Epilogue
VERY GOOD AUGUST
It’s been six months since we saved the multiverse, and we’re back at Koko to celebrate Jon’s first big London show.
Only a few days after we returned, he dissolved Non Jovi to strike out with his own music.
It took a bit of convincing the other guys in the band, but it turns out he’d been writing his own songs for a long time.
And they’re good. Really good. He just hadn’t had the confidence to show anyone.
Now, with the band’s old connections, they’re going from strength to strength.
I’ve just been to the merch stand and bought the perfect thing. Admiring it in the bathroom mirror, I might be flexing a little. But I’ve been working on my arms, and the tank cut shows them off to perfection. And the midriff… Ugh, I hope August likes it.
But as I make my way out of the bathroom, beneath the red glow of lights, I’m perfectly confident that he will. I’m always confident in us. He’s never let me wake up one morning without telling me he loves me, that I’m gorgeous, and that it’s all worth it.
Of course, it hasn’t always been easy.
When I told Mrs Huang my identical brother was coming to London, she said he could stay with me. That she wouldn’t even charge any extra rent. But August still had to wrangle a job, one he found working part time in the cafe with Kelly. We’ve been doing okay, saving what we can. Until today.
A few months back, August forged a very impressive looking certificate from Manchester University.
For the degree he really did earn in his own world.
He tweaked his resume to reflect the state of this world’s research about quantum physics and threw in some made-up experience at CERN.
And this week, he signed the contract for his new position at University College, London, as lecturer in experimental particle physics.
I couldn’t be more proud of him. He’s going to change the world for the better. Make us part of that intergalactic conglomeration of advanced realities. He’s going to be brilliant, like he was born to be.
But that and Jon’s band aren’t the only things we’re celebrating tonight. As soon as he signed on the dotted line, he took me across town to that little shop space I’ve been fixating on. He arranged an inspection the second he got the news. And just like that, he insisted we sign the lease today.
I now have a dojo all of my own. Or a place for one. We’re getting started on the refurbishment next week.
It’s all too much happiness all at once, one thing after another falling into place, like some grand cosmic symphony. Perfect.
And all of it only outdone by the look on his face when I find him near the front of the crowd, and he clocks me in my new shirt.
I will never get tired of seeing that. He loves me. Adores me. Makes me feel like a million dollars. Like all boyfriends should.
“Sex Accelerator?” he exclaims.
“Do you love it?”
He holds out my arms, admiring my tiny new shirt, and all of me along with it. Then he wrenches me in, kisses my neck, and whispers, “How am I supposed to make it through this whole show with you dressed like that?”
“I guess you’ll have to rail me in the bathroom afterwards.”
He yanks at my belt, and genuinely, he’s about to drag me off there, when we almost walk straight into Amber and Shashi. “Watch out! We have all the beers.”
August’s brow furrows gorgeously, but he’s too polite to turn them down, as much as it clearly pains him.
I love him for that as well.
We take the drinks and settle into our places for the show, August’s eyes rarely leaving me and my new shirt.
Shashi and Amber are doing great. Still splitting their time between Cambridge and London, but since they got engaged, which they did as soon as we made it home, they’ve been looking for a place to buy together.
Until then, I don’t think the hour-and-a-half commute’s going to slow them down at all.
Not when you have something like they have.
The lights flash bright white on the stage, and everyone starts to scream. Richie’s out first, or Travis, as he goes by now. The others follow him, as tight a unit as there ever was. They haven’t lost any of the glamour from their Non Jovi days. They’re still all hair and leather and swagger.
The first notes strike new energy into the audience, then a splash of beer leaps onto my shirt when Assassin August bumps my arm, breathing hard. “I made it! I’m here! Watch!”
He wraps an excited hand around my arm and stares, absolutely star-struck, at the untenanted mic, even though he was just backstage three seconds ago.
The music swells, Jon stalks out, and the crowd loses it. Assassin August especially. He’s a mess. It’s ridiculous. It’s sweet. It’s something I never thought I’d see.
“We’re Sex Accelerator,” Jon announces. “And this one’s for August.” They burst straight into their biggest song, ‘Cosmic Lover.’
“He dedicated it to me! Did you hear that?” And Assassin August’s gone, mentally, ready for a solid hour of worshipping the boyfriend who worships him right back. Half of Jon’s songs are about him. Last I heard, he’s working on a ‘rock space-opera concept piece,’ and I think it will do great.
