Viva Las Vegas

by laplumasucia

Summary:

Buck and Eddie go to Vegas. Cue a real fake marriage, dinner and a show, a gay club, making out, and kinky sex.

 

Our faces are pressed together and we’re making out again and my hands are on his ass and I’m running out of things to say.
When we part, I see nothing but blue and pink. The lighting, his eyes and lips, ocean and roses.
“Marry me,” I say once I’m able to speak again.

Notes:

I have about 100 more pages of this.

It all began on a rainy night in October. Buck came over because, well. That’s what we do. We swear we’re going to our own houses, then Buck comes by with dinner or I need help with Chris’s homework or… or something. 

It was around eight. The clouds were so thick no moonlight shone through. It felt like midnight. 

“Wanna borrow some sweats?” I asked, already placing a stack next to Buck. “I think half’s yours anyway.” Probably from when he lived here. Or last weekend when he crashed on the couch. Or maybe it’s because our clothes are starting to look pretty similar.

Buck smiled and pulled off his sweater. He bunched it up and shoved it to the side. He thanked me, pulling on a clean henley. 

I turned my head when Buck unbuttoned his pants more out of politeness than modesty. We’ve seen each other in nothing, but… it would be weird to look.

“There’s underwear, too,” I waved at the pile. “If you want them.” I lifted Buck’s sweater and started folding it neatly. Arms in. Sides in. Half it.

Buck handed me his trousers.

I folded them, too (in half like a hotdog, then fourths), and stacked them in my lap.

“No underwear?” I questioned. “You can change in the bathroom.”

“I just assumed you don’t want to touch dirty boxers.” Buck took his folded clothes from me and stacked his underwear on top. 

“Well, it’s just you,” I reasoned, relaxing into the couch. I handed Buck a pair of clean socks. “I’ve cut you out of your pants and underwear.”

“Because I was hurt.”

Right. Because he was hurt.

Not something I like to dwell on too much. 

I must have had a look on my face because Buck asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what we should watch.” I dug the remote out from between the couch cushions where it always falls. “There’s nothing new on TV.”

“We could rewatch Grey’s,” Buck suggested. “Or start that show Hen was talking about.” He cozied up to me and stretched his legs onto the coffee table.

“We’ve seen Grey’s too many times and they get it all wrong,” I complained. I waved my hands in frustration. “I don’t want a new show. I want new episodes of our show.”

Buck laughed. When we first met, I didn’t watch much TV unless it was Chris appropriate. Now I guess I kinda want a new season of all of our favourites. Grey’s, Bones, Abbot Elementary, Always Sunny. I like procedural and Buck likes comedy.  

“Well Buffy ended two decades ago and The Golden Girls are dead,” Buck reminded me. I miss Betty White most days. “We can start Will and Grace.” 

“I don’t care about Will or Grace,” I whined. I thunked my head back. It was childish, but I felt like we’d been doing the same shit as always.

“It’s gay,” Buck tempted. He kneeled next to me and shook my arm.

“So?” I know I was being moody, but I felt like I was owed it. 

“So, you love gay people. Hen, Karen, me, uh… Liz down the block. Josh! Ravi…” Buck hummed, trying to think of another example. “Elton John.”

“When have we ever listened to Elton John?” I groaned, turning my head to look at Buck.

“You love Chappell Roan.”

I exhaled through my nose and shook my head.

“Okay, I love gay people,” I agreed. Even if people’s sexualities are coincidences, not the root of my interest, it was something I could work with. “Let’s go somewhere with gay people.”

“You want to go to the club?” Buck questioned, perking up.

“No. It’s eight on a Monday. Even gay people work.” I drummed on my legs. “Let’s go to San Francisco. There’s gay people there.”

“Eddie, we can’t go gay-watching seven hours away. We have work in the morning.” Buck sunk back onto his butt and mimicked my position, head lolled back and limbs limp.

“What if we plan a weekend trip,” I countered. “We can drive somewhere and do something.”

“What’s in San Francisco besides domestic gays?” Buck questioned. “Smog?”

“Then we can pick somewhere else. Someplace interesting.” I cracked my neck. 

“New York,” he said. 

“Not drivable.”

I stared at Buck. Our faces were close and I could feel heat radiating off of him. Funny. Usually he runs cold.

“Ensenada.”

“I don’t want to deal with customs. Or cartels.”

Buck rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling.

“I gave you two ideas. At least spit out one.”

I pursed my lips and focused on Buck’s profile. His cheeks were a soft pink. I wonder if he was annoyed with me. I guess, for once, our roles were switched.

Anaheim is only good for Disney and I am so not a Disney guy. San Diego’s nice, but Buck will want to bring Chris and spend the whole time in the zoo. Phoenix is getting a little far and, well, it’s Phoenix. I don’t want to be in the middle of ass fuck nowhere even if Breaking Bad took place there.

So that leaves our old favourite.

“What about Las Vegas?”

———

We plan the Vegas trip for mid-November. Buck painstakingly plans everything from dinner, shows, to clubs. 

Or at least, that’s what he tells me. Knowing Buck, he probably forgot some key information and we’ll get side tracked walking the strip. Even though we go every once and a while, it feels new every time. I guess that’s what happens when one trip you see a game and the next you’re forced into strip clubs by your best friend’s ex frat brothers.

The day of our drive, Buck shows up at my place early in the morning with a massive suitcase and a few thousand dollars cash. 

Honestly, it might be the most money I’ve ever seen up close and he’s flashing it like it’s no big deal. Even I’d take off my clothes for that kinda money.

“Jesus, Buck,” I whistle. “You know we’re only going for a couple nights, right?” I yawn and stretch my arms.

“We need to be prepared,” Buck explains. “Where’s your bag?” 

I fight off another yawn and shuffle over to the coffee maker. 

“I haven’t even started.” I grab two mugs and scoop beans into the machine. “But I know what I’ll pack. A pair of jeans, a couple shirts, a suit.”

“That’s it?” Buck exclaims. “It’s Vegas. You need more than that.” He crowds into me, examining my shirt. “Tell me you’re not wearing this.”

“I’m still in my pajamas, Buck,” I complain. I rub my eyes. “You woke me up.” 

I’m technically lying, but it’s the principle of bothering someone this early in the day.

“You always wake up at six and it’s nine,” the blond argues. He knows me too well. Better than my own mom. 

Buck wanders over to my fridge and grabs milk and the basket of blueberries.

“I was relaxing.” I swap the mugs and hand the first pour to Buck. “I got Chris to school and went back to bed.”

“So you’ve been lazy! We have a vacation to go on.” Buck frowns and tilts his head. 

He kind of reminds me of a kid with how expressive he is. You gotta distract Buck like a kid, too.

“Whatever you say,” I placate him. “Could you grab my duffel? I’ll pack as soon as I have my coffee.”

“You sound like such a millenial. I’m not me without my coffee,” Buck teases. “And no, I won’t get your duffel. I’m getting your suitcase. I’ll even pack for you!” Buck grins and takes a gulp of steamy coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” I warn him, but it’s already too late. 

Buck coughs and shakes his head. 

“It’s not even that hot,” he says, fighting through what I imagine is a pretty painful burn in his mouth. “I’m totally fine.”

“Sure, Cowboy.” I clap Buck on the shoulder. “If you really want to pack for me, go ahead. I’ll be in in a minute.” I take my cup of coffee and set it on the table. Maybe I’ll be able to catch a few seconds of peace and quiet before the Vegas Whirlwind.

Buck hurries to the doorway and pauses. 

“Any drawers I should avoid?” He asks with a wink.

“You already know where everything is,” I say. “You helped me move back, remember?”

“Yeah, but… I’m sure everyone has something they wouldn’t want people to find.” Buck winks again. 

I laugh, “Well, if you want my social security card you know where it is. Can’t say I have much of an identity to steal.”

“I mean sex toys, Eddie,” Buck grumbles. “I already know your number. It’s 274–“

“Buck, do not repeat my social security number,” I beg. “And I don’t own any sex toys. Like I said, you know where everything in the house is.”

“None?” Buck scoffs. “That’s crazy. I’m bringing two.”

“Why would you need—You know what, I’m not even going to ask.” I wave my hands. Honestly, I would like to ask, but I need my moment of silence. “Go do whatever you want to do.”

I might feign annoyance or act like I’m not as excited as Buck, but I know this will probably be the most fun I’ve had in a damn long time. Three days, two nights, splurging on food and alcohol and once in a lifetime shows? I am damn lucky that I can not only afford it, but I get to go with Buck. And it might help a tiny bit that Buck has some extra funds he definitely doesn’t mind sharing for stuff like fancier groceries or nice dinners or tipping for extra good service. Not that I’m banking on that or anything, but Buck always buys us drinks and has “whimsical” ideas he’s willing to fund.

Last time we were in Vegas BCO (before Buck’s coming out) when his buddies dragged us to those strip clubs, Buck paid extra for us to have a “dance” alone with Charlene (stage name Magenta). He gave her a few hundred cash to help us with Wordle and give us makeovers. I can’t say I expected to wear a bra or guess envoi that day, but it was better than pretending I wanted to see a stranger’s boobs out. 

I think Buck did it because he thinks I have Catholic guilt, but it’s not like I’m a curmudgeon or gay or something. I just don’t find any pleasure in disrespecting women. Not that I have a problem with sex work. I’ve treated plenty of women and men who do that stuff at work. Everyone’s gotta live somehow. I sell my body too, just in a different way.

In my room, Buck has my biggest suitcase filled with clothes and he’s still picking out more. 

“Buck, I know you like to be prepared, but it's November in Vegas. I don’t think we’ll be facing a snowstorm or a heatwave.” It’s sort of sweet how excited he is even if he somehow willed new clothes into existence.

“But I have surprises planned and… and you need to be ready!” Buck sits next to me. His genuineness startles me sometimes. Even eight years into our friendship, I sometimes forget that he says what he means instead of doing that passive aggressive bullshit my family always did.

Well. At least when he’s not feeling gay for some new guy and tries to break my foot.

“Do any of the surprises require skiing or surfing?” I hold up board shorts. I don’t recognise these either, but I don’t swim much, so they might just be old. 

“No, but there’s a hotel with a pool I thought we could see.” Buck takes the shorts and folds them. “I guess the winter stuff is overboard, though.”

“Just a little,” I agree. 

“I want you to look nice and have comfortable clothes.” Buck holds up an oxford and fluffy socks. “I’m just nervous. I want you to enjoy our trip, too,” Buck explains, unpacking the suitcase. 

“I can’t say I fully understand, but you know me. I can have fun anywhere, especially with you.” I hang a few outfits, trying to undo the mess Buck made. Buck takes the hint and returns some casual clothes to the drawers. “You don’t have to be nervous with me.”

Nervous Buck is always kind of funny. He’s jittery and says odd stuff. 

“It’s… it’s the first surprise,” Buck admits. “I kinda ruined it.”

“I have no idea what you’re planning, you didn’t spoil anything.” I hold up the two suits I own. I weigh them in each hand. “Which one.”

“The velvet, obviously,” Buck sighs, touching the fabric. It’s nicer than my funeral suit. “White shirt.”

I drape the suit on my bed. I collect the miscellaneous socks and underwear Buck took out and make a stack of acceptable picks. No need for long johns or jock straps. Briefs will do.

“It’s just… I thought it’d be really funny,” Buck begins. “But it turns out it’s actually not that simple, there’s a process since it’s real.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I nod sympathetically.

Buck picks out a pair of jeans and tan pants for me. 

“What would be funny and real?” I ask. “You know Elvis is dead, right? We can’t meet him.”

I expect Buck to laugh, but he just sighs.

“Yes, I know. I just, like…” Buck flops back on my bed. “I thought it’d be funny to give you a marriage license before we went, since, like, Vegas is known for fast marriages. But apparently we would have to pick it up together in person because it’s an actual legal document.”

“That would’ve been funny,” I assure Buck. “But it also makes sense that they wouldn’t FedEx a marriage license to you.”

I’m not sure if I find it funnier that Buck wanted a marriage license for a gag or that he thought he could pick one up like a box of cereal. I guess he’s never been married, so he has no idea what goes into it.

“If it means that much to you, we can pick it up. We’ll hang it on the fridge or something,” I suggest. I count my outfits, pointing to each. Some casual day clothes, clothes for dinner, a show… I should be fine. “You actually did a good job packing. Y’know. Besides the absurd stuff.”

“Asburd is a stretch,” Buck argues, but I shake my head.“Can we leave let?” the blond asks. He bounces himself off the bed, popping onto his feet.

“I need to shower and change. You told me we shouldn’t leave before ten because we can’t check in until mid-afternoon.” I use Buck’s arm to pull myself to his feet. “Come on, you can eat my food while I get ready.”

“Can I get ready, too?” Buck asks. “I forgot to shave and I really need to pee.”

“Alright. I know you didn’t forget, you just want to use my electric razor and aftershave.” I pat Buck on the back. “You know Hen got me the aftershave. You could buy it for yourself or ask her for some this Christmas.”

“I know, but it’s not as fun as stealing yours.” Buck grins goofily. “And you can use my electric razor if you want, but it isn’t for my face.”

“You’re so gross sometimes,” I complain. His ball razor is probably cleaner than my beard one because I’ve been kinda lax lately. Chris is just starting high school. It's a big deal. We’ve been busy.

“You talk about shit and blood. I’m just honest about pubic hair.”

“I wish, sometimes, you were less honest.”

———

Buck and I play a few rounds of I Spy before realising there’s not much for two grown men to mysteriously spot on the side of the road. We move on to Would You Rather, but I’m not the most creative and Buck is too creative. 

I ask, “Would you rather shit every time you fart or barf every time you burp?” 

And Buck says, “Been there, done that.”

I think he means he’s heard the question, not that he sharts or burfs all the time. 

His question is whether I’d rather let Hen wax my pubes or Chim wax my butthole. I tell him I don’t wax and he tells me the butthole is worse, but he thinks Chim would be tender.

I’m not sure what to do with that information, so I suggest we move on to listening to music.

Buck usually drives us places, but he also prefers DJing and navigating, so I talked myself into the driver’s seat. He said jokes on me, driving four or five hours straight isn’t his idea of a good time. I told him we could switch out and he said, girl, does he look like a vers? 

So I guess he doesn’t feel like driving or flip-fucking.

Anyway, my point is that Buck gets to pick the music. I used to complain about his picks because a lot of it is girly pop music, but I realised I actually like it a lot. I know all of the words even if they’re melodramatic and shit. They make me feel things. When I told Buck that, he said I didn’t want to like the music because of misogyny, which was kind of offensive, but he had a point. I guess I was told not to like girl stuff as a kid and it did extend all the way to music.

I know Buck isn’t that girly or anything, but it seems like he’s less worried about being feminine. I wonder if it’s because Maddie raised him or the bisexuality or just ‘cause he always did his own thing. 

I expect Buck to put something up beat on because we’re both looking forward to our trip. Much to my satisfaction, he starts with Pink Pony Club. 

The car ride goes without a hitch. We sing (scream) along to our favourite music and say things like, oh THIS is a banger, everytime something starts playing.

Thank fucking God Lady Gaga has such a big discography.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” Buck sings, lowering the music. “We have a big decij to make.”

“A decij?” I laugh and grin at Buck. He’s grinning back, dancing in his seat.

“A decision.” Buck wiggles his eyebrows and cracks his knuckles. “And it’s so serious.”

“Okay, okay. I’m serious,” I assure him. I force my smile down, but it’s hard and I can tell my face is all screwed up.

“It’s only two p.m., but we’re basically in Vegas. Should we go to the hotel and wait out the hour before check-in or…” Buck fights a smile and widens his eyes. “We could go get our marriage license!”

