by E M Lindsey
Wyatt grinned even wider, and he turned, letting Mat take both of his hands. He dragged at tongue over is bottom lip and tried his damnest not to think about all these people staring at him, all of them having a window into this moment which was more intimate than he wanted to admit.
But he had chosen this. He had chosen Mat. And he could never, ever be ashamed of it.
“Mateo,” he said, and he felt Mat’s body shudder, then soften, “I didn’t think I’d ever be standing at an altar again. I didn’t think I’d ever allow myself to love again, and I’m not sure I did. Because what I feel for you is something else. It’s bigger, it’s brighter, it’s the very essence of perfection. It transcends any language we know. It’s my body learning to read the subtle shifts and quiet movements of yours. It’s feeling the warmth of your breath every time you lean in, and knowing the space between us doesn’t really exist, even when you pull away. You are my everything, Mateo. The sunrise, the sunset. The curve of the earth, the wink of each star. And I vow here to spend the rest of my life making sure a day doesn’t go by where you don’t know that.” He took a breath. “I love you.”
The pause that came next was profound, and he knew that there was vows plan B, because plan A was never a reality. This moment was too big and too heavy to ask Mat to give words he wasn’t able, and that was okay. He didn’t need a speech from Mat, he just needed this moment, right here.
“Cowboy,” Mat said, every syllable carefully measured and precise. “You are it.”
After that it was a blur of Doc’s speech, and their kiss, and then the pronouncement that they were married. Wyatt felt wetness on his cheeks which was absurd, because he never cried, and yet those four words of Mat’s vows had dragged feelings out of him that he couldn’t hold back.
He kissed him again, right in the doorway as they left to exit, and then an hour later under the gazebo. Then during their first dance, and then during their last. And finally the moment they stood at the threshold of the little rental house as they prepared to spend their first night together, which was going to last for the rest of their lives.
Until death parted them.
The train jostled Mat into Wyatt, and he felt a moment of vertigo before he could breathe again. Day two of their honeymoon, and it was the first day either of them had enough energy to get up and do anything. Wyatt had been the one to suggest the train trip, though Mat knew it was for him since the whole thing was a sight-seeing tour. But the host was narrating, and Mat had a feeling he was putting a little more description into the history of the area for Wyatt’s benefit, and Mat liked him a bit more for it.
“Do you think it’s bad luck for us?” Mat asked after they got going on open tracks.
Wyatt, who was dipping a cracker into some of the cheese dip from the little wine cart buffet, froze. “Do I think what’s bad luck for us?”
“You know. That we haven’t…sex.”
Wyatt gently set his plate down in front of him, then turned to face Mat. His dark glasses obscured all of his eyes, but Mat could see his brows lifted. “We haven’t sex?”
Mat groaned and nudged him hard with his knee. “You know what the fuck I mean. We got married, went to sleep, drove four hours, then spent all day lying in bed eating room service burgers and watching Guy Fierri.”
Wyatt’s lips quirked into a grin and he reached for Mat, curling his fingers around the back of his neck. “I thought it was pretty perfect.”
“Yeah but…honeymoon,” Mat argued. In reality, he was glad Wyatt hadn’t pushed for anything more. His body and brain were exhausted from the stress of the wedding, and the drive after. And they’d been all go for the last year, and the hotel in Sedona was the first time he felt like he could breathe in a long, long time.
Wyatt hummed softly, then pushed to his feet and held out his hand. When Mat offered his arm, Wyatt nudged him in the direction of the train car door, leading to the one that was open. “How many people are out here?”
“No one,” Mat said. It was windy and a little cold, and he felt a little bit better about Wyatt deciding to leave Apollo with Miguel and Amit for the week. They were going to be on the road, and staying in hotels, and Wyatt was a little over-protective of Apollo’s health. But Mat didn’t blame him—he’d never blame him for that, and he never, ever minded being a guide.
“Is the view nice?” Wyatt asked. He reached out for the railing, then hummed in pleasure as Mat stood behind him and wrapped one arm around his waist. The ride was mostly smooth, but Mat still felt a little unsteady on his feet.
