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June 15th, 2015 – 9 AM
Rhys lives for mornings like this.
No going into the office at seven AM, no paperwork or calls or coworkers, just him and Jack laid up in bed, the soft light of the sun barely peeking through the blinds. He loves staying in his night clothes, soft and warm under the blankets, pressed against Jack’s side with his head on the older man’s shoulder.
Sometimes they just lie there in comfortable silence, and sometimes they talk about everything and nothing, voices quiet and sleepy. Jack isn’t always able to laze about on a Saturday morning; most weekends he’ll get called into work to solve problems in R&D, or he’ll just go in to get a head start on reports.
Right now though, with Jack still beside him, Rhys isn’t shy about hogging the man to himself, enjoying the feel of his large hand resting against his hip. Rhys has been rambling for a while now, he knows, not even addressing Jack half the time, but occasionally glancing up at his face to see his reactions. Jack is strangely quiet this morning though, seeming far off and in his own head.
He hasn’t said anything sarcastic since he woke up, which is odd enough in itself, but he also just keeps staring at Rhys. Every time Rhys glances up, their eyes meet for a brief moment before Jack looks away with a ‘hm?’ It’d be annoying if Rhys wasn’t so determined to soak up as much of Jack’s attention as possible.
“What?” Rhys finally asks with a laugh, when he catches Jack looking at him for the fifth time now. “Is there something on my face?” he brings his hand up to wipe at his mouth.
Jack gently catches his wrist before Rhys can do so, bringing his slender fingers to his mouth and—Rhys blinks when Jack presses a kiss to his palm, his heart fluttering in his chest.
“Nah,” Jack says, sliding Rhys’ hand back down to his chest and covering it with his larger one. “Just thinking.”
“That’s dangerous,” Rhys snorts, earning himself a whap on his thigh.
Jack doesn’t reply though, and Rhys furrows his eyebrows because what? Jack? With nothing to say? Has hell frozen over?
Rhys watches the older man’s face. He looks—maybe not entirely relaxed, but certainly content, lightly squeezing Rhys’ hand with his own.
“…what are you thinking about?” Rhys finally asks, eyes wide and curious and feeling only a little apprehensive at Jack’s odd mood.
“Taxes,” Jack says, as blandly as if he’d been reading the nutrition facts on the side of a box of cereal.
“Taxes,” Rhys repeats with amusement, the tight thing that had gripped his chest starting to dissolve. “You’re thinking about taxes at…” he glances at the clock on the bedside table, “9:30 AM, on a Saturday…?”
“Mm.”
“You’ve got your hot boyfriend in bed with you and you’re thinking about taxes,” Rhys shakes his head in mild disbelief, a smile tugging at his lips.
Jack looks at him then, raising a sharp eyebrow, “want me to think about your tight ass instead? It does look pretty good when you’re bent over the—“
“Stooop,” Rhys giggles, pressing his face into Jack’s chest, “God, you’re the worst.”
“Hey, you brought it up,” Jack huffs out a short laugh.
Rhys grumbles and looks up at the other man again with a frown. Jack just shakes his head and leans down, pressing a kiss to Rhys’ forehead. When he lays back, Rhys sighs. Jack isn’t keen on sharing his thoughts—that’s fine, Rhys is used to that, has come to expect it more often than not.
They lay in silence for several minutes, and Rhys lets his eyes slip closed, nearly nodding off again. Eventually, Jack starts to move though, and Rhys whines when the older man pulls away from him completely and sits up.
“Where you going?” Rhys asks, tucking his arm beneath his head as he watches the other man turn, eyes following the curve of his back as he sits at the edge of the bed.
“Nowhere,” Jack says, and Rhys can hear him opening the bedside drawer, shuffling things around. He yawns, and continues watching Jack as he sits there for a minute. Then two. Then three.
“…Jack?” Rhys can see the tenseness in the other man’s shoulders, muscles tight just below his skin. Jack inhales deeply and slides the drawer shut before turning and climbing back into bed, his right hand closed into a tight fist.
