The Breaking Point: M/M Mpreg Alpha Male Romance Page 7
Vinny starts blowing raspberries on the little pouch of belly Lance has gotten, and the feeling and the vibration of those turn Lance on every time. It’s not cutesy, giggling kiddie business at all, Lance laughs at first from the tickle but then by the time his cock starts to grow, Vinny drops down to suck it, and then the giggles dry up, and his heels kick up, and Vinny fills him up as much as he can, tongue-kissing him as they fuck just to touch more of the inside of him, to be as far within a boy so comfortable with himself he doesn’t want to do drugs, what a guy!
Lance is still achy though, maybe getting over whatever weird virus that was, but still tender. He’s not as active on the show’s set as he used to be, and that gets them both a talking-to: you two are a package deal, if you’re getting too wrecked all the time you can’t deliver anymore, you won’t be here anymore, so let’s see a return to that energy, huh? Vinny wants to punch the teeth out of the producer who tells them this—so Vinny can be a coked-up mess and there’s no problem because he’s still got the energy they want, but Lance gets honestly, wholesomely sick and needs a rest and that’s a problem? Lance has the energy to talk them out of that meeting and outside before Vinny starts cussing his head off about it.
“That fucking soulless asswipe piece of shit, how’s that fucking legal, tossing people out because they get sick?”
“We’re not tossed out, yet, pally, but…”
“We will be next time, the scum-suckers. See, this is why you’ve got to network and always have an escape hatch, baby, this is why I want to get into other jobs, so we can always go, Fuck this! and flip their fucking shiny tables back in their faces and move on to better and better.”
“I know of an escape hatch,” Lance says, but Vinny isn’t done cussing yet.
“It’s easy to get trapped, you let these shit-stains own you if you’re not careful, you know?”
“Let’s take my temporary escape hatch and cool off,” Lance says louder. “The season ends in about two weeks, Paulie, we’ll take a vacation, you hear me? We could both use a rest, don’t you think? And maybe by then we won’t have to come back, maybe we’ll move to Hollywood, the Golden Coast, and never see a New York winter again, huh? What d’ya say?”
“What are you talking about?” Vinny asks. “Where could we go?”
“I saw that letter you tried to throw out, from the town council of Steubenville.”
Vinny’s eyes flash, and Lance looks afraid that Vinny might start cussing at him now, and he’s dangerously close to that.
“Fuck Steubenville. I’m not going back there, you’re not going there either, don’t go through my goddamn mail, baby, and dragging up shit that belongs in the garbage.”
“You let that place be an albatross around your neck,” Lance says as they dodge through the traffic at their subway corner and start to walk down into the depths of the train station. “I think you need to go back there and see how far you are from it, how little it matters, how free you are, but besides, they’re trying to throw you a parade, Paulie! They’re begging you to come back. Take me with you, I could use that fresh country air.”
“Rust belt factory stink air,” Vinny corrects.
“Take me with you. Show me off. Spit in your father’s face, wouldn’t that be fun? Get your parade, forget where you’re from, and think only about where you can go after that, okay?”
Vinny shrugs as their train pulls up. They’re crammed so close together once they’re inside the car that it would be indecent if it wasn’t everyone mashed in like sardines. Vinny would like to get out of NYC for a bit, and Lance in Steubenville might just make it hilarious to go back, and not so black a day that it feels like his own funeral.
“I make it sound good, don’t I?” Lance asks with a smile.
Vinny tries to smile back at him (he doesn’t do so well with that), but leans close to his ear and whispers, “Fine,” and quickly kisses Lance’s earlobe before anyone can see, and then ignores him like he’s a stranger for the rest of the ride. Just because Lance has won this bout doesn’t mean Vinny wants to celebrate with him. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for when he asks for Steubenville.
