Love Wins

by David C. Dawson

  Duncan kissed his forehead. “It’s what you do when you’re in a relationship. You’re the most important thing to me. If it means I have to wait for you to overcome your fears, then I will. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Duncan.”

  TWO DAYS later, Mark and Duncan stood near the water’s edge, facing each other. Bryan stood to one side and Laura the other. They’d found button-down shirts at a shop in town, but couldn’t manage dress pants. Instead they wore their best jeans, had haircuts from Laura, and were just happy to be there, with what they were about to do.

  “Today is one of the best parts of my job,” Bryan began. “The celebration of love is even more important in these dark days, and I am proud to be able to help these two take the next step together.”

  Duncan smiled at Mark, who looked about as nervous as he felt. It was nuts; they’d already pledged to each other, and this shouldn’t be an issue. But it was.

  “I’m not going to ask the first question I usually do. No one here would question even a little how much you love and are devoted to each other. Instead I’m going to go right into it. Mark, do you take Duncan to be your husband? Do you promise to love him, honor him, and cherish him, through it all, until the end of your days?”

  Duncan liked the way he’d phrased that. They’d gone over the vows with Bryan the day before, and both he and Mark had liked the simplicity.

  Mark squeezed Duncan’s hand and in a strong, steady voice belying his nervousness, said, “I do.”

  “And do you, Duncan, promise the same: to take Mark as your husband, to love him, honor him, and cherish him, through it all, until the end of your days?”

  With a deep breath, Duncan smiled widely. “I do.”

  Bryan handed the first ring to Mark. “With this ring I promise to trust in you, work to overcome my fears, and give our marriage everything I have.”

  Duncan’s smile hurt his face, it was so big. He took Mark’s ring and slid it onto his finger. “With this ring I promise to be patient with your fears, help you in any way I can, show you that you can let them go, and give our marriage everything I have.”

  “Then, by the power vested in me by our Lord, I pronounce you husbands. You may kiss.” This last was accompanied by a smirk as Bryan was well aware they’d done much more than kiss, to Duncan’s supreme embarrassment, the morning after he and Mark had made love.

  They leaned in together, and their lips met. Duncan did his best to keep it light, and apparently Mark was thinking something similar, because they broke apart only a moment later. They grinned at each other.

  Duncan sobered and reached out, brushing a thumb over one of Mark’s cheeks. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  Mark’s cheeks flushed a little, and he cleared his throat, but nothing but love shone from his blue eyes. “And we will.”

  GRACE R. DUNCAN grew up with a wild imagination. She told stories from an early age—many of which got her into trouble. Eventually, she learned to channel that imagination into less troublesome areas, including fan fiction, which is what has led her to writing male/male erotica.

  A gypsy in her own right, Grace has lived all over the United States. She has currently set up camp in East Texas with her husband and children—both the human and furry kind.

  As one of those rare creatures who loves research, Grace can get lost for hours on the Internet, reading up on any number of strange and different topics. She can also be found writing fan fiction, reading fantasy, crime, suspense, romance, and other erotica, or even dabbling in art.

  Website: www.grace-duncan.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/GraceRDuncan2

  Twitter: @gracerduncan

  E-mail: duncan.grace.r@gmail.com

  Prevailing Zzz’s

  By Tray Ellis

  After eight months together, Greg wants Win to move in with him. But how can Win agree when Greg’s snoring leaves him sleep-deprived and miserable?

  THE SNORING was ceaseless.

  Win tried covering his ears with a pillow, but the sound still penetrated through the feathers. With his eyes closed, he would have sworn a hive of angry yellow jackets had invaded the bedroom intent on vengeful battle.

  He reached for the earplugs he’d secreted in the bedside table and plugged them into his ears, but the buzzing noise filtered through.

  Win slept lousily at the best of times. Insomnia plagued him most nights of the week, even when he attempted to follow all the most helpful tactics. He kept the room cool. He kept the room dark. He kept the room quiet. He stayed away from electronic screens and their dastardly blue light for at least an hour before bed. He maintained a routine that would keep his body in sync with a sleep schedule. He never snacked before bed, eating meals no later than three hours prior to bedtime. If a piece of advice existed about getting a better night’s rest, Win followed it to the letter.

