Alcoholics Anonymous

A/N: Wow. I\'m surprised, haha. Guess I still got the ol\' gusto eh?



.::|::.



Irritation.



Perhaps that should be my new permanent emotion; instead of happy-go-lucky-with-occasional-down-moments-and-sometimes-psycho-schizoid-tendencies.



... Yeah, irritation would be much simpler.



But anyway, why am I feeling such an emotion? I\'m at work in my office, sitting at my desk and typing away on the computer to attempt to re-do the code that I tried to use to make this new program. Yeah... let\'s just say it didn\'t work too well. So I\'m sitting there growling at my screen, only feeling the beginnings of irritation in the far, far reaches of my mind. I have my coffee nearby which was enough to sate me - what good Seattle Samaritan didn\'t feel better after gulping down a huge latte from Starbucks? Exactly. Every good Samaritan, save for the few that try to pretend that they don\'t like coffee so they can be \'unique\' Seattle-ites.



Queers.



The phone rings, and I pick it up with my most professional voice, "Dorian Dunayevskaya here", and then frown as the principal of Mikhail\'s school demands my immediate presence.



Erm... what?



So now, I\'m sitting in the principals office in the chair across from her desk, Mikhail sitting at my side. He\'s scarlet in the face and avoiding my eyes, and I can\'t help but wonder why? Why was my angel in the principals office? I didn\'t even try to fool myself that it was for academic excellence, since he\'s already on the honor roll and teachers never bother to personally tell the parent how proud they are of their kid. Why do they do that, anyway? Call you up and say \'your kid is so wonderful and smart! You have a good son/daughter\'. Uh, duh, I know my son is amazing. He\'s my son. And as such he\'s automatically better than any of the other snot-nosed faghags and jockrocks in this school. I don\'t need you, nerd that spent like ten years in college to get where you are now at a low-paying shitty job in public school, to tell me that my son is special.



"Mr. Dunayevskaya, I called her you here for a very important reason." The principal starts, and I blink and return my attention back to her. Mikhail shifts even more uncomfortably.



What did he do, give a Freshman a swirlie?



"I can tell," I start, and cross my legs in my chair and lean back, trying to look as cool and presented as I can. Which works because the principal raises an impressed brow at me and then continues.



"I\'m sorry to say that your son was caught participating in inappropriate public displays of affection."



I blink, and Mikhail looks like he just wants to fuse with the chair and never come back to this world again.



"... Excuse me?" I say with a small smile, leaning forward. Did I really just hear that correctly? My son engaging in naughty stuff during school?



Her look hardens, "He was caught by a teacher in the boy\'s bathroom with another boy."



That makes me blink again.



Another... boy? But, Mikhail, he... he\'s like the epitome of straight. And I would know. I\'m his gay father and even my Gaydar didn\'t go off. Is this some sick joke?



"I\'m afraid you\'re going to have to elaborate, Miss Stein," I say, leaning back a bit with a perplexed expression on my face.



Her lips purse, as if she didn\'t want to have to explain it to me. Obviously I should get it, but I wanted to hear it from her before I took Mikhail home and grilled him. And by grill I mean make sweet love to.



"They were caught with their pants down, to say it in a nice way."



I hear Mikhail give a soft whimper in his throat, and he\'s sunk so far down in his chair that I\'m sure Miss Stein can\'t even see the top of his head. He\'s practically on the floor. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as the irritation starts to disappear, and I let out a breath.



"Ah... well, I apologize on behalf of my son." I say, standing up and giving a slight bow. "I will take care of this."



She stood as well and held out her hand, and I shook it lightly with a charming smile.



"Thank you for your time, Mr. Dunayevskaya. Right now he\'s been suspended for the remainder of the week, and the following week after Spring break. He will be responsible for making up the finals and any other tests that are given out in his classes."



"Yes, thank you." I say, feeling kind of bad. Mikky\'s squeaky clean record, gone. Because he wanted to get his rocks off between classes. My poor baby.~



Things were silent between us as we got into my Lexus, and I didn\'t pressure him into speaking. Though I told Miss Stein I was going to take care of it, I was going to wait for Mikhail himself to instigate it. Either he had a brief moment of confused dicking due to his overactive teenaged libido, or he\'s out of the closet. Surely the whole school knows by now. But I suppose as a child, it\'s worse for your parents to find out.



"I-... It wasn\'t my fault, dad," he says softly, and I glance over to see his chin tucked to his chest, his chocolatey bangs falling over his eyes to prevent me from seeing their shimmery beauty. I stay silent, in means for him to continue. "Th-that guy... I was washing my hands and he--"



"You mean that he forced himself on you?"



