Chapter One
MITCH TEDSOE DIDN’T regret proposing to Sam Keller, since there wasn’t anything more he wanted in the world than to spend the rest of his life with the man he loved. But it turned out getting to that happily ever after wasn’t quite as simple as he’d thought it would be.
Some of it was easy. Mitch knew they’d live in Middleton, Iowa, until Sam finished school, and after that they’d wander nomadically around the country in Old Blue, Sam taking short-term positions in an area where Mitch could get regular trucking gigs. When they got married, they’d be hyphenating their names. Mitch had been ready to shift over to Keller, because God knew he didn’t need any ties to his blood family, but Sam had pointed out Tedsoe Trucking not only had a rep but a nice ring to it, so they compromised with the hyphen.
But first they had to actually have the ceremony. Mitch had no designs on how that happened, so when Sam’s best friend, Emma, got engaged too, and they began to plot and scheme for romantic ceremonies together, Mitch let Sam and his friend set everything up.
He had to get a best man, they told him, so he called Randy Jansen.
“I wondered when you were going to ask.” Randy sounded almost annoyed. “I’d started worrying you’d made some other best friend off in your Midwestern paradise.”
“Well, I always figured you’d be there, Skeet. I just didn’t know if Sam would want something simple or elaborate.”
Randy snorted. “Are you kidding me? Peaches was always going to be about the full experience, but not in a fancy way, either. So a bit of both, really.” He sighed happily, and Mitch could imagine him settling in on his couch. “What do you want me to work on first? The ceremony or the reception?”
“Wait—what?”
“Come on. You can’t tell me you want to plan a party.”
“Well, no, but I think Sam does.”
Mitch wasn’t sure how Randy could make an eye roll audible, but he managed it. “Fine. When you get stuck, call me.”
“Hey. I’m not going to get stuck. Sam’s got this. Planning it with his friend Emma. She’s getting married too.”
Another snort. “Oh, excellent. You’ll be calling me inside of a month.”
Now Mitch was pissed. “No, we won’t. If Sam has trouble, I’ll help him.”
“You’ll call me before Christmas. I’ll keep my schedule clear.”
The fuck Mitch was calling him with anything but a date and a place and instructions for what to wear. He could do this. Or rather, he could help Sam do this. How hard could it be?
The answer, he discovered, was pretty fucking hard.
The worst part was that it wasn’t hard because weddings were a bitch—or, at least not only that. Mitch and Sam had an extra handicap, one with an ugly underbelly. It started when they tried to find a place for the ceremony. Sam wasn’t a churchgoer, which relieved the hell out of Mitch, but ruling out houses of worship didn’t leave a lot of attractive prospects in Middleton. Mitch assumed they’d get married in some rented hall then transform it into a dance floor and party. Problem was, there were two hotels in Middleton, both middle-grade chains that had little personality and no empathy for equality. While the managers didn’t refuse to let them book anything, they put such a damper on Sam’s enthusiasm that Mitch took over the search for somewhere to get married.
Except their other options were the American Legion Hall, the Knights of Columbus Hall, and the pavilion at the city park. The first two options came with even more icy glances and cutting remarks, and the last one just seemed really fucking pathetic. Fine for the ceremony, but what about afterward?
Mitch couldn’t help noticing Emma and Steve had no trouble at all with their plans. They were getting married at the Catholic Church in September and having a reception at some fancy hotel in Ames. Mitch had immediately called up the events planner there, thinking the college town had to be more open-minded than Middleton. It was, and they were thrilled to host another same-sex couple. They’d had twenty already that year.
They also had few open dates and wanted more for a deposit than Mitch had left in the bank.
