by Cooper Davis
“Turn about is fair play, Mr. Daniels,” she says.
Then I start snorting with laughter, because the whole setup is hysterical. You know, the idea of tagging along with my gay lover to a decidedly macho strip club. Bringing our closest friends along—most of whom are either girls or gay guys. Pretty oddball, but also a riot, too.
So, I decide to get into the spirit of things and sling an arm around Max’s shoulder. I waltz right up to the entrance, feeling vaguely hetero and queer all at once. The bouncer gives our crew a strange glance and I stare him down, flipping my I.D. as we walk right in the club. Hell, maybe not this particular place, but I’ve been this way before. Makes a strange kind of poetic sense, then, that I’d come here one last time.
Yeah, Maxwell’s scored a hit big time, because this is one fucking night to remember.
My millionaire fiancé must have bribed someone big time because I find myself with the best seat in the house. I’m talking, right up front, hands in easy “dollar distance”. So I take advantage of that fact, teasing the dancers and stuffing fives and tens into their slinky lingerie every time Max shoves them into my hands. Which is frequently, by the way. He’s like some dad at the Midway keeping me hooked on pinball or something.
Of course, his encouragement has nothing to do with the way Louisa and Veronica squeal loudly every time I poke more money into the dancers’ panties. One of the girls actually leans low, tracing her fingertip over the glitter lettering on my shirt. God, I feel like a first class fag, too, as she kind of smirks, shimmying her hips at me, making her point.
I’m feeling slightly aroused by her, by the dark showering hair that falls down her back. My jeans are kind of starting to tighten down there because of hot she is, when she looks right at me and mouths, “Gay.” She smirks about it, too.
Well, something about that feels like a challenge, so I turn to Max, “Give me a twenty, baby.” He doesn’t hesitate, just slips one between my fingertips.
I wave my girl back over, grinning for all I’m worth as I tuck the bill right beneath her garter. Max even stands with me, and I mouth back at her, “Bi!”
The girl smiles at us, enjoying the gag as she works it for me. Guess she’s used to all kinds of people yanking her chain; in fact, we’re probably tame by a lot of comparisons.
Then I settle back down at the table, and drape my arm right over Max’s shoulder for good measure. I don’t give a shit if anybody thinks we don’t belong here. Thing is, even with all the testosterone running wild in this place, I want the world to know one damned thing.
I’m with my guy.
Must be two a.m. when we stagger back through the door of our apartment. I’m flat exhausted, but still horny as hell. Max drops his wallet and keys on the kitchen counter, and I seize my moment, wrapping my arms around him from behind.
“You’re a very bad boy,” I murmur in his ear, raking my palms over his chest. The tight T-shirt allows me to feel every ridge and ripple of his body, and he arches backward into my arms.
“How’s…that?” he asks, breathless already.
“Planning so much temptation for one night. When you knew how long it’d be until right now.”
I work my hips behind him, kind of half-pinning him against the counter where he can’t move. My erection bulges through my jeans and I make sure he feels my hard-on.
“Pocket protector?” he laughs, as I slip my fingers down beneath his waistband. “Or is that a cell phone?”
“Daniels, you’re a cock tease.”
“I resent that,” he purrs, reaching back to grab my thighs. “I’m just a gay man with a strong sex drive.”
“A beautiful, perfect…” I spin him in my arms, so we’re facing one another, “…extremely gay man.”
“With a healthy drive for his lover.”
The kiss that begins between us conveys the need we’ve felt all night long. On the dance floor, at the strip club. Hell, just watching him dress at the beginning of the night.
I drag him toward the sofa, tugging at the button on his jeans. “Drive this, then, sweet thing,” I suggest, popping open my own fly as we collapse onto the sofa in a tangle of desire.
He’s on top of me, kneeling between my legs, and makes quick work of my jeans. Before I can blink, they’re halfway down my hips, and he’s got his greedy hands inside my boxers. Warm fingers close around the tip of my erection, stroking, loving. Oh, no, this feels so fucking good that I know I won’t last long.
