Chapter Thirty

JULIAN

May 5, 1998

This will be my first entry as a married man. Well, not so much ‘married' in the eyes of New York. But our civil union ceremony will be just as much of a wedding in my eyes as any big day for straight couples. Even though Grayson and I have been together for the past eight years, New York finally granted certain provisions to formally recognize our relationship. If even just a little bit.

I'm sitting down to a glass of leftover champagne while Gray and Miles are out gathering last minute travel supplies. Our big day was yesterday. And tomorrow, it's Hawaii or bust. If I thought the night that he proposed to me had been the best day of my life, yesterday certainly takes the cake. Literally. Arthur and Helen Wilkins insisted on hosting our day at their family compound here in The Hamptons, opening their guesthouse for us to dwell while we're here. Alex ‘officiated' our civil union ceremony in front of our chosen family and a large percentage of the gay community in New York City.

We woke yesterday to the sounds of crashing waves and seagulls off in the distance. A definite change from the jackhammers and honking cars we're used to. Grayson must have roused before I did. Because when I woke, he'd been staring me down like a parent admires their sleeping baby. He raised his arm, tracing the edges of my chin with his knuckles. I caught his intoxicating stare, acknowledging the tender touch with a big smile. We'd known we had a long, busy day ahead of us. But nothing would interrupt such a silent and intimate moment such as that. As a manner of speaking, a calm before the storm.

A lady on the Wilkins payroll delivered us breakfast from a rolling cart, finally prompting an interruption to the exchanges of loving stares and passionate touches. When she left, we fed each other strips of thick cut bacon while sipping from the same glass of orange juice. Perfectly browned toast, oatmeal, and waffles also lined our plates. I doubted I'd be able to eat everything served, then Grayson reminded me that we'd likely not be afforded time to eat until later at dinner. And even then, we wouldn't get to enjoy every bite, with guests taking turns interrupting us with their warm salutations.

The seaside wind flourished brusquely through an open window in the guesthouse, as we changed into basic clothes to oversee vendors and workers setting up for our day. We didn't necessarily need to supervise at all, because Alex hired one of the most well sought-after event planners in New York. But Grayson acted as more of a bridezilla than I ever imagined. He demanded everything to be executed with perfect detail. Down to the number of creases in each tablecloth.

An hour or two passed when everything had arrived and in the process of being set up. Except for the cake. For some reason, when a baker is told eleven, they assume it means one instead. Gray kind of made it a way bigger deal than I considered it to be, but I still love this man with all my being anyway.

By two o' clock, members of our ‘wedding party' began showing. Our good friend from The Lion's Den, Rick Abernathy, arrived first. Since Grayson asked Miles to be his best man—and Alex already slotted to officiate—I asked Rick to stand beside me. By three, our guests arrived in small groups. We initially questioned if there were enough parking spaces to accommodate everyone invited. But between all the neighbors offering the street in front of their properties, it went off without a hitch.

Grayson and I didn't follow the tradition of not seeing each other before reciting our vows. When it came time to dress in our formal wear, we dressed each other. However, we adopted the custom of ‘something borrowed, something blue, and something new.' Since we held our special day on the sandy beaches of Southampton, Alex deemed it appropriate that our theme should be mermen of the sea.

"You're gonna look stunning in this," Grayson said, retreating my brand-new tuxedo jacket from the wardrobe rack.

I slipped my arms through the teal sleeves, tugging it over my shoulders. Gray sidestepped me to fix the lapels of my jacket. His bottom lip curved inward while tying my blue-lagoon bowtie with perfection. He twisted me around so I could get a good look in the full-length mirror in front of us.

"Damn, Saccharo Ferre," I said, followed with a grin. "I don't feel ashamed admitting this, but I think I'll look better out there than you will."

Grayson raised a brow. "In your dreams, meus amor."

I waved his brand-new periwinkle tuxedo jacket behind him like a bull cape. Once he slid his white sleeved arms through each hole, he pulled it up over his shoulders. My fingers fussed with his aqua bow tie, and for the life of me couldn't remember how to tie it in reverse.

He clicked his tongue. "Give it here, Momo," he insisted, finishing the task as if he'd been practicing for months.

My man, he has more than one talent. I wished I were half as capable of doing the things he is. Yet I'm so glad that he loves me for who I am regardless. Back when we first started planning our outfits, Alex insisted we each wear a top hat. He let us each borrow one from the Wilkins dressing room, fulfilling our ‘something borrowed.'

Grayson and I followed a sandy path lined with seashells, several yards away from the guesthouse. Hand-in-hand, we schlepped towards a custom pergola specifically designed for our day. Enrique Iglesias' "Hero" could be heard playing from two giant speakers on each side of the decorated covering. As we ascended the platform, the song came to a wrap.

Waves roared from the Atlantic Ocean, offering a perfect backdrop against the dozens of guests sitting in carefully placed chairs planted in the sand. I might smile at Grayson a dozen times each day, but yesterday felt entirely different. This was a unique moment that my soul had been blessed to experience for the first time. And the fact that we shared it in front of nearly forty of our closest friends, made it even more inimitable.

Alex persisted through his opening speech before we were afforded the chance to recite the vows we prepared. Gray went first.

"Julian Tomás Torres," he started. "You make my world complete, and I don't know where I'd be if you weren't a part of it," he added, a tear of joy escaping his left eye. "You're quirky—you're tender—you're a whole lot of fun," a smile complimented the glint of light bouncing from his caffeinating stare. "And you encourage me to go beyond my own comfort zones," he paused to clear the lump in his throat. "Loving you is my greatest honor in life, and I'll eternally be your hero."