What had been a decent-sized savings account when his rent wasn’t more than a post office box in Denver depleted quickly when he ponied up his and Sam’s half of the apartment, and when Emma moved out to live with her fiancé, Mitch forked over the full amount. Sam covered food and utilities, but with school, that was all he could manage. Delia and Norm had given him a loan, but paying the monthly payments was a stress for him. His uncle was more easygoing, but his aunt tended to lecture him if he didn’t offer a particular amount, so as much as possible Mitch made sure the only thing Sam had to pay for around the house was the loan.
Better for Sam. Living hell on Mitch’s wallet. Covering the bills meant being on the road a lot more, which was part of why it took Mitch so long to figure out there was trouble.
Emma’s parents were paying for her ceremony. Steve’s were buying the booze and giving them three grand for a down payment on a house in town.
Randy called Mitch. Often. “How’s the planning?” he’d always ask.
“Fine,” Mitch would bite off, and change the subject.
Except it wasn’t fine. Every day that passed illustrated how different Emma’s experience was than Sam’s. Emma went dress shopping with her mother and worried over the cut of bridesmaid gowns. Sam looked at a few tuxedos, but since they had nowhere to wear them and no date locked down, that was as far as it went. Emma planned for a honeymoon in Hawaii. Sam, still stuck on square one, got excited when he found out a local winery had a reception area—until he found out the rental price was three grand. Before catering.
Eventually Sam suggested they give up and go to the courthouse.
Mitch balked. “But that’s not what you wanted.”
Sam shrugged. “We can’t find anywhere we can afford or that won’t make us feel unwelcome, and really, outside of Emma and Randy and a few friends from the community college, who’s going to come?”
The comment about nobody coming burned because it was true. Mitch’s contribution to the guest list was Randy. His mom wouldn’t come up from Houston, not unless he offered her money. If Cooper Tedsoe showed up, Mitch would step on his neck. Mitch had renewed a few acquaintances the last couple times they’d been through Vegas, but nobody who would haul ass all the way to Iowa for a wedding. Sam’s aunt and uncle had made it clear they didn’t want to come, and they were the only family he had. Sam didn’t hang out with many people from school outside of Emma, and Mitch didn’t socialize much in town.
They didn’t need a wedding hall. They needed a wedding hallway.
“No,” Mitch told Sam. “We’re going to have a real wedding. Hooch and cake and the whole bit.”
Sam laughed. “Hooch and cake?”
“Yes. Hooch and cake and dancing and friends looking on while we go down the aisle. It’s going to happen. I’m going to make it work.”
But he couldn’t. Every hour of every run, Mitch noodled over the wedding, trying to find the way to make it small and special too. He could think of a million things to do at places they’d visited on their travels, but it had to be in Iowa, and not just because Sam was sentimental. Their marriage had to occur in one of the handful of places where it would be legal.
As the year wore on, Emma pored over bridal catalogs and went to wedding fairs and looked at fabric samples with stars in her eyes, and Sam got quieter and quieter, until he didn’t bring up getting married in any way, ever, at all.
In November Mitch gave up. Randy answered on the third ring, and from the noise in the background, Mitch could hear a poker game going on.
“I just want you to note, Old Man,” Randy began blithely, “that even though you’re chafing at having to grovel, I left a table full of fish to take your call. It’s not losing to ask me for help. It’s wisely using all your assets.”
Mitch grunted and slumped deeper into the couch.
When Randy spoke again, his voice was silky. “It’s not losing. But I am going to be bitch enough to make you ask.”
Mitch rolled his eyes at the ceiling then did his best to make his tone sound contrite. “Skeet, I need you to help me plan my wedding.”
“Of course. I’ll book a flight right now.”
Mitch softened. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Old Man. Any fucking time.”
THE FRIDAY BEFORE Thanksgiving, Mitch and Sam met him at the baggage claim of the Omaha airport, where Skeet sauntered toward them, rubbing his bare arms against the Midwest November chill and grinning like the maniacal bastard he was.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” He gripped Mitch in a tight hug, pressing a kiss on his cheek before taking Sam into his arms and spinning him around until Sam laughed and demanded to be put down. Randy openly palmed Sam’s ass as he leered at Mitch. “What sort of trouble have we been getting up to since I last saw you?”