“Well, obviously we need our marriage license,” I choose. I’m not really sure why we’re so excited about a license, but I guess it’s kind of the best souvenir you can bring home from Vegas. Like… we could get legally married just for shits and giggles. Not that we would.

“I’m glad you’re thinking logically.” Buck sits up in his seat and adjusts his collar like he’s wearing a buttoned shirt instead of a sweater. “We need to discuss our marriage.”

“I want the right side of the bed,” I claim. Buck laughs.

“If we’re getting married, we probably already know what side of the bed we sleep on,” he reasons. “I want to know what our wedding will be like.”

“It’s going to be a classy affair,” I tell Buck.

“A white wedding?”

“Do you want to wear a dress for me?” I rest my palm on Buck’s thigh, looking into his eyes. They’re so blue.

“I think my titties would look great in a dress.” Buck pushes his pecs together under his sweater. “Do you want to do the cake smash?”

“That’s not classy. We’re classy guys,” I remind him. “We’ll feed each other a bite and kiss with cake in our mouths.”

“Can it be Tia Pepa’s tres leches cake?” Buck pouts and flutters his eyelids. “Or Bobby’s cinnamon loaf cake.”

We’re us. What else would we possibly have at our wedding?

“How about a tier of each,” I suggest. “And white frosting like you make.”

Buck nods in agreement and touches my hand on his leg.

“And I’ll take your name. Mister Buck Diaz.” 

“Mister Buck Diaz,” I repeat. “No Evan?”

“Mister Evan Buckley Diaz.” Buck draws an arch in the air. “That’ll be my legal name, but everyone will call me Buck Diaz.”

“How many guests?” 

Buck purses his lips.

“Three hundred at the reception, but the ceremony should be small. Our love is intimate like that,” Buck tells me. “It only has to be us and a few witnesses.”

“What’re your vows?”

“That’s a surprise, babe.” Buck rolls his eyes. “But you’ll love them. They’re super gooey and just a little spicy.”

“Spicy vows?” I chuckle, but Buck squeezes my hand.

“Don’t laugh, Eddie! We have a voracious sexual appetite,” he insists. “We fuck like twice a day, hours at a time, multiple orgasms, kinky as shit.”

“Do we want another kid?” I ask. If this were real, I would probably want another kid. Maybe a daughter. I think Buck would be a good father to a girl.

“We’d do that thing lesbians do, both carry a baby. Then, we could have two at once.” Buck holds up double peace signs. “I’d really like being pregnant and want another baby. So we’d end up with one more boy and two girls.”

“Me? Pregnant?” I scoff. “Honey, I think that’s all you.” 

Buck pouts and links our fingers.

“You wouldn’t want to be preggie with me?” He laments.

“No. If I had a womb, that would probably be my biggest fear,” I confess. “Like… imagine being huge and uncomfortable and then a creature pops out?”

“It sounds amazing,” Buck argues. “You get to make a little guy!”

“What if it rips you up and your vagina is bleeding for months and you’re in pain and your husband wants to put his penis in your broken body because he doesn’t understand you got torn puss to ass by a demon?”

Buck looks at me like maybe I’ve thought about this too much. I’m not going to remind him that I watched my son being born and it was pretty traumatic. But at least I didn’t want to fuck my wife right after. Actually, I really didn’t want to have sex ever again.

“But it’s so romantic, Eddie,” Buck argues. He turns in his seat, whole body facing me. “Everyone would know we’re in love and I’m yours. We’d make another little Chris or Christina.”

“Then you can carry our kids,” I say. “I’m just a normal dad.”

“Fine, but I want twins. You have to get me pregnant with twin girls the first time, then a boy the second. And our kids’ names have to work together, okay?” Buck crosses his arms. 

I miss his hand on mine.

“That’s fine with me. I’ll even give you triplets. Two and one. They can be, like, Chloe, Zoe, and Joey.” 

“I would never name a child Chloe,” Buck argues. “Or Zoe.”

“Alright, Mama, what would we call them?” I look back at the road, but place my hand on Buck’s leg.

Buck closes his eyes and takes my hand again.

“We could go with all C names like Chris. Or maybe E names because we’re Eddie and Evan.” Buck is touching his stomach like he could somehow magically connect with our fake unborn children and sense names. “Or saint names. Or, Mexican names. Because you’re their daddy.”

“We could name one girl a B name, one an E name, and the boy a C name. Then we’d have two of each.” I’m not sure why, but I actually love that idea. I think I just love symmetry.

“I like that, but I need name examples,” Buck requests. “What about Benito, Ellie, and Cami? Camille or Cameron for one daughter.”

Buck is grinning so wide I feel like I can’t say no. Besides, he’s not pregnant with twins or triplets. In fact, he’s my 33 year old male best friend, so he isn’t carrying any of my children, nor would he be able to in the future. 

“I like that,” I agree. “And if we have two boys, one girl, Cameron is unisex.”

It kind of makes me sad to think none of these kids will ever exist. It’s not that I wish we were having triplets or anything, but… I don’t know. 

I didn’t realise I wanted a big family. 

Sure, maybe one more, but I don’t know that that will ever happen and I really am happy just Chris and I. It’s kind of silly, feeling sentimental about having a baby with Buck, but we did raise Chris together. He’s the only person I can picture having another child with.

“We never finished planning the wedding,” I remind him. “What’s for dinner? Where will we honeymoon?”

Buck gasps like he’s shocked he forgot.

“Surf and turf for dinner. We want to feed each other ribeye and lobster, duh.” Buck rubs his stomach again, but this time I get it. That does sound fucking amazing. “Sushi and tapas as appetisers. Tapenade, patatas bravas, chorizo and cheese.”

“Don’t make me hungry, dinner isn’t for hours,” I complain. “I knew we should’ve gotten lunch on the road.”

“We can still get lunch. We just have to get it after the license.”

I grumble, but I know Buck is right. We can get much better food here than on the side of an interstate.

“And about our honeymoon,” he starts. “We need to go somewhere with good food, good alcohol, and hot sex.”

“We can have hot sex anywhere.”

Buck makes a buzzer sound.

“That’s incorrect. We can’t have hot sex in Ohio because it’s Ohio. Immediately eradicates the heat.”

“I was thinking more like Italy or Spain or Greece,” I tell Buck. I glance over at him, half expecting to see him on Expedia. “Mexico would be fun, too.”

“Greece,” Buck picks. “We’ll eat hummus and spanakopita.”

“And I’ll get you pregnant on a balcony overlooking the beach,” I play along. “Twins in one go.”

“No IVF journey that almost breaks us until it eventually brings us closer?” Buck questions. 

I shake my head.

“Nope. I have, like, really strong seed. We might accidentally make triplets.”

“The number of kids actually depends on the number of eggs released, not on the strength of your sperm,” Buck corrects me. He hugs my arm. “But I’m also very fertile, so we’ll have to be careful we don’t have a Cheaper by the Dozen situation.”

“I forgot that you have an illegitimate child.” I’ve never actually met or heard about the kid. I wonder if Buck hears from the parents.

“They aren’t my child. They’re my friends’ kid and I was a donor,” Buck tells me. “Chris is my only one.”

I wonder if Buck’s saying that because he feels like Chris’s dad or if he’s just going along with the joke. I hope he knows Chris and I think of him as family.

“We raised a great boy, didn’t we?” I ask. 

Buck smiles and I feel like I’ve sort of gotten an answer.

“Yeah, we did,” he agrees. “With a lot of help from Shannon.”

I’ve never heard Buck say her name before. I think it’s his way of saying he isn’t joking anymore. Maybe he wouldn’t claim fatherhood, but I’m glad Buck understands what he means to us in some small way.

Unfortunately, the moment is ruined by Buck cursing at me.

“Eddie! You were supposed to keep left, not right,” he shouts. “You took the wrong exit.”

I guess that’s what I get for daydreaming.

———

We finally make it to the county clerk’s office and meet with a nice woman called Miss Jess after about a twenty minute wait.

We’re holding hands. I guess it’s for effect, but it almost feels natural.

“Can you confirm your full legal names?” Miss Jess asks us.

“Edmundo Ramon Diaz,” I announce. “Do I need to spell it?”

“No, it’s written here.” Jess points to the document she’s looking at. “And you?” She says to Buck.

“Evan Buckley. No middle name,” he says. “Soon to be Evan Diaz,” he adds, leaning closer to me.

Is it wrong of us to be here? I know we aren’t doing anything illegal and we do really want a marriage license, but we have no intention of marrying each other. There are real couples here who I’m sure are actually excited to be wed. 

We’re really leaning into this whole couple thing, too. Like when Miss Jess confirms our birthdates and tells us we’re officially approved, I don’t know why, but I kiss Buck.

I go in for his cheek, but he turns to look at me and I sort of faceplant into him. 

We aren’t making out or anything, it’s just a peck, but I’m shocked nonetheless. 

We both look at each other and giggle after.

Whoops. I guess it’s a good thing I’m secure in my masculinity. 

It’s kind of funny. The two of us giggling. I feel like I’m getting back my early 20s even though I definitely didn’t have plans to fake a gay marriage at any point.

“Are we officially engaged?” I ask Buck on the way out.

“You never got me a ring.” He looks at his gemless hands.

“You didn’t get me one either,” I say.

“Yeah, but I’m about to be your pregnant wife. You’re just a man, Eddie.”

The first part isn’t true, but the second part is, so I choose not to fight Buck. I guess if we really were gay, I’d probably buy him a ring anyway. Since I’m straight and he’s bi, that’s like… how it works, I think.

———

When we get to the hotel, Buck tells me he’ll take care of checking in if I grab the luggage. He hops right out and waves to me.

I climb out and open his trunk. Just our two bags. I lift my carry-on out and a short, thick man appears in front of me.

“Hello, sir,” the bellhop greets me. “May I take that for you, sir?”

“Oh, uh—” He takes the bag right from my hand. “Thank you.” 

He plops it onto the sidewalk.

“And your wife’s?” He gestures for me to move so he can reach Buck’s bag.

“Oh, sure.” I take a step back. I could easily get our stuff, but I let the older man figure it out. I need to find my “fiance”.

“Oh, Eddie!” Buck calls for me once I’m in the lobby. He wraps his hands around my bicep. “I was just saying how happy we are to get married here.” He looks down at me. I notice how pink his lips are. He couldn’t have put on lipstick between leaving the car and now, right?

“Of course,” I agree. “We just picked up our license.”

Buck pulls some of the cash out of his pocket and takes a couple twenties out of the roll.

He places them on the desk and smiles politely.

“My husband and I are so grateful for your amazing service,” Buck says. He touches my chest gently and smiles towards the young woman working. “I’m not sure what type of room we booked online, maybe you could remind me?”

I wrap an arm around Buck’s waist and pull him to my chest like I would with my wife.
Again, I don’t mean for it to happen, but we’re close and we look at each other and one of us, I’m not sure if it’s me or him, kisses the other on the cheek. Still a peck. Still sweet and friendly. But now I’ve gone from kissing men 0 times in my life to twice in a day.

“Of course, Mr.Buckley,” the woman takes the money less than discreetly. “You booked undecided. We have a lovely suite in the Octavius tower that’s available, if you’d like it.”

Buck smiles at me. I think he’s trying not to laugh.

“That sounds fine, thank you,” I agree, worried Buck might break character. 

“How’s the sound proofing?” Buck asks. 

Now it’s my turn to try not to laugh. God, I can feel my face turning red.

The poor receptionist tells us she’s never had a problem and slides over a room key.

“You already paid for the room,” she says. “Any extra fees will be due at check out.”

I can tell she wants to get rid of us even if Buck gave her a nice tip. Probably because he was about to make a joke about being a screamer or something.

“You’re so inappropriate,” I scold my friend, leading him towards our luggage. “Sound proofing?”

“I had to ask,” Buck swears, crossing his heart. “It has to be a suitable place to conceive our children.”

“I thought that was happening on the honeymoon in Greece,” I remind Buck, rubbing his waist. “Remember the seaside balcony?”

“Right, right… but we’d need to practice,” Buck reasons, grabbing his suitcase. “It doesn’t matter how, but I’m using the sex toys we brought.”

I shush Buck. Why is he yelling about vibrators or whatever the fuck he took?

“You brought. From your house.”

I grab my bag and try to lead Buck out of the busy foyer.

———

I’m wearing my suit because Buck said that’s the sort of thing you wear to dinner and a show and I trust him with this. He’s always been more fashionable than me and not joining the military at 18 gave him a few more years of experience doing adult shit.

Before I put on my jacket, he straightens my collar and smooths my shirt. His hands stop just above my waistband.

“Whoever takes this off to you is one lucky girl,” he says, tapping my belt. 

I cup his shoulder. My thumb is on his collarbone. I can feel it through his dress shirt.

I had something to say and now I’m not so sure what it was.

“Come on, Cowboy. We’ve got dinner reservations,” I try.

Buck hands me my jacket and hangs his own off of two fingers.

“We’re splitting that dry aged ribeye, right?” He asks, grabbing my hand when I take my blazer. 

I pretend to think. 

“Is this our wedding dinner?” I ask instead of replying. He licks his lips.

“I don’t think they have lobster, but it’s as close as we’ll get.”

I shift my jacket to my opposing hand so Buck doesn’t have to let go.

We wander down a long, ornate hallway toward the elevator.

“I looked online and they don’t serve wedding cake either,” Buck breaks the news. He knocks our shoulders together. I bump him back.

“How will we survive the horror?” I ask. “Expensive red meat, but no cake?”

“I’m sure we could source a cake from somewhere if your heart is set on it.”

I let Buck know it’s fine, but I’m touched that he’d go wandering around trying to find some. When we get home, I’ll coax him into making a Black Forest cake.

Our table is in a corner of the restaurant without a lot of hustle and bustle, which I’m glad for. I think we’re eating earlier than most people. It’s only five. Las Vegas is more of a ten p.m. town. But we have a show at seven and we only had a couple of tacos after picking up our license, so I can’t make it all the way to ten.

The first thing we order are cocktails. Buck orders a strawberry daiquiri the restaurant calls a “Good Neighbor Policy” and I get a Tom Collins called “Doors Have Eyes”. 

“I know one reference,” Buck tells me while we scan the menu. “Doves Cry. That’s a song, right?”

“Yeah, it’s by Prince.” I look back at the cocktails. I didn’t really understand the names, but I guess they must all be references.

“I’ve never heard of anything called Good Neighbor Policy,” Buck says. “But The Doors Have Eyes is a movie, right?”

“No, that’s The Hills Have Eyes. I’ve heard the phrase before, though. Something like… walls have ears, doors have eyes. I think it means we’re supposed to be wary.” I shrug because it’s a really weird name for a drink, especially one that’s pretty much a fancy Arnold Palmer. “Why are so many drinks named after random men?”

“At the time, they probably didn’t seem random,” Buck suggests. “They were probably rich. Everything is named by or after rich men.”

Buck has a point, but I’m pretty sure Arnold Palmer was just a golfer with alcoholism.

“So Good Neighbour Policy. Is that something we should understand?” I rest my chin in my hand. “Like is that some common sense rule about not mowing the lawn before nine a.m.?”

Buck tells me he’ll look it up while I decide on dinner, but we already agreed to split the 24 ounce bone-in ribeye for our main and as soon as I suggest the yellowtail appetiser, Buck will obviously say yes. Yellowtail is his favourite.

“Huh,” Buck sighs. “This is weird. The Good Neighbour Policy was a foreign initiative under Franklin Roosevelt. It basically said the US would stop fucking with domestic affairs in Latin America.”

“Am I missing something? How is that related to fizzy hard lemonade?”

Buck shakes his head, equally clueless. 

“Do Mexican people love lemonade?”

