Epilogue
One Year Later
Whoever said that long-term relationships and marriage are boring, that chemistry dies and intimacy becomes increasingly dull and distant between partners as time goes by, never met Leander and Tripp.
The rust-stained sink of the strip club bathroom groans beneath Tripp’s hands as he’s forced to shift his weight forward, though not as loudly as Tripp himself does. Behind him, Leander has his fiancé bent nearly in half, legs kicked wide where he stands between them. This space is as nasty as Leander remembers it being from Beau and Bri's own pre-wedding party, but that only adds to the excitement. He and Tripp have been too spoiled for too long—they need this.
Biting down on his bottom lip, Leander doesn’t even try to stifle his own noises of appreciation as he watches himself slide easily in and out of Tripp’s ass. The soft, round cheeks bracketing his cock are still bright pink from the spanking Leander doled out before deciding to fuck him, and just for fun, he raises his hand and brings it down hard one more time.
The slapping sound his palm makes when it connects with Tripp’s skin seems to echo off of the dingy tile, and Leander’s grimy mirror reflection grins to hear Tripp’s responding whimper.
“How badly do you need to come?” Leander asks casually, still thrusting, and in fact—he pulls Tripp’s cheeks apart wide with both hands, growling in approval at both the improved view and Tripp’s quiet grunt as he fucks him deeper.
“Mmrph,” Tripp replies, and truly, he is feeding the beast tonight.
Leander’s smile widens as he releases one ass cheek so that he can reach out and jerk Tripp’s head back roughly by his hair. His submissive is sweaty and pliant, but of course, yanking his head around doesn’t get Leander the reply he’s after, because Tripp is extremely well-gagged. With his face tipped back, it can at least be confirmed that he still has the whole of Leander’s favorite blue tie stuffed inside that smart mouth. It’s ruined and he’ll miss it, but this sight is well worth the loss.
“Shame you can’t tell me,” Leander muses, pressing his hips forward to bury himself as far inside Tripp as he can possibly get. Meanwhile, he’s reaching around to finger the metal cock cage that’s still holding his sub hostage, eliciting quite the whimper when he does.
“I imagine this must be exceedingly uncomfortable for you by now. You’ve spent, what? Two and a half, three hours receiving lap dance after lap dance? To think of all that sweet friction you must’ve endured.”
Leander’s teasing but not exaggerating—after all, this is their co-bachelor party, there wasn’t a chance in hell he wouldn’t do the most to make it fantastically memorable. A repeat of the stunt he pulled the last time they were here seemed perfectly in order, although this time, Leander topped it off with something Tripp never saw coming: a lap dance from Leander himself.
And Tripp is easy—Leander knew that he wouldn’t even have to get naked to drive him out of his mind. It was easy as paying for half an hour in the Champagne room, but without the accompanying strippers. Surprisingly, not an uncommon request, according to the club’s management. Worth every penny, at any rate, just to see the look on Tripp’s face when Leander walked in and the music turned on.
While it’s true that he and Tripp have done a great number of depraved and dirty things together—most of them twice and several with an accompanying audience—for whatever reason, this was different. Leander’s never witnessed Tripp so obviously turned on as he was in that moment, and to see it was surprisingly relationship-affirming.
It made Leander feel powerful, wanted . Not that Tripp ever makes him feel otherwise, but his reaction was simply not what Leander would have expected his presence to provoke. Not when Tripp was undoubtedly expecting some hot young thing with assets his fiancé just doesn’t have on offer to walk through the door. It’s not a leap to assume that Tripp was anticipating professional, scantily-clad women, and instead, he got the guy who borrows his toothbrush—and he was psyched about it.
And Leander in his t-shirt and jeans, no less.
One wouldn’t think—except, perhaps he should . Since the day they confessed their feelings for each other, Tripp’s never made any bones about the fact that he only wants Leander. Appreciative as he might be for other form and function, whether it be porn or a particularly sexy display at the club, Tripp really does go out of his way to both show and tell Leander that he is the thing that lights his fire.
Those sentimental thoughts almost have Leander feeling guilty for torturing Tripp so badly. For lining up every dancer in the place to grind in his lap and then rounding out the party by doing the same. It makes his dick even harder than it already is— inside Tripp’s ass —to think about how they played inside that private room together. It was certainly the catalyst to dragging Tripp in here and ripping his pants off.
The way Tripp put his hands on Leander’s body as he rocked his hips with the beat, ass rolling teasingly over Tripp’s thighs. The possessiveness with which Tripp yanked Leander’s back flush against his chest, how Tripp tucked his face over Leander’s shoulder and into his neck. Most of all, the way he spread his own legs wide and invited whatever havoc he knew Leander would wreak, all the while knowing that he was wearing that unforgiving cage, and that he’d pay for it.
