THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Mitchell

Written by Lady Poetess
egiggles at moose-mail.com
http://www.asstr.org/~bbp

Please do not reproduce on any website without permission. This
story has no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.

ONE

Mitchell Whitbaker Pileggi was a big man. No, really, that wasn't
a reference to his dick size, although he had no complains in that
department. His physical form dominated every room he was in, for
his six feet four height was usually unmatched by anyone else in
the room (he didn't hang around basketball players much, by the
way). His broad shoulders and muscular build made intimidation his
second name.

But really, he was a nice man. His temper was always even and he
cried at movies sometimes. Sometimes. He just didn't like to smile
much. Somehow his dislike of smiling made almost everyone he came
in contact with treat him as if he was a lit dynamite stick.

Completing his intimidating fa‡ade was his hirsuteness. It was bad
enough that his hands were giant paws, but he had to have hair
bursting out of his shirtsleeve edges as well. Long legs, long
arms, bulky body, and a well-developed and finely chiseled upper
body, he was too bulky to be considered slim yet not too bulky to
fit the bodybuilder stereotype.

Naturally, he had difficulties fitting in. He stood out like a
sore thumb.

Stuck now in the airport, he was grateful for his height and
intimidating fa‡ade, however. It was no problem getting the
harassed woman behind the counter to get him a hotel room tonight.
His flight - all the flights - was delayed until further notice no
thanks to an unexpected thunderstorm this evening. Hell, the phone
lines were down, and his cell phone couldn't get through to his
daughter Myrna Lynne to tell her that he would be delayed.

Of course, she would probably deduce it should she watch the
weather news on TV, but Myrna Lynne was getting married to some
fellow and she was getting into the preparations like an army
general. The last Mitch wanted was to her and her mother - Mitch's
ex - Amber to worry.

He was making to leave when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Biting
his lips in irritation for all he wanted was a long hot soak in a
bathtub, he turned, and his unlit cigarette fell from his lips.

"Oh, sorry," the handsome stranger said. "I thought you were
someone I knew."

Mitch didn't make to pick up his fallen cigarette. He couldn't, in
that brief second, speak. When he was younger, he had a full-blown
case of infatuation over the craggy, ruggedly handsome faces of
cowboys in western movies such as Clint Eastwood, Gary Cooper, and
Alan Ladd. This man standing before him came close, his handsome,
stern face a beautiful tapestry of hard edges and lines, as if a
careful artist had lovingly sculpted him. He was tall, thin while
looking fit and strong, and - god, his face. Mitch could stare at
the man for hours like he was doing now.

The stranger reminded Mitch of those last brave courageous heroes
in his favorite western and adventure movies. And now, when the
stranger was smiling in sheepish embarrassment at his gaffe, Mitch
felt his own lips tug upwards in response.

"Nah, no problem," he said, feeling most self-conscious of the
heavy knot in his throat, a product of instantly rising lust and
attraction. "Just tell me you mistook me for a good friend." God,
he was sprouting nonsense now. He could only rubbed his hand
against the back of his neck and hoped he wasn't making a fool of
himself. He was usually better at this; calmer and more self-
assured. Not like this, feeling never more aware of his large size
and awkwardly huge paws and feet. It was as if all those years of
he actually taking ballet classes to enable him to move silently
and gracefully had just evaporated at the sight of this man.

He was stunned.

He had a full-blown erection right here, right now.

And then the other grinned, really grinned, showing beautiful
white teeth and rubbed the back of his neck in self-conscious
embarrassment. "I thought you were someone I knew. Biggish fellow
and - " he shrugged sheepishly.

"It's okay," Mitch said, correctly deducing the other man's gaffe.
"I like my hair this way," he said, running a hand through his
bald scalp. "I shave it. I'm not going bald." He was babbling now.
Watch him humiliate himself entirely before a stranger. Mitch
Pileggi, no-nonsense hotshot accountant, was fast losing it.

"Why don't you let me buy you a drink? Besides, it's not as if we
have anyplace to go," the man offered.

