiles. “It’s getting late and I’m sure you two want to get home and get Conor settled,” they both nod because they’ve faced the wrath of the US Women’s Swim Team but there’s nothing like Jane. Jane is scary in the way that she seems just so sweet but in reality could, and would, tear them apart if she really wanted to.
“If you have any questions or concerns,” she continues. “You have my card and can call me at any time.”
Ryan stands first and when he comes close enough Conor fits their hands together. Ryan looks shocked and momentarily trips, but Conor still won’t look at him, just continues to stare down at his bright blue shoes.
Ryan looks back at Michael and Michael looks at Jane and Jane looks at them and just continues to smile, her best way of telling them to leave. Michael shrugs and pulls out his keys.
The walk to the car is quiet. Ryan tries to ask Conor questions but Conor either doesn’t reply or speaks so quietly that they can’t hear him. The ride home is even quieter. Michael decided a long time ago that Lil Wayne wasn’t appropriate music for a six-year old, but he hasn’t found any other music that doesn’t make his ears bleed.
“So uh,” Michael says when they’re almost home, “Jane says you like animals.”
In the rearview mirror Conor perks up. Ryan perks up too. “Dude,” he says. “We have like the best dogs ever.”
“What kind of dogs are they?” Conor asks, voice louder than it’s been for the past thirty minutes.
“We have a Doberman and a bulldog,” Michael replies and impatiently waits to make the left turn into their neighborhood. “Carter and Herman.”
Conor actually smiles. “Those are old people names.”
“Hey!” Ryan says and looks scandalized. Conor’s smile drops for a split second and then comes back when he realizes that Ryan isn’t really offended. They grin at each other in the rearview mirror while Michael pulls into the garage.
Ryan helps Conor get out of the car and guides him up the stairs and into the living room while Michael grabs the kid’s backpack from the back where they have a suitcase filled with clothes they were supposed to unpack a week ago but forgot about.
Carter and Herman are waiting for them in the kitchen behind the baby gate they put up just in case Conor wasn’t used to dogs. Conor makes a beeline straight for them.
“Hi,” he says to the dogs. Carter stares at him dumbly while Herman tries to lick his fingers through the gate. “Which one’s Herman?” He asks and struggles to reach over the gate to pat Carter’s head.
“Herman’s the bulldog,” Michael supplies and dumps the backpack and suitcase in the middle of the floor.
“Oh,” Conor says like he’s disappointed, but then goes back to trying to get to the dogs. The baby gate isn’t very tall, it’s not like Herman could jump over it and Carter’s kind of terrified of it, but Conor isn’t that tall either. He isn’t short per say but he wouldn’t be able to swing one leg over easily.
“They don’t have to stay in there,” Michael says and looks around for Sydney who isn’t in her usual spot on the windowsill.
“Jeah,” Ryan says and wanders over to Conor. He stares at the baby gate like it’s a Rubik’s cube waiting to be solved before he remembers how to take it down. Carter jumps away when the gate is finally out the way but Herman plows on through.
Conor looks at Ryan like he’s Jesus returned, his cheeks even redder than when they first met, and then he’s following after Herman. After a few seconds Carter finally gets his shit together and trots after Conor.
They leave Conor’s backpack and suitcase in the living room because Michael can’t be half-assed to haul it upstairs. When Herman and Carter lose interest in Conor, he joins them in the kitchen to make dinner.
He’s quiet again and just sits at the kitchen island watching them. Michael is kind of shit at making anything that doesn’t come in a microwavable dish and Ryan’s only a little bit better. Most of the time they just order take out from down the street but they’re determined to be responsible adults, or at least for the first week.
Somehow they manage to bake a few potatoes and give up on cooking the carrots after the third failed attempt and just put them on a side dish. It’s a miserable looking dinner but Conor doesn’t say anything when they present it to him. He just asks quietly for them to cut up his potato and struggles to eat with the fork because they forgot to get the kiddie ones from Wal-Mart.
After dinner Ryan lugs Conor’s suitcase up the stairs while the little boy follows behind him. He looks at all the pictures they have hanging on the wall next to the stairs with wide eyes before Michael nudges him gently to keep going.
Conor looks at his new room with mild interest. The walls are plain white, the sheets a pale blue and he’s only got a dresser and a lamp. He sets his red backpack down on the bed next to where Ryan dumped his suitcase.
“We can buy you some posters if you want,” Ryan tells him. “We didn’t know what you liked.”
“I like it,” is all Conor says and starts to pull things out from his backpack. He has a coloring book and a pack of Roseart crayons (Michael turns his nose up and decides to buy him Crayola ones tomorrow), his folder from CPS, a pair of socks, and a spelling book. The books don’t look fun at all.
Ryan helps Conor put his clothes away in the bottom two drawers and Michael stuffs the suitcase away in the closet when they’re done. After that, they all just kind of stand around awkwardly.
“Uh,” Ryan says after he’s flipped through Conor’s coloring book a couple of times. “You like to color?”
