[ He'd just as soon offer no detail at all - but, he has to give him something, or his options become another interrogation, or another strained silence, neither of which sound like appealing ways to start his morning. How he wanted his morning to go though, was ruined the very second he woke up, in Hawk's bed, tucked into his chest like some...like some kept boy. It's out of character for him to stay the night at all, much less like it.
Clearly, grief has made him lose his mind.
Teo is grateful for the shades, because otherwise he'd look like a deer in the headlights at his dad's callout. They've been circling each other since that ESPN party Quentin dragged him to a few weeks before Giuseppe died, but nothing happened until last night. And a lot happened. Too much - and he's thinking about it all, not just the hot and dirty parts (which were...wow), but the hand in his asking him to stay, the candlelit dinner, the sun streaming through the window this morning and hitting Hawk's features just so...
He downs his martini quickly, and puts the glass down too hard. ]
...depends. Are you gonna complain about how old he is?
( He signals a passing server to bring his son and him another round, still not turning his gaze. The sound of the guests around them and in the pool fill the silence as Teo remembers his night fondly. He doesn't hurry him. Or, push. He'd just as rather shut the whole thing down if it couldn't go anywhere. But every father has to try.
He does smile, though. And it meets his cheeks. It's real. He can hear his tone. He can see the blush in his cheeks without looking right at them. He likes Hawkins Fuller. )
I don't complain. ( His mother complains. But, he turns then, taking off his sunglasses finally. He folds them and sets it on the small, shared table before grabbing an hors d'ouerves. ) I'm not concerned with his age.
( Not when he says sincere things like 'I had a date,' and 'He was a gentleman. Finally, he contorts his entire body, legs resting against each other as he faces his son. )
What I hope for, in your life, is for every decision you make to be yours. Whether you believe in it, or not. There are the harder decisions. The decisions you never want to have to make, but are unavoidable. And then after - do you recognize yourself. I want you to be able to look yourself in the mirror. Or, to ask for help. Or, to try again. Disappear, come back stronger. My dream for you in your life is that you live. You, Teo, are your grandfather. ( Two more espresso martinis are sat down, Stefan pausing until they're alone again. )You are his best parts.
( He is too smart for his own good. Innovative. Manipulative, but in a way that draws people in. He can look into one's soul. He is inquisitive. And principled. (Guiseppe had principles. Not all principles are good ones.) He can be painfully stubborn. And contrary. And then the next moment, he can light up, especially about something passionate. He is not a hateful person. Nor conniving. But, he is challenging. And, his parents earned his ire. And his distrust. He knows that. )
You believe in people. And you find people who, rightfully, believe in you. Despite what you're up against. Despite what's held you back. Despite your environment. Despite your parents. You are the best of all of us.
( And even from afar, under street lamps and on corners, in dimly lit bars in surveillance and once in person -- he could see that Hawkins Fuller -- )
If he sees you. Whatever his age. He needs to see you. You, il mio sangue, la cosa migliore che abbia mai fatto, deserve to be seen.
( Again, he holds back. He does not believe his son was overlooked, but he knows Teo would say he was. If only he knew how deeply his parents had to care to make the choices they did. To fight Guiseppe, to fight each other, to claw themselves to everything they could. To give him the life he deserved. Even if it didn't look like others. Even if his parents could hardly stand each other. But, he was always on their minds. Always. )
[ The smile is blink and you’ll miss it, because – well, because he knew this was about to happen, his father’s overcompensation for his years of absence by way of turning anything he’s excited about (sans political protest) into some major event. Teo slumps into his chair, softly thanking the server and cradling his drink close to his face. ]
That’s all...really sweet, papa, but I said I had one date, not got engaged. Don’t stroke out on me and leave me alone with mom, okay?
[ His instinct is to distrust it. It’s too much over too little, the acceptance so effusive that it comes off as insincere. Nonno warned him that if the tape got out, his parents’ manipulation would kick into overdrive, anything to keep him quiet and convenient. Of course they’d push him towards the golden boy athlete in a bougie sport with a wholesome reputation. An instant power couple and reputation rehab all at once.
