Title: SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY

Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: NC-17 

Word Count: 15,011 (total)
References/Spoilers: References to Donald's and Timothy's past (though most of Timothy's isn't canon!)
Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.

Summary: The guys set off on their honeymoon trip with a few twists and turns, and lots of romance. Sequel to "My Love, My Valentine" in the One Night Series.

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SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY

by

Candy Apple

One thing I'll say for Timmy's family - they sure have stamina. By the time we made our exit from the wedding reception, the little old aunts - who are actually great aunts - and Grandma were still sipping spiked punch and gabbing away, the cousins were still dancing, and Anne was doing the tango with Miguel. Yes, I swear, the freaking tango - she'd told Miguel she had a fantasy about doing the tango with a hot Latino man. After Timothy stopped choking from swallowing his punch down the wrong throat, Miguel obliged her. Since Manuel would rather be shot than ballroom dance, Miguel jumped at the chance.

And I thought I'd worn her out when she decided I should learn how to jitterbug. Thank God she didn't do anything bizarre like want me to swing her between my legs on the floor or hoist her up in the air (she's not that big, I could have done it, but I don't think Timmy would ever recover from seeing that). I do have to credit her with teaching me that I can dance fast without looking stupid. Of course, most of the other guests were halfway to tanked, and Mother Callahan and I weren't feeling any pain, either, so maybe we just didn't think we looked stupid. Timmy's mother is a wild Irish party girl in a Republican congressman's wife's body, and apparently a big Elvis fan. On the first notes of Jailhouse Rock, she was dragging me by the wrist toward the dance floor because she knew I was her best bet for being drunk enough and silly enough to do it. It's obvious Timmy gets his sense of mischief and his passion from her, though he has enough of his father in him to make him cover his eyes and down a full glass of champagne in a single gulp while we were dancing.

A limousine took us to the hotel, and our honeymoon suite. We held hands on the ride, but Timmy seemed quiet. I thought he'd be keyed up and excited, but instead, he seemed...off somehow. Our flight was rescheduled for the sixteenth, so we planned on spending an extra day at the hotel. That was good in a way, since it gave us some time the next day to visit with Timmy's family. After all that hassle to get them there, and his mother's visit being canceled over Christmas, it was good that he'd have a chance to enjoy hanging out with them a while.

The honeymoon suite was really nice. We had a sitting room, a nice big bedroom with a king size bed with satin sheets and a satin comforter. The bathroom had a big garden tub with a jacuzzi. There was a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket, a tray of strawberries dipped in different kinds of chocolate, and a nice supply of fat white candles, unlit, sitting on a tray on the dresser.

Timmy loosened his bow tie until it hung open, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He sat on the couch, and stared into space.

"Want some champagne?" I asked. I didn't like this. He was acting weird, and he wasn't talking. Did he regret...? I stood there a minute and closed my eyes. It was taking some doing, but I was working on not thinking he was too good for me, and not fearing that he'd wise up and dump me. I twisted my new wedding ring back and forth on my finger. I couldn't completely stifle the voice of self doubt in my head. "Did I do something wrong?"

He looked up at me a moment, then he looked back down and shook his head.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I sat next to him and took his hand.

"I guess I'm just really tired," he said, his voice shaky, but he kept his composure.

"Talk to me, Timmy." I touched his hair, let my hand come to rest on the back of his neck.

"I thought maybe my dad would call. Just to wish us well," he added, glancing up at me with a sad little smile. "He's never really been...hostile to me about being gay. It's been politics, mostly... So I thought even if he wouldn't come, he'd call. It's not like anyone had to know about that. It wouldn't have compromised him with his constituents just to say 'congratulations' on the phone."

"I'm sorry, honey. I wish he'd called you," I said, not knowing what to say to make him feel better, and wishing I could get back in the Hummer, go back to Virginia, and slug that old asshole right in the chops. But getting mad and telling him what an asshole his father was wouldn't make him feel better. And that's all I wanted to do. I kissed his cheek.

"I didn't mean to do this...to drag everything down," he said, his voice husky. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

I did. He was tired. All the stress and the planning and the worrying was finally over, the wedding came off without a hitch, we were married, and now he was crashing. I pulled him into my arms and just sat there and held him. There were a few hitches in his breathing, but he wasn't really crying. It was just us, and I wanted him to relax and let down with me.

"We made it, Timmy. We're married, everybody who mattered, made it here, and it was beautiful. It's okay to let down and relax now. It's just us here."

"I'm really happy," he said, though his voice was still shaky.

"I know, honey," I replied, smiling. Then he looked at me smiling and he laughed softly.

