by E M Lindsey
Miguel chuckled. “Protective big sister, or baby?”
“Older, but not by much. She’s just been a pain in my ass about me wanting to get out of this place. I love the guys, but it’s fucking time.” Luke reached back into his pocket and pulled out a piece of gum, chomping it between his teeth. “I’m happy for you and Amit, though. I like that dude.”
Miguel felt himself flush, and he nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
“You both deserve your happy endings.” Luke eased his bike upright and looked over at Finn. “You ready, bro?”
Finn nodded, double checking that his bags were locked up, then he stepped on his bike and righted it. Miguel gave them one last wave before they took off, and he waited until he couldn’t hear the roar of engines any longer before crossing the street and walking into the shop.
Tuesdays were always quiet, and the only person in the stall right then was Tony. He was at the front, sketching in his pad, but he looked up with a grin when Miguel entered. “Guys take off alright?”
“Yeah,” Miguel said. It felt weird to lose the title of journeyman. To be on his own, an artist in his own right. It felt good to have earned it—not just the title but the place in a shop that any artist would be lucky to have. He’d been to so many places, and it had never felt like home until right then. “You want me to get anything done for you?”
Tony shook his head. “Nah. I have a four o’clock, then taking over for Kat and I’m going to close up. You got appointments?”
Miguel nodded, feeling more than thrilled because he did. Not just anyone though, and this one wasn’t going to make him money, but it was worth every single one of his hours. “Amit’s coming in soon.”
Tony rolled his eyes, but his grin betrayed his attitude. “You two are going to make me sick.”
“We’re not worse than any one of these assholes,” Miguel challenged, making Tony throw his head back and laugh. He knew damn well six weeks ago he wouldn’t have had the courage to talk shit—at least, not in the casual way they all did with each other, but it was different now. He was home. This was family. “The other day I caught Mat with Wyatt literally pinned to the wall and lifted off his feet.”
“God, those two are going to be the death of me. You’re going to their wedding, right? Those fuckers are having it all the way out in fucking Arizona. We’re all gonna die.”
Miguel couldn’t help his laugh as he situated himself in his seat, pulling out a few of his ink bottles to check their levels. Growing up in Texas, Arizona heat was nothing, but he appreciated that Mat and Wyatt had decided on a November wedding all the same. “It’ll be good. James said something about some rental cabin in Sedona, right on Oak Creek. Should be fun.”
“Yeah, until someone gets drunk, wants to skinny dip, then cracks their head open on a rock,” Tony groused, sounding very much like the dad he was. But he was still smiling, and Miguel could tell that he was happier than anything else in the world.
Miguel went to work, and his station was almost totally set up by the time the door opened and the bells chimed, signaling Amit’s arrival. Miguel’s heart still jumped in his chest the way it did every time the other man walked into his line of sight. It was three months now—three months of them officially together, madly in love, spending more time in each other’s company than out of it.
Amit looked gorgeous as ever, wearing a knee-length skirt and an old band t-shirt, his hair a little wind-swept, and his cheeks dark from the winter air. He crossed through the little doorway, then took Miguel by the front of his shirt and kissed him until they were both desperate for air.
“Bad day?” Miguel asked, brushing his fingers through Amit’s hair.
Amit shrugged and raised his hands, signing slow for Miguel’s still-lacking skills. ‘Long. Wedding shit. I missed you.’
‘I missed you too,’ Miguel signed back. ‘But it’ll be better tonight.’
“Promises, promises,” Amit said as he flopped into the chair. He kicked one leg into Miguel’s lap and sighed. “Farhia made me try six different cakes. I swear I developed a gluten intolerance from the sheer amount of flour I’ve consumed today.”
Miguel rolled his eyes and shoved Amit’s foot out of his lap as he reached for his cling film and gloves. “You’ll be fine. I have plans for us later anyway.”
Amit waggled his brows. “Yeah? Sexy plans?”