In the present, Leander shivers, bracing his hand on Tripp’s shoulder and finding the shirt that he’s wearing damp beneath his palm. He slows his thrusts, contemplating his next move. It’s hardly a break for Tripp—the position they’re in just causes Leander’s cock to drag more slowly over his prostate, and he whines through the gag, legs shaking a little as they struggle to continue holding him up.
It’s a delicious feeling, all of that power and control. It’s also a gorgeous sight, and one that Leander imagines he’ll think about shamelessly tomorrow, when Tripp is standing across from him at the altar, dressed like a proper gentleman in his perfectly-fitting tux.
Sliding a hand up Tripp’s neck and around his throat, Leander tightens his fingers, lightly restricting Tripp’s ability to breathe freely, especially through the gag. “Color,” he demands, and Tripp’s hand fumbles for Leander’s thigh, only to tap twice: green.
“Three to safeword,” Leander reminds him, and then wraps an arm around Tripp’s belly for leverage before hoisting him up by the neck and resuming fucking him hard and fast.
With that shift in mood, Tripp stops trying to restrain himself from making any noises. His head lolls back against Leander’s shoulder, the edge of the sink digging into his thighs. He moans and cries and chokes, all of his sounds vaguely muffled by the fabric in his mouth as Leander chases his own orgasm and comes with several rough slaps of their skin and a low, satisfied moan.
The tie is pulled swiftly free from Tripp’s mouth nearly the second Leander is done, even before he moves to recover the plug and shove it back inside Tripp’s ass. He flips Tripp around, needing to grab his bicep to steady him on his feet, dazed and messy as he is. Leander’s pretty sub is plied full of alcohol and raging hormones, and by some miracle, still so damn perfect in his willingness to please.
How on earth did he get so lucky?
Leander can’t help but wonder that as he examines Tripp’s throat, checking for marks or damage. Green eyes blink down at him slowly, squeezing shut for a protracted moment before lazily cracking open again, as Tripp’s pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. In front of him, Leander ‘accidentally’ shifts his hips forward as he stuffs himself back into his pants and does up his belt, causing his thigh to rub against Tripp’s poor, caged cock. Tripp winces.
“Tripp,” Leander says casually, almost distractedly, making a show of proceeding to check him over before continuing. “Would you like your wedding present, now?”
Clearly somewhat out of it, Tripp just raises his eyebrows and shrugs. Leander doesn’t fail to notice the way his left hand creeps repeatedly towards his crotch, being tugged surreptitiously away at the last second when Tripp’s brain catches up to his aching body’s demands. He has to be in misery.
“Just say yes,” Leander encourages gently, cupping Tripp’s jaw and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. It’s softer than anything else that’s passed between them this entire night.
“Yes, Sir,” Tripp replies weakly, slumping back against the sink. Very clearly, he is not expecting relief.
“Very well.” With a smirk, Leander reaches down to free Tripp’s cock, careful to remove the cage quickly and to give Tripp a moment to recover. He doesn’t disappoint—groaning gratuitously and nearly doubling over. Both hands go flying to his groin, but Leander is there to catch him, to thread an arm around his back and hold him up.
“Oh, God, ” Tripp cries, legs trembling and breath coming in near-gasps when Leander gets a hand around his thickening length and gently gives him the contact he’s been so desperately craving.
“Still Lee,” he says mildly, outwardly unbothered by Tripp’s absolutely ruined state. “Or Sir, to you.”
Tripp makes a noise that could possibly be an attempt to say, “Sir,” or maybe, “ fuck you,” but they’ll never know, because it’s muffled terribly against Leander’s throat. As both of his hands fist wildly into Leander’s shirt, Tripp’s mouth stays open and wet on his skin.
Leander cradles him close, can feel the way his muscles jump, unsure as to whether he wants to lean into the (over)stimulation or rip his body away. Lost to sensation, Tripp’s tongue darts out near Lee's pulse point, the heat of the air from Tripp’s lungs puffing hot over the saliva it leaves behind.
In his arms, Tripp moans , flinching but rocking his hips forward anyway when Leander gathers precum from the tip of his cock and spreads it around. He’s careful, and slowly, Tripp begins to relax, but Leander’s not an idiot—this is not going to last. No man could be expected to, not after all he’s been through tonight.
Idly, Leander considers what to do next—he’d let Tripp penetrate him, but he’s not sure the man currently possesses the strength or the stamina to stay vertical on his own right now, never mind fuck .
No, Leander made this bed and will therefore need to help Tripp lie in it, or whatever that analogy would be.