"Yes, you can tell, huh?" he asked, shaking his head, still smiling. "Maybe you're right. I'm just tired, and the stress is off..." He shrugged, and then he settled against me, his head on my shoulder. It melted my heart, and I kissed his hair, resting my cheek against it. I loved him so intensely at that moment that I never could have put it into words. Once in a while, he puts his head on my shoulder like that, and waits for me to make something better. Timmy's strong and secure and things don't really get to him that badly most of the time. It means everything to me that when the world does manage to beat him up enough that he needs comfort, he turns to me, and even if I don't have anything wise and profound to say, being in my arms makes him feel better.

"I thought maybe seeing me doing the jitterbug with your mother traumatized you," I said, and he laughed out loud.

"It did, but I just drank some more and it got better."

I laughed at that, and I could feel him relaxing against me...more so than just letting the stress go. He was almost dozing off to sleep. I was tired, too, but not so tired that I wasn't planning on a little wedding night activity. I looked down at Timmy, and he looked so tired, even a little pale. While the wedding guests and I had been sleeping off our trip, he'd been up early and on the task of making sure everything went smoothly. He'd only had a few hours' sleep after I got home, and he'd worn himself out working ahead and getting everything done before the ceremony, and then sweat bullets with each snowflake that hit the ground. I didn't have the heart to put more pressure on him for us to have some kind of life-changing sex worthy of a wedding night.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's go to bed." I guess he could tell by the tone of my voice that I meant for sleep, not sex.

"It's our wedding night," he protested, rubbing at his eyes.

"It's the first night of a whole lifetime of nights. Besides, there's a lot to be said for some wild, hot, sweaty morning sex, when we both have our energy back."

"I'm really tired," he finally admitted.

"Me, too, honey," I said, though I wasn't nearly as tired as I was letting on.

We stripped off our monkey suits, used the fancy lovers' bathroom, yanked the satin comforter back and crawled in the bed in our shorts, and curled up together, safe and warm and unconcerned about the weather or interstate travel or weddings. We shifted around a little until Timmy spooned around me, and our right hands were joined. I could see the gold bands shining in the darkness.

"I love our rings," he whispered in my ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too, honey. I'm glad you're my husband."

"I like the sound of that," he whispered back, kissing my shoulder.

"You know what else?" I asked.

"What?"

"I really like red velvet cake." I smiled when he chuckled softly. I closed my eyes and relished the warmth of him surrounding me, and let his steady, even breathing lull me into sleep.

********

When I woke up, it was still dark, and Don was sleeping soundly next to me. We'd drifted apart a little as we slept, and I took advantage of the situation to lie there and watch him. I loved his profile...his long lashes, that perfect nose, his sweet lips, his strong chin. He's so good to me, and always was, right from the start. He didn't even flinch at starting our wedding night with sleep, because he could see that I was tired. I smiled and leaned over him, kissing his lips, waiting for him to open those beautiful eyes of his. He didn't respond. Okay, fair enough. I'd made him wait, so now he was playing hard to get.

I slipped under the covers and moved down, then carefully eased his shorts down off his hips. For someone who was sleeping, he was surprisingly cooperative in lifting his butt off the mattress a bit so I could dispense with the underwear. I took him in my mouth, and if I could have, I would have smiled at his little gasp and the way his body arched just a bit. He pulled the covers back and smiled at me, running his fingers into my hair that probably already resembled a porcupine. He urged me up, toward him, and I hated to release him from my mouth. He was getting hard, and I had such plans to drive him crazy.

When we kissed, it was with such passion and intensity that it almost startled me. Our tongues slid together, made love to each other, our hands were everywhere we could reach, and before long, I found myself on my back with Donald's weight on me, our erections rubbing together, creating a maddening friction that made me moan in pleasure and frustration. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. Then Donald's voice was hot against my ear.

"I want to make love to my husband," he said in a voice that was husky with passion and emotion, his body between my legs, his hand on my hip. I didn't answer him in words. I tightened my thighs around his hips, arched up against him, kissed him like I'd never have the chance to kiss him again. I ran my hands up and down his back, hoping I wasn't scratching at his beautiful, fair skin.

I don't know how he got lube, but it must have been on the night stand or in the bed or somewhere, because a slick finger was inside me, lubricating and stretching and teasing me, his mouth on my chest now, sucking my nipples, then two fingers inside me, rubbing over my prostate, making me cry out, afraid that I'd come before he was inside me.

I didn't have to wait long, because he prepared himself, then pressed against my opening. As hot and intense as it was, he slowed down now, and carefully eased inside me, letting me adjust to him, letting me get comfortable with being filled by him. For a moment there in the shadows, we met each other's eyes, and he touched my face with such tenderness...

