Autumn Pt. 01 Ch. 07

Cindy opened the door. "Look at this handsome son of a gun!" a deep voice bellowed from behind her. The man to whom it belonged made a pistol with his thumb and forefinger.

"Helloooo," Frank replied in a sing-song voice.

"He gets those looks from me, you know," said the man who'd raised him from birth. His father. That shouldn't be hard to say, let alone think to himself. Yet it was.

He pulled Frank in for a hug, clapping him on the back more forcefully than necessary. "Are you not sure what to call me?" he guessed. "I'm still your dad, but `Gus' is cool."

It was weird; his father looked and sounded so familiar, as though nothing had changed since they'd left that other world behind. Yet it had. The face before him wasn't quite identical to the one he used to see when they dropped their mortal disguises, either. There was no gray in his father's beard anymore, not even at the corners. He still didn't look as young as Frank and his brothers, but neither did he have the distinguished look that Bobby and Richard shared. His brown hair was lighter, too, verging on blond, where it had once been dark. And while Frank was used to his father dressing well, he hadn't seen him in a tux since the last time they'd gone to a wedding. If that was a Manhattan in his hand, that was also new. His father usually stuck to Budweiser or IPA, depending on how whether he planned to have more than one or two. Or he used to, anyway.

Worst of all, Frank felt like a set piece. His father was less greeting him than using performing for an audience that consisted solely of his sister. "Look at me," he seemed to say, "aren't I a great father? Don't you want to have my kids, now that the ones that other guy gave you are all grown up?" That was a bit exaggerated, of course. Frank had no reason to think that anyone else was thinking about violating the strictures. He still couldn't help wondering how different his father's behavior would be if Cindy wasn't there, though.

The guy hadn't even questioned Frank's virility yet. That wasn't like him at all.

"He's been known to answer to `Sally' from time to time," Cindy with a smirk.

"Hey now," Gus said, giving her a penetrating look—the very one that Dom had stolen and perfected. "Let the kid get past the door before we start in on bedroom talk."

"You look great, Aunt Cindy," Frank said, pretending not to have heard his father's quip. If he'd addressed her using only her first name, what message would that have sent to Kaitlin? Frank wasn't sure so he decided to err on the side of caution. "I like those shoes."

Fuck, was he going to feel like his every word was being scrutinized? How had he convinced himself that this would be more relaxing than trying to juggle two women who were both crazy about him? Of course, he might be psyching himself out for no reason.

In fact, that was more than likely. Everyone always told him to stop over-thinking things. Well, everyone but Liz, who liked the analytical side of him. Was his father trying to impress Cindy? Sure. That was just how he was, though. His life revolved around her as surely as Frank's did his mother. There was still plenty indication that he was excited to see his son.

"Thank you," Cindy said with a polite smile.

Those baby blue pumps were sexy, and she did have pretty little feet, but Frank had only said it because he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound more awkward. She had a white ribbon in her ash blonde hair that made it seem more yellow than it was, but Frank wasn't sure whether that was the point. Her skin, faintly bronzed, looked dark and colorful by comparison. To Frank, that was a huge turnoff; he liked dark hair contrasting with pale skin rather than the other way around. He was willing to bet she was proud of her silky mane and balanced complexion, though. Fair enough, in some respects. One did not often see hair that long—it fell halfway down her back—without a single strand out of place.

Her white stockings did a nice job of emphasizing the shape of her legs too, but how weird would it have been to tell her that, especially with Gus standing right there? Frank didn't know whether to commend the modesty of her skirt either. The powder blue fabric hung almost to her knees and was so loose and frilly that he couldn't tell how thick or rounded her hips were. Though if her thighs were anything to go by, they couldn't disappoint.

Nice as her hips probably were, she had too little up top for Frank to care that her cami was so small. He probably should have considered Cindy's breasts medium-sized, as there looked to be a good handful there, but it took more than that to impress him.

All in all, his aunt looked pretty much the way he'd have guessed, even though he'd never seen her without her mortal disguise. That meant she was undeniably attractive but not really Frank's type. It amused him, then, that Gus was so possessive and protective of her, particularly since he'd never cared who had sex with his wife. Perhaps he'd been more worried about his other sons, though. Todd wasn't obsessed with massive mammaries and would be duly impressed by Cindy's rounded calves and strong, lean thighs.