Rhys glances at his fist, then his face, where his eyebrows are pinched together, his mouth a tight, severe line. He swallows and cracks an awkward smile, “Uh, what’s that face for? Did you forget to fire someone?”
Jack doesn’t laugh, and just as Rhys is opening his mouth to make another bad joke, he cuts him off.
“Hold your hand out.”
Rhys blinks, and it takes him a second to register what Jack said. He lifts his head and reaches his arm out, holding his hand palm up expectantly.
Jack grasps his hand and turns it over, thumb brushing Rhys’ knuckles before he’s sliding a fitted ring onto Rhys’ third finger. Rhys freezes, his eyes traveling over the silver coloring of the two smooth bands that intertwined; a large, bright blue gemstone set into the top. It looks every bit like a very expensive engagement ring.
Rhys opens his mouth, flounders, closes it again, opens it—
“Oh.”
Jack is still holding his hand, and he can feel him tighten his grip a fraction.
“Is that…? I mean,” Rhys is still at a loss, completely blindsided. “I—I didn’t think you…are…uh…”
Jack reaches for the ring again, ready to tug it off Rhys’ finger, “Yeah alright, I’ll return it.” Rhys doesn’t miss the tightness in his voice.
“No!” Rhys snatches his hand away, pulling it to his chest. “No take-backs! I’m just…surprised is all. Like…really surprised.” He brings his hand up again so he can look at the ring, tilting it so it catches the light. When he glances up, Jack still looks so serious, Rhys has to smile. “You’re not going to actually ask, are you? How am I supposed to know what this ring is even for, huh?”
“Rhys.”
Shaking his head, Rhys finally sits up and shuffles on his knees into Jack’s space, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck. “Yeah, I’ll marry you, you big nerd.”
Jack’s hands wander up to Rhys’ sides, gently and finally relaxes. They kiss, light and sweet, and when Rhys pulls back, he mumbles against Jack’s lips. “I’m sure Vaughn will be happy he’ll be able to file our taxes together next year.”
The comment earns him a sharp pinch in his side, before Jack pulls him in for another kiss.
August 20th, 2015 – 2 PM
“Okay, we’re definitely down to either the Hay Adams hotel, or the Espon Resort,” Rhys says, handing copies of the brochures he’d received to Vaughn and Sasha. Vaughn adjusts his glasses as he looks over the pictures and promises of “memories that will last a lifetime.”
“The hotel is really nice,” Rhys continues, crossing one leg over the other, fiddling with his engagement ring. “It’s got a huge ballroom with—y’know, like, windows for walls, and an amazing view of the ocean. The Espons’ on the lake though, and it’s closer, and Jack likes that one because he knows the owner, sort of. Oh, and they throw in a free ice sculpture if you book there, I guess.”
“Jesus H,” Sasha huffs, setting the brochure down. “I’m afraid to ask how much these places cost, Rhys.”
“Same,” Vaughn says gravely, setting his pamphlet down as well. “I thought you wanted something kind of small?”
Rhys leans his cheek on his fist, “Vaughn that was when I was like, nineteen. Things are different. My bank account has two commas now.”
“You mean Jack’s bank account,” Sasha snorts, taking a bite of her salad.
“I—It’s a joint account!” Rhys argues, though his face goes just faintly pink. “Besides, why are you complaining about this? There’s going to be an open bar, and free food. Really nice free food.”
“Point,” Sasha says.
“Look, as my best man, and my…uh…”
“Maid of honor!” Sasha supplies.
“Sure. I just want you guys to go with me to both places and tell me what you think, alright?” Rhys says, “I want the wedding to be nice, but not pretentious, you know? I already had to tell Jack he couldn’t get that god-awful diamond studded fountain.”
“Mm, yeah, sounds like a real hardship,” Sasha rolls her eyes.
“Of course we’ll go with you, Rhys,” Vaughn says, with much less distaste than Sasha. “That’s what we’re here for; making sure everything goes smoothly and all that.” He nudges Sasha in the side, and she nods in agreement, mouth full of food.
“Thanks guys,” Rhys smiles.