Conor looks at the coloring book in Ryan’s hands and shakes his head. Ryan looks dumbfounded because what six-year-old doesn’t like to color?
“I like to draw,” Conor finally says after Ryan’s started to look a bit panicked, “but Miss Jane didn’t have any paper to draw on so I had to color instead.”
Ryan and Michael sigh a breath of relief. “Little dude,” Ryan says and grabs Conor’s hand. “We’re gonna be best bros, come on,” and then nearly drags Conor out of the room and down the hall to what Ryan likes to call his art studio. Michael calls it a clusterfuck of art projects gone bad.
Michael follows behind reluctantly. He barely ever goes in Ryan’s art room because it’s a mess he’d rather not see, but he finds Ryan and Conor on the floor drawing on a giant white poster board. Ryan is drawing what looks like a spaceship and Conor’s got a huge ass circle going on. Michael doesn’t want to ask questions. Instead he just leaves the door cracked and calls his mom.
He spends an hour on the phone with her talking about Conor and Ryan and where they’ll be spending Christmas, which is right around the corner, and whether or not she should buy Conor a Christmas present and a million other things. Eventually Ryan wanders into the room and pries the phone out of Michael’s hand to talk to Debbie, “Dude I’m like her favorite son-in-law let me talk to Mama Debs,” and it’s only after Ryan has hung up does Michael realize that Ryan’s left their new six-year-old responsibility all alone.
“Michael it’s fine,” Ryan says when Michael’s just about to start. “The little dude’s knocked out. That’s why I came in here. Can we touch him when he’s asleep?”
Michael thinks that’s a dumb question. Of course they can touch him when he’s asleep.
Conor is passed out on the poster board; face smooched against the paper and his pencil still in hand. He’s got drool in his giant circle and his shoes are still on.
“Uh,” Michael says and tilts his head. They just can’t leave the kid passed out on the floor all night.
The training sessions never covered what if the kid passes out in the ‘art studio’ are you allowed to undress him while he’s asleep?
“Do we undress him?” Ryan asks and peers at Conor over Michael’s shoulder. It’s not like they haven’t undressed a few passed out kids in their days it’s just, Conor isn’t theirs. Undressing their nephews and or nieces who aren’t related to them is ok because they’re either Uncle Michael or Uncle Ryan and they’re at least related legally. This is like a whole different level.
“Maybe if we do it together,” Ryan suggests, “it’ll be less weird.”
So Michael picks Conor up, who makes a noise and manages to drool all over his shoulder in a matter of seconds, and when they get to him on his bed Ryan works on getting Conor’s shirt off while Michael pulls out pajamas.
Conor is mostly boneless for the entire process and eventually they get him dressed and under the covers.
They leave the door cracked and the light on in the hall before they retreat to their own bedroom and spend the next several hours like they usually do; playing Halo and making out.
“Dude, you should blow me,” Ryan says after he’s won the second round of Halo.
Their own door is ajar just in case. “What? No. What if the kid wakes up?”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “We’ll hear him.”
“I’m not blowing you with a six-year-old down the hall.” Michael starts the game back up. Ryan slouches against him and pouts. “If I knew fostering the kid would mean getting no head I wouldn’t have said yes.”
Michael rolls his eyes. This whole thing had been Ryan’s idea in the first place and they both know even if the instructor had said in the training sessions you will never get laid again Ryan would have gone along with it anyway.
“Is my cock ever going to enjoy your mouth again MP?” Ryan asks, still pouting.
Michael shoots Ryan’s character between the eyes. “Maybe one day Doggy.”
Ryan makes a noise that sounds like a dying cat.
Michael wakes up to someone poking his leg. He thinks it’s just Ryan being annoying, like usual, so he ignores it for the most part. When it doesn’t stop he tries kicking Ryan and when that doesn’t stop him he sits up and says, “Ryan I swear to fucking god if you don’t stop poking me I’m going to smother you with a pillow.”
“Mr. Michael?” Conor asks. He’s standing at the side of the bed, eyes wide.
“Uh,” Michael says and blushes in embarrassment. “What’s up?”
Conor looks around the room. His hair is mussed from sleep and there is a red streak across his left cheek. “There’s a cat in my room.”
So that’s where Sydney got to. “That’s just Sydney.”
Ryan snores. Conor continues to stand there. “Do you not like cats?” Michael asks.
“Mommy says cats are nasty,” Conor replies. It doesn’t really answer Michael’s question. “She won’t let me pet her.”
“Sydney doesn’t like strangers.” Michael swings his legs out of bed and wanders out of the room, Conor following behind him. He finds Sydney crouched under Conor’s bed, back against the wall. She doesn’t look irritated, just meows pathetically when she sees Michael. He’s able to pull her out and sits down on the bed, Sydney in his lap.
“You can pet her now,” he tells Conor. Conor steps forward and strokes her head and Sydney meows until she gets used to Conor and then starts to purr.