Because it’s not just the nowhere town quality of it, oh no, that would be funny if it were anywhere else; it’s Vinny’s whole life, what he truly thought would be his whole life from cradle to grave, and his parents who are to this day still disappointed in him, because he doesn’t see them for what they want to be, only for what they are: small time people in a small time place. He’s doing everything he can to be less like his family, and they’ll never like him for that rejection, they’ll never be happy no matter what he accomplishes in his quest to undo their influence, and maybe there’s no blaming them for that objectively, but Vinny’s their son—he didn’t choose them, they chose him, and he’ll hold them accountable just as they resent him and his successes.
Lance doesn’t really want to see that, nor would he want to run into Vinny’s ex, and find out just how low his pally’s standards can fall when he’s not around, but he’s right that they could both use a break from the city, and who knows? Maybe bringing his baby through the middle of Steubenville on parade will feel amazing, maybe it’ll feel like a victory, Alexander the Great returned with the whole world conquered, a king coming home undefeated, with an incomparable bride on his arm…maybe Lance sees the world like Vinny can’t, and maybe he’s right?
They pack their bags, and since they still own next to nothing because all their money is spent on rent and revelry, it doesn’t take long. They spring for plane tickets so they can arrive in style, and tell the town council the info on where and when they can be picked up and escorted to the hotel. Vinny will not be staying with his parents; he will not even call to tell them he’s coming, let them find out from the newspapers if they bother to read anything at all these days. Let the neighbors congratulate them on their perfect, famous son before they know a goddamn thing about it. Let them watch him and Lance from the audience just like everyone else.
“Are you excited?” Lance asks as they buckle into their seats on the plane.
“I’m excited to see that drink cart come by.”
“Pally, come on, I wanna see where you grew up. I never even lived like that! I’d trade you and show you my hometown but we lived everywhere, the road was our home. Like, remember the road we drove up here on? I grew up right there.”
Vinny snorts. “Look, baby, I’ll go anywhere with you, I think I’m proving that right now, but no one deserves to go to Steubenville. They send murderers to jail as a mercy, because Steubenville is worse.”
“If you say so,” Lance says, tucking his hair back behind his ears since it’s getting long, been a while since a haircut. He starts exploring the seat back in front of him, and when his bangs fall forward again, Vinny reaches to tuck them back again. Lance smiles at him for the touch, but doesn’t do anything else about it since they’re in public and he knows Vinny doesn’t like to be obvious. Vinny leans back and looks out the window all during take-off.
He’s never been on a plane before. Maybe if he was going somewhere exotic and desired he’d be more enchanted by it, but with this destination in mind, all this machinery lifting them up has all the surreality of being wheeled into surgery. Everywhere bright white lights, chrome, engines, technology—and all of it’s impressive—but it’s not that pleasant. It’s not like walking into a big vaulted cathedral or climbing a mountain and turning around to see so much of the world beyond, this is more like being taken aboard an alien ship. It’s amazing, but pretty terrifying too, and you might wonder what’s the point of seeing all that you see if you don’t survive to tell the story.
Once they’re above the clouds, Vinny leans back and closes his eyes. He can’t think about it all right now, he’s got to take it one step at a time. First they land then they get driven to a hotel, and they can order room service and fuck and wear robes and whatnot, then the parade the next day, which they’ll be driven through again, only requ
irement is to wave. Then hop off to shake hands with the organizers, sign some shit, say hello to their children, whatever. Lance will pull a stunt for any kids, Vinny will sing for the ladies, dinner on the mayor with his family, won’t that be nice, wow what delicious food at a restaurant so nice Vinny was once turned away at a bus boy, and then back to the hotel until Monday when they’ll sneak out to the bus station and take the long way back to New York, stopping somewhere cheap along the way for their real vacation, they haven’t planned all that yet. If Vinny can just survive the next 48 hours or so, he can get right back to his full-time life with Lance and never have to look back again.
8. On Parade
Lance wants to make sure this trip is a laugh for Vinny.
Once they get on the plane and his pally nods off in fitful sleep, Lance gets out the real itinerary. They’re getting picked up and socked into a hotel, that’s still right, and they’ll be on parade tomorrow from brunch to lunch, that’s true too, and they’ll have dinner with the mayor that night, all in the works, but that in between time when Vinny imagines they’ll be shaking hands and kissing babies, Lance has other plans.
