Like Father, Like Son
Title: Like Father, Like Son
Characters: Sam, Alan. Flynn mentioned, briefly.
Word count: 1276
Summary: Alan finds a... "thing" of Sam's. Everyone feels awkward.
Alan had noticed that Kevin Flynn was definitely his son's father.
For a brief two years while his grandmother was sick, and before he was off to college, Sam lived in Alan's basement. It was by no means a glamourous arrangement, but there was a bed and Alan kept the place clean, there was always food (Alan was a great cook- he'd done all the cooking even when Flynn was still around). Alan, however, was kind of a neat freak, and so, whenever Sam “forgot” to clean up the basement, Alan would go down in his stead to change the sheets, gather the dirty laundry (and put away the piles of clean laundry he'd brought down before that Sam had neglected to put away), and make sure that any dishes left down there weren't being turned into penicillin factories.
What he'd found in the bedroom, tangled up in the sheets, wasn't a dirty dish or some lumped up clothes. It wasn't particularly... small, but he may have overlooked it until after the drier cycle, except that he must've squished the lump of sheets funny in his arm, because it started to... buzz. Like a phone, at first, he thought- maybe Sam had forgotten his cell, except that it kept going. Alan dug through the pile, and there, in all its glory, was a wiggling, buzzing vibrator.
He just stood there for a while, gaping like a fish out of water. What- just... what? Sam was a kid, he shouldn't be using... how did he even get something like that?
Prodding the controls gingerly, he turned it off and stepped back.
Now, Alan was typically used to Sam and his shenanigans (mostly due to his father- you don't share a bed with a man for seven years without getting used to his ridiculous, though amusing, bullshit). He usually had some semblance of an idea about how to react to his behaviour. On this particular day, though, Alan was just... flabbergasted. Absolutely struck dumb, without any idea about how to proceed.
He paced, then, and thought very carefully. If he just kept cleaning the room and put it somewhere inconspicuous, Sam would know that he'd found it, and that would be embarrassing and awkward. If he went and put the room back to the way it was before, it would be messy again, and that was unacceptable.
He could talk to him about it. Embarrassing? Extremely. But necessary, he concluded, for nothing if to ensure that the boy was being safe about
things.
Alan nodded, convinced that he was about to do the right thing, and finished tidying the space, leaving the... vibrator in the top drawer tucked under some socks.
Later on in the day, he heard the front door swing open and Sam dumping his book bag on the floor, and he felt the back of his neck burn.
“Sam,” he called, biting on one of the arms of his glasses, as he typically did when he was distracted or distressed. Sinking a bit in the chair as Sam came in the room, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans, Alan opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Hey, Alan. Something wrong? ... Did the dog crap in a pair of shoes again? Look, I promised I would train her, and-”
Alan waved his hand dismissively, shaking his head. “No no, nothing like that, it's just-” He paused a moment, taking a deep breath. It was now or never.
“I was cleaning your room today,” Alan began, being Very Careful with his words as he spoke. Sam just looked confused, narrowing one eye and turning his head just a bit to the side, pursing his lips.
“Yeaahhhhhh?”
“...I found something. In your bed.”
“What, you mean my comics? Those are kind of supposed to be there. Like... in my room. You know where they go, anyways.” He waved a hand dismissively and Alan laughed, just a short, breathy sound that was more than a bit nervous.
“No, no. I mean. Something. In your bed. It was all wrapped up in the sheets.” Alan gave him a Very Serious Look, and then realization dawned on the younger man's face.
“Oh. Oh. Ohhhh.” And then Sam was silent.
Alan, his face a brilliant shade of red, took another deep breath. “Look, Sam- you're almost an adult, I'm not mad at you, I just... want you to make sure that you're being very safe. You are being safe, aren't you?” The look stayed serious, and Sam nodded very quickly.
“Yeah- OH. Yeah. I mean, I've got... things... to keep me safe, and I always clean it after and...Yeah.” There was an awkward silence here that stretched on for a few minutes, before Alan let out a strained cough.
“Now- I know you're almost 17 and they've hopefully covered this in school, god help the your class system if they haven't, but- you know that you're around the age where girls are- well- you know.”