While Tripp whimpers and sways, Leander quickly shoves him backward and onto the counter next to the sink, doing so before he has the chance to fall over completely. With both hands wrapped around his lovely thighs, Leander heaves Tripp up and spreads his legs before ducking between them and taking nearly all of Tripp’s cock deep into his throat without reservation. Tripp’s scent is musky from sweating through everything Leander’s subjected him to tonight, and his taste on Leander’s tongue is thick with salt, backed with the bitter tang of his release.
Apparently unable to stop himself, Tripp nearly sobs when he’s abruptly thrust into the wet heat of his Dom’s mouth, throwing his head back and hitting the mirror with a crack, though it doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. He tightens his thighs around Leander’s head, and Leander has to fight his arms through to pin them back down, lest he be suffocated.
It would not be a terrible way to go, he thinks.
When he glances up, Tripp has an arm thrown dramatically across his face, leaving tear tracks visible at the bottom of his cheeks. His chest is heaving and his free hand is hovering just above Leander’s head, fingers flexing and releasing while he only barely resists the urge to grab, to take, to press down.
Leander pops off of him with a slurping sound, dips down to mouth at his balls and lick around the base of his cock. Satisfied with the way Tripp tenses but still doesn’t touch him, Leander purses his lips and takes just the crown in between them, sucking gently.
Above him, Tripp’s mouth drops open and his head tilts further back, and Leander’s never been sorrier that he doesn’t have a camera handy. The line of his sub’s throat, long and damp with sweat, has never looked more enticing. Tripp’s entire body shakes beneath him, and Leander refocuses, reaching up to grab Tripp’s hovering hand and plant it firmly in his hair, pushing down and sending himself with it.
“Oh, fuck yes, Sir,” Tripp yells as he’s given free rein to pull Leander’s hair and shove his face down into his crotch. It’s a reward that Tripp deserves, and Leander does his damndest to let him use it to his heart’s content. He relaxes his jaw, breathes through his nose, and allows Tripp to fuck his face enthusiastically.
This whole night has essentially been foreplay, and Tripp has been perfection, the likes of which Leander hardly believed existed in the world. Because of that, it’s no surprise when it’s barely two minutes of action before his hips are stuttering, his muscles are clenching, and there’s hot cum spilling violently down Leander’s throat.
Calmly, while Tripp hollers and cries, Leander closes his lips around the width of him, simultaneously removing Tripp’s hand from his head as he swallows and works him through the tremors. Devilishly, he also makes sure to lick the last drops of spend clean from Tripp’s slit when he’s done, flicking his tongue an extra pass around the head in the process. It’s borderline cruel, but Leander can’t be expected to resist an opportunity to torture Tripp just a little bit more, now can he?
After that, Leander relents, though he relishes the way Tripp jerks and thrashes at the mere threat of continued overstimulation. While he straightens up, Tripp doesn’t even pretend to move, just stays splayed out provocatively on the countertop, his pants dangling haphazardly from one ankle. He’s a sight: his neck is bent at a strange angle so that he can lean against the mirror, his shirt is rucked to high heaven, and he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon, sweat sheen covering every inch of visible skin.
Again, Leander laments his lack of foresight with the camera—even his iPhone is out at the table with Beau, since he hadn’t wanted to bring it into the Champagne room. Additionally, whatever happened to Tripp’s phone is anyone’s guess—Leander hasn’t seen it all night, and that’s a damn shame right about now.
“Good gift,” Tripp croaks, flashing a thumbs up that gives Leander a glimpse of the collar wrapped around his left wrist, and the ring on his finger. Suddenly, Leander’s feeling warm for an entirely different reason, and he responds by leaning forward to scoop a disheveled Tripp up and hug him tight.
“I’m very grateful for you,” he says gruffly, pulling back to find Tripp smiling dopily, staring up at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Gettin’ sappy on me, Lee?”
“No,” Leander denies, crouching down to grab the waist of Tripp’s jeans and pull them back over his free foot. “Come, let’s get you semi-presentable—I think ‘fully’ may be a lost cause at this point, but needs must.”
“You should talk,” Tripp snorts, pointing to Leander’s hair.
With a start, Leander glances up and into the mirror, which he’s mostly ignored until now, and oh. He looks nearly as bad as if he’d been intentionally styled to appear like he stuck a fork into a light socket. Abandoning Tripp to sort out his own pants, Leander scowls and runs the water in the sink, sticking his head underneath the tap until the top of his head is properly soaked. His hair is next-level unruly, but even it can’t survive a drowning.