I’ve never heard of Mexican people loving lemonade the way British people drink tea or Germans drink lager. If anything, I’d probably guess a Corona or margarita is more common.

It’s a moot point because our cocktails come out and the waiter asks for our order. 

Buck plays up our so-called marriage yet again. If I didn’t know I was heterosexual, I might start believing him, too.

I mean, it would make sense. We’re best friends. I’m sure if I was queer, it would cross our minds. Hell, when Buck first told me he liked guys, there was a point where I wondered if he meant me. Not that I’m self centred like that, but… I don’t know. It felt like something shifted. Like when we touched…

But I’m not like him and even if I was, that doesn’t mean we’d be into each other. Or I should say, even if I was into Buck, that doesn’t mean he’d like me. He looks at other men all of the time. He picked Tommy. 

The service here is so spot on. As soon as we finish our appetiser, our table is cleaned off and our waters are refilled. I’ve been to nice places before in LA, but it’s almost like a dance here. I guess the atmosphere helps. It looks like a theatre. There’s red velvet and archways and little lamps with fringe on them. The waiter told us the tomahawk on the menu gets flambéed right in front of you. If it wasn’t $425 and enough food for four people, I might have considered it.

“I’d do it,” Buck says to me. “I would spend that much for it.”

“For almost five hundred dollars? It’s just a really big steak they set on fire. I’d consider it if it was half the meat and a third of the price.” I think I sound pretty reasonable because even $150 is a lot of money.

“So if it was completely different, you might want it?” Buck teases. He elbows me in the ribs. “I’m sure we could eat four hundred dollars worth of meat.”

“If we didn’t drink, have an appetiser or dessert, and wore sweatpants. Still, they’d have to roll us out of here.”

Buck laughs and his nose crinkles. I love his little crinkle because Chris does it too when he’s happy. 

“What if we took the whole afternoon to eat? We could eat half, run ten miles, eat the rest,” Buck theorises. “You’d do that easily.”

“Yeah, but that’s lunch and dinner for two active adults. I’m saying, as a normal dinner in a normal situation, no fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way, Eddie,” Buck whines. “We could do it!”

“Why are we even arguing? We ordered a different steak.”

“Because I want you to believe in my meat eating abilities—and I don’t mean dick sucking,” Buck jokes. I roll my eyes, but I find him funny. We have the sense of humour of fourteen year olds.

“Do you think you could eat half the steak and suck one after?” I wonder.

“I could probably get half of an average penis in my mouth, but a normal blowjob? I’d throw up all over your weiner.” Buck frowns and pats my thigh as if he’s actually going to eat himself sick or get anywhere near my penis.

“Why does it have to be my penis? Why can’t it be a theoretical one,” I complain.

“Because we’re getting married, so there are only two penises in my life. Mine and yours. And mine can’t go there. Trust me, I tried.” If it’s possible, Buck looks even sadder.

I rub his back to comfort him even if this is a totally absurd situation. 

“We’re not actually getting married, you know,” I whisper. 

“I know.” Buck leans his head on my shoulder. “Can you?”

“Can I what? Get married? As long as my wife is still legally dead,” I quip. Buck fights a laugh, trying to maintain his solemn look.

“No, can you suck your own dick?” 

I sigh.

Of course that’s what he’s asking.

“I’ve never tried, but I doubt it. I’m not very flexible.” 

I have a weird feeling I am going to be attempting this in three days when I’m back home. Not even because I want to, but because now I’m going to be plagued with thoughts about it.

This is just like the time Buck asked me if I knew about irrumatio and I said I don’t eat much Korean food. 

Turns out that’s neither Korean nor food. I’m so glad Chris has his own computer because that’s a Google search I could never live down. I just hope he’s not looking it up, too. I mean, at his age I would’ve 100% Googled every weird sex thing I could think of, but I hope he looks at normal stuff like… missionary. Or, if I am very optimistic, maybe he just watches video game streams. 

It’d put parental control on his laptop, but he’s smarter than me and could definitely disable them, so we’ve stuck to an open door policy. 

I tune back into Buck still discussing his auto-fellating failure. It would be funny if I wasn’t fascinated.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard, but I only got the tip in,” Buck mourns, his bottom lip jutting out.

I wish I didn’t say wow out loud, but I did.

“So you got it in your mouth, but it wasn’t long enough?” I ask.

“Okay, let’s not phrase it like that. I have a very nice, long dick, thanks. I just don’t bend like that.” Buck holds up two hands like I have him at gun point.

“I don’t know how my dick compares to most guys, so I couldn’t even try to guess if any would reach,” I say. I try not to look at my lap or think about the guys in the porn I’ve seen. Porn isn’t a realistic indication of anything.

“I feel like there’s more to it than size. There are other things that require a certain je ne sais quoi that I can do,” Buck assures me. I’m sure he has a certain je ne sais quoi to his partners because, well. He’s kind of a guy-slut. Not that I’m judging because I’m barely not a virgin. “It’s just self, uh, y’know. Sucking.”

“Are there actually that many weird things you can do?” I ask purely for scientific reasons. I’m sure he’s taken body shots and done anal with guys and girls. But I don’t think any of that requires much more than a mildly adventurous partner.

“I can put my dick in my own ass,” Buck shares. “You just have to get your balls out of the way and tuck it.”

Not what I was expecting, honestly.

“How do you even figure out that you can do that?”
In all my 34 years of manhood (over 20 of which I could’ve attempted that), the thought has never, not even once, crossed my mind. 

“I wanted to know what girls felt when we finish in them, so I was like… well, I have a dick.” 

Sometimes, looking at Buck, I can picture him doing stupid shit. Almost burning down our fire house, crawling through my attic trying to find an evil possum, slipping on ice and flipping 360°… But that’s hard to picture. 

It’s even harder not to picture. 

What I mean is, I can’t imagine how it’s done successfully, but I can’t stop myself from trying.

“So, like… you got the tip in?” I ask.

“No, I got a couple of inches. It actually feels pretty good.” I can tell Buck isn’t done describing the experience because he spots our waiter approaching and lowers his voice. “But someone else’s dick feels way better.”

Logically, I know Buck has been on both ends of the situation, but emotionally, I forgot. I assumed he’d say something about regular penis-in-vagina sex, not getting fucked.

I think that could be lingering homophobia. 

Buck has made it very clear, in many explicit ways, many, many times that his favourite nights are when he’s under someone.

Instead of saying anything, I nod politely to the waiter and let him place our food down.

When he makes it a safe distance away, I finally look back at Buck.

“If you got it that far in, could you feel it?”

“Well, I can feel with my entire ass, so… yes.” Buck giggles and bumps against me again. 

I roll my eyes and cut a piece of meat.

I examine it on my fork. Good marbling, perfect colour, crisp outside. It looks like there’s a thin salt crust on top. Probably part of the dry aging and seasoning process.

“Acceptable?” Buck asks me, watching closely.

“You tell me,” I say. I turn my fork towards him. “Open up.”

Buck opens his mouth and I’m not sure if he’s actually trying to be seductive or if the sex talk is just making me sensitive. But his tongue looks so soft and wet. His lips are full and waiting. 

If I were gay, I’d definitely want him to taste something else of mine.

Buck closes his mouth to chew, but I’m still looking at him. His jaw moving. His throat while he swallows. His tongue licking his lips.

I see him tell me it’s so fucking good, but I don’t hear it.

Buck cuts a piece off and holds it out for me.

“Your turn,” he instructs, moving his fork like an airplane. “Incoming.”

I let him put his fork in my mouth. We’ve kissed twice and he used mine, so it would be strange to get uncomfortable now, but something is making me uncomfortable. 

The steak is perfectly seasoned and I just know it’s going to be phenomenal with the potatoes. It has a buttery mouth feel and a beefy, salty flavour. It’s juicy without being bloody. 

I wonder if Buck can sense things the same way I can. Does he get the subtle nuttiness or umami? Is it making his mouth water?

I wonder, does his mouth taste like the steak? I have the urge to know what his tongue would taste like. If he’s salivating. If he’d let me lick his briny spit off of his lips.

Not that I’m into him or anything. I just love steak. 

Buck smiles at me and eats a bite for himself.

I don’t know why I do it, but I force my mouth against his. Just lips, no tongue. It’s kind of disgusting kissing him while he’s eating, but I lick his bottom lip and take in the taste of meat and person.

When we pull apart, he’s just staring. He has spit on his chin and he isn’t moving.

I can’t believe I’m hard over steak. 

Buck finally takes a deep breath and swallows. 

I feel bad about forcing myself on him, so I cut him more meat and add some potato and dip it in what little au jus is on the plate.

I feed it to him again and get a shiver up my spine. I know I’m eating steak with my best friend, but I have that feeling I get when a woman puts her hair in a ponytail or gets on her knees.

I pray to fucking God it’s just the mood lighting. I can’t seriously be horny because of a ribeye.

Buck and I let each other eat in peace after that. I realise our knees are touching under the table and he’s felt mine bouncing the whole time. I hope he thinks I’m excited and not excited.

“Eddie.” Buck rests his hand on my upper thigh and my dick twitches. I am so glad he can’t see what I can feel. “Do you want dessert?”

If I didn’t have a dumb fucking erection, I’d have an easier time saying yes. But because my body is betraying me, I read into it. 

Eddie, he said. And I swear I could see him licking his lips. Dessert, he said. God, he must have tilted his head up because I noticed his neck.

Now I’ve eaten so much steak I’m a Goddamn vampire. Why do I want to bite him?

“Dessert sounds amazing.” I lean back and cross my legs. Dessert does sound good, but I also can’t stand up without at least Buck realising I have an erection, so it’s better to keep this going. “What are you thinking?”

I half expect him to say you, because he makes jokes like that all the time and given our situation, it would fit. 

But I know Buck and he also does not play about dessert, so it’s no surprise when he closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath. 

“I see…” He moves his lips to one side, then the other, rubbing his stomach. “Chocoate in my future.”

“Yeah?” I ask, laughing. “Chocolate?”

It’s funny because I’m usually the chocolate fiend, not Buck. It would be just like him to make sure the food here suits me more than him. 

Buck smiles and opens his eyes.

“Not a fruity trifle?” I nudge him softly. I know he loves fruits and berries and even citrus more than something as heavy as chocolate. His sweet tooth keeps him from eating the best, rich dark chocolate. Too bitter, he says. 

“Not today,” Buck assures me with a sparkle in his eyes. Again, I’m struck by how blue they are.

I think, even though we’re not lovers, Buck is my person. I guess someone might call it a soulmate, but I don’t really believe in those. I just mean… if there’s one person in the world who knows me and loves me and will always be there, it’s him. . 

When Chris left, there he was.

Even with a partner and a life of his own, he was with me.

And I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve slept in his bed more than his boyfriend ever did. 

There was a world ending pandemic going on, but that’s besides the point because…

It’s not about sex. 

I’m not sure if souls exist. I don’t really believe in Heaven. But I think there is an essence in our brain electricity that makes us us. I think, no matter what Buck or I are, our brain electricity would bring us together. If we were born a hundred years ago as girls, I think we would have played together and worked side by side when our men were sent to war and we wouldn’t have given up our jobs when they came home. If we were clams in the ocean, we’d get tangled in the same seaweed. If we were trees in a forest, our limbs would reach out to each other. Our roots would spread and twist together. And we’d be eternal, like redwoods.

I’ve loved a lot of people, but I’ve never felt infinity before.

I guess that’s what I would say if we were actually writing vows.

To my Evan, I’d write. And I’d write Evan not because I don’t understand or love Buck, but because I think there’s an intimacy in being the only one to say that name. Not like how Tommy said it, ignorant to all that is Buck, but aware of the Evan behind everything. I’d write vows to the part of him that was a lonely little boy because so was I.

I guess I’m happy I don’t have a boner anymore. I’m even happier that Buck is laughing over whatever wild story he’s telling me, holding my arm. But I feel like I’m mourning something. Like I might die if the night ends.

Buck sticks his hand right in my hair and messes it up.

“Eddie!” He moves my head every which way. “You’re not listening!”

I pry his fingers from my poor scalp and try to smooth my hair.

“Come on, Eddito, leave it. It’s like that sexy bed head people spend hours on,” Buck tells me. “Unbutton a couple buttons,” he continues, touching my chest. “Take off the jacket at some point.”

“I thought you were just telling me about crashing out over that dog.” I don’t mean to sound hateful, but, uh… Buck was paying attention to an ugly beagle with long ass ears instead of his best friend moving. I might not blame him for avoiding me then, but I would fight that mutt and win. I would bite him back.

“I was, but I was trying to make a point.” Buck tugs on my bicep. “You’re my dog, Eddie.”

“Okay, Big Dawg.” I lift my hand to dap him up. “Why are you trying to make me look all tussled and sexy?”

Buck groans, but smacks my hand. 

“We’re partying in Vegas tonight and I’m your dashing fiance. You need to look like you can afford this pussy.” Buck poses with a hand on his hip. “Plus, if there’s audience participation at the show, we have to look cool and hot and fun. I want to get picked.”

“No. No audience participation,” I tell him, holding up a hand to STOP the madness. I rather fall from the top of this hotel than participate.

“Eddie, I ordered you a chocolate peanut butter cake for our wedding dessert and you’re not going to admit we’ll be the sexiest people at the show and should be on stage fully naked getting legally married?” Buck clicks his tongue at me. Even though he’s joking about most of that, I know he genuinely does dream of being asked on stage (clothes on). I wish I could tell someone and make it happen for him, but I don’t even know what we’re seeing. Buck described it as an adult variety show, but I don’t know what a normal variety show features. Wand twirling? Juggling?

“We’re not really getting married,” I whisper.

“I’ll tell everyone in this restaurant you like peeing in my mouth,” Buck threatens. He crosses his arms.

“I think it’s way worse to let someone pee in your mouth than doing the peeing,” I argue. “It makes it sound like you like it, too.”

“So? I’m not embarrassed by unusual fetishes, you are.”

I sit back. I’m not embarrassed, just… it’s fucking weird.

“You drink pee?” I question. “Isn’t that, like, terrible for you?”

“I don’t, but the general public doesn’t know that.” Buck clicks his tongue again. “Come on, Eddie. Unbutton just one button and promise we’ll participate if the opportunity comes up.”

I’m not sure why Buck thought the threat was necessary because, in the end, I wouldn’t say no and he knows it. We do all sorts of dumb bullshit together, what’s another night of acting like idiots?

I undo two buttons just for him. I’d pop my collar if we weren’t in such a respectable establishment.

“Why don’t we make our own variety show? You can climb a rope and ram a door. I’ll tranq a large animal and perform an emergency tracheostomy.” I mimic making an incision and Buck gags.

“That will make people the opposite of hot and bothered. They’ll be arctic and squeamish.” Buck scoots closer to me. “Come on, you must have some kind of talent.”

“Ballroom dancing,” I say. “We can salsa.”

“See? People would love that. And I could…” Buck shakes his head. “I dunno. When I think about it, my talents either involve children’s entertainment or sexual acts.”

“What if you did stand-up? You’re funny,” I suggest. “And you’re good at talking.”

“I love that you think I’m funny, but I think everyone back home would disagree. Remember the last time I tried to bring joy through humour?” Buck pouts and sinks into our seat.

Unfortunately, I do. The 2024 Saint Patrick’s Day party. Buck wanted to dress up like a leprechaun and do a little comedy routine at the firehouse. Unfortunately, after pinching one too many people, he was taken down by a group of angry protesters (we held him down and stole his costume). 

I thought it was a little funny when Buck pinched my ass. Chimney just pinched him back. I know Bobby did not appreciate a double butt pinch. Hen was even less entertained. When Buck went back for seconds, we had to do something.

But even if I thought the minor harassment in the workplace was a little funny, Buck is right. We were the only two laughing. 