Sam told Randy about school, and Mitch offered up some stories from a few runs to Wisconsin, but not a word was said by anyone about the wedding. Mitch worried Randy would bring it up and spoil the mood, but he didn’t so much as hint at the reason he’d been called away from Vegas.
He did, however, begin pawing at Sam the hot second they got to the car.
Technically Randy had begun playing around the second he’d met them inside the airport, touching Sam every chance he got, but as soon as they were at the vehicle, he got serious. For one, he didn’t let Sam sit up front with Mitch, but rather he drew Mitch’s fiancé into the back seat with him, hauling Sam into his lap and whispering darkly into his ear as Sam made weak protestations and squirmed against his touch. Before Mitch got out of the parking lot, wicked murmurs and pleading gasps made him adjust his rearview mirror so he could see Randy’s hand disappear into Sam’s unzipped jeans.
“I don’t want to be seen by the parking lot attendant.” Sam said this, but he also arched his back and spread his legs wider to give Randy access to his crotch.
Mitch adjusted the mirror again to get a better angle of that action and slowed down so he could drive and watch without risking an accident.
“Take off your coat and use it to cover yourself.” When Sam only mewled, Randy sucked on Sam’s ear and shrugged out of his own jacket.
Sam whined when Randy let go of him to pull his arm out and drape the garment over him.
Who knew what the parking attendant thought, and hell if Mitch gave a damn. All he knew was that by the time they hit the first stoplight outside of the airport area, Sam was begging, promising to blow Randy all the way home if he’d let Sam come.
“You’ll do that anyway, sweet little slut.” Randy bit Sam’s ear, making him squeal. “Why don’t you get started on that blowjob right now, though?”
Mitch grinned and fumbled for his cigarettes, keeping one eye on the mirror as Randy maneuvered Sam on the seat until his mouth was on Randy’s cock, and Randy’s hand was down the back of his pants. Mouth full of dick, Sam whimpered, and Mitch let pleasure burn through him like the smolder of his tobacco.
Sunshine, love, there’s no way he’s gonna let you come until Middleton. A two-hour drive away.
Mitch wished it were four hours, honestly. This show was going to be great.
“That’s it, baby.” Randy put a hand on the back of Sam’s head and guided the blowjob with dark pleasure. “All the way to the back of your throat.” His fingers slipped deeper, and Sam let out a high-pitched whine. Randy smiled. “That’s right. Let the old man hear you sucking my cock. Let him hear how hot you are for some guy you picked up at the airport who sticks a finger in your ass.” He guided the blowjob a few minutes more then frowned at Sam’s hair. “Peaches, what the fuck did you do to your mop?”
Mitch grunted around his Winston. “Highlights. Emma did it to him.” He let the image of Sam’s swollen mouth moving up and down Randy’s dick fill his head before he had to pay attention to an on-ramp to the interstate. “Thinks he wants to be blond.”
Randy snorted and tightened his grip on Sam’s hair. “I’ll put white in your hair, kid. Enough cum shampoos and you ought to go blond. We can start right now.”
Sam made desperate noises around his mouthful, and Mitch met Randy’s gaze in the mirror. “Too far. He won’t want anyone in Middleton to see. And don’t even try to get him into a public display in the backseat. Car’s too low. You’re lucky you’re getting what you are now.”
“Oh, yes. We’re in the land of family values.” Randy rolled his eyes and palmed Sam’s ass, sliding his waistband down. “On your face, then, hon. When I give you a slap, pull up and open your mouth.”
It was a good show—hot as fuck, though Mitch didn’t miss how quick it went, Randy’s deference to Sam’s concern about passersby. As promised, Randy came all over Sam’s face, wiping it up with the bandana Mitch passed him from the front seat. Because this, Randy fucking Sam all the way back to town, Mitch had completely foreseen.
