Fake News: The DM of +4 Ohana

[ptahrrific]

Title: The DM of +4 Ohana
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Swearing, foreplay, references to IRL childhood angst, corruption of the youth
Characters/pairings: "Stephen"/Jon[athan], Olivia, Kristen, Demetri, Wyatt, Sam(/Jason)
Disclaimer: Characters belong to the Report. Names of real people are used in a fictitious context, and all dialogue, actions, and content are products of the author's imagination only.

For the prompt "Fixed" from politicette. Trouble threatens to break up the most beautiful gay dog-grooming couple in all of 1980's California. Can Olivia, with the help of her quirky multi-ethnic posse, figure out a way to save it?

Or, more seriously: a story about three people trying to find a way to balance each other out, plus the friends who play D&D with them.




≈≈≈


When Jonathan got home, he was still buzzed enough to pull Stephen away from the epic storming of Castle Dragontongue for a quick makeout session. The kids watched with starry eyes (Olivia), nervous giggles (Kristen), mild befuddlement (Wyatt), and dreamy might-have-been-interest-but-who-can-tell-with-him (Demetri).

"This had better be important," huffed Stephen, though Jonathan couldn't help noticing that Stephen's hands were still on his hips. "Olivia's ranger just got a critical hit, and I have to work out the damage to the giant horned chameleon."

Jonathan grinned and gave him another peck on the cheek. "Guess who wants me to come back next week?"

Stephen's eyes widened. "You got the part?"

"Not yet. But I didn't get thrown out in the first round of auditions, which is an achievement in itself." He nodded to the kids. "Finish up with the riffraff here, and we can celebrate properly."

"You mean with sex?" blurted Kristen.

Jonathan could feel himself turning red. Wyatt made a face; Olivia giggled. At least Demetri had gone and made himself busy with his sketchbook.

"He means with strong drink and language that is not fit for a young lady's ears," said Stephen primly, disentangling himself from Jonathan's arms. "We should finish this battle soon anyway—at least one of you probably has to be home for dinner. Go ahead and roll, Kristen."

While the d20s spun on the tabletop, Wyatt raised his hand. "So, uh, what's the part for?"

Stephen's pencil flickered around the latest row of numbers in his prized leather-bound notebook. "Some stoner comedy," he said without looking up. "Don't do drugs, kids. The demon weed will rot your mind and poison your soul."

Jonathan almost pointed out that it hadn't done him any damage, until he flashed on a vision of angry parents forbidding their kids to keep visiting the bad influences down the street. The open secret of their not-just-business partnership made things touchy enough as it was.

"It's not a horrible script, and it would get my name out there," he said instead. "Even if it's just as Third Guy On Skateboard. I can remember a line, I make funny faces, I have in on good authority that I have very charming eyes...and with some proof in an actual film, I think I could really go somewhere."

"You already are somewhere," pointed out Stephen. "Here."

"Well, sure, and it's fun, but do I really want to be painting dogs' toenails the rest of my life? Listen, you guys finish your game. I'll have the wine and candles ready when you're done."

Olivia cupped her hand to stage-whisper in Kristen's ear. "Definitely sex."


≈≈≈


The morning Jonathan left for the audition, Stephen stuck a "Gone To Lunch" sign on the front window of Groomin' Grooms and locked himself in the back office. Mrs. Keaton's appointment with her dachshund wasn't until two; that left him a couple solid hours to mope.

He just hoped it would be enough.

"Shake it off, Col-bert," he said out loud, shuffling and reshuffling the stack of signed invoices and just-paid bills. "He's probably not even going to get it. He's not that good an actor. You ought to know."

"But what if he gets it anyway?" he answered himself. "He might. He still has those sultry bedroom eyes to fall back on."

"Sultry eyes will only take a man so far!" Stephen bunched the papers into a folder and crammed it into the filing cabinet. "Even if he gets this part, there are lots of people with bit parts in movies that are destroying America. How many of them turn that into fame and fortune?"

"If anyone can beat those odds, it's Jonathan. He's smart. Way too smart for this two-bit—"

"Way too smart to be seduced by the glamor of Hollywood, you mean!"

