Chapter Five
MITCH RARELY SAW Randy during the month of December. Randy spent plenty of time at a local garage owned by the brother of the guy who ran the Mexican grocery, putzing with cars and trucks and telling dirty jokes in his bad Spanish. He kept the house cleaner than a hospital emergency room, and there was always a pile of food in the kitchen. Even if he was gone for a few days, he left casseroles and storage containers in the freezer with notes on the front of the fridge explaining how everything should be prepared.
Randy left Middleton sometimes for days at a time, usually playing poker, though he said he was also wedding planning—in part because his poker playing fueled his van and provided his slush fund for deposits. He was furious when he learned he couldn’t play online in Iowa, and Mitch suspected Skeet or his gangster friend in Vegas discovered a workaround. Mostly, though, Randy hit the live games at casinos across the state, as well as a few private ones. He favored the Horseshoe in Council Bluffs, but he went just as often to Prairie Meadows in Altoona, a few miles east of Des Moines. After a few weeks, Randy had Mitch drop him off when he was going on a quick run in the right direction, having Mitch pick him up on the way home. Poker games went well into the wee hours of the morning, and Skeet liked to get on board Old Blue after a breakfast at the casino buffet and sleep all the way back to Middleton.
He wasn’t only gambling, though. Randy wouldn’t give any details, but he was constantly spinning out plans for the wedding, asking Sam and Mitch what their preferences were on style and substance and sometimes finer details about setting. One night shortly before Christmas, he fed them Christmas cookies and rum-heavy eggnog and grilled them but good.
“What would you do for a wedding if you could do anything?” He pulled Sam into a straddle over his lap and trailed fingers down the center of his chest. “If you had a fairy godmother, what would you wish for? A trip to Aruba? Debauchery? Fairy tale?”
Sam, who was significantly tipsy, smiled wistfully instead of giving his usual response of closing off and insisting the wedding didn’t matter. “I want a pretty ceremony and something fun after. I don’t care about the theme. I like the idea of all kinds of people there who are happy for me. I don’t want a church, but I’d want the ceremony to be meaningful.” He slipped his fingers into Randy’s hair in a clumsy gesture. “The reception should be fun, though. A big party.”
Randy ran his hands over Sam’s ass, slipping his fingers under his waistband. “Dirty party?”
“Maybe.” Sam’s wicked smile faded into naked sorrow. “Except nobody’s gonna come to my wedding or my reception, Randy, except you and Em. I don’t even think Keith would come.”
“Hush.” Randy swatted him on the butt and turned to Mitch. “What about you, Old Man? What’s your dream wedding? And you can’t say whatever Sam wants. That’s copping out, and it’s rude. Fess up. What is it you wish you could do when you get hitched?”
Mitch sipped his eggnog and ate another cookie as he considered. For so long he hadn’t thought he’d ever get married, period, let alone have a ceremony to wish over. But Randy wanted an answer, and a glance at Sam said his lover did too.
“Valentine’s Day,” Mitch said at last. “I’d want to get married on Valentine’s Day.”
He expected teasing, but Randy only smiled an enigmatic smile, and Sam climbed off Randy’s lap and onto Mitch’s, his expression puppy-dog sweet. “Oh, Mitch, that’s so romantic. I think we should do that. Even if we just go down to the courthouse, we should get married on Valentine’s Day.”
Mitch raised an eyebrow at Randy. “Does that work with the plans you’re making? Valentine’s Day isn’t very far away.”
Randy rolled his eyes. “Hooker, I could throw you a gala in twenty minutes with one hand tied behind my back and a cock rammed down my throat. V-day it is.” He scooted closer on the couch and ran a hand down Sam’s leg. “But speaking of cock, I’d like to put mine in your butt, baby.”
As he always did, Sam went soft and glassy at the prospect of getting done. They’d had Keith over several times, and Mitch suspected long after Randy went home that particular carnival ride would keep spinning, but there was something special about it being the three of them, the original triad, playing a game. They did Sam right there, working his jeans down with him still kneeling over Mitch’s lap. Randy greased Sam and made a big show of using one of the Biehl drugstore condoms, kissing Sam’s neck as he murmured wickedly against his skin.
“I’ll have to go down tomorrow and tell them we’ve used up all the condoms.” He nipped the fleshy lobe of Sam’s ear. “Tell them how much I enjoyed them. I’ll make sure you’re there too, so you blush and they realize I used family planning devices on you.”
Sam shut his eyes with a delicious shiver. Mitch caught his cock and drew his attention back, skimming his other hand up Sam’s chest to tweak a nipple.
“Tell me what Randy’s doing to you, Sunshine.” He pulled the nipple taut. “Look me in the eye and tell me everything.”
Sam’s gaze was hooded, lust-dark, his tongue loosened but words sludgy because of the alcohol. “He has his fingers in me.”
Mitch slapped Sam’s flank. “More specific.”
Sam quivered. Mitch could see the muscle of Randy’s arm, his eyes glittering as he sucked all around Sam’s shoulder.
