A moment later, the three dots turned into an image. An image of Art’s erect penis with Art’s hand at the base. Graeme’s own cock twitched in reaction and heat filled him.
Ryan laughed so loud he startled some nearby birds. “That man has an unhealthy obsession with his cock,” he said. Graeme glanced to him in question, and Ryan sheepishly admitted, “He sent me a dick pic the other day, too.”
“Oh,” Graeme said, feeling weirdly deflated.
“But I’m sure he means that particular erection to be just for you,” Ryan said, still laughing.
“Yeah,” Graeme said, cheering up a little.
It wasn’t that he wanted Art to send dick pics only to him. He’d never been sent a dick pic before, and he was surprised that he kind of thought it was hot instead of thinking it was gross, like he’d always been told it was. Something in him wanted to send one back, too. Something else wanted to skip the pics and go right to the real thing.
But what about Ryan? What about the amazing kisses they’d shared? It felt so weird and wrong to be hot for two men at the same time.
“Graeme? Is that you?”
Everything froze at the sound of Mavis’s mum’s voice. Graeme rushed to put his phone away so fast that he dropped it.
“Um, hello, Carla,” he choked out as Ryan bent to retrieve his phone.
His former mother-in-law’s reaction to him was about what he’d expected. Her face contorted with fury and she hissed, “How dare you show your face at Mavis’s wedding?”
Strangely, Graeme didn’t mind her rage at all. Well, not exactly. It hurt to be the object of so much venom, but it was completely expected.
“Mavis invited me,” he said calmly. “She said both she and Benny want me here.”
“Nobody wants you here, you ungrateful pervert,” Carla snapped.
“Just a moment,” Ryan started to defend him.
He didn’t have a chance. Carla threw her head back, turned, and stomped off, probably to find security, if Penwith Grange had such a thing, to throw him out.
Ryan was almost shaking with indignation, so Graeme rested a hand on his arm. “Don’t bother getting upset with them,” he said, a dark spot of gloom growing inside him. “It isn’t going to do any good. They are who they are, and they’re not going to change.”
“It isn’t right,” Ryan growled.
“No, it isn’t,” Graeme sighed, “but arguing with them doesn’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Ryan didn’t seem to like that answer, but he accepted it. At least, he didn’t say anything more.
The garden tour lost some of its shine, so the two of them headed back into the house and up to their room to shower and change for the festivities. As much as Graeme had tried to downplay Mrs. Munroe’s reaction to him, the anticipation that he would have to deal with more of that in the next few hours kept him from even noticing Ryan half dressed as they got ready. Sex and attraction were the last things on his mind as he showered, dressed, and brushed his hair.
“I swear to you,” Ryan said once they made their way downstairs again, dressed in suits and looking fabulous, or, at least, Ryan looked fabulous, half an hour later, “I’m not going to let these people be cruel to you.”
Graeme sent him a watery smile as they crossed through the conservatory, which the staff was already setting up for supper, and out to the garden where the ceremony would take place. “Thanks,” he said.
He wanted to take Ryan’s hand for support, but he didn’t dare to. It was obvious Mavis hadn’t told anyone he was going to be there. The gasps and looks of shock that were thrown his way as he and Ryan walked to the edge of the chairs that had been set up on a springy, green lawn were brutal.
“What is he doing here?” he heard Mavis’s cousin Simon mutter to Benny’s brother, Zack.
“Mavis insisted on inviting him,” Zack said in return, making no attempt to speak so that Graeme wouldn’t overhear him. “She had some hysterical, last-minute fit of conscience or something.”
Simon humphed and looked at Graeme like he was a flea-ridden dog that had wandered into the garden. “He’s disgusting. Having him here will probably taint the entire union.”
“What kind of flower is that?” Ryan asked, tugging on Graeme’s arm and turning him away from the jerks.
It was obvious what he was doing. Ryan was his hero on so many levels. The man could turn an innocent question into an iron-clad shield to keep him safe from the cruelty of his former community.
“Oh, that’s a peony,” he said, moving closer to the bush. He even reached out and touched it once he was close enough. Touching nature had always been healing for him.