(But is it too little? Teo can’t even close his eyes without thinking about last night, those precious seconds where he forgot how to breathe when Hawk touched him, the way those piercing blue eyes went so soft when he looked at him, like he was the answer to a question neither of them knew was being asked, something worth sticking around for. He’s gonna be sick.)
Teo very pointedly avoids eye contact, stuffing away deep down the small, itty bitty, definitely tiny and practically microscopic childish piece of him that still craves his father’s approval despite it all. It’s not real. They’d say anything to get rid of Harry. ]
( Having released twenty-three years of disappointment and misguided decisions he would call guidance, the father he recognizes slumps back against the chair. Sunglasses slide back, hiding his momentary sincerity. He picks and chooses his moments with his son. Maybe because he's incapable of being this person forever. Every second. He was once told parenting is about moments. Thinking back, that was probably horrible advice, or someone was trying not to scare him away from parenting.
For Stefano, parenting came when he was able. And how. Most of Stefano's parenting (and Katherine's, for that matter) is done from afar. In hushed words and board rooms. Over cigars and scotch and hired hands.
They let their only son make his mistakes. Though the older he gets, he is much better at covering his tracks. Or maybe his parents have gotten better at letting go. Things didn't get less complicated, but more, between their businesses. Every dinner had a flourish. Every encounter between father and his disgraced sons, electric.
So he's over course-corrected. Maybe he won't always have this chance. )
I'd never willingly leave you alone to your mother.
( If it came down to it, he'd fight. And he'd - make a lot of missteps if he ever was granted time. That is his life. Missteps. Grand gestures. Like Guiseppe, Stefano has always been a man of grand gestures or stunning disappointments. And he's never been appreciated for either. But, men don't need to be appreciated.
Finally, he shoves the hors d'ouerves he grabbed before his big speech into his mouth, shutting himself up as he chews his confection. He washes it down with his newly refilled martini. Coffee on chocolate, the way God intended.
While he'd been amused at his son's first reaction, he shouldn't be surprised at his second. But, his parents aren't that obsessed. If anybody has pulled strings with his son's people, it's his dear, wronged, absent mother.
Stefano may end up sacrificing half his family's livelihood (to his family, but still) to protect his son and keep his mother from setting anything up.
He sets his glass down again, some martini sloshing over the side because of his angle. When all is said and done, and father and son have retired for their afternoon laze, someone will clean this table off. )
Teo, I have far more important things to do than to set your incontrare carini. But, I do have eyes. ( Coming back from setting out on the terrace with the other moguls, catching his son's chance encounter. Recognizing his unmistakeable smile. ) And your mother has... ( her way of keeping track. On that same night, locking eyes with her, he remembers seeing a few things. Disdain, because she's unable to publicly give a shit about their first born, but intrigue. Calculation. He can't guarantee his mother hasn't meddled.
Now would he do his best to secure his son the best life he deserves? Definitely. But, as important as love is, security, self-reliance, self-control, there are more important disciplines.
He lets that sentiment die on the vine. )
Even we have minimal control over the guest list.
( Hawkins Fuller arrived on his own and pursued - is pursuing? their son on his own. )
That isn't to say, I'm not flattered at the time you think we have to do such things. I won't drag out sentimentality and say I'd care enough to.
( More and more, his son is becoming his own man. Even if there are days he doesn't recognize him. Days all he can see behind his eyes is disappointment. Days he sees his father. )
[ 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. ]
( His attention stays center, but he has peripheral vision he pays no mind to. Gentleman leave love bites, too. )
I don't know Harry. ( He'll concede - and stipulate. And what he read about Harry was a lot worse than Hawkins Fuller: gay icon. Would the press eat it up? Of course. Katherine would print the stationary herself. She'd hire a wedding planner and then plan the damn spectacle itself. It would be the premier event of the season.
Probably at the winery. ) But, you don't talk like that about him. And then I know enough.
( How has he never stopped. Seen his son. For all of his bravado and walls and spiny exterior, he is love undenying. He's missed everything.
Another date. His boy deserves it. Deserves to be doted on. To be held against the end of the boat, to be painted like one of Hawkins' French Girls. ...He shouldn't have fallen asleep to Titanic last night. He blinks the thought away, letting everything settle between them again.
