Time was always an elusive thing. On one hand, anticipation could make a wait stretch into eternity. On the other, delight could make hours pass in an instant. To see the world in a grain of sand, Preston mused as he took one last look at Antoine's sleeping form.
It was the opening line of a poem, Auguries of the Innocent, or something like that. Preston wasn't quite sure of the title. English literature had been a subject his teachers impressed upon him at extreme resistance.
And a heaven in a wild flower…
Preston glanced out the window, beyond the railing of their balcony suite to the beach and ocean down below. The Atlantic was oddly calm for this time of year, rolling comfortably in its grey cradle under a near-full moon.
The moonlight streaming into the room provided more than enough light. Preston quietly slipped a pair of comfortable tennis shoes and a light windbreaker. He moved carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want to wake Antoine.
Antoine Radson was sleeping mostly on his stomach, arms around his head. Under the sheet, the soft curve of his belly and contour of his strong legs blended into a tangle of the comforter he'd kicked towards the footboard sometime earlier that evening.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand…
They'd both planned to go to bed early that night. But as the sky darkened, and the moon rose, Preston found himself unable to sleep. He lay on his back for what seemed like hours, Antoine's arm draped across his chest. Preston listened to Antoine's breathing. When it became deep and regular, Preston delicately extricated himself and got dressed as quickly and noiselessly as he could.
And eternity in an hour.
At the simple chain hotel, on the shores of Cape Cod, Preston Alfred Tucci checked his pockets for his room key and wallet one final time, then left, shutting the door behind him.
How long had it been since he'd walked along the cape beaches after dark? Preston couldn't remember. At the edge of the boardwalk, he took his shoes and socks off. The sand would simply fill his shoes anyhow. And there was something restorative about the feeling of it under his feet.
He tucked them beside the boardwalk, confident no one would steal them. Arbitrarily he turned right, following the angle of the waves as they washed against the shore.
The past two days had passed in a whirlwind of colour, faces, and joy. He rubbed his hands together, savoring the feel of his wedding band against his palm. The metal clinked against the ring on his right hand, the simple engagement ring Antoine had proposed with what seemed like a lifetime ago.
His feet moving of their own accord, Preston let his mind wander, taking him back to the heartbeat of yesterday which still seemed almost like a dream.
Antoine had planned everything.
Of course he had.
The man had a knack for organizing and coordinating events. He said it wasn't much different than a flight plan; only with more food and a cake at the end.
Preston chuckled.
Of course, cake.
The day before their ceremony, the guests arrived, some by car, and some flying in to Logan International Airport. Preston's parents drove. They brought The Car, that candy-apple red Mercedes Alfred was so proud about. It made sense. The weather was perfect for a convertible, and Alfred said nothing about a handful of extra miles on the odometer that he must've known he hadn't put on.
I still can't believe we went cruising in your dad's car, Antoine's voice spoke up from the memories of his mind.
Believe it, Preston thought back, remembering their weekend cruise. He wondered if his father actually had noticed the miles. Internally he shrugged. It didn't matter now.
At the rehearsal dinner, Preston sat beside Antoine as they alternately held hands, or rested a hand on one another's leg. Preston had expected to feel out of sorts, ill-at-ease, then blending of two families. Instead, he felt nothing but supreme pride.
Head high, Preston watched as his mother and father met Antoine's adoptive parents. The two families had never come face to face before. Lean Alfred and his refined wife, Janet; juxtaposed against former 'Nam veteran Marcus, and his artistic wife, Debbie.
Neither of Preston's parents had served in the war. The generations didn't line up, and immigrant status wasn't discussed. Preston's grandparents had moved to the United States from Italy, raising a family once they settled in the proverbial Land of the Free. Preston's uncle, his father and aunt all had anglicized versions of Italian names.
Preston's aunt had reversed the trend, choosing classical names. His cousins, the twins Marcello and Stefano, several years his senior, had wholly traditional names. His father, the middle child, had kept with American style.
Preston listened in a blissful daze as Marcus and Alfred chatted, at first with distinct trepidation, then later with reckless abandon as the evening progressed. It came to a head when Marcus, grinning ear to ear, offered to show Alfred the shrapnel scars on his leg.
What is it with your family and scars? Preston hissed to Antoine as Debbie quickly intervened.
