Every romantic comedy worth watching had the same climactic scene. Two people stood there emotionally bare, looked at each other’s naked brain and heart, and said ‘I love you and nothing will change that.’ The couple fell into each other’s arms, and you knew everything would be perfect and shiny, as they sailed off into their Happily Ever After.

This was our moment, and I savored the feel of Tommy’s body against mine, his cookie-breath on my neck, his arms holding me so very tightly.

There was still some time left on the clock, but he clambered off me, thanked the therapist, and said goodbye for the both of us. As I followed him out of there I reminded myself that this was real life, and reality was far more complicated than a movie. Tommy knew that I was holding back, not sharing everything that my body was doing (or not doing), and he might need time to process what we had discussed.

He wrapped his arm around my waist and said, “I wish we could just go to our room and cuddle for the rest of the day. Or maybe the rest of the weekend.”

“We could…” That sounded sublime, and I wondered briefly whether we could skip lunch. The snacks in the room might suffice, but it wasn’t the responsible decision to make. “Unfortunately, we still have an obligation to–”

“Operation Butt Bandits.” He snickered every time he mentioned the name. Trust Julian Moore to come up with an absurd mission name that Tommy would fall in love with.

“Yes, OBB.” I would not say that silliness aloud, especially if someone might overhear. “Come, let’s go back to the room so I can drop off my laptop.”

“You know… we got out of our session early, so maybe we can get in a quick cuddle before we have to put on our social butterfly wings?” he asked hopefully.

“Five minutes will not a cuddle make.” In fact, it sounded perfect. I steered us toward our suite before Tommy could accidentally drag us in the opposite direction. “It will be alright. We can spend a lot of time cuddling tonight… and during any break time… and once we’re home.”

“So basically you’re going to cuddle the fuck out of me,” he concluded, grinning.

“Absolutely not!” I teased and, before his dimples could disappear, I added, “That makes no sense. I’m going to fuck the fuck out of you. Slowly and repeatedly.”

“Ohhhhh, that’s definitely preferable. I forgot, people cuddle the stuffing out of each other. Which we’re totally going to do, too. No matter what our furry little cock-blockers have to say in the matter.”

“I wonder if they make noise-cancelling headphones or ear plugs for animals…” I mused. “Julian could probably make something, but it’s probably over the top even for us. We need to find something, though, because those news channels are so stressful these days and I think Frankie’s glimpse of Shark Week may have scarred him for life.”

“Maybe some nice mysteries?” Tommy suggested, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I dropped the device-detecting-dildo and pulled him into a long, slow kiss. He snuggled into me and asked, “Mmm. What’s this for?”

“You’re not just humoring me. You never humor me when it comes to Frankie. That’s kind of a big deal,” I admitted. In fact, that was how I fell in love with Tommy in the first place. The man was sweet and funny and smart and loving and silly, and he loved my newly-adopted pug the way I did. “I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you, too. Now come on, we don’t want to be late and miss everyone’s sketchiness,” he reminded me.

So we dropped off my laptop and the device, moving on to the day’s activities to tackle our true objective: Operation B.B. We belayed each other on the high ropes course, which was exhilarating, then we were tied together to run an obstacle course. The Vermont, Boston, and Texan couples were all very much themselves, or at least they adhered to the characters they’d chosen to be. Arguing, ignoring, and loving each other respectively as they had last night. The golden twink did indeed run both outdoor activities and I was more than ready to go inside after an hour and a half of his flirting with Tommy.

“Wait!” our glorified camp counselor said as we began to walk back. “Take this. It’ll be a while before dinner.”

The man’s eyes and hand lingered as he handed me a package of trail mix. I accepted it gratefully, but Tommy put his arm around my waist, and said, “Thanks, Dare, but I already have a snack for him. In my pants.”

“I’m sure you do. But that’s only 5 calories per serving,” the man said with a wink. Tommy pulled his own bag of nuts from his pocket and shoved it into my hand. Then golden boy stepped closer, licked his lips, and whispered, “By the way, if you want to spice things up tonight, I’m totally open to lending a helping hand… or other body part.”

“Hmmm… Sounds fun. We’ll definitely think about it,” my fiancé told him and I tried to hide my shock and hurt.

My mind was going in a million different directions as we walked back to the main building. Did he want an open relationship? Were threesomes something he’d want to indulge in regularly? Or orgies?

Halfway to our destination, Tommy stopped me and hissed, “Do you think he’s the blackmailer? Should we make him think we’re taking him up on it and see what happens? I know Buzzard said not to act on our suspicions, but… we should call Julian when we get dressed for dinner.”

“So, do you want a threesome?” I asked, because I needed to know what the plan was… and I was jealous as heck.