"He's only human. The lights, the red carpets, the shiny gold awards...the pretty actresses with long hair and firm calves...."

"My calves are plenty firm!"

"And your hips are nice and curvy too, but that hasn't stopped him from auditioning, has it?"

"He loves me," choked Stephen. "He...."

Even without finishing the thought, he knew what his reply would be. He loves what you pretend to be. You're as fake as anyone in Tinseltown, and he fell for you. Who's to say someone else won't hook him just as easily?

Stephen sank into his desk chair with a sob. A light breeze swept in at the window, toying with the gauzy powder-red curtain.

"Oh, God, Jonathan's going to leave me," he bawled into his day planner. "He's going to run off and be a movie star and get married to some bombshell actress and I'm never going to see him again until the tabloids start their wall-to-wall coverage of his stint in rehab for marijuana addiction and by then it'll be too late! I'll have lost him forever!"

He crumpled, shaking with the effort of wrestling ugly sobs.

On the grass that flanked the building's back wall, Olivia scooted sideways until she was far from the window, then unfolded into her best Confident Walk and set a course for Hill Valley Junior High. That was the key to skipping class without getting caught: play it cool.


≈≈≈


"...and I don't know what to do!" finished Olivia with a breathless squeak.

Kristen, who had taken in the whole story with wide eyes and a nod at every twist, kept right on nodding. Demetri was still working on his meatballs, but in a distinctly pensive way. Wyatt was staring blankly across the cafeteria, chin resting on his hand; he jumped when Olivia clapped her hands in front of his nose. "What? What!"

"I need to know how to fix things so Mr. Jonathan doesn't break Stephen's heart!"

The table fell silent. Olivia was starting to lose hope when Demetri pushed his tray aside, spread out his sketchbook, and began to doodle.

A few swift strokes later, he held it up, the simple line drawings clear and meticulously labeled:



"No, he's not a bad guy," said Olivia quickly. Sometimes she forgot that the others didn't know Mr. Jonathan that well. Wouldn't even have a reason to hang out with Stephen if she hadn't convinced him that his collection of awesome D&D stuff deserved to be used. "He loves Stephen! Their love is beautiful and true like a Disney movie. Stephen even has pretty princess eyelashes! They're meant to be!"

"Well, then, you have to tell them so!" exclaimed Kristen. "Stand up for what's right. Your voice is your most powerful weapon!"

"No, my +3 mithral greataxe is my most powerful weapon."

"I mean outside D&D! You need to march right up to that man and tell him that he's making a big mistake. Don't be afraid to slap him around a little." She mimed the action, then folded her arms in defiance. "If you ask me, he's asking for it."

Demetri was back to the furious scribbling. Olivia waited with dwindling patience until he held it up:



"Lot of help you are," said Olivia. "What do you think, Wyatt? ...Wyatt? Wyatt!"

"Huh?"

"I said, what do you think?"

Wyatt shrugged. "I was just thinking about why they call them porcupines when they aren't even made of pork."


≈≈≈


Stephen fished a piece of chicken out of his takeaway from Sakina's, rinsed it carefully in the sink, and clicked his tongue until Ronnie came running. Jonathan groaned. "You realize that if your cat starts horking up curry-flavored barf later, you're cleaning it up."

"She's not my cat, she's our cat."

"You're the one who insisted on naming her after Reagan."

"He is our greatest president," said Stephen primly. "Just because we're godless sodomites doesn't mean we have to be unpatriotic too."

Jonathan winced. He never knew what to say when Stephen's inner self-hating fag showed her claws. If only they were more in touch with the community. Or any kind of adult emotional support—Stephen's best friend was a 14-year-old, for crying out loud. "Speaking of which...you want to go out this weekend?"

"Go out where? Will it take long? I promised Olivia she could come to the salon Friday night and mess around on the computer when I finished the accounts."

"Let's make it Saturday, then. We've been here a year and we still haven't hit the bars properly."