Oh, irritation. You\'re back with a vengeance.



"I mean-" Mikhail sits up straighter in his seat, his eyes flashing towards me. "It\'s not like-- he wasn\'t violent or anything! He just-"



"Did you want it?"



He blinks, as if he\'s not sure what I just said. I raise a brow and glance over to him, and then repeat myself.



"Did you want him to do that to you, Mikhail?"



"N-No!" It\'s the first time I\'ve heard his voice squeak, since puberty.



"Did you enjoy it?" I press, wanting, needing to know.



At his silence, the answer is obvious.



I can\'t believe my luck. Then again, I don\'t want to believe it, and I sure as Hell don\'t want to make anything of it. He\'s still my son. He\'s still sixteen. He\'s still...



A virgin.



... Or at least, I think he\'s still a virgin.



Whoever that kid was, he damn well better have a good security system on his house. Because when I figure out who it is, I\'m going to wring his neck until he\'s straight again.



Don\'t doubt me, I could do it.



Letting out a breath, I let my hand wander over to rest on Mikhail\'s shoulder comfortingly.



"I\'m not mad, Mikhail," I say softly as we mozy along the crowded freeways of Seattle. The look he gives me after I say that - the look of relief, obviously, mixed with something else that I can\'t quite put my finger on... he just looks so... so...



... sexy.



And... I\'m seriously considering the whole alcoholic thing.



.::|::.



It\'s been a whole day since the incident, and Mikhail hasn\'t said much of anything. He\'s not avoiding me, but he\'s also not exactly going out of his way to talk to me. When I woke up this morning and walked into the living room, I saw him seated with his back against the couch, legs under the coffee table and the coffee table itself pulled insanely close to him, like tucked under his chin. His arms were up on the surface of the table, papers strewn about and the pencil between his fingers working diligently. Ah, so he was still studying for the finals, as well as catching up with his homework.



This is how he is, hours later, and I\'m starting to wonder if my son got replaced by a homework robot.



Fat chance, I\'d kill the robot before making him tell me where my real son is.



... The image I created in my head just then was so weird, I can\'t even begin to describe it.



"Hungry, Mikhail?"



It\'s lunch time and the boy should eat something; I have no idea if he\'s eaten breakfast since he was up earlier than I was.



"Nh."



I raise a brow and move out into the living room, folding my arms over my chest. I have to stop by the office in about an hour to pick up some documents - since Mikhail is not only suspended, but is off for a week because of Spring break anyhow, I decided to work from home. Of course, he\'s grounded because he was stupid enough to get caught while doing it, but I know he\'s a good kid and I\'m only hanging around because I just want to fit better into that \'parental\' role. So because I\'m supposed to head to the office in a bit, I\'m wearing a white button-down shirt and a black and white checkered tie, with dark grey slacks and the shiniest black shoes I could find in my closet.



"Son, you gotta eat," I say, trying to sound as stern as possible while still sounding like I\'m concerned. I really am concerned, the sternness is just for show.



"Dad," he breathes out, in the way that I wish he would while saying my name at the same time, "I feel really bad about being suspended. The least I could do is bury myself in my studies and guilt."



The other brow shoots up to meet the other arched one, and I can\'t help but move over to sit on the couch where I can comfortably without banging my knees on the damn coffee table.



"Mikhail," I say, reaching out to pluck the pencil from his fingers. I toss it across the room and he pouts, dropping his forehead on the table. "I\'m not mad. You don\'t need to feel guilty."



"It\'s not that," he says softly. "I just... this is the first time I\'ve ever been suspended. Ever. And it\'s for a... completely embarrassing and... just entirely bad reason."



I let out a soft chuckle and reach out to start running my fingers through his hair. Moms do it to their kids to comfort them, so I figure I can too right? He sighs lightly and leans into the touch, so that\'s good. I would cry if he smacked my hand away at this point.



I don\'t know why. I just would.



"The situation wasn\'t phenomenal," I say, tucking some hair behind his ear and then brushing it out again with my fingertips. I continue to do this repeatedly a few more times as I say, "But I think it\'s good for a kid every once in a while to get in trouble. You\'re not perfect."



That little bit of information makes him relax further; he moves his hands to push the table away from his chest, and he scoots up and then flops down on the couch next to me. I move my hand so he can do so, and then once he\'s situated I wrap my arm around his shoulders and bring him into my side in a one-armed, manly hug.



Totally not a gay hug.



He rests his head on my shoulder and I know his eyes are closed as he lets out a soft exhale, "This isn\'t how I wanted you to find out."