Once he’s satisfied, Leander flips his head back sharply. The movement causes water to spray everywhere, including over Tripp. He yelps, flinches, and glares, but then seems to realize that the cool liquid feels good, and promptly hops off the counter to do the same with the tap. Leander pretends that he doesn’t notice the way Tripp wobbles on his feet, still unsteady. It is, after all, the night before their wedding—he can give Tripp a break, just this once.
Freshly rinsed and (sort-of) coiffed, the two of them face each other, straightening out clothing and brushing away imaginary dirt and dust until they both look as presentable as they’re going to get.
“What would you like to do now?” Leander asks, figuring he’ll leave it up to Tripp whether they rejoin the party or sneak off to return home and fall into bed together. To sleep, this time. They do need to get some . It’s late, and perhaps Leander should be more worried about that than he is, but they only get to do this once. That, plus their ceremony is scheduled for the evening—really, they should have plenty of time to rest and recover, even if they do continue partying for a while longer.
“Oh, ho,” Tripp says triumphantly, like he knows something Leander doesn’t. “Suppose you forgot, too busy making my night hell to remember your promises.” He grins at Leander and waits, while Leander frowns and wracks his brain for whatever he’s missing.
“I— oh, the shots.”
“Yep!” Tripp declares happily.
“I completely forgot,” Leander admits honestly. When they planned this night over three months prior, Tripp insisted on betting that Leander couldn’t— wouldn’t —make it through the night without succumbing to fucking Tripp in the strip club bathroom. The prize? Body shots, which Leander would absolutely not give Tripp the satisfaction of doing (in public) before.
Man enough to admit when he’s been bested, Leander sighs and gestures for Tripp to head back out there. A man of his word, he’s already preparing to pay up by untucking his just-fixed shirt once again.
“Fuck yes,” Tripp hisses, pumping his fist and near-skipping out the bathroom door. Truly, Leander does not see the appeal of forcing the person you love to lie down on top of a sticky, gross bar so one can suck liquor from their various crevices. But a bet is a bet, and just between him and the moon, Leander wouldn’t have done anything differently, had he remembered. He will maintain that it’s stupid, though—they could just as easily go home, where Tripp could lick whatever parts of Leander he wishes to his heart’s content.
Loving someone apparently means sacrifice, so Leander follows his far too giddy fiancé across the room, climbing up onto the bar without so much as having to be told. Beau and Marley are already there, refreshing drinks for the table, and Leander doesn’t miss the way Beau wrinkles his nose when he sees the state (and maybe the smell) of both of them.
“I need to be way drunker for this,” Beau mutters, signaling the bartender for an extra shot before high-tailing it back to their table.
“You gonna judge me too?” Tripp asks Marley, shooting her an epic serving of faux-grumpy side-eye as Leander obediently lies down and rucks up his shirt.
“Hell, no!” Marley exclaims. “I’m here to aggressively cheer all public displays of ‘that gay shit’ on. Also, I got next with Lee! The body shots, not the—”
“You most certainly do not,” Leander replies flatly, shifting uncomfortably against the bartop before hollowing out his stomach in preparation for being a living cup. Stupid. “My hair is adhering to this surface. If I’m bald in our wedding photos, you cannot complain.”
Down near his knees, Marley laughs so hard she snorts, choking on the sip of Coke she was attempting to swallow as the bartender appears on Leander’s other side. In his hand, a tequila bottle is poised for action.
“We’ll just make sure they shoot you front-facing,” Tripp quips amiably, shaking some salt onto the bottom of Leander’s rib cage and shoving a slice of lime pulp-side out into his mouth before he can protest.
“Mmph,” Leander retorts.
“Now you sound like me,” Tripp says quietly, tossing Leander a wink before dipping down and licking the salt in a stripe off of his chest. He follows quickly by lowering his lips to Leander’s stomach and slurping out the liquor, taking the time to swirl his tongue around in a way that Leander is almost able to appreciate—give him another ten minutes. He hopes Tripp will be ready to head out of here by then, anyway.
When he’s finished consuming the shot, Tripp leans up and pulls the lime slice from between Leander’s lips with his own mouth, sucking the juice out noisily before letting the rind drop to the floor.
Across the bar, the bartender sighs and rolls his eyes, but Leander barely notices because Tripp’s slipping a hand behind his head, pulling him close and kissing him with both fire and tenderness. His mouth burns with alcohol and acid, and Leander’s a sucker for the way those things taste on Tripp. Unable to stop himself, Leander exhales his own little sigh and leans into the sweet display of affection, regretful when Tripp pulls away. His expression is soft when he does, though, and Leander just smiles dumbly up at him, truly in awe.