  The strict attentions had helped him. Somewhat.

  Now there was a new wrinkle in his life that disturbed his slumber. A wonderful, fantastic, amazing wrinkle. Who snored. Endlessly.

  Win flipped over on his side and poked Greg in the shoulder. “You’re snoring,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. Win was miserable, but he didn’t want to take it out on Greg. Greg didn’t snore on purpose.

  Although there are things Greg could do to lessen the snoring. Win tried to shake that sliver of bitterness out of his head. They’d tried the nifty little adhesives that went on the bridge of the nose. They hadn’t worked on Greg. Well, they had. But instead of a cacophony of baritone snare-drum-like sounds, a somewhat higher-pitched, reedy wheezing had emerged. Win wasn’t sure which sound was worse, but he couldn’t sleep while the one-man band crooned out snoozer tunes, no matter the pitch.

  They’d also tried two different versions of mouth guards. Neither one had made a bit of difference, except to enhance the amount of nightly drool Greg slathered on his pillow. The mouth guards met their fate in the trash can. Specialty pillows designed to properly support the head and neck hadn’t changed things either. They had been beautiful, foamy, expensive pillows that did exactly nothing.

  If Greg lost a few pounds, that might reduce the snoring. But losing weight was difficult. Especially for Greg, who had a desk job where he sat all day, and also because Greg loved food with a passion. Greg exercised. He wasn’t too bulky, just a tiny bit paunchy. It was sexy and endearing to Win. He loved that Greg could wrap him up in massive hugs, snuggle behind him, envelop him as they cuddled. Greg had biceps like the trunks of small trees and forearms with muscles that bunched impressively when he made a fist and gave his signature thumbs-up agreement to questions. Greg had lost about ten pounds, and it had made a slight improvement in the amount of snoring, but that last little bit of extra heft could be stubborn. Greg’s continued efforts had kept him from tipping the scales in the wrong direction, but the remainder stubbornly refused to dissipate.

  Greg slept like the dead. He didn’t react to Win’s poke, and the snoring didn’t stop.

  Win jabbed his finger into Greg’s shoulder more firmly. “You’re snoring,” he said again, this time with more urgency.

  “What?” Greg rumbled, mostly asleep. “Sorry.” He shifted slightly and fell back asleep immediately. Less than ten seconds later, the quiet shattered as he snored again, sounding like he would take down an entire forest of trees with his mighty chainsaw.

  “Aargh,” Win said, but Greg was too deep in dreamland to even hear him. Win pushed the covers away and stumbled out of bed. The air was cool against his skin, and he immediately missed the warmth of the bed, specifically the comforting presence of Greg near him. If only Greg didn’t snore, he’d be absolutely perfect in every way.

  In the dark, Win kept his hands out in front of him so he wouldn’t walk into a wall and made his way to the en suite master bathroom. An empty bladder usually helped, in any case. There was no need to be uncomfortable.

  He didn’t have to be silent because Greg would har
dly have woken up for anything other than a four-alarm fire, but Win made as little fuss as possible as he left the room.

  Win flicked on the lights, checked the time, and contemplated his choices. It was only a little past midnight. He’d fallen asleep first, which was generally the key to making it through the night when he spent time at Greg’s house. Greg, being amiable and thoughtful, tended to wait for Win to fall asleep first before putting down whatever book or magazine he was perusing and allowing himself to drift off.

  Of course, Greg fell asleep in about three minutes flat, a feat Win found enviable and irksome. Why were some people given the grace of easy sleep while others, like Win, suffered night after night? He did not know. He didn’t want to be irritated by it, but he found it impossible not to be. Win longed for such quick sleep, such peaceful dreams.

