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  Prying the pillow away, Guy rolls back over and squints at the sun. I shall triumph, he tells the blazing light. I'll get you, my pretty, and your little UV rays, too.

  Guy thinks mental conversations with himself like these may be early signs of psychosis. No big deal. Cameron'll take care of him if he's ever reduced to slobbering gibberish out loud and naming his toes.

  Cameron. Yes. Guy swings his legs out of bed and touches down, using the same kinetic energy to cleverly propel himself upright. One arm out to ward off any possible obstacles, Guy stumbles in the general direction of the bathroom, his nose nearly a-quiver like a champion hunting hound. Well. If said hound was half-blind and half-deaf. That wasn't the point.

  The point is Guy's successful location of the john and mastery of the hand-eye coordination necessary to turn the knob and push the door open.

  Once inside, he blinks briefly through the curling wet steam, catches sight of Cameron, and is instantly one hundred percent awake. His jaw might have hit the floor, but Guy could care less because: there's Cameron. Every long, lean, lithe, loved, and other L-adjective inch of him visible through the translucent glass of the shower door. Cameron stands directly underneath the spray, his head tilted back, droplets of water pattering over his face and running down the svelte curve of his spine.

  Guy's at the shower door and tugging it open before he's aware of moving. This apparent ability to ambulate at light-speed is nothing new when it comes to winning first-row seating at a Cameron display, so he doesn't waste time worrying about defying the laws of physics.

  He pokes his head through the open door and gets a faceful of steam and a brilliant smile from Cameron. "Is there room for two in here?"

  "You know it." Cameron reaches up to adjust the spray, aiming it toward the middle of the shower stall, and takes Guy by the hand. "I had a bet going with myself on whether or not you'd end up here before the hot water ran out."

  "Who won? You or yourself?" Guy asks, climbing over the slight obstacle of the shower door's tracking sill.

  "It was a draw." Cameron wraps both arms around Guy and winds him in, lowering that mouth to Guy's for a long, honey-slow kiss, lazily lapping Guy's lips until Guy parts them for Cameron to enter. To be fair, Guy's notoriously easy when it comes to Cameron, and it doesn't take long for the mission to achieve accomplishment.

  Tit for tat is only fair, of course, so Guy takes shameless advantage of Cameron's distraction to glide his fingertips down Cameron's enticingly smooth back, tracing his way down the line of Cameron's spine to the crack of that ass. He lingers there, teasing and nothing more, drawing over the divot but never slipping inside.

  Shower sex? It's one of Guy's favorites, among many other top choices. There's nothing he doesn't enjoy with Cameron.

  "Mmm," Cameron says when they part for deep gulps of steamy air. "Look at that. You fogged up the glass."

  Guy flicks Cameron in the ribs. "Wise guy."

  "I do my best. Turn around." Cameron nudges Guy until Guy reluctantly lets go and allows himself to be arranged. Now he's faced away from Cameron and Cameron's tasty lips, which doesn't please him.

  He reconsiders his opinion precisely two seconds later, when Cameron molds his body to Guy's from behind, Cameron's hardening cock pressing firmly against his ass.

  "Help, help," Guy murmurs, dropping his head back to lean on Cameron's shoulder. "My maidenly virtue is at stake."

  Cameron laughs so hard that he snorts shower water. "And here I was going to do you the favor of washing your hair."

  "Beautician Cameron reporting for duty?"

  "Something like that." Cameron exhales, his breath seeming cooler among the steam from the shower, tingling along Guy's neck in a not unpleasant way. "Lunch, today. Do we have to go?"

  Guy adds his own sigh to the mix. "We've been through this, Cameron. Three times, now."

  "Fourth time's the charm." Cameron slides his arm underneath Cameron's and idly -- or so it would seem -- tweaks Guy's nipple, drawing the bit of flesh up firm and sensitive to stimuli. Guy's cock, not to be left out of the action, begins to fill in hopes of getting some handsy action of its own.