On the other hand, now that all of her sons had come of age, one or more of them must have tasted her honey. Probably all three, and on a pretty regular basis, though it wouldn't surprise Frank if some of them were more into Dylan. Even the downgraded version of his cousin had driven boys crazy. She girl dressed like an anime character, loli to the max, and could draw better than some of the artists in that industry. The girl had a killer voice, too; nearly as many karaoke trophies had lined her shelves as manga volumes and stuffed animals. There was just something about a guy's mother, though. If one or more of his cousins didn't have an Oedipal complex, Frank would have to question everything he thought he knew about the world. Perhaps he shouldn't snicker at his father, then, even figuratively.

"You turned out alright yourself," Cindy told him, her eyes traveling over his body. Not a hint of azure radiated out from those cornflower blues, though. Nor, he suspected, would it ever do so on his account. "I don't know how much Farrier I'm seeing, though."

Why did that sound so damning? And why did she glance at her brother out of the corner of her eyes, as if blaming him for whatever crime she'd just convicted Frank of?

It wasn't Frank's fault that he took after his mother's side of the family more so than his father's. He hadn't asked to be below average in height, anymore than he'd chosen his musculature or his hair color. Most aspects of his appearance pleased him, for what it was worth, but that still wasn't a statement about who should govern Autumn.

True, he'd already decided that Noreen's position appealed to him, and he'd probably support her even if it didn't, but that still didn't justify assumptions based on his appearance.

Or maybe it did. Would his mom have treated him the same way if he looked like a Farrier? If she hadn't loved him the way she had, would he be as loyal to House Orwin? To a grandmother who didn't even trust him enough to tell him what was what?

"I'm digging the beard," Gus said, stroking his own.

Neither the neatly trimmed, jet-black version nor the unkempt one with red highlights was unfamiliar to the man father, yet he made it sound like he was used to seeing Frank clean-shaven. What was that about? And did that too have political implications?

No; he was making small talk. There was no mystery about his father's loyalties, but that had everything to do with sex and not with politics. As long as Frank didn't try to get between Cindy's legs, he'd have no problem with Gus. As for Kaitlin, well, Frank could at least give her a chance to treat him like a hostage before he decided he was one. He really had to relax. Cindy's comment had been disapproving, but that didn't mean she had anything more than his appearance in mind. She might not have been accusing his father of anything worse than failing to provide her with a nephew worth bedding during his week-long visit.

"Where are Jack and Mark?" Frank asked.

"Playing video games, as usual," his father replied.

"Shouldn't you offer your son a guided tour of the estate?" Cindy asked, jabbing an elbow in her brother's ribs while raising her white wine spritzer to her lips by way of cover-up.

Gus snorted. "When and if he wants one, he'll let us know."

"You know me too well," Frank said. Some small part of him was curious, but it was a very small part. He was more interested in spending time with his cousins than comparing the interior design of the Farrier Estate to that of Orwin Manor. What he could see of the foyer gave him a pretty good idea of what to expect, anyway—lots of pastels and whites, brocaded rugs, furniture too nice to sit on, and crystal chandeliers. The outside might be modest, but the inside bordered on gaudy. "I wouldn't say no to a drink, however."

The smile that put on his father's face made Frank feel bad about mistrusting the two of them. Maybe the head of House Farrier had ulterior motives for invoking custody rights. That didn't mean his father was interested in anything other than a nice visit.

"Did you not bring anything with you?" Gus asked as he guided Frank into a receiving room adjacent to the foyer, where a fully stocked bar carved from white marble awaited.

"I've always traveled light," Frank said. Though, in truth, he probably should have packed some clothes and toiletries. If he went a whole week without getting laid, using his powers to render such things unnecessary would take a toll. He used to go months at a time without harvesting energy, but that was while living like a mortal.

"Less laundry for me to do," Cindy quipped.

"Got any pumpkin ale?" Frank asked, studying the long line of taps.

"The question is what haven't I got," his father replied. "We brew our own here. The old-fashioned way. No magic." With a grin, he added, "Unless Jack messes something up."