“Baby,” I groan, lifting my hips to meet his strokes.
He doesn’t answer, and as my eyes open, I see a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “I have plans, Hunter Willis.”
“Oh, Max,” I cry, unable to stop the crescendo of need pummeling through my body. He drops his dark head low, and the familiar wetness suddenly circles my cock as his tongue snakes around my tip. “Maxwell!” I can’t possibly be quiet, not with the way he’s shattering me.
My fingers grope at his muscular shoulders, comb wildly through his hair as my groin tightens and aches for him. The sucking sensation is unbelievable. How can this sophisticated, smooth guy give such unbelievable head? Unrestrained is the word for my sweet baby once we’re together this way.
When I know I’m near the end, he suddenly stops, shimmying right out of his jeans. “Ba…by?” I gasp, reaching toward him as those tight black jeans drop to the floor.
I don’t even get an answer, just a smug, gorgeous smile as he straddles me, positioning himself.
“Lube?” I mumble, holding him with trembling hands, but he shakes his head.
“I’m very relaxed,” he explains with a sly smile. “And very drunk.” Then he gives a giddy laugh, pushing down onto my shaft before I can argue against it. My cock is a straight, obedient little arrow, even if I’m not anymore. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t nearly glide right into him without one bit of help.
I’ll be damned, too, if I’m not gonna come in ten seconds flat, not with the way he lifts against me, that gorgeous erection of his glistening and jutting straight out. I clasp it within my hand, closing my eyes as I begin to stroke him straight into his own sweet oblivion.
Maxwell talks and moans and I just lose myself in the ecstasy of his perfect, tight little body. Then everything gets delirious, a little maddening in its intensity, as for a moment I swear our honeymoon has already begun.
Chapter Eighteen
So here we are. The big day and it’s like somebody’s turned me inside-fucking-out. I’m just a mess and a half, standing here in this dressing room. I keep pacing the floor, mopping my brow with Maxwell’s handkerchief. It’s an embroidered one he loaned me for the day; tucked it right into the box with my tuxedo. It even has his initials on it, so I clutch it like a lifeline, as if I’m holding on to him for real.
This is all Veronica’s fault. She’s my “best person” and she’s late. I glance at my watch and realize that, actually, she’s not late yet. It’s only noon just now. But she is supposed to be here any minute to make sure I’ve got this tuxedo on right, and God love her, if she doesn’t get here soon, I might fall apart. It’s not about how the suit fits anymore; it’s about keeping me together at the seams.
I stare out into the garden, at the flower-draped gazebo, the folding chairs lined in neat rows, the dream-like cascade of cherry blossoms. I lean my forehead against the wooden frame of the window, bracing myself for my future. This is it. An hour from now and I’m gonna be down there, taking Maxwell’s hand in my own. I’ll be taking him as my very own, in front of God and our chosen witnesses. I’m ready, I really am; I’ve never been more ready than I am right now.
Then how come I can’t stop this crazy shaking inside? It’s not like I haven’t wanted this day for the past nine months. I reach beneath my unbuttoned dress shirt and place a calming hand over my heart. Damn, it’s racing like a mad fucker. Still, boy, I coach the overactive musc
le, but it does no good at all. The thing still pounds like it’s going to leap right out of my chest.
A knock comes on the door, and I rush to open it, relieved that Veronica’s finally here. I know she’ll be able to make sense of this nervousness, explain away how crazy and stupid I suddenly feel. For all our bickering, Veronica really does understand me, and I know she’ll have just the right words for me today.
I jerk open the door, already grumbling at her, “It’s about time you got…” My sentence fades on my tongue. It’s not Veronica, not even close. I’ll be damned if it isn’t Phillip Daniels, all dressed up in a nice suit and standing here in Vermont. At our inn, on our wedding day, just like I’ve secretly dreamed he would be for months. Only now that he is, I’m not sure whether I should whoop for joy or search him for a shotgun. Wait, that’s if he wanted me to marry his son, and with all his past objections, he might be toting one just to stop this blessed event.