Just what Mitch was hoping, really.



The man's name was Mitch Pileggi. Robert Doyle Patrick couldn't
stop staring, but he hoped he wasn't doing it too obviously. At
fifty, he was really too sensible to be ogling, but he couldn't
help it. Mitch was. big. With that wide expanse of shoulders and
solid muscles that threatened to burst out of the white shirt
Mitch was wearing, he was sexy. Actually, `sexy' was too mundane a
word. The man was perfect: solid muscles, hints of hirsuteness
peeking from collar and sleeves, and a regal handsome face that
was mesmerizing.

As much as he loathed to admit it, he had been wracking his brain
for an excuse, any excuse, to touch that man. Anywhere - he didn't
care. He wanted to feel the man's hairy arms under his palm, to
feel the fluid movements of the bulging biceps under that smooth
skin, and he wanted to follow the hard contours of the man's chest
with his hands to discover if it was as hard as he thought. Or
maybe it would be hard, with soft, supple skin that made a perfect
cushion for his head.

Patrick's fingers itched on their own accord to - touch, he
guessed - and he had to curl them around the beer jug handle.

Mitch was speaking in that low, masculine bass voice of his, and
Patrick couldn't help but to feel goosebumps on his skin at the
sound. He bit back a grin as he watched from the corner of his
eyes at people passing by: yes, they couldn't resist, men or
women, giving Mitch a look. There was something about Mitch - an
indefinable solidarity, a tangible sexual exudation. Mitch Pileggi
was not only a physically dominating presence, he was a fucking
sexy one. Hence Patrick didn't know whether to be charmed or
amused at Mitch's palpable lack of self-esteem where his size was
concerned. The man slouched, although six feet two wasn't that
tall, it was only his solid musculature that added to the illusion
of greater height. Also, Mitch sat still, a posture of
guardedness, as if he was afraid that his large hands would tip
over a glass or break something.

And paradoxically, Mitch just exuded an almost feline grace in the
little movements he made. The tilt of his head, the way he turned
slightly with one hand lifted to catch a waiter's attention (and
the way the shirt stretched taut across that chest - oh yeah,
baby), and the way his hands worked the fork, knife, and spoon
over the late dinner of fried chicken.

Elegant hands, Patrick thought. He could fall in love with these
hands.

"So," Mitch said. "What brings you to this part of the country?"
He pushed a piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed silently as
he watched Patrick.

Patrick blinked. "What? Oh yes, my nephew's getting married."

"My daughter's getting married," Mitch said later.



Mitch laughed. He fought to tamper down his laughter - people were
staring - with partial success. Patrick was laughing too, and he
was more restrained, classy, and poised. And Mitch only felt like
a loud, vulgar lummox, a feeling he tried so hard to chase.
Patrick, when he laughed, was gorgeous. The square, rugged face
lit up, and the shallow dimpling of the edges of Patrick's lips
that was irresistible.

"Yeah, kids," Mitch offered gamely. Patrick had been shelling out
anecdotes of his raising his nephew Colby. The man apparently had
been single-handedly taking care of Colby since twenty-plus years
ago. His time with his own daughter had been nothing more than
weekend visits, and he had nothing to contribute. Again, his
shame. "I hardly saw my daughter," he confessed. "And when I
wanted to, she's all grown up and not needing me around anymore."

And he found himself telling Patrick his story. How he married
Amber when he was twenty and they both too young, and how they
parted two years later because something was wrong. That something
was Mitch's sexual confusion. He came out of the closet during the
late stages of his divorce, and Amber was there to support him.
They still remained best friends today, although Amber had married
a man who truly cared for her the way she should be cared for.

"I never told Myrna Lynne why Amber and I divorced," Mitch said.
"Amber thought it is up to me to tell her, and I just don't -
dare," he finished. "I mean, I have had men in my bed after the
divorce, and I had a great time, I assure you, but I just don't
know how Amber will feel, and I don't want to spoil our
relationship." He sighed. "Sorry, Patrick. I mean, if you're
uncomfortable with me telling you I'm gay and all."