He takes another, longer sip. These are to die for. The martini. And moments. With his son. )
Not for nothing, but nothing about that sounds painful to me.
[ Tim can defend Harry on those grounds, even if it’s pointless to deny the difference in his excitement when it comes to him and the tennis star. Harry’s been nothing if not doting and sweet and accommodating, willing to shell out for fine wine and expensive gifts. He worships at his feet, and it’s hard to deny the sheer force of his attention – but Teo finds himself skittering away when deeper feelings come to the front, like vermin running from the light. He likes him. But deep in his gut, he knows it won’t be more than that, and the longer he waits for Harry to realize it, the harder it’s going to be.
And he’s hardly even thinking about it now. Hypnotized by sun-bleached curls and calloused hands and that All-American golden boy smile. It’s the Salvatore selfishness. ]
Well, it is. [ A smile peeking out, but hidden again, behind his martini. ] He’s so sweet I’m gonna rot my teeth out, if I can’t find a way to fuck it up first.
[ But he will, like he always does. Teo will need more than he can give, but not know how to say it, and hold him at a distance so it doesn’t hurt when he leaves. He knows the routine by now. ]
If it helps any, he denied any and all wrongdoing. And I really raked him across the coals. He's a good friend, at least.
( And maybe a good lay, but that's not his expertise, not when it comes to his son.
He could've admitted it. Admitted his part in his son's life. But he knows he defended Tim as much as he defended himself. He can actually look up to that. He still doesn't get his Bachelor rose, however, on behalf of Teo. )
People aren't fragile, breakable things. They are walking, talking, beating, heart muscles. And the only way to hurt and be hurt in return is to present your own. And there is no guarantee. Someone might get hurt. Someone might fuck up. Royally. And sometimes, that is enough to hold someone back.
( He sighs. )
It's your decision if that sweetness is taken at face value and what you do with it. But, don't do nothing if all you're afraid of, is fucking it up. We're human. And humans fuck shit up. As Americans like to say.
( He smirks, turning his head again, but not removing his glasses. His son can still sense the gleam in his eye. )
Teo, you were born for it. You're a disruptor. You know your mother admires that in you. And so do I. You and me, we just operate differently.
[ Teo...laughs. He doesn’t mean to, and for a brief moment he bites his lip back so that it doesn’t ruin the closest thing to a genuine moment they’ve had in ages, but he can’t help it. His father, Stefano Salvatore, repeating something he read in a Nicholas Sparks novel to make him feel better. It comes from a good place, but the whole situation is so weird that he can’t help himself. He’s never asked his dad for dating advice – why would he, after watching things with his mom fall apart? - and he’s not starting now. Especially when it comes to a man so close to him in age that they could have been schoolmates. He’s still convinced this encouragement is only here because it isn’t Harry.
But it’s something. And he can’t help himself but to burst out laughing, nearly choking on his bougie little sandwich. ]
Oh, my God, papa. I’ll tell you if it turns out to be anything if you promise to stop monologuing.
[ But at least the pink on his face is purely from good, wholesome, father embarrassing his son, instead of any raunchy memories of the night before floating to the surface. ]
Could have fooled me. When I was arrested after pulling down that statue, they could hear you both screaming from here.
( How long has it been since he's heard his son's laugh. A genuine laugh - directed at him. Now about him. Not in the room with him. Not in the room next to him. But, with him. Because, when his son laughs, he lights up the room.
He doesn't laugh nearly as hard, always the one having to keep it together, but a few chuckles escape.
Because one thing is true as his son's laughter subsides. Normally, he would say "You better," and as much as he might mean it as a joke, he knows how it comes off. And, so he puts it more delicately, under the guise of the sip he takes right after. )
I hope you will.
( Sip.
A long, suffering sigh, because he remembers that night. He holds his glass in hand, though, taken back. )
Here's a secret from me to you. That side of you, your mother is the proudest of. In her eyes, you're standing up. You are doing something. You stand for something. ( In Katherine's eyes, Stefan stands for nothing. He stands in "for" his father, or in place of, under his watchful eye - but he lost her confidence and her admiration a long time ago. ) You can't blame us for expressing emotions at you being arrested and, correct me if I'm wrong, our raised voices were mostly in the direction of the homophobic tax write-offs they call cops. We were worried for you. And they were contemptible. I'm sorry for raising our voices when we got home. You may not remember but your mother and I screamed, mostly, in each other's directions.