“Hunter?” he asks, smiling uncertainly at me from across the threshold. Only then do I realize that I’m just staring at him, my future father-in-law, not saying a freaking thing. “Can I come in or not?” he finally asks, laughing in a way that reminds me a little of Maxwell, oddly enough.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Come on in, sir,” I say as if this is perfectly normal, him showing up on our wedding day. “Just, uh, finishing up here.” I give my shirt hem a tug to emphasize my point.
“Looks like you’ve still got a way to go, son.” There’s warmth in his eyes and voice, so maybe this is a friendly visit after all. Maybe he’s even here to take his place in the front row, my wedding wish for Maxwell come true today.
“Why’re you here, sir?” I can’t hold my peace, not when I need to know if he’s here to hurt my baby or celebrate our event. “Really, why?”
“Hunter, we need to talk,” he says, perching on the edge of some absent inn administrator’s desk. “We’ve needed to for a while now.”
“Phillip, if you’re here to try and convince me not to do this, well then I’ll have to ask you to leave, especially since—”
He cuts me off, lifting his hand. “Can I share something with you or not, son?”
I tilt my chin upward, meeting his sharp gaze. “I’m listening.” My tone is far cooler than I intended it to be, but I’ve got to deal with him, man to man. No way I’m about to back down at this late date.
But something has changed in Phillip Daniels’s tired expression since Christmas; I see a spark of life that’s been missing in our previous interchanges. Or maybe it’s just a spark of reaction to me because he’s not guarding himself so closely today.
He reaches inside his suit jacket and I pray he’s not going for that gun. Instead, he removes a small brown package. “We need to talk about this,” he says, his face inscrutable as he hands the parcel to me. Doesn’t feel like a bomb, so slowly I work the paper loose until I’m left holding a small, framed picture.
It’s the one Max was going to give them for Christmas, of the two of us at Long Beach, lost in each other’s arms. Shit, I’d forgotten just how hot we look for one another in that photo, how freaking close I was holding him in the crook of my arm. My face burns beneath Phillip’s gaze. I feel it on me, even as I stare at the small picture in my hands.
“What about it?” I mumble, refusing to look up. I feel heat creep into my neck, because it’s as if I’m facing my dead father after all these years. I don’t know what my dad would have said about this union, and I’m not sure I should hear what Phillip Daniels has to say today either.
“Max sent the picture to me this week. With a letter.” I nod, staring at my lover in the picture. He’s such a beautiful, gentle man. He’s all I’ve wanted, all my life, just a soul mate to spend the years with. “Hunter?”
“Yes, sir?” I don’t look up, just stare into the captured moment held within my hands.
“I’d like to read part of what Max said in his letter. If that’s okay with you?”
“All right,” I say, swallowing hard, and turn away from him. I walk to the window and gaze down at the flowers and the possibility of joy. Our special day, spread all below me in a happy dazzle of ribbons and flowers and music.
Phillip clears his throat and begins. “‘I didn’t want to be gay. Maybe you and Mom never understood that,’” he reads, and I’ll be damned if tears don’t well right within my eyes already. “‘I fought this thing inside of me, fought it as hard as I could, for as long as I could. But that never offered me any peace. I never knew peace, Dad. Not until Hunter. He answers something in me, some long-asked question that’s haunted me all my life. And the thing is, if I’d known he was waiting in my future, I never would have fought what I am. I would have run for it, with all that’s inside me, Dad. I would have run toward Hunter.’”
Phillip pauses, clearing his throat with a cough and I can tell he’s close to tears himself. “‘All I want is for you to know him. To understand why I love him so much. For you to let him be part of our family, not just for me, but for him, too. And for all of you.’”
Phillip stops reading, and I hear the echo of his steps on the stone floor behind me, though he says nothing. Still, I won’t turn, and just stare down into the garden until I feel him clasp my shoulder as he finishes, “‘I’m asking you to be there on my wedding day, because just like I love Hunter, I love both of you, too.’”