“No! You’re mine. I don’t share,” he said with a scowl. Then he took the trail mix from me and replaced them with his own pocket-warmed snack, saying, “Eat my nuts. Who knows where his have been?”

“Are you doing that on purpose?” I asked, unable to stop myself from kissing him when he looked at me quizzically. I couldn’t tell whether his double entendres were intentional, but they were adorable all the same.

Inside, we played the painful therapy versions of The Newlywed Game and charades, and of course we annihilated the competition. There were several things we’d never discussed, but had still guessed correctly at least 80% of the time. Toward the end, our therapist came out and whispered with the counsellor, glancing at the two of us repeatedly and suspiciously.

Finally, the couples in our group were separated by gender for a frank discussion about sex. Tommy volunteered to go with the women, for which I was grateful. Tommy was better equipped to answer women’s intrusive questions about gay sex, whereas men tended not to ask for details. The conversation was painful, covering a gamut of topics from coaxing wives to have sex more often, to a review of female anatomy, to light bondage and dominance games, and ending with a defensive talk about erectile dysfunction. I tried to refrain from commenting on any of the topics, but the counselor dragged me into it anyway.

I fled to our room as soon as the conversation was over and Tommy returned moments later, hair mussed and eyes wild. He dragged me into the bedroom, pushed me onto the bed, and climbed on top of me, muttering, “So… many… questions…”

“Did the heteros scar you for life?” I asked, stroking his hair and back while he muttered something about fifty shades of vaginas.

After far too few minutes of quiet snuggling, Tommy asked, “When did you start taking those eye drops?”

“October?” I didn’t normally say statements as if they were questions, but Tommy’s question had thrown me.

When Tommy levered himself up to scowl at me, I knew that was the wrong answer. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said in a forced-calm tone, “And where do you buy them, Oh Brilliant Professor of Mine?”

“The pharmacy across the street from Bullethole?”

“Using a prescription?”

“Yes?”

“Does your sister know you’re taking them?”

“Yes?”

“Ohmygodsavemefromidioticgeniuses,” he muttered under his breath. “Eye drops count as medication, John. It’s something E.R.s and doctors need to know about.”

“They go in my eye,” I argued.

“Osmosis,” he said, and understanding dawned. Of course they couldn’t help the pressure in my eye without traveling through the semi-permeable blood-ocular barrier, which allows the medication to enter the blood stream and thereby affect other parts of the body. “Let me guess — you’ve never looked up the side effects.”

I had not. “How about we talk about something else, and look that up later? Our phones are all the way over there, on the dresser.”

“Sure,” he said, but his eyes took on a determined glint that I didn’t trust. “Let’s talk about your erection.”

“I don’t have an erection, but we can do something about that.” I tilted his chin up and kissed him, because I absolutely, positively did not wish to discuss any suspicions he might have. He kept the kiss sweet, much to my dismay.

“If you can’t talk to me about your penis, then I shouldn’t be playing with it,” he said sternly. I closed my eyes. Not that doing so would stop this discussion, but at least I wouldn’t have to see his face during it. “John, I know you’ve been having issues, but if you’re open about it… well, there are things we can do. Also, you might want to talk to your doctor, because this is new for you and I suspect the eye drops might be affecting your blood pressure.” I opened my eyes and he smiled patiently. “Yes, really. As for the future… any complications you’ve hinted at can also be managed for several years, if not longer, once they actually become a problem. A little-known fact: erection, ejaculation, and orgasm can each happen independently of the others.”

“Yes, but–”

“No buts. Unless you want to be a but-head.” Tommy giggled at his little play on words, before cupping my cheek in his hand and turning serious again. “John, I love you and we’re building a life together. No more secrets. No more lies and half-truths. Just us, taking on the world together.”

“No secrets.” I looked him square in the eyes this time, willing him to understand that I truly meant what I said. “But… Yeah, yeah, I’m a but-head. What I’m trying to say is that I will slip up one day, because being one hundred percent transparent is not something I’m used to doing. So if I start acting–”

“Sketchy?”

“…evasive, then you have my permission to threaten me with that monster faerie dragon dildo.”

He nodded, satisfied. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Then he kissed me. Devoured me. Marked me as his.

Tommy was the most gifted kisser on the face of the Earth. Truly a god among men. The moment our eyes locked so many months ago, I knew I had met The One, but the first time he kissed me… that was when I was changed forever.

Slowly our kiss transformed from a burning inferno to a firecracker that sizzled and sparked with the promise of the playful explosion of a Fourth of July display. His tongue teased mine, leading it in a merry dance. I slid my hand beneath his shirt, lightly running it up and down his side until he began to giggle.