Sam waved his hands frantically and shook his head, the back of his neck going pink. “Oh no. No nononononono. That's. Uh. Not really a problem. Um. All things considered.” A blush of considerably epic proportions spread like wildfire across his face. For a second, Alan didn't understand what Sam had meant. But then, he did, and he chomped down on the guard at the end of the arm of his glasses.
Had Sam just... come out of the closet? Alan opened his mouth to ask, but Sam interrupted him before he could. “Look, Alan, it's fine. Really. I've got a box of- uh- things. In case I need them. They glow in the dark, too- my friends called them trondoms.” Another pause followed. “.... I am... not entirely sure why I told you that.” Sam said slowly, carefully.
And then, Alan had to laugh, for real this time, his head falling into one hand. “...All right, all right. That's... that's good. I trust you.” He said, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. He sat up, then, wiping his eyes and looking up at the ceiling. “... You know, you really are your father's son.” Alan smiled up at Sam, who had joined in the laughter. “Yeah. I guess.” and then he smiled and got to his feet, patting the younger man on the back. “I'm glad you're being safe. Keep that up, all right? Being reckless and irresponsible isn't really all it's cut out to be.” Sam hunched his shoulders, a shy, mischievous little grin curled across his face.
“Who, me? Irresponsible? Never.” Alan smiled, but he felt a twinge in his chest- he remembered Flynn saying something like that, once upon a time- before he disappeared.
“All right, all right; don't give me that- go get your homework done and I'll make dinner.” He started to walk away, but Sam stopped him.
“Oh- uh- wait, hold on- Alan, where did you put my... yeah.” He asked, shifting uneasily from one foot to another.
Alan went red again. “It's in your sock drawer. Under your socks.”
Sam grinned again. “Thanks. I'm just gonna. Uh. Go. Downstairs.” ..... “bye.” and with that, he was gone, the basement door slamming after him. Alan decided that perhaps now might be a time to slip into some kind of cooking-related trance. He shook his head and wandered into the kitchen, turning the radio on, and putting the volume way, way up.
Sam Flynn was way too much his father's son.
Characters: Sam, Alan. Flynn mentioned, briefly.
Word count: 1276
Summary: Alan finds a... "thing" of Sam's. Everyone feels awkward.
Alan had noticed that Kevin Flynn was definitely his son's father.
For a brief two years while his grandmother was sick, and before he was off to college, Sam lived in Alan's basement. It was by no means a glamourous arrangement, but there was a bed and Alan kept the place clean, there was always food (Alan was a great cook- he'd done all the cooking even when Flynn was still around). Alan, however, was kind of a neat freak, and so, whenever Sam “forgot” to clean up the basement, Alan would go down in his stead to change the sheets, gather the dirty laundry (and put away the piles of clean laundry he'd brought down before that Sam had neglected to put away), and make sure that any dishes left down there weren't being turned into penicillin factories.
What he'd found in the bedroom, tangled up in the sheets, wasn't a dirty dish or some lumped up clothes. It wasn't particularly... small, but he may have overlooked it until after the drier cycle, except that he must've squished the lump of sheets funny in his arm, because it started to... buzz. Like a phone, at first, he thought- maybe Sam had forgotten his cell, except that it kept going. Alan dug through the pile, and there, in all its glory, was a wiggling, buzzing vibrator.
He just stood there for a while, gaping like a fish out of water. What- just... what? Sam was a kid, he shouldn't be using... how did he even get something like that?
Prodding the controls gingerly, he turned it off and stepped back.
Now, Alan was typically used to Sam and his shenanigans (mostly due to his father- you don't share a bed with a man for seven years without getting used to his ridiculous, though amusing, bullshit). He usually had some semblance of an idea about how to react to his behaviour. On this particular day, though, Alan was just... flabbergasted. Absolutely struck dumb, without any idea about how to proceed.
He paced, then, and thought very carefully. If he just kept cleaning the room and put it somewhere inconspicuous, Sam would know that he'd found it, and that would be embarrassing and awkward. If he went and put the room back to the way it was before, it would be messy again, and that was unacceptable.