“Damn,” Marley says, followed by a whistle. “Maybe I’m only ninety-nine percent gay, not one hundred and ten like I thought. That was dreamy. ”
“Hmm,” Leander murmurs happily, still gazing dazedly up at Tripp and cupping his face.
“Get off my bar,” the bartender snaps. Leander quickly hops down.
Thankfully, his previous prayers are answered and Tripp does want to head out after that. Their whole entourage ends up leaving with them, which means that Leander and Tripp finally get to utilize the party bus they paid for, unlike the last time. The ride to drop everyone off at their various stops is fun at first, full of music and dancing (and more drinking). Bri and Autumn are a wild mess, continually trying to make out with each other, which Beau can’t seem to decide if he wants to stop or encourage.
After several failed attempts to either separate the girls or insert himself in the middle, Beau ends up washing his hands of it completely and falls into a rather serious-looking conversation with Tripp near the front of the bus.
That leaves Leander stuck sitting in the back, wedged between two people he never thought he’d successfully wrangle into the same room together, never mind onto a party bus leaving a strip joint.
His brothers.
As the bus jostles them lightly around, Leander feels emotionally torn between seizing the moment to talk things out, and hoping desperately that one of his and Tripp’s work friends picks that very moment to start vomiting violently. As a paramedic, it would be his sworn duty to tend to them and to not continue forcing uncomfortable small talk.
No such luck. Theo and Mac both look like they could go ten more rounds with a bottle of Jack, and Ro—well, Ro was always going to drink them all under the table.
At least Chloe had the decency to decline the courtesy invite to the club—she’s an adult, of course, but as her uncle, Leander can’t help the fact that he still sees the tiny, curly-haired little girl he helped raise every time he looks her way. He’s grateful she didn’t make him cope with that at his own bachelor party.
Although —there is another possibility. Chloe pretty much lives to seize opportunities to make him uncomfortable, so in retrospect, he thinks it’s likely that her absence has more to do with the person currently sitting to his left. And perhaps, even, the one to his right.
“Great party, LeeLee!” Loki declares, slapping Leander’s shoulder casually with the arm he has draped around his back. “That guy really loosened you up, made you way more fun than I remember. Hell, I might’ve come back years ago if I’d known you had strip club potential. You too, Law-Man,” Loki adds, leaning over Leander’s lap so that he can poke Lawrence in the ribs, the lollipop stick he has hanging haphazardly from his mouth nearly taking out Leander’s eye.
“Yeah, well, I’m here for Lee,” Lawrence mumbles.
Despite himself, Leander eyes his twin with concern. The guy is wearing his Reverend’s collar and is almost completely sober. Still, he doesn’t look entirely miserable, which is better than anyone might have expected in these circumstances. He reaches out to squeeze his twin’s hand, hoping to convey his thanks.
“It wasn’t too terrible?” he asks quietly. Lawrence glances over at him and smiles.
“Nah,” he replies. “Everyone was very…welcoming. Friendly. And the dancers were very respectful.”
Loki snorts and leans back against the leather seat, crossing one leg over the other by manspreading and setting his right calf obnoxiously on his left knee. “I take it back. You have not changed one damn bit, brother.”
“It’s not like I can’t say the same about you,” Lawrence retorts, but there’s really no heat in his words. He slouches against Leander’s side, but his expression isn’t as hard as it might be, so Leander retains the hope that they’ll all get through this relatively unscathed. Perhaps, if they can collectively manage to even temporarily stow their bullshit, they’ll emerge better than they were going in.
God knows, Leander and Lawrence have been holding each other at arm’s length for years now, and Loki—Loki’s just been gone. It’s clear that they all want to leave their tumultuous upbringing and the uncertainty of early adulthood in their past, but they’re grown now. There’s no reason they can’t have a future together, one where they simply accept each other for who they are and meet each other where they’re at.
A happy ending , Leander thinks wistfully, as the siblings across the way catch his attention and manage to hold it. The original Truetts are sitting on the bus’ long bench seat, turned and tilted towards each other as they converse, the world around them seemingly forgotten. Now that’s an aspirational bond between brothers.
After all, Beau and Tripp had far worse experiences growing up than any of the Grigoris—and they’re as close as family can be. They carry their abusive father’s name, a burden Leander can only partially understand, but they’re unbothered by it. Leander finds that he admires their resilience even more now, wants to study how they’ve managed it, to learn and steal their secrets for himself.
For now, he’ll just have to be grateful for what he has, which is as new a start as his blood family is ever going to get.
