Okay– so I have my autism awareness post going live tonight, but I just got home from the Tire Company where I got a flat fixed, and for those of you who follow me on social media, I got… well, a little tiny plot bunny while I was there.
I’m writing Familiar Demon right now, so I’m not sure if I’ve got a place there for this nose-wiggling nugget. It may show up there, but just in case, I’m going to put it in Skipper and Richie’s very capable hands.
For some reason, I could just hear Richie screaming this at the top of his lungs. For those of you who didn’t see my post, I bet you can guess which part it is…
* * *
Clang clang clang clang!
“Goddammit!”
From inside the house, Skip looked up from his laptop and grimaced. The sounds coming from the driveway did not bode well.
“Ouch!”
That was enough to get Skip up out of his chair and away from his online class in employee education, and moving toward the front door. “Hey, Richie…” he called before his hand even hit the knob.
“You–” Clang! “Will–” Clang! “Do–” Clang! “What–” Clang! “I’m–” Clang! “Telling you to no no no no no you dumb motherfucker no!”
Skipper screeched to a halt in front of Richie’s middle-aged and much abused Toyota, not daring to get any closer in case Richie tagged him on the backswing with the wrench in his hand as he beat the hell out of something in the engine on the downswing. Richie’s face was streaked with grease and his knuckles were bleeding and the car was hissing and dripping fluid and it wobbled uneasily on the blocks Riche had propped under it after he’d pushed it up with two jacks.
“Richie!” Skip barked. “Enough! You’re breaking it!”
“I can’t break it!” Richie screamed into the engine. “Evil shit things can’t be broken–I want this fucker to behave I need a fuckin’ exorcist!”
But Richie paused on the backswing and Skipper managed to yank the wrench out of his grasp. Richie whirled around, hands on his hips, face contorted with rage–and almost with tears.
“Dammit, Skipper!”
“You’re bleeding,” Skip said logically grabbing his hand.
Some of the fight leaked out of Richie’s body and he relaxed and let Skipper take a good look at his knuckles.
“You hurt yourself,” he said softly. “What did that car ever do to you?”
Richie’s lower lip wobbled. “It… it’s gonna die, Skip. I mean, I’m a mechanic. This thing should be spinning like a top, but… you know. Got so caught up in the job and the dog and you and… I let the oil get sludgy and my gaskets are wearing and…” He looked mournfully at the car, an identical twin on the outside to Skipper’s, because they’d bought them both right after they’d gotten out of school.
“You never let mine lapse,” Skipper said with a little smile.
“You take yours to the oil place,” Richie told him, resentment coloring his tone, like Skipper didn’t trust him with his car.
“I have better things to do with your time,” Skipper told him with a slight smile.
“Like soccer,” Richie said dryly.
“Sure.”
Richie’s mouth quirked up. “Fine. I’ll take it to the quick stop place. But first…” He looked behind him and grimaced. “I gotta fix that shit I broke, Skip. That’s just embarrassing.”
Skipper kissed him on the forehead. “Yeah. Sure.” He looked woefully at Richie’s knuckles. “I’ll dress that after you come back in and wash, okay?”
Richie nodded glumly and pulled the wrench gently from Skipper’s hand. “Don’t mind me, Skip. Me and the car will find a way, okay?”
“Course. Just… you know. No more beating an unarmed opponent, kay?”
That got him a real smile. “Deal.”
Skip went back to his class and finished his homework assignment, then stood and stretched. Richie was still swearing at the car, but the dispute seemed amicable, so he threw the ball to the dog a couple of times because he was getting bored and lonely in the backyard.
The dog sufficiently exercised–and fed a giant bowl of kibble– Skip went in and made lunch for both of them, thinking wistfully of other things they could be doing on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon.
Most of them involved a cleaner, happier Richie, who was not wearing his old mechanic’s coveralls. In fact, was not wearing much at all.
He was in the middle of grilling Richie’s sandwich when suddenly the timber of Richie’s voice went up to worrisome levels again. Skip slid the grilled cheese on a plate, turned off the heat and ran outside just in time to hear Richie crow triumphantly.
“See that you miserable piece of crap? See? I win, because I am a fucking human being!”
Skip had to laugh then, and Richie looked out from under the hood with his face wreathed in smiled. “D’you hear that, Skipper?”
“I did!”
“I won! Oil changed, hoses changed, fluids changed. I can take her to the Quick Change with pride in my heart, right?”
“Sure, Richie–but come in and get cleaned up first. I made you lunch.”
Richie’s grin of triumph suddenly turned wicked. “I’m gonna come in and shower,” he said. “Then I’m gonna eat wearing a towel. You know why?”
Skip wanted to kiss him so bad, but he held off, because this was a glorious plan. “Because you have better things to do with your weekend?” he asked, eyes sweeping Richie’s knotty, muscular little body with greed. “And you are a fucking human being?”
Richie chortled and pulled a rag out of his pocket, wiping his fingers carefully and avoiding his knuckles. “And I wanna be the human you’re fuckin’. Gimme five minutes out here, Skipper, then we can have lunch and desert, you think?”
Skipper leaned forward and captured his mouth and only his mouth, because it was the only clean part of him, even when it was saying filthy things.
“I think,” he said, tasting his boyfriend and loving it. “Come on in when you’re ready.”
He was going to shower too, since he hadn’t even taken off his sweats since he’d woken up. They’d been the responsible adults this weekend–now it was time to be fun adults.
They were human beings after all.
*Sigh* I love being able to get a glimpse of Skipper and Richie in anything! Winter Ball remains a reliable repeater when I need to read something sweet and uplifting, so it's nice to see them getting their own ficlet!