Randy kept Sam on a hair trigger, with fingers in his ass and pinches on his nipples as he whispered about all the things he was going to do to Sam. Mitch smiled and got another cigarette as Sam got horny enough to show Randy the XTube vid he wanted to recreate.
“Look at the way he pounds him.” Sam held his phone with trembling hands—half because the video was damn hot, half because he was sitting on three of Randy’s fingers. “The guy just holds him down and hammers him. The guy he’s doing is so desperate—he’s got to be going so deep and so hard, but he’s taking it.” Sam shivered, the expression on his face wistful. “I want that.”
Mitch tapped his cigarette out the window and caught Randy’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I’ve tried to give it to him, but my hips don’t roll the way they need to for what Sunshine’s after. Figured you could manage it, though.”
“Oh, I think I could, yes.” Randy’s voice was silk, and he made Sam gasp, fucking his fingers in and out of Sam’s ass. “And you want Mitch watching that happen to you, don’t you, Peaches?”
Sam’s voice was strained. “Yes. I do want that. Please.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to give it to you.” There was a sharp slap of a hand against flesh, and Sam startled. “Going to give you something right now, honey. Shimmy forward between the front seats as best you can and stick your ass in the air and spread your knees.”
Mitch saw Sam’s flush of eagerness in the rearview mirror, but also his wariness. “What if people see—?”
“I’m putting the coat over your ass. No worries.” Randy pinched Sam’s ass. “Go on.”
Sam crawled forward—and then Mitch wasn’t watching Sam in the mirror anymore. He had only to glance to the side, because Sam was right beside him, flushed and breathing hard, holding himself up on his forearms as Randy maneuvered the rest of him behind.
He gave Mitch a shy smile. “Hi.”
Mitch winked and reached over to tweak his nose. “Howdy. What’s up, Sunshine?”
“Not sure yet. I—Oh.” Sam’s cheeks colored and his mouth fell open, his pupils dilating.
Mitch combed fingers through Sam’s hair, petting him then settling in as a gentle anchor. “Tell me what he’s doing to you, baby.”
Sam’s voice was shaky, occasionally breaking. “He’s sucking the inside of my—oh—thigh, but he has…two fingers in me, and…” He stopped to grip the armrest. “He’s tugging on my balls.”
Mitch growled in approval and tightened his grip on Sam’s hair. “He fucking you with those fingers?”
“Not…not yet. Just spreading and turning—oh. Ah!” Sam shut his eyes as his body was thrust forward. “N-now he is.”
Mitch checked the mirror and saw Randy positioned behind Sam, arm working hard beneath his coat, which was draped over Sam’s backside. Mitch nearly purred. “He using lube on you? Getting you good and wet?”
“L-lots of—oh God—lube. Jesus.” Sam gasped, his breath punctuated by the thrusts coming at his body. “So wet.”
“He got more fingers in you now?”
“Yes. Three, I think.”
“Gonna go for four once you get slick enough. Let you feel my knuckles in there.” Randy’s voice was sleek as sin. “Still working his balls, though. He likes that, don’t you, Peaches?”
Sam nodded. Mitch dared a glance at him, heart skipping a beat as he saw the telltale glaze on his lover’s face. Sam was going under. Hard.
Full of love, Mitch massaged the top of Sam’s head. “Answer him, baby. Tell Skeet you like it when he works your balls.”
Sam answered dutifully, as if from somewhere far away. “I like it when you play with my balls, Randy.”
“You’re getting all worked open. You’re a good little slut, Sam. You like being Randy’s slut, honey?”
Sam’s lips parted on a soft sigh as Randy started thrusting once more. The way Sam’s body shuddered told Mitch he’d added that last finger. “I love being his slut. For you.”
Mitch cast his eyes to the road again, but his heart was beside him, wrapped up in Sam getting finger fucked between the seats. He let his fingers trail down Sam’s cheek, over Sam’s mouth.