“Thank you both for being here,” he says softly, reaching out to put a hand on each of his brothers’ laps. He’s never bothered to be vulnerable with either of them before, but if he’s going to be taking his cues from Tripp, this seems like a good first step. “It means…it means a lot to me to have you both here, to have your support. I—I’ve been guilty of focusing on the wrong things, in the past. The money, I know that’s a point of—of contention—”
Leander’s cut off by Loki’s snorting again and squeezing his shoulder, but his voice when he speaks is uncharacteristically soft. “Not like you had any kind of role model to teach you priorities,” he says. On Leander’s other side, Lawrence nods in agreement, and those two being on the same page is enough to render Leander speechless.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Lawrence chimes in. “I think we all have. The money is…” He shakes his head. “Well, I think we all know it’s there if we need it.”
“I’ll never touch it,” Loki declares. “Screw dear old Mommy and Popsicle, and all they never did for us.” He raises his glass and nudges Leander until he picks up his half-empty bottle of beer and begrudgingly does the same. To his surprise, Lawrence joins in, though his glass is definitely filled with seltzer, maybe a twist of lime if he’s feeling wild.
“Screw ‘em,” Lawrence declares solemnly, clinking his glass to Leander’s forcefully enough that it hits Loki’s, too. “To us,” he adds. “To Lee.”
“To Lee,” Loki echoes enthusiastically. “And to that smokin’ hot piece of ass he’s somehow managed to brainwash into marrying him.” Loki wiggles his eyebrows and laughs before tipping most of his drink into his mouth. Leander shakes his head, but he can’t stop smiling.
On the other side of the bus, Tripp looks up in time to catch his eye and wink, raising his hand almost shyly in a wave, which Leander returns.
“You two are disgusting,” Lawrence comments. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Yes,” Leander replies agreeably, glancing around to take in his drunken family and friends, truly beginning to absorb how lucky he really is. Would any of this be possible, would any of it be his if it weren’t for Tripp? Leander’s not a dramatic man, but he can’t imagine that would be the case.
Being Tripp’s best friend was always quite wonderful—skirting the edges of being included in his family was bliss.
But this? This is real, and not only that, it’s really his. Not something peripherally shared with him out of pity but to which he doesn’t actually belong. This is his husband, his siblings—Beau and Bri included—his family, both blood and chosen, brought together finally in a way that Leander badly hopes will stay.
They’ll work on it, he’ll work on it. God knows, Tripp’s shown him how, shown him why it matters so much that they try.
Feeling overwhelmed with love and appreciation for Tripp, Leander touches his fingers to his lips and mimes blowing him a small kiss. In response, Tripp looks as if his smile might break his face in half.
“ Disgusting,” Lawrence reiterates, with feeling.
Yes, Leander believes they’re all going to be just fine.
***
Lawrence’s church is modest, an incredibly old building with very little funding and not as much community support as it deserves, considering how accepting they are of anyone who wishes to attend. Despite that, Leander’s never made himself a home here, never quite been able to reconcile the God Lawrence believes in with the state of the world and how badly so many “Christians” treat both others and each other.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to believe, Leander just can’t help feeling that God—if there really is one—left them all behind a long time ago, and that people like Lawrence are just talking to the empty sky.
The church itself is very pretty, though, with tall, elaborate stained glass windows that spill multi-colored light onto the worn pews, even in the early evening. There’s also the fact that it means something to Lawrence to be able to marry his brother here, which Leander can’t argue with.
Tripp could not care less either way—his exact words were, “that means it’s free, right?”
So here they are.
Ceremony-wise, this wedding is nothing like Beau and Briana’s ultra-traditional affair. Technically, they both have groomsmen and bridesmaids, but none of them are walking down the aisle. They’re all already seated in the first two rows of pews facing the altar, and there are plenty of other people behind them who are just as important to both Tripp and Lee. Found family, friends, even co-workers they share.
This is one big family, coming together officially—but a family that already exists, nonetheless. There have never been “sides,” and they’re certainly not going to create any now.
The two doors that swing wide to the sanctuary are currently closed, leaving Tripp and Lee alone in the little foyer, awaiting their walking music to start. Since Mickey and Reina are the closest thing to parents either groom has anymore, the engaged duo also made the decision to forgo being escorted down the aisle (and subsequently, anyone waiting at the end). While both Mickey and Reina would have been more than happy to walk with either of them—one at a time, together, or whatever other mash-up they chose—even that touch of formality felt silly and ill-fitting to the vibe they were looking for today.
This, this hand-in-hand, “tackling it together” thing? This makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is how Leander feels, standing here, waiting.
Truthfully, had someone been willing to take the bet, Leander would have put money on Tripp being the nervous one. Whenever he pictured this moment, it was with Tripp jittering out of his skin and Leander stepping briefly into Dom-mode to calm him back down.
