by A. R. Moler
The rest of the afternoon was filled with photos, and talking to friends and family, finally changing out of their tuxedos into something more casual for the drive to the cottage they had rented in a rural area of Pennsylvania.
The two of them carried garment bags out to the car and then returned to the reception to say their goodbyes to family.
Brian’s mother, Cathy, flung her arms around Brian and hugged him. “This was so lovely. I hope it turned out the way you envisioned it.”
“It was fabulous,” Brian said.
Cathy hugged Tristan, too. “You are officially family now.”
Tristan felt himself flush with emotion. How could a woman who just barely knew him show such kindness? It was a bitter contrast against the confrontation with his own mother the previous night. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure you have everything you need for the trip?” Cathy asked.
Brian looked at his sister, Heather. “I’m assuming the cooler and the grocery bags ended up in Tristan’s car sometime in the past hour or so?”
“Yep. Alicia and I made sure everything got loaded.” Cathy gave him a thumbs up.
“Then we should be good to go,” Brian said. “I’ll call you next weekend.”
“Don’t hurry back, “said Brian’s father. “You two enjoy your days off.”
“You know, I used to think Brian’s penchant for puns was a thing unique to him. I now see it’s genetic,” Tristan commented.
* * * *
The drive from the wedding venue to the cottage took slightly over two hours. Brian spent most of the time driving with one hand and threading the fingers of his opposite hand through Tristan’s. His mind was filled with a delirious warm buzz of happiness.
As he pulled the car into the driveway of an Adirondack style cottage, he smiled at the timber and stone façade and hoped the interior lived up to the photos the owner had posted. It had more bedrooms than they actually needed, but they had opted to rent something spacious because it had the amenities they wanted.
Tristan sat up and stretched. “This is it?” He had dozed off during the last hour, still a little worn out from his work schedule and the events of the day.
“The GPS thinks so. On first glance, it looks amazing.”
“Good. I guess we should lug all the stuff inside.”
Brian got out and consulted his phone for the code that was supposed to open the key box on the front porch. Tristan popped the trunk and pulled out suitcases.
Once inside, Brian flipped on the lights. A large stone fireplace graced one end of the great room. The walls were tongue and groove wood paneling. The kitchen lined one side of the huge room, with granite counters and rustic wooden cupboards. A stairway near the front door led to the lofted second story.
“This is gorgeous,” said Tristan, coming in behind him. “We should get all the food brought in and put away, too.”
“Mmm, oh yeah, true.” Brian only registered what had been said after a couple seconds. He was entranced by the beamed ceiling and carriage bolts that held it together.
The heavy cooler and multiple grocery bags were brought in. Brian popped open the cooler lid and stood stupefied for the next moment. “Gah! I’m going to strangle them.” The cooler’s contents were sprinkled with dozens of single use lube packets, in all colors and types, all mixed in with the ice.
“I take it you found things neither you nor I packed.”
Brian turned to look at Tristan. Tristan was holding about ten strips of condom packages. Most of the foil squares were labeled with Post-It notes in neon colors.
“So…was it Heather or Alicia?” Tristan asked with a laugh.
Brian grabbed one of the strips of condoms and looked at the handwriting. “It’s Heather’s handwriting on this one but…” He took another strip from Tristan. “I think it might be Alicia’s on this one. Oh God, I’m going to die of embarrassment now.”
“Let’s see, we’ve got—Deeper. Harder. Faster. Suck me. Rim me…” Tristan started reading the notes out loud.
“It gets worse. This one says use the banana. What the fuck?”
Tristan pulled three bananas out of a bag. Each one had a condom rolled onto it. “They get an A+ for creativity.” He looked into the cooler. “Exactly how long did they think we were going to be gone? There’s enough lube for months.”
“Apparently Heather must have thought we’d be spending every waking moment screwing each other stupid.”
“I think she’s making up for the idea that neither of us was interested in a bachelor party.” Tristan examined another set of Post-Its. “This one says—now would be a good time for the handcuffs, which makes me wonder if we dare open the suitcases.”
Brian began to laugh.
Tristan wrapped Brian in a hug and kissed him. “Okay, let’s get all this stuff put away. And maybe drop a few of those lube packets in a glass of hot water to cut down on the cheap thrills.”