Miguel flushed, but he met Amit’s gaze with courage. “I might have shopped a bit earlier. I think you’ll enjoy what I got you.” Leaning forward, Miguel dragged his hand under the hem of Amit’s skirt, up his thigh, then—just for the barest second—teased the edge of the lace covering his half-hard dick. It wouldn’t be like that for long. Miguel was working on his calf, right in a tender spot, but it would be worth it. Miguel had been working on the watercolor design for weeks now, and he was finally satisfied with it.
“I can’t wait to get home,” Amit said. The way he said it was simple, casual, and final. Home. Because official or not, it was theirs, and the thought went right to Miguel’s chest and lodged there to stay.
He looked at the man sitting across from him and knew this was his forever, and that was absolutely something he could live with.
Epilogue
Miguel felt out of place in the outfit Amit had meticulously picked out for him. He felt like, with his ink and his scars, he was on display enough already. But now he was wrapped in embroidered silks of bright yellow and turquoise, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.
It helped when he arrived at the venue to find nearly everyone else dressed the same. It was his first South Asian event. It was his first experience with the culture at all apart from when Amit would cook for him—admittedly badly, though his mom had been more than happy to fill the void for the pair of them, and Miguel was not going to complain about it.
He hadn’t anticipated the invite to Farhia’s wedding either. He and Amit had been together nearly eight months, but he knew Amit was still coming to terms with being himself so publicly where his family was concerned. One of his sisters still hated him for it—or at the very least she was struggling to move past what she believed was right for him—and he knew it was weighing on his boyfriend.
Which was why he’d arrived early, a bouquet of flowers tucked in the crook of his elbow, and a small bag hanging from his wrist courtesy of Nick and Eddie. He followed the vague directions through the maze of hallways, then came to a stop at a door which he knew was empty save for one man.
He knocked, then realized how pointless that was and pushed inside. His heart skipped a beat to see Amit there, dressed similarly to him with the silk kurti and flowing pants. Amit’s was tighter though, showing off his soft curves, giving him a look no other man in the world could possibly have. And maybe he was biased, but what the fuck did he care.
When Amit met his gaze, he dropped his brush on the vanity table and launched himself at Miguel, laughing as Miguel’s large arms wrapped around him and held him tight. “You’re early!”
“You’re crushing your flowers,” Miguel retorted.
Amit stepped back. “What did you say? Oh!” He saw what Miguel was holding and grimaced. “Shit. Farhia is going to be so pissed.”
Miguel rolled his eyes, then touched Amit’s chin to get his attention. “These are for you, quediro.”
Amit swallowed thickly, then gently reached out and touched one of the daisy’s slightly squashed petals. “Why?”
“Because I know this day is hard,” Miguel said, and it was. Not for the ways Amit thought it would be. He finally accepted that his sister was happy about her marriage, and she loved her fiancé, and she wanted this. But he was also pasted into clothes that didn’t feel like him, and his skin was bare apart from a little dusting of highlighter—something Miguel meant to rectify before they were called out to begin the ceremony. But even with all that, Amit was half-hidden. Conservative family members on both sides were suffocating at times, and Amit was feeling it.
“I l
ove you. You know that, right?”
Miguel laughed as he led Amit back to the vanity stool and sat him down. Kneeling between Amit’s legs, he ignored the pressing ache in his hip and instead focused on the look of bliss on his lover’s face. “I know. And I love you.” He reached for the bag and pulled out the little eyeshadow palette and the light pink gloss Nick had picked out.
“Oh. Babe, that’s…I can’t…”
Miguel squeezed the top of his thigh with his free hand. “You don’t have to, but I’m going to be here with you the whole time. And we have plan B, remember? If it goes to hell…”
“We steal Ejaz’s horse and ride off into the sunset,” Amit said, his voice slightly thick from emotion.
Miguel grinned at him as he flicked the palette open and smeared his middle finger through the blue that would match Amit’s kurti perfectly. “Now, you know I’m not the best at this,” he started, but Amit just touched his shoulder and squeezed, giving him tacit permission. Mostly because Miguel wasn’t the best at it, but he was good enough, and Amit had grown somewhat addicted to Miguel’s makeup ministrations. Or so he claimed. Miguel had his suspicions, since it usually led to the fuck of a lifetime, but right now, it was different.
