Gay Uncles

There was a faint scratching sound next to his ear. Not like a cat; he hadn't had one in years, not since Alicia and her "precious baby" that liked to claw his back , drawing blood. Not like a nail file, either, another dreaded sound. It was familiar, though. Comfortable. And it drew Alexander out from the dark oblivion of sleep.

He opened his eyes. Michael was sitting next to him, already dressed. His sketchpad was on his knees, the pencil moving quickly over the page. His eyes were distant, far away, mouth slack, tongue twisting and thrusting against his teeth.

Alexander stretched and pushed himself up. "Oh crap," he swore as the muscles in his back protested.

"You okay?" Michael said distractedly.

"Yes, Michael," Alexander snapped, exasperated. "I'm wonderful." Slowly, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.

His encounter with Lincoln yesterday had left him with a huge bruise that ran along his spine. That, combined with the workout Michael had given him, had left him bedridden most of the day. It had worked out, at least for Michael. Michael had gotten to spend the day with Lincoln and LJ without the further stress of Alexander being around. He'd returned home much calmer and happier than when he'd left, although his spirits had been dampened when he'd seen Alexander. But once Alexander had assured him that he would be okay, Michael had relaxed and regaled him with stories of his day with his brother. Alexander had fallen asleep to stories of Lincoln filling his head.

That had left him with some strange dreams. Strange and not very pleasant.

He showered, shaved, and took some more medication. The pain wasn't as intense this morning, but it was still pain. Alexander really wanted to get Lincoln back, but he'd promised himself he'd be on his best behavior. This was hard enough for Michael. No need for him to make it worse.

Michael was still drawing when Alexander came back out. He'd barely moved. Even his facial expression was the same.

Alexander pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt. "What are you working on?" he asked, crossing back to the bed. He sat down and leaned over Michael's shoulder, knowing by the way Michael didn't immediately pull away that it wasn't the picture of him. Michael had shared every picture, painting, and mural he'd done, but he refused to show Alexander the one he'd started their first night together.

"Lincoln and LJ," Michael said. He set the pad on his lap so Alexander could see it.

It was clearly an image of something that had happened yesterday. Lincoln and LJ, sitting at an outdoor cafe. They were in conversation, LJ's face lit up with happiness. Lincoln was more somber, serious lines on his face, mouth pressed in a thin line. LJ was all beauty and light and delicate movements. Lincoln was more stationary. Planted. Shadows across his face, eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

All of Michael's drawings were a study of abstraction. He began with a setting, a subject. Then, on that base, he drew symbols that interlocked and overlapped over the whole of the page. On this, the air and buildings were filled with symbols for home, family, and love. The streets were paved with images of hearthstones and grain and water. The buildings had interlocking hands and harms, hearts, eyes, cradles, cookies, mugs of something that steamed.

Then, there was the subjects. Lincoln and LJ were both surrounded by and decorated with the symbols Michael had chosen to represent them. LJ was interwoven with images of the crescent moon and flowers and the sun. He was diamonds and torches and eyes. He was open doors and silver rings and apples and hands. He was a knot and a five pointed star and sunbeams and fireworks.

Interesting that LJ was so many things associated with femininity and purity in Michael's mind. So many things that were untouchable or intangible, and yet some that were... just what you'd want to hold in the palm of your hand. Keep safe and alive and perfect.

Alexander almost envied the kid. He had no idea how Michael saw him, and the more he studied Michael's drawings, the more he was convinced that if you wanted to know Michael's true thoughts and feelings, his drawings were where you needed to look. Alexander knew Michael loved him; he wanted to see how it was represented.

He could only hope he came out more favorably than Lincoln. Lincoln was fire and a gavel and a jail cell. He was dog and a quilt. He was a thorn bush, a fist, a feather on a scale. He was a tornado and a book torn apart and eyes filled with tears. He was blood welling from a heart, an umbrella, a lion. He was pain and anguish and judgment and loss and love and protection and security and if there was anyone Alexander had ever wanted to be less, it was Lincoln Burrows.

"It's good." He kissed Michael's shoulder again. "I like it."

Michael shook his head. He was chewing on his lower lip. He looked troubled. It was all in his eyes as he looked down at his drawing.

"What's wrong, Michael?"

"I angry with him. I hate being angry with him."

"He's your brother."

"My brother. The only father I've ever known. The whole reason for my existence for the past six years. I hate when anyone I love disapproves of me and my choices."

"A normal reaction. But I thought he was okay with this. Well, not okay, but I thought he'd resigned himself to make the best of it."

Michael snorted. "Yeah, right."

There was a knock at the door. "Uncle Mike? Is it safe to come in?"

"Come in, LJ."

The door opened. "Morning, Uncle Mike." The kid's smile turned impish. "Morning, Uncle Alex."

Alexander frowned. "You don't have to call me that."

"Wow. He's even better with people than you, Uncle Mike." He disappeared into the kitchen.

While Alexander tried to figure out what that mean, Michael said, "He thinks that Lincoln's resigned to him."