There’s one guy from his home town Vinny really admired, the guy who inspired him to sing and sing well, and that’s Mr. Fiorelli, who would sing for his church at all the holiday pageants and whatnot. He wasn’t particularly nice to Lance when Lance got his phone number and gave him a ring (“Oh yeah, I know you, you’re that idiot Jew sidekick of our Vinny’s,” was what he said), but getting him to come by at the meet and greet after the parade is all about Vinny, to give him something nice to remember, a duet with Mr. Fiorelli and no time for that guy to talk too much and reveal himself as an unimpressive old crank. Let Vinny feel like he’s being passed a torch of some sort, have a martini and an early dinner, and then come away with Lance again on a vague trajectory towards Newark, where Lance’s parents are for the time being. He’ll play it by ear, but if he’s visited Vinny’s home town, he hopes that Vinny might want to meet his parents, that seems like a real sweetheart of a trip, like a honeymoon without the hassle of any wedding. Lance is smiling serenely all through the flight—it’s his first flight too, but he finds it enchanting.
They get dropped off at their hotel right away when they land, one night to themselves to rest up and get fresh for tomorrow. Vinny eyes the minibar, but then doesn’t touch it, instead goes out to pick up dinner from a diner he likes nearby, and comes back with burgers and fries and a bottle of gin he sips straight from the top with a soda chaser out of the hallway’s vending machine.
“I don’t want the people paying for this room to know how much I can put away,” Vinny says when Lance looks between him and the minibar. “They learn something like that about you, that you got the town to comp your drinks like that, these assholes will never once forget it. Every time they see me on TV they’ll tell their kids, their grandkids—really beat a story like that to death.”
Lance lets him say all this and doesn’t argue. He refuses to partake of the fun, though, and instead keeps his wits sharp to make sure Vinny doesn’t get traumatized by coming home. They make love so softly that night, in the dark, under the covers, face to face and breathing the same air in between lazy kisses, and Vinny falls asleep on top of him when they’re done. Lance only naps throughout the night.
The next morning the cheeriest Midwesterners you’d ever want to meet show up with coffees and fully loaded bagel sandwiches for breakfast. Lance eats his and Vinny’s, since Vinny only wants some coffee and to get this show on the road, so they get driven to the start of the parade route (just one long trip down main street, no frills) and the parade is both to show off Vinny and wish some team from the local high school good luck or congratulations depending on when the sport seasons start or end (Lance doesn’t know, he never spent enough time in one place to root for any team), and so they sit on top of an open convertible and wave to the people who like TV.
“We should have brought something to throw at them, candy or something funny, like candy shaped like something funny maybe,” Lance says as he switches arms because the waving’s making leftie tired. He finally glances at Vinny and sees that instead of mugging for the crowd, there’s a smile on his face but it looks like the smile you’d give if someone held a gun to your gut and said grin. He looks like he’s trying to conceal a sharp pain, and his waving is more like he’s raising his hand to answer a question in school. He holds the arm almost completely still, and just nods his head when people make eye contact with him. Yes, yes, good for Vinny for getting a job in the big city, for believing in the talent that was so badly nurtured here. The parade’s only about 45 minutes long with the car crawling so slow, but still by the end, Vinny looks like he wants to crawl in a hole and bury himself. Lance is hoping that spotting Mr. Fiorelli will make him happy, Lance spots him because he’s standing around on his own looking just the way Vinny described him: big dude, glasses so thick they cover his eyebrows, rings on all fingers, but when Vinny he sees him he says, “What the hell is he doing here?” He doesn’t sound happy about it.
“Isn’t that Mr. Fiorelli, the guy you said got you into singing? You said he was like a mentor to you, didn’t you?”
“Not exactly that,” Vinny says. “He’s a good singer, but he’s only an inspiration because he’s a wretched bag of crap. He’s mean and bitter because he was stuck here his whole life, and the best show he’ll ever perform at is the church where he’s got a captive audience at least twice a year, for Christmas and Easter. I doubt he gives a rat’s ass about God, I think he attends just so they have to let him sing.”