“It’s…fine. I mean, it’s beautiful. There’s a bunch of trees and the rocks are super red. And there’s snow off in the distance.”
“Not like home though,” Wyatt said, and Mat couldn’t help a laugh.
“Nah, not like home. I like it here, but I don’t think I’d want to live here.”
Wyatt turned his head and smiled, leaning up for a kiss which Mat granted without question. “The summers would murder us both. We’re a bit too delicate for that kind of heat.”
Mat grumbled about being called delicate, but it was hard to care much when he had his arms wrapped around his husband. His husband. God, he felt like he was never going to get used to that. He buried his face in Wyatt’s neck and kissed him. “I’m in danger of getting us both arrested for being indecent.”
Wyatt laughed and dug his hand into Mat’s hair, encouraging him to kiss a little longer, a little wetter. “We’ll have time as soon as we get back. And this is why I don’t think we’ve stumbled on bad luck.”
“Hmm?” Mat had slightly lost the thread of the conversation, and he struggled to get it back.
“We haven’t been fucking like rabbits, but we did that already. We did all those big, chaotic things that new couples do. I know every inch of your body with my fingers, with my mouth. I know what it feels like to be buried inside you, and to have you inside of me. Our honeymoon is as it is—exactly what we need.”
Mat closed his eyes and let his chin rest on Wyatt’s shoulder. He had to stoop a little and his back ached, but he would have stayed like that forever if he’d been allowed. “I wish I could have said more. Our vows. I wish…”
“No,” Wyatt murmured, and he palmed Mat’s cheek, stroking his thumb near his jaw. “No. Your words were exactly enough. They said everything.”
“Mateo.”
The pacing feet across the floor didn’t stop, and Wyatt took another breath.
“Mateo. You don’t need to be stressed.”
The pacing stopped, and Wyatt closed his eyes as he heard his new husband take in a breath. “I’m n-not. I’m n-not stressed,” Mat said, his stammer belying his words. “I’m druid.”
Wyatt’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t yet fluent in Mat’s aphasia, though most of the time he could understand with rhyming or even context. But sometimes the words made no sense at all.
“We can’t do any of this and I f-f. I f.” He took a breath. “We’re wasting time.”
Mat shifted on the sofa, the cushions nowhere near as comfortable as the ones they had at home, but he liked the little casita. It was near the creek, and in the mornings he could take his coffee out onto the terrace and watch the light brighten as the sun rose, and he could hear the water gently flowing in the distance.
“Sit down, mon âme.” He waited for Mat to settle, and then he reached for him, smiling because no matter what, Mat always came so easily. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“The f-fucking train,” Mat said, his voice slightly muffled from where he’d buried his face against Wyatt’s shirt. “Pink Jeep Tours. Art museums.”
Wyatt didn’t understand, and his fingers carded through Mat’s hair feeling the bumps and ridges of all the metal that had pieced his beloved back together. “I don’t understand why those are so offensive.”
“They’re all for…you have to…”
“Ah.” Wyatt understood now, and he couldn’t stop his grin. Most of the time, he deteste
d when people were angry on his behalf—assuming what he could and couldn’t find enjoyment out of. But Mat’s love for him—his protectiveness, his fierce inclusion—it always made Wyatt smile. “I don’t mind.”
“I know,” Mat said with a small sigh. “But this is our honeymoon.” He pulled back and touched Wyatt’s cheek with the flat of his palm. It was warm and perfect. “This is for us.”
“I don’t want to go on a Pink Jeep tour,” Wyatt told him. “And I don’t give a shit about the art museums.”
Mat made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Fuck.”
“I’m right where I want to be.”
“Wyatt,” Mat breathed out, but before he could say anything, Wyatt pushed him away, then straddled him.
It was easy to do, in his soft lounge pants. Beneath him, Mat’s body legs stuck out from his boxers, hairy and thin and warm. Wyatt dragged his hands up the sides of them as he settled down, then rested both hands over Mat’s pecs. His thumb toyed with a barbell in his husband’s nipple, and his cock hardened a little.