I cleared my throat, gripping his hand even tighter. "Grayson Carey Welles, meus amor," a short pause preceded a burst of anxiety. "When I moved to that small place in Louisiana, finding a boy was the last thing I ever expected to happen," I admitted, feeling a rush of emotion fold over my gut like the tidal wave off in the distance. "I was most worried about fitting in, but you made both of those happen," I added. "Cor verberat propter te—My heart beats because of you."

A moment later, we pulled each other's ring from the inner pockets of our jackets. Meanwhile, Alex asked me if I promised to take Grayson through life as my wedded partner, through thick and thin. When I answered generically, "Yes."

When Alex asked my man, on the other hand, Gray replied true to Yankee fashion. "Oh, I'm in for the long fuckin' con baby," he responded, the twinkle in his right eye complimented the usual mischievous grin adorning his youthful mien.

Alex cleared his throat before concluding with the normal spiel. "It's with great pleasure that I pronounce you man and man," he avowed, pointing in Gray's direction. "You lucky bastards may kiss."

It hadn't been our first public display of affection and certainly wouldn't be the last either. Grayson took his right hand, placing it around my back while I clutched to his other. He pushed me backwards when his lips formed a seal against mine. Our crowd clapped cheerfully before we ushered each other down the platform. The Spanish version of our song which just played previously, accompanied our stride down the same shell led pathway.

The rest of our night completed the festivities, full of precious moments and enough laughter to last us into next year. Before dinner made its rounds, caterers passed around my favorite Puerto Rican appetizers—mofongo and pan de mallorca. Everyone seemed to enjoy our entrée options of prime rib, lobster, and roasted chicken breast. And Grayson wins the gold medal for properly guessing that we wouldn't get so much as four bites the entire evening. Well, at least until we absconded to the guesthouse when our final guests left.

Grayson urged me through the entrance to the guesthouse before yanking the tuxedo jacket straight off my shoulders. It fell to the floor as he removed his. Our lips joined for an impassioned kiss while we stripped off the rest of our clothes. He pressed my fully nude body against the wall of our guest suite with a loud grunt. The built-up perspiration cloaking his chest sparkled under the sheen of a waxing gibbous moon, shining down through the windowpane beside me. He nipped at my bottom lip while his hands rested on my shoulders.

"I wanna ride you all fuckin' night, Momo," he purred. "Your peach pit's all mine now."

My vision squinted while I spasmed with arousal from head-to-cock. "I expect nothing more, Saccharo Ferre," I moaned with delight.

Our tilted heads feverishly swapped tongues before he twisted me around, summoning me to the king-sized bed. He hovered his head over my chest, his smooth tongue circulating my left nipple for a moment. His teeth clenched it gently, welcoming a pleasurable moan to fall from my quivering mouth. Grayson raised his head to catch my aroused stare, flashed an enchanting grin in my direction.

My legs eagerly parted after he yanked me to the edge, his thumping cock finding my hungry hole with hardly any effort required. It plunged deep inside my ass in a fit of fury, feeling way different than any prior instance. If that's what married sex feels like, then sign me up for a daily subscription to his dick.

"Fuck, meus amor," I uttered, fiercely pumping my cock to the cadence of him bucking deeper and deeper.

After my head had been pushed back into the sheets for minutes, Grayson wailed loudly. Like Mount Vesuvius would explode without a moment's notice.

"Christ!" Grayson shrieked, his eyes shooting back in his skull as he recoiled from my ass.

I felt his warm cum sliding from my hole as a warm caramel sauce glazes an ice cream sundae. He didn't stop to catch his breath for even a second, before lurching forward to swallow my aching dick as far back as it could go. Not but a few minutes of Grayson's tongue sliding up and down, when the euphoric sensations set my crotch ablaze. My fists bunched up in the comforter as I screamed with ecstasy. In a split-second, cum ejected my cock in short bursts. His chin an instant casualty of my sticky assault.

My relief passed through me as fast as the sweat puddled in the sheets. "Ay Dios fucking mio, babe?—"

Grayson didn't need to say much, I knew he enjoyed it as much as I did. "Right?" He acknowledged, slapping my naked belly.

Naked and drenched in sweat, he tottered over to the foot of the bed where a cater waiter wheeled the remaining wedding cake exclusively for our post-wedding enjoyment. He held a notecard up to the light of the moon, reading it aloud.

"Congrats, boys—keep the night going with another bottle of Dom and of course—more cake—Miles & Alex," he read, tossing it over his shoulder with a shrug. "Don't mind if I do."

I sat up, then scooted closer to him as another cork popped. A loud whomp from a closet door across the room announced its landing site. Gray poured the champagne into two flutes before climbing back to the bed next to me. All in all, we'd each sipped three glasses of bubbly with intervals of taking turns hand feeding each other pieces of the leftover pistachio vanilla cake.

"Well it's done," I affirmed, a carbonated sip traveling down my throat. "Anything you'd have done differently?"

He raised his hand to pinch my chin. "Not a goddamn thing, Momo," he said as I felt the warmth of his breath against my neck.

Slightly buzzed, I lowered to the bed as his chest fell into mine. My fingers rustled his thick hair as my lips formed a satisfied grin. Meanwhile, the back of his hand brushed tenderly down my cheek when we iterated the same sentiments in separate languages.

"Vos auferat spiritum meum," I affirmed.

"You take my breath away," he muttered.

As I sit here sipping the last few flattened sips of our leftover Dom, I'm left to think about what the future holds for us now. We've just started the next chapter of our lives. Despite the eight years our journey has on us, there's many more miles of road for us yet to travel. And we've even overcome some obstacles along the way. But so long as we have each other, nothing the future pitches our way will be impossible to defeat.