34. Kingston
Thirty-Four
Kingston
It’s spring at last—again.
The cherry blossoms are in full bloom and this morning it’s even warm enough to eat breakfast on the patio. Toby and I pull the heavy outdoor chairs close together, his feet in my lap as I read through a manuscript and sip my coffee, while he pages through a thick art supplies catalog, circling various paints and brushes with a permanent marker. It’s a lot like a dozen other breakfasts we’ve shared over the past year, only this time I’m allowed to absently stroke the thin skin over his ankle as I read and he can playfully rub my soft dick through my sweatpants with the sole of his foot when he gets bored.
“You planning on giving me an actual foot job?” I ask finally, when I’ve chubbed up substantially and had to reread a paragraph three times before giving up.
“Huh? Oh, not really,” Toby says, looking mischievous and guilty at the same time. “I was actually thinking about?—”
“What?” I’ve come to learn that Toby has wonderful—if sometimes surprising—ideas about what to try in bed. He wants to give everything a fair shot. I thought I was over experimentation, but it’s different when it’s with him. Everything’s new. Everything’s better.
“I really want to draw you,” he says, like a confession.
“Anytime.” I don’t mind being Toby’s model or his inspiration. It satisfies some primal instinct that wants his attention on me—and only on me—always.
“Naked, though?” he says carefully. “On your green velvet chair. Erect.”
That gives me pause. “You want to draw me… hard?”
“Just for me. Not to share. Unless you’d be okay with that.”
“One thing at a time, honey.”
“I’m kind of obsessed with your body. And your cock. And you, obviously,” he says. “And it’s something I need to get out of my system.”
“You’re saying you need to draw me naked and hard for your creative process?”
“Exactly. I need to do this to free up my creative process,” he agrees, nodding vigorously. “It’s all about the art, I swear.” He bites his lip and looks at me hopefully.
I crack after five seconds. “You just want to draw your own personal pornography. Pervert,” I add affectionately.
“I didn’t say I’d take pictures. Or video. Though I could. It could be a multimedia record of the gloriousness that is Kingston James.”
“I’m beginning to get the feeling that you only love me for my body.”
“Not true,” Toby says, wriggling out of his chair and dropping onto my lap. He kisses me square on the mouth. I’ll never not be amazed that this beautiful creature wants to kiss me. “I love you for your mind an equal amount.”
“Uh-huh. Very convincing.”
“I do,” he protests. “You’re the whole package, Kingston James.” He squeezes me through my sweats. “I just happen to be hung up on your actual package at the moment.”
I’m not exactly mad about it. “I’d be honored if you drew me. Not sure about the erect part. You might have to help me out in that department. Fluff me up.”
“I will be the best fluffer ever,” he promises. He kisses me again and hops off my lap. “Thank you. This is going to be amazing.”
“Wait—where are you going?”
“To get dressed. Don’t we have to leave for the wedding soon?”
Shit. The wedding. I jump to my feet, jostling my coffee and spilling it on the table. I ignore the mess and pick up my phone to check the time. “Holy shit. We have to get dressed right now.” Beck and Van are getting married today. And I’m marrying them.
Toby grins. “Better get a move on.”
The sky is an almost corny robin’s egg blue dotted by cartoonishly perfect scudding fluffy clouds. A breeze stirs the bright new green leaves of the trees in Jack and Pete’s backyard. It’s the perfect day for a wedding.
I look over the assembled group and smile, forgetting to be nervous when I see everyone’s shining, happy faces gazing back at me. There are Meadow and Melissa, contrasting in black and white outfits. Beck’s parents are here—the senator and his wife, who are rather stiff-backed, but smiling—sitting next to Jack’s parents, who I’ve met several times before and who appear animated and excited. Van’s parents and sister and her crew are there, the little ones squirming but behaving. Beck’s employees at the Cookie Counter sit behind friends from the Art Center. And the Rosedale contingent is out in full force—all the nice, handsome gays Jack’s managed to talk into staying and making Rosedale even more fabulous than it already was—Charlie and Drew, Shay and Connor. And of course, Jack and Pete, standing up proudly, Pete on Van’s side, and Jack on Beck’s. Beck and Van are both wearing summer-weight suits. Beck’s is dark blue, with a light blue tie; Van’s is light blue with a dark blue tie. They complement each other in every way, including Beck’s light hair to Van’s dark. I’ve chosen my suit carefully, light gray with purple accents. It’s a small wedding party, but a meaningful one. I’ve never officiated a wedding before, but nearly everyone I see is a friend, so I don’t take long to find my voice.