“Wherever you are, whatever things you want to do—it’s exactly where I want to be. If you want to go do every tourist trap this place has to offer, we can do that.” He leaned in and nipped a kiss to his jaw. “If you want to sit in this room and fuck non-stop until neither of us can stand the smell of each other,” he kissed the corner of his mouth, “we can do that.”
“Well,” Mat breathed out and turned his head, taking a breath to kiss Wyatt deep and slow. “That idea sounds kind of nice.”
Wyatt laughed against his lips. “Doesn’t it? You could also want to sit in bed and watch Food TV and eat junk and not have a single orgasm. It’s still exactly where I want to be.”
“Less nice,” Mat said. His thumb pressed against Wyatt’s chin and he opened for him, allowing Mat to take control of the kiss, allowing him to tip him sideways and fit himself between Wyatt’s spread knees. “I can barely keep my hands off you.”
Wyatt dragged the tips of his fingers under the hem of Mat’s shirt and drew lines between the knobs of his spine. “I like that idea.”
“Yeah?”
Wyatt pushed his hips up, letting his hard dick do the talking.
“Mm. Good to know,” Mat said, and Wyatt heard the grin in his voice, felt it in his smile as he started to kiss down his torso.
It didn’t take long for them to wriggle out of their clothes, and Wyatt felt a slight, sharp breeze over his bare chest as he laid back. “Is the window open?”
Mat lifted his head from where he was sucking a vicious bite onto Wyatt’s hip. “Shit. Yeah, it’s cracked. Oh. And it’s snowing.”
Wyatt smiled. He always liked snow, the way it caressed his skin, the way mounds of it arched so stark against the dark landscape and he didn’t struggle to see it the way he did when it rained. As a kid, he could spend hours sitting outside, his face turned up, feeling the flakes melting as they touched his skin.
Right now, he wondered what it might feel like to be outside. To be buried deep in Mat, the heat of their bodies together under the gentle blanket of white.
It was exploration for another time, maybe. When they were somewhere safer, more private. But just the thought made his dick twitch, made him that much more sensitive when Mat finally opened his mouth and took him all the way down.
With his husband’s fingers circling around his hole, Wyatt didn’t last long, but he rarely did these days. Everything about Mat was erotic, and it was perfect, like he was made just for him. And sometimes he’d lie awake at night thinking of all the forks in all the roads he’d taken to get to where he was, and how one wrong turn would have led him somewhere else. The thought would often grip him by the throat and choke him until he couldn’t breathe. Then he’d reach for him—and he’d always find him, and that always brought him back to earth.
Pleasantly sated from his orgasm, Wyatt pressed the fingers of one hand to the back of Mat’s neck, and held the other in a tight circle, feeling the way Mat’s hips snapped as he fucked his fist. He basked in the feel of hot come when his husband came, painting his chest. The filthy, possessive part of him wanted to leave it there, even when Mat dragged him up off the sofa and tugged him toward the shower.
He appreciated the hot water too, though, and being clean. He appreciated the way Mat reverently washed him, and laid kisses across his back as his fingers dragged suds across his stomach. He understood why Mat was stressed, why he felt—in some ways—like he’d failed Wyatt when planning the trip, and Wyatt just didn’t have the language to tell him that none of it actually mattered.
What mattered was the ring on his finger. What mattered was knowing it was the first step into forever with the only man who held his heart.
The rest were details.
Mat watched the rise and fall of Wyatt’s chest, then he carefully extracted himself from Wyatt’s pressing arm and went to find his shoes. He sent his husband a text letting him know he was going on a hunt for dinner, but he had a feeling Wyatt wouldn’t be up before Mat got back.
Everything at the resort was within a two minute drive, so he skipped the car and hugged his jacket tighter around him as he made his way onto the street and trudged up the sidewalk along a string of shops. It wasn’t so different from Fairfield, really. The landscape was alien, but the bite in the air and the quiet, almost spiritual feel of the town itself was like home.