But that isn’t the case.
Beside him, Tripp is the very picture of strength and calm. He’s been wearing the same serene, happy smile nearly constantly since they woke up this morning, and nothing seems to faze him in the least. Dressed in his perfectly-fitting tux with his hair neatly coiffed, he stands quietly with Leander’s hand clutched firmly in his own, just waiting, patient as can be.
Leander can hardly believe his own eyes. Tripp’s foot doesn’t tap, his fingers don’t pick, his teeth don’t chew at his cheek and worry his bottom lip. Even with his collar around his wrist—tucked safely beneath his dress shirt—he’s entirely un -Tripp-like, and Leander isn’t entirely certain that he shouldn’t be offended.
After all, he’s a nervous damn wreck. So much so, that it’s a wonder his palm doesn’t slide right out of Tripp’s from all the sweat.
Very sexy, very not repulsive. Exactly what you want from your fiancé on your wedding day.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Tripp murmurs.
“How can I?” Leander huffs, yanking his hand away and folding his arms across his chest. The fabric of his tux jacket doesn’t stretch very well, and standing this way is disagreeable. Still, Leander persists, because not only is he irritated, but he has a point to make to his irrationally calm almost-husband. “This is only one of the biggest moments in our entire lives. You were more nervous the day we picked out pie flavors for the reception!”
“Yeah, well, pie is life, Lee.”
With a snort, Leander turns away, wondering what the hell is up with the delay in their music. The sooner they can get this over with, the sooner Leander can take Tripp into a closet and ensure that he leaves uncomfortable enough to avoid sitting for the remainder of the evening. Serves him right for being so damn cavalier.
Alright, that’s probably not the attitude he should be going into this with, but— oh.
A sudden, incredibly distressing realization brings Leander up short, and he’s glad that he’s facing the wall so that Tripp can’t see his face. Fuck. Oh, fuck. As his breath quickens and his heart speeds up in his chest, Leander is forced to deal with the increasingly unavoidable awareness that he is the Tripp in this situation, today.
He hates it.
For all the time he’s spent reassuring Tripp that anxiety and vulnerability are not weaknesses, that there is no shame in needing external support and an outlet, Leander has always prided himself on his ability to keep his shit together. On the way his cool head effortlessly prevails in a crisis, and how he never allows his emotions to rule his behavior, no matter how intense they might be or how tempting it may feel to lash out.
And yet, here he is, on their wedding day, not only doing that very thing but failing to even recognize it.
An apology is on the tip of his tongue when Leander turns back around, but Tripp is right there, smiling that goofy, calm smile and stepping into Leander’s space like he’s entirely sure of his welcome. Despite his knee-jerk desire to grumble and pull away, to lean into the discomfort he feels, Leander knows—rationally, anyway — that this is fear talking, and that the only way out is through.
So when Tripp cups his face, leans in and presses soft, comforting lips to his, Leander allows himself to relax into him.
“You’re being stupid,” Tripp says, right against his mouth, and Leander doesn’t argue.
“The question is, why are you not being stupid?” he retorts. “I’m appropriately anxious to the situation and you—”
“ — Have wanted to marry you for way longer than I let on,” Tripp admits easily, sliding an arm around Leander’s waist and pulling him in close, swaying them both gently back and forth. “Sorry, Lee,” he adds with a little laugh and a shrug before trailing more kisses over Leander’s jaw. “I ain’t scared at all about tying myself to you. You know, all of my worst nightmares, back when we were running circles around each other? Every single one of them was about losing you. About what I’d have left when you were gone, when you decided it was time to move on.”
“You never told me,” Leander says softly, moving his grip on Tripp from his hips to his back and holding on tight. He drops his face to Tripp’s shoulder and lets himself continue to be swayed.
Tripp hums thoughtfully in his ear. “Yeah, well, telling you now.” He pauses, taking a deep breath that Leander can feel against his own chest.
“I’m not scared,” Tripp repeats. “Because I know that you love me. I know we’re going to continue building an awesome life together. Why the hell would I be scared? And on that note, I ain’t worried about your nerves, either. You do whatever you need to do, feel your wrong fucking feelings, rock out with whatever silly shit you’re gonna do. Just…walk down that aisle with me anyway, okay? Fucking come home with me tonight and let me—let me keep loving you, Lee. Alright?”
Tucked up against Tripp’s shoulder, Leander blinks back tears, even as a little laugh escapes his mouth. “Of course, Tripp,” he says softly. “There was never any question of that.”
“I know,” Tripp replies, roughly pressing another kiss to the top of his head and clearing his throat. “Yeah, I know.”