"No," Patrick said. "Actually, I'm just as much in the closet with
Colby as you are with your daughter."

Mitch sat up higher, stunned. And maybe feeling hopeful too.

"Although I envy you. You get to screw around with your daughter
kept with her mum," Patrick said gently. "I have to find ways to
keep Colby ignorant. Which is why I never got laid often."

Mitch looked at his hand which was an inch away from Patrick's on
the table, and it would be so easy to cover it with his hand. Only
that, looking at Patrick's long slender fingers and his own large
paw, he felt squeamish at the thought. He didn't think he could
bear it if Patrick retreated in disgust.

Maybe it was time for a dignified retreat. "What's the time?" he
asked, looking at his watch. "Two am," he noted with surprise. Had
they been chatting and laughing like old friends for five hours?
"Well, I think we'd best get back to our hotel rooms and get some
sleep."

"Okay, see you," Patrick said, his face inscrutable. But he made
no move to stand up.

"Aren't you going back to your room?" Mitch couldn't help but to
ask.

"I don't have a reservation. Can't get one - everywhere's fully
booked," he added unnecessarily. "But it's okay, I can just get
some coffee and wait until morning."

"No," Mitch said, offering his hand. "Come on."

"What?" Patrick looked at Mitch's hand in surprise.

"Sleep in my room. I'm sure the bed's big enough for the both of
us," Mitch said. He would regret this, maybe. But he wanted this
too. Any minute longer with Patrick would be a minute he would
cherish tonight.

"You are a big man," Patrick murmured.

"Then you can sleep on me," Mitch said quietly.

"Sure," Patrick answered, catching Mitch off-guard. He smiled
almost shyly. "Okay."

The most beautiful smile, Mitch decided. Patrick's smile was the
most beautiful he'd ever seen.


TWO

Patrick had never been this nervous since his first time. His
fingers trembled as he missed a button on his shirt, and he
swallowed when Mitch walked out of the bathroom. There was a
crooked smile on Mitch's face as he tossed the wet towel from his
naked upper body carelessly and looked at Patrick. "Second
thoughts?" Mitch asked.

Patrick shook his head as he pulled his shirt off. Mitch's naked
torso was gorgeous. Lethal even. His heart was pounding so
thunderously that he could barely hear above the rush of blood in
his head. Or maybe it was the rush of blood leaving his head to
fill his fast hardening cock.

The silence in the room was palpable. Patrick looked to see Mitch
studying him, his own nervousness mirrored on Mitch's face.

Still, he took a step forward, and Mitch met him there.

Mitch kissed him, a tentative parting of lips on lips, and the
man's hands moved to cup Patrick's cheeks as he deepened the kiss.
Patrick closed his eyes - but Mitch gently pulled at his eyelids.
"I want to see your eyes," Mitch whispered. And Patrick nodded,
feeling as if he was thirty years younger and in the hands of his
first - no, he was never this nervous with his first. Mitch's
presence and the overpowering sense of security and strength he
exuded - Patrick had never felt this safe and protected before. He
never had to, but - oh, what was he thinking? He couldn't
remember. Not when this surge of lust took over when Mitch kissed
him again.

He opened his mouth and thrust forward his tongue even as Mitch
plundered his mouth. As they tasted each other, Patrick's hands
burned with the feel of Mitch's back, running down the supple,
muscular wall of flesh, and pushing down into Mitch's waistband.
And Mitch moved his lower body away slightly, letting Patrick push
his trousers down.

Mitch wouldn't let Patrick suck his cock unless he got to repay
the favor at the same time. Hence he lay back on the bed and
watched, his blue eyes dark with anticipation, as Patrick climbed
over him. His mouth opened to engulf Patrick's cock even as
Patrick's lips closed over Mitch's.