“Oh, Paulie, pally,” Lance says, worried about what he’s done. “I told him to come out so you two could sing together. I called him up, I didn’t know.”
Vinny smiles like he’s wincing at Lance, and says, “Of course you couldn’t know, baby, it’s not your fault. I just hate telling the truth about this place, I hate talking about it, I hate thinking about it, and I hate being here.”
“I’m sorry, pal,” Lance says. They’re here because Lance insisted, after all. He’s as sorry as he can be, but how could he have known all this, really? He’d never imagine someone could look so glum at their own parade on such a beautiful, bright day.
“It’s fine. I’ll sing with him, he doesn’t know I think he’s slime, not specifically. I’m going to want at least three stiff martinis between him and dinner, though, help talk us out of this circle so we can find a bar.”
“You got it,” Lance promises. He decides to fake an injury that stops the show after one song with Mr. Fiorelli and a few pictures with the council. Lance prat-falls enough that he knows how to do it for real. Twenty minutes of friendliness, one song with a mic they set up and everything, local kid made good and came back to stay in touch with his roots, and his funny friend is acting out the song the whole time and whoops! He overdoes it on the last big cartwheel and conks his head on the ground.
Lance does a big woozy show for everyone, loudly pleads that Vinny take him somewhere dark and cool so he can rest his noggin because poor Lance doesn’t know this town at all. That gives Vinny the chance to say, “Sorry, everyone, I’ve got to look after my friend, he’s half the act, I’m off the air if I let him crack up, besides I really wanted to give him a nice tour of Steubenville, maybe you’ll see us around later if he’s feeling up to it.” Six ladies come up to tell him he’s a good boy to look after his partner, Lance promises the last one, the mayor’s wife, that he never misses a free meal and will definitely see them for dinner even if he has to wear a helmet, everyone laughs and lets them go, and Vinny heads straight to the dirtiest bar Lance has ever seen. There’s only two other working stiffs drinking in there, and a bartender who squints at them before pouring the martini Vinny asked for, saying, “No one drinks for free. I don’t give a shit that you’ve been on TV.”
“Good,” Vinny says.
“He got ID?” the bartender asks, pointing a thumb at Lance but not speaking to
him. Friendly!
“He’s not drinking anything hard, bring him a Coke or a Shirley Temple or something, whatever,” Vinny says, and that’s the end of it. Lance gets a Sprite with a lime and a straw (the straw feels like an insult), and Vinny drinks one drink and asks for the next before he says anything to Lance.
“Watch the clock, would you? Let me know when we have to leave for dinner.” And with that he started steadily drinking, slow and steady, but continuously until the sun goes down. Lance hooks his foot around Vinny’s leg under the table, and that’s how they sit in silence the whole time.
Dinner with the mayor goes well, probably because Vinny knows it’s the last of his duties here. For sure if Lance had had so much to drink he’d never be able to safely put down all this rich food—creamy soups and cheesy lasagna and caramel all over dessert—but Vinny holds his own and Lance is ravenous, he’s been hungry all the time since he got over whatever bug was making him sick. He assumes it’s his good health bouncing back and welcomes it. Just as dinner’s over, and Vinny’s smile is starting to look genuine, and they’re all standing in the entryway waiting for the valet to bring the mayor’s car and the doorman to hail a cab for Vinny and himself, Lance feels something turn over in his stomach.
You patted yourself on the back too soon there, buddy, he lectures himself internally, assuming this is too much to ask of his digestive system after such a long illness. This is going to be a nasty night.
He’s about to tell Vinny as much once they’re in the cab alone together, and Vinny’s telling the driver to take them back to the hotel. He wants to tell Vinny he’s not feeling so good, but somehow the discomfort has disappeared. Weird, because it was definitely a serious lurch in there before. Appendicitis? A really big, comically loud and smelly fart brewing? And then it happens again, and it’s extremely weird this time…it feels like something’s moving in there.