He took his time with Amit, blending in with the tips of his fingers, leaving a subtle color that just barely peeked above his crease, lending itself to Amit’s wide, deep brown eyes and making them stand out like nothing else Miguel had ever seen. When he got to the gloss part, he paused to kiss him until they were both breathless, then curled his right palm around the wand and carefully applied it with shaky strokes. Cleaning up the edges of his mouth, he took Amit by the chin, turning him left to right, then nodded.
“The most beautiful man in the world,” he declared.
Amit rolled his eyes. “I know a lot of people who would argue with you.”
“And those people can kiss my entire ass,” Miguel said. He spun the stool around, then watched as Amit’s face lit up in the way he’d been desperate to see all afternoon. “Do you like it?”
“More than. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Miguel cupped Amit’s cheek with his right hand as his left raised into a sign. ‘I love you.’
Amit laughed, then surged up onto his toes, giving him a light kiss so it wouldn’t disturb his makeup. “Save me a dance.”
Miguel grinned back. “Every dance. I promise. Every single one.”
Peeling away his kurti, Amit carefully folded the clothes, laying them on the chair beside the bed. Maybe it was growing up in America, or maybe it was the simple fact that in his culture he was allowed to be bright and colorful, but he found he didn’t mind the clothes he was “supposed” to wear on days like this. He felt gorgeous in his bright golds and blues with the makeup Miguel had meticulously applied to his face. People looked twice, sometimes three times. A few of his aunties tried to rub it off before he ducked away from the licked corners of handkerchiefs, and he made it to the dinner relatively untouched.
The wedding was mostly Pakistani in tradition, but Farhia had her own ideas. She wanted the bouquet toss, she wanted some line dancing and drunk speeches, and she got them. Both families were happy to oblige. During her first dance with Ejaz, he could see the love pouring off them as they stared into each other’s eyes. They were going to be happy.
It didn’t hit its peak until Miguel asked him to dance, though, and until Amit realized he didn’t care what anyone thought. He let his boyfriend hold his waist and twirl him around the floor, and Miguel looked at him like the sun rose and set in his eyes. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him, but he kept them at bay as he refused to look at the lips of anyone who wanted to tear him down.
He kissed his sister goodbye, skillfully avoided Aminah’s venomous look, and made it home without feeling like he’d been stripped of anything. He made it over his threshold feeling brave, and confident, and himself. He took a wet wipe to his face and began to peel away the layers, the muffled sounds of Miguel singing in the shower making him smile.
When he was ready for bed, he laid down on the duvet, wearing nothing but the blue lace panties Miguel had picked out for him. The heater was on, a breeze of hot air tickling his skin, and he jumped when he felt damp hair against his thigh.
Amit pushed up to his elbows and saw Miguel between his ankles, gently kissing his way up the inside of his left leg. Amit went hard almost instantly, but Miguel deftly avoided where Amit wanted to feel him most, kissing down his right until he came to the bottom of his foot. He paused there, kneading the arch for just a second, then decided to stop torturing Amit and came in for a chuckling kiss.
“You’re a mean bastard,” Amit grumbled.
Miguel pulled back, tracing the edge of Amit’s jaw with his thumb knuckle. “Am I?”
Amit shrugged. “Well, keep touching me and I might be willing to change my opinion.”
“As if that’s a hardship,” Miguel said, then leaned in and captured his mouth in a slow kiss. His split tongue curled around Amit’s, dragging along the sides, working him up as his hand drifted lower. Eventually, Miguel’s palm pressed to his aching hardness and stroked him through the lace. “You like that?” he asked when he pulled back.
Amit had no words, a groan ripping from him as he arched into his lover’s careful ministrations. In truth, he’d wanted this all day. Being with Miguel—who looked beyond amazing in his bright clothes—being near him, touching, but never really being able to have him, was a lesson in patience he didn’t really think he had. Now though, being spread out under his lover, it was everything falling into place.