“Want to hold her?” Michael asks and Conor literally beams. He sits down on the bed next to Michael and Michael deposits Sydney into his arms. “She stays up here because she doesn’t like Carter.”
Conor starts to play with Sydney’s tail. “Is Carter mean to Sydney?”
“He doesn’t mean to be. He’s kind of a doofus.” Conor giggles and Michael can’t help but smile.
They sit there for a while, Michael answering questions about their pets, and Sydney purring away. Suddenly Conor gets serious and asks, “You wouldn’t really smother Mr. Ryan, would you?”
“No,” Michael says immediately, ears turning red. “Ryan knows I didn’t mean it.”
“Okay,” Conor says and lets his face relax. “I don’t think he heard you. He snores really loud.”
Michael barks out a laugh and Sydney meows in agreement.
They don’t leave Conor’s room until Sydney decides she’s had enough attention and slinks back under the bed. “Are you hungry?” Michael asks as they descended the steps and Conor nods before he literally throws himself down the stairs to give Carter a hug.
Carter greets Conor like he greets anyone; he licks the boy’s face and then barks at him until he opens the backdoor and lets the dogs out. Conor watches Herman and Carter gallop down the back steps and looks like he wants to follow them but Michael steers him clear of the door and helps him get situated in his seat at the kitchen island.
Michael is a little better at making breakfast than he is at dinner. Bacon and eggs are easy; all you really have to do is lay them out on the skillet and make sure they don’t burn.
“Why do you and Mr. Ryan sleep in the same bed?” Conor asks around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He’s managed to get more on the island than in his mouth.
Michael thought Jane would have explained the whole you’re going to be living with gay people now thing to Conor. Conor stares at him and Michael stares back.
“Ryan and I are married,” Michael finally says.
Conor doesn’t ask any more questions, just chews away at his bacon and eggs and asks for a glass of milk.
Eventually Michael has to let the dogs back in and doesn’t say anything when Conor not-so-subtly sneaks them pieces of bacon.
Around noon Ryan wakes up and helps Conor get dressed. Conor seems less shy and chatters away to Ryan about Sydney and Ryan just listens intently and draws a cat on the back of his hand with a marker before deciding that they need to head to the art supply store ASAP.
Michael would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit afraid of this outing. He opts to stay at home but Ryan gives him his best confused, puppy dog face and Michael agrees to come along.
It starts to rain as soon as they get in the garage and Michael takes over driving duties because Ryan driving on a clear day is a little sketchy - all hell will break loose if Michael lets him drive while it’s raining.
It’s pouring by the time they make it to Michael’s. They try to sit in the car and wait it out but the rain doesn’t want to seem to let up and Conor is getting uncomfortable in his booster seat.
“We should run it,” Ryan says and is already working his door open. Michael watches him sprint across the parking lot and into the store while Conor laughs from the backseat.
“Do you want to run it?” Michael asks him and Conor’s eyes go wide. Quietly Conor asks, “If I don’t make it will you leave me behind?”
“Nah,” Michael says. “Just get ready to run.”
When Conor has gotten himself out of the seat and is ready to go Michael takes a deep breath, says “go!” and then is out the door in seconds. He has to wait for Conor to climb out of the SUV but once Conor’s feet hit the ground and Michael’s got a firm grip on his hand they’re dashing across the parking lot in the same direction as Ryan.
Inside the store they find Ryan twirling a shopping cart around. They probably don’t need the shopping cart but being able to glide down the aisles on it is one of the few luxuries Ryan allows himself to enjoy nowadays.
“I thought you two were never gonna make it,” he says and pushes away from them in the direction of the kid’s section.
“That’s not fair,” Conor says once he’s shaken his hair out. “Mr. Ryan got a head start!”
“I know bud,” Michael says and wipes water out of his eyes. “He doesn’t play fair.”
Conor pouts and starts to follow the other man. He still hasn’t let go of Michael’s hand and Michael isn’t about to be an asshole and jerk it away. Instead he just lets Conor pull him in the right direction.
They spend thirty minutes in the store finding various art supplies and dicking around. Ryan manages to knock over a display of glitter and gets it all over his soaking wet jeans and Michael and Conor just laugh at him and walk away as quickly as they can. When they eventually leave they have more art supplies than they really need but the rain has let up and the outing hasn’t been as disastrous as Michael thought it was going to be.
When they get home Ryan and Conor immediately disappear into the art room to work on a project that involves various amounts of glue and stickers and Michael logs on to his computer to work on his foundation. By the time dinner rolls around Ryan and Conor slink down the stairs, hands stained with markers, and Conor has glue in his hair. They make sandwiches for dinner and watch the news and a couple of cartoons before Conor passes out on the couch around 9.
“I got this,” Ryan says when Michael makes a move to pick Conor up. He disappears upstairs with Conor flung over his shoulder and returns fifteen minutes later. Michael’s sprawled out on the couch but Ryan wiggles his way between his legs and lies against his chest.
“I’m not going to blow you,” Michael says when Ryan opens his mouth to say something. Ryan lifts his head and looks scandalized.
