The Present



“What?!”



“I said wouldn’t you just rather lie here and . . .”



“No, no, no. I know what you said, you said ‘cuddle.’”



“So?”



“So, I’ve never ever once even heard you use that word, much less actually want to do it . . .”



Justin was in shock. All he could do was stare down at “Brian” with his mouth open and a thousand words dancing on his tongue like twinks at a rave. Brian had just said . . . no, it was not what Brian had said, it was why he had said it. Brian was trying to get a rise out of him – to prod him into a confrontation. Why?? What was going on? They were going to be married in less than forty-eight hours! Why was Brian doing this?



Isn’t the answer clear as day? whispered a little voice in his head. He’s backing out. He wants to call off the wedding. He no longer wants to get married . . .



Well, fuck him.



It was you! Justin wanted to yell at him. You’d been the one who suggested we get married! You’d been the one who proposed, and now here you are acting like I’m some kind of ball and chain?



Fuck you, Brian!



He hadn’t wanted to do it. He should’ve held firm to his decision not to marry Brian. He should have stood his ground, but there Brian had been, standing in the living room (or whatever-the-hell-room) of the mansion he’d just bought for his “prince.” How could Justin say no again? Brian had put him on the spot. He was selling Babylon. He was selling his loft, and why? Because he wanted to make Justin happy. It was like some straight dude buying his girlfriend dinner to get her to sleep with him. How had Brian gotten it in his head that any of those things would make him, Justin, happy? Yes, they showed that Brian was serious; that he really did want to get married. But THEY WEREN’T NECESSARY. The whole country-manor-stables thing had been a snarky little joke, not a statement of genuine desire. Did Brian even know him? When had Justin ever given him the impression that he didn’t want to live in the city. Hell, his alternative to marrying Brian was going to New York – a person who wants a country manor doesn’t want to move to Manhattan! And vice versa.



ARGH!!



God, Brian was unbelievable – truly fucking unbelievable, and not in a good way. Justin had wanted one thing from their relationship. ONE THING! He’d wanted Brian to behave like a real partner. He’d wanted an assumption that they’d do things together. That they’d plan and dream together . . .



. . . it was Brian who’d deliberately, pig-headedly taken Justin’s desire to be a real couple and turned it into a wedded suburban hell. It was Brian who was talking about white picket fences and babies. It was Brian who was insisting on cuddling and staying in. Hell, it was Brian who was talking about getting married. He’d built windmill after windmill, claiming Justin wanted them, and now here he was tilting at them like he was Don Quixote.



All Justin had wanted was a relationship with a man he loved and whose company he enjoyed. That was it. It was Brian who’d gone and made it all so complicated. Hell, he was still making it complicated!



__________________________________________________________________________



The Night Before



Had Brian just said, “nice, quiet evening in?” Really?



Justin stared at him. Bullshit, he wanted a ‘quiet evening in.’ In fact, Justin was willing to bet that after looking over those fucking Remsen ads, Brian would sell his soul to go out dancing, drinking and fucking. He was lying.



But why? And why the dismissed gesture of desire? They had time before they needed to turn up at Woody’s – plenty of time to fuck before they showered and got dressed. When had Brian ever rejected a sexual advance? Never, that’s when.



“What the fuck?” Justin asked. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well or something?”



Brian shrugged and went back to looking over those Goddamn ads.



“No, I just thought you might want to stay in.”



“We’ve stayed in every night for weeks,” Justin replied. “I’m bored. Aren’t you bored? How can you not be bored?”



“Because I’m not.”



“Bullshit.”



Brian lifted his head and looked at him, biting his lip in That Way he does when he’s annoyed and is trying to stop himself from saying something shitty.



“C’mon,” Justin said. “We’ll have fun. I’m sick of wedding stuff . . .”



“Really?” Brian said. “You’re sick of wedding stuff? Don’t you have another fifty Modern Brides and Pottery Barn catalogs to go through?”



Justin refused to take the bait.



“I’m done looking through magazines,” he said. “The wedding is fully planned and there’s nothing else we haven’t agreed to register for.”



Brian closed his eyes wearily.



“I’m sorry,” he said.



Justin wanted to strangle him.



“Since when are you sorry for anything? And since when do you not want to go out?”



Brian stared at him. Justin stared right back. Eventually, Brian closed his eyes again and sighed.



“Okay,” he said. “But only for a little while.”



Well, that was a start.



“Good,” Justin said. “In the meantime, let’s fuck.”



Brian was being a grouchy asshole for some reason, but he couldn’t suppress an arched eyebrow.



Justin took advantage of the opening and approached him, putting his arms around his neck and pressing their cocks together. Soon, Brian was kissing him. Reluctantly at first, but increasingly less so. When Justin felt Brian’s heartbeat quicken and heard his breaths grow shallow, he slid his hand between Brian’s legs, cupping his balls in his hand and rubbing Brian’s hardening cock with the heel of his palm. Brian moaned into their kiss and reached down to clutch Justin’s ass, pulling their bodies even closer.