“Suck me off?” Amit gasped.
Miguel nodded, dipping lower to suck a bruise on his collarbone, then lower to his nipples. He took Amit’s barbell between his teeth, tugging just so, exactly the way he knew it would make Amit fall apart. He kneaded Amit’s hard dick with the heel of his palm as he worked him up, then suddenly let go.
Amit let out a small cry, but it was cut off as Miguel crouched between his legs. He picked up Amit’s by the knees, hooking them over his shoulders, then he dipped his head lower. When Amit realized what Miguel was about to do, he cried out a small protest. “Babe…”
“I want to see it,” Miguel said, raising his head so Amit could see his mouth. “I want to see your gorgeous dick straining at this lace. I want to lick you, suck you, want to see your come seeping through. I want them as ruined as you are.”
“Fuck,” Amit gasped. His head fell back as Miguel dove in, and he bucked hard as Miguel’s tongue curled on either side of his cock and stroked upward. They both loved this, as much as Amit pretended like it was a pain in the ass to come in lace and silk. There was nothing like it, to feel Miguel’s hot breath on him, hands kneading at his thighs, reaching down, fingertips pressing over his balls, dragging over his hole as Miguel shoved the panties between both of his cheeks.
It was filthy, and it was hot, and it was everything.
“I’m so fucking close,” Amit gasped, his legs quivering.
Miguel increased the pressure of his tongue, pushed his thumb against Amit’s hole, moaning. Amit couldn’t hear it, but he could feel the vibrations straight in his balls and he knew he couldn’t hold on.
“Babe, I’m…fuck, I’m…” And then he was coming. His dick pulsed against Miguel’s lips as he shot from the tip, soaking right into the panties, the white gently trickling out through the holes in the lace. His eyes were half-lidded, his brain only slightly back on as he watched Miguel lift up, then lave his tongue over the wet spot.
When Miguel kissed him, he could taste himself on his tongue, taste the fire and passion only they shared, and his heart soared. “Fuck. We’re gonna get married someday, right?”
Miguel blinked in shock. He edged away, carefully lowering Amit’s legs to the bed before raising his hands. ‘Seriously?’ he signed. His skills were still shaky, but it meant everything that he was trying, that he did everything in his power to make sure Ami
t always understood. ‘You want to marry me?’
‘More than anything.’ Amit’s signs were slow, compensating for where Miguel was lacking, but they were also full of purpose and promise. ‘I love you.’
Miguel swallowed thickly, his Adams apple bobbing. ‘I love you. And yes, we are. This isn’t a proposal though. Right?’
Amit laughed, taking Miguel by either side of his face to pull him close again, and he rubbed their noses together. “No. It’s not. I expect a lot of fanfare and a fucking gorgeous ring. And on our wedding day, we’re going to have six white horses.”
Miguel grinned, pressing Amit into the bed, unmindful of the mess between them that soaked right into Miguel’s sleep shirt. “Anything you want,” he promised.
Amit grinned. “I just want you. Nothing else. Okay?”
Miguel released Amit’s face to sign one last thing. ‘Sounds perfect to me. Just like you.’
* * *
The End
Bonus Content
Derek and Basil
The Nightmare
One
The Nightmare
Waking with a gasp lodged in his chest, Derek had a fleeting moment where he wanted to put his fist in the face of anyone who ever told him a person couldn’t feel pain in their dreams. And he didn’t think he was a special case, he just had a feeling that pain had been such a long, stark reality that there was no escaping it.
Because it seemed that in the deepest parts of his subconscious, his father could still hurt him.
Even after all this time. Even after he’d been in the ground, cold and rotting for months.
Turning his head, he let out a sigh of relief to see that whatever flailing he’d done hadn’t woken Basil. The panic lodged in his chest, clawing at his throat, begged for comfort, but his boyfriend was exhausted and the last thing he was willing to do was wake him for something so...unworthy .