by Edie Danford
Yep. I was gonna nail my prince’s ass and spend the night in his arms. And in the morning I’d kiss him awake. Because he’d be irresistible. And after breakfast, I might make him read the outline for my art paper that had been giving me trouble. Because he was smart about that shit. And then maybe later, after class, we could go skiing. I’d splurged on some actual ski togs…
“Hey,” he said. “Are you still with me?”
I nodded.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, grinning up at me, his fingers absently stroking the tattoo on my neck. “Love that smile.”
“I’m thinking about happily ever after,” I told him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, you know what they say about happily-ever-afters.”
“What?”
“They start with this…”
He pulled me down for a kiss.
Epilogue
Nick
JOSH AND I were in Chicago for a three-day trip during the break between spring and summer quarters.
Not the best destination in the world for relaxing and fun in the sun, maybe, but Josh’s various injuries, even though they were all fairly mild, had prevented him from going to the skate-ski meet he’d planned on attending. And so, as a gift to both of us and a nod to my parents (who had been hinting that they wanted to meet Josh if I was going to be living with him—which I damn well was, as of our return to Ellery), Josh booked us in a swank Gold Coast hotel.
Because it was always more fun staying at a four-star hotel in the midst of some of the best shops and restaurants in the world, instead of staying in the ’rents suburban basement.
Last night we’d stayed up late clubbing—we’d stuck to the River North clubs and had been thinking about hitting Boystown tonight—and my head was feeling muzzy as I rolled over on the cushy king-size (we really needed to get one of these for the tower), searching for my prince, eager for a little late morning loving…only to discover he was gone.
Damn.
I sat up, rubbing my head. My fingers snagged on something unexpected. Oh yeah. I’d gone to my fave salon yesterday and gotten a fancy cut. It was called a “messy f’hawk” or a “fessy mawk” or something. And right now, yes, it felt like a mess.
My spirits perked up as I noticed the open bathroom door. I heard noises that sounded like water splashing against tiles. Mmm. A shower with the prince might be better than a roll in the bed.
Once again my plans were foiled when the splashing sounds abruptly stopped, and, as I heaved myself to the side the bed and sat, Josh came out of the bath with a towel covering his amazing ass.
He smiled as he approached me. I spread my legs so he could stand between them. I raised my chin and closed my eyes for a kiss. Apparently he didn’t care I had morning breath and he all was minty fresh, because he kissed me like he meant it.
He put his hands on my crazy hair and said, “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his damp torso. “But why did you take a shower without me?”
His hands came down to my neck and he rubbed gently, easing the crunch of my tiny hangover headache.
“Because I thought you might want to sleep.”
I turned my head, smashing my forehead against his hard abs. I kissed his bellybutton and said, “I wanted to sleep with you.”
He laughed. “You did sleep with me. And we can nap later. And sleep more tonight. And the next and the next until forever.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling pretty placated.
But when he pulled away and started getting dressed—covering all the good clean stuff I’d planned on getting very dirty—I pouted again. “What are you doing?”
“I have an appointment at eleven thirty.”
“An appointment?”
“Yeah. A secret one.”
“A secret?”
“Yep. Remember how your appointment at the hair place yesterday was sort of a secret?”
I snorted. “Um no. You went with me, you dope.”
“Yeah. But I didn’t know you’d made the appointment.”
“Okay. But I didn’t keep it a secret on purpose. I just kind of forgot to tell you.”
Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he came back to give me another kiss. “I know you didn’t. But this is a surprise. It’s kind of for you.”
“Kind of?”
He brushed his thumb over my mouth. I bit down on it, making him smile. “And kind of for me.”
“When will you be back?” I asked. I looked around the luxe room, the giant windows, the view of the lake—which I couldn’t see from this angle, but that seemed to loom large and blue anyway. “I was thinking we could rent bikes or skates. Or do the architectural tour. Or go to the Art Institute. Or shop—”
“You’re good at this.”
“What?”
“Being kind of pouty and whiny and cute all at the same time. To get your way.”
I laughed. “Is it working?”
“Nope,” he said. He grabbed his phone and wallet from the console on the other side of the room.
I stood and put my hands on my hips. I had a semi and I rolled my hips in what was probably a ridiculously un-sexy dance. “Does this work?”
He grinned. “God, it’s tempting…”
I turned and shook my ass. “How about this?”
“Mmm. You’re getting hotter.”
“I am sizzling and you know it.”
He put on his jacket and crossed the room for a quick kiss—being very careful not to let my lower body touch his. “I do know it.” He ran his hand over my hair and looked into my eyes. “And now that you’re awake I want to make a suggestion.”