Patrick was drunk with pleasure - Mitch's cock wasn't long, but it
was thick and caused Patrick to stretch his jaw until he ached.
Still, the taste and the feel of the throbbing penis in his mouth,
hot and alive, its veins pulsing as his tongue abraded the shaft
as it threatened to spew forth the very juices Patrick thirsted
for - Patrick wanted this. As he thrust his hips down, reveling in
the sensation of his cock enveloped in the warm, wet quim-like
heaven of Mitch's mouth, he went down on Mitch's impressive
erection. Even the feel of Mitch's pubic hair on his nostrils, and
the smell of the man's skin, sweat, cock, and balls - all were
intoxicatingly sexual and Mitch. And Patrick, drunk on Mitch, he
didn't even recognize his low, savage moan of need, and he was
barely cognizant of his bruising thrusting - repaid more than
equally by Mitch - only the white-hot wracking climax that swept
through him what seemed heartbeats later.



Mitch sighed and lifted his arm to let Patrick lay his head on his
chest. He was used to his lovers doing this. For some reason they
liked that a lot - they told him so many times that he made a
wonderful pillow. He watched, bemused, as Patrick sighed and
adjusted his position until he found the perfect spot - somewhere
over Mitch's left pectoral. Then Patrick released his breath and
made himself comfortable sprawled on Mitch.

The last guy who used Mitch as a cushion irritated Mitch. But
Patrick was the right weight without making Mitch feel suffocated,
and the man just fit right. There was no other way to explain
this. He liked being Patrick's cushion. His sigh was a mirror of
Patrick's contentment. Threading his fingers through Patrick's
hair, he looked down at Patrick's sleepy face.

A thought struck him. "Are you involved with someone else?" he
asked Patrick.

"Now?"

"Yeah, now."

"No." Patrick looked up at Mitch. "You look relieved."

"It's just a thought," Mitch said, absently inhaling Patrick's
hair, a scent of sweat and something sweeter, something
intangible. Maybe he was just too sleepy to be rational.



"Morning." Patrick looked up at the sight of Mitch pulling on his
shirt. Damn, that hairy, tightly muscled chest - just what he
needed - or not - in the morning. He stretched and lazily
considered not waking up. Alas, he was a practical man. He had a
wedding preparation to attend. "What time is it?"

"Good morning," Mitch said. "I've kept the water heater on for
you." He surprised Patrick by bending over to kiss the latter. "Go
on, I'll wait for you. We'll get some quick breakfast and dash
down to the airport."

Ah yes, the airport. Where he would probably never see Mitch
again, and where he would resume being stoic, practical Robert
Douglas Patrick. Think of Colby, he thought - think of that and he
would get through the day.

Yet his eyes strayed once more to Mitch before he closed the
bathroom door, and the sight hurt his heart. Only this time, it
felt right to hurt.

An hour later, they had their confirmation. Flight at 9 am sharp,
to the same destination as well. "Imagine if it's your daughter
marrying my nephew," Patrick chuckled as he watched his luggage
hoisted on the conveyer belt.

It hit him then. And Mitch too, judging from the stunned look they
gave each other.

"Myrna Lynne Mulberry Jones," Mitch said.

"David Colburne." Patrick ran his fingers through his hair when
Mitch's words - and face - sank in. "Fucking shit, Mitch, our kids
are going to marry each other."



"It wouldn't change anything. We can do this," Mitch said as they
walked down the arrival lounge. "We'll just pretend we met each
other on the plane and that's all."

Patrick nodded. "Friends," he echoed.

They both didn't want to see the kids' upcoming marriage affected.
And they also didn't want their kids to know. Mitch looked at
Patrick and bit his lower lip in frustration. Even now, he wanted
Patrick. Their hot mutual blowjobs last night only whetted his
appetite slightly, and now, the sight of Patrick's rangy body made
his cock harden painfully. As if his hands had a life of their
own, his right arm closed around Patrick's shoulder.

"It's only a week until the wedding," Patrick said quietly.

Mitch took what Patrick offered like a lifeline. "Yeah," he said
agreeably.