“Sex first, eat later?”
“I want to make love to my husband.”
Brian glided a finger along Tristan’s lower lip. “I like the way you say that.”
* * * *
The loft contained a bentwood frame bed, covered with a blue and green quilt, a couple of night stands, and a dresser. The left side of the loft was a very modern bathroom. Tristan kicked off his shoes and watched Brian gingerly unzipping his suitcase. Nothing leaped out.
Once the suitcase was fully opened though, Brian dangled a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs from one finger. “Trust my sister to always follow through on a threat.”
“I think maybe I like my non-fuzzy ones better.”
“On me?”
Tristan reached out and pulled Brian’s shirt loose from his jeans. “No, not on you, unless you want to venture down that path.”
“Not particularly. I will happily blow you in a closet in a busy hotel as you well know, not so much into the bondage end of things.”
“Just thought I’d offer.” Tristan slid his hands along Brian’s sides. His thumb felt the ridge of scar tissue from where Brian had been assaulted months before. “I would like you naked and stretched out on the bed though.”
“That, is perfectly doable.” Brian took off his rugby shirt, tossing it in the vague direction of the suitcases, then hooked a finger in one of Tristan’s belt loops. “You have too many clothes on.”
“Maybe you can fix that?” Tristan gave Brian a smile as lust stirred in his belly.
Brian began unbuttoning Tristan’s shirt. He ran a thumb up the center of Tristan’s chest and then across his left nipple. Brian undid the cuffs and removed the shirt, before starting on the belt. In another minute Tristan stepped out of the slacks, only his socks left on.
“I should’ve taken off my socks. I look like I’m in a cheap porn flick.” He sat on the edge of the bed to deal with his socks.
“Mmm, a good porn flick because I get to touch,” Brian said as he stripped off the rest of his clothes.
Fully naked, Tristan took Brian’s hand and pulled the man down on top of his own body. He rolled over and pinned Brian beneath him, indulging in a long deep kiss. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
Tristan kissed his way down his husband’s chest. Brian’s cock lay rigid against his belly, a drop of pre-cum seeping from the tip. Tristan licked from the base to the top, and thoroughly enjoyed the moan that drew from Brian. He slid a hand between Brian’s legs and Brian obligingly spread them, knees bent. Fondling Brian’s balls then pushing his fingers between Brian’s butt cheeks, Tristan rubbed Brian’s hole. “Back in a sec, I’ll grab the lube.”
He slid off the bed and groped in the open suitcase for a bottle of lube…Which was so cold it felt like it had been in the fridge for hours. In fact, the bottle felt almost crunchy when he squeezed it. “Um…you didn’t think to actually go ahead and put some of those single packs in hot water, did you?”
“No…”
“Since the suitcases hav
e been in the trunk all day, I’m wondering if this stuff might actually be frozen…unless you’re in the mood for a cheap thrill.”
Brian laughed. “Epic fail on the thinking ahead thing. I’ll go microwave a mug of water.” He got up and walked down the stairs, returning in a couple of minutes with a coffee cup filled with a mix of water and a handful of the single lube packs from the cooler. “Disaster averted.” He set the cup on the nightstand.
“Back to business?”
“Uh-huh, not business, just pleasure.”
They practically tumbled back onto the bed, hands petting and hips grinding. Tristan fished one of the lube packets out of the warm water and opened it. “Face up. You know I love to watch you come undone.”
Brian smiled, pupils blown wide. He bent his knees and pulled them toward his chest.
Tristan fingered Brian until his husband was breathing heavily, then pulled Brian’s left leg over his shoulder before generously slicking himself and pushing in. With Brian well relaxed and lots of lube, one long slow thrust brought their bodies flush. Brian stroked himself a couple of times, causing his muscles to tighten around Tristan’s cock. Tristan sucked in a shaky breath, forcing his body to maintain control, and tilted his hips back, withdrawing a few inches before thrusting in again.
Mmm, that low little moan from Brian was always a tip off it was good for his partner. Partner, now husband. Tristan did his best to keep it slow and steady. Brian’s face contorted, his eyes squeezing shut and lips pressed together, riding his own edge. “Harder…” he begged, his hand reaching for his own prick.