I dunno, Antoine replied, running a hand over his shoulder where the crossbow bold had gone nearly straight through. Like father, like son? He offered an innocent shrug.
Marcus raised his head towards Preston. We all have to cope somehow, he replied.
There was a moment of awkward silence as everyone regarded the table with sudden interest.
Janet Tucci broke the tension, changing the topic deftly. Tell me, how did you two settle on this location?
Preston opened his mouth to reply, then shut it with a smile. He gave Antoine a gentle nudge. You really ought answer this.
Preston may as well have told Antoine Christmas was coming early.
The blue-haired man's face lit up. Antoine leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling and began.
Antoine himself did all the planning. He had chosen the venue, both for the dinner and the following ceremony. He rambled on about how he'd chosen food, arranged for wedding party photos, and so on. Antoine rambled on about the process of selecting the location, booking the agents, inviting the guests. Originally we'd planned Florida, but like anyone can get that on short notice, and travel's expensive. So we did the off season. I mean, August's nice, but come September the kids are back in school so it's not half as crowded. Antoine continued to ramble proudly, an arm draped around Preston's shoulder as dessert and coffee were served.
The wedding itself had been everything Preston ever could've imagined.
On the beach, early in the morning before the guests arrived, he and Antoine posed for the photo shoot. They'd both chosen their outfits well in advance, based partially on style, and partially on personal taste.
Me in a suit? We're tyring to make this not look forced. Antoine wore a loose fitting long-sleeved cotton shirt, a V-neck collar with lapels; more tunic than dress shirt. His pants were made of a matching blend, and tied at the waist with a drawstring. It reminded Preston of something he'd seen while studying Mandarin: a simple yet stylish outfit.
Preston felt more comfortable in the traditional suit. A linen suit, cream in colour, over a white dress shirt. No tie, but he did coordinate his oxford brown belt and shoes.
Antoine, not surprisingly, had decided to go barefoot.
I can't believe you hired a photographer, Preston whispered into Antoine's ear under the golden morning sun.
Hey, I'm only getting married once. I want to make sure it's everything perfect, you know? Antoine replied as they held hands and leaned against each other. The clicking of the shutter on the photographer's camera faded into the background. In that early moment on the beach, it might as well have been them alone. Preston cupped Antoine's jawline. Gently he lowered his forehead till he was just resting against Antoine's.
Thank you, Preston whispered.
For what? Antoine asked.
All of this, and for not giving up on me when things were not the best.
Antoine pressed his forehead against Preston's, wrapping his arms around the thin man's shoulders. His fingers found their way into Preston's short, cotton-down hair and knotted themselves into it. I love ya Prep. I don't know how or when that started, but I do know it's never stopped.
Oblivious to the camera, the ocean, and everything but each other, the two men kissed; heartbeats matching the rising sun.
The ceremony itself flew by in a blur. Preston remembered walking down the aisle with his parents, and took his place by the alter. Pastor Julie, a woman he'd just met but a little while ago smiled reassuringly.
Preston tried not to shift his feet, fidget with his hands. He tried to still the pounding in his chest. For a frantic moment he wondered if he should hold them at his sides, or clasped politely in front. He felt dizzy, excited, and faint all in one. His eyes panned the guests, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in specific, lest he lose his professional mien.
Neither he nor Antoine had decided to go with personal attendants. Preston, an only child, and Antoine oddly reserved, they'd both agreed on standing solo. Their parents would be seated in the front row.
Why me first? Preston had asked nervously before the ceremony. Antoine took away Preston's tie and ruffled his hair affectionately.
Because it's what we decided on. And because it's you, Preppy, Antoine replied. He gave Preston one last kiss, and stepped out, leaving the young groom alone with his parents.
Alfred clasped a hand on Preston's right shoulder. Janet wrapped her arm around his left. You'll do fine. We'll be right there beside you. We always have been.
Preston inhaled deeply, willed his trembling body to be still as Antoine (in all his beautiful and capricious glory) came prancing down the aisle between Debbie and Marcus. He capered up to Preston, grinning ear to ear, and took his place at the left of the arch.
Their wedding vows had been hand-written, a combination they'd both come up with over several weeks. The words were a blend of both of them both; touching yet realistic, humourous, yet genuine. Preston reached out and took Antoine's hands in his.
Antoine Radson, I promise to love you, care for you, and cherish you for the rest of my days. He ran his thumbs over the backs of Antoine's hands. The blue-haired man blushed, then winked.
