by Lane Hayes
“Sometimes you know exactly the right thing to say. I love you, Matty.”
“I love you too.”
We shared sappy smiles as we stared at each other like lovesick fools. It was a perfect moment. The kind you think you might always remember. The kitchen smelled heavenly, the house was beautifully lit with candles, and Drake had given way to the Chainsmokers song I’d just learned how to play on my guitar. In retrospect, I should have sung to him and danced him around the island to make him laugh. Or even offered to play the song so he could sing along. A whimsical change in focus would have kept things light and happy. More importantly, it would have saved me from saying something stupid to effectively ruin everything.
But no…I opened my big mouth instead.
“You know, I’ve been thinking we should make this legal anyway.”
Aaron immediately stiffened in my arms and pulled away. He picked up his wineglass and twirled the burgundy liquid lazily before giving me a look I couldn’t read well. It was wary and somewhat guarded.
“What do you mean by legal?”
“You know…like get married.” I shrugged and reached for my own wine. I downed half the glass in a way that would have made my college buddies cheer my name wildly if we’d been in a beer-guzzling contest back in school. My significant other, however, was not impressed. Unfortunately, I didn’t think my manners were the problem.
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Uh…yeah. Sure. Why not?”
My mouth was dry. My heart was beating like a drum. I’d been thinking about this a lot lately but dammit, marriage was a big word. So was wedding. And husband. I was suddenly scared shitless. Jesus, did I just propose? It wasn’t too warm in the kitchen, but I was sweating and nervous as hell. And Aaron…well, he looked pissed. Or maybe even hurt.
I set my glass down and gently caressed his chin with my thumb. “That wasn’t smooth. I can do better. I-I love you and I want to marry you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“This is how you’re going to ask me to marry you? To prove something to your mother or to make signing a set of loan documents easier? I’m not a legal afterthought, Matthew. Don’t you dare try to neatly tie up your commitments with my signature on the dotted line because it’s more convenient than—”
“You’re not convenient at all! I mean”—I raked my hand through my hair and pursed my lips—“I didn’t mean that. C’mon, Aar, give me a break. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m sorry my mom hurt your feelings. I’m sorry you had a rough day. I’m trying to tell you I lo—”
“Stop. Just leave it for now. Jack and Curt are going to be here soon. We can talk later. I’m frustrated and I’m not being fair and…I’m sorry.”
I furrowed my brow but nodded in acquiescence. I didn’t want to leave the conversation like that, but he was right. At the rate I was going, I’d end up putting my other foot in my mouth before the doorbell rang anyway. Later was good.
Part 2-
Later was only good in theory. The problem was, I couldn’t stop thinking about what we’d said. My mom, loan papers, his day, my day…none of it was significant. And it certainly didn’t explain an impromptu marriage proposal. Was I serious, or was it an impulsive offer I had no business making without carefully thinking it through first? I was glad Curt and Jack were there to provide a friendly diversion in the aftermath. I needed a break from my thoughts.
“This is fantastic, Aaron. I need the recipe,” Curt gushed as he twirled spaghetti noodles around his fork.
“Thank you. I was going to do something fancier, but time was not on my side tonight,” Aaron said.
Aaron grabbed a piece of garlic bread from the basket in the middle of the table, broke it in two, and set one half on my plate. It was one of those quirky things he always did. He was big on sharing food. It could be a bite of something amazing he’d ordered at a restaurant that he wanted me to try or whatever was left on his plate at home. Food was a big deal to Aaron. He loved cooking for friends and family, and he was an excellent chef. In a way, it was a creative and emotional outlet for him. It relaxed him and allowed him to do something for the people he cared about most. Needless to say, I never cooked. The kitchen was Aaron’s domain. Toast and cereal were my culinary limit these days. And Curt wasn’t fooling anyone at this table. He was just like me.
Jack snorted in amusement and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Curtis, honey, what exactly would you do with the recipe? Use it as a bookmark for the cookbooks you never open?”
“Ha. Ha. The recipe is for you, not me, smartass,” Curt huffed primly.