I turned and kissed his palm, covered his hand with mine, kissing my way up to his wrist, pulling him down on me, wrapping my legs around him, sounds coming from me that I didn't even know I was making when he started rocking inside me. We'd made love every way we could think of before this, but it was still different. I held him close and kissed whatever part of him I could reach, ran my hands into his soft blond hair, bore down on him as he thrust up into me, wanting him as deep inside me as he could go. He sucked on my neck, and there was something about him taking me like that, marking me at the same time that drove me over the edge. I was gasping, shouting, crying out, his thrusts harder and faster now and rubbing mercilessly over my prostate, the pleasure of it almost painful because it was so much, so good, and I wanted every thrust more than the last, and I never wanted to come because when I did, it would be over.

I did come, and Donald wasn't far behind me. He shouted, called out my name, or some ragged version of it, coming deep in me, thrusting a few last desperate, uneven times before he stopped, lying there on my chest, his heart pounding against mine. After we'd caught our breath a few moments, he eased out of me, and we tried to make our embrace tight enough to make up for the lost connection.

It seemed like we should say something, but nothing really expressed what we were feeling, so we lay there and touched each other, caressing, exploring intimate places even though the fire was down to a simmer now until our bodies recovered. We kissed for what seemed like forever in the best possible way. The way I thought people would only kiss on their honeymoon. We still lie in bed sometimes after we've made love and kiss like that - letting our mouths do what our bodies are too spent to keep on doing.

"I had some things I wanted to say to you when we were alone," Don finally whispered, holding my hand, resting his cheek against it.

"Your vows were beautiful. They meant everything to me."

"I didn't write - "

"That's why they meant so much. They came right from your heart and you didn't need to rehearse anything."

"I just wanted you to know that you turn me on in ways I never thought anybody could. The way you move, the way you smile, sometimes just listening to your voice...it gets me so hot for you, but it's not just that. When we make love, it's like I need that so much because I couldn't figure out a way to tell you...what I feel for you." His voice dipped even lower on those last words, and it was like he couldn't quite meet my eyes. "Touching you like this, even that...it doesn't feel like there's any way you could know how much..."

"Donald, darling, you show me every day we're together," I said, kissing him, caressing his hair. "You're the one I fantasized about and started to think didn't exist. The way you touch me, all the things you do for me... I am so lucky to have you, baby," I whispered, kissing him again. "I love you so much."

"Maybe you should show me," he suggested, a little smile curving his mouth. I didn't want to give up looking into his eyes, the warmth or the intimacy between us to let him turn over. I took my time kissing his chest, playing with those hard little nipples, rubbing my cheek against the soft skin of his stomach, kissing him there, teasing his navel with my tongue.

I urged his legs up, kissed his thighs, looked lovingly into his eyes...and groped around for the lube. Usually I was the one who stashed lube in strange places, just in case, but he had me on this one. With a big grin on his face, he handed me the tube.

"I stuck it under the pillows before we went to sleep...just in case," he said, flexing his eyebrows. I moved up and kissed him soundly. He was just so cute and so sweet that I had to kiss him. And kiss him some more. I played with him, teasing the edge of his opening with my slippery finger, making him sigh and wiggle, wanting more. I kissed the underside of his cheeks, sucked the sensitive spot behind his balls, and slid my finger inside him, gently stretching. I could tell how much he wanted me by the way he was bearing down on my finger, and the little sounds he was making, so I didn't prolong the wanting. I used plenty of slippery stuff, and eased inside him until we were joined.

Face to face like we were, I could still kiss him, take him in my arms, press our bodies close. His hand was in my hair, holding me in place so we kept kissing, his other hand was running down my back to my ass, squeezing, like he wanted to pull me into him impossibly deeper. I managed to angle my head back a few moments, watching his head falling back, his lips parted, little moans escaping as I moved in and out of him. I sped up our pace a bit, and the look he gave me was nothing short of incendiary. Our kisses were more intense, our caresses more desperate, and our shared cries and shouts rose as we shared a hot, passionate, eager pace that finally led us to a climax that felt like it went on forever in waves of ecstasy until we both finally came back to reality, lying in a heated, sweaty embrace.

