"I didn't even know this room was here," Antoine remarked in surprise, standing in the doorway by Preston's shoulder.

Preston nodded. "My father's private study. I was never allowed in."

Antoine raised his eyebrows.

"Not that he ever actually told me directly," Preston added hastily. "But I never asked, and I got the distinct impression this space was his only."

Preston and his fiancé Antoine had made the bestial drive from Plateau City to Boston, and now waited in the loft of Alfred and Janet Tucci's expensive condo. The building had once been an old schoolhouse, with high-vaulted ceilings. When it was converted into condominiums, there was enough space to put an entire second level over the bath and bedrooms while keeping their ceilings a normal height. In the open combined living and dining area there was easily seventeen feet between floor and ceiling.

Antoine found it all rather pretentious at his first visit. A great deal of space given to the vertical, rather than the horizontal. He'd half expected Preston's parents to have a baby grand piano in the loft, and found himself relieved they didn't.

The loft was referred to be the family, Preston included, as the Library. A pair of arm chairs, a coffee table, and several shelves of books filled the space quite comfortably.

Antoine hadn't thought about the fact that the library didn't extend the entire length of the apartment. He'd assumed the double doors at the end were access to some HVAC system that kept the place heated and cooled accordingly.

How wrong he'd been.

Preston lead him up the spiral staircase that connected the living room to the loft, and pushed the doors open in one easy gesture.

The space beyond was easily as pretentious (in Antoine's mind) as the rest of their home.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls. Across the far end, by the window, an L-shaped desk of some dark, expensive wood wrapped across the back. A leather office chair, complete with ornate brass tacking sat between the rear desk, and a second, ornate wing that dominated the front of the room. There was the standard globe, illuminated curio case, and other trappings that screamed to the entrant: This is my domain, and I am an important man.

"My father would occasionally meet clients here," Preston explained, stepping into the room, his foot sinking slightly into the deep forest green carpeting, soft like moss. Antoine followed, tracing a finger along the trim of the wainscot paneling. He glanced at the titles on the books as he walked past the shelves. All economic theory. Banking. Investing. A few titles on law.

Antoine gave a snort. "'I don't know how to put this but I'm kind of a big deal. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.'"

Preston turned, expression perplexed. "Come again?"

"Never mind," Antoine replied with a wave of his hand. "Line from a movie." He tilted his head towards Alfred Tucci's commanding chair. "So, you ever sit there?"

Preston looked visibly appauled. "What? No, never! That's my dad's spot! I could never sit there. A man's private office is like his castle."

"What is it with men like you and Burnsie and your fixation on private dens?" Antoine asked as he shouldered past. "I mean, I just don't get it. It's a chair, Preppy! You can't tell me you haven't wondered what it feels like to sit there."

"Well…" Preston hesitated, running his fingers over his delicate lips. "I have wondered…"

Antoine ambled over behind Alfred's foredesk, and gave the chair a pat. "So, c'mon, Preppy. Have a seat."

Preston looked away shyly. "I really shouldn't… but…"

"But your parents won't be home for at least another hour or so." Antoine took a step back, gesturing grandly. "So come on already! Try it out!"

The thin man paused, as if locked in a brief argument with himself. After a second, he grinned, mind made up. "You know what, Antoine? Don't mind if I do!"

Preston half-strolled, half-pranced across the room and dropped down into the massive chair. "Oh," he purred, settling his back deep into the seat. "I could get used to something like this." He closed his eyes, beaming proudly.

"I'm sure you could," Antoine replied.

Without bothering to explain himself, or offer warning, the blue-haired man leaned in and put his hands on the arms of the leather chair.

Before Preston had time to ask a question, or even utter a lone word, Antoine's mouth was already over his.

Preston found himself intimately aware of the fullness of Antoine's lips, the rough texture of his fiance's beard against his own clean-shaven face. It wasn't the casual peck they'd shared from time to time. Antoine's kiss was long, deep.

Involuntarily Preston reached up, twisting his fingers into Antoine's blue mane as their tongues intertwined. He rose from the chair; felt Antoine's strong arms hauling him up, and closer.

Preston pushed his body against Antoine, relishing every sensation their fully frontal embrace offered his yearning body. He spread his legs slightly as Antoine's kisses turned to soft bites, moving from jawline to neck. Antoine's strong hands were low on his lean waist.

Without thinking, Preston flexed his hips forward, barely able to contain himself as Antoine continued to nibble at his throat. His own breath was coming in ragged gasps as he shifted his body against his fiance's. The urge was nearly overwhelming. This wasn't just any man from his past encounters. This was his man, his Antoine.

Antoine!

Preston took a step back, raising his hands, putting his palms against Antoine's broad chest to force some space between them.

"What's wrong?" Antoine asked. He tilted his head, clearly perplexed.

Preston wiped his damp lips with the back of a hand, cheeks reddening. He looked down at this feet, unable to ignore the uncomfortably confined bulge in his jeans. "Jeeze, Antoine. I'm sorry. I understand how you feel about this… sex stuff. I know you're asexual and all."

Antoine laughed, and pulled Preston against him in a tight bear hug. "I don't think you understand at all! We're not doing that, as you put it 'sex stuff.' I'm kissing you, and you're enjoying it. And, for the record, I enjoy it too. There's a huge different between this, and… you know… sex. You can't just assume that I'm not going to like kissing my husband-to-be, just because I'm not comfortable with other things, you know."

"Well, in that case-" Preston didn't bother finishing.

Antoine grabbed him, and swung him backwards in a controlled catch. Preston arched his body to the curve of Antoine's own.

The blue-haired man swung him gently around, nuzzled his face against Preston's shoulder.

"I for one, Preston Tucci, and going to enjoy kissing you every chance I get."

"Radson-Tucci."

Antoine paused. "Huh?"

"Radson-Tucci. I've decided." Preston twirled his fingers through Antoine's silky hair, tugging playfully. "I want your name to be part of mine. Preston Radson-Tucci; or even just Preston Radson."

Antoine stared at him, expression shifting from confusion to recollection, then finally to pure delight.

"I like the way it sounds," Preston continued. "I want to world to know I'm yours."

Antoine gave Preston a rib-bending squeeze that lifted him easily off the ground. "Woah, easy!" Preston squeaked, pushing at Antoine's shoulders.

"Oh, sorry." Antoine blushed and gently set the thin man down. "I guess I've gotten a bit stronger working in maintenance. And I'll be Antoine Radson-Tucci! That way the world knows I'm yours too!"

There might've been further words spoken, but they were lost to the moment, forgotten in the swirling joy that surrounded both men.