  "Mmm?" Oh, wait. We're debating lunch with the folks, such as have made it here on short notice. My sister Nadia, and his sisters Alison and Leslie. Wait again. "Since when is fourth time the charm?"

  "Since I said so, that's when." Cameron flicks his thumbnail over Guy's nipple, which is growing too sensitive to enjoy the treatment. He knows it, too, the masochist. "I don't mind meeting up with Alison. She's sane. And I haven't met her, but I'm sure Nadia's just fine."

  "But…?" Guy prompts.

  Cameron leaves off tormenting Guy's nipple, glory be, and, groaning, drops his forehead to Guy's shoulder. "Leslie. Leslie's gonna be there, and I'd rather be hung by my nuts from a thorn tree."

  "Jesus. Don't sugarcoat the truth for me." Guy tries to turn around; Cameron hangs on too tightly to make a successful go of it. "She's your sister. You actually feel that way about her?"

  "I was raised in the same house as her, so yeah, I really do."

  "She can't be that bad."

  Cameron seizes and twists Guy's nipple in a proper nurple, damn his hide. Guy yelps. "Don't say I didn't warn you," Cameron mutters sourly.

  After that shot of pain, Guy's erection almost decides to make a tactical retreat, probably thinking in its own independent way that if the nipples are in danger of being removed like bottle caps, all danglies are at risk.

  The hell with that.

  Guy holds his tongue and lets Cameron settle down. Soon enough, Cameron stands up straight. Guy can imagine the look of resignation on Cameron's face and determines to make this whole lunch worth their whiles. They're getting married, for Pete's sake. You can't do weddings without family, or representatives thereof.

  He really had thought two weeks was long enough to plan. Day by day, Guy's learning the fallacy of that notion. If it weren't for Cameron's slightly alarming resourcefulness, he'd have given up before now.

  What would I do without you? Guy wonders, knowing he never wants to find out.

  Nuzzling his head against Cameron's chest, enjoying the sturdy warmth of Cameron's shower-heated skin, Guy idly observes, "Even under the shampoo and soap, you still smell like the ocean."

  Cameron rumbles a short laugh. "Do not."

  "Do so." Guy attempts a backward head-butt.

  To his satisfaction, Cameron's hands resume their wandering, skating soap-slick, if aimlessly, over Guy's chest and abs. "The ocean claimed me for herself long ago," Cameron muses aloud. "That's how I heard an old sailor put it once. Fits, huh?"

  Guy nods, enjoying Cameron's touches too much to bother speaking.

  "Good thing, too," Cameron goes on. "Considering the sea's how I make my living." He snorts. "Not much of a living, is it?"

  What the hell? "Why would you say that?" Guy asks in surprise, attempting another aborted twist around to look Cameron in his eyes.

  Cameron shifts uncomfortably. "Don't know."

  "Bullshit. You do. What's wrong?" Guy succeeds in awkwardly angling back to tickle Cameron's sides. "Does this have anything to do with your sisters and what they'll think of you today?"

  Cameron's wary stillness tells Guy he's right on the money.

  "I thought they were cool with your living the semi-freewheeling life."

  "Alison is," Cameron corrects him. "Mom is. Sara is. Elizabeth is. Katie is. Lucy is. Dad's tolerant. But Leslie? Nuh and uh. Leslie…" Cameron shakes his head. "You've never met her before for a reason."

  "She sounds like the unpleasant love child of the Wicked Witch of the West and Chucky."

  "You're not wrong, except she's less of a monster and more of a constantly malcontented killjoy with a hard-on for busting bubbles."

  "Yeowch." Guy dislikes her already.

  "She thinks I'm a disappointment to the family."

  "Is that so?" There are any number of things Guy could choose to say right now. In the end, he
opts for the simplest, which is also the most honest. "Fuck her."

  Cameron's laugh is startled. "Excuse me?"

  "Not literally. Ecch." Guy over-exaggerates his shudder. "I meant she can go take a long walk off a short pier. Whatever she tries to start, I'll stop. I promise."

