"You know, Antoine, I had a great time," Preston Tucci remarked as he hung his coat up in the hall closet.
Antoine grinned at Preston as he tossed his backpack onto one of the chairs by the kitchen table. "So glad, Preppy. First block party for ya?"
Preston nodded. "I've never really experienced that sort of culture before," he confessed, treading lightly, unsure of how to phrase it without sounding vaguely racist. A block party with Antoine's adoptive parents, in Antoine's old neighborhood of Heidelberg was a cultural experience to be sure.
Antoine gave him a playful elbow in the ribs. "Yeah, it was nice not to be the only Ken Doll around," he laughed. "Seriously though, I'm glad you came. I was worried you'd back out or something. I mean, my family's not exactly like yours. I was worried you'd feel too uncomfortable." Antoine ambled into the kitchen and started rummaging through one of the cupboards. "I mean, no offense, but your experiences have probably been pretty different than mine."
"Oh, you might say that," Preston replied as he headed into the bedroom, taking his shirt off as he went. It was true, of course. Preston hadn't ever stopped to think about the implications of Antoine's upbringing compared to his. The fact that Antoine's parents were a mixed race couple was something he could easily accept. But it was a different matter to realize that they lived in Marcus's neighborhood.
Marcus, with his dark skin and bright smile. His family, a definition that extended to both blood and close friends alike. Preston wasn't used to being a minority as Antoine happily rekindled past relationships with old friends and cousins alike. He was surprised though, how no one even blinked an eye the fact Antoine was marrying a man. Antoine eagerly introduced Preston to innumerable people with the title of "aunt," "uncle," or "cousin."
People shook Preston's hand, some even hugged him, and wished them both well on their future together.
The day had been a happy whirlwind for Preston, and something he'd definitely remember. Especially the pulled pork sliders a bright-eyed man named Casper had brought. Uncle Casper, Antoine had introduced him as. Preston had even met Marcus's parents, Antoine's grandparents, Keziah and William.
He knew there was no way he'd remember all the names. He pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a teeshirt, realized he was smiling to himself. Seeing Antoine in his old stomping ground, his comfort zone, had been an experience in and of itself. The way Antoine almost fell over with pride when his cousin Sarah introduced them to baby Antwan – named after you – she said, beaming with maternal pride. Despite his having been pulled back into the system, Antoine's adoptive family had never forgotten him.
The experience was eye-opening for Preston.
So different from his own family life.
He finished getting dressed, lost in thought. Outside of the bedroom, he realized the rest of the house was dark, save for a faint, flickering glow.
Curious, Preston stepped out, and turned into the living room.
Several thick candles sat on the end table and mantle, providing the only illumination. Antoine was sitting on the couch, leaned back in his corner, legs outstretched across the seat. Though he still wore the jeans he'd put on for the party, he'd tossed his polo shirt somewhere. He lounged topless in the dim light.
He patted the cushion between his legs gently. "Please?" he asked. "Sit with me?"
Preston sat. He snuggled himself into the V made by Antoine's legs, resting his back against his housemate's broad chest. Antoine's arms were quickly around him, holding him tight. Preston draped his hands across Antoine's forearms, savoring the sensation.
"I love you, Preppy," Antoine purred, nuzzling his face against Preston's cheek. "May I?"
"'May you' what?" Preston asked, genuinely curious.
"This," Antoine replied.
He kissed Preston's cheek, the gently nibbles turning to more intense nips as he lowered his head along Preston's neck. He pushed the collar of Preston's shift to the side, and bit Preston's shoulder with a soft yet deliberate pressure.
Preston gasped as he felt the wet heat of Antoine's mouth on his skin, the light exhale of his fiancé's hot breath, the delightfully coarse texture of the man's beard.
"I want you to know how much I love you," Antoine whispered, lips brushing Preston's ear. "I want to you to be mine in the way you deserve to be treated."
Antoine's hands slid lower, dropping from their hold on Preston's chest to his waist, loosening as they went.
"Is this okay?" Antoine asked as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of Preston's sweatpants.
Preston groaned, and arched his back against Antoine. "Do you even need to ask?"
"Of course," Antoine replied.
His hands were now well beneath the elastic hem, sliding lower along the sensitive line where Preston's hips and stomach met. The cotton of his briefs offered no barrier. Antoine's fingers dipped lower, gracing the soft down that filled the space between Preston's legs.
Involuntarily, Preston shifted, adjusting himself.
The tips of Antoine's fingers brushed the head of his manhood, and didn't flinch.
Preston shuddered.
Antoine hesitated.
"No, please. As long as you're okay… Don't stop!" Preston whispered.
Antoine's lips were back along the base of his neck, biting, sucking. Careful not to leave any mark above the collar line. His hands continued their southward plunge, leaving no realm unexplored.
What happened next was unlike anything Preston had ever known. Antoine's hands caressed him in ways that made his body tremble with delicious abandon. He arched his back involuntarily as Antoine's rhythm increased, drawing him to the point of climax, and beyond.
He'd had sex, that much was fact. But it didn't begin to compare to the way he felt in Antoine's arms, Antoine's hands still pressed against his flesh.
This, Preston realized as he lay exhausted and spent, was the difference between sex as he knew it, and making love. Even though he'd not laid so much as a finger on Antoine, the experience left him weak and profoundly changed.
He started to push himself to his feet, to clean up, but Antoine held him tight. "Don't go," Antoine's voice murmured into his ear. "Not yet. Please, stay with me."
So Preston stayed, watching the flickering candles melt lower. He couldn't tell where his own body ended and Antoine began. The warmth of skin on skin lulled him into a state of near-drunken ecstasy, intoxicated by nothing more than the presence of his cherished lover.
He closed his eyes, seeing the faint image of flames dance against his eyelids. Preston tilted his head, felt the soft rise and fall of Antoine's chest, heard the steady beat of Antoine's heart. There was no better lullaby in the world, Preston decided. Soothed by the motion, cradled in Antoine's arms, he drifted into perhaps the most blissful sleep he'd ever known.