“Gonna fuck you,” Brian said, his voice gravelly with desire. “I’m gonna fuck you raw.”



Justin’s heartbeat spiked. He pulled back and looked up at Brian’s face.



“What?”



“I said, ‘I’m going to fuck you raw.’”



Justin pulled away. He wished Brian’s words turned him on. Instead, they freaked him out – even more than Brian’s endless apologies. If Brian was talking about having sex without a condom, then that meant he hadn’t been with other guys in weeks, if not months!



“What do mean? How can we . . . ?”



“I got tested,” Brian said. “It’s safe unless you . . .”



“No, I haven’t,” Justin replied. “But . . . Brian, you haven’t fucked anyone recently?”



Brian arched both eyebrows with genuine surprise.



“Of course not,” he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”



“Will you stop telling me you’re sorry,” Justin snapped.



Brian ignored his tone.



“Well?”



“Well, what?”



“Do you want me to come in your ass?”



The answer was yes . . . and no. If Brian was clean, then that meant . . . And they’d been arguing. It wasn’t the right time. Justin wanted it to be . . . well, he wanted it to be special. Not rushed and not with Brian in a dark mood.



“Not tonight,” he whispered against Brian’s mouth.



Brian pulled back so suddenly that Justin almost lost his balance.



“You don’t believe me,” he said.



Justin frowned. “Believe what?”



“That I’m clean. That I haven’t been tricking.”



Justin’s frown deepened. “I . . . no . . . Brian, what’s going on?”



But it was too late. Brian obviously felt rejected. Before Justin could register what was happening, Brian was headed for the bathroom.



“Brian!” he called.



Brian didn’t reply. At least not in words. The sound of the shower starting was answer enough. They weren’t going to fuck, raw or otherwise.



Just then the phone rang.



“What?” he snapped.



“Whoa, it’s just me,” Michael said. “I’m not trying to sell you something. I just wanted to find out if everything’s running on schedule.”



Justin didn’t reply right away. Too many things were racing in his mind.



“Sorry. I . . . Brian is . . . he’s being a little weird.”



“What does that mean?”



“That means that I might not be able to get him to go out.”



There was a momentary silence.



“What?”



“He’s being . . . he says he doesn’t want to go out.”



“Is he feeling okay?”



“I . . . I don’t think that’s the problem. Look, I’ll do my best. If I can’t get him to go out, I’ll let you know, okay?”



“Maybe you should let me talk to him.”



Justin winced. That sounded like a bad idea.



“No, that’s okay,” he said. “I’ll do it. Don’t worry.”



“Okay,” Michael said, not sounding convinced. “But call me . . .”



“I will. Look, he’s getting out of the shower. Gotta go.”



He didn’t wait for an answer before he hung up.



Brian was pulling on his jeans when Justin came upstairs.



“So, my sluttiest club clothes, huh?” Brian said.



Justin blinked at him. They weren’t going to discuss what had just happened between them. He couldn’t decide whether he was worried or relieved. Probably a mixture of both.



“Something black and tight,” Justin replied.



He watched with irritation as Brian pulled out a shirt that was anything but slutty. At least it was black, though. When Justin joined him in front of the closet, Brian smiled and kissed him.



“I’m sorry I was a dick earlier,” he said.



Justin wanted to strangle him, but he decided to let the “I’m sorry” go.



“You weren’t a dick,” he said.



“Yeah, I was. Let’s just . . . let’s go out and have a good time. Where are we going?”



Justin kissed him back. This time all he felt was relief. But it didn’t last long . . .



. . . As he’d predicted, Brian wasn’t thrilled about the surprise. He wasn’t thrilled about the stag party. He wasn’t even thrilled about the hot guy in the shimmering thong. When the guy took his wrist and started leading him to the backroom, Brian turned away, stopped and held up his hand to silence the cat-calling crowd.



“Okay, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” he said. “The prisoner respectfully chooses not to partake of his last meal, but to be lead instead to the gallows a hungry but happy man.”



He walked straight up to Justin and put his arm around his shoulders.



What. The. Fuck? Since when was Brian a prisoner? And since when was getting married a hangman’s noose? If it was, then Brian was his own fucking executioner.



“C’mon,” Justin urged. “Have a little fun.”



“It ain’t so little,” Emmett said lasciviously.



Brian just looked at him.



“No, seriously,” Justin said. “Have some fun.”



For some reason, he felt desperate for Brian to agree. Absolutely, desperate. Fuck barebacking . . .



“I’m content to take my winnings,” Brian replied and then added pointedly, “and go home.”



Then he kissed Justin’s cheek.



What. The. Fuck?



What the fucking fuck?