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Their Best Friends' Wedding
By B and M
"Grimes." Shane placed one hand firmly on his best man's arm and hugged him tight with the other. "Thank you, buddy."
"Of course."
"I, uh, jumped the gun and took this bad boy off before the reception." Shane pulled a blue lace garter out of his pant pocket and dangled it in front of him. "Didn't want to break tradition, though," he said as he shoved it into the front of Rick's jacket like a pocket square. "You're next."
Rick mumbled a thank you out of politeness instead of gratitude as it wasn't exactly a gift he wanted. Meanwhile, Rosita turned toward her maid of honor just beside him.
"I love you," she whispered into her ear as she squeezed her tightly. "Thank you for everything."
"I love you, too," Michonne replied as they swayed back and forth for a moment in their embrace.
"Come on, Mrs. Walsh!" Shane placed his hand on his wife's arm, and began to tug her away, knowing from experience that these two could go on all day if he left them to it. "I don't wanna be another statistic."
Michonne snorted out a laugh at her best friend's husband as they broke up their lovefest.
"OK, go," Michonne insisted as he began to drag Rosita away from her.
Rosita looked back and pushed her bouquet into her maid of honor's hands then waved goodbye.
"Bye!" Michonne called out after the couple.
"Have a great time in Mexico!" Rick shouted.
They watched the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Walsh hop into the black limousine awaiting them to make their getaway. The car took off, revealing the trail of cans they had tied to the bumper, and the guests laughed and cheered one last time before they began to disperse leaving the best man and maid of honor standing there in a daze amongst the rice scattered on the ground around them.
"We did it," Rick said with quiet relief.
"We did," she agreed.
She turned to see him raising his hands and met his double high five, lightly clasping his hands as they brought them down while leaning into him for a loose hug.
"And now I'm going to go sleep for a week," she decided as they pulled away.
"Really, Michonne?" he scoffed.
"What time did you get up this morning?"
"Nine or ten?" he shrugged.
"Mmm hmm, and what'd you have to do to get ready?"
"Just showered and threw on my tux then went to Walsh's room for some drinks before pictures."
"Right...well, I was up at five so that I could get my hair and makeup done before the bride, then I had to make a Starbucks run because the hotel coffee wasn't up to par, then I had to make sure Rosita had something to eat which means I didn't get to, and then I had to round up the other bridesmaids who overslept-"
"And show me up on the dance floor," he added, "and again with the toasts. Yeah, that does sound exhausting."
"Shut up," she demanded with a slap to his arm.
"It does," he defended. He watched her roll her eyes at him as she stepped out of her heels, and onto the sidewalk with her bare feet. "What are you doing?"
"My feet are killing me."
He shook his head as he watched her gather her shoes into her hands, and straighten up with a hand on her lower back, groaning like an eighty year old woman.
"Hop on," he said, motioning to his back. "I'll drive you home."
She eyed him for a moment. "Seriously?"
"Yeah."
She shrugged and threw her arms around his shoulders and climbed onto his back as he wrapped an arm under each leg to support her. She wasn't too proud to take a piggy back ride across the parking lot, not when it felt this good to be off her feet.
"Can we grab a pizza on the way?" she asked.
"Sure."
"And a six pack?"
He began to laugh. "Sure."
They sat there on her living room couch doing a fine job of polishing off the large pepperoni pizza that sat in its open box on her coffee table; she in her daffodil yellow chiffon gown with its full skirt pooled around her and he in his black pants and white tux shirt, collar unbuttoned and untied black bowtie hanging around his neck.
"What do you think he meant about not becoming another statistic?" Rick pondered as he held a half-eaten piece of crust in his hand. "Is he thinkin' about divorce already?"
She giggled into her beer bottle as she took the last sip. "No. Fifty-two percent of couples don't have sex on their wedding nights."
"How the hell do you know that?"
"Rosita read it in some wedding magazine," she informed him as she set her empty bottle on the table.
"Well, they don't need to worry about that. I had to run interference with Mrs. Espinosa while they got it on in the back room at the church."
"I guess wedding day doesn't count," she shrugged.
"Guess not," he said as he stood from the couch and motioned toward her empty bottle. "You want another?"
"I do," she sighed as she tugged at the bodice of her gown, "but I'm literally about to bust out of this thing. I'm gonna go change."
"OK."
She headed off to her bedroom, and he to her kitchen.
"Shit. Hey Rick?"
"Yeah?" he called out from his spot in front of the fridge.
"Can you give me a hand?"
He turned to see her standing in the living room, still in her dress. She turned and pointed to her back as he approached.
"Zipper's stuck," she complained, though he had already gathered that.
He held the back of her dress with one hand as he took the zipper in the other then paused for a moment, mesmerized by her smooth skin and the delicate contours of her back and shoulders. He had found himself doing the same thing during their obligatory first dance at the reception. Only there, with a roomful of eyes on them, he had kept his hands in safe places, one on her side and the other holding her hand as they swayed to the music at a safe distance, but here…
He shook his head to refocus then wiggled the zipper a few times until it smoothly slid all the way down to her waist, exposing more of her lovely skin. Unable to let the rare chance pass him by, he slid his hand up to her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"Got it."
"Thanks," she said softly.
He could feel the tension from a long, hectic day in her muscles, so he tentatively began to knead them with his fingers. She tilted her head to the side, inviting him to continue, and sighed quietly as he increased the pressure. His other hand abandoned her dress and moved up to her other shoulder, allowing her dress slip down to her waist. She didn't seem to mind as she leaned into him, so he leaned down and pressed his lips against the curve of her neck, causing her to let out a low moan.
It felt like they were moving in slow motion, acutely aware of the dangerous game they were playing, yet steadily taking it further and further…
That all changed, though, when she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. They leaned in simultaneously, lips meeting for the first time, and everything after that was a blur.
Lips colliding, tongues tangling, clothes falling to the ground, hands roaming as they moved toward the couch in a frenzy. She fell back and he landed on top of her. Kissing and grinding turned into thrusting which resulted in the most absurd amount of pleasure that no one in their right mind would want to end. They just kept at it until...
Release.
He collapsed on top of her, both breathing heavily, then rolled off, landing between the back of the couch and her side. And as the oxygen returned to their brains, the realization of what they had just done hit them and an awkward silence ensued. After staring at the ceiling for a few moments, Michonne cleared her throat and shifted slightly.
"Thanks for helping with that."
"Uh, yeah, no problem."
The silence set in again.
"I'm gonna go change," she decided after about ten seconds of staring at the ceiling.
He nodded and kept his eyes glued to the ceiling as she rolled off the couch and started for her bedroom, collecting her dress and lingerie from the floor as she went.
"You still want another beer?" he called out once she cleared made it to the hallway.
"Yeah. Sure."
He nodded and looked over at the pieces of his tux spread across the floor, and wondered what the statistic was for best men and maids of honor having sex on the wedding night because surely they couldn't be the only ones to fall into this situation. Right?