“But soon?”
Memphis gave the smallest of laughs. “Yes, soon. I told the officers I’d come in tomorrow to answer all their questions. Robby and Calder said we can stay the night at their place. I need you to take me there immediately and scrub me down in the shower because I’m very tired and very, very dirty.”
Preacher shook his head. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we?”
“Hurry up, please,” Memphis begged, pushing his ass back against Preacher’s cock, groaning when he continued to let it slide between his cheeks instead of pressing it against his hole. “I need you inside me, like, right now.”
“Shh,” Preacher whispered against his ear, slapping a hand over Memphis’s mouth. “You’re going to get us busted bare-assed in the middle of a tack room. There’s no lock on the door.”
Memphis was trying hard to care, but it was his wedding day. Shouldn’t he be able to get laid if he wanted to? His navy suit jacket was slung over a saddle, his dress pants pooled around his ankles, boxer briefs at mid-thigh. The others had headed to the middle of the property where the reception would be held, but they’d snuck off to the stables next to the barn where they’d said their vows barely twenty minutes ago.
Memphis hadn’t realized wedding rings could be a kink, but sliding that ring on Preacher’s finger, saying I do to him forever? It was pretty much the equivalent of Spanish Fly, and now, he wanted to dance their first dance with Preacher’s load inside him, and he didn’t care if they were caught or not. He just needed Preacher, all of him.
Memphis arched his back, whining behind his hand, trying to get him to give in and fuck him. Preacher dropped his hand from his mouth to his throat, not squeezing, just holding him in place as he worked himself against him. “No lube, remember?”
“Spit. Spit works,” Memphis panted. “Hell, I don’t care. Use something in here. Don’t they oil saddles or something?” he whined. At Preacher’s chuckle, Memphis glared, jerking his cock, using his pre-cum to ease his motion, but it didn’t matter either way. He’d been two seconds away from coming since he’d dragged him into the stable.
He moaned like a porn star as Preacher knocked his hand out of the way, taking over, the friction of each dry tug sending lightning bolts of pleasure to his balls.
"If you want me to fuck you, then you’d better hurry up and come, so I can use it as lube,” Preacher rumbled against his ear.
“Fuck, you’re so dirty. I love it. I love you.” He craned his head around, sliding their mouths together in a filthy kiss before tearing it away and leaning his weight against Preacher, fucking himself into his hand, the heavy weight of Preacher’s erection against his ass.
“Oh, fuck. Yeah, I’m gonna come,” he panted a split second before his body tensed and he spilled over Preacher’s tightened fist and then into it.
Preacher’s clean hand slapped over Memphis’s mouth once more as he smeared his come over his entrance before spearing three fingers inside him, working him open without finesse. “That better, baby?” Preacher crooned. “That what you needed?” Preacher’s fingers disappeared, replaced by his cock. “Or is this what you want?” Preacher tried to push in but couldn’t get in. He added a little saliva to the mix, groaning as he slid inside. “Holy fuck, your ass feels good. Hold yourself open for me, baby.”
Memphis’s eyes rolled back at Preacher’s words. If he could have gotten hard again, he would have. He did as his husband asked, spreading himself so Preacher could bury himself to the root with every single thrust. “It feels like I haven’t been inside you in forever.” They’d fucked that morning in the shower, but Memphis wasn’t about to correct him when every thrust was bringing him up onto his toes, “I’m gonna come and you better keep every drop inside or everybody’s going to know just what we’ve been up to. Can you do that for me? Can you keep my load inside you for the rest of the night?”
Memphis nodded, whimpering against Preacher’s hand. Memphis was almost sorry he’d already come. The head of Preacher’s cock was driving against Memphis’s prostate, somehow managing to milk fluid from him even though he was soft. The almost dry thrusts of Preacher’s cock shouldn’t have felt good—it didn’t feel good, really; if anything it was just this shy of painful—but Memphis loved it, loved having Preacher buried in him, arms around him. Loved the way he whispered filthy things into his ear and the way he always wanted Memphis full of his cum like he was staking his claim.
Preacher’s whole body tensed, and then he was groaning against Memphis’s ear, “Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming.”
Memphis collapsed against the wall of the tack room when Preacher loosened his grip, resting his forehead there as Preacher emptied himself inside him in tiny aborted thrusts. Memphis could feel him throbbing inside him.
Preacher blanketed Memphis, kissing his neck, his ear, the back of his head. “I love you,” he said with a slight laugh, sounding winded. “Just in case the ring and the I do’s weren’t enough.”
Memphis laughed, too, a high breathless laugh that came from a place he’d never thought he’d reach. One where he was just…happy. “Good thing this barn is air conditioned or we’d be screwed.”
They carefully rearranged their clothes, Memphis’s ass smarting from the rough ride, but just enough for him to know he’d smile every time he sat down for the rest of the night, knowing his husband would probably take him again later just to fill him up once more.
It hit him then. Memphis was married. Holy fuck. He was married. “We’re married,” he blurted.
“Yes,” Preacher said, looking at him like he’d hit his head, holding up his left hand to show off the ring. “That was sort of the point of all this, wasn’t it?”
It was. “It just doesn’t seem real.” It had been six months since the train depot, and Memphis was still having a hard time wrapping his head around his new life, their life together.
Preacher gently fixed Memphis’s slightly askew blue tie, kissing his forehead. “I promise, it’s all real.”
“Is it bad that I don’t want to go back out there? You know how much I hate peopling.”
Preacher chuckled. “You people every single day at the nursery and you love it, and your customers love you. Everybody here loves you, too. That’s why they threw us this wedding in the first place.”
Memphis sighed. He did love working at the nursery. It was owned by a lovely widow named Gwendolyn, who went by Wyn. She’d donated all the flowers for the wedding. She’d taken to Memphis almost immediately when she realized he loved plants as much as she did, and she’d started showing him how to create his own hybrids that he nurtured like they were his babies.
Now that they’d found a little house of their own right between the farm and Jackson’s safe house, they were all much more settled, especially Knox. He was still your average twelve-year-old boy. There was a lot of complaining about chores and whining about math homework and suspiciously long showers and overly stiff socks in the laundry basket. But there was also Mario Kart as a family, which Knox always won and Monopoly on Wednesdays, which Knox always lost, but Memphis wouldn’t trade a second of it. Well, maybe the crusty socks.
Preacher had finally taken Pam up on her offer to pay him to help her rescue animals, but he also started working at the farm, helping relocate abused women and children for free because Memphis might have married an ex-con but he ended up with a real live superhero.
