Chapter Twenty-One
Eric
T his past week, my brain has been filled with basically two things.
The first is all the blowjobs Donovan and I have been giving each other.
We have each other’s dicks in our mouths every day.
I’m getting better already, and I really love sucking him off.
I love the feel of his eyes on me, his hand in my hair, and to hear Donovan tell me what he likes, what feels good.
I’m still surprised I like being guided along like that. It’s an unfamiliar rush, and I’m still not convinced it’s not just a Donovan thing.
All Donovan things are better than everything else.
What’s the second thing I can’t stop thinking about, you ask? Running my own business.
It’s all Donovan’s fault. Clearly, the thought has popped up in my head before, but I’ve always dismissed it, not spent too much time fooling myself into thinking it’s even a possibility, but then he had to go and believe in me so much.
He had to tell me all the reasons he thinks I’d be good at it, and he’s so fucking earnest and sweet that it’s impossible not to believe every word that comes out of his mouth.
He literally could tell me I’m Superman, and I’d probably believe it.
Fly? Fuck yes, I can do that.
Save the world? And I’d still be home to make sure Donovan has dinner after work and a blowjob before bed.
If he thinks I can do it, I absolutely can, and I really hope he’s right because now I’m excited. Now I want it in a way I never let myself want it before.
From the research I’ve done, it looks like I need four years’ experience, which I got, and I’ll need to pass the licensing test. At first my head nearly exploded when I realized I had to have a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bond, before the internet informed me that didn’t mean I had to actually have twenty-five thousand dollars lying around.
I really want to do this, but part of me is afraid to hope.
It’s a Saturday morning, and Donovan is in bed naked beside me, while I lie here mentally making plans about a business I don’t even have yet.
I snuggle close, making D the little spoon, and kiss the back of his neck. “Wake up, husband. I’m bored.”
I feel him smile even though I can’t see him. “You’re always bored.”
“What do you want to do? You’re off today.”
He rolls to his back, and I wrap my fingers around his hard cock.
“I like what we’re doing right now.” Donovan grins, and I wonder if being married is so much fun for everyone.
“I think everyone should just marry their best friend,” my rambling thoughts fall out.
“Huh?”
“Everything, even waking up, is always so much fun for us. I think everyone should just marry their best friend. I bet the divorce rates would go down.”
“We’ll be getting divorced eventually,” he reminds me.
I frown. That’s probably not something I should forget, is it?
This marriage isn’t real. Scratch that. It is real, just not for the normal marriage reasons.
It feels like it was for the best marriage reasons, though—caring about each other and supporting each other.
My head is a confusing place lately, even more so than usual.
“Oh yeah. I forgot. I still think marrying your best friend is the way to go. Now, what do you want to do today?”
“Farmers’ market?” he asks as I slowly stroke his shaft.
Excitement blooms in my chest. “Yes! Let’s do that! We can get breakfast there.” I climb over him rather than getting out on my side and hobble on my annoying boot toward the bathroom.
“Wait! You’re gonna leave me hanging like this?” he calls after me.
“No time for orgasms, husband. I’m hungry! I’ll blow you later.” It’s fucking amazing how fun it is to give a blowie. I wish I’d started doing it much earlier.
Donovan laughs. He takes his PrEP and fiber like he does first thing every morning, but skips his stretching and comes into the bathroom with me.
We each take a piss, wash our hands, and brush our teeth, then jump in the shower.
We end up with wandering hands, and do, in fact, find time to jerk each other off before we’re dressed and in Donovan’s car, heading to Third and Fairfax for the Original Farmers Market.
They have any and everything you could want—fresh produce, meat markets, restaurants.
There’s traffic because we live in LA, which means there’s always traffic, but the ride still feels quick because the company is good.
“I’ll drop you off out front, then find a place to park,” Donovan tells me.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I want to. I don’t want you walking any more than you have to. Not much longer until you’ll hopefully get that thing off, and you don’t want to risk reinjuring it.”
I smile. I don’t really need Donovan to do that for me, but I like that it’s important to him, that he wants to take care of me because he loves me and that’s the kind of thing you do for people.
“Okay,” I agree, and he does as he said.
It takes him an eternity to find parking and walk back to me, and as dumb as it sounds, I miss him while he’s gone.
I love spending time with Donovan and want to soak up as much of it as I can.
“Come on, slow poke.” I take his hand and pull him toward the crowded entry.
We find food first—my stomach might eat itself otherwise—and then I’m dragging him around to all the booths. Donovan is smiling the whole time, so clearly, he’s having as much fun as I am.
We get fresh fruit and vegetables, then grab steaks to grill tonight. It’s not until we’ve been here for about two hours that I realize I’m still holding Donovan’s hand, that I’ve been holding his hand the whole time.
“Hey, this is new,” I say, holding up our arms. “Is it okay with you?”
“It’s okay with me. Is it okay with you?”
“Yes, I would think so, considering I’m the one who did it.” I nudge him.
“Brat,” he teases, then more seriously, adds, “God, I wish I lived inside that head of yours sometimes.”
“I’m an open book. You can ask me anything.” What could I ever possibly want to keep from him? “But then, I guess I rarely know what I’m doing.”
“Not in a bad way.” His hand tightens around mine. “You’re just all heart and so easygoing. Things that might mean something to other people, like holding hands, are just part of that big, squishy personality of yours.”
I cock a brow. “Is that a good thing?”
“The best. You just are who you are. You’re the guy who holds his gay best friend’s hand at the farmers’ market and likes to cook him meals and snuggle on the couch simply because this friendship means so much to you.
You’re one of a kind, and I just…I want you to know I see that. That I’m so thankful I have you.”
My pulse speeds up, my heart feeling too big for my chest. “I’m thankful I have you too, and you’re obviously my favorite person. I do all those things because I’m greedy for you. Also, you forget I’m queer. Why wouldn’t I want to snuggle and hold hands with a hot guy? I’m completely selfish.”
He chuckles. “There’s not a selfish bone in your body.”
“Now that I’ve buttered you up, I wanted to mention something I believe you think I forgot about.”
His brows draw together, Donovan clearly trying to figure out what I’m talking about. “I give up.”
“Our cat.”
His eyes widen.
“See! You did think I forgot!” I pout, and Donovan wraps an arm around me.
“No, I didn’t. I thought it was a whim. Do you really want a cat?”
“Yes. I really want a cat.”
“What happens when you move out?” he asks, and my stomach feels funny all of a sudden.
“ If I move out,” I correct. “Even when we get divorced, maybe we’ll just live together forever. If you get a new man, he’ll have to deal with it.”
Donovan’s face twists up in an unfamiliar way.
“You don’t want to live with me?”
“What? No. I would be happy living with you forever. I don’t know why I made that face. Maybe because, oh yeah, I’m never getting in a relationship again.”
I let out a breath that he wasn’t upset about our living situation. “Anyway, if I do move out, we’ll coparent. They can be at Daddy Eric’s house sometime, and at Daddy Donovan’s other times.”
Donovan sighs, and I know I’ve got him.
“It’ll be fun. I promise. It’ll be our baby.” The thing is, I know Donovan and know he would love to have a pet and will adore the damn thing. Sometimes it just takes some prodding.
“Fine. Let’s go look at cats.”
“Fuck yes!” I cheer. “My husband is the best,” I tell an older lady as she walks by.
“That’s sweet, dear.” She grins.
And the thing is, I’m not even exaggerating.