“F-fingers.” Sam anchored himself on Mitch’s arm. “A…couple. Moving. In and out. Biting my shoulder. Sucking it.”
“Yep. He’s gonna leave marks all over. And I’m gonna mark your ass after he fucks it. Is he fucking you now? What’s he doing with those fingers?”
Sam kept gasping, hips jerking as Randy worked him. “Twisting. Pushing—ohgod.”
Mitch twisted too, renewing his attack on Sam’s nipples. This was what Mitch liked, Sam flustered and on the edge. Nobody rode shame like Sam. Nobody dutifully reported what somebody was doing to them, nobody let themselves be done like a gift. Nobody but Sam. He never showed off, was never saucy. He simply sank into the fuck and let Mitch watch the ride.
Adjusting his own erection, Mitch let go of Sam’s cock and trailed over his balls and taint. He traced the edge of Sam’s stretched hole, where Randy had three fingers plowing in and out, occasionally hooking inside.
“Mmm.” Mitch sucked hard on Sam’s tit, then bit the nipple until he cried out. He pressed against Randy’s fingers—Randy withdrew one, inviting Mitch inside. Mitch accepted the invitation, coming in a little bit rough because he knew how much Sam liked it that way.
Sam cried out and pushed back into their hands, shivering and whimpering when the movement pulled his nipple taut in Mitch’s teeth.
“There’s a good slut.” Randy started thrusting again, moving in counter-piston to Mitch. “Ass all full of fingers. Except you want more, don’t you, Peaches. You want an ass full. You want everything in your ass. Because you’re a sweet little slut, aren’t you?”
Sam’s head rolled back and landed on Randy’s shoulder. His eyes were closed in ecstasy. “Yes.”
Mitch pinched hard on the right nipple while he continued to nip at the left around his words. “Gonna put more in you, Sam. Two fingers each, then three.” He added the second finger and started to pump. “Tell us you want an ass full of fingers. Tell us you want us to fuck you together with our hands.”
“I want you to fuck me together with your hands. Oh.” Sam cried out in a cascade as they each added a third finger. Sam shivered and chattered, but he rode them, bouncing his strained ass mindlessly on the clutch of digits in his butt. “Ohgod. I want you both to fuck me at the same time.”
Mitch was down for that, but not when he was so drunk. He focused on fucking Sam as Randy sucked on his ear. They’d been so busy until Randy came they hadn’t played like this, not nearly enough. “How’s it feel, baby? What’s it like with so much in your hole?”
“Full.” Sam grunted and writhed over their tangled hands. “It’s—” He jerked and let out a high-pitched sound as Randy added yet another finger.
“Kiss Mitch.” Randy licked the length of Sam’s neck. “Lean forward and kiss Mitch, and I’m going to use too many fingers in you for a minute, you dirty little cunt. Then I’m going to fuck you while Mitch keeps fingering you. You’re gonna be so loose, honey. Loose and sore, and then we’re going to spank you.”
Sam nuzzled Mitch’s mouth, whimpering. “And Mitch’s going to marry me on Valentine’s Day.”
Mitch kissed Sam hard, his heart turning over at the sweet, heady combo of his fiancé being sentimental and soft as he leaned forward to be spread more lewdly than a porno shoot. When Randy replaced his fingers with his cock, riding along Mitch’s three digits buried deep, Sam thrust his tongue obediently into Mitch’s mouth, arching into the torture of his nipples.
“I love you,” Sam whispered as Randy peeled off the condom and sprayed all over Sam’s back, Mitch’s fingers still working inside him.
Mitch kissed him. “I love you too.”
Mitch led his lover to the spanking bench Randy had started leaving in the living room because they were using it so much. Randy put Sam in place, facing Mitch, Sam smiling as Randy drew his knees wide open. As the blows came down, Sam gave it all to Mitch, let him see, made it clear this was for him. Just like always.
Like it will be forever. And as of February fourteenth, a legally binding forever.
For the first time in months, the prospect of a wedding made Mitch smile. He tore his gaze away from Sam to watch Randy, acknowledging that Randy was, once again, a big part of that happiness.
As they did Sam together, as Randy whispered promises of making their wedding the best anybody ever had, Mitch began to plot, thinking of how he could pay Randy back for all he’d done, all he had yet to do.
RANDY EVENTUALLY DID meet Emma Day properly at New Year’s. She and her fiancé hosted a party and invited Mitch and Sam, who brought Randy along. When she saw Randy, her eyes widened, but she put on a good face and welcomed him along with everyone else.
It was a nice, boring social mixer, full of people who barely knew each other and relied on wine and mixed drinks to loosen themselves up enough to have fun. Randy helped them along—he’d brought along a bottle of Jameson and Baileys, and a new deck, and after making the guests Dirty Whiskeys, he taught everyone Texas Hold ’Em. It didn’t surprise him at all that Steve, Emma’s fiancé, was the first one to sit down and get his hands in. He didn’t know how to play, but he loved being flirted with, even by a gay man. Three drinks and five hands in, Steve had to lean on his fiancée for support.