He could talk to him about it. Embarrassing? Extremely. But necessary, he concluded, for nothing if to ensure that the boy was being safe about
things.
Alan nodded, convinced that he was about to do the right thing, and finished tidying the space, leaving the... vibrator in the top drawer tucked under some socks.
Later on in the day, he heard the front door swing open and Sam dumping his book bag on the floor, and he felt the back of his neck burn.
“Sam,” he called, biting on one of the arms of his glasses, as he typically did when he was distracted or distressed. Sinking a bit in the chair as Sam came in the room, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans, Alan opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Hey, Alan. Something wrong? ... Did the dog crap in a pair of shoes again? Look, I promised I would train her, and-”
Alan waved his hand dismissively, shaking his head. “No no, nothing like that, it's just-” He paused a moment, taking a deep breath. It was now or never.
“I was cleaning your room today,” Alan began, being Very Careful with his words as he spoke. Sam just looked confused, narrowing one eye and turning his head just a bit to the side, pursing his lips.
“Yeaahhhhhh?”
“...I found something. In your bed.”
“What, you mean my comics? Those are kind of supposed to be there. Like... in my room. You know where they go, anyways.” He waved a hand dismissively and Alan laughed, just a short, breathy sound that was more than a bit nervous.
“No, no. I mean. Something. In your bed. It was all wrapped up in the sheets.” Alan gave him a Very Serious Look, and then realization dawned on the younger man's face.
“Oh. Oh. Ohhhh.” And then Sam was silent.
Alan, his face a brilliant shade of red, took another deep breath. “Look, Sam- you're almost an adult, I'm not mad at you, I just... want you to make sure that you're being very safe. You are being safe, aren't you?” The look stayed serious, and Sam nodded very quickly.
“Yeah- OH. Yeah. I mean, I've got... things... to keep me safe, and I always clean it after and...Yeah.” There was an awkward silence here that stretched on for a few minutes, before Alan let out a strained cough.
“Now- I know you're almost 17 and they've hopefully covered this in school, god help the your class system if they haven't, but- you know that you're around the age where girls are- well- you know.”
Sam waved his hands frantically and shook his head, the back of his neck going pink. “Oh no. No nononononono. That's. Uh. Not really a problem. Um. All things considered.” A blush of considerably epic proportions spread like wildfire across his face. For a second, Alan didn't understand what Sam had meant. But then, he did, and he chomped down on the guard at the end of the arm of his glasses.
Had Sam just... come out of the closet? Alan opened his mouth to ask, but Sam interrupted him before he could. “Look, Alan, it's fine. Really. I've got a box of- uh- things. In case I need them. They glow in the dark, too- my friends called them trondoms.” Another pause followed. “.... I am... not entirely sure why I told you that.” Sam said slowly, carefully.
And then, Alan had to laugh, for real this time, his head falling into one hand. “...All right, all right. That's... that's good. I trust you.” He said, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. He sat up, then, wiping his eyes and looking up at the ceiling. “... You know, you really are your father's son.” Alan smiled up at Sam, who had joined in the laughter. “Yeah. I guess.” and then he smiled and got to his feet, patting the younger man on the back. “I'm glad you're being safe. Keep that up, all right? Being reckless and irresponsible isn't really all it's cut out to be.” Sam hunched his shoulders, a shy, mischievous little grin curled across his face.
“Who, me? Irresponsible? Never.” Alan smiled, but he felt a twinge in his chest- he remembered Flynn saying something like that, once upon a time- before he disappeared.
“All right, all right; don't give me that- go get your homework done and I'll make dinner.” He started to walk away, but Sam stopped him.
“Oh- uh- wait, hold on- Alan, where did you put my... yeah.” He asked, shifting uneasily from one foot to another.
Alan went red again. “It's in your sock drawer. Under your socks.”
Sam grinned again. “Thanks. I'm just gonna. Uh. Go. Downstairs.” ..... “bye.” and with that, he was gone, the basement door slamming after him. Alan decided that perhaps now might be a time to slip into some kind of cooking-related trance. He shook his head and wandered into the kitchen, turning the radio on, and putting the volume way, way up.
Sam Flynn was way too much his father's son.