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Alfonso takes Christos home to meet his father

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[follows a couple days after this trip to the city]

Sitting in the back of the chauffeured car, the two of them on their way to have lunch with his father, Alfonso is a unusual mess of nerves. He's never taken anyone home to meet his father and there's a part of him that would prefer to simply turn the car around. Knee bouncing, he watches out the window, noting how Polanco has changed over the years, so many of the mansions turned into retail stores and restaurants.

One eyebrow raised, Christos studies his lover. He's never seen Alfonso like this, and it's far more revealing than the little he's spoken of his father in the past. He longs to take him into his arms and soothe, distract, but this is definitely not the place for that. "Hey," he whispers, catching his lover's eye. "This will be fine."

Alfonso nods, forcing his knee to still. "Lo siento," he says, reaching out across the backseat to touch Christos's leg.

Lo siento. I'm sorry. Christos smiles slightly and shakes his head. "It's fine," he says again, catching Alfonso's hand and linking their fingers. His mind is racing, however; he'd promised to make Senor Herrera think that he's the bottom partner, and now that it's time to put those words into action, he's drawing a blank. He's hardly going to turn himself into a parody of gayness, but somehow there has to be a way.

The driver stops at the gates to his father's estate and they're buzzed in by security a moment later, the car taking the long winding driveway up to the front door, past the huge interior garden and the second house, the one attached to the main house but reserved for guests.

Christos has lived around money for years — not his own, necessarily, but his employers are extremely wealthy. Even so the approach and then the looming house itself have him widening his eyes. He can't imagine having grown up in such ostentatious luxury, and glances at his lover, whose face looks stiff.

Alfonso gives Christos's hand another squeeze but then pulls back, hands placed in his lap as the driver stops the car in front. The driver starts to get out but Alfonso leans forward, telling him in soft Spanish that it's fine, they'll see their way from here. "Here we go," he says to Christos, getting out and walking around to meet him. "Ready?"

"More than ready. I've faced much scarier," Christos assures him, with a little quirk of his lips to let his lover know that he's joking. He wants to take Alfonso into his arms and kiss him until he smiles again, but he leaves off out of respect for his lover's clear reluctance to even touch him in the open. "The grounds are lovely."

Alfonso nods. "They are. They were a lot of fun to play in when I was growing up," he says, an admission that there were good times here as a child. He knocks at the front door, his father's housekeeper answering it. "Maria!" he exclaims, wrapping his arms around the older woman and giving her a hug.

"Poncho," she says, so happy to see him. "Your father said you were coming. And that you were bringing a friend with you," she adds, all of it in Spanish. "Hola," she nods at Christos, giving him a good once over, her arms still wrapped around Alfonso.

"Hola," Christos replies with a smile, and holds out his hand. "Encantada."

Maria lets go of Alfonso, still looking with suspicion at his 'friend'. Finally she shakes his hand. "Mucho gusto," she replies. "El es guapo," she tells Poncho, smiling at her boy as she still thinks of him. "Tu padre esta esperando en el salon."

"Gracias," Alfonso says, kissing her on the cheek. "My father's in the salon," he translates for Christos. "Waiting for us."

Christos follows his lover through the house and tries not to gawk like a tourist. But the place is massive, and decked out with portraits and sculptures like a museum. They pass through several different rooms before approaching a sunlit space that looks out over the interior gardens, and Christos gets his first view of Alfonso's formidable father.

"Ah, here you are," Alfonso's father says, putting down his paper and rising to his feet. He steps forward and offers his hand to Christos. "I am Oscar Herrera."

"Mucho gusto." Christos shakes his hand firmly, but doesn't prolong it. "I'm Christos Vasilopoulos. It's an honor to meet you, sir."

Oscar takes a good long appraising look at Christos. He's a handsome man, tall, strong features, firm handshake. Oscar nods. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well," he says. "My son rarely brings anyone home." He turns to Alfonso. "It's good to have you home."

"It's good to be home," Alfonso says, stepping forward to give his father a quick hug as is expected. "You're looking well." Purposely keeping the conversation in English for Christos's sake.

The lack of warmth between the two men explains a lot to Christos's mind. He settles silently into the role of observer, watching Oscar closely.

Oscar gestures for them to both to have a seat and Alfonso settles on the sofa across from his father. "Would you care for a drink?" Oscar asks Christos, watching the man sit down beside his son, keeping a respectful distance between them.

"Yes, thank you. Whatever you prefer," Christos answers, figuring it would be rude to refuse -- and anyway, it'll give him something to do with his hands. "You have a stunning home."

