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A slap on the back. A cuff on the shoulder. A kiss on the cheek. All normal ways of expressing friendly affection between men. All the guys do it, but Tony is especially free with the friendly touches.
Actually, he is only so generous with his hands when it comes to his nephew. With Christopher, Tony might indulge in an extra ruffle of the hair, an extra pat on the cheek. Chris knows he gets singled out this way because of their unique bond: tied together as family in more ways than one, in ways that can hard to define, that don't fit into the typical boxes. Sometimes this special treatment can be embarrassing, but even at its worst, Chris secretly loves it.
And sometimes love hurts—Chris knows this fact intimately from firsthand experience on both sides. Not all those extra touches are tender. Over the years, Tony has displayed the destruction he's capable of when he lashes out in the midst of an outburst. Chris has been forcibly hauled across rooms, thrown into walls, sent sprawling to the floor with an almighty bitch-slap across the face.
Tony says that he deserves it and Chris believes him. They are both well acquainted with the rules and regulations dictated by their shared subculture. They're also well aware of the consequences for breaking those rules. So when Chris gets punished for misbehaving, he knows it's his own fault. Like Tony says, he is his own worst enemy and has only himself to blame.
Christopher comes to relish the shortness of breath that comes with a solid blow to the ribcage. There is a certain type of pleasure to be found in the aftermath of violence, something soothing in the throb and ache of inflammation and repair. After feeling Tony's hands on him so often, it starts to feel like that's where they belong. It gets to be so just the sight of those hands gets him worked up. When those strong fingers dig in, leaving bruises in their wake, it feels like home. Even the accompanying fear and shock eventually bring comfort in their familiarity.
The line is already so blurry between the two men, it's hard to tell exactly when it's been crossed. He used to experience the highest heights of intimacy in only two arenas of life: sex and violence. Eventually, there is only one.
Christopher vividly remembers the first time Tony ripped open his clothes to check him for a wire. It didn't hurt physically, but it hurt in a different way—the lack of trust and with the bodily violation combined to leave a whole new kind of scar. That was the first time but not the last. Chris comes to realize there's nothing he can do to avoid this kind of pain. This type seeks him out and hunts him down and always manages to find him in the end.
But the wonderful thing is that everything Tony does, he does for Chris's sake. When he shoves Chris down to his knees, it's not with the intent of humiliating him, but to teach him a lesson. Such a valuable lesson will help him to survive in a lonely, dangerous world.
He holds Chris to his body, enveloped in a tight embrace. Again, this is for Chris's benefit. How lucky is he to have an uncle who isn't afraid to show his affection?
When Chris's spine rearranges itself to conform to the shape of the couch, the bed, the floor, or whatever else he is shoved against, he doesn't always smile, but he is always satisfied. When Tony grabs him by the lapels and shakes him, he feels his brain rattle around inside his skull, and that's how he knows he's loved.
Tony's love can be smothering. He keeps Chris close, so close that there's hardly room left for anything else in his life. This, too, is for his own good. No distractions means he can focus on what's really important: serving Tony, obeying him, and pleasing him.
As Tony tells him again and again, that's all he's good for. So why waste his one useful skill? Why resist his fate?