Preston Tucci, I promise to be your rock, your best friend, now and always. I promise to always support you, in good times and bad, today and all our days to come. I also promise to remind you to take a break once in a while, go on vacation and relax. I will not interfere with your viola, and I won't complain about your music selection on road trips, even though Adam Lambert never will be my thing.
Antoine, I promise to encourage you, never let you shortchange yourself, and to always let you know when you're making a fashion faux pas.
Preston, I promise to listen to your advice, even though I might not take it.
Antoine, I promise not to tell you 'I told you so,' when I'm right. I promise to remind you of our anniversary at least two days before, and not hold it against you if you forget until the last minute.
I promise, Preston, to never refer to your gentle reminders as 'nagging.' And I promise never to steal all the covers (intentionally).
Pastor Julie presented the rings. Antoine took the first one and slid it onto Preston's finger. He bowed his head for a moment, before looking up into Preston's face.
Preston would never forget the look in Antoine's clear eyes. They matched the ocean, deep and true. There were tears that threatened to overflow. Preston had never seen Antoine cry, but he was close.
Preston Alfred Tucci, you know me better than anyone else in this world, and somehow you still manage to love me. You are my best friend, and my one true love. Even now, there is still a part of me that cannot believe I was the lucky one you said 'yes' to. He squeezed Preston's hands, eyes misty in the mid-morning light.
The thin man squeezed back. Antoine E. Radson, I am proud to take you as my husband. For all those times we've been together, there's always been a mutual understanding that's only shared when two people truly love each other. You were there when I faced the greatest challenges in my life. You encouraged my personal growth. You helped me boost my self-confidence. You helped me to become the person I am today. With your love and trust, I know from each day forward I will be a better person than I am today, and I will love you all the more.
Preston could barely remember the moment he slid the ring over Antoine's finger. The sensation as they stepped back and Pastor Julie presented them as partners in life. They kissed. The first was shy, acutely aware of the audience around them. The second was passionate, swept up in a sea of emotion.
Preston barely remembered the order of the rest of the day.
There'd been the cocktail hour on the shaded hotel patio in easy view of the ocean. Brunch, including mimosas, had included a menu assembled by Antoine. Preston barely noticed as his friends circled through to congratulate him. He finally met the son Waylon had talked about, a lean man with black hair who closely resembled his father. Ryan Smithers. That was his name. He'd brought a date; a woman named Stella.
Preston tried to remember the details.
There had been his father talking to Montgomery Burns, expression stoic. Business, most likely. Preston afforded himself a private smile. It was funny to watch his father look more than a little uncertain as he addressed Burns and Smithers in turn, trying both to process their relationship and yet not think too much about it.
Antoine sidled up to Preston, two champagne flutes in hand. He tilted his head towards the Tucci/Burns group. Look at your dad. Mind: blown, he smirked and passed a flute to Preston.
They clinked glasses. I'd rather look at you, he replied, passing a kiss onto Antoine's cheek.
Preston's night walk had taken him to the edge of the beach. Ahead was a marina, boats bobbing in their slips. Without a word, he turned and walked back, walking into this wind this time.
It ran through his hair, reminding him of Antoine's hands. Preston mentally prodded his mind, the tiny quadrant that still couldn't believe this day had truly happened; the part that still expected it to be a wonderful, if imagined, dream.
It's real, he thought as he gathered his shoes from the edge of the boardwalk. It's all real.
Preston walked barefoot, not bothering to put on his shoes. The sand would just chafe anyhow. Even his feet could make it the few dozen yards to their room.
He slid the key card into the slot, turning the handle as quietly as possible when the lock turned green.
When Preston had left, the moon was still low, shining indirectly into the room. Now, it came in higher, casting milky pools on the Berber carpet. He crossed the floor, set his shoes by the balcony and started to undress.
Antoine stirred in their king-sized bed, shifting slightly.
Preston froze.
"You're back," Antoine murmured. "You didn't tell me you were going out."
"I didn't want to wake you," Preston replied.
"Oh, I woke up the moment I heard the door shut." Antoine rolled over, face catching the moonlight. He gave Preston a sleepy and content look. "Did you have a nice walk?"
"It was nice, yes," Preston replied. He pulled his shirt off and began undoing the belt of his shorts.
