Epilogue I

"Ithink they're fucking," Olivier whispers to me as we lean on the rear wall of Elodie's living room and watch the drunken game of Twister. Mallory has just collapsed underneath the tangle of people who chose to move above her, and Elodie was quick to follow, giggling hysterically against Mallory's chest.

"El and Mal?"

"You don't think so?"

Now that he mentions it, the two are very handsy, but they've been close a long time. Best friends going on two years now. "It's hard to say."

Just because after years of living as a straight man I've found myself in a long-term queer relationship doesn't mean everyone will do it, but I admit, I think people are better suited to their same-sex friends than their partners more often these days, a thought that used to literally never enter my mind.

"You might be projecting," I tell Olivier.

"Or I might be horny."

I arch a brow and look at him. "Ready to head home?"

"Or…"

He's got my full attention when he nods to the bathroom.

"You want it quick and rough?" I ask.

He bites his lip and stares back at me. "Mmhmm."

"I might have to gag you."

He pulls me by the forearm when no one is paying any attention to us and shoves me into Mallory's bathroom, closing and locking the door behind us. He's wearing wool slacks which hit the floor within two seconds of being locked inside.

"Take off that sweater," he says, and those are the last words he gets out before I stuff a monogrammed hand towel into his mouth.

I point at the vanity. "Ass on the counter."

He does what I say while I strip off my only slightly ugly Christmas sweater and open my pants to reveal my rapidly filling erection. Olivier's sweater isn't ugly at all. It's just argyle and dated. It fits him like a second skin, and with the rest of him completely bare, he looks like a filthy porn fantasy. His leaking cock only adds to my mental meltdown.

We both carry lube in our wallets now. There were too many occasions in our first year together where we were nowhere near home and got overwhelmed with this driving urge to fuck. There is no one I know in Manhattan who doesn't have some traces of our DNA in some room in their house, but I admit—it's usually the bathroom.

We've also debauched dressing rooms and fashion closets, elevators, and too many places in Prospect Park to count.

I tear open two packets and fill him up with one while he bites down on the towel and thrusts against my fingers. I use the other packet to get my cock ready to slide in deep.

While I could watch him fuck my fingers all day, I realize our time here is limited.

I part his thighs, step between them, and pull my gorgeous power bottom onto my cock. As a couple, we officially identify as vers. This is especially true in the mornings when I'm just waking up and he's more ready to go than I am. We've also mastered the art of the flip-fuck.

But taking my cock is truly Olivier's special talent. He doesn't even need to brace himself on the counter to properly fuck me, but tonight he does with one hand on my shoulder and the other on the counter's edge.

He works my cock in clenching rolls while I grip his hips and pound into him, but that's more for him than it is for me. What he's doing to my cock is beyond enough to get me off in a hurry, especially with that hungrily determined look in his eyes.

With his mouth stuffed, I cover his nose, controlling his oxygen supply in a way that doesn't leave marks. If he didn't have any jobs booked, believe me, we'd both prefer I left bruises, but he's walking at a Christmas gala in two days, so I have to be careful with my pretty peach.

Sort of.

I spit on his dick and jerk him off while we screw each other hard and fast. I don't bother trying to hold off my orgasm—I let the deep shockwaves of pleasure take me along on their ride. His hole is as good as his fist, but with the important distinction of being able to hold my entire cock and work it like a pro. He's so fucking good at fucking me.

His face is red with both exertion and mild suffocation. His cock is pouring precum over my hand and my balls are pounding with an impending release.

"You close, pretty baby?"

He nods jerkily, but his lower body is nothing but smooth, fluid motion, milking my dick and making it extremely hard to keep quiet.

"I'm about to blow a huge load deep in your tight little hole. You ready for that?"

Another nod, an agonized draw of his brow.

His suffering still gets me off. Not that I'm mad at him anymore. I love this man more than I've ever loved anyone or anything. And the way he's able to hold space for all of me—the dark, the light, the brutal and the broken—is one of the thousands of reasons why.

"Are you gonna come for me?"

He moves the hand he's got on my shoulder to my face, sticking two fingers into my mouth.

I suck them automatically, somehow understanding he doesn't want to fuck up his argyle sweater by jizzing all over it. I take my fist off his dick.

His attempts to draw breath create suction on my hand covering his nose, and with a few more strokes, I slam our hips together and spill.

