Authors: Avery Cockburn
“Aye, after you panicked and came up with a million reasons to say no.”
“Okay, okay.” Fergus kissed him. “Shall we go downstairs and share our news with more strangers?”
“Considering they’ll want to to celebrate with a twenty-threesome, I think I’d rather go home. With you, of course.”
“Me too. With you.”
As they walked hand-in-hand back to the lockers, Fergus said, “It’s early yet. Abebi won’t leave for work until ten, so we’ll need to be quiet.”
“I hate being quiet. I especially hate
you
being quiet.” John opened his locker and picked up an ivory-linen business card that had been slipped inside. “Ooh, our Jacuzzi friend’s wedding-planner sister. Those lads were a hoot, weren’t they? Thought they were gonnae break into a three-part aria when we told them we were engaged.” He reached for his shirt, then stopped. “You know, instead of going home, we could have dinner out.”
“Good idea.” Fergus hadn’t eaten much today, due to nerves, and now he was starving.
“Also?” John twirled the keychain around his finger. “There are some fine jewelers in this vicinity. We could look at rings,” he added in a singsong voice.
Fergus’s breath stopped. They were really doing this. “That sounds…amazing.”
“We don’t have to buy anything tonight. Just look. For fun.”
“Of course. But if we do find the perfect wedding bands—”
“Or if there’s a sale—”
“There’s no point waiting.”
“Do you mean that?” John took Fergus’s hand. “About not waiting?”
“Well, same-sex marriage won’t be legal in Scotland until the thirty-first of December.”
“Aye.” John kissed Fergus’s knuckles. “Marry me on Hogmanay?”
Fergus’s head felt like it would spin off his shoulders. “That’s two months from now. Can we plan a wedding that fast? The venue, the officiant, the photographer—”
“I don’t know.” John flourished the wedding planner’s business card between his two middle fingers. “But I bet she does.”
= = =
After eating dinner at the dark, cozy restaurant where they’d spent their first date, John and Fergus bought the perfect wedding bands from the third jeweler they visited. At the first two shops, they’d argued over styles—Fergus wanting a trendy dark titanium and John preferring good old-fashioned yellow gold—until John suggested they each get their own ring instead of compromising on one that neither of them loved. He was relieved when Fergus agreed, and they both thought it an apt metaphor for their relationship.
The jeweler commented that Fergus and John were the youngest gay fiancés she’d seen, implying they were
too
young, too daft to know what they were doing. But her observation didn’t dim John’s certainty. Their trip to the bathhouse had convinced him he and Fergus were ready for anything.
Arriving home just after ten, they found the place empty, their flatmate already away to work.
Fergus took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack inside the door. “Fancy a glass of wine?”
“You’re kidding, right? We’ve been putting this off for five hours, and you want to have a drink?”
“I just thought it might—” Fergus wiped his hands on his shirt. “If we’re nervous at all…”
“I am nervous.” John headed for the bedroom, glad he didn’t need to hide his worry that without a condom he’d come in seconds flat. “That’s why we need to start pronto.”
Fergus followed him, then ducked into the bathroom. “I’ll just be a second.”
As John undressed, he took a moment to admire the wee office space Fergus had arranged for him in the corner of the bedroom. A new bookshelf formed one “wall,” and its near-ceiling height meant that once it was stripped and repainted, John would finally have space for all his books.
Another office wall consisted of a bamboo dressing screen. Fergus planned to equip one of the folding panels with a frame and hinge so it would open and close easily, like a real door.
Inside was a comfy blue chair John had chosen himself at the Barras. No desk, just a brown-suede cubical ottoman—hollow with a lid, to hold his papers. He was more of a laptop-in-the-lap sort of fellow, who worked better when lounging relaxed, rather than sitting straight at some allegedly ergonomically correct angle.
The whole thing was perfect. There was no better sign, in his eyes, that Fergus loved him. He wasn’t threatened or insulted by the fact John needed his own space. He’d certainly proven his faith tonight at the sauna.
Thinking of Club 212 gave John an idea. He went to the window and pulled down the blackout blinds behind the sheer curtains, then switched off the bedside lamp. Though it was many hours past sunset, the city’s glow usually kept their room from being completely dark. But the blackout blinds, so effective against summer’s early sunrises, blocked all outside light. The only illumination now was a faint green gleam from John’s office area, where his laptop was charging—a light that used to keep Fergus awake when it was right in his face, but no more.