He yelped a second later when his boyfriend pinched his arm in playful retribution. Jack captured Curt’s wrist before he could pull away and laced their fingers together. Then he raised their joined hands and kissed Curt’s knuckles like a leading man in a romantic movie. I smiled at their antics. They were a cool couple. And in many ways, they were as different as Aaron and I.
Curt and Jack were polar opposites. Jack was tall, dark, and drop-dead sexy. And he was fourteen years older than Curt. He owned two businesses: a motorcycle shop for sales and repair and a gay bar that catered to a masculine crowd. It wasn’t a leather bar or a bear hangout, but they didn’t play disco music or invite drag queens to lip-synch either, which meant it wasn’t necessarily Aaron’s kind of hangout. Or Curt’s.
Curt was infinitely more conservative than his tattooed, laid-back boyfriend. He was fanatical about timeliness and deadlines. We’d been good friends since we were roommates in law school at Georgetown. Curt’s cautious nature was offset by a self-deprecating sense of humor and a friendly demeanor that drew people to him. He and Jack had been together for a couple of years now. Perhaps they looked like an odd match to outsiders, but they definitely fit.
The intricate design of the tattoo sleeve on Jack’s left arm against Curt’s white button-down oxford shirt made me smile. I glanced over at Aaron, knowing he was probably thinking the same thing…but in a mushier way.
I was right. The look on my man’s face spoke volumes. It was the starry-eyed look of a true romantic.
I knew that look well. Aaron got it when he saw old people holding hands or young families pushing strollers and juggling dog leashes. It was the one he’d get at the end of any Hugh Grant rom-com regardless of how many times he’d watched the movie. An Adele song could occasionally do the trick too. But his best gooey looks were the ones he reserved for me. When I played a love song on my guitar and dedicated it to him like I was a rock star on a stage instead of the dork sitting at the end of the sofa. Or when I brought him flowers or held the door for him or brought him a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning. Little things I did without thinking that made him beam at me like I was a freaking hero.
No wonder he looked so damned disappointed earlier.
I messed up. If I wanted what I thought I did, I had to do it right. I had to be…romantic. Fuck.
You know that feeling when every other word out of your mouth sounds awkward as hell, and you can’t seem to stop the madness? That was me. All night long. Someone mentioned a new bar in town, and my brain turned it into the kind of bar a law student must pass to become an official lawyer. I literally stared at Curt with a dopey look on my face until he crossed his eyes and mouthed, You okay?
Obviously not, but a concerned Curt was the last thing I needed. He’d ask questions and I’d say…what? “I’m obsessing about asking Aaron to marry me?”…Not happening. I had to pay better attention.
Thankfully, conversation flowed easily between the others. I nodded when required, but they seemed to be doing fine with an occasional word or two from me to let them know I was present. However, when the topic turned to our friends, Jay and Peter, who were in California interviewing a potential surrogate candidate, I lost my voice completely. My mind started spinning and ricocheting, making it difficult to hear anything above my inner static. I wanted kids one day too, and we weren’t get
ting any younger. Aaron would be a great dad. Of course, we’d have to get to married first but—
“Matt told me he wants at least four kids. Right, buddy?” Curt kicked my shin under the table, then fluttered his eyes innocently.
“Four what? Kids?” I sputtered as I came crashing back to reality. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, how many do you want?” he pressed with a mischievous grin.
“Uh…I don’t know. Two?”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“That’s a ‘Fuck off, Curtster.’ How many do you and Jack want?” I retorted, finally regaining my cool.
“None,” Jack answered quickly before adding in a slow Southern drawl. “Curt might change my mind someday, but we’re fine spoiling our niece and nephew for now.”
“I love being an uncle too, but when the time is right, I could definitely be talked into kids one day,” Aaron said wistfully.
“Two,” I blurted, reaching for Aaron’s hand.
“Two would be gre—”
“But not until we get married.”
I wasn’t sure who was in control of my mouth, but it didn’t feel like me anymore. What the fuck was I doing talking about marriage in front of our friends? It was so…not me. And everyone there knew it.