He clung to me and I sheltered him with my body, feeling strangely protective of him after we made love like that. Maybe it's because I know that I'm the only one who really sees his innermost feelings, the only one he really shows himself to, with no walls. For as reticent as he can be about his past, about things that are deep down inside him that hurt...he never holds back his love or tries to act tough with me. He's gentle and giving and open and somehow, I've always known that meant a remarkable act of trust for him. It all made sense, later, when I knew why he was so fragile inside, but back then, I had to take it on faith, as just a part of him. My faith in Donald has always been richly rewarded with a love that is so pure, true, and unshakable that I am in awe of it. Of him.

The next time we were really aware of our surroundings, it was light outside, and there was some sunshine, too. The strawberries were a bit squishy, but they were still tart and sweet with their chocolate coating. We had champagne and the tasty candy-coated fruit while we frolicked in the big garden tub, enjoying the jacuzzi. Donald quickly taught me some positively wicked ways you could enjoy those jets until he made me come from strategically aimed pulses of water.

We ordered an absurd array of food from room service, bundled up in the hotel's fluffy plush robes, and cuddled up together on the bed, feeding each other, making out, joking around, and watching old movies on TV. I called my mother and told her we'd meet them in the dining room for a late lunch, and she agreed to that with a little giggle that made me blush all the way into my hairline, according to Don.

I stretched out next to him and put my head on his shoulder and wrapped my arm around his middle. He ruffled my hair and looked at me with so much love that it made me feel warm all over. So I played footsy with him, and I swear to God he actually giggled. So we rolled around on the bed just kind of playing with each other, kissing, tickling, laughing, and finally pushing the robes aside and making love again.

"We could have probably bought some coconuts and pineapples and stayed at the apartment and had the same honeymoon we're going to have in Hawaii," Don joked, kissing me.

"That's the beauty of being there for two weeks. We can sexually exhaust ourselves and still have time to sightsee," I replied, hugging him, nuzzling his neck, wishing I could stay there with him, naked and wrapped up in the comforter, until the end of time.

********

We met Timmy's family and Manuel and Miguel in the hotel dining room around two o'clock. It felt a little weird, sitting around the table with all these people who probably figured we'd been having sex since sometime the night before, but I guess that's part of the whole wedding thing. We all laughed and talked, and even though I would have preferred spending the time alone with my new husband with few or no clothes on, Timmy's family were all good conversationalists, and it was fun. I loved watching him in his element, seeing how much he enjoyed being part of the clan, and to their credit, they all included me in the fun, like I was one of them. Even if they all noticed there wasn't a Strachey in sight besides me, nobody brought it up. I was an honorary Callahan, because I loved and married Timothy, and that's all that seemed to matter to them.

So I sat there and held Timmy's hand and probably gawked at him like the lovesick newlywed I was. I really hadn't spent much time around other gay couples, and it was sort of nice not to be the only two guys who were paired up in a group. Manuel watched Miguel the way I usually watch Timmy - like he's the most amazing creature God ever created. It was a little odd to see that big bear of a guy who could snap a man's neck like a twig without breaking a sweat whispering in Miguel's ear, holding his hand, or lightly ruffling the back of his longish dark hair. Miguel was definitely masculine in his own right, and while he was smaller than Manuel, that just meant he didn't fill a doorway. He still had a nice build and I suspected some decent muscles under his shirt. But even though Timothy isn't even a little like a shrinking violet, he's my baby, and I want to protect him and take care of him and romance him. Manuel acted the same way around his partner.

After we ate, we found a sitting area on the main floor of the hotel where we could continue our visit. I have to admit, Nicholas kind of intrigued me, because he looked like Timmy, and their personalities and mannerisms were very similar. I could see why he was Anne's favorite nephew, and watching him go back and forth with Timmy on some political issue was kind of funny. Nicholas was all Republican, through and through, but they could apparently have a spirited debate and still come out friends. Too bad Timothy's dad wasn't as mature or broad-minded.

As the sun was setting and it was nearing dinner time, Timmy's grandmother pulled me aside. She handed me an envelope she pulled from her purse.

"Put that toward some of the wedding expenses," she said, patting my hand.

I opened the envelope and found a check in her shaky script for $5,000.

"This is a lot of money," I said, not sure what to do. I wished she'd given it to Timmy, so he'd know whether or not to take it.

"Anne is limited what she can do because of Richard. I know they gave you a wedding gift, but she wasn't happy with it. Fortunately, he doesn't have anything to say about what I do, and everyone knows that grandparents are supposed to spoil their grandchildren at least a little."

"Thank you so much, Grace. It's not just that it's a wonderful gift. I know what it'll mean to Timothy."

"He's a sweet boy. He's always been a sweet, gentle boy. You take good care of him." She waved a slightly crooked finger at me, but it was in good spirit.

"I'd do anything in the world for him," I replied. "Sometimes I still can't believe he married me."

