I glanced at him and draped an arm around his shoulder instead, and I pressed my lips to his temple.
“Very.”
He smiled and turned in my arms, sticking his hands down the pockets of my jeans. “Are you ready to fight?”
I drew a deep breath and rested my forehead to his. “I’m ready to tell motherfuckers who claim reproduction is the central purpose of marriage to jump off a cliff.”
“That makes two of us,” he said quietly. “But we might wanna fine-tune the approach.”
I chuckled through my nose and closed my eyes.
We had both been fortunate to grow up in environments where acceptance had been genuine and immediate, but even to us, fighting for basic rights could wear us down. We weren’t asking for special treatment. We just wanted to be recognized as equals who could raise children as well as a straight couple. And everything was tangled up in policy about marriage, whether it was adoption laws or health care through work that was supposed to extend to partners.
We could take the risk and adopt as single parents. Some had done it. Some had tried, and then they’d gotten caught in the midst of home visits and interviews. But we didn’t want to hide who we were. We didn’t even want to get married just because we had to in order to build our family.
They were talking semantics in this state. Marriage, civil marriage, civil union. Fucking bullshit.
Whatever. We were going to fight. It was easier in Massachusetts at the moment, so this was where we were going to be. We’d attend protests. We’d ask elected officials how many gay couples had abandoned their kids compared to how many straight couples. We’d ask local residents who they’d rather leave their kids alone with, a gay couple or a Catholic priest. I didn’t give a flying fuck who I offended in the process.
Nathan did care; he’d boarded the “you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar” train.
“I love you, Ash. So fucking much. We’re gonna make it.”
I drew another deep breath and nodded once. “I love you too. We’ll get there.”
“One hour. You promised one hour.”
I chuckled and kissed his hand. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but you yawned.”
“Because I’ve worked all day,” I laughed.
I pulled him close and kissed his temple next. Sure, I’d rather be home, cuddling it up on our couch with takeout, than standing in line to enter a kink club. But…we’d promised each other to make more of an effort to explore BDSM. It’d sort of become an afterthought since we’d moved to Boston.
Back in Philly, we’d found a decent community. Nathan had taken classes in kinbaku. He’d even taken college courses to learn more about nerves and whatnot. We had books on triage care and anatomy in our bookcase.
I’d been his test subject plenty of times.
Meanwhile, I wasn’t sure where I landed. I already had the best sex of my life with Nate. Man, did we go at it sometimes, with both of us coming out the other side with bruises and scrapes.
Even though Daddykink reeled me in—in theory—the thought of exploring playtime with others tied a noose around my neck. But eventually, we’d have to give it a go. Nathan was coming to realize that he wanted to explore dominance too, which wasn’t surprising. He didn’t have a submissive bone in him, and he could be a control freak.
After what felt like two fucking days, we entered the club and headed straight for the bar.
We were here to observe, nothing else.
The progressive metal wasn’t too loud, thankfully. We didn’t even have to yell for the bartender to hear us.
Different stations were set up around the club, hosting dynamics that engaged in breath play, predicament bondage, beatings, group sex, and whatever the fuck they were doing in stall four.
Sometimes, I worried that this was more of a lifestyle goal for Nate. For me, vanilla would always come first. I was drawn to kink, but I didn’t require it in order to be happy.
“Let’s go sit over there.” He spoke over the music and pointed to an empty table close to the wall.
I followed him with my beer, side-eyeing the kinksters who stared at me.
Did I have something on my face?