"Thank you," Oscar raises his hand and a man dressed in black steps into the room. "Tres tequilas. El Herradura Seleccion Suprema Extra Añejo." The man nods and busies himself at a small rolling bar in the one corner. "Is this your first time in Mexico City?"

"My first time seeing the city. I've only passed through on business before. I enjoyed very much visiting the mercados with Alfonso," Christos answers. He accepts his drink with a nod of thanks.

Oscar nods, sipping at his tequila. "You're in security?"

"Yes. Which means I've been all over the world but haven't seen much of it," Christos says with a chuckle. Senor Herrera's accent is much thicker than Alfonso's, but Christos thinks he's understanding him for the most part so far. "I'm happy to be playing tourist for once."

Alfonso takes a drink, watching his father and his lover and feeling no need to jump in for the moment.

"You work for Antony Starr, si?" Oscar says, having thoroughly checked out his son's 'friend'.

Christos's brows rise. "I do. You're familiar with Mr. Starr's work?" Fucking hell, he hadn't anticipated this. Perhaps he should have, and he has to wonder just how much Oscar knows. More than Alfonso does, he'd guess.

"I'm aware of his reputation," Oscar says, taking another sip of his tequila, his gaze laser-focused on the man across from him. "You've worked for him since he started AJS, si?"

"Yes, I have." Christos sips at his drink in turn, idly wondering whether he should be limiting this interrogation to name, rank, and serial number. But he doesn't sweat.

Oscar smiles. "You're very close-mouthed," he observes, glancing at Alfonso.

Alfonso stares back. This part is between his father and Christos and he trusts his lover can handle himself.

"I'm not in the habit of talking about my work," Christos offers with a little smile. "Would you like to discuss something else?"

"Of course." Oscar nods, his attention fully back on Christos. "How did you meet my son?"

"At a restaurant. His date didn't show up so I asked him to dine with me," Christos explains, and it's almost exactly the truth, with the small omission of Citadel. He glances at Alfonso with a smile. "Lucky for me, I was able to convince him that his date was an idiot."

Alfonso smiles back. "Are you done with your interrogation?" he asks his father, his tone just light enough to pass it off as a joke.

"Not even close," Oscar says, shaking his head. "What are your intentions towards Alfonso?"

Christos's lips curve in appreciation. "I intend for him to keep me," he answers. "He takes good care of me, and I'm good for him too."

Oscar glances at Alfonso again. "You could still get married, have children, carry on the family name," he says in rapid-fire Spanish. "Keep this man on the side."

"I don't want to keep him on the side," Alfonso responds in his native tongue, his words just as heated. "And you still have Pablo to carry on the family name."

The words flow by so fast that Christos doesn't have a hope of translating even a few of them; no matter, he's guessing he has the general gist. He sips at his tequila, keeping one eye on his lover. Patiently waiting. After all, when it comes down to it, Alfonso's opinion is the only one that matters to him.

Oscar shakes his head. "You will bring shame upon this family," he insists.

"Not in this day and age," Alfonso returns. "No one cares anymore. No one but bigots and dinosaurs. Besides," he adds, a little more softly, "we're being discreet, especially here, where people know me."

Tapping one finger against his lips, Christos studies Oscar. Alfonso looks so much like him, but for the coldness in the older man's eyes. That's a striking difference. He reflects on what this conversation would be like with his own father, thinking that the senior Herrera appears to be holding it together fairly well.

Oscar sighs. "My apologies," he says to Christos, speaking English once more. "It might have been easier if my son were completely gay. At least I wouldn't have held out any hope of him of getting married or having children."

"I could still do those things," Alfonso points out, struggling not to roll his eyes at his father. "Men can get married to each other and a surrogate could carry a child for us. I simply don't wish to do either."

"If it helps," Christos offers, although helping is the last thing on his mind, "you can think of me as his woman. I'm just one who can't have children."

At least that settles one question Oscar wasn't going to ask. "Enough," he says to both men, raising a hand. "I wasn't intending on bringing all of this up and I shouldn't have done so." He drains his glass. "Maria has made lunch for us. Are you still staying?" he asks, the question directed to Alfonso.

"Do you want to?" Alfonso asks Christos, working hard to tamp down on his anger. Bumping heads is not a new thing for him and his father but subjecting anyone else - especially someone he loves - to it is.

"Let's stay," Christos says with a nod. "Maria has gone to all the trouble already, and she's so happy to have you here," he murmurs, searching Alfonso's eyes.

Alfonso holds Christos's gaze for a long moment then nods. "We'll stay, but we should eat," he tells his father.