Yeah, the limit of control was damn near over. Tristan stopped fighting the urge for speed and drove into Brian harder and faster, feeling the clench of Brian’s body begin as come spurted between them. Tristan managed a few more thrusts before he came, too.
Panting, Tristan eased out and lay down next to Brian, dragging the man he loved into his arms.
* * * *
The fire crackled in the fireplace. Brian and Tristan sat on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, drinking raspberry Lambic from champagne glasses. Brian had the pile of condoms packs with accompanying post it notes in his lap. “Use your tongue.”
“Did that.”
“Bend over,” Brian continued reading the notes aloud.
“Have done that.”
“Find the feather.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow at that one. “In your suitcase? Considering handcuffs were supplied…”
“Enh, we’ll look later. Make a honeymoon baby.”
“I don’t think we can manage that.”
That particular idea brought thoughts into Brian’s mind. “I know we kind of halfway had a conversation one time about children, but we got interrupted.”
“Neither you nor I have the right body parts to give birth.”
“Okay obviously true, but do you want kids? A kid, more than one or just none? You never really gave me an answer.”
Tristan was quiet for a long moment, “I guess we should have talked about this in depth before we got married.” He threaded his fingers through Brian’s and held on.
“So the answer is no.”
“It’s not no. I’m just not really one hundred percent sure the answer is yes. Look at my family. My father called our marriage a farce and said it shouldn’t be legal. My mom was chauffeured six hours just to tell me I was ruining her life. I don’t know if I would have a clue on how to be a parent, the responsible caring kind anyway.”
Brian thought that was a fair and honest assessment, but it also left out the emotional part, something Tristan was always slow to embrace. “Hypothetically then, if there was some magic guarantee that you would be as good a parent as you are a police officer, yes?”
“I’m glad you think I’m a good cop.” Tristan gave Brian a wry smile.
“You are. You’re thorough. You care. You’re good at details when they matter.”
“I take it this means you want children.”
“Yes, I think so. If we want a child, it’ll take effort and a hard, concrete decision.”
“Do you want biological children?”
“Not necessarily. There’s a lot of children who need families that already exist.”
“Do you want an infant?”
“I think I would be less enthused to adopt a child over five or six. I know that sounds heartless because I know older kids need families, too, but I think I’m a realist. I want a level of bonding and memories to build.” Brian rolled memories of his own childhood through his head, things like family dinners and playing with his sister.
“You’ve thought about this a lot.”
“Off and on. I gave about five minutes thought to the single parent idea once and decided that might be too hard to do a kid justice.”
“You work full time. I work full time,” Tristan said.
“True, but there is a possible future where a substantial portion of my work is from home. That, of course, depends on me wangling a way to keep hold of my business contacts if I leave Holtsclaw, Chang, and Robinson, which I haven’t figured out. I wonder if they’re going to make me sign a non-compete.”
“You…don’t have to have a job. Between my trust fund income and my…”
“That might work for a few months, but I’ve worked too hard at my career to just up and ditch it. There are many, many families with two working parents that do just fine.”
“My schedule is sometimes utterly crazy.”
“I know. We’d have to have a plan, and probably a backup plan,” Brian said.
Tristan hadn’t let go of Brian’s hand. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. I’m married to you. One more piece to this master plan though…”
“Which is?”
“The last time we truly had time away was back in February. Just you and me at the B and B. We need a long weekend or preferably a whole week every year. You need the down time. You love your job, but it takes its toll. I’ve seen that. You need the recharge.”
“True.” Tristan’s reply was very soft.
“Promise me we’ll find a way to take some time off every year. All the rest of this, we’ll work on.”
“I promise.”
THE END
ABOUT A.R. MOLER
A.R. Moler is a chemistry professor at a community college, a homeschooling mom, and an avid science fiction fan. She is a devotee of first hand research for her writing whenever possible and to this end has: learned to fire a handgun, been rappelling, ridden with both EMS and the police, flown a helicopter, bought a motorcycle, and learned to ride it. She has traveled to nearly all the places where her stories are set and taken hundreds of photos for documentation. She has been writing since her high school years, but only recently has become published. For more information, visit armoler.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
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