12. The Wedding （Chaos, Cock, and Holy Fuck） #2
"I vow to make you laugh, even when you want to murder me. I vow to keep things interesting, because boring is for people who haven't found their chaos match." He grins, bright and wild. "I vow to love you like a forest fire, completely, destructively, and with absolutely zero impulse control."
Gerald licks Wreck's ear in apparent approval.
"Also, I vow to share my ferrets with you. That's a big deal. I don't share Gerald with anyone."
"We're honored," I say dryly.
"You should be."
Father Bartholomew looks like he wants the floor to swallow him. "Do any of the... grooms... have rings?"
The rats step forward with their tiny pillows.
"That's our cue!"
"Look at us! We're doing the thing!"
"Ring delivery commencing!"
Three rings are presented, simple gold bands, nothing fancy, because we spent the jewelry budget on reinforcing the wedding bed. They’re placed into the appropriate hands.
Ash slides his ring onto my finger first, his massive hands impossibly gentle.
Slade goes next, making the gesture somehow elegant and suggestive simultaneously.
Wreck drops the ring twice before getting it on, but his grin when he succeeds could light up the kingdom.
"And now," Father Bartholomew says, voice hollow, "I must ask: does anyone object to this union?"
This is the moment I've been waiting for.
Baron Grimwald has been sitting in the back, sweating through his formal robes, looking like a man who desperately wants to object but knows better.
His sons, however, are idiots.
Brant rises from his seat, red-faced and furious, ear still bandaged from Gerald's last attack. "I object! This is outrageous! These men are servants! They're beneath her station! They're…"
Gerald launches himself from Wreck's shoulder like a furry missile of vengeance.
The ferret covers the distance between the altar and Brant's face in approximately two seconds, latching onto the nobleman's nose with a war cry that echoes through the hall.
Brant's scream is legendary. He flails backward, knocking over Garrick, who knocks over Baron Grimwald, who crashes into a row of lesser nobles like dominoes.
Susan, not to be outdone, rockets toward the chaos and begins doing aggressive victory dances around the fallen Grimwalds.
"Overruled!" Gerald seems to shriek, still attached to Brant's nose.
"I believe," Father Bartholomew says weakly, watching the carnage unfold, "that the objection has been... handled."
"Gerald is a wedding gift to himself," Wreck observes proudly.
The guards eventually pry Gerald off Brant's face. There's blood, there's screaming, there's Baron Grimwald sobbing on the floor, and the ceremony continues.
"If there are no further objections..." Father Bartholomew looks around with the desperate hope of a man who just wants this to be over. "By the power vested in me by the crown, I now pronounce you... married. All of you. To each other. May the gods have mercy on this kingdom."
"Can we kiss her now?" Wreck asks.
"Please do. Please do anything that ends this ceremony."
Three grooms. Three kisses.
Ash kisses me first, deep, possessive, claiming. His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back, showing the entire congregation exactly who I belong to now.
Slade kisses me second, clever, teasing, his tongue sliding against mine with promises of what's to come. I feel myself melting.
Wreck kisses me third, chaotic, enthusiastic, slightly missing my mouth at first before correcting course. When he pulls back, he's grinning like he's won something.
I have three rings on my finger now.
I have three husbands.
I have absolutely zero intention of waiting for the reception.
"Altar," I announce, reaching down to grab Ash's cock through his trousers. "Now."
Father Bartholomew's soul visibly leaves his body.
"My lady, the reception, the guests."
"The guests can wait." I'm already hiking up my dress. "I've been thinking about getting fucked on this altar since I picked it out. Clear the room."
"You cannot in a place of worship."
"I can do whatever I want." I boost myself onto the altar, scattering the ceremonial candles. "Everyone who doesn't want to see my wedding night can leave. Now."
There's a stampede for the doors.
Nobility flee like their lives depend on it. Ambassadors cover their children's eyes and sprint for the exits. Baron Grimwald is carried out unconscious, his sons stumbling after him with matching looks of horror.
Within sixty seconds, the Great Hall is empty except for us, the animals, Mira (who is already drinking), and Father Bartholomew (who appears to be praying for death).
"You can leave too, Father," Slade says kindly.
"I can't feel my legs."
"That's trauma. It'll pass."
Ash lifts him gently off the altar and deposits him near the door. "Go. Drink something strong. Forget this ever happened."
Father Bartholomew staggers out, mumbling something about early retirement.
The door slams shut behind him.
And finally we're alone.
Well. Alone except for the animals.
"Rally positions!" Squeak commands.
The rats form a protective perimeter around the altar. Bastard guards the main door, hissing at anyone who approaches. Susan and Gerald stake out the windows, tiny ferret sentinels watching for intruders.
One-Eye takes the highest perch in the hall, a chandelier, ironically, and settles in with an expression of resigned acceptance.
"I'm not watching," he announces. "I'm providing aerial surveillance. There's a difference."
"Sure there is," Slade says.
"There's a difference."
I pull my three husbands toward me, fingers already working at their clothing.
"Enough talking. I've been thinking about this altar for days. I want…"
I don't get to finish the sentence.
Ash lifts me onto the altar properly, shoving my dress up to my waist. Slade appears behind me, hands working at my corset laces. Wreck climbs up from the side, already pantsless. When did he remove his pants?
"The ceremony was beautiful," Ash says, freeing his cock from his trousers, "but this is the part I've been waiting for."
He pushes inside me before I can respond.
I moan loud enough to echo off the rafters.
"Sacrilege," One-Eye mutters from above. "Complete and utter sacrilege."
"Beautiful sacrilege!" Nibbles counters. "The best sacrilege!"
Slade finally gets my corset off, and I'm bare from the waist up in a house of worship being fucked by one husband while two more prepare to join. My life has taken a turn. I'm not complaining.
"The altar's sturdy," Slade observes, testing it with his hand. "Good choice."
"I specifically asked for reinforced."
"Smart. Planning ahead."
Wreck is already positioning himself at my mouth, cock eager and ready.
"The wedding vows were really hot," he says conversationally. "The part about loving my chaos? Very romantic."
"I meant every…"
He slides into my mouth, cutting off the sentiment.
Ash sets a brutal pace, no warm-up, no teasing, just raw need that's been building through the entire ceremony. I feel every inch of him, thick and demanding, hitting spots that make my toes curl.
Slade joins from behind, my ass, this time, because "we should christen everything properly" and the stretch of two cocks at once is devastating and perfect.
Wreck works my mouth with shallow thrusts, his hands gentle on my face even as his cock demands attention.
"This is the best wedding ever," he announces. "I'm having such a good time."
I'd agree, but my mouth is full.
The altar creaks beneath us.
"Careful," Slade warns. "We don't want to…"
The altar groans ominously.
We don't stop.
"It's fine," Ash grunts, picking up speed. "It's reinforced."
"It's making concerning noises."
"It's fine."
We've been at this for approximately four minutes when the first leg gives out.
The altar lurches dramatically to the left. All four of us scramble for purchase, still connected, still refusing to stop, as the massive oak table begins a slow, dignified collapse.
"Abandon altar!" Wreck yells, but he doesn't actually pull out.
None of us do.
The second leg gives out.
The third.