Sam kissed the digits, then sucked them into his mouth and whimpered around them as Randy continued his torture.
Once they entered Middleton, Sam extricated himself from Randy and buttoned himself up, trying to play it cool, even though he was shaking and clearly anything but collected. Mitch parked in their alley parking space, and as he carried Randy’s suitcase up the stairs, he watched Sam squirm away from Skeet all the way into the apartment, whispering hotly about the neighbors.
They’re going to explode the second they get in the door. Mitch grinned and adjusted the chub in his jeans.
Explode they did—as soon as they were inside, Randy pushed Sam face-first into the hall wall, where Sam swore, then moaned as Randy stripped Sam’s jeans to his ankles and went to work on his ass, sucking at his flesh. Mitch shut the door, locked it, and pulled up a chair to watch.
Nobody gave a show like those two, and nobody loved a front-row seat more than Mitch. The sex was hot, yes—he’d always loved playing voyeur. But with Sam and Randy, it was something special. It was the way Mitch could see, because he knew them both so well, how they let go with one another. In the year since Mitch had moved in with Sam, they’d been together three times, twice in Vegas, once on an un-fucking-forgettable trip to Florida. Every time Mitch could see how much Randy both loved and feared Sam. How much he loved that he could be himself, asshole and all, with Sam—and how much he worried any second now Sam would cut him off. That fear came out in the way he dominated Sam, a kind of desperate terror Mitch wasn’t sure Sam consciously realized and yet still responded to.
It had been three months since their last hookup with each other, and they were pretty intense.
Randy ate Sam out for a good ten minutes, spreading Sam naked against the wall and licking his hole lazily while Sam pleaded at him to fuck him, sobbing when Randy only spread the opening with his hands and stuck his tongue inside.
“Please, Randy.” Sam’s whole body shook now. “Please let me come.”
“Blow me first,” Randy ordered, pulling away from Sam’s ass and rising, leaning against the wall lazily.
Sam clambered to undo Randy’s jeans and fumbled for his dick like he was a kid unwrapping a long-sought Christmas present. When he finally freed it, he cried out, then fell onto it with a grunt, sucking and moving fast—but he also cast his gaze up to Randy, because that was what Randy had trained him to do.
“Good boy.” Randy watched him idly, resting a hand on Sam’s hair, occasionally holding his head in place to force the cock deeper, longer into his throat. “You look good with a cock in your throat. A proper slut. Maybe later tonight I’ll make you kneel in front of me, and then I’ll fuck your mouth with a fat dildo for an hour. Make your mouth good and swollen, baby. As swollen as your ass is. You can feel that, can’t you? Your poor ass, stuffed full of fingers for an hour. Now it’s going to be pounded by dick. And you want it, don’t you, Peaches? You want me to make your ass even more swollen, baby?”
Sam groaned around Randy’s cock, sucking it harder, taking it to the root.
Now Randy trembled, but he laughed too, pushing Sam away. “You can’t make me come yet, sweet thing. I’m coming in that ass of yours.” He bent and slapped it. “Hands and knees, facing your man. Let him see your show while you get fucked.”
Mitch didn’t smile as Sam arranged himself, arms and legs shuddering with want. Mitch was too focused on the scene, too turned on by the knowledge Sam was seriously under Randy at the moment, so far gone he’d do about anything Randy told him to do. Mitch was also aware, however, that Sam was hyper-fixated on him, that though he was following Randy’s commands, it was Mitch he watched, Mitch he stared at glassy-eyed as Randy pushed into him and began to fuck. He never looked away, closing his eyes only as he orgasmed, but he met Mitch’s gaze again as Randy finished inside him, and as Randy pulled out to dispose of the condom, it was Mitch Sam leaned on, shaking and soft, still staring up at his face.
Not once had Mitch asked for that devotion. Not one time had Sam ever failed to give it to him.