[ He watches with an eyebrow raised, fully expecting you better, but pleasantly surprised to hear something more agreeable. The chance he had to be a proper father to Tim is lost to time, and the youngest Salvatore would much rather be treated like an adult now instead of the clumsy efforts to make up for lost time, and this is...a little of both. A step.
Teo finishes his sandwich, quiet for a moment, not sure what to do with the praise. None of his extreme actions, not even the ones he got caught for, not the ones he took the blame for, knowing his parents would handle it, he regrets. They’ve shown that they care about him enough to keep the charges from sticking on him. They have the resources to do more. ]
That cop groped me. [ He didn’t say anything back then. It was the first arrest, he was sixteen and scared enough as it was. ] Not a pat down. A full grab. Franco, too.
[ Would his father even remember the names of the others? Doubtful. ]
( Stefano wishes he was back there. He remembers that night vividly. He remembers the language the officer used, the slurs, the innuendo - long before he deserved it - despite never deserving it. He wishes he could be in the room with that officer for five minutes. Just five minutes.
And just like that, he returns to this spot, a laughing teen girl sliding into the pool.
Despite the severity and seriousness of their conversation, the party rages on. That's Saltburnt for you. )
And Eamon?
( He does. He remembers more than his son thinks. But he has no reason to believe he would. )
I'm sorry you didn't tell us. You could've. ( No. ) You should've.
( His mother would've ran that officer through with her heel. And then her heel.
He turns over again, resting his sunglasses ontop of his head. They'll remain here the rest of the afternoon. )
I'm sorry you were caught between us.
( Because that's what happened, they didn't yell at him. Just over him. They always yelled over him. About him. Rarely at him. He would still draw him close, kiss him on the forehead. Pour him a glass of wine. )
[ He shakes his head. Eamon was handled by a different officer, if anything inappropriate happened, Teo never knew about it. His parents moved him to another school, they haven't kept in touch. ]
I'm not even sure why I'm telling you now.
[ To explain why it didn't scare him straight? Or how the thought of that priest at his school had him escalating to car bombs? ]
It's...
[ Not fine. It's the reason for all of this, the multiple men, the sex tape, the chill in his bones where warmth and excitement should be. But: ]
It is what it is. For what it's worth, I think you'll both be happier, when the divorce is final.
( Her happiness isn't for him to say. And in ways, over the years, he has found happiness. Here and there. Interests Enthusiasm. Business. Otherwise.
A switch has definitely been flipped.
But happiness has different meaning to everything. He has happy days. Happy hours. Happy times. But, is he - happy? Maybe with Niklaus. After a big deal is made. Here and there. )
Happiness isn't everything.
( And with that, he flips back, laying his head down. He stretches an arm behind his head. )
But it's achievable.
( Maybe.
Are you happy? He really wants to ask. He wants to delve, to know everything. But, maybe there's too much. Maybe things take time. He can't force information. He can't force information. And so, again, he falls into a comfortable silence. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 06:12 am (UTC)Clearly, grief has made him lose his mind.
Teo is grateful for the shades, because otherwise he'd look like a deer in the headlights at his dad's callout. They've been circling each other since that ESPN party Quentin dragged him to a few weeks before Giuseppe died, but nothing happened until last night. And a lot happened. Too much - and he's thinking about it all, not just the hot and dirty parts (which were...wow), but the hand in his asking him to stay, the candlelit dinner, the sun streaming through the window this morning and hitting Hawk's features just so...
He downs his martini quickly, and puts the glass down too hard. ]
...depends. Are you gonna complain about how old he is?
[ Oddly enough, it doesn't sound combative. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 06:36 am (UTC)He does smile, though. And it meets his cheeks. It's real. He can hear his tone. He can see the blush in his cheeks without looking right at them. He likes Hawkins Fuller. )
I don't complain. ( His mother complains. But, he turns then, taking off his sunglasses finally. He folds them and sets it on the small, shared table before grabbing an hors d'ouerves. ) I'm not concerned with his age.