After hours of arguing, and Vaughn and Sasha scoffing at the price tags of both places, they finally decide on the resort by the lake. Vaughn prefers the shorter drive, because he doesn’t want to have to book a room at the hotel, even after Rhys offers to pay for it. Sasha just goes on about how nice an outdoor wedding will be, but she hates sand and whines, “it’s course and grainy, and it gets everywhere.”
“Okay Anakin Skywalker,” Vaughn scoffs, and Sasha punches him in the arm.
Rhys is happy to have it at the resort; it’s a nice place, and it’s not as if his heart was set on a beachside wedding anyway.
Plus, how could anyone pass on a free ice sculpture?
“Free, with a rental payment of about twenty-thousand dollars,” Vaughn says, and Rhys shushes him.
September 4th, 2015 – 9:45 PM
Rhys sits on the couch at home, leaning over the coffee table as he writes out invitations. It’s nearly ten at night, and he feel his eyes drooping from staring at his tiny, cramped handwriting for so long. The invitations are nice—something he’d gotten at the print shop near work. Heavy, off-white paper with gold-trimmed edges and indented lettering that loops and swirls across the page.
No matter how many times he looks at it, seeing his and Jack’s names together makes his heart beat faster, and he has to bite his lip to keep from smiling. He’s halfway finished when he hears the familiar sound of Jack’s keys jingling in the lock. From his spot beside Rhys, Warrior lifts his head, his tail wagging as the door opens and Jack steps inside.
“Hey,” Rhys says, setting his pen down and leaning back against the couch. Jack takes his jacket off and tosses it over the back of a chair, before pushing his sleeves up and collapsing down beside Rhys, and throwing his arms around the back of the couch.
“You still working on those?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow at the stacks of invitations, already sealed and ready to be mailed off.
“Uh huh,” Rhys says, leaning in close and coaxing a kiss from the other man. He hunches over the letters again and continues writing. “Hopefully people RSVP pretty quick; I started a mockup of the seating arrangement earlier.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm,” Rhys nods, “but you still need to make some calls. I need to know who all’s going to be in the wedding party. Hint hint.”
Jack waves him off, “Tim’ll be in it.”
“Uh huh, and did you tell him this?”
“I’ll get to it.”
Rhys rolls his eyes. He continues to write out invitations, and Jack sits quietly beside him, fingers thoughtlessly rubbing circles into Rhys’ lower back.
“and done,” Rhys says sometime later, placing the final invitation at the top of the stack. He sets the pen down and flexes his hand, sighing when some of his fingers crack.
“Great,” Jack mumbles, deep and quiet, “time for bed.”
When Rhys glances at him, the other man’s eyes are closed, his face completely relaxed, save the slight furrow of his brows. He smiles and pushes his shoulder.
“You’re gonna have to get up if you want to go to bed, old man,” he teases, getting up from the couch himself. Warrior jumps down as well, bumping into Rhys’ legs. It takes Jack a minute, but he finally forces himself up off the couch, complaining as he goes.
November 16th, 2015 – 11 AM
“We need to decide on colors,” Rhys says as they’re tasting cake one day. They’ve been to three different bakeries already, and now at their fourth, Rhys’ stomach is starting to hurt. They probably should have booked these appointments on different days, but hindsight is 20/20, Rhys supposes.
Jack is still, somehow, able to stuff away nearly half of the slice of cake, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand before replying.
“That’s easy. Blue.”
“We need two,” Rhys says, taking a small bite of the cake and humming. It’s sweet, but not overly so like some of the ones Jack’s favored so far. They might finally have a winner.
“Okay. Blue and orange.”
“Ew,” Rhys wrinkles his nose and blatantly ignores Jack’s overly dramatic eye roll. “Orange is just…a little much.” He eyes Jack’s sweater, worn with age, the Hyperion logo just starting to fade off the front. “What about yellow? Cause that’s kind of…um. They go nicely together,” Rhys says, glancing away from Jack to look out the window.
“Sure,” Jack says agreeably, “blue’s your color, yellow’s mine. S’good.”