“What?” I didn’t trust his tone. It was his serious-Josh tone. The smart, mature, experienced one.
“Take up your friend Jonathan on his lunch invite.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think I want to go down that road. Not this trip—”
“I think it would make both of you feel better. You said he was upset about Mike suddenly up and moving, right? And the old group pretty much being a done deal?”
“Yeah. But there’s not a lot I can do to make him feel better…I mean, I know he already has guilt about what went down, wouldn’t seeing me just—”
“See? Right there. You could talk to each other and maybe get over some of the bad stuff.”
I knew he was right. But still.
He kissed my forehead. “Think about it?”
I nodded.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, stepping away.
“Hours?” Yeah, there was a whine.
“If you get bored, do what every Chicago tourist does.”
“What?” There was no way I’d go within twenty feet of Navy Pier.
“Go shopping.”
“Ha.”
As it turned out, after I showered and had two cups of coffee and fiddled around with my messy fawk, I did go shopping. In Boystown. With my old friend Jonathan.
Josh was right, as usual. It did feel good to talk to Jonathan. We didn’t get too deep in terms of history or the Notch Spot or even Mike and Pete. But we talked about how strange it was to move on from friendships that had been such a huge part of our lives for so long.
He helped me shop for a few toys and gag gifts for Josh. I was open with him about how in love I was with Josh. And how unexpected and hard it had been, but so worth the heartache in the end. Not because I wanted to make him feel bad—Jonathan had always thought Mike was the love of his life and Mike had, seemingly without a backward glance, picked up and moved to the West Coast—but because I wanted to prove that love could happen and be incredible even when the very concept of getting with someone seemed impossible.
We had lunch at our favorite waffle place and, after kissing each other goodbye and agreeing to stay in touch, we parted ways and I headed back to the hotel.
The waffles and the shopping had made me sleepy. The room was cush
y and quiet and filled with afternoon sun. I stripped down to my briefs and zonked the second I nestled into Josh’s side of the big bed.
I woke to the feel of soft lips against my scruffy cheek.
“Mmm.” I rolled over and wrapped my arms around my favorite pair of shoulders. “You’re back.”
“I am.” He leaned over me to give me more kisses. His body was deliciously cool against my sleepy warmth. My cock rose rather urgently between our bellies.
“Let’s take off our clothes.”
He ignored my excellent suggestion and stared down at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Aren’t you going to ask about where I was? About your surprise?”
I furrowed my brow. I’d been distracted by nap-brain and his gorgeousness. “Oh yeah! My surprise! What is it?”
His gaze shifted toward the window. He licked his lips. “Well, as it turns out…I do kind of have to get undressed to show you.”
I froze. “Get undressed…? Baby, what did you do?”
As he pulled away and carefully lifted his shirt, I had visions of piercings and tattoos and a whole host of things that made my sensitive guy break out into hives and pretty much hyperventilate to even think of. I knew now that he was a fan of the grand gesture. But hurting himself deliberately was taking things too far—
He dropped his shirt and asked, “Can we do this in the bathroom? I want to see in the mirror.”
“Oh my God. Josh. What—?”
“Just come on.” He offered his hand and I took it, following him into the huge marble-tiled bath.
I flicked on the lights and we stood in front of the mirror. I had a brief flashback to our night in Boston—when I’d jacked him and I’d watched in the mirror as he came so sweetly, so swiftly and totally hot as hell in my hand. The bathroom was almost identical, and I wondered if he’d checked out pics on the Internet to choose this place. It would be the kind of weird but romantic thing my prince would do.
His cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were a zillion shades of rich browns and golds. I wanted to kiss the heck out of him, but first I had to see what he’d done.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
He shook his head, and slowly raised the shirt over his head. I caught a glimpse of a big white gauze bandage over his left nipple before his arms came down with the shirt. He stared at me in the mirror, holding the green cotton over his chest.
“Josh,” I whispered. “Did it hurt? Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, yes it hurt. But I’m okay. I was kind of into it—like it was some kind of interesting workout or trial, you know? And the guy was very cool.”
“Where did you go?”
He named my favorite tattoo shop. I raised my eyebrows and said, “So not only was the artist cool, he was scorchingly hot.”
Josh grinned. “Yep.”
“Show me.”
“I’m afraid you won’t like it.”
I was afraid too. I thought of Josh’s sensitive, un-marked skin as my own property.
“Drop the shirt, baby.”
He dropped it and carefully took off the gauze bandage.
I stared. Tears filled my eyes. I blinked them away and stared some more.
It was black ink—plain, typescript-style lettering. “Every atom belonging to me belongs to you.”
It was a Whitman quote. And he’d followed it with our initials—J.P + N.M.