Antoine shifted with a warm sigh. "Hey Preston, do you remember that time at my place in Florida? Well, I guess it's our place now, but anyway… that first vacation we took? After we went out for dinner, then bought several bottles of wine to take home?"
Preston slid his shorts off and adjusted the position of his briefs. "I remember."
"Well, I always felt kinda bad about that afterwards," Antoine admitted. He propped himself up on an elbow, pulling the sheet over his shoulders. "I was a bit drunk, yeah; and more than a little confused about what I wanted. But at the same time, it doesn't change anything."
"What are you saying, Antoine?" Preston sat down on the edge of the bed. Antoine didn't slide back. There was plenty of room.
"Well," Antoine hesitated, made a coughing sound and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm not saying… Uh, what I mean is…" He growled and rolled on his back, throwing an arm over his face. "What I'm trying to say is, I should've asked you if you even wanted to do that, not just grabbed at ya. And I guess what I'm saying is, if you ever wanted to try that again, the right way, I guess I'd be okay to try it."
"'Right way?'"
Antoine groaned and rubbed his face with his palms. "The 'talking about it first' sort of way; okay?"
Preston pivoted. He gently lifted Antoine's hands, exposing the man's face. "What are you saying, Antoine?"
"Do I have to spell it out for ya, Preppy?"
Hands still around Antoine's wrists, Preston nodded. "Sometimes, it's best that way."
Antoine gave a dramatic sigh and mashed his head back into the pillow. "Gah. Fine! Here it is: Yes, I'm asexual – and no I don't want to be the 'pitcher' or the 'catcher!' – but sometimes biology is biology! And even I get… urges. Usually I just take care of myself and that's that, but with you, I can't help but think maybe, just maybe…" he trailed off. "But only if you want to," he added quickly.
Preston felt his body respond, although if he were to be honest with himself he'd been feeling that way since Antoine started talking about that night. He crossed his legs as best he could, and folded his hands in his lap. "Well, that's your decision Antoine."
Antoine rolled over till his was facing Preston, body still under the sheets, though they'd fallen from his broad shoulders. "Well, if you're okay with it, I would like to hold you that way again."
Preston's heart (and other parts) surged with delight. "I'd definitely be okay with that!" He stood up, unashamed in the moonlight, and slid his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. "Are you sure?"
There was an odd desperation in Antoine's face. "Please?" he asked.
Say no more!
Preston slid the last remainder of his clothing off and climbed under the sheet beside Antoine, realizing for the first time his husband was naked. "Weren't you wearing pajama pants when I left?" he teased, running a hand across Antoine's strong chest.
"I was..." Antoine replied, eyes twinkling in the dark. Antoine kissed Preston's cheek lightly. "Please, I'd like to feel you on top of me, like we did before. I loved the way it felt last time. I'm sorry I freaked out."
Preston let his leg glide over Antoine's waist. "Trust me, we won't do anything you don't want to do." He felt Antoine readjust his body, his arousal equally compelling as Preston's own.
"And if I suddenly feel like it's too much?"
Preston settled his chest against Antoine's, eyes glancing over the scar by the board man's right shoulder. "Then it's enough, and I expect you to tell me so." Preston rested his weight on his elbows. "Seriously, Antoine, this isn't all on you. I'm a grown adult, I can take care of myself so to speak. If you feel uncomfortable with any of this, anything at all, I expect you to tell me, okay?"
The fear in Antoine's eyes seemed to fade a bit. He was still nervous, but now Preston could see a hint of curiosity as well. "Okay," Antoine replied, sliding his hands down the small of Preston's back. "Okay, I'll tell you."
He shifted his hips slightly, his lust gliding hot and hard against Preston's own. The first movement both urgency and restraint in one.
Preston responded in kind, encouraging in the only way he knew how.
There, beside the sea, beneath the moon, against the waves, they arched together mixing motion and emotion in a passion neither man had ever before known.
As he lay trembling against Antoine's heaving flank, Preston rested, hearing both heartbeat and sea waves alike pounding in his ears. He wrapped his arms tight to Antoine, feeling the world thrust with him, and knew he was forever in love.
They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
The hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.
… And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages
On the depths of the seven seas
And through the salt they reel with drunk delight
And in the tropics they tremble with love
My thanks to William Blake and D. H. Lawrence for these: "Auguries of Innocence," and "Whales Weep Not."