Present for mah Sitabean

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December 22nd, 2004

The restaurant is huge, echoing with the tinkling of forks and spoons and the murmur of hushed voices as a small choir sings on the stage. Everyone in the restaurant is dressed in black, and every woman has the large kind of jewelry that can only be given in order to make up for some fault of their husbands and lovers. Glittering icicle lights hang in every corner, lining the ceiling, a lame attempt at high-class festivity, Dominick Carrani, known as Race to his friends, decides as he glowers at his parents and wearily swirls his champagne in its flute.

"Dom, honey, it's Christmas," his mother coos, brushing her graying hair out of her eyes and sighing. "Why aren't you happy?"

Why am I not happy? Because my parents fucking refuse to accept that I'm gay. You won't mention it, and every time it comes up, you change the subject on me. You don't want to hear what could be the most important thing I ever tell you, but you still expect me to be happy? Yeah. Right.

He shrugs. "Guess it's just a random case of the blues, Mom."

She purses her lips worriedly, but says nothing, turning instead to Race's step-father to start another conversation before Race can try and drop the "gay" bomb again. Race sighs and rolls his eyes, turning his attention to the choir. They're good, he decides, but not good enough to get a tip or anything, like some other people are giving out. Actually, to Race, that seems like charity; "Oh, the poor starving artists! Singing for their supper! Let's give them money to help them!"

The song ends and Race sighs, clinking his fork against his plate. At least they're done now and he won't have to sneer at the other people in the restaurant giving them charity they probably don't need. Sometimes, Race honestly despises being rich. Yeah, he's comfortable and he can have pretty much anything he can buy... but all it gets him socially is false friends and careless lovers. And the upper class people can be so snooty and boring. Race decided a long time ago that as soon as the money is his to do as he pleases with, he'll give half of it to some destitute orphanage and keep the rest to live on.

He looks up at the sound of a commotion near the stage, and the choir giggles as one of the waiters, a cute blonde with an eye-patch, is pushed onto the stage by his co-workers. He turns and hastily whispers something to them, but they all just laugh and gesture for him to go on. Race sits up straight, turning to watch as curiosity (okay, and a nudge of attraction) get the better of him.

The blonde boy doesn't even make an introduction. He just grabs one of the nearby microphones, tugs on the collar of his shirt and sighs before glancing mournfully at his coworkers. One of them makes a face at him, gesturing furiously, and he sighs again before opening his mouth and starting to sing, his voice low and shy:

"Hark, the herald angels sing

Glory to the newborn king

Peace on earth and mercy mild

God and sinners reconciled."

"Hmph." Race turns to look at his mother as she smirks. "Silly child, what is he doing? Is he drunk?"

"I think his friends dared him," Race says defensively. "Friends do that sometimes. But not like I'd know. You don't let me have any."

"Dom..." She says, her eyes narrow. He purses his lips and turns back to the stage; the choir is now singing behind the cute blonde, trying to encourage him to sing louder.

"Joyful, all ye nation,s rise

Join the triumphs of the skies

With th' angelic host proclaim

Christ is born in Bethlehem!"

Race tilts his head as the pretty blonde smiles; his chest is suddenly vibrating as his heartbeat speeds up. Race has never seen a more gorgeous smile. Wide and friendly, full of silent laughter and perfect white teeth.

And when the smile breaks for the boy to start singing again, loud enough for Race to hear this time, Race's jaw drops. The boy's voice is better than his smile.

"Christ by highest heaven adored

Christ, the everlasting lord

Late in time behold him come

Offspring of the Virgin's womb

Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see

Hail the incarnate deity

Pleased as man with man to dwell

Jesus our Emmanuel!"

"Not bad," Race's step-father comments dully. "But I still don't quite understand why the management allows him up there."

"What are they going to do, fire him 'cause his stupid friends gave him a stupid dare?" Race rolls his eyes. "That's not fair."

"He's not supposed to be up there. He's supposed to be down here, waiting on us." The older man scowls. "That's what he's getting paid to do."