Rhys grins and nods. “We could have—oh! Our ties? Blue and yellow ties, and maybe those little pocket handkerchiefs?” He doesn’t bother waiting for Jack to reply before opening his notebook to a page titled ‘color scheme / decorations’, and scribbling the idea down.
“How do you like the cake?” he asks once he’s finished, glancing at the other man again.
Jack finishes his last bite and sets the fork down, “it’s damn good,” he says. He gets the attention of the owner and orders the biggest cake they offer.
April 12th, 2016 – 3 PM
Rhys frowns as he looks in the triptych mirror, turning to look at himself from the side. He, Vaughn and Tim have been at the tailors for going on two hours now, and Rhys can’t decide on a suit. He wants something muted, but not black, because Jack is already wearing black—he tried on a couple of dark blue suits, but he wasn’t impressed with any of them. He’s moved on to gray now, which is certainly an improvement, but deciding on the cut is proving difficult.
“Dude, come on. Italian cut is obviously the way to go,” Vaughn says from beside him; his own suit was already wrapped in plastic and waiting to be purchased. Timothy’s got his picked out as well, but he’s still trying to decide on a tie from the front of the shop.
“Ugh, I know it looks good, I just…” Rhys sighs, “I want it to be perfect. Don’t laugh! I know it’s not like…a big deal like a wedding dress would be, but…”
“Maybe you should just wear a dress then,” Vaughn says, waggling his eyebrows. “Bet Jack would love that, something shoulder-less maybe?”
“No, shut up,” Rhys shakes his head. “...besides, Jack’s an ass man. If anything, I’d get a pair of chaps.”
“Aw gross, you had to make it weird.”
Rhys laughs as he goes to unbutton the jacket, and moves onto the next.
“Hey guys,” Tim steps into the room, an assortment of similarly-colored ties in his left hand. “I think I narrowed it down but, I’m still not sure.”
“Oh good, welcome to the club,” Rhys says, beckoning the man over. Tim smiles and makes his way over to them, offering the ties up to Rhys.
“Ugh, this one is too bright,” Rhys says, pointing at one of the ties. “Definitely pick one of the paler ones. And less orange-y yellow. Actually, you know what,” he takes four of the five ties and sets them aside, leaving Tim with just one; a pale, pastel yellow. “Use this one. It’s pretty close to Jack’s, but his is a little darker. Perfect for the best man. Oh, and remind me to get Angel a ribbon or hairband the same color,” Rhys says, grabbing another suit off of the rack to try on.
“Uh…best man?” Tim asks, holding the tie in both hands, a look of mild panic on his face.
“Yeah dude, best man bros!” Vaughn grins, offering his fist up for a fist bump. Tim gives him one, but the same anxious look is stuck on his face.
“Oh my god,” Rhys sighs, exasperated, “Jack didn’t even ask you. I’m going to kill him. He was supposed to ask you weeks ago.” Rhys frowns, sliding the new jacket on.
“Oh, uh, I mean…are you sure he wants me as his best man? Maybe he asked someone else,” Tim says sheepishly.
“No way! He wouldn’t pick someone else over his brother. C’mon Tim. He’s just…” Rhys trails off, unsure of how to finish that sentence.
“Busy?” Tim asks.
“Forgetful?” Vaughn offers.
“Emotionally constipated,” Rhys says, and Vaughn snorts. “Seriously though, will you do it? It would mean a lot.”
“Wh—of course. Yeah,” Tim nods, “of course.” The easy smile on his face twists back into something nervous, “God, that means I have to write a speech, huh?”
June 8th, 2016 – 4 PM
“Will you stop fidgeting?” Sasha slaps Rhys’ hands away from where’s adjusting his tie for what must be the hundredth time. “You look fine!”
“Are you sure?” Rhys worries his bottom lip with his teeth as he stares into the full-length mirror. His suit is dark grey, pristine, and pressed free of wrinkles. “God, I’m so nervous.”
“No, really?” Sasha says sarcastically as she pulls him away from the mirror. “Jesus, you’re sweating.” She hands him a tissue, and Rhys dabs at his forehead, groaning.
“Rhys, relax, seriously. You’re fine. You look great,” she smiles, smoothing his yellow tie down.