Besides, the only person I care about impressing is beaming at me from the front row. Toby’s wearing the outfit I helped him pick out—gray trousers, purple trainers, as he insists on calling his sneakers, and a purple blazer over a gray T-shirt. He looks arty and hot, and the way he’s smiling at me now has my heart going all pitter-patter when I should be focusing on my task. Our interrupted morning foreplay has me aching to get him somewhere private, but that’ll keep for now. I give him a brief wink, look at my notes. The music—a selection from Vivaldi’s “Spring”—comes to a close, and I begin.
“When Donovan and Beck told me they were getting married, they also told me they wanted to do it here.” I gesture to the backyard. “This is the place where they fell in love. Two summers ago, they were both here ostensibly to take care of Cleo.” Jack and Pete’s dog barks when she hears her name and the crowd laughs. “But they were really, each in a different way, hiding out from the world for a while.” Beck and Donovan smile shyly at each other, and I can already see tears gathering in Beck’s eyes. Dammit. I need to get through this without crying myself.
I take a deep breath and keep going. “While they were hiding, they found something else—someone else. Someone who they didn’t have to hide around, someone they could be themselves with. Someone to laugh with, and cry with, and play poker with.” More laughter. Okay, maybe I can do this.
“It isn’t always easy to admit when you’ve found something special. The stakes suddenly become high, they become real. It can be scary to fall in love.” I glance at Toby, whose face is alight with so much love I nearly choke up, but somehow I manage to keep going without losing my shit. “I’m proud to say I played a small role in preventing these two from giving in to the fear and encouraging them to go after the good stuff—because what I do know, from personal experience, is it’s worth it to not let the fear of losing something good keep you from having something great.”
For a second, my soul freezes at the thought of what today would be like if I hadn’t told Toby how I feel about him—if we were attending this wedding as friends instead of lovers. It would have been okay. Good, even. But this is better. This is truly amazing.
“Anyone who knows them knows that Beck and Donovan have something great. Over the past two years, they’ve built a business, restored a home, found their own dog to take care of— yes, I’m talking about you, Molly.” Their rescue pup wags her tail where she’s chilling in the grass next to Jack. “They’ve built a life together, a life they’ll walk through together as husbands from this day on. I’m grateful to know them, I’m honored to be a part of this beautiful ceremony on this glorious day, and I know everyone here loves you two as much as I do, which means you’ve got an ocean of love behind you to set you on this path to the future. Beck and Donovan, are you ready to get married?”
Beck blows his nose on a vintage white cotton handkerchief and nods. Van, a bit red-eyed, but with a clear voice booms, “Hell yes!”
The rest of the ceremony is filled with more laughter and tears and romantic words from two people who are very much in love. I have no idea if Toby and I will be standing where Beck and Donovan are one day, but I know that right now, today, I’m the happiest man in Rosedale. Well, if we don’t count the actual grooms.
When I pronounce them husbands and invite them to kiss, the entire audience whoops and hollers, and a storm of white rose petals rains down on the kissing couple from the folks sitting in the front row. Shay clearly armed them in advance.
As music plays, a photographer whisks Beck and Donovan away for couple’s pictures while a uniformed server appears with glasses of bubbly. Toby bounds over to me with a glass in hand and wraps his arms around me. “You were incredible. There wasn’t a dry eye in the yard!”
I laugh and keep my arm around his waist while taking a grateful sip of champagne. Now that the deed is done, I feel a little shaky. “Really? Did I do right by them?”
“You killed it,” Pete says, hugging me around the neck. “And now you get to relax.”
“Whew.” I wipe imaginary sweat from my brow, only to find actual sweat there. “Damn. That was stressful.”
“You did amazing,” Jack echoes, handing me a napkin, which I use to dab my head. “I mean, our wedding was pretty awesome, but this one was exactly the same amount of awesome.”
“Not that it’s a competition, right, babe?” Pete says pointedly.
“No, of course not. This is totally different. This is a spring wedding, for one thing,” Jack says hastily.
“So, I heard from Fernanda that your show completely sold out,” Pete says to my boyfriend. “Congrats. What’s next for Toby Wheaton, hot new artist?”
Toby grimaces. “Yeah, thanks. It’s all a bit overwhelming, actually. I think I’m going to take a break.” He glances at me. “Refill the well, that sort of thing. I didn’t put up absolutely everything in my collection, so Fernanda’s going to swap some of the sold pieces out at the gallery.”
“Give the people what they want,” Pete says. “Ride this high as long as you can.”