Quickly John found the bottle of lube, then fumbled in the pockets of his discarded trousers for one more essential object. Finally he hid behind the bed so the hallway light wouldn’t reveal him.
The knob turned, and the door opened without a creak. “Oh,” John heard Fergus whisper before the door clicked shut again. Peering past the edge of the bed, he could see the faint outline of Fergus’s body, enough to know he was naked as well. Fergus dropped his pile of clothes on the floor before taking one cautious step, then another.
John lifted the keys he’d taken from his pocket and began to shake them rhythmically. It had the desired effect.
Fergus bent double with laughter. “Happy Christmas, one and all!”
“Does this make you horny?” John shook the keys harder. “It does, doesn’t it? Admit it. It’s just like being there in the darkroom.”
“No,” Fergus said, his voice turning serious and sweet as he approached. “It’s a million times better.”
“Ooh, a million?” John asked. His boyfriend—fiancé—wasn’t usually one for hyperbole. “To the bed with you, then. Lie on your back.”
When Fergus obeyed, John carefully positioned himself between his legs, spreading them wide, then letting go. “Stay like that.” Now they were no longer touching. “Just wait.”
Fergus waited, his rapid, shallow breathing the only sound in the room. After spreading a bit of lube on his fingers, John bent over slowly, mouth open, hoping he would hit his mark.
His lips met the warm, smooth head of Fergus’s cock.
Bullseye.
“Oh!” Fergus’s gasp morphed into a throaty laugh as John gently devoured him, sliding his lubed-up fingers between his cheeks, letting touch and memory guide his way.
When a single finger slipped inside, Fergus pulled in a sharp breath, then let it out in an aching “Yesss…” Hearing him draw out the
s
made John imagine Fergus’s tongue pushing against the roof of his warm, wet mouth. He flattened his own tongue in response, drawing it over Fergus’s cock again and again as he slid another finger inside.
“God.” Fergus squirmed against John’s hand, pushing him deeper. “I need you now. I need you to fuck me.” As the fingers curled within him, Fergus’s cries pitched up. Every sound made John’s cock throb harder, until he could wait no more.
He sat back, feeling ready to burst before they’d even begun. Despite this danger, he took more lube and coated his own cock, biting back a groan at the sensation. Then John shifted forward in the dark, and with a bit of guidance, found the place he needed. It took but a moment for Fergus to open up and draw him in.
All sound seemed to stop then. As Fergus’s hot, slick corridor enveloped him, John let out his own helpless cry. He sank forward, into the embrace of this man who would be his forever.
With each slow, careful, wordless thrust, John went deeper, Fergus’s strong arms and legs holding him steady. The feeling was out of this world. He’d been prepared (sort of) for the physical intensity of this new experience, but the emotional tsunami threatened to drown him.
Once he could speak again, he lifted his head and kissed Fergus softly. “I’m glad I’ve never done this before.” He curled his fingers through the coarse waves of Fergus’s hair. “But you know what’s even better?”
“What’s that?” Fergus said with a dreamy sigh.
“The fact you’re not just the first,” John said. “You’re the last.”
Then he eased out and in again, the rush of sensations stealing his words. John didn’t care that Fergus had done this before with someone else, that he’d once
loved
someone else. All that mattered was this moment, and all the moments of the rest of their lives.
In the darkness, John heard every nuance of Fergus’s sounds, the depth and vibration of each breath, how each moan evolved from the one before. As he increased his pace, the noises strengthened, as did Fergus’s grip on John’s arse, his hands urging him forward, deeper, harder.
“Wait.” John slowed to a stop and withdrew, clinging to what was left of his control. “Can we switch?”
“Absolutely.”
Smiling at the delight in his fiancé’s voice, John found the lube container where he’d left it on the other side of the bed. He ran one slick hand over Fergus’s cock while reaching behind with the other to prepare himself. Then he shifted forward carefully, attempting to straddle Fergus without kicking him.
Steadying himself with a palm on Fergus’s chest, John took him inside slowly, marveling how much smoother it went now that they were flesh-to-flesh. Before long, the ridge of Fergus’s cockhead was gliding over John’s prostate, delivering mind-buckling waves of pleasure. He let out a long, shaky moan.