I guess we’re more open to “inappropriate touching” as Bobby called it.

———

The show doesn’t have audience participation in the way Buck was hoping. (I had to convince him that no, he will not be invited up to do acrobatics for the first 20 minutes.) But! Some of the comedy does rely on crowd work. 

Since Buck got us very nice seats (I definitely don’t want to know how much he spent), we’re up close and personal with the entertainers. 

One of the comics comes over to the edge of the stage and looks out at the crowd. He pauses on us.

He bends his knees and stares. 

“You,” he says, and he points at who I think is Buck. Or me. Or maybe the people to my left. 

“Us?” Buck mouths, pointing between us with a drink in his hand. 

“Yes, Beefcake, you,” the comedian tuts and mimics Buck’s unsure pointing. I know Buck is absolutely glowing beside me. “What do you do?”

“We’re firefighters,” Buck calls back. He looks at me, beaming. “Same house,” he adds. 

“Same bed, methinks!” The sexy-jester-comedian holds up his hands, framing us. “Same sweat, right?” 

Buck and I both nod. 

I sip my cocktail slowly, watching Buck more than the comedian.

“Spit?” The comic asks. 

Buck thumbs his lip and nods. I play into it, wrapping my arm around his shoulders. 

He smiles at me. 

“Good?” I whisper. He nods. 

The comedian, however, isn’t pleased with that. 

“Hello,” he calls, waving at me. “Up here, Daddy.”

I look at him. 

Buck laughs and apologises. 

“Sweetheart, you’re cute, but I mean your top.” The comedian humps the air and smoulders. “I asked if they swap spit and this guy spread his legs and pulled his boyfriend in like that’s not all we swap!” The jester does an odd dance, jumping around, and plops himself on the edge of the stage. “Don’t worry, though, I’m not calling you a switch.”

I laugh and hold Buck’s waist, rubbing his hip bone. Buck crosses his legs. 

“See? No response. I think this guy’s brain is in the wrong head.” The comedian holds his elbow by his groin and opens and closes his fist a couple times. “Blondie, am I right?”

“No, he’s smart,” Buck insists, hugging my arm. “He’s a medic.”

“Dear, that’s not what I’m saying.” The comedian sways his arm by his crotch like a very well endowed man, pretending to walk. “Is he…?”

God, I know my face is turning red, but I am playing it so smoothly. Just smirk, just look at Buck. 

“Oh,” Buck laughs. He looks at my lap and then my face. “What would you say?”

“No idea.” I genuinely have very little idea. I’ve always wondered if length includes balls or is it the insertable amount? And with girth, do you measure the thickest part or the thinnest or average them or… I might be clueless, but I’ve never had complaints, usually just whoa or wow or a raised eyebrow. Which could be anything from disappointment to politeness to enthusiasm.

Buck says something witty about it being very filling and everyone’s laughing. Even me. I should probably be more weirded out than I am because my best friend is describing, essentially, a dick he’d like to take and calling it mine, but… I don’t know. Maybe two or three drinks is all it takes nowadays. Even sober, we always end up doing something crazy. At least it wasn’t my idea this time.

The comedian whistles and shades his eyes. 

“What’s his name?”

“Eddie,” Buck shouts. 

“What’s yours?”

“Buck!”

The comedian whistles again and looks at me. 

“Is his name really Buck?”

I nod. 

“And you call him that every day?”

I nod again. 

“Is he wild?” The comedy winks dramatically.

I nod again and something about it makes everyone cackle.

“Can you speak?” The guy asks and I nod again. “Speak,” he demands.

Buck elbows me.

“Just say something vaguely dirty,” he guides me. “You won’t offend me.”

I clear my throat and speak up using the confidence my drinks have given me, “His name really is Buck, but it should be Neil ‘cause he loves being on his knees.”

The comedian whoops and I see Buck’s mouth drop.

I point at his jaw and add, “See?”

Buck smacks me lightly and crowds my personal space. I cup his cheek and smile mischievously.

“He prefers a protein rich diet,” I shout out.

I guess the audience likes raunchy jokes because I hear a few whistles. 

I kind of see why Buck wanted to participate. It’s a lot of fun when the crowd is hyping you up and everyone is having a good time. I thought I might be awkward around so many people, but it’s easy when you can’t see their faces.

The comedian makes a joke about coming to our hotel room before he moves on to his main set.

The rest of the show goes smoothly, but I notice that Buck is a little squirmy in his seat. I try rubbing his side with the arm I have around him to offer some comfort. Let him know that I was kidding and I don’t think he’s overly promiscuous or something. Most importantly, I don’t think there is a wrong level of promiscuity. 

In the last few minutes of the show he leans over and whispers in my ear, “I am so horny.”

I try not to laugh or smirk because of course he’s finding the entertainment too entertaining. I guess adult variety shows are to Buck what a ribeye is to me.

“I haven’t had good dick in months,” he complains. “Can we have a threesome with a very hot woman?” 

I look at Buck with my head tilted. Does he expect me to… do him while he does a girl? That’s crazy. That’s almost gayer than just having gay sex because, like… you’re picking a guy over a girl.

“I know you like women. You can bang her, she can peg me,” Buck continues. “At this point, I don’t care if it’s a strap.”

“Didn’t you pack toys?” I whisper.

“This is Las Vegas, I don't want to jerk myself off in a hotel room. I want bomb dick.” 

I wonder if any of the people I’ve been with would describe mine like that. Bomb. I feel like I’m pleasant enough and I always make sure the women I’m with finish (unless they lie, but sometimes… you can tell), but that’s usually not from the actual penetration. To be honest, I’ve done a lot more oral than anything.

I leave the conversation there because I’m not sure I’m ready to hear Buck describe his idea of awesome dick. He probably likes them waxed, cut, perky balls (if that's a thing), porn ready, porn worthy, all tied with a bow. I don’t think I’ve even considered landscaping in the past 6 months.

Fortunately, I’m distracted while we walk towards the casino by a big gumball machine and Buck begging me for a prize.

“I haven’t chewed gum in years,” he tells me, standing by the machine like he’s trying to sell me a used car. “I haven’t had a gumball since, like, childhood.”

“You graduated to men’s balls?” I tease him, pulling some change out of my pocket.

Crumpled bills, useless pennies and nickels, and a few quarters.

“It takes two,” Buck explains, tapping the metal plate. I drop two quarters in. “Are you sure? We don’t have enough for you.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” I assure him.

“Then why don’t you do the honours,” Buck suggests. 

I crank the knob a few times until we hear the money clink and something spinning.

A little plastic ball pops out at the bottom.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” I say, grabbing the ball. “No gum.” I pop the capsule open and inside is a little toy ring.

Ha.

I pick it up and show it to Buck. 

It’s pink and rubbery with a little light up ball on the top. Even though it’s made for kids, I bet I could get it on Buck’s hand.

“Hey, fiance.” I wiggle the ring at Buck. Buck smiles and laughs. “Give me your hand.”

Buck shows me his hand, fingers spread. I slide the ring onto his pinky because I don’t want to cut off circulation.

“I think the universe is telling us something,” Buck whispers, examining the toy on his finger. I hold the back of his neck and stand on my toes.

“We should get married,” I tell him, mouth by his ear. 

Buck looks at me. Our noses bump. He keeps moving.

“I have a ring for you, too,” he says in my ear. “Wanna see?”

———

The walk back to our room is weirdly charged. Like, I know we’re friends. I know we agreed to share a room. That’s all fine.

But I’m also almost expecting us to kiss like we’re newly weds who can’t keep our hands to ourselves. I do briefly think, when Buck takes my hand and drags me down the hall, that we could be stripping off our clothes before our door can close in a minute or less.

Then again, we still haven’t hit any bars and it’s still early. Buck is insistent that he has to help me accessorise and give me a ring. Sometimes a walk is just a walk and a friend is just that. A friend.

When we make it to the room, Buck takes my jacket off of me and spreads my shirt. He touches my chest hair and the chain of my necklace.

“Eddie,” Buck says in a whiny voice. 

I push my sleeves up and reach out to touch Buck. I trace his Adam’s apple and spread his collar.

“Buck,” I mock him. “Take your own advice, hermoso.” I unbutton one of his buttons and smooth the extra fabric down.

I want to bite him. 

Right on the side of his neck, just below his jaw. 

Leave the imprints of my teeth in his skin.

I wonder if his faint blond scruff would tickle my tongue.

Buck whines my name again. I like the desperation in his voice.

“I said, do you want to see the ring?” Buck, presumably, repeats. “I think it will fit.”

“Of course,” I tell him.
He takes off his jacket and presses it to my chest. I hold it, standing a little dumbly.

Buck goes through his suitcase like he knows exactly where he will find whenever he is looking for. I know without him pulling it out that it’ll be a cock ring, but I am surprised when he pulls out three.

“Whose dick would even fit in this?” I ask, poking a finger through the smallest.

“It’s for your balls, not the shaft.” Buck rolls his eyes and holds up the bigger two. “This one is for the shaft,” he explains, waving the medium ring. “This is for both.” He indicates the largest.

“And you want me to put it on my…” 

“Necklace,” Buck points to my neck. “But, if you want your bulge to look really good, you can wear one there, too.” 

I furrow my eyebrows and consider it. Like, is Buck saying he likes the look or will other people? What if I look like a douche? I already have a little going on, I’m not sure more is–

Buck unhooks my medal and slips the medium ring on. He loops it back around my neck. The silicone is kind of nice on my chest. It’s indecent, but to anyone who doesn’t know what it is… it just looks like a bold pendant.

“Hi, Ken,” Buck says, flicking my ring. 

“Hi, Barbie,” I greet him instinctively. “Why Ken?”

“Oh, it’s… there was a cock ring Ken doll back in the eighties,” Buck laughs. “Do you want one for your other neck?” The blond launches one at me with a cheeky smile.

I catch it and give it a tug.

“You might be straight, but you’ll definitely get the queer experience that way,” Buck jokes. He bites his lip and holds his hands behind his back.

I don't think that’s the only queer experience I’ll be having this weekend. 

“Don’t I have to be hard?” I unzip my pants, but leave the clasp closed. 

“No, but if you get hard, you’ll stay hard.” Buck reaches out like he’s going to touch my pants, but stops. He takes his jacket from me instead. “It will make things look… plumper. Even if you’re soft.”

I decided to go for it because I can always take it off. Besides, Buck and I see each other naked all the time at work. I don’t need to be so fucking awkward. I guess I’m a little tipsy and Buck was spot on before: we are both a little horny. 

I haven’t even gotten close to having sex since last spring. Or maybe the end of the winter. Either way… it’s been eight or nine months.

I pull my penis out and slip the large ring all the way down past my balls. Buck, thank god, is looking at my face while I fumble around. He hands me a sachet of lube he had in his back pocket and I use it to make things a little less friction-y.

Once I’m tucked in and zipped up, he looks down.

“Damn, dude.” Buck shakes his head.

“Too much?” I worry aloud, trying to adjust myself. 

Shit, this was a bad fucking idea. I’m not made for gays. I’m just a boring, vanilla straight guy with a cooler best friend. Getting drunk together doesn’t make me adventurous.

“No, man, you look…” Buck closes his mouth and swallows. “You’re going to be fighting off men.”

“No, I think you will be.” I sling an arm around Buck’s shoulders. “Right, fiance?”

“Eddie, any other situation and you’d be fighting me off.” Buck hangs his head a little and huffs. I think he’s exaggerating. Making a joke. It boosts my confidence anyway.

“So what were you thinking? A drink in the hotel then the club?” I wonder, guiding Buck to the door before he somehow convinces me to put something in one of our assholes. He grabs my jacket off of the side table.

“Yeah, but pre-gaming here probably won’t save us any money.” We walk arm and arm out of our room. “Although, I’ve heard very good things about their pours.”

———

We pick a less populated bar out of the main area. It’s a little moody, but still glittering. I guess that’s just the Vegas way. It’s either shitty fuck-dens or a gaudy state rooms. Our suite is pretty normal, but I’m willing to bet there have been quite a few conceptions in there.

I wonder if there’s ever been a gay orgy in there.

If not, I think Buck will somehow rope me into participating in the first.

Our drinks are pretty strong, so I do have to be careful. If I’m off my face, I start to have thoughts like… why not just shit on someone’s lawn because I hate them? Or, we should steal a car. Or, and I’d think I came up with the idea, let’s try banging dudes. Maybe find a drag queen because I could claim drunk confusion even though I’d know what was under her foundation.

So maybe just one or two drinks before the real club. I can’t afford to get messy.

I’m still getting used to the ring, so I opt to stand even though there’s seating. Buck takes a barstool beside me and leans on the counter. If he had tits, they’d be pressed together, almost spilling out of his shirt.

“Do you think,” I start, “If you had tits, you’d have big ones?”

Buck cackles and touches my necklace.

“I think I would be curvy with big naturals,” he informs me, wiggling his eyebrows. “I already kinda am.”

I would not describe Buck as “curvy,” but he isn’t like most buff guys. He’s not worried about keeping super lean. He’s a little bulky, which makes his muscles look great, to be honest. I can’t do bulk. I look like a middle schooler with baby fat. But Buck has this look like he’s strong and soft and dependable.

Or maybe I just know he’s all of that and more.

“I think I’d look like Bebe Rexha or Kelly Clarkson.” Buck draws an hourglass shape with his hands. “And I would be a diva.”

I laugh and agree with Buck. If he were a woman, he probably would end up famous and wear full glam to events and have a rich old husband and a mistress on the side.

Or, again, maybe I just know he likes Lana Del Rey and is very bisexual.

“What about you?” Buck asks. “I can’t picture you with tig old bitties.”

“I can’t imagine being a woman at all,” I admit. I take a gulp of my cocktail. “It sounds like a nightmare.”

“Not a nightmare, but definitely worse. Like, it would be fun for an hour. You could look at your boobs and have sex. So many guys would be into you. I think it would be so cool to self-lube,” Buck confesses. “But like, then you’d have to worry about getting pregnant or periods or men. So maybe not.”

“I can picture the type of woman I would be, but receiving. From a straight man? No. I would die. I would need a twink to bully.” I am glad to hear Buck laughing hysterically. I like how close he leans in when he cackles.

“You’d be a muscle mommy with a twink?” He asks, gasping for air. “Or just a lesbian?”

“Well… I don’t know. If we were cis women, would we keep our sexualities or our attraction to the genders we like now?”

Buck would be bisexual no matter what, so how would he even know. He’s lucky. I’d either be a lesbian or a STRAIGHT WOMAN. I would pick lesbian every goddamn day. 

It’s not like, as a guy, I’m averse to men. I know when men are sexy. I’ve looked at my share of asses. I know a nice arm when I see one. Hell, I’m probably closer to bi than staunch straight because, honestly, the only thing I’m not into with guys is receiving and I’m sure there are tops who feel similar. 

But, like, I’d never go out of my way to have gay sex or watch gay porn or whatever. It’s just easier being straight.

As a woman, however, it’s a safety issue, not a convenience issue. Sure, there are way more straight men than lesbians, but I would give up every convenience not to be alone with a man. Unless, of course, that man is Buck. But then he’d be a woman, so we’d be girl best friends and would not need men.

I think I’m solving all problems. Women can all be lesbians for safety. Us straight guys have to be gay until we learn not to be monsters.

“Buck,” I try telling him about my discovery. “I think all men should be gay.”

Before I can explain myself, he cracks up again.

“No, no, this isn’t a joke,” I say. I feel the alcohol hit a little and a confidence boost comes with it. “If we learn what it’s like to be with men… as gay men… we’d be better people.”

Buck can hardly breath, he's cackling so hard. I rub his back, trying to will him back to a semi-normal state.

