Feliz

Notes: written for littledrop, for my mug!

~~~

Bosco knows his family is a little...dysfunctional. He's OK with that -- not in the sense he's actually OK, but he's used to it and knows how to make it work. For instance, he knows what to expect on his birthday: breakfast after his shift at his mom's place and a gift certificate to whatever store she happened to go into. He's almost got her trained to stick with places that sell DVDs.

There's always something from his brother, though it's anywhere from two to four weeks late. A card in the mail and whatever stupid, goofy thing he can shove in there with it. Key ring, book of matches from a strip joint -- once it was a nickel bag that Bosco had to argue with himself whether to toss or smoke or take in as evidence.

Birthdays are sometimes tough, but do-able. Christmas is the only other holiday the Boscorelli clan celebrates, and again it's pretty much just him and his mom. He stops by the bar as soon as he can after work the day before Christmas Eve, and he sits and nurses a beer and they talk about whatever pops into their heads.

Afterwards, she invites him to dinner and he explains he drew a shift because he's got no wife or kids to worry about, and she makes noise about how doesn't she count as family. But it's all pretty much rote, and he knows she knows what the answers are, every year, before she asks them. She ends up telling him to stop by when he can for his present, and he makes sure his gift for her is wrapped nice and contains something just as girly as he can stand to buy. His mom isn't all that much for flowers and lace and whatever, but she loves that Bosco thinks she is, and she's always genuinely delighted with the floral patterns or perfume or bath stuff he gives her.

It's nice, in a way, and Bosco has to admit to himself that he more or less kind of enjoys the way they do Christmas. He gets to work, and thus get out of doing anything really annoying, and the time he and his mom spend talking is.... It isn't like he's ever told her anything really important, but it's nice. Makes him feel like he's got family.

The point is, Christmas works for him the same way it's been for years, and he doesn't have any idea why that should change just because a certain somebody sleeps with him.

~~~

"I work," Bosco said, irritably. He tried to move past Bobby to get to the bathroom, wondering where the fuck his shirt was. It was his apartment, what was up with him losing track of his clothes, here?

"I work Christmas Eve too," Bobby said in that patient tone that made him a great paramedic but sometimes just made Bosco want to punch him in the face. "And we both work Christmas Day, and you have Christmas with your mom on Christmas Eve Eve. Which is why you are free to come to my mother's for Christmas on the 26th."

Bosco scowled, mouth still hanging open from where he'd been about to point out that he really wasn't free, except after Bobby listed off his entire damn schedule, he wasn't sure he could get away with claiming he was working the 26th as well.

It was probably too late to ask for an extra shift that night.

"I'm not going to your mother's place for Christmas," Bosco said again, finally spotting his shirt on the floor beside the dresser. How the hell it had ended up there...was probably due to just how quickly they'd gone from front door to bed, that morning. He should maybe he surprised his shirt wasn't in the hallway.

"You're going," Bobby announced, leaning against the wall and glaring as Bosco tried to move past him to the bathroom.

"I'm not--"

Bobby looked at him, glaring and arms folded across his chest. Bosco stopped. Yeah, OK, so he knew this was kind of important, but...geez, it wasn't that big a deal, was it?

"Why do I have to go with you? It isn't like we're married. We're not even living together -- why would your mom want you bringing strange guys home--"

He was cut off by Bobby's hand on his arm, then he was being kissed, hard. He knew it was just so Bobby could make him shut up, but Bosco let his mouth fall open and took everything he could get. His cock stirred, and he wondered if derailing the discussion for going back to bed -- or fucking against the wall -- would help matters.

When Bobby broke off the kiss and looked at him, Bosco thought maybe he'd hold off on the suggestion.

"You're going," Bobby said again, and his eyes said everything else.

Sometimes Bosco wondered if Bobby didn't say that stuff out loud because he knew Bosco didn't want to hear it, or because Bobby himself didn't like to say it. Either way, he was grateful as he pulled away from Bobby's grasp and looked around for his pants.

"Maurice," Bobby began, and Bosco cut him off.

"Fine, whatever. Where the hell are my shoes? What the fuck did you do with them?"

"What did I do?" Bobby pushed himself away from the wall, and just like that the tension and the strange, dark looks were gone. Bobby nudged him aside as he went past, then kicked one of Bosco's shoes out from under corner of the blanket, still half-draped off the bed.

"You see the other one?"

"Check the kitchen," came the reply, and Bobby gave him the slightest bit of a smile as he grabbed his own shirt from under the dresser and headed for the bathroom.

"What the hell were we doing in the.. right." Bosco dumped everything on the bed, knowing he had more than enough time while Bobby took his shower. He headed down the hallway to make some coffee and see if he could find his shoe, then instead turned around and went back to the bedroom.

He waited until he heard the shower going, counted to ten to let the water heat up a little, then pushed the bathroom door open and went in.