Race has had enough. He stands and heads out the door, reaching into his pocket for a packet of cigarettes. Not having the keys to the car and unwilling to walk the twenty miles to his apartment, he goes around to the back of the restaurant and takes a seat near a flooded garbage can, lighting his cigarette with a Statue of Liberty lighter; he has a quirky love for tourist's souvenirs. Their trashy camp appeals to him in a way that real fur and solid silver cufflinks cannot.

He hears a disturbance, and crawls to the corner to have a look, the cigarette still dangling from between his lips.

A group of waiters are flooding out the backdoor, all laughing and cheering; in the middle of them all is the blonde with the beautiful smile and amazing voice. Race's eyes widen, and he stands up, brushing dust off his slacks and trying to keep hidden as he watches.

"That was awesome, Blink!" One of the boys says, clapping the blonde on the back. Race tugs on his tie, listening closely. Blink? A nickname.

"Guess I have to cough up that twenty bucks, huh?" Another laughs, digging in his pocket. Blink grins and holds out his hand.

"Yeah. I ain't getting any good tips tonight after that stunt, so you better pay up."

The money exchanges hands with more shoving and laughter, and Race finds himself jealous. This is what friendship is like. He's never been able to have real friends. Not with his money.

"Morgan! Morgan Ryman!"

Suddenly the circle breaks, and Blink is left alone in the fluorescent light from the door. His single eye is wide and his smile gone. "Um... yes, sir?"

"What was that?"

"A bet, sir."

"A bet? An embarrassment more like!"

The other boys mutter to each other, and Race smirks, thinking that if the boss is smart, he'll hear the treason in those voices and back off.

"We don't tolerate that sort of thing here, Ryman," The man in the doorway spits. "You're out."

Blink's face pales. "No, you can't! I need to pay for my apartment and-"

"You should've thought of that before you set foot on that stage! Turn in your nametag and apron, and get out of here as soon as possible. The rest of you, get in here now. It's time for dessert."

The light disappears as the door slams shut. Race bites his lip as Blink puts his face in his hands and groans. "Fuck."

"Hey, Blink..." One of the other waiters says softly. "We're sorry, man."

"We'll talk to him, make him understand-"

"Don't be an idiot," Blink says. "He won't listen. You know he won't."

The others linger for a moment, then head back inside, taking Blink's apron and nametag with them. Blink sighs and kicks at a piece of garbage. Race watches for a moment, feeling sorry for the guy. Sure, he hates being rich, but he wouldn't readily give it up to be poor either.

Then, Race has an idea.

"Hey!" He says, stepping out and into view. Blink glances up, surprised.

"... Who're you?"

"Um, my name is Dominick Carrani. I saw you sing. You're..." Race blushes slightly, coughing into his hand. "You're really good. Even my step-dad was impressed."

Blink frowns, his single blue eye narrow. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Hm." Blink hesitates, then allows a slight smirk. "What are you doing back here? Shouldn't you be inside?"

"Well, yeah, technically... but my parents were annoying me." Race bites his lip and stares at the ground, knowing he sounds like a spoiled brat, but Blink just laughs.

"I feel you," he says, taking a seat on a stack of old boxes and sighing. "Shit. I can't believe I let them talk me into doing that."

"Why?" Race grins. "It could be the best thing you've ever done for yourself?"

Blink lifts his head and studies Race for a moment, his head tilted just so, a way that makes his blonde hair fall in a golden frame to highlight his midnight blue eye and hide his dark patch. His lips are pursed in a pout that makes Race flush with admiration.

"Are you coming on to me?" Blink asks bluntly. Race starts, and his blush darkens.

"I... don't know? Maybe?"

Blink studies Race for a moment more, then smiles. "That's fine. You wanna go get some coffee?"

"If you'll drive."

"I'll drive if you pay."

"Deal."

December 23rd, 2004

A bleary voice answers the phone when Race calls: "...H-hello? Whathefuck d'ya want?"