"Of course," Oscar responds. "I'll let Maria know. You can show Christos around until she's ready for us." And with that he leaves the two men alone.

As soon as the door shuts Christos leans in and kisses Alfonso, one hand lifting to thread fingers through his hair. He wants to drag his lover into his lap but for all he knows Oscar's got spies watching them, and he doesn't want to disturb their carefully-built misimpression. "Are you okay?"

Alfonso nods. "I used to get into yelling matches with him when I was younger but it never makes a difference so I don't bother anymore. It's easier to just keep the peace."

"Very smart. And you don't need to waste your energy." Not to mention his heart. "Anything I shouldn't discuss with him?"

Alfonso takes Christos's hand and pulls him to his feet. "I'm not going to put anything off-limits. You seem able to handle him. He doesn't like being challenged on anything and most Mexican fathers are that way."

"Just the fathers?" Christos teases.

"Are you saying I'm like my father?" Alfonso asks, playfully punching Christos on the shoulder.

"No, you love being challenged," Christos says with a laugh, and kisses his lover again, seizing this last moment of solitude before they head back into the family war zone.

Alfonso smiles at the kiss. "Would you like to see the rest of the house? Or the gardens?" he offers.

"Yeah, I'd love to. This place is amazing." Christos takes his lover's hand and glances around. "Was this like growing up in a museum? Were you allowed to touch anything as a child?"

"I was, actually. Boys are expected to be rambunctious. Pablo and I used to run through the halls when he still lived here," Alfonso explains, keeping hold of Christos's hand as he points out the various rooms, "and my friends and I would play in the gardens."

Their footsteps actually echo in the cavernous space. "What about girls? Would they not have been expected to play and be rambunctious?"

Alfonso shakes his head. "They might now, but not then. Our culture's been slow to change."

"Hmm." Christos eyes his lover as they walk. "And you're sure you don't want any? Children, I mean."

"Why? Do you?" Alfonso asks, eyeing Christos back.

"No. I've always known I'm not meant to be a father," Christos answers truthfully.

Alfonso nods. "Me too. I'll admit it. I'm too selfish, too absorbed with my work," he says. "The way I want to live my life wouldn't be fair to children."

"Good." Christos swings their joined hands a little, in lieu of taking his lover into his arms and kissing him. "So we're agreed on that. No kids in this lifetime."

"What about animals?" Alfonso asks with a smile.

"I could probably take responsibility for a fish. I don't think they travel well, though," Christos chuckles. "What about you?"

"I wouldn't mind having a pet if I were settled somewhere," Alfonso says. "But it's not something I had as a child either so..." he shrugs.

"I'm sure we could manage a dog, even with your schedule." Christos purses his lips and gazes out over the manicured gardens, trying again to picture what his lover's youth must have been like. "It's very domestic, no?"

"What is?" Alfonso asks, pointing out some of the native plants.

"Getting a pet together." Christos smiles at him. "This is not what I ever saw for myself. But with you, it's all I want."

"Does it freak you out?" Alfonso asks, smiling back, not sure whether wanting it equates to accepting it or not.

"Strangely, no. I feel very at peace with you," Christos says. "You have no idea how valuable that is to me."

Alfonso nods. He has so many more questions for Christos but... "We should go see if lunch is ready," he says instead, giving Christos's hand a squeeze.

* * *

Senor Herrera's chauffeur drops them back at Alfonso's flat once more, and Christos murmurs, "I'm stuffed. Something light for dinner this evening."

"I can put together a salad and we can have some bread with it," Alfonso offers. "Cena tends to be very light when we've had una comida grande."

Christos nods acknowledgement, then raises an eyebrow. "Now that we're alone again, do I even want to know what your father was talking about in front of me en Espanol?"

Alfonso shrugs like it doesn't really matter. "He reminded me that I'm bisexual, that I could get married, have kids and still have you on the side, and then he told me I'd bring shame to the family if everyone finds out about you."

"He said I can be your side chick? Really?" Christos reaches out and pulls his lover close. "How do you say ‘Go fuck yourself' in Spanish?"

Alfonso smiles. "Vete a la mierda."

"Vete a la mierda," Christos echoes softly, "I'll remember." He tilts Alfonso's chin up to kiss him.

Making a soft sound of pleasure in response to the kiss, Alfonso smiles. "Please do. I'd love to see you tell my father to go fuck himself. I don't think enough people have told him that."

"You're not worried about me burning any bridges?" Christos settles his arms around Alfonso's waist with a grin.

Alfonso snorts softly. "No. Not after what he said, although he was nicer the rest of the afternoon."

Christos studies his lover's face. "Do you think it'll be any different with the rest of your family?" He hates to ask, but he needs to know.