“Don’t act like you weren’t about to ask.” But Michael grins and lets his hand slip down over Ryan’s hip and under the hem of his jeans.
“Oh,” Ryan says in his most scandalized voice, “So Mr. Goody Two-Shoes won’t blow me in the privacy of our own bedroom but he’ll jack me off in the living room?”
Michael starts to pull his hand back. “If you’re going to complain I’m not gonna do it.”
Ryan claps his hand around Michael’s wrist and shoves his hand down his underwear. “Don’t tease a guy like that MP. Come on, I love you.”
Michael snorts but he wraps his fingers around Ryan’s half-hard cock and starts to stroke. “You only tell me you love me when you want something.”
“Jeah so?” Ryan starts to rock his hips. “It’s what makes our marriage so strong. Saying I love you too much makes a marriage weak. Trust me.”
Michael rolls his eyes but he continues to work his fingers up and down Ryan’s shaft until Ryan comes. He wipes his fingers on Ryan’s jeans as Ryan makes a disgusted face and then says, “Come on let’s go upstairs.”
“Are you going to blow me?” Ryan asks as they climb the stairs and Michael resists the urge to kick him in the shin. “No,” he whispers as they tip-toe by Conor’s room, the door cracked, “I was hoping you’d fuck me.”
Ryan’s eyes get wide and then he’s shoving Michael into their bedroom and working his jeans off all at the same time. “I can do that. On the bed MP, hands and knees, I’m gonna tap that ass!”
“Quiet,” Michael hisses as he purposefully takes his time getting undressed just to piss Ryan off, “You’re going to wake the kid up!”
Ryan stares blankly at Michael and then he pounces, knocking the taller man onto the bed and kissing him hard.
In the morning Michael wakes up sticky and uncomfortable, Ryan sprawled over the bed and taking up more space than what’s fair, but thankfully Conor isn’t looming at the end of the bed. Michael slips out of bed and pulls on a pair of Ryan’s basketball shorts before he tip-toes down the hall to Conor’s room.
Conor’s lying face down and drooling all over his pillow and doesn’t look like he’s about to wake up anytime soon. Sydney’s at the end of the bed and she meows happily before she arranges herself to lie across Conor’s ankles.
Conor doesn’t wake up for another hour and he stomps down the stairs followed by Ryan, the both of them looking tired. “I’m hungry,” Ryan whines like a four-year-old and flops down at the kitchen table. “Michael feed me.”
“You’re thirty-two Lochte,” Michael says and continues to read the paper. “Feed yourself.”
“I’ll feed you Mr. Ryan,” Conor says quietly and opens the fridge to pull out a jug of milk. He sets it on the floor and then tries to climb onto the counter to reach the cabinet where they keep the cereal, but Michael has to help him get onto the counter and grab the Lucky Charms and then has to get him a bowl and a spoon.
“Can you hold the bowl?” Conor asks Ryan and Ryan lifts his head from where he’s been moping and does as he’s been asked. Michael hovers because he’s worried that Conor is going to spill the milk, but he pours the cereal and milk with only a minor spill.
Conor watches Ryan eat and when he’s done asks, “Did you like your breakfast Mr. Ryan?”
“Jeah!” Ryan says. “Like little bro, dude. You don’t have to call us mister. You can just call us Ryan and Mike if you want.”
Conor gets a peculiar look on his face before he breaks into a smile. “Okay,” he says and then starts to eat the marshmallows out of the box.
“Hey,” Michael says. “No just eating the marshmallows!”
Conor just giggles around a mouthful of marshmallows and looks put-out when Michael places a bowl in front of him.
Conor goes back into his shell the day before he’s supposed to start his first day at his new school. His old school is too far away from Michael and Ryan’s house for him to be in the school district and CPS thinks it’s best that he start everything anew while his home situation is being figured out - how being forced to go to a new, unfamiliar school helps Michael doesn’t know.
He keeps his old backpack - his grandma gave it to him for Christmas last year - but he gets all new school supplies and even new shoes. Michael and Ryan try to make the school seem like an exciting new adventure and the best place in the world but Conor just looks at them sadly and asks, “Do I have to go?” the morning of his first day.
“Sorry bud,” Michael tells him as they’re waiting at the bus stop. “You have to go.”
The mothers assembled at the bus stop are eying them. Ryan’s the one who’s always talking to them and charming their socks off like some pseudo episode of Desperate Housewives. They didn’t really make it known to anyone outside the family that they were fostering so Michael lets them side-eye. It is kind of weird for him to show up at the bus stop with a first grader that materialized out of nowhere.
“I want to stay with you and Ryan,” Conor pouts. He rocks back and forth on his feet and clutches Michael’s hand tighter when the bus turns the corner and starts to head their way.
Ryan’s on his way to some event downtown. Why they invited Ryan and not him Michael can’t figure out seeing as Baltimore’s his hometown but he’s not complaining. Not really.
