This is a companion piece to my fic, The Musical Tastes of a Badass.
It is NOT! MY! FAULT! I don't care what Tanner thinks. Asshole.
I'm the boss. I have a lot to do. Sometimes I have to bring work home. It can't be helped. I have six other men counting on me to get payroll done, by 8:00 fucking AM on Monday, every Fucking Monday. And, he fucking knows it. I can't help it if Travis makes me attend a MANDATORY - got that Tanner? MAND-A-FUCKING-TORY! meeting every fucking Friday. It's not like there's anything important in those meetings! I mean, who the hell needs to have security procedures, designed to keep fucking assholes like Timothy McVeigh from blowing up the fucking building we work in, implemented? And, who wants to have the latest safety equipment for their team? Not me. It's not like that fucking new harness didn't save Vin's ass last month, when we busted the assholes with forty-three automatic weapons. Ezra didn't need the bulletproof vest he wore, that stopped the fucking round that would have torn a hole in his liver the size of Tanner's fucking pissy attitude.
So, yeah, I have to attend the meeting where I kiss Travis's ass and anybody else's ass, if it gets my team one more fucking toy, as they refer to them. And, sometimes that means payroll doesn't get done; or a million other things I have to do that make the office run, don't get done. And, sometimes that means I have to bring home paperwork. And, I know that pisses him off. 'Cause the man is like the fucking Energizer bunny when it comes to sex.
I mean, Jesus! I like sex. I love sex. I especially love sex with Vin. It's the best sex I ever had. But, I'm a fucking forty-one-year-old man. He's twenty-six. You do the fucking math. He gets up in the morning - every fucking morning - and his dick is waving at me. 'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!' Every fucking morning. OK, so most of the time, my own dick is waving back, happy as hell to oblige. But, fuck, I'm forty-one. I don't need it nearly as much as a twenty-six-year-old does.
But, the thing is, I don't think it's just about the sex for him. I mean, it's not just about the sex for either one of us. Having him in my life gives me a life. I was walking around, going through the motions, after Sarah and Adam died; when I wasn't drunk off my ass, tearing up the town. Buck got me through that time; kept me from losing my job, or hurting anyone. He took a hell of a lot of shit from me. I owe him big. I know it, and he knows it, but he'll never call in the debt. That's not the kind of man he is. If I needed a kidney tomorrow, or blood, or to have my ass kicked, or any damn thing at all, Buck would be the second guy in line to give it to me. Unless he pulled one of those, "over there!" moves he's got, and then punched Vin out. Buck's got a hell of a right hand, and he's used it to keep me from getting in a world of trouble, or causing someone else a world of trouble, more than once. He'd do it for Vin, too; don't think I don't know it.
Buck got me sober, but he couldn't get me living. Vin did that. It wasn't anything he did. It was just him. Just like one of those fucking songs he's pissed at me because he likes. He did show me the way to leave the past and all its tears behind me. He was like the dawn breaking night. I sound fucking ridiculous. Karen Carpenter could sing that shit and it sounded beautiful. I only say it and it sounds stupid.
But, I still don't need sex as much as he does. So, it's still NOT! MY! FAULT! He should have known better than to pick up a CD Mary Travis gave me. He only did it to piss me off. I know it and he knows it and I know he knows I know it. I had to get the payroll done, because if we started fucking, even though I don't need it as much as he does, we wouldn't have stopped fucking until Monday. Hell, once we finally started fucking, we didn't stop until Monday. But I had to put up with the Carpenters blasting through my office because he was pissed that he had to wait to start fucking. I mean, hell, I know that all of this is new to him; not fucking of course, he's a healthy twenty-six-year-old man and he's fucking gorgeous; he's done some fucking. It's the rest of it that's new.
Yes, I'm talking about the white lace and promises bullshit, not the white lace of course, because if either one of us ever brought white lace home, the other one would probably die laughing. Not that there's anything wrong with white lace; we just aren't the white lace type. Nope, but we sure the fuck are the working together day to day and sharing horizons type. Yep, we sure the fuck are.
But, that does not make it my fault. He's the one who got pissy and picked out the worst CD he could find; or he thought he did anyway. But, hell, the Carpenters sold millions of records and it wasn't because they sucked. Back in the day, they were huge. It wasn't only chicks buying their records. See, that right there tells you he shouldn't have picked that one. What the fuck does he know about records? I don't think he was even born the last time someone made an actual album. But, he thinks he's being a fucking smartass and he picks out a CD that probably got
So, yeah, I was pissed some that he put it on, but I got to listening to it, too. And, I know exactly why he took it to work Monday. I know exactly what song pushed him over the edge. It was the one that talked about taking a lifetime to say I knew you well. For All We Know, yeah, that one was the one that did it. I know, 'cause he played it about sixteen fucking million times, and not loud to piss me off. He turned it down low enough that I had to open my office door to hear it. I stood there for ten minutes listening to that same song play over and over.
So, I finished my fucking payroll in record time. I sure the fuck hope Ezra didn't put anything really ridiculous in his expense voucher, because I didn't even look at the fucking thing. I just signed off on it. He better hope he didn't put anything ridiculous in there, because if he did, Travis will bust my balls for approving it, and then I'll bust his; and rescind the fucking approval. Sure hope he likes going to high schools and talking to kids who are bored out of their minds, with nothing to do but harass the speaker, if he did.
So, I finished my payroll and we got around to the fucking. We did plenty of fucking. Twice Friday, three times on Saturday, and twice on Sunday. Not bad for a forty-one-year-old man, if I do say so myself. Of course, he probably would have been up for a dozen times, but he's twenty-six. I don't need it near as bad as he does.
OK, so it is my fucking fault. On account of I'm the one that told Buck to be sure to check his CD player when Vin took him to the garage to pick up his car today at lunch. I know it was a rotten thing to do, but the whole fucking weekend he kept making snotty comments about my taste in music, and asking me what it felt like to wear a leisure suit. He was laughing his ass off when he asked too. But, between making fun of me and fucking, he stole my fucking Carpenters CD. Asshole.
So, yeah, it was my fault. But, I'm not sorry. I'm not a bit sorry. Because nothing gets him hornier than being pissed off. And, I don't need it near as bad as he does, but I sure do want it.THE END