Shortly after midnight, Randy took a break on their apartment’s balcony, joining Mitch as he had a smoke. Mitch returned inside, but Randy lingered despite the cold, staring out across the sad little town and imagining the lights of Vegas from the top of a casino. When he felt someone come up behind him, he turned, grinning when he saw it was Emma.
“Hello, hostess. Nice party.”
“Thanks to you.” She leaned on the railing and looked out the same as Randy, though he knew she imagined different things. “I think I suck at throwing parties. It was so boring, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”
“Parties are all about creating a space for people. There’s nothing wrong with relaxing around a campfire or on a deck. But if you want to make sure people have fun, you have to work them. Food, drink, activities. Or people. It’s why drugs and alcohol are so popular at these gigs. Even if you don’t have a people person on the guest list, get people smashed enough and they’ll turn animals all on their own.”
Emma stared at him a moment, then shook her head. “I really thought you were an asshole when I first met you, but you’re not.”
“I am an asshole. Everyone is. Some people hide it better than others, but I like to lay it out right away. Saves time.”
“So did you use all your condoms?”
“Yep. They worked out better than I anticipated. I hadn’t thought about how much the point of origin would matter, but that’s been a real treat.” He leaned sideways on the rail to face her. “So, let’s talk wedding, honey. Sam keeps listing you as his one person he thinks will come stand up for him on his side. How true is that? Are you down for the nice parts and the naughty parts? Also, who is he overlooking, maybe at school? Though honestly, having sat in that cafeteria for a few hours, I suspect he’s right. You people are a bunch of fish.”
“Wait—what? Of course I’m going to Sam’s wedding. I keep saying I’ll help plan, but he tells me no. And yes, the naughty and nice parts, whatever that means. But what do you mean, I’m a fish?”
He patted her head. “Don’t worry about the fish comment. Let’s talk afterparty. How do you feel about a leather-themed reception at a gay bar?”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Oh. Wow, really? You think Sam would like it? He hasn’t said anything about being into something like that.”
Randy smiled patiently. “Princess, I know Sam would like it. It’s you I’m not sure about.”
“What? You mean—” She blushed. “You mean…Sam?”
Randy gave her a moment to catch up, then pressed on. “Is that a yes or no?” When she only continued to blush, Randy sighed. “Look—it’s fine. I figured as much. But I think he wants you to stand as witness at the ceremony at least. I’m thinking of having the whole thing in Des Moines, but the ceremony will be nice, per Sam’s request. Though it’ll be on Valentine’s Day. You can skip the afterparty and go have your own, but it’s important to him you’re there for the ceremony itself. I’m willing to grease your wheels however necessary to make that happen.”
“Stop.” Emma held up both hands. “You’re acting like I don’t care about Sam. Of course I’ll be there for his ceremony. And—well, tell me more about this reception. You just keep surprising me is all.”
“Yeah, well, here’s the deal—Sam’s been sad for a long time now, and I know you’re all focused on your own show, but a drunk mole could plan a straight wedding.”
She had chosen an unfortunate moment to sip at her drink and nearly choked on it, spitting most of it back into her cup. “Excuse me. I’ll have you know planning my wedding has been extremely stressful and I—”
Randy shut her up with a flick of his wrist. “Save it. I know what stress you’ve been dealing with, and it’s nothing on what Sam’s been dealing with, which you’d know if you’d been paying half a fuck’s worth of attention. All you’re doing is arguing with your mother and the wedding planner and worrying about what color swatch matches the icing. He has got so many fucking handicaps it makes me scream. He hasn’t told you how many times he’s been turned away without exactly being turned away. And you aren’t thinking about how much help you’re getting financially where he’s not getting any at all. Not to mention you have piles of family, and he has his horrid aunt and uncle, and Mitch has a father from hell and a mother who abandoned him when he was eight. They have me. And you. So shut up about who has a stressful planning session and help me figure this shit out.”
She blinked at him for a second, then nodded, squaring her shoulders. “You’re right. Okay. Sorry. I’m in. Tell me what we need to do. How can I help?”
“I need ideas. Help me brainstorm. Sam’s a special guy, and so is Mitch, and they deserve to have something that isn’t an also-ran. But this goddamn town.” He gestured vaguely at Middleton and shook his head.
Emma relaxed a little. “I know what you mean. Though you’re right about everything you said, it’s not easy to plan my wedding either. There are so many people. And they all have ideas on how I should get married.”
“Here’s a tip, hon—don’t ever live your life for anybody but yourself, especially not with something as significant as getting married. If you start that now, you’ll never stop. You want to swallow the great suburban dream, that’s one thing. You put it on because you think that’s what you’re supposed to do, you’re in for a world of hurting.” He rubbed his arms through his jacket. “I think I’ve had enough Iowa winter. I’m going back inside. But if you want to help me plan their wedding, holler. Who knows. You might learn a trick or two for your own.”
She watched him go, and Randy smiled to himself, knowing it wouldn’t be long before she gave him a call.