milliways_bar | (no subject)

Charlie dabs the spoon at Bartleby's nose. "Laddie is in a mood. Damned if I can figure out what the problem is. He ate bananas yesterday."

Bartleby jerks backwards just in time. "Maybe you're not all-singing all-dancing enough for him. An aeroplane?"

"Tried it. He looks at me like I'm insane and won't open his mouth."

"Helicopter? Speed boat?"

"I don't think the sound effects are helping. He just doens't want to eat from a spoon." He regards Seth despondently.

Seth wiggles his fingers, unconcerned.

"Use your fingers," Bartleby suggests. "Or try a motorbike. Who can resist a motorbike?" He grins.

Charlie gives him a skeptical look--a bit like Seth's, oddly enough--and dips his finger into the plums. "Let the Harley come back into the garage, Seth darling," he murmurs as he dabs it against Seth's mouth.

Seth sucks on Charlie's finger instinctively, then he makes a little complaining mewl at the plums that got inside. He does drool a little, though.

"See? Not so bad. Not going to kill you, baby boy." He dips in for a second fingerful.

Bartleby smiles approvingly and reaches down to pat Seth's cheek.

Seth grabs for Bartleby's hand, poking out his tongue.

Charlie just laughs. "You're a fussy little monster lately. Not getting enough unconditional worship?

"Come, sit," he adds to Bartleby, nodding to the empty seat across from him.

Bartleby comes round the booth and sits down, stretching out his legs. "How goes it?"

Charlie shrugs. "Sawyer's sick," he says bluntly. "So Claire's looking after him--wearing herself out with it if you ask me, not that anyone would--and while there's no shortage of babysitters I'd rather look after the wee one myself, you know?

"And Richard is, for no reason anyone can fathom, painting himself blue and only speaking in Greek.

"And Liam is also blue. Though it's not paint."

Blink.

Blink.

"Okay."

"There's some kind of virus going around. Not as bad as the nightmare virus back in February, I think, but not pretty at all."

"You've not got it? Or Seth?" Bartleby frowns.

"I feel fine--aside from the everyday stuff that's my own damn fault--and Seth's not running a fever or sneezing or turning odd colors. I think we're okay."

"Good. Everyday stuff?"

"Ringing in my ears, mostly. Headaches, sometimes. Occasional nausea." He shrugs. "The side effects of drug abuse will never end, love."

"Oh, those." He leans over to kiss Charlie's cheek. "Thought you meant something extra."

"The jeans dry okay, by the way?"

"Nope, nothing extra.

"They dried. They were a bitch to get off, though." He gives Bartleby the most reproving look he can manage. "Could have used an extra hand."

"I was swimming," he protests.

"You're very yummy in a swimsuit," he acknowledges.

Seth kicks his feet. Worship and adore me! I'm bored!

Charlie catches hold of his toes and gives the bottom of his foot a kiss.

"Not quite the point, but thank you." He grins.

"Just making an observation." He grins at Bartleby. "Perhaps I will join you again--in a proper swimsuit this time."

He takes Seth out of his carrier and sets him in his lap, hoping he might take the plums more readily this way. Seth twists back to look up at Charlie and then settles against him with a sigh.

"Considering that you had to be dragged in, I'll not be too optimistic." He chuckles.

"Hey, octobaby."

Seth eats more plums from Charlie's finger and regards Bartleby. Hey, angel-man.

"Swimming in a lake is very different from swimming in a pool," Charlie says. "It's weird, not being able to see the bottom--how deep it is or what's out there. There are squids, you know. A squid. Could be other, nastier things." He shudders. "Don't fancy death by drowning."