"He only did that once!" Cindy said, slapping her brother's shoulder.

As he went around behind the bar, Gus told Frank, "I used to be in charge of everything. I let the boys help out with the beer." A beautiful orange stream filled the pint glass his father had grabbed off a shelf. "No one sets foot inside the distillery besides me, though."

"Gotta draw the line somewhere," Frank said as he claimed one of the stools.

"Hey, Cin, why don't you put on a show for us?" Gus said, sliding Frank his drink.

"What?" she asked with a nervous laugh.

Music began playing, and not the sort Frank would expect to hear in a bar that fancy. Something synthetic, with a lot of bass. "Dance," his father said in that deep bass of his.

To Frank's surprise, Cindy started dancing.

Judging by the look on her face, she was as surprised by that as Frank was.

"Did you just—" Frank began.

"Yup," his father confirmed. "She doesn't mind. I do it all the time." He smiled. "Women like to know who's boss. The sooner you figure that out, the happier Ellen'll be."

Little did he know.

It certainly didn't seem like his sister objected. The spell had taken her by surprise, yes, but that didn't mean she was alarmed, let alone angry. Unless Frank was mistaken, Cindy herself made her skirt shrink to about a quarter of the length and turned her cami into a lacy bra that made her girls look fairly respectable. The fabric of her skirt, which no longer fell much past her hip bones, went from thick and soft to almost diaphanous. When a twist of her hips gave him a sideways glimpse of her ass, which was covered only by a baby blue thong, Frank nearly choked on his beer—though not because it was anything less than delicious. His aunt's breasts might leave something to be desired, but her lower body was fantabulous. It was almost as big as his mother's yet devoid of fat. Hard as stone wasn't his preferred type but few women had posteriors like that, including those who spent most of their waking hours trying to get there. Moreover, it was clear that his aunt had rhythm. She was just getting started, her motions quick and restrained for the time being, but Frank suspected that he'd be in for a real treat once she loosened up.

Gus came around the front of the bar, popped a squat beside Frank, and patted him on the back. "Go ahead and join her. After you tell me how good that beer is."

"It's amazing," Frank said, quite honestly. "In fact, I think I'll finish it."

"Oh, come one," his father said. "Look at that ass."

"Not bad," Frank agreed.

Seemingly of her own volition, Cindy moved between his legs and started grinding against him. It took no time at all for his semi to become a diamond-cutter, even though a layer of sturdy denim separated her round cheeks from his body. Just knowing that a beautiful bubble butt was rubbing against him made his head spin.

Frank rested a hand tentatively on one hip while taking a draught of ale with the other. He tried to focus on how sweet and flavorful the beer was. A lot of pumpkin ales went heavy on the spice and light on the pumpkin. There was a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon, and probably cardamom and clove, but only a hint. It was quite possibly the best one he'd tried.

"This is my way of welcoming you to the Farrier Estate," his aunt said, looking over her shoulder at him. Her hair was practically in his face and its bananas-and-cream scent filled his nostrils. "Just relax and enjoy yourself," Cindy added, slowly rolling her hips.

No. He wasn't buying it. She was in control of her own decisions, sure. His father had only issued the one command. That didn't mean he wasn't influencing her actions, though. There was no lust in her voice, no hunger in her eyes. It was her turn to use Frank to communicate something to her brother. Much as he'd have liked to see where that would go, to fuck her ass, suck her toes, and cum on her face, it just didn't feel right.

His aunt took the hint without taking offense. For a while, she just danced by herself while the two of them watched. As Frank had suspected, she had serious moves. Once she got comfortable, Cindy rivaled his sister. And Nat could have gone pro.

By the time Frank was halfway through his beer, though, his aunt was crouched between his father's legs, fishing his huge cock out of his trousers. And huge it was.

That wasn't the first time he'd seen it, of course. After Nat had come of age, family orgies had been a semi-regular occurrence. Dom and Frank would double-penetrate their mother while Todd and their dad did the same for Nat. That felt like a lifetime ago, though.

"Mmm, I just love this big dick," Cindy purred, smearing pre-cum across her cheeks. The broomstick in her hands had to be more than a foot long. It wasn't as thick as Frank's cock, but it wasn't exactly slender either. Even Richard might have felt a little envy.