Unfortunately, his laughter is contagious and I find myself slumping against the bar and leaning into him, too.

I promise I’m not actually drunk. Just a little tipsy. And I’m so happy and maybe kinda horny and ready to dance. 

Shit, aren’t we a pair? 

Buck and I are younger than most of the other people in the room and way louder. I guess this is where all the older guests go to avoid people like us. But here, I can hear Buck and he can hear me. We have a corner to ourselves. We probably do seem like a couple with our weird conversations and nudging and inside jokes. It’s perfect.

One of the few people who seems our age walks over. He looks distantly familiar. Like maybe we saved him or he was on the news or…

“Hey, uh… Buck and Eddie?” He points to us. “Matt.” He sticks out his hand.

Buck shakes it and confirms who we are.

I guess Matt must be able to tell I’m confused because he points at himself.

“The jester from the show,” he explains. “I bet I look a little different.”

“A bit” is an understatement. On stage, he must wear a wig or at least a crazy amount of product. Without make up or a costume, he looks like any normal 30 year old.

“Oh, of course,” I feign stupidity, smacking my forehead, because bro looks like a new man except for his eyes and, sorta, his nose.

“Thanks for being such good audience members.” Matt shakes my hand, too. “We get a lot of fun couples, but sometimes…”

“That’s the general public for you,” I reply. He nods.

“So, uh, what are you guys drinking?” 

“A marg.” Buck holds up his drink and gathers some of the salt on his finger. He licks it off.

For Matt.

Hm.

I step closer to Buck.

“I got a Moscow mule.” I lift my mug and take a sip. “Can we offer you a drink?”

“Oh, no. I have another show tonight, but I appreciate it.” Matt gives us both a scan. I wonder if we’re different than what he expected, too. I assumed he’d be tall, but I guess he was up on a stage. It can be hard to tell.

“Damn, dude,” he whistles. I follow his eyes down to my crotch. “Are you wearing a codpiece?”

“What’s a codpiece?” I whisper to Buck. Buck shrugs, but chuckles politely. 

“A piece of fabric that goes over your groin to protect and emphasise the goods. Like from the 1500s,” Matt explains. “Dancers still wear them, but they’re supposed to hide the details.” 

“Oh, that’s all him,” Buck responds. He places a hand on my thigh and pets gently. I don’t know if he’s trying to get me hard, but I’m desperately trying to ignore the sensation even if it sends sparks up my body.

I place my hand on his and link our fingers.

It’s less than subtle, but I kiss Buck’s knuckles and look into his eyes while I ask, “Just how you like it, right?”

Buck leans in and kisses me chastely.

When we part, he’s licking his lips.

“What did you say you’re drinking?” Buck reaches for my beverage.

I grab it and have the last sip.

“Moscow mule,” I tell him. “You were there when I ordered it, bonito.”

Buck frowns dramatically and looks in the empty cup.

A smirk creeps onto his face.

He leans close, lips barely parted. I meet him in the middle.

I expect something sweet. Something that says we’re playing the game.

Instead, he slips his tongue in my mouth. Pulls me close by the head. Opens his mouth and sighs when I kiss back.

Without thinking, I hold him the way I’d hold a girl. I go for his hips, almost pulling him to his feet, his thighs surrounding one of mine.

He tastes like fake fruit and tequila and saliva. I know he’ll taste ginger beer in my mouth. Might get a hint of vodka. I doubt the lime will come through.

What I’m noticing above taste, however, is how soft and damp and warm his mouth is. 

And his almost silent moans. I can feel them more than hear them. I know he’s at least a little into this, not just putting on a show, each time he coos.

I fucking know when we pull away there’ll be watching eyes. They’ll see me holding Buck’s weight and Buck with his hungry mouth and they’ll believe we are what we aren’t and.

And that makes me happy.

Like I said, I don’t seek men out. But I wouldn’t say no.

When we pull apart, Buck touches his lips, cheeks pink.

“So?” I ask, flicking the empty copper mug beside me. 

“I think that kiss got me pregnant,” Buck breathes, feeling his burning cheeks.

Matt and I both laugh.

“No, baby,” I correct him. “The drink. Do you like mules?”

Buck swallows and messes with his hair. A curl falls onto his forehead.

“I forgot to taste it, maybe we should do that again,” Buck informs me, grabbing my hands. “And then a little more just to make sure.”

“Maybe you’ve had enough,” I tease him. By enough, I mean of alcohol and of me. 

Buck’s eyes sparkle and he wets his lips. 

It happens again.

I see his lips move, but don’t hear his words.

His hand is dangerously close to the one place we’ve never touched each other. 

If I was a better man, maybe I would back down. 

“The sooner we go out, the sooner I’ll have you begging,” I promise him. I grab his ass to sell the bit, make him squirm.

Matt is looking at us the way Buck ogles Freddie Prinze Jr. in She’s All That. That is to say, full bedroom eyes.

“You know, if you’re looking for a third…” Matt raises an eyebrow. 

I start to kindly reject him, but Buck cuts in.

“What time does your last show end?” 

“Around one a.m.,” Matt says, checking a watch he isn’t wearing. 

I sort of want to step in and ask Buck what the fuck he’s doing. Teasing each other is one thing, but we can’t actually go at it with a perfectly nice guy expecting to join a couple.

Is Buck forgetting I’m literally probably heterosexual? I haven’t slept with a guy ever, no way I’m banging a stranger and my buddy in a threesome. Even if it sounds hot, it isn’t happening. Like fuck, I’ve never even had a girl-girl-guy or girl-guy-guy threesome. 

Buck tells Matt our room number and says, “Call us.” He looks at me and tells him, “No promises, though.”

I can’t blame Buck for that. If he wants to get some jester dick later, he can. 

———

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” Buck asks me as soon as our uber drops us off. 

I tilt my head because nothing is wrong. Why would Buck think something is wrong?

“You barely spoke,” he continues. “Are you mad that I told Matt he can call us?”

“What?” I whip my head up to look at Buck.

Whatever he sees must bother him because he stands there searching my face.

“You know this trip is all about us, right?” The blond bumps our hands together. “I only said that because we’ll be out partying and it’s way easier than explaining you’re not even into guys.”

Oh.

I didn’t even know I was so bothered.

I must be less subtle when I’m intoxicated.

“You keep going on about how badly you want cock.” I flush when I say it because it’s an embarrassing thing to get upset over. We’re both adults with needs and desires and separate sex lives. 

“I mean, I love having sex and it’s fun looking at sexy people with your friends, but I know I’ll probably rub one out drunk in the shower if at all.” Buck shrugs and loops his arms around my neck. “We can gay-spot and make up crazy stories about them.”

“You don’t want to dance with any men?” I question, my hands on his waist. “I thought you were horny?”

“I am, but I have a man.” Buck smirks and steps closer so the tips of our shoes touch. “I expect you to dance, you know.”

“I know.” I slip my pinky into Buck’s belt loop. 

“And I mean dance, Eddie. You have my full permission to touch me like I’m a 5’3 brunette with a rack.” Buck shimmies his chest and winks at me. “I might be your gay best friend, but you can make me your unusually tall, masc girlfriend for the next few hours.”

I laugh. Buck laughs. We both lean forward, our foreheads bumping.

I never want this moment to end.

“I’m polite, Buck, I keep my hands to myself,” I assure him. He rolls his eyes and groans.

“Don’t be polite, Eddie. I’m not a real girl. You can’t offend me.” Buck slides one hand down to my chest. “I hope you know I am so going to throw it back on you. We’re at a gay bar where no one knows us. There are no consequences. I’m going in there full fag. Be my douchey straight fuck buddy.”

“I know I can’t be an F-A-you-know-what, but since we’re literally engaged, maybe I can be your douchey, undefinedly queer fiance,” I offer. “Being a straight douche just seems a little rapey.”

Buck loses it, coughing he’s laughing so hard.

“Eddie, I will pay your rent for the next six months if you say faggot,” Buck vows. “This is a genuine offer. Say faggot and I will pay both of our rents.”

“I’m not making you pay my rent,” I tell Buck. “And I definitely can’t say that. That’s like the worst thing I could possibly say.” 

“Just say fag, please. Please,” Buck begs. “Please. I literally will do anything.”

He grabs both sides of my shirt and tugs, jerking me side to side.

“I am not saying a slur, Buck,” I whisper. “I’m not allowed.”

“Says who? I just told you, you’re allowed.” My fiance grabs my biceps and digs his nails in. “Come on, it will fulfill so many fantasies I have. It’ll be like giving me the best wedding ever.”

I consider it. I guess I am playing gay for the weekend and Buck says it’s okay and only he’ll hear and there’s no way anyone would be able to find me and sue me for hate speech because we’re on a random sidewalk at night and it looks like we might make out.

“Okay, but just the three letter one,” I whisper.

Buck nods enthusiastically, leaning closer. 

“I’m a fag,” I say softly. “I love having gay sex.”

Buck stands up straight and looks at me, confused.

“Eddie, uh… that’s not what I meant.” He purses his lips. “I meant, like, call me a fag. Like, in a dirty way.”

Oh. Well. I just said a slur for no reason.

“Your fantasy is getting called a slur?” I question genuinely. I’ve heard weird things before, but that might take the cake.

“Kind of? Like… it’s hot, okay? Imagine meeting a guy who is into you, but promises he’s straight. He’s trying so hard not to give in the feeling that he calls you a fag. But you’ll grind on him, make out somewhere dingey. He’ll probably fuck you and call you names. But you’re a queer guy looking for fun. You win. You get great dick and you’re right, he is gay. He’s so scared to be happy that he accidentally hits your degradation kink.”

Buck looks like a kid describing his dream Christmas present, only his dream is filthy and deranged and probably dangerous.

“But you’re you, y’know?” Buck pauses, smiling at me. “You may be straight, but you’d never actually call me a slur or hurt me. You’re the person who keeps me safe.”

“So you’re turned on by fake homophobia?” I conclude.

Buck sighs and yanks my arm.

“Come on, I need a drink,” he laments. “Not fake homophobia, just… risky sex that’s actually safe. Like not using condoms after getting tested.”

“I thought guys didn’t use protection because it feels better,” I admit. “Shannon–”

“Eddie, I love you, but please don’t bring up your dead wife in the same discussion as my humiliation kink.” Buck pushes my hair off of my forehead. “I doubt she’d want to be remembered in the same conversation where you said you love gay sex and I said I want a straight guy to rail me.”

Buck is most definitely right. Although, Shannon would probably love to know I’ve said I love gay sex because she was convinced I was gay when we were younger. The day she asked for a divorce, she even said she saw me marrying Buck. Well, not in those exact words, but. She heavily implied it. Look at who is right in front of you. Who did you raise our son with? 

Okay, diva. You want your husband to be gay so badly?

I will slut myself out for my bisexual best friend.

Surprisingly, the bar has no cover charge. I guess they bank on gays getting white girl wasted.

I sort of expect the bouncer to ask some kind of queer riddle to see if I’m allowed in, but the only thing he asks for is my ID. He barely checks it because we are quite obviously not 20 or younger. 

It takes at least three decades of trauma to look this hot.

The club is pretty crowded, but everyone moves around easily, being polite and making room for servers. I know this isn’t the first gay bar I’ve been to, but the vibe is different. In LA, everywhere smells like poppers and synthetic weed. Here, well, there are still poppers. I’ve yet to directly inhale any, but I know Buck is more than happy to take a hit. I’m more of a pot guy.

I think Buck’s drug of choice is secretly ecstacy, but he’d never admit it. Whenever I tell him I want to get stoned, he tells me to say no to drugs, but then he comes over to “supervise” and we end up having a great time. Last time, I brought edibles to his house and we took a bath because he said he bet we’d both fit (we did (we kept our underwear on)) and watched movies on his iPad. 

Anyway, I was trying to make a point…

Oh, Buck and ecstasy. Yeah, so Buck claims he doesn’t do drugs (then what are poppers and weed, huh?) but we’ve also gone out and he’s taken “candy” and pretty much nuzzled me like a cat for hours, cried because he’s so happy, or gone home with people. The last option doesn’t happen anymore, but the first few times we partied together he would “find me a woman” and then hook up with his own (and mine, too, once). 

Plus, Buck definitely used to do drugs. He told me his coke horror story and when we were all drugged with LSD, he made it clear to me he’d done acid at least once before. I doubt he was a user, I think he’s more of a tryer.

But back to the situation at hand.

Buck and I each have a drink and we sort of float around, arm in arm, trying to find a spot or maybe someone to chat with. 

“We should smoke,” I yell over the music. 

“What?” Buck shouts, turning his ear towards me.

“We should smoke when we get home.” I wait for him to chide me, but he grins instead.

“Can you get that purple reindeer again?” He talks into my ear.

“Purple reindeer?” I shake my head. “Are you sure?”

Unfortunately, we have never smoked a strain called purple reindeer. 

“Yeah, it’s like… it’s called a colour and a mythical animal. Maybe not purple reindeer.” Buck pulls me toward the wall so we escape the mass on the dance floor.

“Buck, reindeer are real,” I inform him. “You know that, right?”

“Um. Obviously!” Buck rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his new margarita. “Maybe it’s like purple buffalo.”

“Buck, buffalo are real, too!” I am pretty sure sober Buck would know both of those things, but sometimes he surprises me. Only last week I found out he thought “beat around the bush” referred to masturbating without touching your pubes. It’s an idiom about a bush. A real bush. With sticks and leaves. 

“Pink buffalo,” Buck guesses.

I shake my head. The colour wasn’t the issue.

“What the fuck is a buffalo?” Buck grabs my shoulder. “Why can’t I remember?”

“Buffalos are like the moose version of a cow,” I explain. “Like buffalo is a body builder cow.” 

I have no idea if that makes sense as I say it, but Buck always seems to understand what I mean.

“So a cow is a buffalo’s twink cousin?” Buck closes his eyes tight. “I love that animals are twinks, too.”

“Yeah, me too,” I agree. Because that is so funny. What would be an “otter” to an actual bear? A sloth? What the fuck. “Buck, what am I?”

“A human,” Buck tells me. “A male.”

“No, like. To gay people. What animal?” I swirl my cocktail and smile like Buck’s taking a photo.

He laughs and touches my abs through my shirt.

“Not an animal, just a hunk. You’re not hairy, but you are very muscular.” Buck leans into me and takes one of my hands. He wraps it around himself, swaying to the music. “I’d probably say you’re a horse.”

“What does that mean?” I yell.

Buck wraps his arms around my neck so we’re standing like we were outside, only now we’re moving to the music.

“It means, despite what you may say, you have a huge cock, Eddie.” Buck presses his groin against my leg. “Like when you were hard at dinner, it looked like that shit was halfway down your thigh.”

“You knew?” I gasp, pressing into Buck.

“Yeah, dude. I mean, it happens to all of us, right?” Buck smiles and turns so his back is against my chest. He shifts his hips so his ass is dick level. Buck tilts his head back on my shoulder. He drinks from his glass, rushing to the bottom. “Come on, there’s no shame here.”

Buck guides one of my hands to his pec, slipping it under his shirt. I cup his chest, massaging the muscle gently. “There you go,” he breathes against my neck.

“There you go,” I repeat. Buck moves slowly against me, keeping rhythm with the pounding bass line. I try to keep up, but his tit feels fantastic. It’s kind of like a firm, perky breast, but wide. His nipple is hard and he exhales so satisfyingly when I rub it. 

Buck finishes his drink and sets the plastic cup on the nearest surface. I’m not done, but I do the same. Fuck a rum and coke.

I undo more of Buck’s shirt so I have easier access. I grab both of his pecs and, just because I can, squeeze them. It feels amazing, so I do it again. I press flick his nipples with my thumbs while I mould his pecs.

Buck asks me something, but I can’t hear.

