DO I WANNA KNOW?

But then, the hand that had been so tightly wrapped around it just moments ago definitely didn't help the feeling any.

He's tired and anxious and wants nothing more than to go get his new stash so he can turn everything off once again, but Christian just keeps trying to play house with him and it's pissing him off more than he can stand.

But as he speaks of not being there for his mom, something inside of him snaps.

"You don't get to bring up her death," he almost threatens, his shining brown hues staring down the man. "And I'm not your fucking boy. I'm barely your fucking son, but don't ever fucking call me my boy again. Got it? Because I'm not. You had years to show up and be the father that I needed, but you were out, God knows where doing God knows what, and suddenly you get to pretend you're the big man of the house because you decided to show up?

"Well five years too late, dickwad. I needed you. She fucking needed you- lord knows why- and it wasn't enough. We were never enough for you, so you don't get to waltz in and act like either of us ever mattered to you."

(holding back this time-- fuck, the kid's skin's already starting to purple)

--and pull the zipties from his pocket, looping them over Noah's wrists as he does. They're sealed tight, digging into flesh and leaving it pink, and Christian isn't gentle as he forces Noah onto his knees. He's even less so as he digs the sole of his boot in the space between Noah's shoulderblades, forcing him to bend down as low as he can go.

I warned you. The words, albeit unspoken, hang in the air. Noah is never allowed to leave his corner until he's served his time, and he should know this by now.

"I'm not pretending," Christian says coldly. "Not when you failed to take my title.

"Is that why you came back? For the fucking house?" the younger man spat out, venom lacing his words as he glared down at the man and his hands curling into fists at his sides, accidentally crushing the remaining few crackers.

Why are you antagonising your son? asks a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Liona. Christian's lip curls lightly, but he pulls the last weed in his vicinity and picks the garbage bag up, walking over to another particularly stubborn section of overgrowth.

"You can stay rent-free as long as you follow my rules, or you can leave and do whatever the fuck you want."

Christian crouches again. Despite the bite of his words, his touch is gentle as he delicately digs at the ground to pull more weeds out.

"Fair terms, I'd say. Especially since there's no offer you can make that'll make me give this place up."

But then the sweet kiss of death doesn't come, and Noah isn't quite sure how to process his feelings on it.

Christian keeps talking about danger as if he's ever given a shit about his safety. As far as Noah knows, this is a brand new view of the world. He doesn't know why for the past five years he hasn't been around, but the only seemingly rational thing is that he's just never cared.

And the asshole gets to just wake up one morning and suddenly decide he wants to be a dad?

Fuck that.

Fuck him.

"Where the fuck did being smart get me? Huh?" Noah scoffs as he rolls his eyes. "A dead mother? The know-how to plan way too much of her funeral? The ability to pay bills before I even had a high school diploma. Then despite doing okay enough on my own, having to move in with my god-mom in an area that totally isolates me from all of the friends I'd had for years until I was finally old enough where I could run? Except, that's right when my father decides to come back into my life and pretend he can run my life for me as if he'd ever given a shit about my safety or well-being before?"

The boy's arms wrap around his legs as he pulls them into himself.

"Yeah, that intelligence really got me smart. Such a shame I blew it," he droned before resting his forehead on his knees. He draws in a deep breath through his nostrils before looking up at the man again.

On one of the high shelves, he stares at a set of china that Delia once thought was one of the most gorgeous things in the world. The boy thinks I want something from him, baby. How many holes has he smoked into his head?

"Son, you've got nothing to your name. What is there to take, hm?"

There's something terribly tragic knowing that he hadn't even taken Noah's virginity, back when his heat had very nearly burned him through. Christian isn't going to ask how old Noah was the first time someone had ever touched him-- he's seen enough from him to know he hates everything about what the boy's life has become.

"If you think I've come here seeking revenge on you... Christ, Noah, you're destroying yourself.

"I don't even have to do anything. You're better at this than I'll ever be, huh?"

His teeth dig lightly in his lip and drag over it. Delia's ugly plates look back at him in the most awful orange he's ever seen.

"I just want to know your life won't end with you dead in a ditch. Fuck's sake." Fingers digging lightly into the armrest at his side, Christian exhales slowly. "But you're beating me at the game, son. One day I won't find you in time, I know it.

If there's one thing his mom always did, even as the cancer and treatments ate away at her, it was garden. No matter how sickly she looked or how tired she was or how run down she felt, she'd always made certain to see to her garden. Noah remembers how much she lit up when she was planting or weeding, even just weeks before her passing.

And for someone who couldn't even show up to the funeral to touch what was her sacred area... it was almost too much for Noah to stomach.

"Oh neat. So, back to work when you're done with this?" He gives a half-hearted shrug as he swallows the last bit of his cracker and stands upright from where he's leaning against the doorframe to the yard. "Well, cool then. I guess I'll see you in another five, six years so you can pretend to give a shit again."

Brow furrowing, he raises his index finger up to his lips in faux contemplation.

"Or was it so soon because Mom died? Like, is it that you'll act like a dad for a little while when you're ready to come home after someone dies, or is it just a random whim kind of thing for you?

"It's a new job," Christian says. It's about the only thing in Noah's long-winded attack that feels important enough to even respond to.

This time, Noah doesn't deserve the courtesy of eye contact.

Though, as it clicks that really the worst thing his dealers have done was fuck him, he can't help the almost vile smirk that curls at his lips.

"Funny, actually, that you have that in common with him, isn't it? I mean, with him I'm just high and only ever my ass or throat, but you? Shoving your fingers into your heat-ridden kid's cunt?"

He pauses to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Though, the venom seemingly falls from his tone and expression as he begins to walk towards his father. He doesn't give a shit if he does pull the trigger at this point, but he does opt to have some fun with it all.

"Is that why you don't want me to see him?" The words come out as a purr rather than maliciously, just as the hand that reaches up to curl around Christian's hand is more delicate than it is to attempt to restrain. His lips brush against the muzzle as his eyes flicker to the weapon before up at the man. "You want me all for yourself?"

Noah's tongue flickered against the opening before he pressed a kiss to the muzzle. He repeated these ministrations a few times over before his gaze flickered up to meet his father's.

Christian doesn't think. Doesn't compute. Doesn't consider. His wedding ring kisses Noah's cheek as he backhands him, and with a hand curling into the boy's throat, he throws him back so he collides with the wall behind him. Some of it collapses into a hole.

It'll bruise on Noah's neck, he's sure. Christian exhales slowly, nostrils flaring, and half-wishes he felt bad about that.

If nothing else, the fact he's used his strength at all since leaving active duty almost feels freeing.

"I told you to stay."

He tries not to wonder if Delia knew what Noah was into. Her heart had gotten so weak already with the sickness-- no doubt finding him half-awake amongst bags of rubbish, high out of his fucking mind and clearly left behind, only would have broken it all the way.

Why was it that Noah was only good when he was high? Christian wipes his gun against his shirt, caring little for the spit that tickles the cloth.

"You can fuck whoever you want, Noah," he says blandly. "Christ. I can't even say I'm surprised you don't get how much danger you were in-- you keep proving over and over you're never gonna understand."

His laugh is wry. Tired. "I remember when you were smart. What a bloody waste.