“Okay,” Rhys says tersely, not entirely convinced. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm his nerves, though the knot in his stomach is ever-present.
“Hey,” Vaughn pokes his head into the room, “everyone’s sitting down. They’ve got the music playing.”
“Oh god,” Rhys whimpers, snatching another tissue to wipe his face with.
“Vaughn, not helpful,” Sasha says, giving him a narrowed look.
“Sorry,” Vaughn puts his hands up in surrender, before looking at Rhys sympathetically. “You okay, dude?”
“Yup. Just peachy,” Rhys replies, fidgeting and reaching for his tie again.
“Stop that!” Sasha pulls his hands away and forces them down to his sides.
“Hey, what’s the hold up?” Fiona asks, peering into the room. “Jack’s already up there.”
“Shit,” Rhys curses, running his hand through his hair. “Shit.”
“Okay, come on, relax. Fiona, you and Vaughn go ahead, we’ll be right behind you,” Sasha says, ushering the two out of the room. With the door open, Rhys can hear the music now, soft and gentle and not at all fitting with the ball of anxiety in his chest.
“Rhys,” Sasha says to him directly, offering her arm out to him. Rhys inhales deeply, and takes it.
Outside, the sun is shining brightly, its light glittering along the surface of the lake. The altar stands tall near the water, wrapped in silk cloth of blue and yellow, and a white length of fabric is rolled out like a makeshift walkway, past rows of chairs.
The guests are all already standing from their seats when Rhys and Sasha reach the beginning of the walkway. At the altar, Tim and Angel are standing patiently to the right, and Vaughn and Fiona are on the left. When he catches his eye, Vaughn gives him a grin and a subtle thumbs-up.
In the middle stands the officiant and next to him, Jack. Jack, with his black, three-piece suit and yellow undershirt, his tie and pocket handkerchief a dark blue. Their eyes meet, and when Jack’s mouth quirks up into a small smirk, Rhys kind of forgets what he was so nervous about.
He and Sasha walk up to the altar, and she only lets go of his arm once he’s standing safely across from Jack. The officiant tells everyone to sit and starts the ceremony.
Rhys has a hard time keeping his hands still as he listens to the man speak, fidgeting with the hem of his suit jacket, but it’s an excited kind of energy now, and his face is a little sore from the smile he can’t seem to wipe off of it. Jack seems to be having the same issue, though he’s much more subtle about it, looking more amused than anything.
Finally, they get to their vows, and Rhys knows his voice shakes through the entire thing, but it’s okay because he can hear the tremor in Jack’s voice too.
“The rings?” the officiant asks, and Rhys takes his eyes off of Jack to watch Angel walk towards them, holding a small blue pillow with their wedding rings. He grabs one of the bands and when Jack offers his hand, Rhys takes it and slides the ring onto his finger. When Jack does the same, Rhys’ face flushes, and his heart pounds so loudly in his ears, he doesn’t realize they’ve been pronounced married until Jack’s tugging him forward and smashing their lips together.
He laughs into it and throws his arms around Jack’s neck, not minding the way the other man’s nose is pressing into his cheek. Jack holds him tighter and Rhys knows the kiss lasts a long time, but when they separate, he feels it wasn’t long enough.
People are clapping when they turn, Jack’s hand warm in his own, and they head back down the walkway together.
June 8th, 2016 – 5 PM
“Can we get a shot near the trees?” Rhys asks their photographer, who nods and starts collecting her tripod. The small wedding party makes their way over and gets into position, changing their poses as the photographer directs them.
They get shots of the entire group, then of just Rhys’ side, then Jack’s, and a few of him, Jack and Angel. It’s fun, and Rhys is already thinking about the photo album he’ll be putting together when he gets the photos back.
When they’re finished, they head back to the dining area; the resort has set up tables along the lakefront patio with long, white tablecloths, blue napkins folded in front of each seat, and sunflower centerpieces. There are lights strung up along the lampposts and wooden fences, just barely glowing against the sky.
They walk past their friends and family as they make their way to the front table; Rhys and Jack settle into the seats in the center, and the rest of the wedding party files in around them. The guests are all chatting amongst themselves, and the small orchestral accompaniment is playing softly.
