Love After First Night

Chapter 2: A Romantic Interim

It's now almost 10:00pm, following the enjoyable wedding festivities. As of now, both Trevor and I have met some people, formed a friendship with the newly-weds, indulged in some fine cuisine, and even shared a dance for the first time to countless old-school but timeless romantic hits. I've also managed to reconcile with Katrina's family, finally becoming friends with Priscilla, and learning the hard way that her mother has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. I guess some things have changed over the years, after all.

At the moment, Trevor and I are riding the methodically slow elevator up to our twelfth floor hotel room at the high-end Plum Tree Country Club. An endless loop of generic elevator music is playing subtly in the background. It doesn't bother me at the moment, but I'm almost 99.9% positive I'll be humming it later on.

"Some wedding, huh?" Trevor asks out of the blue.

"You bet. I have absolutely no words to describe how ecstatic I am right now." I reply, trying my best to sound excited despite how bone-tired I am.

"Yeah, I guess being reunited with a close friend after so many years can do that to you." Trevor replies, before letting out a content sigh, not unlike the ones he usually lets out after a romp between the sheets, "Man, I've never eaten a prime-rib like that before. Then again, that's the first time I've ever had prime-rib. It's gotta be one of my new favorite foods, and most likely one of the only non-Italian foods on that list."

He does raise a good point. Even though I'm the superior cook between the two of us, most of my repertoire admittedly consists of Italian food, given my heritage. I briefly blush, but I soon get serious as another realization strikes me.

"And speaking of the refreshments at the wedding, I hope you realize how reckless you were being, drinking those three glasses of champagne." I say.

"What's the big deal?" Trevor asks, "Both of us have unexpired driver's licenses."

"Yes, but between the two of us, you're the only one who registered as the driver at the rental car center." I explain, "If we weren't in such a small, quiet town, we could've gotten pulled over. Sure, we didn't get caught, but still you should be careful about this in the future."

"My apologies. I'll remember next time." Trevor replies.

I soften again at the apology, my mind immediately jumping back to the sigh he'd let out just a few moments ago. It makes me think back to an idea for a romantic scenario I've been envisioning in the back of my head for the past six months or so: Trevor would come home from a busy day of work, exhausted and stressed. I would arrive home much sooner than him, with enough time to make him something wonderful to eat (either something of his choice, or a surprise - I'm still not sure about that part). The food would work its magic, changing his mood from down-in-the-dumps to happy and content. We would enjoy our meal together, I'd clean up after both of us without help, and then I'd lightly drag Trevor into the bedroom and service him passionately. Just for the sake of showing him how much I care about his well-being, and with the only pleasure I got in return being the satisfaction of knowing that I'd be making him happy.

However, the reason why this idea is in the back of my head is because Trevor is simply too low-maintenance, and I don't have a submissive enough personality. At this very moment, Trevor is well-fed and in a good mood, effectively doing half of my job for me. I've heard some people say that the best route to a man's heart is through his stomach, but in my personal opinion, the second best route is through his genitalia. And tonight, I intend to take both routes.

When we finally arrive at Room 1287, I don't hesitate to enact my plan. Upon locking the door, I shove Trevor against the wall and start making out with him heatedly, rubbing him vigorously through his slacks at the same time. He's clearly taken by surprise at first - case in point, the room key drops to the floor with an audible clack when the embrace begins - but soon enough he starts to reciprocate my actions. Without disconnecting my lips, I open my eyes so I can remove his sport-coat and belt, followed by wrestling with the top buttons on his shirt. My left hand is already burning with pain from my act of pleasuring him, but I nevertheless use it to roughly tug down his slacks. Now that he's in nothing but a white undershirt, matching briefs, and his skinny black necktie, I gently pull on the latter so I can guide him across the carpeted floor.