  Cameron sighs.

  "None of that. We've got better things to do than dread her passing. Speaking of which, we happen to be sharing a shower. Want to guess what my favorite parts of sharing showers is?" Guy shakes his ass, deliberately campy, while checking to see if Cameron's still, ahem, up for some action.

  "Someone woke up horny," Cameron rumbles, flattening his hand over Guy's lower stomach. "Someone and his best friend." He tickles the skin under the shower-wet, flat, wiry hairs leading to Guy's cock.

  Guy's cock, for its part, is very much interested in the proceedings. Still, there's an error in Cameron's reasoning that needs to be addressed before this goes any further, and he doesn't give a good goddamn if this makes him a girl; it has to be said. "Someone woke up horny, sure, and so did his cock, but as for his best friend? He's standing right behind me, and he'll make up his own mind."

  Cameron's still and quiet for a moment. Then, he presses his lips to the soft skin beneath Guy's ear briefly before saying quietly over the shell, "Thank you."

  "Only the truth." Guy relaxes happily against Cameron. "Only the truth. On your mark, get set, go?"

  Cameron laughs and rubs his cock, fully hard and eager now, against Guy's ass before parting the cheeks and stroking inside. "How's this?"

  "Mmm. Now that's my kind of wake-up call."

  "Better than a blowjob?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "Think I can make it better than a blowjob?"

  In answer, Guy repositions his stance, one foot pressed to either side of the narrow shower stall for leverage, and cants his ass back. The slippery-wet head of Cameron's cock nudges his hole. He groans in time with Cameron. "Take your best shot," Guy invites.

  Cameron growls. "No slick, and I'm not getting out to get some. Not when I have you here like this."

  Guy likes the note of challenge in Cameron's tone. "So what're you going to do about it?"

  Cameron slaps each of Guy's hips. "Legs back together. Tight." Cameron guides Guy, leaning him forward and positioning him just so, Cameron's cock trapped within his cheeks, gliding along on traces of the shower water and his own slippery slickness. Guy hisses at the first hard, swift stroke of Cameron's cock, bumping his hole deliberately this time.

  "Okay?" Cameron asks, voice strained. "Like this?"

  "You know it," Guy pants, bracing his hands on the condensation-dewed tile wall. "More. Faster."

  Cameron growls and hooks his chin over Guy's shoulder, letting the man have it with the skill of a pro and the desperation of a sailor on a weekend's shore leave in Taipei.

  "Yeah," Guy urges, his breath growing too short to do more than grunt encouragement. His cock aches for want of stimulus -- he can't jerk himself off and keep his balance at the same time. "Cameron. Hand. Gimme."

  Cameron chuffs a breathless laugh into Guy's throat and clumsily fumbles for Guy's cock. He's too close to do more than hang on and pump hard without rhythm, but that's A-OK with Guy because the slick, hard slide of Cameron's cock and the pressure of his strong fingers are --

  "Oh, fuck," Guy snarls as he comes, thick strands of spunk splashing the facing wall. He clenches his ass cheeks involuntarily, then damn well on purpose, howling in triumph when Cameron curses him and spasms, drenching Guy with his load. It drips thick and wet down his legs, satisfying something deep and primal within Guy's soul.

  "Mine," Cameron breathes, raggedly, against Guy's cheek.

  Guy nods, uncoordinated. He peels Cameron's hand away from his spent cock and laces their fingers together. "You. Mine." What? Men are allowed to indulge in caveman-speak after an orgasm like that, or so Guy figures.

  "Nngh," Cameron agrees. Cameron hangs on for a moment longer, keeping Guy upright when Guy would have started swaying on his feet.

  "I'm tempted to suggest heading back to bed."

  "Sorry, babe." Cameron swats Guy's ass. "Like you said, it's lunch with the family today or bust."

  "I choose bust."

  "No fair switching sides."