Once Sam was less sensitized and could take another pounding, Mitch took his turn at his lover’s ass, a perfunctory fucking, except he had Sam face Randy this time. That quickly degenerated, since Randy didn’t like watching, he liked doing, and so soon Sam had Randy’s cock in his mouth while he had Mitch’s in his ass. Once everyone was sated and cleaned up, all fell into the bed in a tangle.
Sam, who’d finished a huge exam that morning, passed out in a wink. Mitch dozed for a minute, but when he woke and heard Randy in the kitchen, he shut the door to the bedroom so he could have a heart-to-heart with his oldest friend.
Randy didn’t turn around as Mitch came in, opening and shutting cupboards. “All right, wise guy. Where are the coffee filters?”
“Canister beside the fridge. The one that says sugar.”
Randy snorted and opened it. “Guess that answers my question about whether or not I have to go to the store to make my apple pie for Thursday.”
“We have sugar. It’s in a bag on the round-and-round thing in the corner.” When Randy gave him a murderous look, Mitch sideways smiled and took a seat at the breakfast bar. “You can rearrange. Just let Sam know what you’ve changed. It’s been madness here since Emma moved out. He’s always at school, and I’m always on the road. Don’t say anything about the apartment. He cleaned like crazy, or tried to, but I made him stop last night to study.”
As Mitch expected, this softened Randy, and he glanced worriedly at the closed bedroom door. “Tell me about this wedding planning. Give me every detail about what’s gone wrong and why.”
Mitch explained about the money, the venue, and the guest list as Randy started a pot of coffee brewing. “It doesn’t help that his best friend is also planning a wedding and having exactly the opposite experience. Mom all involved, three-hundred-person guest list they’re trying to whittle down to two-fifty, nobody looking down their nose when they book a place.”
“You do know you can make a fuss if people refuse you service, right?”
“Yeah—but they’re not saying no. If they did, it’d be better. I’d send a note to one of those gay blogs, and the whole world would be up in arms in ten minutes. They don’t say no. They say absolutely but with their mouths in a pucker. Let me tell you, that’s ten times worse.”
Randy grimaced as he poured two cups of coffee, passing the first to Mitch. “I wish you could just come to Vegas. I could plan a wedding in ten minutes that would make you fifty friends for life, and you’d never wish you had anything different.” He took a sip of his coffee and stared hard at the far wall as he tapped his fingers absently on the mug. Eventually he sighed and put the mug down. “One crisis at a time. Am I right in assuming there’s no plan yet for Thanksgiving dinner?”
“That would be a correct assumption. Sam’s got school through Wednesday, and his days are long with a lot of homework in the evenings, plus hours at the pharmacy. I gotta head out Sunday afternoon for a run to Dallas, and I’m going to try to get another gig from there if I can. I’ll be back by Wednesday night for sure.”
“Jesus Christ. Is this how you two’ve been living?”
Mitch shrugged. “Not much else to do. Rent’s a bitch, and so’s his aunt. He graduates at the end of next summer, but that means he’s got to work like hell until then, both at school and at the pharmacy. And so do I.”
“You guys are pieces of work, you know that?” Randy sighed. “Don’t worry about Thanksgiving, obviously—and don’t worry, period. I’ll get it straightened out. Fairy-god-gay, at your service.”
Mitch wanted to hug him, but he settled for a coffee-cup salute. “Thanks, Skeet.”
Randy glanced at the closed bedroom door, heat coming back into his gaze. “So. You’re going to be gone three days, and I’ll be here alone with Peaches. What are the rules, Old Man?”
“Whatever he tells you.”
Randy laughed. “God, you’re so cheesy.”
Happy, Mitch thought but didn’t say, because now that they were in front of each other again, he could see that Randy wasn’t.
“Rules are whatever he tells you he wants to do.” Mitch rose and clapped his best friend on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t mind getting some dirty pics on the road, though.”