"My mother will be different. She only wants me to be happy," Alfonso says, meeting Christos's gaze. "And I don't know about Pablo. It's been a long time since I've seen him."

"He can't be worse than my older brothers," Christos says, although the note of hope in his voice belies his confidence. "With them, it would be fistfights."

"You don't have to worry about that," Alfonso quickly reassures him, although obviously he'll never be meeting Christos's family. "If he doesn't approve he'll just be very cold or not show up to meet you at all."

Christos kisses Alfonso, licking slowly between his lips. "Your mother, then — I'll charm the hell out of her and so someone will still have your back."

"You have my back," Alfonso points out. "That's all that matters."

Christos pulls back enough that he can see Alfonso's eyes. "You're right. I'll always be here for you." Maybe it's too soon to float that always, but Christos figures he's already laid those cards on the table.

Alfonso's tempted to ask about that always but he doesn't. He just wraps a hand around the back of Christos's neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

It's rare that Alfonso takes the initiative sexually, and Christos is very pleased. He threads his fingers through Alfonso's thick dark hair and opens to his kiss with a soft groan of pleasure.

That groan ignites his desire and Alfonso deepens the kiss, licking into Christos's mouth, their tongues tangling.

"You're so hot," Christos whispers. "I wanted you all afternoon. Wanted to knock over some sculptures and fuck you against one of those stupid paintings." It's not that Christos minds art. It's just that he minds a man whose priorities are so askew.

"Maybe you'll get another chance if we visit again," Alfonso whispers back, eyes sparkling, fingers scritching at the hairs at Christos's nape.

"I don't think that's going to happen," Christos snickers. "I doubt I'll be invited to your father's house again."

"You'd be surprised," Alfonso says but he's laughing too. "You never backed down. He approves of that."

"I told him that you fuck me. I thought he was supposed to lose all respect for me as a man after that," Christos says, carding his fingers through Alfonso's hair.

"He would if you were Mexican or Hispanic," Alfonso explains.

Christos quirks a brow, puzzled. "I don't understand," he says. Adds, "I don't think I want to understand. In Greece, your race wouldn't matter — my father would be ashamed of me regardless." He takes Alfonso's hand and leads him through the open kitchen into the huge living room, tugs him to sit down on the sofa.

"It's a cultural thing," Alfonso says, pressing in close. "He doesn't assume it's the same in your country and all he cares is that it's not his son getting fucked."

"Would you care?" Christos asks, trying to feel out how much of that culture is intrinsically embedded in his lover. "If you had a grown son?"

"No, but I'm of a different generation and I've spent a lot of time outside Mexico," Alfonso points out. "And of course I'm the one getting fucked. I'd have to be pretty hypocritical if I felt that way about anyone else." He sighs. "I do sometimes struggle with some of it. You know I feel uncomfortable being overtly submissive in public, but that's a product of how I was raised, the stuff I internalized from my father."

Christos nods. "That makes sense." He rubs Alfonso's back. "I think my father and yours would get along well. My older brothers too, they're of that school. They think a gay man is a weak man." Snorting a laugh, he shakes his head. "But I doubt they'd dare pick a fight with me these days."

Alfonso grins at that. "Do you ever miss them?"

"Fuck, no. So many of my childhood memories consist of them kicking my ass. I was small until I was fourteen, and I suppose that just made me too easy a target."

"It's hard to picture you that age," Alfonso admits. "As anything less than tough."

Christos huffs a laugh. "It's true. I'm sure I have a photo somewhere packed in my stuff. I saved a picture of me with my grandfather."

"I want to see it," Alfonso says. "I'll let my mother dig out her photos of me as a child when we're there in return."

"I love that idea." Christos cups Alfonso's cheek in his hand and kisses him, long and slow.

Alfonso moans into the kiss, pressing close, eager already for more.

That fetches an answering growl, low in Christos's throat. His kiss turns hungrier and he wraps his arms around Alfonso's middle, dragging him into his lap.

Alfonso shifts, straddling Christos, licking into his mouth with more of those needy moans.

Christos breaks the kiss just long enough to strip their shirts off. He undoes Alfonso's jeans and slips his hands down the back, squeezing his lover's cheeks.

Alfonso groans at the touch, grinding himself against Christos, their mouths meeting again, tongues tangling, urgency in every movement.

"Stand up," Christos orders quietly, "and take off your pants." From his pocket he pulls a sachet of lube and a condom — items he probably had no business bringing to Oscar Herrera's house, but he figures it's better to be prepared for any possibility.