“You have to go to school,” Michael tells him and adjusts the hood on Conor’s jacket. “It’ll be fun.”
Conor looks at Michael like he’s caught him stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Michael just smiles weakly.
“You’re lying,” Conor says when the bus pulls up. “School’s never fun.”
Michael can detect no lies in that statement. Instead he just ruffles Conor’s hair and says, “I’ll see you at 4.”
“Bye,” Conor says and gives Michael’s leg a weak hug before he’s climbing onto the bus like he’s on a death march.
Michael watches the bus pull away and turn back onto the main street.
“So,” a mother says to his right. They’re all kind of huddled around him and are each giving him their own look of sheer delight. “You and Ryan have finally decided to adopt.”
Michael can’t remember the woman’s name but he knows she lives three houses down and has the ugliest looking cat Michael has ever seen and a kid in the second grade. “Er,” he says because he’s never done well in a group of middle-aged women, “we’re fostering him.”
“Oh,” another woman says and frowns before she smiles. “How long is he staying with you?”
Michael just shrugs and pulls his hoodie tighter to himself. It’s not as cold as it could be for the end of November but he didn’t really dress for the weather. He’s only got a hoodie on and a pair of sweats and some shoes that he’s not even sure are his. “It just depends.” They all look at him expectantly. “Uh it depends on when his parents complete their therapy.”
“Therapy?” The woman two blocks over questions.
It’s been five minutes and Michael just wants to get back to the warmth of their townhouse and go back to bed. “His parents go through like therapy and stuff and then CPS determines if and when they can have him back.”
Jane said the process could take anywhere from three months to a full year. “Well isn’t that a shame,” the original mother says. “They shouldn’t just give him back. There’s a reason he was taken out of their care in the first place.”
Michael’s never really thought about that part of the whole fostering thing. He stands there with his mouth open before he shuts it and says, “I have to go let the dogs out,” and leaves the women to chatter or do whatever the hell stay at home moms do.
He spends most of the day just lazing around and worrying whether or not Conor’s doing okay. Kids can be real dicks. Michael can’t really remember first grade but it must have sucked really bad if he can’t remember anything about it.
Just before Conor’s bus is supposed to arrive Ryan arrives back home and doesn’t even take off his jacket before he’s dragging Michael out the house and to the bus stop.
“We’re like ten minutes early,” Michael informs him. The moms haven’t even shown up yet.
“Jeah well,” Ryan says. “What if the bus gets here early? All the other parents are going to look like shit compared to us.”
Michael doesn’t correct him on the use of parents. Ryan looks far too excited in the cursed, hated cold for Michael to ruin the moment. “Dude,” he says instead and rubs his fingers together. “You didn’t even let me grab my gloves.”
Ryan grins. He laces their fingers together and then pulls both of their hands into his oversized coat pocket. Michael stuffs his free hand into his own pocket and knocks their shoulders together.
“Do you think he likes it here?” Ryan asks suddenly, face serious. It doesn’t suit him.
“He’s only been here a week.” Michael blows air out between his lips to watch it fog up.
Ryan frowns. “But like what if they give him the option of going to a different foster home. Do you think he’d say yes?”
“They wouldn’t do that,” Michael replies. “We have to really fuck up for them to place him somewhere else. And we haven’t fucked up yet.”
“What if we do?”
“Doggy,” Michael says and squeezes the other’s man hand tight. “We’re not going to fuck it up. We’re the Phelps-Lochtes. We’re fucking champions.”
Ryan snorts and pushes Michael away but Michael doesn’t let go of his hand and they almost end up toppling onto the cement. The moms and a couple of dads show up eventually and Ryan charms every last one of them - including the dads, Michael holds to his hand tighter to remind him who he belongs to - and answers their questions about Conor smoother than Michael could ever manage.
When the bus finally shows up Conor is the last to exit. His cheeks are red like he’s been out in the cold for too long and he can’t stop smiling when he sees them.
“Hi,” he says. He’s got a piece of paper in his gloved hands and his backpack looks heavier than when he left this morning.
“Dude how was it?” Ryan asks as they start the short walk back to the house. Michael’s still got his hand stuffed in Ryan’s pocket and Conor looks at the pocket suspiciously before answering, “I liked it.”
“I told you it would be fun,” Michael says and Conor snorts.
“I didn’t say it was fun.” But there’s a smile tugging at his lips like he doesn’t want to admit that he actually liked going to school. Michael doesn’t call him out on his bullshit.
“Did you make any friends?” He asks instead. Conor nods and shifts the paper in his grip. He doesn’t elaborate on his friends and they don’t push it.
When they get home Conor shows them the paper. It’s a crayon drawing of his family; he has a brother and a mother and a father. None of them look particularly happy.
“This is awesome!” Ryan says and hangs it on the fridge with some tape because they don’t have magnets but he gives Michael this look that says what the fuck and Michael asks, “Why isn’t anyone smiling?”
Conor shrugs. “Mrs. Parker told us to draw what our family looks like.” And then he just sits down on the floor with Herman.