Jack leans over and murmurs in Rhys’ ear, “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars Tim cries during his speech.”
“Stop,” Rhys laughs, shoving the man’s shoulder and glancing at Tim, who’s fiddling with a stack of notecards.
Beside him, Vaughn clears his throat and stands up, adjusting his glasses. He’s got his own notecards as well, but he shoves them in his pocket and raises a glass. When he rings it, everyone settles down and the music stops.
“Uh—hey, everyone,” he says, “firstly, I want to thank you all for coming, I know it really means a lot to these two.” He gestures to Jack and Rhys. “And I’m sure getting to spend the evening in the lap of luxury is no hardship for any of you.”
“Anyway,” Vaughn continues, turning toward Rhys, “Rhys is…he’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we could walk, and I’m so lucky I got to spend so many years with him. I was with him when he got his driver’s license, and when he crashed his mom’s car two weeks later—“
There’s a few laughs from the guests, and Rhys hides his face when he sees his mom grinning from one of the tables.
“We went to the same college, so I was there through all the nights of late night studying, but mostly the weekend long benders and parties we were too young to be drinking at. We interned at Hyperion together, and eventually both got full time jobs there. We’ve always been on different floors, but our lunch hours always bring us together again.”
“We spent so much time together—and then he met Jack. Handsome Jack. The big bad CEO, who, let’s not forget, Rhys had about ten posters of hanging up in his office.”
Rhys ducks his head again at that, and Jack throws his arm around him, patting his shoulder and laughing.
“I’ll admit, I was a little nervous at first. My best friend was dating our boss, but you know what, they made it work. Somehow, Rhys managed to date someone who’s almost a big a nerd as he is.”
“Thanks Vaughn,” Rhys says.
“Anytime, buddy,” Vaughn grins and raises his glass higher. “So, I’d really like everyone to raise a glass for these two; I know they’ll be together a long time.”
Everyone raises their glasses, and a smattering of ‘cheers’ can be heard, along with some applause. As soon as Vaughn sits, Sasha is up on her feet, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Fiona is already shaking her head and Rhys can hear her mumble fondly, “here we go.”
“Hey guys!” Sasha starts off, cheerfully enough. “Is this place swanky or what?” she sips at one of the many drinks littered around her plate. “I grabbed like, five drinks from the bar, cause hey! Free booze! Perks of being friends with rich people.”
“Now,” she continues, “I haven’t known Rhys quite as long as Vaughn has, and I didn’t even get to meet Jack until him and Rhys had been dating for a year or so. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a billion embarrassing stories about them.”
“I’m not going to bore you with all of them, but there’s one story that comes to mind. This wasn’t too long after we’d met Jack, and we all decided to go on a camping trip together. I cannot even begin to tell you how many gross, googoo eyes these two made at each other all weekend. It was disgusting.”
“And this one,” she points to Rhys, whose face is already pink, “couldn’t even walk all the way up the mountain when we went hiking. Jack had to carry him.”
The guests all laugh, and Rhys is vaguely regretting his decision to let Sasha be in the wedding party now, though he’s not entirely sure he could have stopped her even if he’d wanted to.
“That’s when I knew. I knew. These two are going to be gross together for the rest of their lives. It took them about four more years to realize that, but we’re finally here aren’t we? It’s about damn time.”
She raises her glass, and everyone follows suit, even Rhys, who can’t help but grin when Sasha awkwardly leans around Vaughn to give him a one-armed hug.
When Tim stands up, he still has his notecards in hand, and he smiles uncertainly at the crowd. The sun is starting to set, and the string lights are really starting to glow, illuminating the reception with a soft ambiance.
“Sorry,” is the first thing out of Tim’s mouth, “I’m sure everyone’s starting to get really hungry, so I’ll try to be quick.” He glances down at his notecards. “I’ll try not to, er, make it too sappy, cause I think Jack would kill me, but um…”
“My brother and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on things. He’s kind of headstrong and very…well, he knows how to get what he wants, let’s say that,” he laughs quietly. “For a long time, he focused on work, and he didn’t give much thought to his relationships, and it certainly paid off in the end, y’know. CEO of his own company and all. But I always worried about him; he’s certainly had rough patches. A lot of them. But, uh, y’know, when Angel was born, I don’t think I’d ever seen him happier.”