  Sometimes he also longed for revenge. Wouldn’t it be fair to develop some kind of device to pinch those easy-sleepers every hour? It could have a lumpy mattress, and a bullhorn could go off at random intervals. That would be delightful. Then everyone could go about their daily business as sleep-deprived as Win did.

  He sighed. He was thinking rotten thoughts again. He never developed those types of revenge schemes in his head when he was well rested. He dwelled on the details of his plans for retribution when he suffered wakefulness late into the night while others snoozed. He paused. Yep. He could still hear Greg snoring, even with the bedroom door shut between them. Good grief. How did Greg not wake up with laryngitis every day of his life? Abusing his vocal cords like that all night should give him a permanent sore throat and a wispy little voice all day long.

  Win grimaced. He was back to thinking lousy, terrible thoughts. He needed to focus on what he could do to make himself better, not the itchy thought that maybe he could muffle Greg’s snoring with a pillow to the face. He certainly didn’t want to suffocate Greg, just shut him up.

  Win surveyed his possibilities. There was a small love seat in the living room, where they cuddled together while watching movies and shows. Win would be comfortable there for about two hours before he would want to stretch out his legs. He was only of average height, but he detested not having enough room to shift his legs. Alternatively there was a futon in Greg’s home office. Hard. Stiff. Unyielding. Scratchy fabric. It at least had leg room but would give Win a stiff back by morning.

  He could stay up the rest of the night reading. He’d done it plenty of times. Win had worked his way through a lot of books that way. Also he’d wasted a lot of time with useless web surfing. That was an excellent way to ensure he felt like a zombie for the next few days. Win wondered if real zombies needed to sleep, or if they just lumbered about in search of brains, awake all the time. That sounded wretched. Win hoped he’d never get turned into a zombie. Eating brains he could handle. Never sleeping again was a fate worse than death. At least when you were dead, you weren’t awake all the time.

  That was it for his options. Hard-backed wooden chairs and tables, backless stools at the bar, and one-person chairs with stiff cushions filled the rest of Greg’s house. Even the floors weren’t comfortable. The entire place only had one rug, and that was at the entryway where feet were wiped off and shoes discarded. Old pine floorboards and ceramic tile covered all the floors in every room. It was a pleasant mix of modern and traditional, at least when one intended to remain awake in the space. However, it presented very few soft and appealing areas where Win might lay his head.

  He could also go home to his apartment across town. It was a ten-minute drive in the middle of the night with traffic nonexistent. But Win hated to leave. It seemed offensive somehow, even though he knew Greg understood. Plus he’d have to drive back again in the morning. It was Sunday, and they’d planned to take their bikes out for a long ride.

  Win’s apartment was far more comfortable, though, and perfectly, amazingly quiet. He would be able to sleep there.

  Win sighed. He didn’t want to abandon Greg, and even if he went home, he’d probably only get a few hours of sleep there anyway. He turned off the hall and living room lights and trudged into Greg’s office. The futon won out. It would have to do.

  Win pulled the quilt over him and settled his head on the pillow, both kept in the room for this very circumstance. Being up in the middle of the night had become so commonplace that Win prepared for it. He was mostly comfortable. He’d closed the door to Greg’s office, so now there were two doors shut between him and the sonorous sounds escaping Greg’s throat. Even still, Win could hear the faintest effervescence of bothersome noise. At this distance it didn’t trouble him. He could tune it out.

  With that, Win closed his eyes and spent the next hour willing himself to drift to sleep.

  In the morning Win woke to the smell of coffee and the familiar sounds of Greg moving about the kitchen. He yawned and stretched. His left hand felt a little numb from having been scrunched in an odd position, and his lower back gave a twinge. Win could practically hear the futon cackle evilly.

  He stumbled out of the office and to the kitchen, leaving his bedding in a jumble on the futon. That would show the stupid fake bed who was the boss. It could sit there and be a mess all day.

  Win rubbed at his eyes. He really needed to stop giving emotions and thoughts to inanimate objects. It seemed easier to avoid when he’d gotten enough sleep, but the less sleep he achieved, the more personality the futon showed. A malevolent personality. Win eyed the clock in the kitchen. Not yet seven o’clock. That was fine. Between the original hour he’d gotten and the second half of the night, he’d clocked in at five hours of sleep. That was actually quite good.