I was treated to an incredulous three-way stare. My vehemence was probably more surprising than the statement itself but either way, the ensuing silence made me sweat. I let go of Aaron’s hand to wipe my clammy palm on my suit pants before giving him a tentative sideways glance. He responded with a radiant grin, then leaned in and kissed my cheek.
“When the time is right, Matty.”
Aaron talked around his toothbrush as he got ready for bed later that night. Every other word was unintelligible, but I’d become adept at understanding the occasional distorted sentence. It was part of our nightly ritual, a daily dance we did so well, I could gauge his mood and level of exhaustion by how chatty he was while he brushed. Tonight, he was happy and peppy. An evening with friends had rejuvenated him and put him in a better frame of mind than he’d been in earlier. I was relieved but still wary of my own strange mood.
“…I wasn’t sure how Jack would react to”—his garbled speech echoed off the glass tiles in the master bathroom before he bent to spit and rinse—“but Curt thinks he’s not the jealous type.”
“Jealous about what?” I wiped my mouth on the fluffy white towel before turning to stand behind Aaron. I slid my arms around his waist and nuzzled his neck.
“Not what…whom. Paul. You know Paul…tall, blond, handsome…and British.” He waggled his eyebrows in a silly attempt at being lascivious that made me laugh. “Curt went on a blind date with him before he and Jack were serious.”
“Of course I know Paul. What about him?”
“You weren’t listening, were you? He’s back in DC. It’s not a big deal.” He squinted at me in the mirror. “You know…I’m starting to worry about you, Matt. You’re very preoccupied tonight. Is it work or is it me? I’m sorry I dropped that nonsense with your mom on you when you got home. It wasn’t fair.”
“No, I’m glad you told me. It just…it made me think of other things. Grown-up stuff like mortgages and—”
“Ugh! No refinance talk, please. I’ll sign whatever you want me to tomorrow.” Aaron groaned as he rested his head on my shoulder.
I bit his earlobe playfully, then slipped my fingers under the elastic of his boxer briefs and cupped his balls. “That’s not what I meant. I—it feels like time is accelerating, and we’re fooling ourselves into thinking it’s not.”
“You aren’t making any sense.” He tilted his hips, looking for friction. “Mmm. Feels good.”
“I’m saying we’re already in the next phase of adulthood, and we haven’t acknowledged it. We share a home, a mortgage, and a bank account. I know discussions about kids and marriage are serious, grown-up shit, but I think we should…you know…”
Aaron snorted, then adjusted my hand so I gripped his cock firmly. “I can’t believe I’m still hard. Seriously, Matty? What part of mortgage and marriage is sexy?”
“Ours will be sexy. I’ll make sure of it.” I pushed my boxers over my rigid dick and licked my palm before stroking him from base to tip.
He jutted forward and backward like he couldn’t decide what he wanted more, my hand on his shaft or my cock riding his ass.
“So good. Just don’t—” Aaron let out a low moan when I bit his shoulder.
“Don’t what?”
He turned in my arms and licked my lips before staring up at me. “Don’t ask me to marry you to tick a box off your to-do list. Heteronormative rules don’t apply. We don’t have to do anything in any order but the one that feels right to us. We make the rules here. It’s like I told you at dinner.…We’ll know when the time is right. So stop worrying. Nothing has changed. We’re good.”
I nodded at his sage words. I agreed with everything but his aversion to so-called “heteronormative rules.” Aaron knew I had old-fashioned ideas. I still wanted the traditional trappings I thought I’d have before I acknowledged I was bisexual and in love with a man. But I wasn’t a complete moron. I wasn’t going to touch that old argument when his leaking cock was nudging my upper thigh.
“You’re right.”
“There’s no hurry.” He beamed at me, then reached around to squeeze my ass. “And whatever you do…don’t ask me any life-altering questions when I have dried toothpaste on my face.”
I laughed at his faux-serious expression and brushed his bangs away from his eyes. “Where?”