( Not when he says sincere things like 'I had a date,' and 'He was a gentleman. Finally, he contorts his entire body, legs resting against each other as he faces his son. )
What I hope for, in your life, is for every decision you make to be yours. Whether you believe in it, or not. There are the harder decisions. The decisions you never want to have to make, but are unavoidable. And then after - do you recognize yourself. I want you to be able to look yourself in the mirror. Or, to ask for help. Or, to try again. Disappear, come back stronger. My dream for you in your life is that you live. You, Teo, are your grandfather. ( Two more espresso martinis are sat down, Stefan pausing until they're alone again. ) You are his best parts.
( He is too smart for his own good. Innovative. Manipulative, but in a way that draws people in. He can look into one's soul. He is inquisitive. And principled. (Guiseppe had principles. Not all principles are good ones.) He can be painfully stubborn. And contrary. And then the next moment, he can light up, especially about something passionate. He is not a hateful person. Nor conniving. But, he is challenging. And, his parents earned his ire. And his distrust. He knows that. )
You believe in people. And you find people who, rightfully, believe in you. Despite what you're up against. Despite what's held you back. Despite your environment. Despite your parents. You are the best of all of us.
( And even from afar, under street lamps and on corners, in dimly lit bars in surveillance and once in person -- he could see that Hawkins Fuller -- )
If he sees you. Whatever his age. He needs to see you. You, il mio sangue, la cosa migliore che abbia mai fatto, deserve to be seen.
( Again, he holds back. He does not believe his son was overlooked, but he knows Teo would say he was. If only he knew how deeply his parents had to care to make the choices they did. To fight Guiseppe, to fight each other, to claw themselves to everything they could. To give him the life he deserved. Even if it didn't look like others. Even if his parents could hardly stand each other. But, he was always on their minds. Always. )
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 03:02 pm (UTC)That’s all...really sweet, papa, but I said I had one date, not got engaged. Don’t stroke out on me and leave me alone with mom, okay?
[ His instinct is to distrust it. It’s too much over too little, the acceptance so effusive that it comes off as insincere. Nonno warned him that if the tape got out, his parents’ manipulation would kick into overdrive, anything to keep him quiet and convenient. Of course they’d push him towards the golden boy athlete in a bougie sport with a wholesome reputation. An instant power couple and reputation rehab all at once.
(But is it too little? Teo can’t even close his eyes without thinking about last night, those precious seconds where he forgot how to breathe when Hawk touched him, the way those piercing blue eyes went so soft when he looked at him, like he was the answer to a question neither of them knew was being asked, something worth sticking around for. He’s gonna be sick.)
Teo very pointedly avoids eye contact, stuffing away deep down the small, itty bitty, definitely tiny and practically microscopic childish piece of him that still craves his father’s approval despite it all. It’s not real. They’d say anything to get rid of Harry. ]
Tell me you didn’t set this up.
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 03:49 pm (UTC)For Stefano, parenting came when he was able. And how. Most of Stefano's parenting (and Katherine's, for that matter) is done from afar. In hushed words and board rooms. Over cigars and scotch and hired hands.
They let their only son make his mistakes. Though the older he gets, he is much better at covering his tracks. Or maybe his parents have gotten better at letting go. Things didn't get less complicated, but more, between their businesses. Every dinner had a flourish. Every encounter between father and his disgraced sons, electric.
So he's over course-corrected. Maybe he won't always have this chance. )
I'd never willingly leave you alone to your mother.
( If it came down to it, he'd fight. And he'd - make a lot of missteps if he ever was granted time. That is his life. Missteps. Grand gestures. Like Guiseppe, Stefano has always been a man of grand gestures or stunning disappointments. And he's never been appreciated for either. But, men don't need to be appreciated.
Finally, he shoves the hors d'ouerves he grabbed before his big speech into his mouth, shutting himself up as he chews his confection. He washes it down with his newly refilled martini. Coffee on chocolate, the way God intended.
While he'd been amused at his son's first reaction, he shouldn't be surprised at his second. But, his parents aren't that obsessed. If anybody has pulled strings with his son's people, it's his dear, wronged, absent mother.