  “Win,” Greg said, greeting him with a kiss. “Couldn’t sleep again?” He looked apologetic and unhappy about it.

  Win waved a hand. “I got some sleep on the futon.” He turned to grab a mug for coffee and winced as his back reminded him it had grown stiff. He put a hand to his back and tried to stretch it out.

  Greg looked unconvinced. He retrieved the mug for Win and set it on the counter. “I’ve got an appointment with my doctor next week,” he said. “Maybe I can get one of those breathing machines.”

  “Maybe,” Win said. He poured his coffee. He liked it black, and Greg made sure to brew high-quality beans so Win could better enjoy the coffee. He sniffed at his cup. It smelled glorious, and it made him feel better. “But only if you need it. It’s an awful hassle if you don’t actually need it. Plenty of people snore, and they breathe just fine. They usually prescribe it for people who stop breathing in the middle of the night.” Win took the three steps needed to press himself against Greg. He wrapped his arms around the man, hugging him tightly. Now that he had some sleep in his system and was thinking like a wholesome, good person again, the possibility of Greg having sleep apnea displeased and frightened him. Greg snoring all night at least reassured him that Greg was breathing. Nobody could make that kind of a racket without enough air.

  Greg hugged back. “I’ll talk to my doctor. She’s smart. She’ll have something to recommend.”

  “Yeah,” Win agreed.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” Greg asked. He kissed Win again, sneaking one hand down to cup Win’s bottom and give it a squeeze. Greg grinned. “Because I know what I want.”

  Win took another sip of his coffee and then put it down. “Scrambled eggs,” he said, “but definitely sex first.”

  They made a direct line to the bedroom and spent nearly an hour burning some calories and making sure the bedsprings were functioning appropriately. The bed passed inspection.

  When Win got back to the kitchen, his coffee was cold. The rest of him felt very warm indeed. It seemed like a fair trade-off.

  “Will you stay here tonight?” Greg asked. He filled water bottles at the sink, two for each of their bikes. A modest saddlebag rested on the counter, with two granola bars and two small apples lined up next to it, testimony that Greg was thinking ahead for both of them.

  Win shook his head. “No. Work tomorrow. I
have to get some sleep this week. I’ll come over for dinner. But I have to go home.”

  Greg set the water bottles aside and turned off the tap. He reached for one of Win’s hands and then held it gently with both of his own. “Winslowe,” he said.

  Win rolled his eyes. “Only my mother calls me that.”

  “Win,” Greg said, “you know I want you to move in with me. We’ve been dating for over eight months. Your rental lease is up for renewal next month. This place isn’t large, but it’s big enough for the two of us.”

  Win stroked the fingers of his free hand down the length of one of Greg’s arms. “Gregory,” he said, and Greg’s eyebrows shot up with mirth. “I want to. But….” He looked away.

  “But I snore, and you need to sleep.” Greg sighed. He brought Win’s hand up to his mouth, kissed his knuckles, and released him. “I’m sure there’s something to be done about that.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Win said. At least, Win hoped they would. He would never say anything to Greg, but sometimes he wondered if they were meant to last. Win wanted desperately to stay with Greg. Win loved him. He loved him more than he thought he could love someone. Greg was kind, thoughtful, and funny. Greg paid attention. He remembered to buy the foods Win liked, tackled the errands and tasks Win disliked so he didn’t have to, and generally read Win’s moods like he’d been given a decoder book. But how could it last forever if Win couldn’t stay in the same bedroom with Greg?

  Win would eventually have a breakdown if he tried to stay here and the snoring couldn’t be mitigated. He needed to sleep. The ever-wakeful zombie image swam unbidden behind his eyes, and Win shuddered. He had to be able to sleep.

  Win glanced up to see Greg watching him, something unfathomable in his eyes. “It’s getting late. We should get riding before it heats up too much out there.”