Tim clears his throat, “and, it’s really been a long time since. But, I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time with him these past few years—him and Rhys, who I—have really had the pleasure of getting to know.” He sniffs, and pauses for a moment, “Hah, sorry. I said I wouldn’t make this sappy, sorry!”
Jack just shakes his head and leans further against Rhys, who’s smiling as he watches Tim’s words fail him.
“God, just. Rhys has been so good for him; Jack has been so much happier since they met, and I’m just really, really proud of him. So, uh, here’s to you,” he raises his glass, “I love you guys.”
Everyone raises their glasses again in toast, and once Tim sits down again, the music starts up and the waiters start serving out entrees.
Rhys turns back towards Jack, who, to his credit, only looks mildly uncomfortable, his brow pinched. He kisses him on the cheek, and Jack turns his head to catch his lips.
Dinner comes and goes, along with a multitude of alcoholic drinks; Rhys’ seems to refill itself every time he turns around, and Jack is already on his second rum and coke by the time they roll the cake out.
True to their order, the cake is huge, nearly half as tall as Rhys is, and twice as wide. Rhys and Jack step around the table and one of the waitresses hands them a knife to cut with. Their photographer is already down on one knee, camera at the ready.
Rhys grips the handle, and Jack wraps his larger hand around his, and they go for it, cutting into the cake with ease. They set the slice on a plate and take up their forks.
“Jack,” Rhys says, holding his fork out, a bite of cake on the end, “if you throw this cake in my face, it’s over.”
“Is that a threat, pumpkin?” Jack asks slyly, but the smirk on his face is telling, and before Rhys can react, Jack drops his fork. He grabs the cake with his bare hands and smashes it against Rhys’ face.
“You asshole!” Rhys shouts, but he’s laughing, bits of cake and frosting clinging to his skin and eyelashes. He grabs what’s left on the plate and returns the favor, smearing frosting all over Jack’s cheeks. There’s several hoots and hollers that Rhys is willing to bet are coming from Nisha’s table, and an errant “what a waste of cake!” from a distraught Vaughn. Jack laughs, deep in his chest, and he grabs Rhys’ elbow and tugs him back over to the head table to clean up.
Jack grabs a cloth napkin and wipes his face off before doing the same for Rhys. Rhys blinks at him once all the cake is off his skin, and Jack is—Jack is giving him a look and then he’s pressing their lips together.
The DJ announces it’s time for their first dance, and Jack pulls back and slides Rhys’ hand into his own. They make their way over to the dance floor, which is really just an extension of the patio, all wooden-flooring and a small fence with the same string lights wound around it.
Rhys bites his lip as they step out together, Jack’s hands coming to rest at his waist. He puts his arms around the older man’s neck, and their song starts. They don’t so much dance as sway together, and Rhys leans in close, smiling shyly.
Jack’s smile isn’t big, but it’s easy and relaxed—genuine in a way Rhys doesn’t often get to see. He feels like his heart’s going to burst, from the expression on Jack’s face alone, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world.
It’s too much.
“Shit,” he curses as his eyes start to water. He sniffs and presses his face against Jack’s neck, who laughs and rubs his back.
“You crying, Rhysie?”
“No!” Rhys says, and then sniffs again. “I just have something in my eye.”
“Uh huh. It’s okay, really. I mean, if I was marrying my idol, I’d be feeling a little emotional too.”
“Shut up,” Rhys replies, laughing as he pulls his hand to smack the other man’s chest. Jack catches his hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing Rhys’ palm. When the song ends, Rhys wipes his eyes and leaves the floor so Jack can dance with Angel.
“You good, bro?” Vaughn whispers, holding a napkin out for him.
“Yeah, thanks,” Rhys shakes his head, taking the napkin and wiping his eyes again. “Man,” he mumbles, “I can’t believe I almost cried.”
