Give Me Your Hand {Sequel To Christofer D. And Jordan W. Fan Fiction}

Scene Twenty-Eight: Indecision

Scene Twenty-Eight:

"What is this?" Jordan whispered, his throat growing increasingly dry while his eyes became wet with tears. The papers in his hands were thick and the print was so tiny, yet he couldn't help the lurch of his heart.

Christofer leaned over his shoulder to get a good look, before letting out a gasp of air through his parted lips.

Katelyn laughed, placing little Nate on her hip to help his wriggling form grow more comfortable. She could feel her husbands hands wrap around her waist, his smile pressing into the back of her neck. "Read it, stupid."

With trembling hands and a shaky voice, Jordan let his eyes fester upon the first printed lines. Each word was branded in his mind, and on his heart.

He was speechless. There was really no other way to describe it, there were no words that could pass through the large lump in his throat. None.

Thankfully, Katelyn provided the words for him. "We thought about it," she mumbled, looking over her shoulder to Keegan. "And decided that you two have been so good with our son, and we now understand the complete joy and happiness he provides for us - that I'm willing to be your surrogate to give you a child you two well deserve."

"Katelyn," Jordan said, trailing off. "You can't possibly offer this to us, it's just too much."

"Oh shut it." She demanded, rolling her eyes. "This is our wedding gift to you, so you better accept it. Or so help me, Jordan." She casted a glance down at her son looking at her innocently, flicking his tongue out of his mouth. "You're just lucky that he's here, or I would kick your butt into the next century."

Jordan looked down at the already signed papers, all that was left was the scribble of him and his husband's signatures - such a simple request, but it seemed too drastic to even think about jotting down their names now. He needed time: time to reflect on if he thought he could really father a child.

It was one thing to fantasize about it and another to see it unravel before his very eyes. Jordan knew that tonight he needed to have a discussion with his husband about this.

As if already reading his mind, Christofer looked over at him with a hopeful smile before grabbing at his free hand. "Thank you," he directed towards the couple anxiously awaiting their answer. "We'll definitely think about it on the flight to Hawaii."

Katelyn nodded sympathetically. "I think it's time we started celebrating, don't you?" She began walking towards the open doors to the reception, already smelling the divine food and hearing the loud music. It almost made Jordan want to follow her, to forget about the bomb she had just dropped on him - to dance in his husband's arms and wonder about their honeymoon.

He should be dreaming over the crystalline waters and sandy beaches. The fruity drinks and scandalous hula skirts, ones he wouldn't mind seeing his new husband flaunting around their room in.

Christofer took the papers from the tight grip his husband held them in, quietly relaxing the strained muscles before tucking the thick pages into his back pocket. "Come on," he whispered, tugging Jordan's hand towards his body and engulfing him into his arms. "We have a wedding to celebrate over. Forget everything else, just be here, with me."

Jordan couldn't help the swoon that triggered after those words, his knees buckling and spine tingling. He felt the words lap at his skin before pulling him in tighter into the embrace, like the waves of the ocean.

He cajoled through his husband's wishes, following after him past the French doors and into the dark room. There were hushed whispers, laughing people, flashes of photography - but everything stopped once the duo came hand in hand into their line of view. A spotlight shot down from the ceiling, cascading the couple in light. Jordan held a hand to his eyes, but could feel his lips lifting into a smile at the catcalls and hollers.

The voice over the speakers announced their titles, bringing forth a set of applause and cheers throughout the ballroom. And before he knew it, Jordan's feet were tapping along the wooden dance floor.

Jordan's heart rate immediately spiked. "Don't make me do this," he whispered vehemently. "Not with all these people watching."

Christofer gave him a lazy smile. "Nobody is paying attention to your feet, babe. Follow my lead, I wont lead you astray." He clasped their hands together, kissing each pair of knuckles before awaiting their song.

The luster and rhythm of Frank Sinatra's voice surrounded the couple on the dance floor. His signature love song flowing endlessly through the boys' veins, spurring on their sway.

"I'm going to kill you," Jordan said softly, circling his hands around his lover's neck.

Christofer placed a chaste kiss to his cheek, before nuzzling him. "Now that's not very nice. What happened to all your flowery, heart-felt words of love?"

"They're gone, along with my self-esteem." Jordan mumbled.

Christofer began to really make them move, starting with the motions. He pulled his left foot back, astonished as Jordan's foot replaced it quickly. His haste did not go unnoticed.

Christofer couldn't help the wide smile on his face as he watched his husband's screw up with concentration, focusing on placing his feet in the right spots. With his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, he was too preoccupied with the dance steps than on his own husband's newly intentions.

With a dramatic sweep, Christofer was able to lower his lover over his arm and bow him. Before placing a passionate kiss upon his lips in time with the ending of the song, the saxophone slowly trailing off.

The applause was deafening, but it couldn't be overheard from the blood pounding in Jordan's eardrums. He could feel his cheeks blazing with heat, a tell-tale sign of his embarrassment. "You better enjoy your clean face for now," he teased. "Because once we taste the cake, you can count on some frosting in your eyebrows."

Christofer's smile never wavered as he lithely lifted his husband up and back into his arms. "I wouldn't want anything else."