"And I love the way you suck it, you little cum-slut," Gus replied.

That was enough for Frank. At some point, he might have to get comfortable talking to his mother like that. She probably expected him to. For the next seven days, though, he disapproved of it. He got to his feet, and patted his father on the back, and said, "Enjoy."

"It's good to have you here, bud," Gus replied.

"Thanks, Dad," Frank said. That didn't sound right anymore, and yet it did at the same time. Perhaps it always would. "It's nice to be here." With that, he went to find his cousins.

#

In some ways, Frank's time at the Farrier Estate felt like a trip down to New Jersey. Back before his father had stopped bringing anyone with him when he visited Cindy, Frank and Jack used to park their butts in front of the TV and shoot digital weapons at each other for hours at a time. Todd and Mark would demand a turn every now and then, or the four of them would play a party game, but their younger brothers were often content to watch football instead. A lot had changed since then, from the house his cousin lived in to every aspect of his appearance, but Jack was still Jack in every way that mattered.

And his aim with a sniper rifle was as sharp as ever.

"Can I ask you something?" Jack said as he turned half the screen red.

Muttering a curse, Frank regarded his cousin out of the corner of his eye. The mortal version of Jack was a bespectacled geek with acne problems and a bean pole physique. This one was also tall and slender but with more muscle. Not a lot more, but enough to make a difference. His jaw could cut glass, his hair was prettier than most women's, and his eyes were twice as intense as Cindy's despite being the same shade of blue. Frank wasn't into guys, and didn't think twinks would be his type even if he was, but it sort of surprised him that Cindy didn't pay more attention to her eldest son. Gus was handsome but Jack was gorgeous. It wasn't like Frank's old man had a more impressive physique, either.

"Why haven't you had sex with my mom?"

If the plan was to distract him so as to snag an easy kill the moment Frank respawned, then it worked. His cousin didn't laugh after splattering his brains, though.

"No insult intended, man. She's smokin' hot," Frank said before taking a sip of Farrier Brewery's latest concoction, a very smooth oatmeal stout. "That ass is out of this world. Out of this Court? Fucking amazing, whatever the expression should be."

Did he prefer his mother's? Yeah, he did. And would have even if he didn't have very different feelings for the women to whom those fine posteriors were attached. Nonetheless, it was hard not to be awed by his aunt's backside—especially since it had to constitute a good twenty percent of her body weight, as a ballpark estimate.

"Sorry," Jack said. "Didn't mean to catch you off guard."

"Do I sound nervous?" Frank asked with a chuckle that answered the question.

His cousin frowned, paused the game, and took a gulp of beer. "Is it because of me?" he asked. His tone was relatively neutral, but Frank caught a hint of something in it. Gratitude, maybe? Or the hope that there was some other reason. Perhaps both simultaneously.

"I don't know," Frank said. If he didn't already have a dozen reasons to keep it in his pants, sure, knowing that it would cause his cousin pain would suffice. As it was, though, he couldn't really say that was much of a factor. Would Jack want to hear that, though?

"Well, whether it is or isn't, I appreciate it," Jack said, making all sorts of sense.

Of course, Frank could forgive his cousin for being a little irrational where his mother was concerned. For years, his life had revolved around the quest to win their mother over—to know that no man could ever please her, or mean as much to her, as he did. He'd never realized how much vitality that all-powerful need had sucked out of him. Only now that Frank had achieved his objective was he a complete person. His cousin wasn't there yet, and that meant he was basically suffering from a form of temporary insanity.

"It's bad enough that I have to compete with your father, who's not above gloating," the poor guy continued. "I'd just as soon not have to resent you too."

With a bemused snort, Frank said, "I'd prefer that you didn't."

"I know how pathetic this sounds," Jack said, staring into his stout.

"Yeah, well, I know how pathetic it feels when the one thing you value more than the ability to go on living feels like it's just out of reach," Frank told him.

His cousin eyed him skeptically for a moment. Then, without a word, he stretched his pint glass towards Frank, who wasted no time in clinking his own against it.

"The thing is, she's not out of reach," Frank told his cousin. "You just have to stop sulking and show her what she means to you. Be more assertive."