I feel my heart beat slow down as my ears automatically tune into him; his breathing, his heart beat, the blood rushing through his veins.



"I didn\'t know how you would take it..."



I blink, and take a moment to consider how absolutely ironic the situation is. My son, coming out of the closet, thinking that I might reject him or something.



Oh sheesh. Did I come off as a homo-hater?



"Mikky... do you want to know why Grammy and Papa never talk to me, or associate with me?" I ask finally, moving my hand from his shoulder to start running my fingers through his hair again.



"I thought it was because you dropped out," he says, and I can hear the mild confusion in his voice.



Swallow.



-- Don\'t think dirty thoughts while doing it.



Deep breath.



"No, it\'s because my choice of... life style didn\'t, and doesn\'t suit them." I say, not exactly saying it but hinting at it strongly.



"Were you into drugs?" He is seriously confused, and for a moment I wonder how the fuck he\'s a straight-A student.



"Er. No, son." I chuckle lightly and pull away from him, turning to face him. I try not to touch him. I can\'t touch him while I tell him. I might tempt myself. He blinks his sparkly emerald eyes and I give him a slightly crooked smile. "It\'s because they caught me kissing a boy in my bedroom one day after school."



It takes a few seconds for it to click in Mikhail\'s head, and I have the pleasure of watching his skin darkening, from the collar of his shirt to the tips of his ears, once again. With his bronze skin it looks stunning; he\'s quite the exotic creature.



"Y-You\'re gay?" He asks finally, sitting up a bit and rubbing the back of his head.



I nod, "I\'d make some sort of joke about it being genetically inherited... but it wouldn\'t work \'cause not only is no one in my family gay, you\'re not my biological son so..." I trail off, glancing towards the side.



A light blanket of awkwardness settles over us. But it\'s light, and not too suffocating.



"So that\'s why you never had a girlfriend or anything..." Mikhail pondered aloud, his hand moving from his neck to scratch at his cheek idly. "I always wondered. Especially \'cause that hot secretary keeps hitting on you."



"Everyone hits on me, Mikky," I say with a wink and a flourish of my hand, and he laughs out loud.



"How could I have not noticed before?" He says with a chuckle, rolling his eyes. "You\'re always so dramatic and... flaily."



"Flaily isn\'t a word, and I\'m offended," I say, upturning my nose a bit before I chuckle and stand, headed over towards the bar.



I\'m not an alcoholic.



I pour myself some Grey Goose, since now the faggot in me is practically singing.



But I wonder, as I bring the glass to my lips, what now? He\'s just gay. Doesn\'t mean he\'s attracted to me in any way, whatsoever. We\'re just two men who happen to share the appreciation of the male body. That\'s all.



Though, in the back of my mind, I kinda wish he might see me like that. Stupid, huh? Perverted, even. I\'m his father, biological or not.



Nine year age difference or not.



"Want some water?" I hear him ask as he stands, and my reaction is instant.



"I\'m not an alcoholic." I sip on my Goose and sit on one of the bar stools.



Mikhail rolls his eyes and moves over to the kitchen, knowing that I\'m not gonna take a drink of water. Fuck water. Stuff is for like... water-lovers. Like those fuckin\' hippies that are all like "GO GREEN, SAVE THE EARTH". I bet they\'re avid water drinkers. I\'m not. I\'m fine with my booze.



... Need I repeat, I\'m not an alcoholic?



.::|::.



A few days have passed, and it\'s early in the morning. I don\'t know why I\'m awake. I\'m staring at my ceiling, and wondering who in their right mind would like that popcorn ceiling shit? It doesn\'t even look like popcorn. And it\'s fucking sparkly. I don\'t know about you, but even a fag can see that sparkly popcorn ceilings are pretty gay. As I am, propped up against the head board with a cigarette dangling from my lips and a glass of scotch in my hands, I\'m in my usual reclining position.



Though I probably just look like a bum, spread out on top of my blankets with my robe loosely tied shut. I don\'t give a fuck.



It\'s Sunday morning, and I find that I can\'t sleep. Running through my mind, for some reason, are memories of when I used to go to church with my parents. Roman Catholics, they are. Figures. I never really liked church, but I went because I didn\'t know any better. As soon as I got into high school though, that was when I started to rebel. Even though I was in a private school. Haha... go figure, right? Stereotypical all-boys school with the closet homo\'s molesting random kids and shit \'cause there were no chicks around.



That\'s not what turned me gay, though.



Mom had some killer red heels when I was four.



Taking a sip of my scotch, I glance up when a knock sounds on my door.