Almost spilling from Christos's lap, Alfonso gets to his feet, his belt unbuckled and his pants unzipped, shoved to the floor and kicked free. His heart is pounding, his body aching to have Christos inside him.

Christos undoes his own trousers, his belt pulled from its loops and set aside. With slippery fingers he probes his lover's ass, pressing two deep.

Alfonso curses under his breath in his native tongue, his cock jerking violently at the penetration, suddenly wet at its tip.

Smirking faintly, Christos sits forward and licks out to steal a bead of precome. He spreads his fingers and works them in and out, then adds a third.

"Dios," Alfonso moans, gaze locked on Christos's tongue. And again, his hole grasping greedily at those fingers. "Por favor..."

Christos picks up his belt. "Put your hands behind your back."

Alfonso blinks at the words but he does as he's told, wrists pressed together at the small of his back.

Reaching around, Christos wraps Alfonso's wrists with his belt twice, then buckles them in place. One hand on his lover's hip to steady him, Christos pushes his fingers back inside that tight heat, and dips to lick the head of Alfonso's cock.

Alfonso swallows hard, trying not to whimper as he shifts, rocking back onto Christos's fingers and forward against his mouth. "Por favor..." he tries again, unsure whether he's asking for mercy or more.

It's good, the pleading. But Christos wants him fucking desperate. He circles his tongue around the crown of Alfonso's cock. Looks up to meet his lover's gaze and then takes him into his mouth with a lewd moan.

That look. Something flips low in his belly and Alfonso whimpers again, unable to help it, his cock jerking in the wet heat of Christos's mouth, hole clenching around his fingers.

Christos fucks his fingers in and out of Alfonso's hole and takes him deeper into his mouth, starting to suck.

"Please," Alfonso begs, switching to English, feeling his orgasm rising, the arousal washing over him in waves that crest higher and higher. "Please! I can't..."

"No." Christos pulls back and swiftly undoes his trousers to unroll a condom into place. He guides Alfonso to straddle him, supporting his lover. "Take me in."

Without his hands to help him, Alfonso struggles to get Christos's cock lined up, moaning with relief when the head catches on the rim of his hole and, with a slight angling of his hips, he's able to start sinking down.

"Good," Christos whispers, then groans as his lover takes him deeper. He thrusts up into Alfonso twice, three times, testing him. Then he grabs his lover's ass and holds him in place while he slams into him, hips working.

Alfonso cries out, trying to do his part to move on Christos's cock, but between how his hands are bound and Christos's hold on him, he's pretty much stuck just taking it, something which only fires his arousal even more.

It's too rough, Christos is sure. He can't stop. Something about the stress of the day, of meeting Alfonso's father and defending their relationship and lying about who he is and... He closes his mouth on his lover's shoulder, pressing his teeth deep.

There's another sharp cry, shock spiking through him, but Alfonso's body has other ideas. He comes, hard, hole clenching tight around Christos's cock, his seed spraying between them.

Christos groans and gives in to the clench of his lover's body. He thrusts only once more and then he comes, burying himself inside Alfonso. Panting against his neck.

"Lo siento," Alfonso whispers, cheeks burning, knowing he should have been able to hold out for some kind of permission.

"Lo siento," Christos echoes, wrapping his arms around his lover. He licks over the fresh bite mark he's left on Alfonso's shoulder. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Alfonso says softly, pressing close, feeling strangely vulnerable in this moment.

Frowning, Christos unbuckles his belt and drops it to the floor, freeing Alfonso's wrists. Heedless of the leaking condom, he sits back, holding his lover against his chest. "Why sorry?"

"Because I came without warning you, without having some sort of permission," Alfonso says quietly, cheeks burning, his gaze lowered.

"Astari mu," Christos says, lifting Alfonso's chin with his finger. "We never said that. We haven't been that to each other." It pains him to see Alfonso beating himself up.

"I know," Alfonso nods, risking a glance at Christos. "But I haven't come like that before, without letting you know in some way..."

Christos furrows his brow in thought. "Do you want it to be different?" he asks finally. "Do you want to give that to me?" He will not steer Alfonso's choice on this. Will. Not.

"I don't know," Alfonso answers honestly. "I need to think about it." And right now his brains are too scrambled to do that clearly.

Nodding understanding, Christos softly kisses his lover. "I was thinking I needed to apologize to you." He strokes over the mark on Alfonso's shoulder. "I was very rough."

"You were," Alfonso agrees with a small smile, "but I liked it."

That smile, slight though it is, hits Christos like a punch to the chest. "Let's go clean up," he says softly, reeling from the impact. "Then I'll fix us dinner."