I’m still not sure Jon is a one-man kind of guy, or that Assassin August is. The only thing I do know is that neither of them seem to have time for anything but each other and the band, now that Jon’s writing so much. And I couldn’t be happier for them.
Life is gorgeous. I’ve no less respect for its delicate tenacity now than I had when we came back. Every day feels like a miracle, one I get to spend with my best friend, my lover, myself.
The show’s incredible—a complete success. There’s an after-party at a bar across town, but… August’s got his eyes on me in a way that’s got me making our apologies. A way that’s definitely making the shirt worth the price.
We’re barely out the door and his lips are on my neck, fingers digging into my back. It’s summer now, and the warm air means I can wear this all the way home.
We could get the Tube, but it’s far too nice out. And not a long walk.
Not too long, anyway.
Not with August.
Not with his hand sliding into my back pocket, his hip bumping mine with each step, and him telling me, “You’re gorgeous. You look so good in that shirt. You can keep it on. Will you keep it on?”
By the time we get to our front door, he’s falling apart. The second we walk in, he pins me against it and wraps his hand around my already-hard dick. “You are such a tease.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you, August Blackthorne.” He tears at my studded belt even as he kisses me, fisting my dick. “Hottest man in existence. Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me.” He rips my jeans open.
“So, you like the shirt, then?”
“I like everything about you.”
August’s been working out with me for months now, but even I’m shocked by his strength when he wraps two hands around my thighs and lifts me. He kisses me as he carries me all the way into the bedroom, throws me down, then tosses the sex box onto the bed, spilling the lot out.
Lube, sounding rods, condoms, the loot goes rolling onto the floor. August ignores most of it, stopping just long enough to snatch up the shining handcuffs.
My squeal of unbridled joy is about as undignified as an elephant in an antique shop, but I give zero fucks. He snaps them on so fast I couldn’t take the shirt off if I wanted to. Not that I want to. In fact, I think I’ll wear it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. I’m going to buy ten.
August’s clothes are on the floor, and before I can even tell him how hot he’s looking, he’s got my dick in his mouth, and I’m ripping at the cuffs, biting my lip to try to stop myself screaming. It’s as futile as it ever was.
He does everything. He fucks my mouth so deep there are tears streaming down my face, and I beg him for more.
He eats my ass like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have.
He takes my dick down his throat with four fingers up my ass, so I’m choking on his name, begging for him.
And it’s all just another night in this perfect life we’ve carved out for ourselves.
It’s never become less intense. It’s never stopped being amazing. I hate to overstate it, but we have the best sex life a man could dream of. I think we would even if not for that magic.
But right around the time he rolls me onto my side, grabs hold of my thigh in his bruising grip and slams into me, everything begins to glow.
Red, purple, green, all the colours of life and the multiverse, turning my reality inside out.
Sharp and drowning thrusts of pleasure that consume us both, melding us, tearing us apart and rebuilding us, atom by atom, stronger than ever.
He leans over and kisses me, takes my dick in hand and destroys me. Destroys the both of us. Tears us all down, and leaves us a spent puddle, cuddling together in my warm bed, in my warm apartment that I don’t think we’ll ever leave. We’ve been far too happy here.
He nestles down against me with an, “I love you, Slayer.”
“Sex Accelerator,” I correct him.
“I love you, Sex Accelerator.” And I’m perfectly content. So content, I let him rest there, cheek against cheek, his thighs pressed into the back of mine, a spoon that couldn’t fit more perfectly.
But right about the time a tentacle pokes through the glowing rift we just opened, I have to give him a shove. “August? Could you get that?”
“Oh, shit. Sorry!” He dives off the bed, fumbles the Blackthorne Particle Accelerator? out of his discarded jeans, and with the click of a button, closes the interdimensional portal.
“I swear, one of these days, you’re going to let something through.”
“It’s alright. I’m working on a system.” And he’s right back in his place. With the slip of a key, the handcuffs loosen, then I settle down on my pillow while he nuzzles into the back of my neck.
“So long as nothing changes. I want to stay like this forever.”
“I’m going to make that happen, August. We’re never parting again.”
I don’t doubt him for a second. If anyone can do it, it’s him. August Blackthorne’s a genius, in every iteration.
A smart, sexy, kind, beautiful, occasionally confused, often ridiculous, sometimes stupid, utterly relentless, completely brilliant genius.
And he’s exactly my kind of chaos.
The End