THREE

Patrick looked at his reflection in the mirror and grinned. He
looked good, he decided. This was his first suit-and-tie ensemble.
It had been two days since he and Mitch were plunged into the
wedding hysteria, and being men, it was all they could do not to
have Amber lose her temper and kick them out of the house. The
endless procession of guest seating arrangements, floral orders,
endless checking and redecorating the wedding grounds, and other
bewildering process both Mitch and Patrick couldn't help but to
intrude upon made them all on a short fuse.

Finally, Colby sent Mitch and Patrick to town to get Robert fitted
for his tux. Mitch's careless remark of why Myrna Lynne couldn't
just have a small, simple wedding affair had Myrna Lynne actually
screaming in exasperation and Amber coming after him with a raised
handbag. Amber's husband, Tom, wisely sat back and grinned evilly
at the fleeing Mitch. He never liked Mitch that much, not
comfortable with Amber's friendship with her ex-husband.

It was pandemonium, and Patrick was glad to be out of it now,
albeit temporarily. And yes, having Mitch to himself was a good
thing too. In the magnificent mansion of Amber and her husband,
Mitch fit in perfectly with his familiarity with money and luxury.
Obviously that man wasn't born wanting. While he, Patrick, felt
discomfited with all this nice, showy trappings he was living in
at the moment. Hell, he had never worn a suit until now.

But Mitch took it all in stride. Patrick never had to say anything
- Mitch somehow understood. Patrick picked up the same spoon as
Mitch during dinner to avoid any gaffes yesterday, and the
embarrassment was kept to a minimum. Mitch knew Patrick didn't
want to embarrass Colby before his future in-laws, and Patrick was
indebted to him for that.

They had agreed not to let anything show. They were friends -
right? But Mitch had to fucking take his hand under the cover of
the table and rubbed his knuckles playfully and sensually, causing
Patrick to bite down a sigh of pleasure. It was as if Mitch was
taking every slight opportunity he had to touch Patrick, to remind
Patrick that after that week, he would want Patrick back in his
bed. As if he could forget, he thought.

"Lovely," Mitch said, walking up to Patrick. Without qualms, he
adjusted Patrick's bow. "There, you look gorgeous." He even dipped
his finger into Patrick's collar, that incorrigible rogue, and
rubbed the man's neck. "The collar's okay, not too tight," he said
unnecessarily. "You're gorgeous," he whispered only for Patrick's
ears.

"Thanks," Patrick whispered back, trying not to encourage the man.

"Fine. Now take them off," Mitch said.

The way he said it - with a low purr - damn, Patrick felt his cock
jump to life. He loosened his bow, and scowled into the mirror
when he saw Mitch not making a move to leave the changing room.
"You want them to tell our kids their fathers-in-law were fucking
in the changing room?" he asked, lifting a brow.

"Don't tempt me," Mitch said, grinning. However, he made to leave.

Patrick found Mitch signing the credit card receipt when he walked
out of the room. "I thought we are renting this," he asked.

"Nope, the rental store is at the end of the town. I'm buying you
this." Mitch, not caring who would look or take offense, lifted
his finger to Patrick's lips to silence the man. "My gift to you,
Patrick, that's all."

"I can't take this," Patrick started to say.

Mitch shrugged the man's protest aside as he picked up the suit
now carefully folded in a box. "I want you to wear this when I
fuck you later."

Patrick stared at the man, too surprised for words. Mitch only
pushed the box into Patrick's hands and pushed open the door for
the both of them, his grin firmly in place.

"This suit?" Patrick managed to ask when they were in the car.

"Yeah," Mitch said. "This suit." He reached over and rubbed his
hand along Patrick's thigh before touching the gearshift stick. It
was probably habitual and instinctive, that gesture. "Wanna stop
by a motel room?"

"Very, very tempting," Patrick said honestly. "But probably not
wise."

"Yes," Mitch agreed. "Not wise. Fuck."

Patrick grinned and looked out the window, but not before another
sidelong glance at Mitch.



Mitch came to his sense that night feeling warm breathing on his
neck. It took awhile to reorient himself, but his hands knew, even
before he realized whom he was holding, Patrick and strayed across
the man's sleeping face, touching the man's face gently.