Race raises his eyebrows. "Someone had a little too much to drink last night."

"...Fuck you."

"Where's Skitts, you loser?"

"Fuck you."

"Get Skitts."

"Not... not 'till you 'pol'gize. F-fuckin ass."

Race sighs and rolls his eyes; normally, his best friend's boyfriend is a little sweeter than this, but alcohol can bring out the worst in even the greatest people. "Okay, fine, Snitch, I'm sorry. Now get Skitts." He winces as the phone on the other line is dropped on the floor, and he hears Snitch shuffle off to fetch his boyfriend. After a few moments, Race smiles as Skittery's voice sounds on the other line

"Hey, Race. What's up?"

"What did you do to Snitch last night?"

"Oh, that? Too much eggnog. I told him to stop after five, but no, he doesn't listen to me."

Race laughs. "Well, you'll never guess what happened to me last night."

"... You finally came out to your step-dad, and he cried and came out to you and the both of you went and cruised drag bars until the wee small hours of the morning?"

"You wish." Race grins and leans forward onto the counter, watching the television from his perch in the kitchen. "I met a guy."

"Psht. Yeah right."

"No really! His name's Morgan, goes by Blink. Blonde, blue-eyed, everything. Absolutely gorgeous, especially the smile."

"Mm-hm, mm-hm..." Skittery hums to himself, and Race can almost see him pursing his lips and furrowing his eyebrows in thought. "Not bad, I guess. What did you do?"

"Went out for coffee. And I, uh... I told him I might be able to get him a record deal with my dad."

"Race!" Race winces again; he shouldn't have said anything. "You tell that to every guy you date, and you never do it!"
"Hey, I've only dated two guys before!"

"Yeah, and Snitch and I are still waiting for our auditions."

Race blushes and runs a hand through his haphazard hair; it's nearly noon but he still has yet to tae a shower. He wanted to talk to Skittery first.

"Well, you and Snitch will have to wait," he says. "Blink's first in line now."

"Oh please. No one's first in line. You can't get any deals for anyone."

"You calling me a liar?"

"No, I'm telling you that you can't suddenly get an in with your dad just 'cause you like someone and want them to like you back. They have to have a voice, and you know it."

"Blink does have a voice! You don't know how beautiful his voice is!"

Skittery sighs. "Race, look, Snitch is starting to bitch about a headache so I gotta go make him an icepack. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"All right. Bye." Race hangs up the phone before Skittery can say anything else, and runs his hand through his hair again. Skittery was Race's first boyfriend, the entire reason Race discovered his homosexuality; after they decided to just be friends, Race met Snitch and dated him a few times, but as soon as Snitch met Skittery, Race knew better than to keep that relationship from happening. Now all three are good friends, much to Race's mother's disapproval. Skittery is always the first guy Race turns to for advice; he goes to Snitch for a laugh.

But sometimes, Skittery can be a little anal. Race sighs and sulkily stares at the TV, almost wishing he hadn't called.

The coffee date last night went well, in Race's opinion. Blink cheered up significantly by the time he dropped Race off outside his apartment, and while it hadn't been a real kiss, he still ended up with a kiss on the cheek and Blink's phone number.

Race glances at the sheet of paper on the counter next to him. The scrawled writing seems to scream at him: "This is Blink's number! Call him, you fool!"

But, Race thinks, tapping his finger against his cheek, what about what Skittery said?

He ponders for a moment, then picks up the phone and punches in a number.

"Dad? Hi, it's Dom. I need to call in a favor. Call it... a Christmas present."

December 24th, 2004

The building is huge, white, almost Victorian with its ornate balconies and big windows, but Race smiles at Blink and tells him that it's no where near as impressive inside. Of course, Blink will come to learn in time that Race's definition of impressive is very different from his own. Inside the building is a plush black carpet with red velvet curtains, and a secretary with electric blue hair smiles and welcomes Race with a familiar handshake that leaves Blink feeling uncomfortable. He's never been to an audition before. He's never thought his voice was that good.