Michael looks at Ryan and Ryan looks back at him before he shrugs and frowns at the picture on the fridge. It’s really damn depressing.
When Conor goes to therapy the next week they hand over the picture. His therapist, Dr. Stevens, just looks at the picture, sighs, and says, “Kids draw what they see. I’ll talk to him about it.”
The days get shorter and easier after that. Conor doesn’t come home with any more pictures of his family and he actually starts to enjoy school. He makes friends with a kid his age named Nathan. He comes over once or twice a week and kind of stares at both them in awe when they first meet and then chills out once he gets to know them better. Conor and Nathan spend hours running around the backyard playing tag and pretending to be superheroes or they disappear into the art studio when it’s too cold to be outside.
The first night Conor spends away from them is the weekend right after Nathan’s seventh birthday. They have to get the sleepover approved by Jane and she only relents after a phone call with Nathan’s mom, who is remarkably understanding about the whole thing and just smiles when Michael drops Conor off and apologizes. Conor’s supposed to be the only one spending the night but there’s another kid there named Matt who lives close by and is a bit older than Conor and Nathan.
“Nathan kind of worships Matt,” Cecilia, Nathan’s mother, explains to Michael as he’s leaving. “You could say he has a crush on him.”
Nathan’s sitting really close to Matt on the couch while Conor sits on the floor by their feet and yeah, even though they’re like six Michael can definitely see that Nathan’s sitting closer than necessary but Matt doesn’t seem to mind and as long as they don’t leave Conor out Michael thinks it’s pretty damn chill that Cecilia doesn’t care.
Michael just might really fucking adore Cecilia Adrian.
Before they know it, Christmas break has arrived. Three days before Christmas they’re hit with a snowstorm; it’s nothing disastrous. The power doesn’t go out and they don’t exactly get snowed in but there’s something about the snow that just makes everything feel lazy. They decide to stay up in Baltimore for Christmas and spend it with Michael’s family - Conor has to visit with his parents the day after Christmas; he goes really quiet when Ryan tells him - and Spring Break they’ll head down to Gainesville and spend the week with the Lochtes.
Ryan can’t stand the snow so he stays inside with Carter and watches them pathetically as Michael and Conor do a lot of running around and building snowmen with Herman. When they come in they drink hot chocolate and eat cookies Debbie sent over and on Christmas Eve they all pile into Michael’s SUV and head over to Debbie’s.
Conor goes quiet when they arrive just because that’s how he is when he meets strangers but Debbie’s used to working with kids and slowly gets Conor to come out of his shell with a plate of homemade cookies.
The house is packed; both of Michael’s sisters have shown up, they would be dead if they didn’t, and they’ve brought their husbands and their kids too and then there’s him and Ryan and their dogs and cat along with Conor and the house feels like it’s about to burst at the seams. Michael worries that Conor isn’t going to get along with his nieces and nephews (it gets so confusing between Connor and Conor that they have to nickname Connor Con) but he soon gets over his shyness and joins them in climbing all over Ryan.
“You two are doing such a good thing,” Debbie tells Michael while they’re doing dishes. In the next room over Hilary and Whitney are leading a chorus in a horrible rendition of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer and other assorted Christmas songs while Ryan tries to drop a beat and remix them. The kids are squealing in laughter and Whitney’s husband is recording the whole thing.
Michael just shrugs and busies himself with scrubbing pasta sauce off a plate. Debbie made spaghetti to welcome Conor into the family and by the way Conor gulfed it down it must have been the best spaghetti he’s ever had. “It was Ryan’s idea.”
“It doesn’t matter who’s idea it was Michael,” Debbie says as she dries a plate. “You’re both doing a good thing and I’m proud of the both of you.” She kisses his cheek and then goes back to chatting away about anything.
Conor’s not allowed to sleep in the same room as Michael and Ryan so they set him up down the hall with Whitney’s youngest daughter and Michael and Ryan crawl into Michael’s too small bed in his old room. Debbie was supposed to convert it into an office when he and Ryan finally brought the townhouse but she keeps joking that she’s going to turn the house into a museum and needs to keep it just as embarrassing as it’s always been.
In the morning the kids wake them up by banging doors and screaming that it’s Christmas at the top of their lungs. Ryan climbs out of bed and soon joins the kids. Michael would be embarrassed and annoyed but it’s Ryan.
Michael’s the last to make it downstairs. The kids are sitting around the Christmas tree already ripping wrapping paper and Ryan’s digging through his stocking, already sucking on a candy cane. “It’s seven in the morning,” Michael comments and Ryan just grins up at him, lips stained red.
Michael and Ryan got Conor a sketchbook and a fancy set of colored pencils along with some new clothes and children’s books on different animals and as soon as he’s done unwrapping his presents he nestles between them and starts to read.
The day goes by similar to the day before; Whitney and Hilary sing horrible renditions of famous Christmas songs while Ryan raps along, the kids run around screaming and playing with new toys, and Michael helps his mom clean up after Christmas dinner.