"He's very much in love with you, so you must be doing something right."

"Thank you again for the gift. We're a little tight right now."

"Tighter than you've let on to Timothy, I'm sure," she said, and it unsettled me that she had that figured out. But it was true. I was back to living on a wing and a prayer with my business account. If I didn't get a really good retainer when I got back from the honeymoon, I'd be lucky not to end up on the sidewalk, evicted from my office.

"He deserved to have a beautiful wedding, if that's what he wanted. He was willing to do without it, but I know what it meant to him."

"I can tell making him happy is pretty important to you."

"I'm just going to think of it as my reason for being for the next fifty or sixty years, that's all," I replied, and she laughed.

"Now don't let Anne usurp too much of your time. This is supposed to be your honeymoon, but I know when she gets her hooks into Timothy, she doesn't let go easily."

"It's okay," I said, smiling. "They missed their visit at Christmas, and we'll have two weeks in Hawaii."

"You're going to be a good match for him. I can tell," she said, squeezing my arm, leaning forward a bit.

********

I felt a little guilty about spending so much time visiting with my family the day after the wedding, but I rarely got to see so many of them in one place at one time, and Don was wonderful about it. It was clear they liked him, and he seemed to enjoy the time we all spent together.

We were all flying out the next day to our respective destinations, and Manuel and Miguel were heading back in their truck to Warrensburg. Part of me felt a little bit of a letdown now that the wedding was over and my family was heading home. We had worried and planned and saved and then panicked so much over making the whole event a go that once it was done, I wondered what I'd channel all that extra energy into. Being married to Donald, I've learned, makes that a non-issue. If I'm not worrying about what's happening to him while he's out prowling the streets at night, I'm dealing with the aftermath of what has happened to him. Or, in the early days, we were wondering just exactly how all the bills were going to get paid, and if we'd be able to afford a down payment on a house before we were too old to move into it. All of that notwithstanding, Donald has been the best husband, best friend, best life partner I could have asked for. Even if things haven't always been smooth, I've never spent a single moment that I didn't feel lucky to have him.

So Don sat through another session around a dining table with my family, while Manuel and Miguel politely declined. Don told me later he'd gotten them a really nice suite and they were using the time as a second honeymoon of their own. They deserved it for making that grueling drive to Virginia with Don. Still, I was grateful my grandmother gave us such a generous wedding gift. I'm sure it bailed Don out for all the extras he'd spent on making the wedding perfect, and a dream come true for me. I know he enjoyed it, too, but it meant everything to me.

Once we parted with my family, we picked up where we left off in the jacuzzi, and then made love again in bed. It was like we couldn't get enough of each other...sometimes, we still can't, but I hate to admit that, when pushing forty, our stamina doesn't always serve us as well as it did on our honeymoon. Still, love, lust, and determination are a potent combination. A brief nap or some really inventive foreplay usually gets us going for another round - or two, even now. Donald loves to tell this joke that we're like the Energizer bunny with his batteries in backwards - we keep coming and coming and coming...

We fell asleep, thoroughly exhausted, completely sated, in a nice sweaty heap on the completely disheveled bed. Just when I thought my ass would turn blue from the cold, Don figured out a way to get some covers over us without requiring us to move.

Perhaps it was because we were so ready for sleep and so lethargic in such a wonderful way that Donald's nightmare scared me the way it did. He woke up with a scream that I'm still surprised didn't bring hotel security to our door, and I was sitting up instantly, my heart pounding, expecting to see armed killers in the room. Of course, if anyone had actually been in the room, Donald wouldn't have been sitting in the bed screaming like a damsel in distress - he'd have been on them, wrestling them, whether he was outnumbered or not.

"Don, are you okay?" I asked carefully. It was shadowy in the room, but I could easily see him in the moonlight. We were on an upper floor, and the drapes were open. His chest was heaving, he was covered in a cold sweat, and his eyes were wild. He stared at me like I was a ghost.

"Timmy?" he asked, reaching out and touching my shoulder like he thought I would disappear.

"I'm right here, honey," I said, not wanting to startle him or overwhelm him until he calmed down a bit.

"Are you real?"

"Of course, I'm real," I said gently, and I took his hand, squeezing it. "See, I couldn't do that if I weren't real."

"We're awake? This isn't part of a dream and I'm going to wake up and you won't be here?"

"We just got married. I'm going to be here forever, my love," I replied, kissing his hand. He turned to me then and wrapped his arms around me so tightly that it was almost uncomfortable. He was shaking so hard I wondered if my arms were strong enough to still it. I held him close and stroked his hair the way I know he likes.