“You’re pure evil.” He twisted away and removed my hand from his body. Sadly, my man’s ticklishness was the only weapon in my arsenal that would allow us to part long enough to remove all our clothing. We each undressed ourselves in record time and dove back onto the bed.

I drank in the sight of my future husband. His beautiful, creamy skin was devoid of hair, except for a slender line leading down from his navel. Each of his sensitive, dusky nipples was adorned by a small titanium ring. A tattoo of watercolor flowers trailed along the ribs of his right side — a combination of rebellion and memento, he once told me, acquired during a family trip to Seoul. All this was always covered by a layer or two of fabric. Even in summer, wary of UV rays, he wore a shirt to swim.

“I love seeing you like this,” I said, my voice husky with need. “You look so wholesome everywhere you go, and only I get to see your wild side.”

He gasped when my finger brushed a nipple ring. So very responsive. I nipped and licked and sucked on one nipple while teasing the ring on the other, then switched sides. Tommy moaned and cried out, his back arching and hips pumping, desperately seeking contact. I moved down to slowwwwly trace each pink petal of his tattoo with my tongue.

Tommy ran his fingers through my hair and tugged lightly, impatient. I smirked up at him and flicked his nipple ring again. I was not done playing with him. “Yes? Is there something you need?”

He moaned and I expected the hand in my hair to urge my head downward, but he surprised me by using his legs to push me onto my back, then growled, “My turn. You need to know you’re mine.”

With tongue and teeth and fingers, he transformed every inch of my skin into an erogenous zone. Nipped and nibbled, licked and sucked, pinched and caressed. My cock was hard as steel and ready to explode when he folded me in half, shoved a pillow under my hips, and proceeded to worship my hole. His tongue teased the edges, swirled, laved, and delved inside. His fingers worked me open further, teasing and massaging my prostate until I was a panting, begging mess.

Finally, he nodded at his handiwork. “I think you’re ready.”

I whimpered in agreement.

Tommy coated his cock with a generous amount of lube and guided himself to my entrance. With one constant, slow thrust, I was filled with him. He leaned forward, and I lifted my head up to kiss him, caressing his cheek with my thumb. I marveled at the love saturating his dark eyes… along with a twinkle of mischief.

He straightened, contemplated our joined bodies, gripped my cock, and then bent down… and continued to bend… until my cock was engulfed in the wet heat of his gorgeous mouth.

“Holy… Tommy!”

He hummed with laughter around me, which made the sensation at least twenty percent more overwhelming. And then he began to move inside me.

My body had no idea what the frak was going on, but it was loving it. Should I move? Could I grab him? What was the etiquette in this situation? I clutched the sheet beneath me with desperation, as if that could somehow keep me grounded. His hips pistoned, his head bobbed. I was filled, I was filling.

I was beside myself, babbling and speaking in tongues, completely nonsensical and yet he understood. He was wonderful, amazing… the sexiest man in the known universe and beyond… the only man I could ever love or ever desire…

Then my world exploded. I shattered. Yet Tommy held me together, made me whole. He swallowed me down, moaning. Then he pounded into me, screaming around my cock, and my insides were bathed in warmth.

We were an orgasmic ouroboros.

Tommy rested his head on my thigh until he caught his breath and then crawled up to curl against my side. I held him close and kissed his hair, whispering how amazing he was, how very much I loved him, how my life is complete because he is in it. I thanked him for loving me, for accepting me and my many flaws, for taking me back even though I didn’t deserve it. He whispered words of love and trust and understanding, of need and fulfillment, and of me being an idiot.

Too soon, it was time to get ready for tonight’s formal dinner and dancing. We showered and dressed and, for the first time, Tommy was wearing a suit for me. It was perfectly tailored and he looked utterly delectable. Unfortunately, his mind was not as deeply entrenched in the gutter as mine.

“We need to call Julian now,” he said, straightening his pink and navy tie and nodding at his reflection. “We have too many suspects. The Texans are too healthy and ask too many questions. The couple from Vermont could be using their arguments as a cover. The Bostonians are cold and judgy. The counselors whisper together and look at us weird. Your blood sugar spikes whenever we go into Professor Umbridge’s room so she might be trying to kill you with full-sugar foods. And I have no idea what to do about the dare.”

“What dare?”

“The blond guy who wants a threesome. That Dare,” he explained.

I calculated the probabilities and determined we had at least a 75% chance of getting carried away and entering a situation from which we couldn’t extract ourselves. “I agree. We need to contact Julian and ask how to proceed.”