What should have been an innocuous suggestion raised Stephen's hackles. "I only went out in the first place to meet people! And I did. You! Why would you want me to meet someone else? Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Of course not! I was just thinking maybe we could get to know people. Have some actual friends in the area."

"I have plenty of friends."

"Any that are out of junior high?"

"You're such an elitist, Jonathan! A person doesn't need a diploma to be worthwhile. Olivia is a quality human being, except when she's a quality elven ranger, and that's that."

Ronnie lapped up the last stringy bits of chicken and started to trot out of the kitchen, licking her jaws. She made it halfway to the door before Stephen descended, ignoring her squawk of protest as he scooped the furball into the air.

"And you're a quality kitty!" he cooed. "Who's my little sweetie? You're my little sweetie. Yes you are!"

Which meant he was changing the subject, and probably wouldn't stand for it being changed back. Jonathan gave up and rolled with it. "You know, for a gay guy, you sure do like pussy."

"Har de har har." Stephen rubbed the cat's blue-grey ears. "Never heard that one before. Can't imagine why you didn't go far in standup, with such winningly original material."

"Oh, come on. You laughed at my standup."

"Only because I was trying to get into your pants, and tipping you seemed too expensive."


≈≈≈


Olivia lurked at the diner until she saw Stephen leave on some errand, then abandoned her milkshake, crossed the street, and burst dramatically through the front door of Groomin' Grooms. It was the kind of entrance that deserved to be heralded with trumpets and a crash of drums. The little jingly bell just didn't cut it.

Undeterred by the empty desk, she stormed directly to the back room, where Mr. Jonathan was helping a pretty redhead blow-dry a bichon frise.

"We may have to keep you around even after the shooting's over," he said. "You're a natural at this."

The redhead tossed back her hair and smiled. "I know all about handling brainless hairy lunks...I have a husband. Wink!"

"Did you just say 'wink' out loud?"

He hadn't even noticed Olivia. Time to fix that. "You're a horrible person!" she yelled, stamping her foot.

Mr. Jonathan, the redhead, and the ball of white fluff all flinched. The woman recovered first, assembling her face into a simpering smile. "You must be Olivia!" she said, in what had to be the same tone she was planning to use on the baby in a couple of months. "Jonathan told me I might see you around. My name's Sam. You can call me Sammy B, if you like."

"This doesn't concern you, pregnant lady," snapped Olivia. "This is between me and the cheating pond scum."

The dog whined; Mr. Jonathan put his hands over its ears. "I think you need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! How can you even think about abandoning Stephen? He loves you so much and he's come so far to be with you, and you want to stomp all over that! Did you even consider how he's going to cope without you? Any evil nasty person could swoop in and take advantage of him and start mistreating all the poor little animals! Don't you care at all about the animals?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You want me to watch the dog for a minute?"

"Yeah, that would be good." Mr. Jonathan pushed the wriggling dog into her arms, rounded the table, and grabbed Olivia's arm.

For a short guy, he had an iron grip. She tried to pull away, halfheartedly at first then with all her strength, and none of it stopped her from being dragged kicking and clawing into the office.


≈≈≈


For a skinny kid, Olivia was heavier than she looked. It was all Jonathan could do to haul her into the office and slam the door, and he needed a minute to get his breath afterward.

Eyes flashing, Olivia opened her mouth, no doubt to start into another tirade. "No!" snapped Jonathan. "You've said enough. Now shut up and listen."

The girl flinched, but set her jaw and held her ground.

"I know you like hanging out here. And we've been really lax about letting you have the run of this place. But obviously that's gone too far." Jonathan shoved his disheveled curls back from his face. "We're trying to run a business, here! I don't know where you got the idea that I'm running out on Stephen, but even if I was, that doesn't give you license to come barging in when I'm in the middle of doing my job. What if Sam hadn't been here? What if I had been with a customer? You can't expect me to drop everything and focus on you! I'm not your—"

He stopped just in time. Tears were welling in Olivia's eyes, on the verge of spilling down her freckled cheeks.

"Y-you're not leaving?" she stammered.

Jonathan replayed the actual text of her rant in his head.

"No," he said, as gently as he could while still hoarse from the yelling. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not your father."


