Keeping a Good Man Down

Maes, Gracia, Riza and Roy. G. ~500 words.
Sometimes, it’s just so hard to get a break.


Hughes cracks an eye open. He’s dopey enough with sleep that it takes him a few minutes to figure out that the fuzzy blob on his chest is the top of his wife’s head.

“Hey. Munchkin napping?” he asks, lifting a hand to stroke his knuckles down the back of her arm. Since there’s no hearty singing coming from upstairs, he hopes so.

Alicia’s in the middle of a showbiz phase. It’s cute, but it doesn’t make for much in the way of peace and quiet.

“Mm,” Gracia says, wiggling closer. Hughes has a quick moment of panic when her knee gets a little too close to his groin, but she settles down before nailing him. He knows last time was an accident, and it was at least half his fault, but damn, did it ruin the mood.

A few minutes later, a shadow falls over his face. He cracks his other eye open to look up at Riza. Gracia shifts and murmurs a soft thank you for finishing the dishes.

“Of course,” Riza says, and Hughes doesn’t really trust that little glint in her eye. “It was the least we could do,” she goes on, and Hughes tenses up when she puts a knee to the couch. “You did, after all, spend most of the afternoon in the kitchen.”

“No, wait, just–oof!”

Riza gets comfortable while Hughes wheezes. Gracia helps out with another wiggle or two, and Hughes is starting to think maybe they should move this upstairs. Just so he can breathe, of course.


Hughes twists, because that was Roy’s voice, but Roy’s conspicuously absent from view. That’s never good. The panic sets in again.

“I see you’re doing well for yourself, Hughes,” Roy says, and Hughes cranes his neck to the left, still trying to pinpoint him.

“Not so bad,” he says, trying to peer over Riza’s shoulder. “Can’t really complain, you know… no, Roy. No. Don’t. Roy, no!”

Roy’s weight drops down on the top of the pile. Riza huffs, and Gracia lets out a little grunt. Hughes swears a rasping blue streak.

“Shit,” he gasps as a grand finale, and immediately tacks on a sorry, because Alicia’s also in that stage where she repeats everything she hears, and it doesn’t matter if she’s upstairs asleep when she hears it. “Honey, I hope you didn’t want any more children. Roy’s unmanned me.”

Gracia plucks lazily at the front of Hughes’s tee, mumbles, “That’s alright, darling. He’ll help you get it back later.”

Hughes glances up, and Roy’s giving him a look that’s pure evil. Right about now, Hughes isn’t sure he wants Roy anywhere near his cock.

Hughes closes his eyes and tucks an arm behind his head. Fingers trail down from his elbow, and Hughes doesn’t know who owns them before they’re taking off his glasses the way Roy always does.

It’s not bad for a start.


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