Stefano may end up sacrificing half his family's livelihood (to his family, but still) to protect his son and keep his mother from setting anything up.
He sets his glass down again, some martini sloshing over the side because of his angle. When all is said and done, and father and son have retired for their afternoon laze, someone will clean this table off. )
Teo, I have far more important things to do than to set your incontrare carini. But, I do have eyes. ( Coming back from setting out on the terrace with the other moguls, catching his son's chance encounter. Recognizing his unmistakeable smile. ) And your mother has... ( her way of keeping track. On that same night, locking eyes with her, he remembers seeing a few things. Disdain, because she's unable to publicly give a shit about their first born, but intrigue. Calculation. He can't guarantee his mother hasn't meddled.
Now would he do his best to secure his son the best life he deserves? Definitely. But, as important as love is, security, self-reliance, self-control, there are more important disciplines.
He lets that sentiment die on the vine. )
Even we have minimal control over the guest list.
( Hawkins Fuller arrived on his own and pursued - is pursuing? their son on his own. )
That isn't to say, I'm not flattered at the time you think we have to do such things. I won't drag out sentimentality and say I'd care enough to.
( More and more, his son is becoming his own man. Even if there are days he doesn't recognize him. Days all he can see behind his eyes is disappointment. Days he sees his father. )
Will there be another date?
( "meet cutes"> )
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 06:19 pm (UTC)I don't know Harry. ( He'll concede - and stipulate. And what he read about Harry was a lot worse than Hawkins Fuller: gay icon. Would the press eat it up? Of course. Katherine would print the stationary herself. She'd hire a wedding planner and then plan the damn spectacle itself. It would be the premier event of the season.
Probably at the winery. ) But, you don't talk like that about him. And then I know enough.
( How has he never stopped. Seen his son. For all of his bravado and walls and spiny exterior, he is love undenying. He's missed everything.
Another date. His boy deserves it. Deserves to be doted on. To be held against the end of the boat, to be painted like one of Hawkins' French Girls. ...He shouldn't have fallen asleep to Titanic last night. He blinks the thought away, letting everything settle between them again.
He takes another, longer sip. These are to die for. The martini. And moments. With his son. )
Not for nothing, but nothing about that sounds painful to me.
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 06:54 pm (UTC)[ Tim can defend Harry on those grounds, even if it’s pointless to deny the difference in his excitement when it comes to him and the tennis star. Harry’s been nothing if not doting and sweet and accommodating, willing to shell out for fine wine and expensive gifts. He worships at his feet, and it’s hard to deny the sheer force of his attention – but Teo finds himself skittering away when deeper feelings come to the front, like vermin running from the light. He likes him. But deep in his gut, he knows it won’t be more than that, and the longer he waits for Harry to realize it, the harder it’s going to be.
And he’s hardly even thinking about it now. Hypnotized by sun-bleached curls and calloused hands and that All-American golden boy smile. It’s the Salvatore selfishness. ]
Well, it is. [ A smile peeking out, but hidden again, behind his martini. ] He’s so sweet I’m gonna rot my teeth out, if I can’t find a way to fuck it up first.
[ But he will, like he always does. Teo will need more than he can give, but not know how to say it, and hold him at a distance so it doesn’t hurt when he leaves. He knows the routine by now. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 07:03 pm (UTC)( And maybe a good lay, but that's not his expertise, not when it comes to his son.
He could've admitted it. Admitted his part in his son's life. But he knows he defended Tim as much as he defended himself. He can actually look up to that. He still doesn't get his Bachelor rose, however, on behalf of Teo. )
People aren't fragile, breakable things. They are walking, talking, beating, heart muscles. And the only way to hurt and be hurt in return is to present your own. And there is no guarantee. Someone might get hurt. Someone might fuck up. Royally. And sometimes, that is enough to hold someone back.
( He sighs. )
It's your decision if that sweetness is taken at face value and what you do with it. But, don't do nothing if all you're afraid of, is fucking it up. We're human. And humans fuck shit up. As Americans like to say.