Then he feels Race's hand on his wrist and he jumps in surprise.

"Are you okay?" Race asks quietly, his fingers brushing over the vein in Blink's wrist. Blink bites his lower lip and shuts his eye.

"I guess so. Just nervous." He opens his eye and looks at Race. "You didn't have to do this, Dom-"

"Call me Race. My friends do."

"Still. You didn't have to."

Race smirks. "Tell that to Skittery."

Before Blink can respond, the secretary interrupts: "Mr. Dominick, your father is currently with a client. He'll be with you in just a moment."

"Thanks, Sherrie," Race responds, tightening his grip on Blink's wrist in order to lead him to one of the comfortable black chairs by the wall. "You don't need to be nervous, Blink. Dad'll love your voice. I know it."

"I didn't even get a chance to practice or anything-" Blink stops short when Race touches his face, and he suddenly feels nervous for a very different reason.

"You don't need to practice. Just trust me."

Blink watches Race, then leans back in his chair, sighing. Race just smiles and places his hand in Blink's. After a moment, Blink's fingers lace through his, and Race is content. If his dad never finished with that client and he just had to sit out here holding Blink's hand for the rest of his life, then that would be okay.

Woah, Race thinks, smirking to himself. Slow down, lover boy. You haven't quite reached eternity yet.

"Dominick?" Sherrie says suddenly. "Your father will see you now."

"Come on," Race reassures as Blink starts to sweat. "It'll be easy. Nothing you haven't done before."

"Yeah, right," Blink sighs, but he gets up anyway, following Race to a large room down the hall.

The room is decorated in autographed pictures of bands and singers, and Blink finds himself humbled even further by the large Italian man behind the desk. Race, however, is smiling.

"Hi, Dad," he says. "This is Morgan, the guy I told you about?"

"Ah yes." Race's father smiles and gets up, holding a hand out to shake. "Hello, Morgan. I'm Mr. Carranni."

"Nice to meet you," Blink mumbles, briefly shaking the offered hand.

"Dom tells me you have a good voice. Care to show me?"

Blink glances at Race, who gives him an encouraging smile. The blonde stares at his hands for a moment, then stands up and takes a deep breath.

"Any preferences?"

Mr. Carranni leans back in his chair and smirks. "Anything but Christmas carols."

Blink smiles slightly. "The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing out loud for all to hear."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind." Blink takes another deep breath and starts to sing, entirely unsure of what, exactly, he plans to sing. What comes out of his mouth is a complete surprise:

"Once upon a time, you'd all come to me

I'd do anything for you, whatever it might be

Now you all point and laugh, you seem so amused

But I don't know what I've done! Help me, I'm confused."

Mr. Carranni raises his eyebrows and leans over the desk, looking mildly interested. Race's eyes start to shine with pride. Blink's voice is strong and crystal-clear; Race has no idea what the song he's singing is, but listening to Blink's voice carry through the large room, echo off the walls and ceiling... that defies the necessity for meaning to the words or the song. The sound in itself is enough.

"You clapped and cheered for me the whole year through

And though so much has changed, I haven't; have you?

I taught your hearts how to love, your souls how to kiss

I taught you all that I know. I didn't teach you this."

"That's enough." Blink looks a little disappointed at being cut off, but Mr. Carranni doesn't notice. "You're good, Morgan. But I'm not sure if this is right for you."

Blink's face falls, and Race turns to his father. "Dad, what-"

"You're good. I'll tell you that. I know a good voice when I see one. But the world has millions of pop singers just like you. There's no guarantee I could make any money off a voice like that. I don't think I can afford to take a risk like that."

"Oh." Blink lifts his head but doesn't look Mr. Carranni in the eye. "Okay. I understand." He clears his throat. "Can I go?"

"Sure. Thank you, Morgan."

"Not... not a problem." Blink turns swiftly and leaves the room, but not before Race can see the brilliant crimson in his cheeks.