But Julian didn’t answer the phone, so we dressed into suits and went to dinner, where everyone was seated at couple-sized tables to enjoy a candlelit, multi-course meal. After eating, the blond guy taught us a simple waltzing box step before forcing us to dance blindfolded and I was struck by the fact that all his physical activities involved ropes and blindfolds. At least there were no ball gags.

“We should wait to talk to Julian before we do anything,” I whispered as we waltzed, my stomach churning and hands shaky from anxiety, which was probably spiking my blood sugar. “We can act on our suspicions tomorrow.”

“Probably,” Tommy agreed, and I was finally able to relax and just enjoy the feel of him in my arms. I pulled him closer and he kissed my cheek. “Mmm. This is nice. We should find some way to dance near home.”

As soon as was possible without attracting attention, we attempted to depart but Blondie Gangbang caught up to us near the door to our room. “What did you decide? Would you like to take me up on my offer?”

“Why don’t you come inside with us?” Tommy suggested, unlocking our door. I wondered if his judgement was impaired by too much wine, until he added, “John just needs to make a call and then he’ll join us. It may take us a little while to warm up. I’ve never… Well, you know…”

I left him to talk with Dare and checked our phones. No calls from Julian and, of course, he didn’t answer my call or texts. Nor did Xander. We didn’t have the big scary guy’s number and I was running out of time. Out of desperation, I searched my contacts for Julian’s boss, Max. He had attended Xander’s bachelor party, so I had his personal number. The man answered immediately and I detailed the situation: our inability to contact Julian, our suspects, the man in our living room attempting to seduce my fiancé…

“Sparky and Buzzard sent you on this intelligence-gathering mission?” he growled. Why hadn’t Julian shared that with his boss? Would he get reprimanded or fired? And why did he have to call Julian ‘Sparky’? I had far too many names to remember as it was. I sighed and tuned back in to Max’s spy-talk. “Trip? I need a few minutes to consider all your intel. Don’t do anything until I call you back.”

He hung up before I could respond. I debated rejoining the ‘party’ in the other room, but ultimately decided that I should follow Max’s instructions because I had no idea what to do once I went back out there. My phone rang an interminable 6 minutes and 17 seconds later.

“Get Tommy over here. I need to talk to you both. Now,” the boss-man said in a voice that brooked no argument.

“Tommy!” I called nonchalantly, trying to ignore the eager blond’s hand on his leg. “Could you come here for a sec?”

Tommy extricated himself, we hid in the bathroom and I set the phone to speaker.

“Okay, we’re ready,” we said simultaneously.

“Good. Listen carefully…” he said and we leaned closer to the phone as if that would help our acuity. “I couldn’t reach Sparky or Buzzard, but I did reach Specter who did not hesitate to rat them out. Luckily, I could understand him despite all his laughing. You need to know, this whole thing is absolute bullshit.”

“What do you mean?” I inquired, suspicious.

“Sparky just wanted you to go to counseling and talk things out,” he said exhaustedly.

“What?!” Tommy screeched, then lowered his voice to ask, “What the h–”

“He read a book and decided to be hilarious… You know how he is.” The man went on to explain that Julian had set us up, with his brothers’ help. There was no blackmailer. There was no mission. Julian had, however, inserted an unnecessary but fully functional device in our fairy dragon dildo, at his older brother Greg’s suggestion.

“You know, the name Operation Butt Pirates was a bit of a giveaway,” Max pointed out.

“Not Butt Pirates. It’s Butt Bandits,” I explained, because it was an important distinction. “Butt Bandits are landlocked and only undertake minor pillaging.”

“Of course. My mistake.”

“Those goddamn meddling Moores…” Tommy muttered. “I knew I should’ve let Paranoid Tommy be paranoid.”

Oh dear — I really hoped Paranoid Tommy didn’t come out to play too often. His coworker still wasn’t talking to him, ever since he had suggested one too many times that her girlfriend was secretly running a meth lab in her locked basement.

“Guys, just enjoy the rest of your vacation. I hope it helped,” Max said, chuckling wearily.

“It did, actually.” I punctuated my statement with a little lick to Tommy’s right dimple.

“I’ll kill Julian and Buzzard first thing Monday,” Max promised. “Unless you can think of a way to retaliate?”

“Oh don’t worry, we’ve got this,” Tommy assured the man, opening the bathroom door. His calculating eyes were trained on the interloper in our sitting room, an evil smile curving his lips.

“Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?” I asked him, because this weekend was rife with plotting and I couldn’t get that silly cartoon out of my mind.

“I think so, Brain,” he answered immediately, the mischievous light in his eyes reminding me yet again that my fiancé was perfect in every possible way. “But where are we going to get duct tape and olive oil at this time of night?”