[ he’s starting to regret that tape not for its content, but for the way it seems to have broken his father’s brain in two. When Timoteo was growing up, he needed a father more than he needed a wine and liquor empire. While he worked so hard to ensure that they could wallow in privilege and excess, Teo was passed between his grandfather and a revolving door of nannies until he was old enough to ship off to boarding school. He had to raise himself on books and sketchy encounters with men old enough to be his father, but couldn’t hurt him as bad as his real one. He’d needed a dad more than anything, and Stefano Salvatore had provided everything but.
The fact that it took twenty-three years, a sex tape, and his grandfather dying for him to step up is infuriating, but he’s not so blinded by bitterness that he can’t see that he is stepping up. Or at least, trying to. It makes him wonder if he might prefer it to be a scheme. Too much is changing all at once, at least that would be normal. As far as this family is concerned. A scheme, he can wrap his head around, a scheme, he can push back against, he could lean on, if he needs to lift the lid and pound on the big red escape button before Hawkins Fuller can sink his teeth into him any deeper.
Absently, he adjusts his collar. If there’s an angry purple hickey at the base of his neck, you didn’t see it. ]
Can you blame me for asking? You don’t like Harry, and oh, look, the beautiful bronzed tennis god and gay rights pioneer is here and he’s painfully into me. Like a cheap romance novel.
[ More joking than accusatory, at least, relaxing somewhat. He surprises himself by believing it – under normal circumstances, he might not, but with the divorce and the inheritance battle, he probably actually does have more pressing issues than his son’s love sex life. ]
I think so. Probably.
[ He holds the fact that he’s already promised one close to his chest, like it’s an admission of weakness. ]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2025-06-03 05:08 pm (UTC)The fact that it took twenty-three years, a sex tape, and his grandfather dying for him to step up is infuriating, but he’s not so blinded by bitterness that he can’t see that he is stepping up. Or at least, trying to. It makes him wonder if he might prefer it to be a scheme. Too much is changing all at once, at least that would be normal. As far as this family is concerned. A scheme, he can wrap his head around, a scheme, he can push back against, he could lean on, if he needs to lift the lid and pound on the big red escape button before Hawkins Fuller can sink his teeth into him any deeper.
Absently, he adjusts his collar. If there’s an angry purple hickey at the base of his neck, you didn’t see it. ]
Can you blame me for asking? You don’t like Harry, and oh, look, the beautiful bronzed tennis god and gay rights pioneer is here and he’s painfully into me. Like a cheap romance novel.
[ More joking than accusatory, at least, relaxing somewhat. He surprises himself by believing it – under normal circumstances, he might not, but with the divorce and the inheritance battle, he probably actually does have more pressing issues than his son’s
lovesex life. ]I think so. Probably.
[ He holds the fact that he’s already promised one close to his chest, like it’s an admission of weakness. ]