LJ laughed. He came back into the room with a sweet roll. "Yeah, he really hasn't. I mean, he hasn't mentioned you once since we went out yesterday. But no f-ing way has he let any of this go."

Alexander and Michael exchanged amused looks. The kid had his hair gelled in a wild style, had donned eyeliner and blue mascara, and was clicking his tongue ring--or stud, has Michael had informed him last night--against his teeth. And yet he couldn't bring himself to swear.

"How can you be so sure? Michael told him that his mind is made up. I'm staying. That's not an ambivalent statement."

LJ flung himself across the foot of the bed. "Dad is really obtuse when he wants to be. Ten bucks says he doesn't even believe that Uncle Mike is gay."

"I'm sharing a bed with him."

"He's seen me make out with my boyfriend, and he still doesn't get that I'm bi."

Michael blinked. "You're bi?"

LJ blushed. "I don't know. Maybe."

"What's going on with you, LJ? I mean, not that being attracted to guys is... anything. But, uh." Michael made a vague gesturing motion in LJ's general direction. "What's going on?"

He blushed harder. "Dad told you about my ulcer, right?"

Michael nodded.

"You have an ulcer?"

LJ shrugged. "Okay, after getting out of prison, I had... this reaction, I guess," he answered. "Like, I knew, really, that everything that happened wasn't my fault, right? But everything happened so fast. I let my grades slide and then got busted for pot, and then, boom, my mom's killed and I'm being chased by these guys and everything just went to hell, you know? It was scary. So, when I went to live with Dad, I just tried to be, you know. Perfect."

Alexander snorted. His eyes intersected with Michael's and he said, "I know what you mean."

He ducked his head and tore at his breakfast with his fingers. "And it was bad at school. I mean, you'd think that after what that guard did to me, I'd rebel against authority, like, completely? But all I wanted was for everyone to like me and not see my dad or what happened or even see me. I did everything I could to make everyone happy with me and I hoped that they'd just ignore me. So, about six months ago, I started getting these intense stomach aches. I couldn't eat, and when I did eat, I threw it all back up. I was losing weight and feeling awful all the time. So, Dad took me to the doctor and we found out about the ulcer. My psychologist said I needed to stop trying to make everyone else happy and do stuff for myself."

"That must have been easy," Michael said sarcastically.

"No kidding. I had no idea what to do, you know? I ended up going to this really lame bowling night at the student union. I mean, I thought was going to be lame, but it turned out kind of fun. There was this group of kids there from the GSA? And they invited me to bowl with them, and then we went out for coffee after. And then this guy asked if I wanted to go out. Chris. Not with him, just... with this group." The blush on his cheeks belied his hasty assurances that it hadn't been a date. "Anyway, I started hanging out with them, and started, I don't know. Experimenting."

"You're taking drugs?" Michael didn't sound accepting of that. Not that Alexander blamed him. He knew how hard it had been on Michael when Lincoln had been using growing up.

"No!" LJ said quickly. "No, no drugs. Not even alcohol. I'm, like, totally straight edge, except for I don't do that whole X thing or... whatever it is they do. But I don't do drugs or drink or anything. I meant experimenting with... stuff. I started with my hair. I dyed it blue. Dad didn't tell you?"

Michael shook his head wordlessly.

"I dyed my hair, went through various experiments with make-up, different kinds of clothes. All stuff that I thought I might like and I had to force myself not to worry about what Dad thought. That was so hard." He sat up, crossing his legs in front of him. "Dad hated the hair. And he hated the month I always wore black everywhere. And when I got my tongue pierced, he almost imploded. And because he was so upset, I almost just shut down. My psychologist had us talking for hours about all this." He sighed. "Dad's not super-excited about it all, but he's dealing. I just wish he'd accept the fact that I date both boys and girls, you know? It bugs that I can flat out tell him that Chris is my boyfriend, and he forgets it the next day."

"If he doesn't hear what he wants, then he doesn't hear it," Michael agreed. He turned his eyes back to his sketchpad and started shading.

Alexander kissed Michael's neck. "It'll be all right," he said. He caressed Michael's cheek with his knuckles.

LJ sighed heavily. "What's it like?" he asked. His voice sounded dreamy.

"What's what like?" Alexander replied, turning his attention to the kid looking at him and Michael with avidly bright eyes.

"Being in love. Having sex with a guy. Any of it."

As Michael turned bright red and squirmed in his arms, Alexander said, "You haven't had sex yet?"

LJ shook his head. "No. Not like... I mean, you know." He moved his hand vaguely in the universally familiar sign. "But that's it."

"Maybe you should..."

"I can't talk to Dad," LJ cut in. "Who else do I have to turn to but my gay uncles?" He batted his eyelashes sweetly.

Alexander snorted. "Maybe sometime when your father doesn't want to kill me." Then, on considering that he only had, at best, another fifty years of life (he'd never fancied the idea of living much past the age of one hundred), he amended, "Maybe when there's not the chance of him walking in on us."

LJ grinned. "Thank you, Uncle Alex. You're the best."

He rolled his eyes and rested his head against Michael's. "Your family is going to be the death of me."

Fin




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