( He smirks, turning his head again, but not removing his glasses. His son can still sense the gleam in his eye. )
Teo, you were born for it. You're a disruptor. You know your mother admires that in you. And so do I. You and me, we just operate differently.
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Date: 2025-06-03 07:59 pm (UTC)But it’s something. And he can’t help himself but to burst out laughing, nearly choking on his bougie little sandwich. ]
Oh, my God, papa. I’ll tell you if it turns out to be anything if you promise to stop monologuing.
[ But at least the pink on his face is purely from good, wholesome, father embarrassing his son, instead of any raunchy memories of the night before floating to the surface. ]
Could have fooled me. When I was arrested after pulling down that statue, they could hear you both screaming from here.
[ Exaggeration? Maybe, maybe not. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 08:09 pm (UTC)He doesn't laugh nearly as hard, always the one having to keep it together, but a few chuckles escape.
Because one thing is true as his son's laughter subsides. Normally, he would say "You better," and as much as he might mean it as a joke, he knows how it comes off. And, so he puts it more delicately, under the guise of the sip he takes right after. )
I hope you will.
( Sip.
A long, suffering sigh, because he remembers that night. He holds his glass in hand, though, taken back. )
Here's a secret from me to you. That side of you, your mother is the proudest of. In her eyes, you're standing up. You are doing something. You stand for something. ( In Katherine's eyes, Stefan stands for nothing. He stands in "for" his father, or in place of, under his watchful eye - but he lost her confidence and her admiration a long time ago. ) You can't blame us for expressing emotions at you being arrested and, correct me if I'm wrong, our raised voices were mostly in the direction of the homophobic tax write-offs they call cops. We were worried for you. And they were contemptible. I'm sorry for raising our voices when we got home. You may not remember but your mother and I screamed, mostly, in each other's directions.
cw sexual assault technically
Date: 2025-06-03 10:48 pm (UTC)Teo finishes his sandwich, quiet for a moment, not sure what to do with the praise. None of his extreme actions, not even the ones he got caught for, not the ones he took the blame for, knowing his parents would handle it, he regrets. They’ve shown that they care about him enough to keep the charges from sticking on him. They have the resources to do more. ]
That cop groped me. [ He didn’t say anything back then. It was the first arrest, he was sixteen and scared enough as it was. ] Not a pat down. A full grab. Franco, too.
[ Would his father even remember the names of the others? Doubtful. ]
As far as I'm concerned, he deserved every word.
cw continued discussion of technical sexual assault
Date: 2025-06-03 10:58 pm (UTC)And just like that, he returns to this spot, a laughing teen girl sliding into the pool.
Despite the severity and seriousness of their conversation, the party rages on. That's Saltburnt for you. )
And Eamon?
( He does. He remembers more than his son thinks. But he has no reason to believe he would. )
I'm sorry you didn't tell us. You could've. ( No. ) You should've.
( His mother would've ran that officer through with her heel. And then her heel.
He turns over again, resting his sunglasses ontop of his head. They'll remain here the rest of the afternoon. )
I'm sorry you were caught between us.
( Because that's what happened, they didn't yell at him. Just over him. They always yelled over him. About him. Rarely at him. He would still draw him close, kiss him on the forehead. Pour him a glass of wine. )
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Date: 2025-06-03 11:47 pm (UTC)I'm not even sure why I'm telling you now.
[ To explain why it didn't scare him straight? Or how the thought of that priest at his school had him escalating to car bombs? ]
It's...
[ Not fine. It's the reason for all of this, the multiple men, the sex tape, the chill in his bones where warmth and excitement should be. But: ]
It is what it is. For what it's worth, I think you'll both be happier, when the divorce is final.
no subject
Date: 2025-06-03 11:56 pm (UTC)A switch has definitely been flipped.
But happiness has different meaning to everything. He has happy days. Happy hours. Happy times. But, is he - happy? Maybe with Niklaus. After a big deal is made. Here and there. )
Happiness isn't everything.
( And with that, he flips back, laying his head down. He stretches an arm behind his head. )
But it's achievable.
( Maybe.
Are you happy? He really wants to ask. He wants to delve, to know everything. But, maybe there's too much. Maybe things take time. He can't force information. He can't force information. And so, again, he falls into a comfortable silence. )