"Dad, you totally humiliated him!"

"I said he was good! He should be glad to get that! I've said worse!"

"Did you really think he was good?"

"Yes, Dom." Mr. Carranni rolls his eyes. "Did you?"

"Of course! He's amazing."

Mr. Carranni smirks. "Get out of my office. Are you coming for Christmas dinner tomorrow?"

"Is Sherrie cooking?"

"Yes."

Race hesitates. "Can I bring Bli-... Morgan?"

Mr. Carranni's eyebrows furrow, and in this expression he resembles his son. "Why?"

"... Because I really like him?"

There. Now the "gay-bomb" has been dropped on his dad. Race waits cautiously for a reaction.

Mr. Carranni simply sighs. "Well... I guess. Sure. Okay."

Race smiles and leans over to kiss his father's cheek. "Thanks, Dad. I'll see you then."

"Good-bye." But Race barely hears his father's farewell; he's halfway down the hall, chasing after Blink. There's no way Blink can leave; Race drove him here, and therefore has the keys. But who knows? Maybe the blonde might try walking, as stupid an idea as that is.

"Blink!" Race cries, catching sight of the blonde sitting on the hood of his car. "Blink, good, I thought you'd try and leave without me."

"How? Jack your car?"

Race frowns, not sure what Blink means by this statement. "No... walking, maybe, or the bus. I dunno."

Blink sighs. "Just take me home. I knew this wasn't a good idea."

"What, are you kidding? Dad's picky. He's worse than Simon Cowell. And he honestly liked your voice."

"Then why didn't he sign me?"

Race shrugs. "He's an idiot? I don't know."

Blink doesn't respond. Race sighs and hoists himself onto the car next to him. "Blink... you have an amazing voice. Everyone thinks so. And you can make a living as a singer, even if you're not going to be a famous one with a big CD deal or anything."

"Oh please."

"No, I'm serious. You could. All the money in my family didn't just come from my dad's record company, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I could get you an audition for my mom too." Race smiles and puts his hand on Blink's. "She owns some clubs downtown, and you could get a job-"

"Y'know, maybe I don't want to sing as a profession."

Race blinks. "Why not? You're really good at it-"

"Because maybe it's just stupid." Blink hugs his knees to his chest, and Race frowns.

"It's not stupid."
"Yes it is. You made me do this. Why?"

"Because you're good-"

"No, because you like me and want to impress me. Don't give me that look, you know that's why. Race..." Blink sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Just take me home."

Slowly, they both get off the hood and get into the car. Race turns the key and glances at Blink. "Do I get to see you again?"

Blink doesn't answer. After a moment, Race sighs and starts to drive.

December 25th, 2004

"Merry fucking Christmas," Race answers the phone. He knows it's Skittery and Snitch, otherwise his language would have been a little nicer.

"Gosh, Race," Snitch pouts. "Didn't get everything you wanted? No Jesus-shaped dildo in your stocking?"

"Oh my God. That's gross. Shut up."

Skittery laughs in the background, and Snitch giggles a little as well. "What happened with this blonde cutie boy, hm? Something go wrong?"

"Heck yes it did. My dad turned him down."

"So?"

"So it totally shattered Blink's confidence. No matter what I told him afterward, he just sulked and wouldn't listen."

"Hm." Skittery is speaking now, and Race realizes he's on the speakerphone. "I told you that whole 'using-your-recording-agent-dad-as-a-ploy-to-get-laid' wasn't a good idea."

"I didn't want to get laid-"

"Oh?"

"... Well, not this time." Both Skittery and Snitch make noises of offense, and Race catches himself smiling for the first time since Blink left yesterday. "I dunno. I really like Blink. I wanted to date him, not break him."

"Hm. Well, I have an idea, cheesy as it is."

Race frowns; Skittery is, if nothing else, full of cheese. He's the red-roses-white-wine-candlelit-dinners kind of guy, part of the reason he and Race didn't really work together.

