Chapter Nine
THE HONEYMOON SUITE Randy had reserved was at a fancy downtown Des Moines hotel.
It wasn’t far from the Saddle, but they’d all been drinking, and it had dipped below freezing, so they piled into a cab to get to their final destination. Sam sat between the two of them, snuggling Mitch, holding Randy’s hand. Mitch stroked Sam’s leg, body buzzing with alcohol, brain replaying all the fun he’d had at the party. He’d particularly enjoyed meeting Kyl and Mark, and it was clear that with some negotiation between boyfriends/husbands, there was some fun to be had there. Jo had often stepped outside to take a break from what she described as “too many people,” so Mitch got to talk to her at the smokers’ bench. Mary had always been everywhere, happy, loving, mothering. She wrote murder mysteries and promised to send one for Mitch to read. Jess had been fun too, especially once someone pulled out the karaoke machine. In fact, she and Sam had gotten into something of a duel.
Sam was quiet now, though Mitch knew he wasn’t sleepy. There was a lot of night left to go.
Randy, though, seemed nervous.
Randy led them through the lobby of the fancy hotel, making wisecracks, but the smart remarks only highlighted his unsteadiness. As they rode the elevator, Mitch began to worry he’d made a mistake, having Sam issue this invitation. He couldn’t work out why Randy felt so awkward at receiving it, but that was sure what it looked like was happening.
“Here we are.” Randy stepped into the hall and gestured toward a door, flapping a plastic key. “Your temporary palace.”
He gave them a tour—their suitcases had already appeared, as well as snacks and drinks and a basket of toys by the bed. They had two rooms, a living area with a wet bar, fireplace, and couches, and a bedroom with a large bath. On the bar were a bottle of champagne and two glasses, and a note from the hotel offering their congratulations.
“I had to enlist help in getting the room.” Randy cracked the champagne and poured two glasses. “It was reserved, and I couldn’t find anything else I liked. So Crabtree arranged for a glitch in the reservation system, and, voilà, the room was yours.” He handed Sam and Mitch glasses of champagne. His smile was so thin it wobbled. “Cheers to you.”
Mitch was about to say something when Sam put his glass down, crossed to the wet bar, and picked up a glass from beside the sink. After pouring champagne into it, he passed the fancy glass back to Randy and lifted the other in salute. “Cheers to us.”
Mitch raised his drink as well. “To us.”
Randy didn’t raise his glass. In fact, he couldn’t look them in the eye. “So…I was thinking. It was nice of you to offer…that, Sam, but this is your night. I don’t belong here right now.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam set his glass on the counter. “Randy, of course you do.”
“No, I don’t.” Randy bit the words off, and when he set his glass beside Sam’s, his hand shook. “This is your wedding night. Not mine.”
Mitch put his drink down as well. “You’re part of this, Skeet. You know that.”
He’d never seen Randy this undone. “I’m not. I just helped set it up.”
You want to be a part of this. You want your own version of this. Not with us, either. Your own. Mitch put a hand on Randy’s shoulder, ran it down his back. “You’re part of us. Someday we’ll be sending you off at your wedding—”
Randy snorted.
Mitch pressed on. “—but right now whatever this is, it’s ours, and we say you’re part of us. Jesus, Skeet, you’ve seen how much we fuck up without you.”
Randy averted his gaze, staring hard at the wall above the bar. “I’m not moving to Iowa, and you’re not moving to Vegas. Same shit, different year.”
“We’re coming to visit. A lot.” Sam slid his arms around Randy’s waist and kissed his neck. “Every time I get a break, we’re heading to see you. And you can come here anytime.”
Randy didn’t embrace Sam back. “If it’s not cold here, it’s humid. Sometimes it’s both. And you can’t come visit. If you’re not in school, you’re working.”
“I’ll take time off. I have the feeling my aunt will be a little more understanding with me now. Which was you, wasn’t it? You talked to her. You fixed her, like you fix everything.” Sam kissed Randy’s jaw, the space below his ear. “Let us fix you.”
Now Randy stared at the ceiling, his expression naked and sad. “I don’t want to be your fucking also-ran.”
“You’re not an also-ran. You’re Randy.” Mitch closed the distance between them and slid his hand between Sam’s mouth and Randy’s cheek, turning his friend’s face to his own. “You’re ours. Quit trying to push yourself out and let us pull you in.”
Randy shut his eyes tight. “Cactus.”
Mitch held his chin, hard, and kissed him on the mouth. “You can’t use your safe word when it isn’t a game.”
With a heavy sigh, Randy slumped, resting his head on Mitch’s forehead. Mitch touched his face, ran fingers over his friend’s jaw as Sam kissed his way down his neck and chest, unzipping his leather coat to reveal the bare skin beneath. When Sam went to his knees and unworked the lacings of Randy’s leather pants, Mitch moved to stand behind, kissing Randy’s neck, threading his hand into Sam’s hair. As Sam took Randy’s cock into his mouth, Mitch pulled the leather jacket away and massaged Randy’s chest, arms, shoulders. Never did he stop kissing him.