He makes me tilt my head forward.

“Do you always play with girls’ tits?” He questions.

To be honest, besides cupping them or kissing them on the journey south, I usually avoid boobs. I mean, they look great, but I know they can be tender and I’m a big guy, so I don’t want to be rough.

“Just yours,” I reply, kissing Buck’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” Buck sighs. I think it was supposed to be a question, but he lets his mouth hang open and grinds on me.

I haven’t had anyone else touch me in so long that even just a little bit of friction is getting me chubbed up. It doesn’t matter, though. No one can see and even if Buck can feel it, he won’t care. I’m sure he’s done this to get that result.

A familiar song comes on and Buck raises his arms. I push his shirt and jacket collars to the side, pressing my face to his neck. I do what comes naturally, kiss his skin and play with his pecs to the beat, swaying against him. 

Buck reaches back, puts his hand in my hair, and holds me against him. He turns his head so I can lick his throat, suck little marks that quickly disappear. 

I don’t know if he’s actually down with being this… public. I know he has no problem with his body, but we’re pretty much dry humping.

I let Buck lead, for the most part. I don’t go beyond lips and tongue. I sway, but don’t thrust. I’ll stroke his abs and manhandle his pecs, but I’m not going to take his jacket and shirt off or move him around.

Buck is talking and I can’t hear him, but I know he isn’t really speaking to me. The guy in front of us is talking rapidly, too, gesturing like I can understand him.

I guess it doesn’t matter because I get the idea when he holds up (you guessed it!!!) poppers and offers them to Buck. 

Buck takes a whiff and passes them back to me. He bends a little, leaning forward and shaking ass. I keep my hands on him, but let him move freely. 

So tonight is the night I try gay party drugs.

Here goes nothing.

Inhale through the mouth (Buck once said that’s safer) and let the euphoria roll in.

I hand the bottle back to the stranger and hold Buck’s hips.

Buck turns his head back like he’s talking to me again, but it’s way too loud to hear.

I can’t even hear myself shouting, “What? What? What?”

Buck stands straight and turns his upper body so he can see me.

He leans in and, I have to admit, it feels normal to lean in too.

At first, he’s gentle. He kisses me like he doesn’t know if I’ll reciprocate.

But I reciprocate.

So he curses into my mouth, fuck, and opens for my tongue.

We kiss each other, leaning our weight together and moving our heads just a little.

But the more he kisses me, the more I realise I’m kissing him. 

I’m sucking his tongue and pushing mine into his mouth and holding his nape and every time we adjust, I’m licking his lips and mouth like I don’t need an invitation. 

He even slows down, lets me take over, and I must do something he likes because he’s moaning again, gripping my shirt like he’s going to rip it, nodding.

I know I’m using a lot of tongue, but Buck, so far, has been very tongue forward. I get the sense that he likes it a little messy, a little spit on our chins, a little scruff burn on our cheeks.

Fuck, I’m making out with a guy in a gay bar on our boys’ weekend. 

And I mean, I’m straight, but I’m not much of a ladies’ man, am I?

But I’m not like… that gay.

I don’t picture Buck naked all the time. But I also don’t have to imagine. 

It’s not like I imagine having sex with him. At least, not without prompting.

When I jerk off, I only think of him in like the I wonder what he likes way. Not that I’d do something to him, but how does he hold his cock? Does he cup his balls?

He’s my best friend, of course I’m curious. It gets boring getting off the same way I have since I was 13 and I just happen to know Buck is more adventurous.

And god, he knows what he’s doing.
His moans are fucking delicious and his mouth is like heaven and chocolate. 

It is totally normal for me to wonder what he’d sound like beneath me. Or how his tongue would feel on my cock. Or what face he’d make when I put it in.

Like I’ve said I’ve done a lot of oral. I can’t help wondering if guys like it too. Getting eaten out, I mean. Like, if I licked him and maybe put a little tongue in, would his thighs shake? If he sat on my face, let me get all up in there, eat it like pussy, would the skills transfer?

Buck pulls back, gulping for air. He’s smiling. He turns so our bodies face each other. 

“Oh my god, Eddie.” He rests his head on my shoulder and swallows. “Fuck, man.”

“Did I bite you?” I ask, lifting his chin. “Are you okay?”

“My underwear is wetter than the Pacific,” Buck confesses, pressing his lips to my collarbone. 

“You peed?” I whisper. I touch the back of his pants to see if they’re wet, but they’re perfectly dry.

“No, Eddie, but my balls are sweaty and I pre-came, like, a lot.” Buck shifts awkwardly. I think he’s trying to unstick his balls.

“Oh, that,” I say. “I precum so easily. I think it’s normal when you aren’t that active.”

Buck laughs and shakes his head.

“Only you, Eddie,” he whispers. “I’m telling you you’re making me wet and you’re over here promising it’s normal.” Buck kisses my cheek. “I know it’s normal. Most guys like knowing they make people horny.”

I don’t know how to respond, so I open Buck’s mouth with my thumb. I replace my hand with my mouth, letting that tingling work its way back through my teeth and down my spine.

He’s speaking into my mouth, but I can’t tell what he’s saying. I think it’s not a sentence, he’s just saying “oh, fuck” over and over. Or maybe he’s moaning again, saying “uh-huh.”

Either way, our faces are pressed together and we’re making out again and my hands are on his ass and I’m running out of things to say.

When we part, I see nothing but blue and pink. The lighting, his eyes and lips, ocean and roses.

“Marry me,” I say once I’m able to speak again. 

“We’re already engaged,” Buck reminds me. Which has somehow gone from untrue to a joke to a bit to true in just a few hours.

We’re fucking engaged.

“So marry me.” I take his hands. “Now. We have the licence. Let’s get married.”

“Really?” Buck whispers, wiping the corners of his mouth. I want to lick the spit off of him, but that’s counter intuitive.

“Really,” I promise. 

The external world disappears. The music, the pulsing bodies, the floor under our feet.

It’s just us.

And this is the only person on this planet I’d ever marry, gay or straight.

“I want you to marry me,” I repeat, hopefully loud and clear. “We’re in our right minds. We’re having an awesome night. We’re engaged,” I list. “It's a perfect storm.”

“Of course I’ll marry you,” Buck agrees. “It was meant to be.” He holds up his pinky with the ring.

———

When I married Shannon, I knew whatever happened, we’d end up legally binded. Yet the closer the moment got, the worse I felt about it all. Not like I didn’t love her, but like I was giving up something. I knew we were too young. I think a part of me was even willing to admit we weren’t forever. Maybe as friends we could’ve been, but as whatever we became, as an escape artist and a teen mom, it would never work. I don’t think either of us really wanted it to, either. 

But every second closer I get to marrying Buck, I feel even more sure.

I love him.

It’s true when people say love is boundless.

What was it I was thinking about earlier? Something like… like… we are trees with the same roots. In the same forest. And I don’t know if it’s chance or destiny. I can’t remember the words. I need to get the wording right.

In every iteration of life, there must always be an us.

Always an us.

But there’s only one life so we’re us now.

I’m psyching myself out.

It’s Buck.

We’re in a Vegas chapel with witnesses we met ten minutes ago and I’m sure Elvis is somewhere.

They asked if we were drunk and I said, drinking, but not drunk. Is tipsy okay? And they said as long as we can consent. 

Buck had our licence in his jacket pocket.

So now this is happening, but I don’t want to be in some back room with a woman straightening out my clothes.

I want to see Buck.

If I’m not drunk why can’t I think of the right thing to say?

If you were any other you and I were any other me, we’d still become us.

No, that’s too confusing.

I love you, boy or girl.

Too literal.

I was thinking something really nice about clams. Like if he was a clam, I would be okay with that, too.

I wish we were clams? I love being a clam with you?

Shit, why are vows so difficult?

“Are you ready?” My impromptu best woman asks, finally getting my shirt buttoned correctly and my jacket fluffed or whatever she was doing.

“Yeah. Yeah, I want to see my husband,” I tell her like it’s not fucking crazy to say.

Oh my god, I’m getting married again.

And I can’t fucking wait.

I get up to the altar (a person with a small notebook) first. No one plays the Bridal Chorus because there is no bride. There’s no family or flowers besides the roses we bought fifteen minutes ago. Our witnesses are strangers.

My only regret will be not sharing this with Chris, I’m sure. We can do something special when we get home. He’ll be okay missing church, not that this is a real church, I’m pretty sure.

Buck walks up the aisle with his impromptu best woman and stands across from me.

He looks more sober than I remember, and a lot less disheveled than when we left the club. We both needed some patching.

“Hey,” he whispers, waving at me. We’re both holding six roses. He looks more natural.

“Hey.” I wave back. I hand him my half of the bouquet. 

Buck collects them and smiles.

“I’m the bride?” He asks, clutching his flowers to his chest.

“You’re as pretty as one,” I assure him. “They suit you.”

Buck blushes and fights his wide smile.

The officiant asks if we’re ready and we both bob our heads. 

I try to listen to their voice, but I’m still going over my vows.

When they ask Buck for his first, I almost blurt mine out anyway.

“Eddie,” Buck starts. He giggles and touches a rosebud. “I thought, before I met you, I understood family. Bobby found me. I had what I dreamed of…” Buck exhales and looks me in the eye. “The first day we met, you were so beautiful I went into a fit of rage. Then, you had a fucking awesome personality and I almost had a panic attack because I knew you were, like, perfect. And then you had the cutest child I’ve ever seen and… I wanted you. I wanted it. The nights out, the school drop offs, the family dinners. You gave me more than I knew I could want. How can eight years have passed? Our baby is a teenager and Athena and Hen went to space and Bobby retired and I’m an uncle and someone shot you, bro! Do you remember that? Someone tried murdering you again.” 

The officiant and both of our witnesses look alarmed.

“I was in the military,” I explain. They don’t seem any less alarmed.

“Anyway, I don’t know how to do vows because I’ve never been married,” Buck tells me. “But I guess mine are this… Is this? They’re… I’m saying them now. I love you. You are my life. You’re my partner. I can’t imagine marrying a better human being. I’m thankful for who you make me.” Buck stops to think for a second. “Oh, and I’ll be here if anyone tries to murder you again or not. But you can’t die because we have to die together, okay?”

I nod and say, “Okay.”

The officiant looks at me.

Even if Buck’s vows weren’t organised, I loved them. I guess the pressure is on.

“Buck,” I start mine off with his name like he did mine. “I wrote mine at dinner, but I forgot to memorise the words, so you’re getting a summary,” I warn him. “A lot of people say love is unconditional, but they’re bitches. They can’t keep that promise. You never once said your love was unconditional, but you’ve shown me every day that you—we—we are infinite. You don’t hate me for hating you for suing Bobby. You took care of Chris and I after I almost killed that guy and after a guy almost killed me. You took care of Chris during the tsunami. You… you care. You care so much. I didn’t think people like you were real. Um… and now, I’d like to speak right to Evan,” I announce. I take Buck’s free hand. 

“Evan, I used to be so lonely. But for the past eight years, I haven’t been. I think there is something about us. Like in our brain electricity… and even if we weren’t people and we were dogs or fish or plants, our electricity would come together and we’d be us. Before we were born, I think we were, like, mice together. And once we’re dead, we’ll be corn together. And we won’t be us-us like corn named Eddie and Buck, but we’ll be us because there will be the right particles or vibes or something.”

I shake my head because this is not going like I rehearsed.

“Evan, you are the only person in the world I can imagine marrying. Even Shannon knew it. I hope we last a hundred more dead wives and beenados. But, like, hopefully no one will die and the bees are gone.”

The officiant asks us if we agree to be married using our full legal names and we both say yes. 

It’s kind of a blur once Buck’s mouth is on mine.

But we’re married.

I have a husband.

I just want to talk to him for hours and hours and hours.

I let Buck know.

“Let’s go to the hotel,” Buck suggests. “We can talk forever.”

———

We change into the hotel robes and order a bottle of champagne to the room called Veuve Clicquot. It takes us five minutes to decide how to pronounce it. Buck insists it must be Vweev Click-quo even though he knows less than zero French. At the end of the five minutes, we looked it up on Youtube and it turns out the French add random sounds into words that don’t fucking belong.

Verv???? It’s called VERV? Are we kidding?!

Where is the R?

Buck laughs through our order. He tries so hard not to sound like a misbehaving child, but he giggles, “Can we have a bottle of the…” pause for laughter, “Veuve Clicquot?”

“Will that be it, sir?” The voice on the other end asks.

“Uh, and the,” more giggling, “yeah, yeah. That's it.”

His laugh makes me laugh. 

I kiss his neck and he shoos me away, but when he hangs up, he pulls me in by my robe’s lapels and runs his tongue over my lips.

I try to kiss him, but he avoids me, laughing. He rests his head on my shoulder.

“You look good in a suit,” Buck compliments me. He nudges my foot with his own.

“Maybe I’ll wear them more often.” I nudge Buck back. “Y’know, you look good in everything.”

He smiles. My husband. My husband smiles at me. 

I touch my husband’s clothed thigh. Our robes are a heavy terrycloth. They’re soft to the touch and, even on us, they’re a little oversized. I guess even Shaq needs a robe. 

“You know I love you, right?” I push Buck’s robe off his knee so I can feel his skin. He has coarse hair on his legs, but it's so blond it’s hard to see. It almost looks like an aura around his calf. 

“I know,” Buck assures me. “I don’t think you’d put up with my bullshit if you didn’t.” He takes my hand in his. Presses the pad of his fingers into my knuckles. “It’s crazy to me that you were a soldier.”

“Why’s that?” I massage Buck’s calf, pulling it into my lap for ease. His robe parts higher on his leg. It makes my heart beat a little faster. 

“Because you must have shot people. You almost killed someone with this hand.” Buck intertwines our fingers, our hands forming an X. “And you changed Chris’s diapers and shook a thousand hands and restarted my heart with it.”

“I used both hands,” I correct him. “For most of those.”

“Still.” Buck shakes his head. “I’m touching the hand of someone… who has taken a life. And saves so many more. Who, by taking one, probably saved a hundred.” Buck ducks his head, pressing my fingers to his lips. “All I do with my hand is masturbate and bake cookies.” 

I know Buck is being sentimental and thoughtful, but he’s just so funny. And endearing. 

My cheeks are sore from how much I’m grinning like a fucking idiot. 

“Have you ever thought about that?”

I can’t say I think the same way Buck does, but I have spent many nights wondering if I’ve made the right choices. Even killing a nameless, faceless person during war… you still have to live knowing that there’s one less person on Earth because of you. One less friend or brother or son. 

If it happened the other way around, Chris wouldn’t have a father. Buck wouldn’t have a best friend. We never would have married. We wouldn’t have even met. He’d never know there was someone who was supposed to love him this much. 

“Don’t make me so emotional,” I plead. “It’s our wedding night. We should be happy.”

“I’m always happy around you,” Buck claims, which isn’t true but is nice to hear. 

“Tell me something funny,” I wish. I hold our hands to my chest. “Something I don’t know.”

“I feel like you know everything,” Buck tells me. “If you don’t know, it must not be important.” 

I feel almost guilty that the same isn’t true for me. But I had an entire life before LA. I had a job, a wife, and a home. There are some things that Buck doesn’t know, but they’re things I feel like Shannon and I kept together and now it’s my job to hold them. 

“Okay, maybe one,” Buck changes his mind. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s me, Buck. I was there when you threw up after eating way too much cotton candy and when you slipped on a banana peel to prove bananas aren’t slippery,” I remind him. I know those both seem dumb, but if I bring up a really embarrassing moment, Buck will probably slap me. 

“I know, but… well, a lot of the embarrassing stories I haven’t told you are about sex fails.” Buck shakes our hands. 