He should gently ease Patrick off. They were seated on a couch in
the living room, supposedly to watch TV only to doze off on the
couch. All was quiet apart from the small creaks and sighs typical
of a large house and the soft snores of the man in his arms.
Somehow, in sleep and free from the self-imposed restrains of
thought, they had gravitated towards each other. How else could
Mitch explain how right it was to have Patrick's face resting on
his chest? There was a quiet calm in him, one he hadn't felt in a
long time, one that burst into warm spurts of - happiness? - with
each rise and fall of their chests. Hell, even their heartbeats
seemed to be in sync.

The last few days were the happiest of his life, he'd to admit.
Those long quiet walks with Patrick in the evenings, where they
talked about anything and everything, they made Mitch felt lighter
and freer than he'd ever felt before. Sometimes he felt as if he
was walking in a sappy, romantic movie. And he wondered if he was
falling in love. He touched Patrick's cheek as he, in a habit now
as common as breathing, inhaled Patrick's scent. Patrick was a
middling traveling salesman that sold anything depending on what
time of the year it was. His life had been easier since his nephew
landed a five-digit salary job after college, but he was still
uncomfortable with Mitch's lifestyle. Mitch wondered where would
he to take the man to at the end of the year. How about Bahamas?

Patrick gave a soft rumbled snort and snuggled closer onto Mitch.
Mitch gently lowered his body down until he was lying on the
couch, letting Patrick sleep on him easier. The man seemed to find
him some super comfortable cushion of sorts, Mitch thought in
bemusement. Not that he minded. Patrick, despite his height, was a
thin, rangy man that weighed almost nothing on Mitch. When Patrick
placed his hands, palms flat, on Mitch's shoulders and his right
thigh over Mitch's left leg, Mitch would lie here forever and let
Patrick sleep.

Yet the peace was broken when Patrick muttered something then, and
opened his eyes sleepily at Mitch. Mitch smiled, "Hi," he said.
"Have a nice sleep?"

"Yeah." Patrick made to sit up, but Mitch wouldn't let him. And
the man must have seen the gleam in Mitch's eyes, because he
licked his dry lips and settled back down. "What if they come down
for a glass of water?" he asked.

Mitch shrugged. "They can watch if they want."

"I didn't know you like that sort of thing," Patrick said, making
to unbutton Mitch's shirt.

"With you, I think I'll like anything. Including taking it up the
ass." Mitch chuckled at Patrick's startled face. "No, I haven't
done that before," he admitted. "I've been a big, macho top guy
all my life."

"So I will get to go where no man has ever been before," Patrick
said with an evil grin on his face. "Nice."

Mitch stopped Patrick's unbuttoning his shirt at the third button.
"I wanted to fuck you with you in a tux."

"But I'm wearing T-shirt and jeans," Patrick pointed out.

"So?" Mitch pushed Patrick up slightly and pulled his shirt off.
"Don't take that shirt off. Don't even move your pants any lower
than necessary. Oh yeah, like that," he said approvingly as
Patrick pushed his pants and briefs down to his knees, enough for
the latter to spread his legs. "Now come here."

Patrick gasped when Mitch turned him and pushed him face down onto
the couch. His initial instinctive struggles only reinforced his
belief that Mitch was fucking strong. The other man, completely
naked, loomed over him like a heavily muscled beast, that thick
penis poised to hurt - or pleasure - Patrick with one mighty
thrust. Then Mitch pushed Patrick's shirt up the man's back,
exposing the man's vulnerable buttocks.

And Patrick was barely ready when Mitch forcefully plunged deep.
His soft choked cry of pain was cut off by Mitch's hand closing
around his mouth. Another hand closed around Patrick's cock, and
the man began fisting Patrick's cock in his meaty hand along with
his hard, dry, relentless thrusts. It was obvious now how this
fetish of his illusion of vulnerability due to his nudity as
compared to Patrick's clothed state aroused Mitch to a fevered
pitch. But there was nothing gentle in the man's hard fucking, and
Patrick thought he would go mad from the maddening bruising of his
prostate by Mitch's cock. The Mitch was coming, his semen
ejaculating into Patrick's burning hole with each bruising thrust.