Phillip continues to stand with his hand on my shoulder, and I hear the sound of folding paper. I bite my lip until it nearly bleeds, anything so I won’t cry in front of this man. A man who could be the father I never really had.
“Hunter, I remember last fall, you told me you didn’t think I understood how much you loved my son. At the time, I thought I did.”
“And now?” I croak, glancing over my shoulder at him.
“I realize there’s a lot I still have to learn about love,” he says and tears fill his own eyes. Eyes that look so much like my baby’s. “Maybe you and my son can teach me.”
“That why you came?”
“I came to bless this marriage. To be part of it,” he says and I turn to face him. “To be here if it’s not too late.”
“It’s never too late to be a family,” I say.
“That’s what I wanted to believe. That’s what this letter made me believe.”
“You have an amazing son.”
The tears that have been threatening to fill his eyes do so in earnest with that statement. He swallows, wiping at the dampness. “Want this?” I extend Max’s handkerchief with a nervous laugh and he stares down at it. “Maxwell’s. It’s clean enough.”
He gives me a grateful smile, then hands it back to me. “You keep it for later. If it’s anything like my wedding day, you’re going to need it.”
I’m preparing a snappy reply, the kind that will get the old guy laughing, when a loud rapping sound on the door ruptures the palpable nervousness between us.
“And that would be Veronica,” I say, stepping past him. “Apparently it’s her job to keep me together. Although it’s a little late for that,” I say, with a laugh, opening the door.
Only it’s still not Veronica. Instead it’s Max, and he’s just standing there, shattering every wedding day superstition I might have been clinging to.
“Veronica said you needed to see me,” he says, beaming at me. He’s only got his dress pants and shirt on, but he looks stunning already. He’s equally busy assessing my appearance, because he gives a low, appreciative whistle. “Wow, you look…”
“Maxwell,” I cut him off, stepping aside to reveal his father standing there by the window.
“Dad!” he cries, his eyes growing huge. “Wh-what are you…”
“He’s here for the wedding,” I answer, before his old man can even explain himself. “Your folks came to support us.”
“You got the letter,” Max says simply, kind of shaking his head in di
sbelief.
“Yes, son. I got the letter.” Phillip’s admission is quiet, chastened even, as he stares across the room into his son’s eager eyes. As he confronts all the things that have stood between them for so long.
Max rakes a hand through his hair, disheveling it as he steps into the room. But his mind’s not on appearances at the moment, not even on our wedding. All his attention is trained right on his father. “When you didn’t call, well, I just assumed—”
“That I wasn’t coming, yes, I’m sure that you did.”
“Must’ve been a close call,” I add, thinking how he’s only here just now. “Or you’d have been here sooner.”
Phillip gives a heavy sigh, as Max steps closer to him. “What finally changed your mind?” Max asks, folding his arms protectively across his chest.
Phillip stares at the floor a moment, gathering his thoughts, maybe even his nerve, then says, “Because years from now, I didn’t want today to be something I couldn’t remember. Something I couldn’t relive with my son whenever he talked about the most perfect day of his life.”
“Your coming is what makes it perfect,” Max says, tears shimmering in his eyes now. Hell, at least he’s joining the club. I step close, offering the faithful handkerchief again, just pressing it into his hand, as he adds, “You have no idea what it means to me that you’re here.”
“I wish we’d made it for dinner last night.”
“That doesn’t matter, Dad. Not at all,” he says as his father opens his arms and draws him close for a tight embrace.
Phillip holds Max for a long moment, not letting him go, and even gives his head a tender stroke. The kind that might have been natural when Max was still just a small boy. “I remember how terrified I felt when we found out we were expecting twins,” he says quietly. “So excited, but frightened that I could never be enough father for you both.”
“I can imagine,” Max says, as they step apart.
“The thing is, Max, I felt scared like that again the day I realized the truth about you. Terrified that I wasn’t able to give you what you needed.”