“If you tell me an embarrassing sex story, I can tell you five. You underestimate how embarrassing my life has been,” I promise. I hold up my pinkie even though we’re already holding hands. Buck lifts his, too. We tap them together. 

“Okay, fine.” Buck huffs and rolls his eyes. He loves pretending he’s annoyed with me before he reveals a secret. “So, like… So I came out as bisexual, right?” 

Yeah. Duh. 

“When I started doing stuff with guys, I had the bright idea to practice so, uh, I’d know what to do with them. I was, like, really worried about multitasking.” Buck whines and uses our hands to punch my chest. “Okay. So. I used to put two, uh, dildos in the shower. Facing each other. Whenever I showered, I’d ride one and suck the other so I could get used to doing both.”

Buck stops at that and I’m confused because… that’s not a failure. 

“And?” I ask. “Are you, like, bad at sucking dick?”

“No, I’m really good at it. But I spent like five months doing that and I’ve slept with like three guys. I didn’t need to do all of that.” Buck shrugs and I want to shake him violently. 

“Buck, that’s not funny or a failure. You just have intense masturbation habits.” I groan and drop my idiot husband’s hand. 

“Okay, you want a bad one?” Buck challenges me. 

I very obviously do. 

“Okay. So.” Buck giggles to himself. “This is only funny because you hate Tommy.”

“I don’t hate Tommy,” I lie. Buck can totally read me. He knows I am not a fan. 

“Well, we used to switch off in bed and… It was good, right? But like… he preferred being the giver. He just wasn’t… awesome at it. Like, I don’t care how big a guy’s dick is, but… At least if he were bigger, he’d hit something. He never, like, worked the right angles even though I always made sure I did. And I’d even get in positions that would be great, but he only wanted to do doggy. Normally I like doggy, but… he kinda just moved it around instead of like… doing me.” Buck sighs and closes his eyes. “So as soon as he broke up with me, I went out and slept with a 45 year old banker with a big dick and marriage problems. I told him I don’t come easily and I need a lot of stimulation.” Buck looks in my eyes. “I came so hard I blacked out after three minutes.” 

Okay, also not exactly a fail, but so fucking funny. 

“Three minutes?” I question. 

“He put it in. I said, do you like that, Daddy? He said yes, thrusted like once and asked if I liked his dick. I think I said something like yessir, give me your worst. Four thrusts and I orgasmed.” Buck laughs raucously. “I came to crying and on the verge of a second.” 

“So you do cum quickly?” I ask. “Because I feel like four strokes is crazy.”

“I know. It is. And remember, that was after months of practice. I reevaluated my sex life after that. Way better. I’m very, very sensitive. Tommy just didn’t really get my body.” 

For some reason, that’s so fucking satisfying. Just another thing I could do better. 

Not that it’s a competition. 

Buck’s story ends at the perfect moment, because the champagne comes while we’re rolling around in fits of laughter. 

It’s not like I’m particularly amazing in bed, but not asking what feels good… psychotic behaviour. I’ve spent 45 minutes eating a cookie just to get one mediocre orgasm out. From me, not her. She was thrilled. 

We clink our champagne glasses together and each down the first pour. And the second. And a third. 

This shit is so good. 

On our fourth, I sip it slowly like a respectable adult because we’re at the bottom of the bottle. Buck rolls the stem between his fingers and inhales the aroma. 

“What about you?” Buck asks. “Have you ever Tommied it?”

“My partners always end up pretty happy, but I’m another story. I’ve been having full on sex and gotten soft,” I admit. “With Ana it happened twice. With Marisol, I couldn’t even get hard.”

“I remember that happening. Has your guy been doing better?” Buck wiggles his index finger. “Maybe you have ED.”

“My guy is absolutely fine. When I’m alone, he doesn’t shut up. It’s always me-me-me with him.”

“Maybe you haven’t found what suits you. When I was with Tommy, I thought I was just a top leaning vers. Now, my hole is constantly hungry. I can’t get enough.” Buck chomps the air and barks like a dog. 

“You’re an idiot,” I comment. I want to touch him, but I don’t. I let him drink his champagne in peace.

“And you, apparently, have a limp dick.” I should be insulted, but they way Buck bunches up his face, nose crinkled, his crows feet… He is such a beautiful human being. 

“Apparently, I’m not that into living, breathing women, but I fucking love steak,” I joke. “That ribeye made my balls ache.” I chuckle, shaking my head.

“Well, now they get to hang loose.” Buck pats his crotch.

“Uh, I mean. I’m still wearing underwear, but I guess they’re more comfortable than suit pants.” I shimmy, feeling the fabric of my briefs. My dick is still a little firm from the ring and my sweat is cooling from our earlier escapades, but it’s much better than foreskin vs zipper (both lose every time). 

“You didn’t take your boxers off?” Buck furrows his eyebrows. “Do you still have the…?”

“You’re not wearing your boxers?” I touch the exposed skin of Buck’s upper thigh.

“Yeah, man. I’m relaxing in bed, why would I have my day underwear on?” The blond shakes his head and clucks his tongue. He pressed his index finger to my chest.

“I put on night underwear before we went out,” I argue.

“Yeah, but I precame and sweat in mine and they touched my going-out pants,” Buck argues. “You’re sitting in Eddie soup.”

Okay, so Buck has a point. I did get these pretty gross.

“Okay, I’ll change,” I say. I try to get up, but Buck keeps me down.

“Don’t leave. We’re having our first husband gossip sesh,” Buck complains, tucking himself against me.

“Fine.” I hold my robe closed and pull my underwear off. “But I’m keeping the cock ring.”

“Does it feel good?” Buck asked. “I’m more of a short term user.”

“It’s like… a little thrilling, but not crazy. I’ve never used a sex toy in public. It’s dirty even though I look totally normal,” I describe, trying to focus on the snug sensation around my base. “In fewer words, I’m horny.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Whenever I wear plugs, I wish someone would, like, notice and use me.” Buck traces my chest, biting his lip. “But only I know.”

“You wear plugs?” I pinch the skin of his upper thigh softly. “Like in public? Around me?”

“You aren’t the public, but yeah.” Buck finishes his drink and waves for me to pour more. “It’s not a regular thing, but sometimes I just need a little something. I don’t get hard, but it nudges my p-spot enough to feel exciting,” he explains. “They’re small. Like a finger or two. My actual plugs are much more… stimulating.”

Buck has walked around my house with something in his ass before.

I think my heart is doing flips.

Fuck, that sounds so hot.

“The only thing I have is a sleeve,” I tell Buck. “It doesn’t get much use.”

“I guess that makes sense for a straight guy. Incorporating anal makes everything different.” Buck giggles. “Hm, that’s a big word. Incorporating.”

“Mystery Incorporated,” I say.

“Oh, my favourite corporation,” Buck hums. “That Freddie…”

“Do you mean the cartoon or the live action?” I ask.

“In the cartoon I want Shaggy. We’d have, like, psychedelic dream sex. But the live action? I want Freddie Prinze to give me his junior.” Buck blows air out of his mouth. “I bet he’s ten uncut.”

I almost choke on my champagne. 

“Buck,” I say. “When’s the last time you watched that movie?”

“I don’t know, but I want the unreleased cut.” Buck licks his lips. “Don’t you have a childhood crush that you’d still love to–”

“All of my crushes were on normal women,” I insist. Buck gives me a dead-eye stare. He doesn’t believe me. “Okay, uh… I guess I was really into X-Men. You know, the animated show.” I shrug. “I think I would sleep with every single one of them.”

“Storm’s tits were amazing,” Buck agrees. “And Cyclops–”

My face drains of colour.

I forgot about Cyclops.

“Oh, I think we found it,” Buck teases. “You have a thing for big boys, huh?” He traces my jaw.

“It was mostly Storm,” I argue. “That shoulder to waist ratio–”

“No, honey. I said Cyclops and you looked like you could come.” Buck touches my pulse point. “Mhm, feel that?”

“That’s not because of Cyclops, Buck,” I warn him.

He’s making my pulse race.

Him with his no underwear and chest tattoos and sly tongue that keeps snaking out to taste the champagne on his lips and his pale, unmarred thigh, his legs intertwined with mine, the flute he’s set down that had lip balm marks–

I swear, I don’t know how it happens, but it does.

Our tongues are in each other’s mouths and there’s no one to watch. No one to perform for.

Buck’s gripping the sides of my robe like I might try to shake him off. 

I’m pulling his leg over mine.

He kisses like he’s starving. I feel my mouth glittering like drinking champagne. I know my pulse is thudding. I feel it in my fingertips and cock.

I know, without proof, Buck’s is racing, too.

His soft skin, blond body hair, malleable fat slides against my thicker flesh, dark, coarse hair, and firm muscle. Those pretty pink nipples press into my chest, his legs opening, slotted every other with mine. 

I cup his ass. The fair, nude globe of a cheek.

We stay there for fuck knows how long. My mouth went from overflowing with saliva to dry and he’s moaning like a girl getting fingered, but I can’t stop kissing him.

I squeeze his ass and caress his chest.

We part for just long enough to get air. Just long enough to drink a little more Veuve.

I tuck my hands under his robe, take his tits back in my palms.

“Yeah,” he mumbles into my mouth.

I break the kiss to suck the skin over his pulse. 

“Oh, fuck,” Buck gasps, holding me close.

Everything feels electric. I can feel my dick pulsing and his carotid pumping away beneath my lips. 

I suction his skin more, scraping it with my teeth.

Buck exposes more of his neck and lets me claim it as mine. Lets me make my husband mine.

Our mouths meet again and even I’m groaning softly. His hands might not be pinching my nipples or squeezing my ass (both of which I’m doing plenty to him), but even just holding my neck and giving in to my touch is enough. He’s doing enough.

In the next breath we take, Buck asks, “Do you do this with all your girls?”

“By now, I’m usually rubbing their clits,” I whisper in his ear. “I like getting their pussies wet.”

“Mine’s wet,” Buck responds. “You can touch me wherever you want.”

I reach down his robe and feel for his cock. It’s wet as he promised, the tip leaking something fierce. I collect it on my fingers and let them travel back to the place I’m curious about.

I coat Buck’s pucker in his pre and stroke from his taint to his hole. I have no idea if this feels good for him, but he rocks into my touch and opens his mouth obediently.

I take his tongue in my mouth and suck it fiercely. 

He cries out, ass clenching under my index and middle finger.

I expected his pucker to be hairier, but it feels smooth except for his wrinkled skin. 

He sneaks a hand under my robe and places it on my pubes just above my dick.

I move his hand down so he’s cupping me. He wraps his hands around my erection and jerks it in short strokes. 

He uses my pre to ease the way, working my head and foreskin more than the length of my shaft.

I press my fingers into his body.

When he spreads his legs, my cock twitches.

Good boy.

We must stay like that for at least half an hour, me fingering his hole and him lazily playing with my tip. Our tongues don’t leave each other’s mouths.

But I know I’m not touching much and as much as I’m enjoying having a couple fingers in my husband, he doesn’t make slick like I’m used to.

I disconnect our mouths and slip my fingers out. 

“Buck,” I whisper when the blond whines. He looks at me, a little glossy eyed and nicely pink in the face. I hold up three fingers and lick them. Buck gets the idea and licks them, too, suckling on each between sweeps of his tongue. 

We both get my fingers wet, letting our tongues bump between my digits, then lick each other, covering each other’s tastebuds. 

I’ve never sucked on fingers or licked someone’s tongue, but then again, I’ve never married a man before and all three are outrageously sexy.

I bring my fingers back down to Buck’s ass before I get too distracted kissing him. 

I wriggle all three in, stretching his hole on them slowly.

I know, anatomically, where things are located, so I don’t actually have to do much exploring.

But I want to.

I feel the muscles of his anus and rectum, teasing his quivering hole with my thumb. I dance around his prostate, tapping lightly. 

Buck isn’t kissing me so much as he’s moaning open mouth against me while I suck his tongue again.

Curiosity gets the best of me, so I massage his prostate with my fingers, pressing firmly.

Buck rubs my cock quickly, tighter grip, the whole shaft and mushroomed tip. He cries into my mouth.

Oh, I like that.

I turn Buck onto his back and untie his robe. I unwrap his body like a present, curling my three fingers. 

He lifts his hips, working his pussy on my hand. 

I sit next to him, finger-fucking him, staring into his eyes, letting him wank me off.

“Good boy,” I praise Buck. “Make me feel good.”

Buck nods, dumbfounded. 

I untie my own robe and throw it off the bed. 

My husband nuzzles my v-line, licking the edge of my pubes. I card my fingers through his hair.

“Eddie,” he whispers, extending his tongue to touch my nuts. “Can I suck your cock?”

I don’t respond right away. I guess maybe I’m dazed.

I’m picturing it.

Those plump lips around my shaft, tongue swirling, his pretty eyes looking for approval.

“Please,” Buck begs. “I want your cock in my mouth.” He sucks my balls gently.

Fuck, I want to make him gag.

I want to make it sound sexy, telling him he can, but I don’t know what to say.

“Open up,” I direct him. I place my tip on his tongue and tap pre onto it.

He sits with his mouth open for me, tongue out.

I take that as a sign I should put my dick in his mouth. I’m honestly not sure how much to put, but Buck makes a show of swallowing it until he chokes.

Buck sucks gently, trying to get me down. It feels so fucking amazing. When my head peeks into his throat, I dribble pre and he swallows again.

“Fuck,” I curse. “Suck that cock, baby.”

Buck bobs his head and holds my balls in his palm. His spit is gathering an inch or so from my hilt.

I don’t think he could get me all down if he tried. I get bushy and thick at the base, so even if he could get my dick far enough into his throat, he probably wouldn't want to or couldn’t stretch his lips around it. 

I don’t fucking care. He is literally swallowing my cock.

I make sure I’m really rubbing his prostate as a thank you. Hitting it fast and getting my fingers deep so his eyes roll back.

Buck gulps a few times before moving my dick back into his mouth so he can actually suckle it. I grunt quietly, my hips twitching.

He gets his tongue between my tip and foreskin, jerking me with a hand while his tongue swirls. 

In my 17 years of getting blowjobs, this undeniably ranks number one. 

If I knew there was a person on Earth willing to play with my foreskin with his tongue or dip into my slit and suck to get a glob of precum in his mouth, I probably would have asked for this sooner. 

Buck even lets me fuck his face while he focuses on rubbing my balls. He doesn’t pull off when I make him gag. When I move quickly, he wraps a hand around my base so I can buck my hips as much as I want. He moans when I pull on his hair. He hums each time I hit his prostate.

I’ve had some good experiences, but this is unbelievable. It’s not like a normal blowjob. Sure, he’s doing normal things, but trying to make me precum and getting every inch in his mouth like he’s fucking eating? It literally feels like my cock is getting gargled by an angel.

I’m going to fucking cum in my best friend’s throat.

“You’re going to make me cum.” I look into Buck’s eyes and see them darken.

Oh, fuck.

He slurps loudly, picking up the pace. He does every-fucking-thing he can to get my cock squirting in his mouth, including tugging on the cock ring.

When I do come, fucking his face while he sucks it like a straw, some flows out of his lips, thick and white. My legs spasm and I get a head high.

Buck sits back and opens his mouth, showing me my cum.

“Oh, shit,” I say, leaning down to kiss him.

I’ve never had cum in my mouth before. It’s kind of the thickness of egg whites and has a salty, almost bitter taste.

If I didn’t love having my cum in Buck’s mouth, dripping down his neck, I would probably ask him to spit it out. Instead, we’re making out again. I’m between his legs, a much better position. 

When we part for air, he swallows my load and licks his lips.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he tells me. 

If I taste good, I wonder what other guys taste like. It must be relative.

“I’ve never sucked such a nice cock,” he flatters me. 