I grabbed a tissue from the fancy dispenser and shoved it against my face. “Oh damn.”
“Nick…” He took me in his arms, ignoring his recent on-purpose wound. “Sweetie. Do you hate it? Because…” He took a deep breath and turned toward the mirror, his arm around me. “Because I think I fucking love it. It looks awesome.” His eyes gleamed with pride. And tears. Because the big goofball cried whenever I cried.
I laughed through my tears. “I don’t hate it. At all. I love it too. But, God, I love you more.”
He tugged me into his arms again and pressed kisses to my wet cheek. “I hope you do. Because ink and names and pictures and words…they don’t mean much compared to what goes on in someone’s heart.”
I nodded. I heaved a shuddering sigh as he stroked my back.
A few weeks ago—late one night when we were settled on the couch together, sharing a bottle of wine—he’d told me he’d found out about my old nickname and that he’d heard a few details about the shit I’d gone through in Lake Woods.
And even though his arm had been around me and his lips had been pressed against the top of my head, I’d felt…dirty somehow. The old fear and self-hatred and misery had welled in my chest and I’d felt so fricking weary. There were so many times when I’d thought I was over it, so many times when I hadn’t given a flying fuck what those assholes had called me and thought of me and done to me. But still. It could sneak up on me and take me by surprise, lay me low. And I’d hated that Josh knew, that he’d forever have that stupid twist on my name in his head. That he knew how small and humiliated I’d once felt.
But he’d pulled the wineglass from my clenched fingers and set it down. And he’d slowly and carefully taken off my clothes. And then he’d made love to me, taking his time, using every new skill he’d learned so joyfully (and there were lots of skills), using his amazing, super-fine, well-tuned body, to show me how much he loved me, how much he cared.
Later when we were in bed together, he’d held me and I’d whispered my fears against his heart, telling him that, although I knew it was ridiculous and stupid, I’d been happy he’d never known that name for me and I was sort of devastated that it was in his brain now.
He’d brushed kisses against my temple for a few moments, and then he reached over to switch on the bedside lamp. He’d retrieved a book from the nightstand, settling me back against his chest. When he’d opened the book and started to read out loud, I heard new magic in the words from Leaves of Grass, felt new wonder in the space we shared—a circle of pale yellow light on a bed in a tower on the edge of Ellery, Vermont.
“What am I, after all, but a child, pleased with the sound of my own name?” he’d read, his voice as soft and warm as the fleecy blanket covering our bodies. “Repeating it over and over; I stand apart to hear—it never tires me. To you, your name also; Did you think there was nothing but two or three pronunciations in the sound of your name?”
He’d put the book down and then whispered in my ear, “I know you, Nick. You and your name are in my heart. Linked. Whole. It’s not the sound of it that matters, it’s the who of it, you know? Nobody can change what you—or your name—mean to me.”
I’d brushed tears from my cheeks and kissed him, with gratitude and love.
And that’s what I did now.
Our kisses got hot fast and, because the shower idea wouldn’t work with his fresh ink, I reattached his bandage, took his hand and led him to the big bed.
I helped him get out of his jeans and shoes and socks and we stretched out on the ultra-luxe sheets. I leaned over him, pressing a thousand tiny kisses around his gauze bandage.
“So it was a good surprise?” he asked, laughing.
“Spectacular. Princely.”
“I’m glad.”
I set out to give him more kisses, but he pulled one of his I’m-way-more-ripped-than-you, very delicious moves and flopped me onto my back. He held my wrists over my head with one big hand and kissed me. Tender nibbles, deep, drenching tongue tangoes, a delicate molding of my lower lip, a precise tracing of my upper lip with the tip of his tongue. It went on and on and on.
Finally he pulled back and we both drew huge breaths as he rested his forehead against mine.
“What was that for?” I asked.
I felt him smile against my lips. “For being you.”
“I had lunch with Jonathan,” I told him.
“How was it?”
“It was good. I think we’ll end up staying in touch. And that will be good too.”
“Hmm. See? You should obey me more o
ften.”
“Obey you?”
“Yeah. You know, the knight must serve his liege and all that.” His eyes twinkled down at me.
“And what does serve mean in this context?” I molded his ass with my palms.
“Um…it means getting off in the best way possible. I’m open to all possibilities. With you.”
“Very diplomatic.” I smiled. “Good prince. And do sometimes princes like to serve their knights?” I ran my hands over his back, surveying some of my favorite terrain.
“Fuck yeah. This one does anyway.” He kissed my throat, my jaw, my ear.
“How about now?”
“Was that a command?”
“Yep.”
He enthusiastically obeyed.
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