“Good advice, thanks, man. Oh, I’m going to grab us some of those bacon date things.” Toby lopes across the yard to intercept a server with a tray of canapés.
“And how’s the Kingston James Literary Agency doing?” Jack asks.
“It’s humming along. Reed’s YA book went back for a second printing, so that’s good.”
“I devoured that book. When’s the next one coming out?”
“Patience,” I say. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready.”
“Agent speak for he hasn’t finished it yet,” Jack says.
“What about you two? I’m waiting for the next book in your contract,” I say mildly. I’m not worried about getting it, but I’m not going to pass up a chance to remind them.
“About that—” Pete starts.
“We wanted to talk to you?—”
I wasn’t worried before, but now I’m starting to sweat again.
“Should we really be talking work at a wedding?” Pete says to his husband.
“This will be quick. We’ll have this book done by summer, like I told you,” Jack says, and I internally breathe a sigh of relief. “But we want to hold off on extending the contract.”
“Why?”
Pete and Jack exchange a glance. “We’re starting the adoption process, and we want to keep our timing flexible.”
“Oh my goodness.” I grin and gather them both into a hug. “That’s so exciting. I’m so happy for you. Does this mean I’m going to be an uncle?”
“You already are an uncle,” Jack points out. “But yes. If everything works out.”
“Which it will. You guys are going to be amazing dads.”
Jack’s cheeks are stretched painfully wide with his smile. “We’re actually incredibly excited, even though it’s all paperwork and background checks and lawyers at this point.”
“You should be.” I raise my glass. “To this next, very exciting chapter.”
Pete and Jack clink their glasses to mine. Toby walks up carrying four bacon wrapped dates and offers them to us. I take one, feeling famished with the stress of performing the wedding finally behind me. The snack is chewy-salty-sweet and I watch Toby’s mouth as he eats his, wanting him with a fierceness that makes my skin feel tight. I’m so lucky I found him. What would I ever do if I lost him?
He catches my gaze with his honey one and tilts his head at me in question.
“Toby, can you, uh, help me with something inside?” I grab his elbow and steer him toward the house, ignoring the stares of Pete and Jack behind us. Who cares what they think I need help with? I’ve put up with them loving on each other for literally years. They can deal.
“What is it?” Toby asks, depositing his empty champagne flute on a table as I propel him through the French doors into the kitchen. The large space is overrun with catering crew who pay us no attention.
“I need—you,” I say, honest and raw.
He nods, as if he understands, then glances around. “Um—where?”
I think about the best place, decide on an upstairs bathroom, and drag him up the stairs. “I need this.” I find the guest bathroom and lock the door behind us.
“I did sort of leave you hanging this morning,” Toby admits.
“You did that. But that’s not it—I want you all the time.”
“Good,” is all he says, and then we’re kissing, and fumbling with our flies, and then he’s on his knees for me. The boy has been a fast study where blow jobs are concerned, and it’s not long before he’s drawing an orgasm out of me, longer and deeper and more unsettlingly good than a quick and dirty bathroom blow job should be. He swallows, and when he stands up and we kiss, I can taste myself on him.
“God, I love you.”
“Kingston, love you, need you,” he says, sounding wrecked. I’m the only one who’s gotten off here, but I eye the floor dubiously—I’m not ruining my suit pants if I can help it.
“Hang on.” I arrange a clean plush bath towel on the closed toilet lid and sit. My mouth is now the perfect height for Toby to feed me his cock, which he does enthusiastically.
“Oh fuck, yes, that’s good,” he says, pumping into me. “I need this. I need you. God, I need you Kingston, feels so good.”
The breathless dirty talk makes me wish I could get it up again, but there’s time for that later. I pull him close with my hands on his ass, and then Toby shouts and comes. I spit in the sink; we wash our hands, button our flies. Toby runs some water through his hair to make it more purposefully tousled than sex tousled, and I pat my beard with water.
“Do we look like we just had sex in a bathroom?” Toby asks as we emerge into the thankfully empty hall.
“We look like we’re in love,” I answer. He grins at me, and we hold hands as we return to the party, to our friends, radiating love, which is perfectly appropriate on this day of all days.
I know intellectually that this honeymoon period where we can’t keep our hands off each other will fade into something more routine. That he’ll get caught up in work and I’ll need to travel and there will be days, maybe weeks, where we don’t have sex. That’ll be okay, as long as I can hear his voice in my ear, see his face over breakfast, have him next to me while I fall asleep. Everything and anything will be okay as long as we’re together.
He’s my must-have.
And I’m his.