They leave Debbie’s house late that night and by the time they get home Conor is passed out in the back seat, Herman sprawled across his lap and Carter whining from his crate in the back. Ryan takes Conor upstairs and gets him in bed while Michael lets the dogs in and keeps Carter from going after Sydney.
Conor doesn’t seem too excited to see his parents the next day. He goes remarkably quiet and doesn’t even want to play with Carter when Carter drops his favorite ball into his lap. Not even a go in the art room seems to get him out of his slump.
Ryan tries to ask him what’s up but Conor just gets this sad look in his eyes and scribbles in his sketchbook.
When Jane shows up to collect Conor she just blinks sadly at them and says, “It’s confusing, you know? One day you’re living with your parents and things just aren’t going smoothly and then the next someone’s telling you that you can’t live with them, not for a while, and it’s just. It’s a lot. He’s confused right now. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about his parents.”
Conor gives them both quiet goodbyes before he leaves, head hung low.
They spend all day trying to keep themselves busy. They both go to the aquatic center and swim a couple of laps and dick around in the pool for a couple of hours but when they get back, the house is eerily quiet like something’s missing.
“This sucks,” Ryan says from the floor where he’s trying to do a word search. It looks more like he’s just colored in the entire block of letters with a bright pink highlighter.
“Maybe if you didn’t just color the block in you’d find the words,” Michael comments and flips through the ESPN channels. Ryan stabs him in the knee with the highlighter.
“I wasn’t talking about the cross word you dick,” Ryan says. “It sucks that Conor’s not with us.”
Michael just shrugs and tries to pretend that he’s not bummed out either. It’s not like Conor’s their kid or anything but it’s just super fucking quiet without him around. “Well, we’re gonna have to man up because he’s not staying with us forever.”
Ryan’s quiet for a long time. It makes Michael nervous. There are only two reasons why Ryan is ever quiet. One: he’s got a dick in his mouth or two: he’s thinking really hard. Seeing as Michael’s dick is still in his pants it’s the second option.
“What if he could?” Ryan asks quietly.
When Michael doesn’t respond Ryan says, “Mike I’m being serious. Like what if CPS decides his parents are complete shits and he’s put up for adoption? He should stay with us.”
“Ryan -” Michael starts because they’ve talked about this. They’re fostering because Michael just - like he doesn’t not want to be a dad it’s just that shitty fatherhood skills run in the family and he doesn’t want to risk it. And it’s not like Conor’s parents are just going to sign their parental rights away, not if they’re doing all this stuff to get him back.
“No listen,” Ryan says, dead serious. “Phelps, listen to me. You’re not your fucking dad, okay? And like you already kick ass at being a foster dad so why not be a real dad?”
“His parents aren’t just going to sign him over,” Michael replies weakly and refuses to look at Ryan’s face. Ryan huffs and then he’s in Michael’s lap, hands on Michael’s face, forcing him to look him in the eye.
“I know that,” he says.
“We’ve known him for like three weeks Ry,” Michael tries to argue.
“Jeah and you already adore the kid Phelps, don’t even try to lie.”
“It doesn’t just happen like that Lochte,” Michael says. “People just don’t sign their kids over.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I know, but like. Just think about it, okay? Just promise me you’ll think about it just in case.”
Michael sighs because when Ryan’s determined he’s fucking determined and Michael’s never been able to deny Ryan anything. “Fine,” he finally relents. “I’ll think about it but don’t get your hopes up, Ry. Chances are he can’t stay.”
Ryan breaks out in a grin and just to be a dick Michael stands up quickly, toppling Ryan to the floor.
“You are such a dick Phelps!” Ryan yells and then he’s got a hand around Michael’s ankle and is pulling him down to the ground with him.
“Fuck!” Michael screams when he hits the floor but before he can retaliate Ryan is climbing up his body to lie on top of him. “You are a big fat dick,” he says.
“I’m not fat.” Michael pouts and rubs self-consciously at his stomach. Just because he’s not freakishly fit like Ryan anymore doesn’t mean he’s fat. Ryan is just a twat.
“You know I love your body,” Ryan says, grinning and then kisses Michael’s stomach.
The kiss makes Michael shiver. “You’re just saying that to get laid.”
“Nah,” the other man replies and rolls off of Michael. “If I wanted to get laid all I would have to do is ask.”
Michael rolls his eyes.
When Jane drops Conor off later that night Conor has tears in his eyes. He runs up the stairs and slams his door before either of them can ask what’s wrong.
Jane looks gloomy. “It didn’t go well,” she says. “Just let him calm down a bit before trying to talk to him.”
They give it ten minutes.
Conor’s lying on his bed sniffling into the crook of his arm. He turns away from them and says, “Go away,” his nose clogged with snot.
“Hey,” Ryan says because he might be shit at interviews but he’s the better of the two of them at cheering kids up, “Don’t be like that.” He sits on the end of the bed and within a few seconds Conor’s crawling into his lap.