Keeping quiet means the orgasm rattles my insides as I pulse out what feels like a gallon of cum. It's extremely intense, and the way he milks me has me near collapse. He's a sexy little fucker.

He holds my gaze while I do all I have left in my power not to make a sound loud enough to be overheard. The mirror behind him reflects the agony of my inner struggle.

I give him one quick breath before I cover his nose again, trying to buy myself some time to get through the mind-numbing high so I can properly suck him off.

Once he can breathe again, he'll come nearly instantly.

And so it goes as I bend over to wrap my mouth around his stiff, leaking cock. When I take my hand off his face, his first gasp brings a back arching release that shoots straight down my throat almost powerful enough to make me choke. But I switch gears quickly from sucking to swallowing, and he takes the opportunity to completely ruin my good hair day while he greedily rides my mouth.

"Unh…fuck…" he whispers, the towel obviously out of his mouth. "Drew…fuck that's so fucking good…Mmph…"

Once he's drained, I release him with a pop and straighten up, taking a long moment to study his pale, wrecked face and hooded eyes. It makes me want to go again right now.

"We should get home," I tell him.

An aftershock causes him to shudder even as he says, "But we haven't done the gifts yet."

I throw my head back in annoyance before stuffing my dick into my boxer briefs and zipping up my pants. "I don't need another scary sex toy. And neither do you. Why can't we have normal friends?"

He laughs and slides off the counter, glancing over his shoulder in the mirror and running his fingers over his leaking hole before using the hand towel to dry himself off. The sight of him touching himself only makes me want to get him alone more. But it is Christmastime, and our friends are our family, so if they want to give me an inflatable dildo, I should be gracious and accept it.

I hope they enjoy the jar of vanilla flavored lickable weed lube I paid two hundred and sixty dollars for.

I know I do.

Jeremy gives us an admonishing look when we emerge from the bathroom. "We haven't even opened the gifts yet, you two."

"Twister makes him horny," I say, and Olivier slaps me in the arm.

The gang is all here. Jeremy's boyfriend Larry, a fashion photographer I introduced him to, is passing out the gifts. His sweater is covered in red sequins with a green and gold sequined tree in the middle. Jeremy's is simpler, modern and sleek with the classic line "Make The Yuletide Gay" underneath a pair of appliquéd cocks with kissy faces.

Jericho is sitting on her newlywed husband's lap, laughing at something outrageous Elodie just said while her husband watches every movement of her face like he plans to draw it later. It's exactly the kind of puppy dog admiration I always said Jericho deserved.

Joe started as her editorial assistant, but that didn't last long when the urge to sexually harass him overwhelmed Jer's desire to talk edits with him.

I've never stayed friends with an ex before, but I've also never had an ex I love as much as I love her. Once I fully accepted that she forgave me for falling for Olivier, we made slow, steady progress into the kind of relationship I think we were always meant to have.

Olivier and Elodie are the only people in our friend group who are actually from New York, and while not all of us have fraught family relationships, what we've managed to create in a town this large makes me feel more settled and cared for than I've ever been. I can no longer imagine wanting to leave this city, or the people I've met in it.

Since we were preoccupied, the only place for Olivier and me to sit is on the floor. Larry sets a large box in my lap, and I draw the number six from the dish he holds out.

I give the box a shake as I spy on Olivier's package. It's about half the size of mine, and I gloat about that.

"Size doesn't matter," he says. "Besides, you know how ruthless I am at this game."

"Who needs another drink?" Elodie asks.

While we wait for drink refills and the White Elephant to begin, I turn to Olivier to admire the way he's glowing in the light of the Christmas tree beside him. "What?" he asks. "Do I have cum on my face?"

"Not yet," I whisper, but I do rest a hand on his cheek, lean in and brush my mouth against his.

He sighs softly, and I take more, his lips always, always too seductive. It's far too easy to go from a peck to a full-open-mouthed kiss with him, and while I'm sure we have eyes on us, tonight is no exception.

Elodie says from somewhere nearby, "They're gonna go viral again, watch."

If someone's filming this, I have a professional obligation to make it look good.

"Get it, Drew."

"Show some tongue, Ollie."

"Don't pop a boner."

Olivier finally laughs and ducks away, his cheeks red, and his eyes shining. "I'm sorry," he says to everyone, not sounding sorry at all as he gestures toward me. "Have you seen him?"

Elodie, who's the one holding the phone, turns it on herself and speaks directly to the screen. "My ex-husband, everyone. What does this say about me? Merry Christmas."