I didn't know what he was dreaming about, and I wouldn't know it for a long time yet, but I wondered if it had something to do with his time in the military, and if seeing Manuel again dredged it all up. Later, I'd find out how right I was about that, only it had nothing to do with combat. I know some veterans experience things they never share with their loved ones, things that haunt them...Donald had one of those skeletons in his closet, but it wasn't war atrocities. It was a wound so deep and so profound that it left something broken inside him that took years to heal. Even now, there's an emotional...tenderness inside him that's like a healed fracture of the soul that's just not quite as tough as it was before the injury. It's the thing that more often than not defuses me or cools me down when I get angry with him. I could yell or scold him or stay angry with him, but it puts so much painful pressure on that sore spot inside him when I do that it hardly seems worth it when he's so good to me and loves me so much.

I'm not sure how long I held him, but the shaking finally stilled, and his body seemed to be relaxing, almost as if he could fall asleep in my arms.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I whispered, kissing the ear I'd spoken into.

"No." He was quiet a few moments. "Is that okay?"

"Of course, it's okay, baby." We'd have that exchange a few times over the years. He usually didn't have nightmares, but on the rare occasions he did, he never wanted to talk about them, but he seemed to worry I wouldn't handle that. Maybe it's because I feel better when I talk about my problems or my nightmares, and he knows that. He listens to all my hurts, disappointments, fears...and even if he can't fix them, just his touch or his kind words or knowing that he wants to slay all my dragons makes me feel better.

"Don't let go. I just...need to know you're really there," he admitted softly.

"I'm really here, honey. It's okay." I kept a good, tight hold on him for a long time until I finally eased us back down on the bed and covered us up. Even then, I didn't let him go. I did my best to shelter him with my body and my arms.

"I love you, Timmy," he whispered. His breath felt warm against my neck. I loved him so much then, and I only love him more now.

"I know you do. I'm so lucky to have you. I thank God for you every day," I told him. It was true, and he needed to hear it.

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. You're my favorite subject, so even God has to listen to me talk about you now," I added, and that made him laugh softly. I smiled, so glad he felt a little better.

"It's funny. That's what I told your mom about you - that you were my favorite subject. I wanted her to tell me a lot of Timothy stories on the way back here from Virginia."

"Oh dear God."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I think you were a smart, sweet, special little kid. Just like now, only all grown up."

"You see the best in me."

"It's all the best," he said, a little hitch in his breathing. I tousled his hair and kissed his forehead. "I don't want to fall asleep again."

"We can talk for a while, if you want."

"I'm sorry. You're probably tired."

"Just from a lot of amazing marathon sex, but I'll recover. We can nap on the plane tomorrow."

"It was a pretty good evening, wasn't it?" he asked, a little smile and a hint of pride in his voice. If he were a peacock, he'd have been in full display.

"If it had been any better, I think we would have broken them off."

"Imagine explaining that to your mother."

"Smart ass." I hugged him a little tighter. He hugged back and yawned widely. "It's okay if you doze off, honey. I promise I won't let go." I felt more than heard his little sigh, and before long, he was asleep. I kept my promise. When we woke up in the morning, he was still tucked firmly in my arms...and I still haven't let go.

********

The trip to Hawaii was long and fraught with challenges. Actually, it was just long and a major pain in the ass, but that first way of saying it sounded like something elegant Timothy would say. We left Albany around noon. We could have left at six in the morning, and I know the conventional wisdom is the earlier you leave the better your chances of not rotting in hell on an unexpected three hour delay. Our worst delay was in Chicago, at O'Hell Airport. We arrived on time, we even found ourselves sprinting a bit to get to our departure gate, since we had allegedly less than an hour between flights, and the larger the airport, they more fun they have in giving you short layovers and putting your next gate at the opposite end of the damn place. Finally, one of those golf cart-like vehicles showed up and picked us up and raced us to our gate. Thank God. Otherwise, we might have stopped at the Starbuck's on the way, and been late for our three-hour delay.

So we sat there and tried to stay cheerful - we were on our honeymoon, by God, and we were going to enjoy it. We had paid almost a grand each for the flight alone, so if it killed us, we were determined to find something good about the trip - the whole "getting there is half the fun" bullshit. I adore Timothy and treasure every breath he takes, but I did want to slap him when he said that. Unfortunately, he was sitting on the most interesting place to slap him, and he wouldn't go for a quickie in the airport bathroom. So getting there was no fraction of the fun at all.