It’s the most physical contact either one of them has had with Conor while he’s awake, which sounds really creepy in Michael’s head.
“I hate them,” Conor says into Ryan’s shoulder.
Ryan doesn’t reply, he just rocks Conor back and forth and indicates with his head for Michael to sit down too.
“What happened?” Michael asks and pulls at a loose string on his hoodie. Conor sobs.
This is a prime example as to why Michael can’t be a dad, or at least a good one. He’s completely lost when it comes to situations like this.
“Daddy’s mean,” Conor says and rubs at his eyes. “He called you guys a bad name. And he said mean things about Nathan too!”
Michael and Ryan bristle. Parents, people, whoever the fuck they are, are complete and utter dicks. Michael’s been called his fair share of shitty things in his life, and Ryan too, and when you throw the both of them together there’s a whole other list of shitty names to be called. Michael can zone in on one in particular that’s always at the top of the list.
“What did he say?” Michael asks quietly. Conor peers at him from under Ryan’s chin and shakes his head. “Miss Jane said not to say it again cause it’ll make you and Ryan sad.”
It doesn’t make Michael sad - it pisses him the fuck off but he’s not going to tell Conor that. “Do you like to use that word?”
Conor shakes his head so hard he hits it against Ryan’s jaw. “Ship!” Ryan says and grits his teeth against the pain.
“Sorry,” Conor says faintly and looks like a kicked puppy. “It’s all chill dude,” Ryan says and rubs at his jaw. “Did your dad call Nathan that word too?”
Conor won’t look either of them in the eye. He looks down at the quilt covering his bed and nods. “He said boys shouldn’t like other boys and that Mrs. Adrian was raising a,” his voice goes so quiet that Michael can barely hear him, “faggot.”
Just the word, even coming from Conor’s mouth, makes Michael see red. Conor shrinks back into Ryan’s arms and hides his face.
“We don’t like that word,” Ryan murmurs. “It’s a mean word to call someone.”
“I know,” Conor says faintly. “I told Daddy that and then he called me one too. He said Miss Jane shouldn’t let me live with you two cause I’ll end up like you and Mommy said that it was okay cause you guys won a lot of medals and are rich and then Daddy started yelling and Miss Jane took me home.”
“Do you know what that word means?” Michael asks and Conor still won’t lift his head from Ryan’s shoulder but he shakes it.
“It’s what you call a boy who likes other boys to make them feel bad for liking other boys,” Michael says and balls his hands into fists. Conor is watching him and Michael lets his fingers relax on his knees. “Just promise us you’ll never say that word again, okay?”
Conor nods. He gives Ryan’s neck a squeeze and then slides off his lap to sit on Michael’s. It feels natural for Michael to pull the kid into a hug and when Conor pulls back he says, “I’m sorry I made you sad Mike.”
“It’s okay,” Michael tells him and ruffles Conor’s hair. “No more tears, okay? Did you at least eat?”
Conor shakes his head and Ryan yells, “Spaghetti!”
And then they’re both running down the stairs like a herd of elephants and Michael is left sitting on Conor’s bed. Sydney slinks out from under the bed to push against his legs and he gently lifts the cat into his lap and scratches behind her ears. He feels worn out but there’s a small side of him that’s kind of excited that Conor’s parents seem like complete shitheads.
They spend New Year’s at home and Conor falls asleep an hour before the clock strikes midnight. Michael’s a bit tipsy off champagne and Ryan is nursing a beer when Michael pulls him into a New Year’s kiss and says, “Let’s keep him.”
“What?” Ryan asks when they stop for air. It’s a good thing they’re at home and Conor’s knocked out on the couch because they’re bordering on obscene. “We need to talk to Jane,” Michael continues, “but if his parents - if Conor’s parents give him up or Jane forces them to give him up we should keep him.”
“He’s not a dog MP,” Ryan says but he’s grinning.
Michael’s eyes light up. “We should get him a dog.”
“You’re drunk Phelps,” Ryan says while laughing. Conor stirs on the couch. “Did I miss New Year’s?”
“Yeah sorry bud,” Michael tells him. Conor doesn’t look that disappointed. He just leans over and gives Herman a kiss before he curls back up.
“You’re being serious?” Ryan asks in a whisper. “Mike don’t fuck with me. You’re serious?”
Michael takes a swig from Ryan’s beer and kisses him again. “Dead serious. We… We might not get him because his parents are trying to get him back but what if his parents sign him over? What’s the point of giving him to CPS if he can have a home here?”
Ryan’s smile is ridiculous and Michael’s eyes cross trying to imagine Ryan with a grill in. He’s missed that shit.
“Herman doesn’t like that you’re whispering,” Conor says and peers at them over the arm of the sofa. “It’s keeping him awake.” Herman is asleep at Conor’s feet.
“Sorry,” Michael says in a whisper, too happy and drunk to realize how ridiculous that is. Ryan laughs and kisses him again while Conor makes a face and says, “Eww!”
part two AO3