Just beyond their private little space, the music starts, and to Leander’s surprise, he actually feels a lot better. Tripp pulls back, holding him at arm’s length by both shoulders and eyeing him with concern.
“You good?” he asks, before gesturing to the closed door. “‘Cause I can—”
“I’m good,” Leander assures him, to Tripp’s obvious relief. He offers his hand again, and Tripp takes it, his smile even wider than before.
Their ceremony feels anticlimactic, after that. Of course, they go through the motions, exchanging their engagement rings as wedding bands after Lawrence bestows the blessing. It’s lovely, but as far as Leander’s concerned, Tripp was right, in more ways than one. They’re already as married as it gets, there’s nothing to be nervous about here.
Additionally, the things Tripp told him before they walked down the aisle, well—those are vows if Leander’s ever heard any.
Tripp, apparently, feels the same.
When it comes time to exchange their official ones, as Leander stands by, Tripp reaches into his breast pocket and extracts a folded piece of paper with lots of messy, scratched out handwriting scrawled across it. He stares down at whatever’s written there for a moment, hesitates, and then crumples the paper up, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder.
Leander cocks his head to the side in question, but when Tripp meets his gaze, he smiles and holds out both hands, which Leander gladly takes. When he speaks, Leander understands immediately.
“Lee, thank you for loving me,” is all Tripp says, and all he needs to say.
Leander smiles widely. “Thank you for showing me how.”
When they don’t say anything else, a confused Lawrence eventually pronounces them married to a chorus of slightly-delayed cheers and clapping, but Leander is too busy kissing Tripp to pay anyone else any mind.
***
At the end of the night, after cake, pie, a lot of dancing both slow and wild, plus the removal of a garter from Echo’s leg by Chloe—who won the right fair and square by jumping off of a chair and nearly onto Mac's head to catch it—that has both Leander and Lawrence wishing for eye bleach, the reception winds to its natural end. As Leander waits for Tripp to return from tipping their vendors, he scans the room and takes stock of their remaining guests.
Interestingly enough, Loki and Autumn seem to have struck up a familiarity that suggests neither will be ending the night alone. Leander vaguely considers warning his brother, but as well as he knows Loki, he’s sure that he can hold his own. Anyway, if he’s secretly hoping that an entanglement with Autumn might draw his nomadic family member closer to home, Leander can hardly be blamed for that.
Happy endings all around, he thinks, and then shudders at the accidental double entendre he’d be very pleased to never contemplate again where his family is concerned. Thankfully, Tripp picks that moment to appear out of nowhere and provide much-needed distraction, relaying that they’re in the clear to start heading out.
There are so many people to hug before either of them are allowed to leave their own wedding reception. That’s something Leander didn’t plan for, but he’s not sorry about it, either. Every person he embraces and thanks is a reminder of how lucky he is, how wide his roots really spread.
From Mickey, Reina, and Ro, to Beau and Bri—and Bri's barely-showing baby bump—to Zosia and Darla, Marley and Autumn, both of his brothers and his niece, and all of his and Tripp’s many co-workers, everyone is lining the way out, waiting to wish them well.
Just outside the reception hall, Theo has Engine 15 parked and blocking the road with its emergency lights flashing. The exterior of the truck is decked out with string lights and crepe paper, among other shiny bells and baubles, plus a giant sign strung across the back that’s sporting cartoon flames and proclaims, “Just Married!”
The station is right down the street, and the truck will carry them there. Tripp’s car is packed and waiting, ready to whisk them away to a cabin in the mountains for a secluded, romantic honeymoon.
The two of them exit the building to a shower of rice and drunken hollering, and Leander’s never been so damn happy. With arms wrapped around each other’s waists, he and Tripp make a run for it underneath the spray, laughing and ducking their heads, lest they end up with rice in their eyes. Tripp climbs onto the back of the engine first and then holds out his hand, dragging Leander up with him and wrapping an arm around his back, presumably to keep him safe when they start to move.
As the truck pulls away, their family and friends wave and cheer, and Theo blasts the siren. It’s all somewhat cheesy for Leander’s tastes, but the way Tripp looks with rice in his messy hair and color in his cheeks, wearing the biggest smile he has in his arsenal plastered across his face, Leander wouldn’t trade this memory for anything.
They hold onto each other as the truck picks up speed and the crowd gets smaller and smaller in their wake.
“So,” Tripp says, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the engine revving. “What’s next?”
Leander thinks for a moment, and then grins. “What’s your safeword, Mr. Truett?”
Tripp looks surprised, but quickly recovers. “Halligan, Mr. Truett, Sir.”
God, that sounds good in Tripp’s mouth. “And…are you using it?”
“Hell no, Sir!”
Onward.