Bobby didn't look surprised to see him, and Bosco ended up reminding himself yet again to install grip bars in the shower before one of them fell and broke his skull.

~~~

It wasn't the first time Bosco had met parents. Usually it was a girlfriend's folks, making judgments on their daughter's ability to pick out nice guys from jerks. Only twice had he ever met his boyfriend's folks. One time it had been high school and technically Justin's parents hadn't known they were fucking. The second time had been awkward and tense and Bosco had never been so glad to break up with a guy as he had after enduring Drake's old man's lectures about family and god and state and marriage. It wasn't like Bosco had never run into assholes of that nature, but it had been hard on Drake because half the time Bosco agreed with the guy -- everything about being able to shoot a guy before he commits another crime, and whether Ford should be allowed to ever make another Mustang.

Drake had turned incredibly pissy after that one lunch at his folks' place, and it didn't take long for Bosco to tell him if he didn't want to date someone just like his father, he should go find someone nice.

Bosco's mom, on the other hand, met all of his girlfriends and boyfriends, and treated them all exactly the same -- distant, barely interested, and the only question she ever had was are you going to give me grandkids this time Maurice.

It had come in handy when he'd wanted to dump Chester. His mom had barely said the word 'babies' and Chester was out of there, leaving messages on Bosco's machine about how he didn't think things were going to work out.

She'd met Bobby, of course, and when she'd asked about kids Bobby had just shrugged and said he'd grown up with a bunch of younger siblings and kind of thought of their kids as his own. Then he started talking about his nephew's first words and when his niece had begun kindergarten and Bosco's mom had started to smile.

Bobby's mother hadn't said a word about grandkids -- maybe she had enough, Bosco thought, and was grateful Bobby wouldn't be bringing home any more. Her apartment was utterly packed with people -- Bobby's siblings and their spouses and kids, an aunt and uncle and what Bosco thought were maybe cousins. An old man that Bosco had no idea who he was, and wasn't sure the old guy knew he was at a family dinner, anyhow. It was complete chaos, and Bosco was dimly grateful for it because it made it a lot easier to hide in the corner.

Half of the conversations swirling around him were in Spanish, and Bosco could pick out a few words -- orders from Bobby's mother or sister about the food, questions about one of the younger girl's boyfriend, something about a dog, and what Bosco thought maybe wasn't a question about whether hamsters ate chicken.

He half-smiled at anyone who looked his way, stuck to his chair and drank whatever anyone poured into his glass. He'd have preferred to hide behind Bobby, but of course his asshole of a boyfriend had dived in and greeted everyone and started helping his mother and been everywhere at once except with Bosco.

Someone had tried dumping a three year old on him at one point, probably to babysit or entertain him, but Bosco was utterly horrid with kids and didn't ever try to hide it. He didn't actually traumatize the kid -- he hoped -- but someone else grabbed the kid's hand after about three minutes and after that no one dumped anything on him at all.

The worst part was when Bobby's mother swung by, laughing at someone and chatting with two people at once and giving Bosco a hard stare and asking did he need anything at all, how was he, did her son treat him well, which church do you go to and would he be joining them for Midnight Mass.

Bosco managed to never insult her, but he was beginning to think that letting Bobby guilt him into coming was the worst idea ever. He pressed farther back into his chair, wished he'd been given something alcoholic to drink, and thought about ways Bobby could make this up to him.

He caught Bobby looking at him when he was halfway through his list. Bobby was smiling, talking to someone and holding a squirming toddler, and he was staring at Bosco like he wanted to say something but knew he wouldn't be heard over the noise.

Bosco stared back, didn't try to get up and join him. Safely in his chair in the corner, and his list included blow jobs and breakfast and Bobby washing his car, Bobby was looking at him like all he really cared about was that Bosco was there.

Giving a little shrug, Bosco smiled, and Bobby's grin grew wider and he turned back to whoever he was talking to and Bosco lost him again until dinner was served. They were seated together, and there was a seventeen year old girl across the table from Bosco who keep batting her eyelashes and tugging her shirt down to pull it tight across her chest.

He didn't know if nobody had told her he was taken, or if nobody had told her Bosco would have to arrest himself for statutory if he so much as thought about taking her up on the offer. He settled for listening to Bobby talk, a mix of Spanish and English and family patois, and thought about how he shouldn't try saying the one Spanish sentence he'd learned.

There was a pretty good chance Bobby would fuck him when they got back to his place, after, but not if Bosco said so in front of his mother.

He passed a plate along as another one came around, and Bobby brushed his hand as he held it out. Bosco didn't react, didn't want to have any sort of talking-not-talking in front of anybody, much less Bobby's family. He kept his attention on his plate, and half a dozen dishes he didn't recognise. Bobby's knee pressed against his, firm, but not insistent. After a moment Bosco pressed back. Not hard enough to shove him away, but just to let him know he heard.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

He was leaving the blow jobs on the list, though.