"Enter," I say, picking up the newspaper I had discarded earlier. Might as well look like I\'m doing something, right? I don\'t know why I feel the need to impress my own son.



"Morning," Mikhail says, coming into the room and seating himself on the edge of the bed. He\'s wearing black sweats and a plain white tee. His hair is mussed from sleep and it looks like he might have just woken up, but he sure does look awfully awake.



Oh yeah, he\'s a morning person. I nearly forgot.



"Morning, son," I say, sipping my scotch and letting my eyes skin over the paper over the top of the glasses that are perched on my nose. I would look like a perfect parent, if perhaps you replaced the alcohol with coffee.



I\'m not an alcoholic.



"You\'re up early," he says, scooting a bit closer.



I raise a brow and glance up at him briefly, and then nod. "It\'s good to start the day early. Early bird gets the worm."



"Yeah." Mikhail averts his eyes for a moment, I can see out of my periph, and then glances over at the paper I\'m holding in my hands. He raises a brow, and I get a bit defensive.



"What, can\'t your father read the newspaper?"



"I wasn\'t aware that you cared what was going on elsewhere in the world," he says with a small laugh, and I scoff with indignation.



"Of course I do!" Cigarette between my index and middle finger, I gesture towards one of the pages. "Look, Kim Jeong-Il has cancer. Isn\'t that sad?"



"Dad... he\'s a psychotic bastard that wants the nuke the rest of the world."



"But... he has cancer! Cancer is serious business, son."



"... So is a nuclear holocaust."



"Touche. Touche, my son." I say, shaking my head solemnly as I return to reading the paper.



"Daaaad," he says in a slightly whiny voice, and I raise a brow and glance up to him as I blink behind my wire spectacles.



"... I\'m afraid I can\'t read minds or catch the undertone in your piteous whining," I say slowly, tilting my head a bit and taking off my glasses. "Do you need something?"



He fidgets a bit, and I find this horribly amusing. He\'s not nervous too often, and since the freshest memory of his nerves is him being wholly embarrassed in the principal\'s office, I can\'t help but chuckle. He must have been up early thinking about whatever is on his mind. Or perhaps he stayed up all night?



"Don\'t laugh," he says, his cheeks puffing out cutely. Oh, my adorable son.~ "This is serious."



"Like cancer?"



"Like a holocaust!" He cries, throwing his arms up in the air.



Taken aback, I fold up the newspaper and set it down on the bedside table, and pick up my scotch glass for a sip.



Soothe me, alcohol, you delicious relaxant~



"I..." he bites his lip and sits Indian-style on the bed, his hands on his lap as he continues to fidget.



"Seriously, son, I don\'t know--"



"Whydon\'tyougooutandgetaboyfriend?"



The sentence leaves him in a rushed breath, and for a second it doesn\'t register. But then, when it does, I chuckle lightly.



"Why should I?" I ask, bringing the glass to my lips to hide my smile. I don\'t want to frustrate Mikhail anymore than he already is.



"Because, dad, I mean... I\'m old enough to basically take care of myself, you should go out and have fun. You\'ve had me for six years, don\'t you miss going out?" His shining green eyes are staring into my own grey ones imploringly, and I consider the question for a moment before responding.



"No, because I never went out in the first place." It\'s true. In school I didn\'t have a boyfriend, and throughout my climb in the Microsoft world I didn\'t have a boyfriend then, either. I guess you could say I\'m goal-oriented. And now that I\'ve got my son, what else do I need? I don\'t say any of this out loud, though. "I\'ve done all that I wanted in life, and now I\'m ready to relax."



"You sound like a sixty year old man getting ready for retirement, Dorian," he says, and a jolt of electricity runs up and down my spine.



Yes, say my name again!



"I mean... I didn\'t know what your sexual preference was, because you never brought anyone home or went out with anyone! I mean... come on, you have to want to go out and live a little."



"I\'m living fine right here, with you," I say, setting everything aside and leaning forward a bit. He\'s within arm\'s reach and I just want to take him into my chest, pet his hair and rock him back and forth and tell him it\'s all right, you don\'t need to worry about daddy.



"But what happens when I go out and leave you here?" He\'s starting to sound desperate.



"Then I do work and wait for your return so I can make you dinner.~"



"Dorian, you\'re so impos--"



He said my name again, and I can\'t take it anymore. I cut him off by leaning forward and grabbing his bicep, tugging him towards me. Our mouths meet and I can feel the shock settling in his body, stiffening his limbs and bones and probably numbing his mind.



Dear God, what am I doing?



--

A/N: Reviews are appreciated.~

Next and final part coming up asap.