Somewhere in the middle of the blowjob Randy came back to life—his hand threaded deeper into Sam’s hair, he pushed against Mitch, and thrust into Sam’s mouth. He turned his head toward Mitch, reaching to grip the back of Mitch’s head.
“This is your night,” he whispered, one last attempt to get away.
Mitch slid his tongue into Randy’s ear. “That means we get to spend it however we want.”
In the end it was both what Mitch had suggested and it wasn’t. It was Randy and Sam who hit the bed first, Sam gasping and pleading and flying away as Randy ruthlessly stripped him and bent him in half to suck Sam’s sweaty balls into his mouth—but they weren’t alone, because Mitch stood in the doorway. As Randy tortured Sam, he called out to Mitch, asking if he liked watching somebody else fuck his husband. He asked it over and over.
“Sure,” Mitch replied, every time. “Especially when it’s you.”
Randy took Sam from behind, both of them kneeling on the bed as they faced Mitch. Randy pulled Sam’s head back by his hair as he thrust inside. “Look at your husband. Show him how much you love this. Show him.”
Sam did. And it was glorious.
This was a fucking wedding night.
After they were spent the first time, Mitch joined them on the bed, pressing Sam between them, stroking them both, kissing Sam. When he recovered, Randy began kissing Sam too, up the back of his neck, around his ear, down his cheek, carefully staying away from their joined mouths.
It just sort of happened. Sam turned, stopped, and then Mitch nudged him the rest of the way—it was brief, but for a fraction of a second, the three of them kissed. Then they kissed again, all three at once—it was a little impossible, but it was perfect in a way Mitch didn’t know how to describe. It was breaking his rule, and it made him nervous, but it felt right.
He told himself, when it came to Randy, he needed to think about breaking that rule in the future.
They fucked a thousand ways that night, and they went through every toy in the basket. After watching a delicious session between a wicked Randy, a whimpering Sam, and a very fat plug, Mitch suggested they give Sam what he’d been begging for. With Mitch on the bottom, Sam in the middle, Randy behind, they double-penetrated him for the second time. Mitch watched Sam’s face the whole time, a picture of pain and ecstasy—and always, there was Randy, lost in much of the same. Mitch pushed Sam back, wanting a full-frontal view, and he ran his hand down Sam’s chest. Mitch’s fingers tangled in the hair of Sam’s groin as Randy wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, whispered into his neck, and thrust, sending tears streaming out of Sam’s eyes.
Then Randy pulled out, pushing Sam forward. “Finish.” He jacked himself, aiming his cock over Sam’s back. “I want to watch the pair of you. And then I’m going to come all the fuck over you both.”
That was how it ended. Mitch anchored his feet and pumped up hard and fast, until Sam’s eyes rolled back into his head and he came in a sharp rush, and that was when Mitch let go. Sam collapsed against him, gasping and shaking, while behind them Randy jerked himself until he sprayed them with his cum.
They spooned together on the bed after, Sam falling immediately to sleep, Mitch drifting in and out until he woke realizing it was only he and Sam tangled in the sheets. Extricating himself carefully so as to not wake his husband, Mitch stepped into a pair of boxers and padded out into the front room.
Randy stood at the bar, drinking champagne from the water glass. When he saw Mitch, he lifted it in a toast. “Seemed a shame to waste booze.”
Mitch picked up one of the other glasses, clicked Randy’s in toast, and took a drink. It wasn’t bad, as champagne went. He swished the amber liquid around before sipping it. “So. This is somewhere I never thought I’d end up, when I picked you up in that parking lot all those years ago when we first met.”
“Tell me about it.” Randy’s tone was wry, but he was relaxed now. Still a little sad, but not so jagged as he’d been when they first arrived. He arched an eyebrow at Mitch. “Was this your way of telling me if Iowa allowed plural marriages, you two would adopt me?”
Mitch considered his words. “Not exactly. I still think you need one of your own. A husband, I mean.”
Randy snorted. “That is beyond the realm of possibility, Old Man.”
“That’s the thing about life. It’s a crazy-assed road, and there’s no map. You never know what lies ahead.” He leaned on the counter and looked Randy dead in the eye. “What I’m telling you is that until you find your somebody, or even if you never do, you have us. Like this. You want to move in, travel with us, it’s done. You want to be off on your own, then come back and hang with us, it’s fine. You want to marry somebody and be exclusive and we’re just friends, no problem. But you’re still part of us, always. We’re yours, and you’re ours. And if you try and shove us off on our own again like that, leaving yourself out in the cold because you think we don’t want you, I’ll kick your ass.”
Randy rolled his eyes, but the gesture didn’t quite take, and eventually he sighed and lifted his glass again. “Here’s to hooch and cake. I think it’s safe to say we did it better than we had a right to.”
Mitch lifted his glass too, clinking against the side of Randy’s with a wry smile. “Always, Skeet. Always.”