"What's that line, Snitchy? From Elf?"

"'Watch out, the yellow ones don't stop?'"

"... No. The special one. The big one. You know, that he tells the girl?"

"Oh! Yeah! 'The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing out loud for all to hear.'"

Race gasps slightly; he's never seen this movie, but isn't that what Blink told his father yesterday?

He shudders and waits for Skittery's idea.

"You go sing to him. Okay? Serenade him outside his window. I mean, come on! How cute is that?"

Race slaps his hand on the counter. "What? Are you serious?"

"You have a pretty good voice too! You should definitely do it!"

"He said he was going to be at his mother's for Christmas morning."

"Then go sing to him at his mother's. That's even cuter." There's a squeal in the background, and Skittery chuckles slightly. "Sorry, Snitch just opened his present. He's going to want to go test it now. Can I talk to you later?"

"... You guys are so gross."

"Love you too. Good luck!" The dial-tone buzzes in Race's ear and he scowls for a moment.

Then he turns his thoughts over to Skittery's idea.

----

Race recognizes Blink's red motorcycle outside the tiny green house, and smiles to himself, pleased that he found the right place. Fresh snow crunches under his boots as he steps out of the car and bends over, rolling the white powder between his gloved palms. Once the snow has created a suitable ball, he launches it at the nearest window. No response. He shrugs, and repeats the motion. This time, a shadowy figure appears behind the curtain, and Race smiles as Blink's shocked face emerges from behind them. Feeling cheerful, Race even waves at him.

Blink opens the window and sneers at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I have a present for you."

The blonde's eyebrows fly upwards. "You do?"

"Of course. Can I give it to you?"

Blink leans out of the window and cocks his head to the side. "Um... sure."

Race grins and sets his feet shoulder-length apart, clasping his hands together in a parade rest position. He clears his throat, then starts to sing:

"Oh, holy night

The stars are brightly shining

'Tis the night of our dear savior's birth!"

Blink leans out of the window a little more; Race's voice is a soft tenor, shaky but sweet, and Blink finds himself entranced by it.

"Long lay the earth in sin and error pining

'Til he appear'd and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!" For the first time since he started singing, Race's hands move; one flies outward, gesturing furiously at the sun, dimmed by the cold and snow, but still bright and lustrous. Blink feels goosebumps fly over his skin as he watches the sky, and he gasps when Race drops to his knees in the snow.

"Fall on your knees

And hear the angel voices!

Oh night divine

Oh night when Christ was born!

Oh night divine.

Oh night divine!"

"Race, stop!" Blink cries suddenly, putting his hands over his face. "I don't know what you came here to prove, but-"

"The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing out loud for all to hear."

Blink looks up. "What?"

Race shrugs and smiles. "Isn't that what you said to my dad yesterday? I really liked it. I agree completely. I'm also really cold. Can I come in?"

Blink stares at him for a moment, then sighs and smiles. "Get in here."

Race grins, and runs clumsily to the front door as Blink goes to open it for him. As he enters the house, Blink touches his face and leans over to kiss his mouth.

"What was that for?"

Blink points upwards; hanging in the doorjamb is a completely plastic sprig of mistletoe. Race starts to laugh. Blink laughs with him.

"Do I get to see you again?" Race asks once Blink has shut the door and taken his coat. Blink thinks it over.

"If we get to sing together, yes."

----

That afternoon, the pair is signed by Mr. Carranni at his party. Carranni is reluctant to sign his son and his son's boyfriend, but they sound good together, almost as if their voices were made just to mix and harmonize with each other's.

Together, they could sell.

Together, they were perfect.

END

.::AUTHOR'S NOTE::.

Okay, I feel bad 'cause I'm finishing this and not doing Christmas-y things with my family, so just a HAPPY CHRISTMAS to all, and um, yeah. It's a weird fic, but it's Blinktrack and it's fluff and it has Christmas carols. It doesn't need to make sense.