We finally took off and headed for our next stop in San Francisco. Timothy bought a snow globe in Chicago that had a little skyline in it and said some dumb thing about the Windy City on it. He pondered what kind of snow globe they might have in San Francisco, since he hit on the idea it would be fun to collect one at each airport. It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that it rarely snowed in San Francisco, so he might have to settle for a T-shirt, but I didn't want to dampen his enthusiasm.

I hate air travel. I love Timmy, but I hate airports. I hate waiting. I hate being at the mercy of the airlines. If I could have driven to Hawaii, I'd have hung onto the Hummer and done it. Now driving across country - to me, that would be fun. All that time alone with Timmy, making little stops along the way and doing stupid shit like having your picture taken with a stuffed bear in Bumfuck, Wyoming or something - I could go for that. We've talked about it over the years, and I really hope we do it sometime. We usually cave in and end up at some resort in a warm climate in the dead of winter, but I'd still love to do the cross country adventure.

They did have snow globes in the San Francisco airport. Timmy was delighted, and I stood corrected. Of course, it wasn't a snow globe, per se, but a little Golden Gate Bridge inside a plastic dome with little sparkles that swirled when you shook it. Oh, well, it would add to his collection, and it made him happy, so I didn't care if it had a naked man in it and little particles of shit swirling around. Whatever kept a smile on his beautiful face through our seventeen-hour odyssey into Hell.

There was a delay in San Francisco. Two additional hours that time. We ate, though Timmy didn't seem all that hungry, and then he threw up in the airport bathroom and spent most of the layover looking like a zombie, his head on my shoulder in the waiting area, the usual assortment of homophobic assholes and those who aren't exactly homophobic but think gay couples are like zoo attractions that you stare at and comment on how cute they are together, were on hand to eyeball us as we sat there. I didn't care. I kept an arm around Timmy's shoulder, and eventually made a pilgrimage to a nearby storefront and bought him some Tums. He took a few, acting like I'd just brought him diamonds, and settled back against me and fell asleep on my shoulder. When he had diarrhea a half hour later, I knew we were screwed. He insisted it was something he ate - which it was, only it wasn't indigestion. It was food poisoning. I know because I've had that pleasure.

I knew he was sick because he felt warm to the touch and he started to cry when I suggested we get a room at the hotel closest to the airport and finish the journey when he felt better. Timothy's not weepy by nature, so I knew how God-awful he really felt. After he shit his pants, he caved in to the suggestion that we needed to postpone the last leg of our journey. I helped him get cleaned up in the airport bathroom - not exactly the reason I would have liked to be in the handicapped stall with him for twenty minutes - and I talked to the airline about alternative flights in a day or so, and called the resort. Everyone was nice about helping us, I have to admit, so maybe not all airline employees are spawns of Satan, after all. I was especially grateful to the woman who found a wheelchair for us, so Timmy didn't have to walk any long distances. His stomach hurt, and he was having a lot of trouble holding things in while we trudged through the airport, rounded up our luggage, and found our way to an exit.

He was so sick by the time we were ready to go to the hotel that I paid for a limo service to take us there instead of the airport shuttle. The ride in one of those rattling, swaying, driven-by-a-lunatic-with-a-deathwish buses would have had him puking all over everything. Or worse. I'd just been through "or worse" and I wasn't ready to do it again.

I've never been so fucking happy to see a hotel room as I was to see that one. It was nothing special - just a generic hotel room with a king bed - but we'd managed to rescue our luggage, Timothy could stagger into a bathroom of our own and spew toxic waste from whichever end it was coming from at the moment, and I could get him in a warm bath and then put him to bed and work on making him feel better.

"I can't believe we made it this far and I ruined everything," he said miserably as he sat in the bathtub and I was washing his back.

"The only way you could ruin anything for me is if you weren't here," I said, and it was the truth. Our trip was a nightmare, but at least we were in it together. It's kind of the story of our lives. I don't mind going through any kind of difficult shit at long as I go through it with Timmy. He's the light of my life, my reason for being. I didn't care if we were stuck in a mediocre hotel in San Francisco while he sprayed toxins from both ends. We were together, we had those shiny gold bands on our fingers, and he was mine forever. I had the sweet end of that deal, even if neither of Timmy's ends were very sweet at the moment.

"I stink and I can't have sex without throwing up."

"That's temporary, sweetheart."

"You told me I should order that big bacon cheeseburger you had, but I had to have the fettuccine with the poison Alfredo sauce. I knew it tasted funny, but I thought it was just a crummy recipe." He looked a bit green, and I helpfully stuck the hotel room's ice bucket under his chin just in time.

"Let's not talk about food for a few more hours yet, huh?" I suggested gently.