Patrick gasped for breath as he told Mitch, "It's fucking payback
time."

Mitch's hoarse cry was one of pleasure when Patrick mounted him
this time and that man's cock, while not as thick as Mitch's cock
it was much longer, forcefully pierced Mitch's hitherto unbreached
anus. Patrick felt fuck juices seeping down his thighs, causing a
soaking mess in the crotch of his pants that was increasingly made
wetter by the sweat of their skin. Mitch threw his head back,
reveling in the pleasure-pain of his first prostate banging, and
his powerful thighs clamped hard around Patrick as he pressed his
fingers in a bruising grip into Patrick's buttocks. Yes, yes, he
thought, this was what he could get used to. The pleasure pooling
at the base of his groin finally splintered - and coupled with the
burning abrasion of Patrick's trousers on the insides of his
tautly-clenched thighs - and with every muscle of his in hard
tensed straining, he felt the warm explosion in his loins. He
cried, and he arched his back, trying to find fulfillment. Then he
found it in the hot explosion at the base of his spine, so
powerful that it caused his senses to explode. He came in a
wracking orgasm, intensified by the feel of Patrick's climax
flooding his insides.



"How are you feeling?" Patrick asked later as he stood outside the
bathroom, looking at Mitch drying himself with a towel from the
doorway.

"A bit sore, but that'll do," Mitch said, wincing only slightly as
he took a step towards Patrick. "You're my first, Patrick. Be nice
to me."

Patrick's crooked grin was reassuring. "I will."

Mitch's fingertips brushed his as they passed each other. Patrick
held them for a second. "This is crazy," he finally said. "We are
behaving like two crazy teenagers."

"I don't have a problem with that," Mitch said pleasantly,
entwining his fingers with Patrick's. "I'm glad I met you at the
airport that night."

"Yeah, me too," Patrick said. "Look, you want to sleep in my room
for whatever's left of tonight?"

"What will we tell the kids?" But it was a token protest. Mitch
couldn't say no. He was already a goner.



FOUR

"Hello, Jeffrey Nordling's residence."

"Jason, it's Mitch here," the man said. "I'm at the airport.
Where's Jeff?"

"Mitch? Jeff's outside, barbecuing for the guests. Hold on, I'll
call him -"

"No need. Just tell him I'll be back tonight. The wedding was
great, and guess what? I came out of the closet and Myrna Lynne
only blinked and said, `Oh, that. That's old news, Dad. I pretty
well guessed that long ago.'"

"Uh, yeah," Jason Behr, Jeffrey Nordling's significant other said,
scratching his head in bewilderment. "I think I'll go get Jeff.
You are telling me things I think you'll regret later."

Mitch chuckled when he heard Jason yell for Jeff at the other end
of the line. Amber was right in a sense: he had greatly
underestimated his daughter. Same with Patrick: Colby didn't blink
an eye. "That doesn't change anything, Patrick," Colby had said,
"you are still my father that I never had." It all worked out
okay. Everyone hugged and the kids got married, and Mitch and
Patrick were now left to wonder where they would go now.

Where else but to New York, Mitch's home and where they would try
to make this work?

Jeffrey Nordling picked up the phone. "Hey, Mitch, son of a bitch,
how's the wedding?"

"Great," Mitch said. "I'll tell you guys all about it when I get
back." He caught sight of Patrick and smiled to the man. "I miss
you all, Jeff," Mitch told him.

"Yeah, yeah, you sentimental old sap. You want someone to pick you
up when you reach there?"

"No need. By the way, I met someone."

"Shoot me."

Mitch chuckled. "I met the most wonderful guy ever, and I'll be
bringing him over one of these days. Be nice to him. I have a
great feeling about us."

"Well, why the fuck not?" Jeff said cheerfully. "The more the
merrier. Can he bowl?"