I stroke myself, still twitchy and full. I’m pretty sure almost as soon as I get soft, I’ll get hard again.

“I’ve never had my dick sucked so well,” I compliment him back.

We kiss again. Buck takes over touching my dick even as it flags. 

I touch him in return. I know I’m a little more awkward with it, but I want him to get some satisfaction, too.

I’d love to make him come.

“Buck,” I get his attention. “Can I eat your pussy?”

I slip my fingers out of him so I can use both hands to spread his cheeks and look at his fluttering pucker.

“If I made slick, I would’ve just released a crazy amount,” Buck tells me. “As long as you’re okay with licking my butt, I’d fucking love it.”

So not only am I getting a life changing blowjob today, but I’m going to eat my very first ass. 

My husband’s.

I love thinking of him like that. 

God, I’m going to lick my husband’s pussy until his legs shake around my head. Maybe I’ll suck his clit (the head of his dick) and finger him a little more.

Can a guy get off from having his asshole licked?

I wrap an arm around each of Buck’s thighs and lift him up. He makes a little squeak of surprise.

So fucking adorable.

I have no idea if it’s customary to lick over his pucker or to put my tongue inside, so I try a bit of both.

Swirl my tongue over the hole, run a flat tongue over it, hold him open and get my tongue past the sphincter.

He’s panting and squirming from both, so I guess there’s no wrong choice.

I try to move my hand on his dick while flicking my tongue over his entrance, but I honestly just want to shove my face in his ass.

Or bury something else that’s definitely interested despite not getting much attention anymore.

I try licking Buck’s cock just to see what it’s like.

I kind of like it. 

I take the tip in my mouth and nod, sucking like Buck did to me.

His toes curl up.

I bet I could make him come just from that, but that’s not my goal.

I want his pussy.

I collect his pre and spread it over his hole.

Just because Buck said he could, I try to get his tip by his entrance. I think the position is wrong, but it definitely reaches, so I rub him on himself.

Shit, he’s getting me hard already.

I’ve never been this horny in my entire life.

I go back to licking him out. It’s crazy how responsive he is, whispering my name and telling me what he likes best.

“Put your tongue in my pussy,” he begs, “And fuck me.”

I do, holding his ass tight to my face, the cartilage of my nose getting smushed.

It turns out, boy pussy is just as good as girl.

I’m not sure why I do it, but I ask Buck to hand me the champagne.

I take a sip from the bottle and kiss his rim.

I dribble some of the alcohol over his hole and lap it up.

I really don’t know why, but I work the neck in him and suck on his puffy hole around it.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie,” Buck cries. 

I fuck him on the bottle, licking his taste from it. Once the lip goes in, it’s honestly pretty easy.

I wonder if Buck can feel the carbonation in his ass.

I pull the bottle out and cover his opening with my mouth so I catch every little droplet. I’m surprised when I have to actually drink, swallowing a few mouthfuls and sucking it out.

By the sounds Buck is making, he’s having a great fucking night.

I put his ass down and sit up on my knees.

Buck is staring at me.

I lick the neck of the bottle. The spout. Take the first inch into my mouth. Make a show of drinking from it.

I hand the bottle to Buck.

He drinks from it, too. 

He pours the last few drops over his chest.

I bend down to drink it up, teasing his nipples with my teeth in the process.

His head is tilted back and he’s whimpering.

“Eddie,” he says. He repeats it. Repeats it.

I cover his body with mine, our erections touching, and press a soft kiss to his mouth.

“Eddie,” he whispers when we pull apart. 

“Buck,” I address him. I squeeze his right tit. 

I want to devour him.

“Fuck me,” he states. “Put your cock inside me.”

I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m about to lose my virginity again.

“There’s lube in my suitcase,” Buck directs me. “By the socks.”

The lube I always imagined gay guys using was a tube of KY or something. The kind Buck has looks like a bottle of ketchup. It says Boy Butter with a butter churner on it.

“Buck, is this butter?” I ask. “You use butter as lube?”

“It’s coconut oil.”

As far as I’m aware, that’s still a food item, but I guess the name implies it’s for anal, so who am I to question the branding?

Buck’s sitting up in bed. His arms are free from his robe and he’s checking me out.

“You look good,” Buck says, touching my abs. “Your cock is huge, babe.”

“You didn’t have any trouble sucking it,” I quip. I kneel on the end of the bed.

“Actually, I was gagging on you, but okay,” Buck laughs. He swivels his hips. “I love a fat cock. I just know it’s going to make my pussy hurt.”

“Hurt?” I ask, lubing my dick. “It’s painful?”

“Not hurt like ouch. It’s like… it makes me ache. I ache for an orgasm. Tomorrow, I’ll ache for you to be inside me again.” Buck places a foot on my chest. “I love feeling stretched and used.”

I kiss Buck’s ankle and lean over him.

Buck stops me. He interrupts with, “I think I should be on my stomach.”

I like his face, but I’m not going to complain about seeing his thick ass. 

I may be straight, but that thing is gorgeous. I wish I had a mould of it for personal use.

“Fuck, this is so hot.” Buck shivers. “I don’t know if it’s sexier knowing you’re a straight guy about to ravage me or you’re my husband and we’re consummating our marriage.”

“How about you’re my little fag fuck toy and I’m going to run your pussy through,” I suggest, tracing Buck’s spine. 

“Fuck yeah.” Buck nods. He arches his back. “Make me your bitch.”

“You are my bitch,” I tell him sweetly. “And now I own your pussy.”

It’s irrational, pretending I’m some straight guy. I mean, not the straight part, but the part where I, a straight guy, would be so desperate I’d fuck the closest willing hole even if it was some dude.

I tap my dick over Buck’s hole and work it between his cheeks. There’s no real reason for it, but I like playing with my meals and this ass is a fucking feast.

“Eddie, please,” Buck complains. “I want it in not near.”

“Mhm?” I smack my tip on Buck’s rim. “You’re a hungry slut?”

“Yessir,” Buck answers. “Feed me.”

We both laugh, but I do feed my dick into him.

He gasps, trying to force his body to relax.

“Holy shit, that’s fat, Eddie,” he tells me. “Are you sure you’re not fisting me?”

“Nope, just my cock,” I assure Buck. I realise I’m out of character and clear my throat. “Never had a nice, thick, straight cock?”

“No,” Buck responds. “Only small gay dicks.” He’s being a sarcastic little shit. Fuck, I want to kiss him.

“Don’t worry.” I press Buck’s shoulders down. “I’ll get your pussy real familiar with mine.”

I sink in slowly because even if Buck likes some level of ache, I’m not willing to actually hurt him.

Much.

I mean, maybe I smack his ass and tell him I want his faggot hole, but… it’s different.

It feels fucking good.

So fucking good.

And when I start fucking him, it’s even better.

He’s moaning like a bitch in heat and, shit, I am, too. My nuts are slapping his ass and my cock is so deep I’m pretty sure I reached the end of his pussy. 

He’s tighter than a woman and his groaning is much more substantial.

I mean, Buck can fucking moan.

We’re maybe five minutes in and he’s already face down, ass up, screaming into the mattress.

I slap his ass and pound it harder, trying to find that angle where I can hit his prostate and send it deep. I bumped it on the way in and I know I’m kind of rubbing it, but I want to get my husband stupid on my cock.

“Fuck me, Eddie,” he calls out. “Fuck my pussy just like that,” he coaxes me on.

“Yeah, you like taking a fat uncut cock?” I ask him, putting my body into it. I grab his hair just because I can.

This is the first time I’ve gotten to actually fuck someone. No more delicate hip rolls and a hundred questions, stopping to eat cunt, barely getting it back in, getting soft halfway through.

I think Buck created a monster.

I want his pussy everyday.

“Oh my god,” I choke out. “Bear down on it, baby. Show me you like it.”

Buck is more than showing me he likes it. He’s bouncing on me while I fuck him.

One of his legs slips, but I catch him and shit.

There’s the angle.

I know by the way Buck says, “Eddie,” like he can’t piece a sentence together.

“Right there,” he mewls, stringing together the thought we both had.

Buck is taking my cock so well. It’s almost making me dizzy. I think I’m rapidly losing blood flow to my brain.

And the way he howls when I hit his spot? It’s mouth watering.

“Eddie,” he cries again. “I’m going to cum. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Buck gasps, hands clawing at the bathrobe and sheets under him. 

I slap his ass again and lean over him, bracing my arms next to his.

“Oh yeah?” I tease, kissing his back. He nods, hands grasping at mine. “You like me having my way with you?”

“Oh god, Eddie,” Buck digs his forehead into the bedding. “Don’t stop.”

“I’ve never tasted such a pretty pussy,” I tell him. “You’re such a good little slut.”

I reach beneath Buck to tease a nipple, but he jerks erratically, muscles tensing and shaking as he comes. His hole fights my cock, gripping it in a vice. If I didn’t come fifteen minutes ago, that would make me bust.

Buck shivers, still moaning his lungs out.

I slow down, but don’t stop. I know I should pull out and finish on my own, but Buck is addictive. I’ve never felt this much sensation in my life and I don’t think it’s just from the lack of a condom.

“Don’t stop,” Buck orders. “Keep going.”

Jesus Christ. He’s really gonna let me go until the end, huh?

I’ve never done it raw before. I know pulling out isn’t the most effective, but at least Buck can’t get pregnant. 

And god, that’s another turn on.
I could absolutely wreck his ass and never ever have to stop to consider birth control.

“Fuck, Eddie, tell me I’m your bitch,” Buck begs, getting back into rhythm. “Don’t stop. Fuck me hard, just like you were.”

I laugh meanly and smack both of his cheeks. The sound alone tells me it stings. The blooming colour is just a nice bonus.

“You’re my faggot,” I tell him. “I can tell this pussy loves getting pounded.”

His pucker is spread thin and dragging with every thrust. There’s foamy lube gathering and making his ass so fucking creamy and delicious. If I could creampie one hole in my life, I’d want it to be this one. I’ve never had a real pussy grip my dick like this and I just know if I could load Buck up, we’d make that shit splatter.

Fuck, I wanna nut in him and pound it back in.

“Buck,” I choke out, sitting up again. I move over Buck’s ass, mounting him and shoving my cock down his walls.

“Oh, fuck,” Buck shouts. He rests his cheek on the bed and keeps his mouth open, expletives flowing out. 

The room's landline trills, making us both jump. (And fuck, a little sudden movement is just what we needed.)

“Eddie,” Buck says. It’s less of a moan and more of a question.

“Answer it,” I tell him. I slow down enough that I don’t think anyone on the other line would hear our skin slapping. Hopefully Buck is more mobile like this, too.

All the way out, all the way in. Slow, even grinds against his spot every few strokes.

“Hello?” Buck answers, but his voice is breathy. “Oh hi, Matt.”

Buck must hit the speaker phone because Matt’s voice comes crackling through.

“Hey, I know it’s kinda late, but I was wondering what you guys are up to.”

I don’t know why, but the thought of Matt makes me want to bite Buck all over.

This is my play pussy.

“Oh, uh–” Buck swallows a groan. “Just in our room.”

“Yeah? Are you busy?” 

I slap Buck’s ass again.

“A little, yeah,” Buck responds through gritted teeth. “Why, uh, what’s—what’s up?”

“Yeah, well… just wanted to see, y’know… if the offer still stands.”

The offer doesn’t stand. It’s flat on the bed, ass up with my cock buried inside.

I make sure Buck remembers that. I want to see him cry trying to keep back moans.

“Oh, we’re.” Buck pants softly into his arm. “In the middle of something.”

The line goes quiet for a moment, so I try to make it harder for Buck. Circling my hips, just enough in to reach his prostate. I tip-fuck him, jabbing his spot as best as I can with my dick.

I can tell his eyes are rolling back again.

I’m going to get him squirting on me if it breaks my cock.

“Matt?” Buck gulps. He grabs a pillow and shoves his face in it, letting out a nice, long, and probably a little embarrassingly feminine moan.

“Is your boyfriend fucking you right now?”

Buck stammers and looks back for advice.

I shrug. 

Now no one’s confused whose he is at the end of the night.

“He’s my husband,” Buck responds.

The line goes silent again.

I pinch Buck’s ass. Say something.

“His cock is so fucking thick,” Buck announces.

I know I should probably wait for Buck to get off the phone to get back to our very very enthusiastic pace (I wonder, if we weren’t intoxicated and desperate, would we go slow? Would our pleasure bleed through each other? Would we face each other and kiss the whole time?), but I’m tired of pleasantries.
I want to take what’s mine.

I work back up to our pussy-ruining rhythm quickly. It gets Buck screaming just the way I like.

I don’t know if he hung up, but the phone gets knocked onto the ground and Buck is begging for me to keep going.

“Daddy,” he calls me.

I’m not sure if I like it, but it strokes my ego.

My cock is so good I own him.

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” I demand.

“Yours, Eddie. Yours,” Buck squeals. “Holy fuck, I’m gonna fucking come, Eddie.”

Buck’s hips rut helplessly into the air.

I hold them, pulling him onto me with every thrust. I have no idea how his hole isn’t sore, but I’m sure as shit fucking us stupid. The “end” of his hole that I thought I hit has been breached. I think my tip is pressing past a second ring of muscles at his angle.

I should know anatomy and be able to say what exactly is happening, but… my boner is so deep in the most attractive human on this planet.

I’m banging my best friend.

I’m making a guy come from my cock for the second time in twenty minutes.

And I hope he walks sideways tomorrow.

Buck looks back at me again. Right into my eyes.

His are heavy and rolling back.

I feel his orgasm hit. He grunts, trying to watch me during it.

His muscles tense and his pussy constricts again.

I’m caught off guard by just how intense the feeling is.

Holy shit.

“I’m gonna nut,” I groan, placing a hand on Buck’s back.

“Oh my god,” Buck whispers. “Shit, Eddie, get my pussy wet.”

“In you?” I question.

Buck nods, saying, “Yeah, fill me.”

“Oh, yeah, baby,” I tell him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cream this pussy real deep.”

Buck calls me Daddy again. Says I should breed him. 

“Just a fucking faggot cumdump,” I grunt, holding onto his waist like I could fall away and die.

“Yes, Eddie. I’m your cumslut,” he croons.

Now, I’m a grown man. A whole ass father. A two time husband. I’ve been fucking since 17. 

Never in my entire goddamn life have I come so hard or so much.

I know my entire body is shaking because every time I blink, I see something new. I actually feel my dick pulsing and releasing cum. And I must shoot out about ten times. Each wave crashes through me, lasting longer than I expect. Like, just when I think I’m stopping, it’s slowing down, Buck clenches and I keep coming. 

It gets so overstimulating I have to pull out, spurting against Buck’s pucker.

After the last big rush, I press myself back in because I have no idea what to do with myself.

Once I’m through the thickest part of my haze, I grab Buck’s face and kiss him. My mouth burns like drinking ice water after brushing your teeth. I feel like I’m icy and flaming and melting.

I want this for the rest of my life.

When I let Buck go, he takes a series of deep breaths. 

“We need more champagne,” he announces.

My softening dick dislodges itself. I watch my nut drip and pat my head on Buck’s pucker.

“We need more champagne,” I agree.

The rest of the night gets kind of foggy, but I think we get another bottle of Veuve Clicquot and some red wine.

They both go pretty quickly.

I remember a lot of kissing. Like making out for hours on end.

I think Matt called around one and when I look back at the clock, it says three.

When I look in front of me, I can see Buck on his back.

His legs are over my shoulders and he’s making a face like we’re really enjoying ourselves again.

I think we fuck until five a.m..

I’ve never had more than one orgasm a night with a partner, maybe two alone.

I can’t be sure, but I think I have the best night of my entire life.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Viva Las Vegas