≈≈≈


When Stephen got back from the printer's, the new lackey (although Jonathan had insisted he wasn't allowed to call her that) was ringing up a customer, leaving Jonathan free to pull him aside. "Did you say something to Olivia about me dumping you?"

Stephen balked. "What? No! You, leave me? That's ridiculous. What can Hollywood offer you that I can't? Except fame and fortune and the adulation of millions."

"Well, gee, now I know where she got the idea."

Jonathan started to give him a summary of what had happened. In the middle of a sentence, Stephen shoved the stack of fliers into his arms and made for the office.

Aside from having gone through half his box of emergency tissues, Olivia seemed okay. Stephen invited her to stay around anyway, partly to make sure she didn't have a relapse, partly for the usual reasons he invited her to visit as much as possible. By the time Jonathan came in and announced that he had locked up for the evening, they were cheerfully fighting over the stats of the bone golems Stephen wanted to deploy in the next level of Castle Dragontongue.

"I don't have to leave yet, do I?" asked Olivia hopefully. "You guys still need to sweep, right? Can I help sweep?"

"Sorry, no can do. Don't blame me; blame the tyranny of big-government child labor laws." Stephen gave her as much of a hug as he dared without seeming sentimental. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Uh-huh."

She returned the hug, then cast a nervous glance at Jonathan and offered her hand. When the man hesitated, Stephen wagged a finger at him. "Shake."


≈≈≈


"It really is just a stupid stoner movie," mumbled Jonathan, as they bagged piles of dog hair.

"Right," said Stephen. "And if the viewers have any sense left in their pot-addled minds, they will walk out of it unable to talk about anything but that handsome and charming Third Guy On Skateboard. Even if he does yell at defenseless teenage girls in his off time."

Jonathan had the grace to blush. "You could have mentioned that she was treating us like surrogate parents."

"Not parents," snapped Stephen. He wasn't old. Besides, though she hadn't told him the specifics, one wicked stepfather was probably all the extra parenting Olivia could take. "Cool bachelor uncles. At least, we pretend to be bachelors, and everyone else had the decency to pretend to believe it."

He tied off the last bag of hair, and they lugged the haul out back in silence.

When every scrap of waste had disappeared into the dumpster's maw, Jonathan added, with one of those sudden flashes of insight that enchanted Stephen as much as it scared him, "How many nieces do you have back east?"

"Three. What's it to you?"

Jonathan didn't push. Stephen wasn't sure if that was a disappointment or a relief.

"Cool bachelor uncle," he mused instead, testing the sound of it, as he followed Stephen back in. "I can work with that. And it's probably good practice, you know? For when we have...."

Stephen stared.

"Uh," said Jonathan, rubbing the back of his neck. "What I mean to say is, if we have...if you ever wanted...."

No amount of promises that he wanted a future with Stephen, no swearing in the name of any deity in any heaven, could have been a tenth as reassuring as that fumbled sentence.

On winged heels Stephen leaped to the rear window, whipped the curtains shut, and flew back to push Jonathan against one of the tables and bend him into a kiss. "Why wait?" he demanded, scrabbling at Jonathan's belt. "Let's do it. I love you, you love me—let's make a baby. Right here, right now."

Jonathan tried to laugh; it came out staggered, as he was moaning at the same time. "S-Stephen? Not that I'm complaining about the," he bit his lip with a gasp as Stephen rocked their hips together, "the that, but, well, aren't we, ohgod, missing a bit of vital equipment here?"

"You and your science," growled Stephen, undoing his belt. "My gut says we'll never know until we try."

Comments

[phantomcranefly]

This is awesome! I love Cool "Bachelor" Uncle Stephen playing D&D.

No amount of promises that he wanted a future with Stephen, no swearing in the name of any deity in any heaven, could have been a tenth as reassuring as that fumbled sentence.

D'AWWWW. *melts*

[ptahrrific]

I think Stephen would do well in the pseudo-uncle role. It makes him feel respected, but doesn't give him so much authority that he would get threatened and freak out that the kids don't always defer to him.

And thank you!