He felt a quiet moment of resentment as he passed by sign after sign with letters that would never again make sense to him, but those moments were few and far between now. Not just because of Wyatt, but being loved as much as Wyatt loved him did help. But Mat truly had settled into his own skin before his husband came along, Wyatt had done nothing but adore him through the journey he took to find his courage again.
He eventually followed the smell of cooking dough and roasted garlic to a little pizza shop, and he stepped in, the hot air almost a violent contrast to the winter chill outside. He let himself adjust, then glanced around at the little mom and pop shop which was almost completely empty save for an older couple in the corner sharing a plate of fried zucchini.
They glanced up at him, and he saw their eyes narrow and his stomach sank because he was used to it, but a piece of him wanted peace from judgement on his honeymoon. He knew better than to let it affect him though. Not when he had Wyatt waiting for him back at the hotel, stretched out on the bed and more beautiful than any man had a right to be.
And it was that thought which put a smile on his face as he walked up to the counter and ordered a feast they’d never finish. It felt indulgent and wonderful, and the heat of the food in his hands as he walked back quickened his step because even these few minutes away felt like too much.
Wyatt was awake when Mat stepped in, sitting up on the bed with his back to the wall and his earbud in his ear. He smiled when the door closed, and lifted a hand as Mat rested a knee on the bed and leaned in for a kiss.
“Mm. Food?” Wyatt asked, breathing in.
“I found pizza down the street.” Mat set the boxes aside, then kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket onto the chair. Climbing over his husband, he opened his arms and let Wyatt settle there.
“How was the walk?” Wyatt asked when he was comfortable.
“Short.” Mat carded his fingers through Wyatt’s hair and closed his eyes for a moment. “I think I passed by a couple of tarot shops.”
Wyatt turned his face up with a grin. “Want to have our fortunes done?”
“God,” Mat said, laughing, “I don’t think I could handle the anxiety.”
Wyatt laughed with him and leaned up to kiss the side of his jaw. “Might be fun. Something to do before we start the drive home.”
And it reminded Mat they were almost finished. A few days, and then a long road trip back to real life—but he was looking forward to getting back to their normal. He missed Apollo, he missed his family. He missed the smell of the shop, and the laughter of his customers. He even missed the hell th
at was school, and the future that promised just over the horizon.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, then Mat pulled the pizza toward them and opened the box so they could dig in. “Do you think you’ll be happy there forever?”
Wyatt froze with his food halfway to his mouth. “You mean Fairfield?”
“Yeah,” Mat breathed out. He took a bite and chewed before speaking again. “Do you want something more? I mean, you traded one tiny town for another. And the guys aren’t as big of assholes as your brothers can be, but it’s still…you know? Tight.”
Wyatt’s smile was soft, easy as it had ever been, and he set his food down before turning a little and resting his hand against the side of Mat’s neck. His thumb drew a line over his pulse, and his voice was soft. “I never wanted something big, Mateo. I never needed something bigger than this. But my life isn’t reduced to where our home is, or the size of our family. The world is as it is. If we need moments to remind ourselves that things go beyond the border of Fairfield, then we get in the car and we go.”
“Just like that,” Mat said, his voice a little hoarse.
Wyatt moved his hand to his jaw, then kissed him slowly. “Exactly like that.”
Wyatt hadn’t realized how tight his breath was in his chest until he had his fingers buried in Apollo’s fur, the dog’s wet nose against his neck. He could feel his body shaking with how hard his tail was wagging, and he let himself sit there and just feel the relief to be back. He didn’t regret not dragging Apollo through the honeymoon trip, but he knew if they traveled again, their whole family would be going with.
“How was he?” Wyatt asked after a beat, and he heard Miguel’s low, rumbling chuckle.
“Well behaved, as usual, but he missed you.” Wyatt felt the brush of Miguel’s arm as he gave the dog a pat. “You can count on us any time though.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt said. He pushed to his feet, then grabbed the leash. “Is my wayward husband around here?”