“Here. I can feel it.” His eyes twinkled as he pointed to the corner of his mouth.
I tilted Aaron’s chin and dutifully licked the imaginary toothpaste away. The gesture took on a symbolic quality of letting go with a reminder to remain in the moment. Now was what counted.
I nibbled his lips, pausing to glide my tongue over his before licking a path along his jaw and down his neck. Aaron writhed in my arms, raking his fingers through my hair and down my sides before slipping his hand between us to grip me in a punishing hold. I rocked my hips forward as he stroked me. It didn’t take long for me to lose my rhythm. He was too good at this, and he knew exactly what I liked. But I wanted more.
“Bed.” I smacked his ass and gestured like a Neanderthal toward our room.
Aaron gave me a sexy lopsided grin as he stepped out of his boxer briefs, then moved toward the king-sized bed. An overhead reading light illuminated one side, casting a warm glow over his olive skin. I stopped to admire his toned back and pert ass as he scrambled to shove the white duvet aside and reach for the bottle of lube on the bedside table. I jacked myself, smearing precum in a slow, circular motion over the head of my cock while I watched him spread his cheeks and finger his hole. My heart tripped at the sight. Fuck, he was beautiful. I had a sudden vision of him gripping the headboard that morning. He was so in tune with his body. So confident and sure. I nearly lost my balance as I moved toward my lover.
“What do you want, Matty? Do you want me on my knees? Do you want me to ride—”
“Suck me,” I demanded in a low voice I didn’t recognize as mine.
Aaron shivered visibly at the command. He hopped onto the bed and arranged himself on all fours for a moment before collapsing on his stomach. I moved toward him and tapped my cock against his cheek meaningfully. Aaron glanced up at me, gave me a Cheshire cat grin, and swallowed me whole. I held on to his shoulder for balance and did my best not to let go immediately, though the desire to pull his hair and fuck his mouth was strong. I grabbed the lube and poured some on my right hand, then leaned over to massage the cool gel over his entrance. His groan of approval sent a tremor along my spine that turned into a tingle of awareness I knew meant this could be over sooner than I’d planned.
Aaron sucked me voraciously as he arched and wiggled his ass. When I pushed my finger inside, his breath hitched. He released me with a pop and looked up at me with a lusty gaze
. “More.”
I added a second digit and worked my fingers in and out. The angle was awkward, but he didn’t seem to mind. He alternately sucked and stroked me while he moved his hips.
“Aar, stop. I need to be inside you.” I tugged his hair and bent to kiss his forehead. He got to his knees and started to turn around. “No. On your back.”
He wordlessly obeyed. I added more lube before crawling between his thighs. I ran my fingers over his stomach, then lined my cock at his entrance and pushed.
“Oh, fuck!”
“You okay?” I trembled with the effort to stay still and let him acclimate. He felt amazing. So tight and warm and fuck…
“Yeah. I-I’m ready.”
I surged forward slowly, moving inch by inch until I was buried balls deep inside him. I watched him for clues. Was I crushing him? Or was he as strung out and desperate as I? He closed his eyes for a moment and rolled his hips experimentally before nodding. I took the hint and began to move, slowly at first before picking up the tempo. Aaron lifted himself to meet me thrust for thrust. He dug his heels into my ass, urging me on. Harder, faster, more. His rigid cock was trapped between us, naturally lubed with sweat and precum.
I shifted my weight to sit back just as he threw his arms around my neck and opened his eyes. I immediately faltered. I held myself over him, blindsided by the rush of absolute trust and love in his gaze. The silent communication catapulted our physical connection to something infinitely more significant than sex. When we moved again, we soared. And then I was gone, tumbling and spiraling through space when our orgasms hit at the same time a moment later. We clung tightly to each other, gasping for air. A beautiful quiet descended in the aftermath. Words weren’t necessary, except…
“I love you, Matty.”
I bent to kiss him softly. “I love you too, baby.”
Holy shit. I was in over my head. I was in so deep, I knew I’d never find my way out again. It was fucking scary as hell, but it was incredible too. And so fucking worth it.