“Yes,” Fergus whispered, sliding his hands up John’s chest. “Take what you need. Ride me until you come.” His thumbs swirled over John’s nipples.
It wouldn’t be long, John could tell. Moving his hips forward and back, urging Fergus deeper each time, he felt that familiar glow swell within him, burning brighter than ever.
Soon the glow spread, pulsing from deep inside, out to John’s skin, then back again. He was barely conscious of moving now, but he kept going, driving Fergus inside him, taking all he could, all he needed.
John reached up to grasp the headboard, then remembered its fragile state. So instead he held on to Fergus, those broad, sturdy shoulders the only anchor he needed.
“Come for me, John.” Fergus took John’s cock and began to stroke. “I want to feel it. I want to hear it.”
“Yes!” John’s fingertips dug into Fergus’s flesh as his own body split apart. His next word was nothing but a jumbled mix of half-syllable sobs, a breathless pleading for this never to end.
“I can feel—oh God.” Fergus grasped John’s hips to steady them, then began to thrust upward, fast and sure.
For the first time ever, John felt himself fill with Fergus’s thick, liquid heat. The sensation made his own orgasm give a last, lingering encore as they sailed over the edge together.
After he’d finally collapsed onto the bed, John felt Fergus pull him close. He wrapped an arm around Fergus’s waist, using the last bit of strength in his rubbery limbs.
They lay in awed silence for a minute, then John said, “I guess we’ve no need to go back to Club 212, now we have our own darkroom.”
“Shame we’ve no space for a Jacuzzi, though.”
John suddenly wished for light so he could see Fergus’s face. “Are you saying you want to go again?”
“Do
you
want to go again?”
“I’ll go if you want to go,” John said.
“And I’ll go if you want to go.”
John considered it for a moment. Though he’d enjoyed his time in the spa pool with Fergus and the Three Tenors, he didn’t relish the thought of a steam-room nine-way, or having someone watch him and Fergus go at it on a cramped cabin’s inch-thick mattress. Perhaps John was more conventional than he’d imagined himself to be.
“Or,” John said, “maybe we could just pop by the front desk one day and buy a pair of Club 212 underwear.”
“Underwear?”
“Aye, they sell them in the toy shop at the café. Along with cock rings, straps, butt-plug sets, et cetera.”
“Hm. It would be nice to have a souvenir—the underwear, I mean.”
“I know.” They already had all the other stuff. “To commemorate the occasion.”
Fergus gave a low chuckle and tugged John closer. “You realize, of course, we’ll need to invent a fictional engagement story to tell our families. Something sweet and romantic and completely lacking in exhibitionist Jacuzzi wank.”
“Speak for yourself. My mum’ll find it hilarious—minus the wank, of course.” John lifted his chin so he could kiss Fergus’s ear. “The true story’s a good one, though, aye? Seems a shame to keep your amazing underground odyssey a secret.”
“I could incorporate it into the design of our new headboard. Do it in the style of those ancient urns depicting the Greek myths.”
“I love it! Instead of gods and monsters it’ll have twinks and bears.” John reached up to caress the gnarled driftwood above the bed. “Or you could put the story on actual pottery and leave this headboard alone.”
“But it’s broken.”
“Nah, just a wee bit cracked.” He dropped his hand back onto Fergus’s chest. “Still beautiful, though.”
“Hmm.” Fergus slid his fingertips back and forth over the ridges of John’s knuckles. “I could reinforce the headboard’s supports to make it stronger.”
“Good. Then we won’t need to be so careful.” John’s voice caught, and he had to blink rapidly, his lashes brushing against Fergus’s skin. “Did you ever think, while you were wandering about downstairs in that place, that you might not find me?”
After a long moment filled with nothing but soft, slowing breaths, Fergus whispered, “No, John. I’ll always find you.”
John closed his eyes and smiled. Then he couldn’t resist saying, “That sounds kinda creepy.”
Fergus laughed, his chest jiggling John’s head. “How about, ‘we’ll always find each other’?”
“Better.”
“It is better. It’s also true.” Fergus rubbed his cheek against John’s hair. “No matter what happens, no matter who or what tries to keep us apart, we’ll always find our way back together.”
“Even in the dark?”