  Guy grumbles low in his throat, but frankly, even off-kilter logic is beyond him now, and he pretty much doesn't care. Let Leslie snipe and sourpuss at them all she wants. She's not changing his mind, and he'll make sure she doesn’t infect Cameron with any doubts.

  They're going to get married, he and Cameron. It's going to be memorable and gorgeous and perfect, damnit; Guy's going to pull this off or die trying.

  Watch me and see if I don't.

  Chapter Five

  "Thanks for calling WNCJ," Guy drones into the headset. "We appreciate your interest. All of our representatives are currently busy with other callers and will be with you shortly."

  "As in, Monday morning?" asks the man propped on the corner of Guy's desk. He sips from a paper cup with a local coffee house logo printed crookedly on both sides, the plastic top flipped off and spun neatly into Guy's trash can.

  "Ambiguous yet effective. Studies show that seventy-five percent of people told they'll have to wait hang up right away. Behold, America's sense of entitlement to instant gratification at work."

  "You're a ray of sunshine," the man comments, raising his eyebrow at Guy over his cup. He swigs, swallows, and licks foam off his upper lip.

  Guy watches with a sort of clinical interest. Clay, the station's most recently hired DJ. He's cute, the kind of man Guy might have gone after once upon a time, or at least lusted over from afar.

  Tall, neatly muscled, his good-natured features more unique than handsome, topped with a head of messy, dark brown hair. He's got a witty spin to his tongue that treads the line between glib and faux-serious. Guy's willing to bet that mouth has gotten him in trouble more than once. Rumor has it the guy was fired from a job at their competitor, WKZL, for dropping the F-bomb on-air.

  Hot, smart, and speaks his mind. The perfect man, in theory.

  Yet Clay does nothing for Guy. Guy's pleased by this, reinforcing his certainty that Cameron's the only one for him, and this whole marriage plan of his is the right thing to do.

  "Late night," Guy explains away his crankiness, punching buttons on the phone system to set the station's voicemail message. "Early morning."

  "On a weekend when you weren't supposed to work?"

  "Eastward-facing bedroom window," Guy explains, already moving on to absently sorting through a stack of junk mail and letters from listeners. Junk mail in the trash, letters stacked in piles according to level of scariness.

  Clay watches Guy, comfortable in the quiet. "I heard you were getting married. Nice. Who's the lucky lady?"

  "Lucky man." Guy looks directly at the DJ. "His name's Cameron."

  "Hmm." Clay sips his coffee. "Good for you."

  The unexpected benediction startles and warms Guy at the same time. "Appreciate it." He glances at the DJ's wedding ring. "What about you? Got a wife and kids waiting at home?"

  Clay makes a face. "Kids? Hell no, not unless you count Tony. He's a great big brat. 'Great big' being an honorific for the shrimp-sized twerp." The fondness apparent in Clay's tone makes Guy suspect that this Tony, whoever he is, has Clay wrapped around his finger. Clay grins whitely. "You know who I am same as I know who you are, I'm sure, but why not have a proper introduction? I'm Clay." He reaches to shake Guy's hand. "Can I get an invite to the wedding?"

  Guy takes Clay's hand dumbly. "You're kidding me."

  Clay waves his left hand, silver band gleaming. "Seth would have my balls on a necklace if I dared joke about it, so no."

  Guy's ears warm. He remembers now the other half of the overheard conversation that changed his life. Clay really is gay, then. "Sorry. Jeez. Sorry. I know there's stuff on the grapevine, but --" Oh, nice. Open mouth, insert foot. How's that toe jam taste? Mmm.<
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  Clay tips his head back and laughs. "Trust me, I know. The last station I worked at wasn't as bad as others, but no matter where you go there's bound to be an operational gossip channel. Thing I've learned is, don't try to fly under the radar. People are going to dig skeletons out of our closets and rattle them, or make crap up if there's nothing to find. I just do my thing, keep a picture of Seth in the booth and if someone asks I answer honestly." He shrugs. "And I'm usually left alone. Go figure."