“Almost,” Sasha scoffs, coming to stand beside him. She pats him on the back, “don’t worry, buddy. Those tears will be in your photos forever.”
Rhys rolls his eyes, and is relieved when the DJ finally starts playing some upbeat music once Angel and Jack finish their dance. There’s a small swarm as people start to get up; they offer him congratulations and hugs on their way to the dance floor.
Jack grabs his elbow and places a new drink in his hand, sidling up beside him. Rhys takes a sip, and raises an eyebrow as Jack tosses back another rum and coke.
“C’mon cupcake,” he says, setting his glass down, “finish that up. Got a dance floor to tear up.”
“Pffft, okay, sure,” Rhys rolls his eyes; he’s seen Jack dance, and it’s the very definition of “white people dancing”. Not that Rhys is any better, but at least he knows it. Still, he downs his drink, grimacing as it burns his throat. Jack grins at him and Rhys barely has time to leave his glass behind before the older man is dragging him back to the dance floor.
They all get into it, dancing and singing along to the upbeat music the DJ puts on. Rhys loses track of time, and before he knows it, the DJ is announcing he’ll be playing one more song.
Jack, who Rhys had previously lost in the crowd, manages to push his way through the guests and wrap his hand around Rhys’ wrist, pulling him close. The song starts out a little slow, and Rhys happily presses against Jack, enjoying the feel of being wrapped up in his arms.
When the tempo picks up, Jack moves back so he can move easier—and then he’s twirling Rhys around and dancing with energy, even dipping Rhys a few times. When it finally comes to an end, they’re both breathing heavier, and Jack slings his arm around Rhys’ shoulders.
“God, you’re sweaty,” Rhys wrinkles his nose, laughing. He’s still pleasantly buzzed, and so is Jack, if the loud way he laughs is any indication. The resort employees start to clear off the tables, and people make their way to the parking lot, congratulating Rhys and Jack as they leave.
Rhys doesn’t feel quite ready to leave yet, so he tugs Jack’s hand and pulls him away from the diminishing crowd. They walk to the edge of the lake, laughing and tripping over themselves; the moon is out now, half full and reflected in the calm water.
Jack rests one arm around Rhys’ shoulders, “How you feelin’, Mr. Lawrence?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Who says I’m taking your last name?” Rhys asks with a grin, titling his chin up. “I think Jack Oliver has a nice ring to it.”
“Oh c’mon kitten,” Jack leans in with a grin, pressing a wet kiss to Rhys’ cheek. “We both know you’ve been thirsting after ‘Lawrence’ for years. S’all about brand recognition.”
“Hmph,” Rhys pretends to be annoyed, but Jack’s not wrong; his name change forms are already sitting at home, waiting to be filled out.
Jack kisses him again, this time along the curve of his jaw, trailing down to his neck. “Pretty sure,” he says between kisses, “there’s supposed to be some kinda sex thing after a wedding.”
“Oh my god,” Rhys shoves him away, shaking his head. “I thought we were having a moment!”
“We were,” Jack agrees, leaning in for another kiss, undeterred. “My dick wants a moment too, babe.”
“Jack,” Rhys splutters, shrieking with laughter when Jack blows a raspberry against his neck.
“Hey, are you guys coming, or are you planning on sleeping out here?” Tim’s voice calls from the patio. They both turn, and most of the guests have left by now, leaving only their small group of friends. “We’ve got all the presents loaded up in car,” Tim says, “we’re ready whenever you are.”
“That means hurry up,” Angel provides helpfully, “or we’re leaving you here.”
“Alright already!” Jack calls back, “we’re coming. Ha, get it? Coming, like I’m gonna be in your ass—“
“Dad, shut up!”
Rhys can hear Sasha and Vaughn crack up with laughter, and he has to bite his lip to stop from joining them.
“Alright,” Jack says again, his voice lower, “better go before the peanut gallery gets their panties in a twist.” He offers his hand out to Rhys, who smiles and takes it. They turn and head back over to the patio.
“Seriously though, I’m gonna wreck that ass when we get home.”
“Dad!”