"I'm so sorry," he said, and his eyes weren't just watering from barfing. He was crying.

"Oh, honey, it's okay." I hugged him, even though he was naked and wet and I was still dressed. He still felt a little feverish, and I made a mental note to check his temperature again when I got him into bed. "You'll feel better in a little while, and we'll make it the rest of the way to Hawaii."

"What if I don't get better fast enough?"

"Food poisoning usually doesn't last more than a day or two. We'll stay here until you can travel comfortably. By the time we get there, you'll be feeling better and we'll lie around in the sun and you'll have your old energy back in plenty of time for us to have a lot of good experiences while we're there. Okay?"

"This was supposed to be our dream honeymoon." He took the wad of toilet paper I handed him to blow his nose. "You should leave me here and go on yourself."

"Go on a honeymoon without my husband? Kind of pointless, isn't it?" I asked, laughing. He smirked a little but I could tell he didn't want to be cheered up. Yet. "Remember when I had the flu? You voluntarily walked into that apartment and cleaned up my vomit and my dirty underwear and washed the puke and shit off me and held me until I felt better. You wouldn't take no for an answer - and I was contagious."

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Timothy. This sucks, but it's temporary. What is it you say - just more threads in the rich tapestry of our lives?"

"Oh shut up," he snapped, but he chuckled.

I got him settled into bed, and managed to coax a little water down him, though he couldn't tolerate much. His temperature wasn't very high, only up about a degree, so I bathed his face with a cool cloth until he seemed drowsy, even though his stomach still hurt and we both knew his symptoms weren't over yet. I knew how he felt now when he took care of me. It's this strange combination of intense love and protectiveness, mixed with a nearly physical ache every time the sickness spiked and made him miserable.

After another run to the bathroom, he got back in bed. I wished we'd brought pajamas, but we didn't really expect to need them. Fortunately, he did have t-shirts and shorts, so those with some warm socks and the blankets tucked around him, kept him warm. I found an old movie channel on TV so the background noise would be peaceful and maybe even something if he didn't feel too sick he might watch with me. I was tired, and my body thought it was three hours later, so I didn't mind getting in bed early and dozing a little. Besides, even if he was sick, I'd rather be cuddled up with Timmy than anywhere else on Earth.

I held him, and from gruesome experience, I knew not to rub his back or pat him. Any sort of motion when you feel that lousy is unwelcome. We didn't have a very restful night, and it killed me to see him feeling so sick. I wanted to fix him, but I couldn't. All I could do was clean up duty if he missed his target, or hold him and try not to make him reassure me that he'd be okay. I did call Anne at his insistence to let her know we were held up in San Francisco - he insisted I tell her it was a flight snafu, that we'd be back on our way the next day - since he thought telling her "food poisoning" would freak her out.

Along about three in the morning, I hit on the idea of reading to him for a while. He didn't care enough about television to watch it, and he wasn't really up to sparkling conversation. I found a book he'd brought along for the flight in his carry on, though we'd spent all our time talking to each other or reading one of those Sky Mall catalogs together. I think he read for a while when I fell asleep for a half hour or so, but that was about it.

So I read to him from where he'd left off on some political thriller. It kind of bored me unconscious, because I think that's an oxymoron - if it's political, how thrilling can it be? The only political thriller I know is Timothy himself. He was lying there with his head on my shoulder and an arm around my middle, and the poisonous toxins seemed to have worked their way most of the way through him. He was weak and tired, but he was finally still, and having his stomach pressed against me wasn't hurting or making him nauseous anymore. I never thought I'd wish for food poisoning, but I wished there was a way I could take it on for him.

Anyway, I knew he was feeling better when he started to fill me in on who the characters were when I read about one that hadn't been explained in the passages I'd read to him. I pretended I liked the story, but what I liked best was holding him, his hair tickling my chin when he moved his head a little, hearing his voice sound a bit stronger and more like himself, and the absence of vomiting or torturous diarrhea. His forehead felt normal for temperature when I kissed him there, and he actually smiled at me for the first time in quite a few hours. I kissed him properly then, and he responded, and I knew we were on our way to recovery.

"My breath must smell like the wrong end of a goat," he said, and I laughed.

"It's been sweeter," I replied, ruffling his hair and kissing him again, quicker this time. "But kissing you is always good...even with a little bit of goat breath."

"Thanks a lot," he said, chuckling. Then he yawned.

"You want me to read something more boring to you so you aren't trying to follow the plot?"

"Why don't you let me read to you, because I know that book would put you to sleep."

"It's a good story."

"Liar."

"Okay, so I might not have kept mental track of everything, but it's not bad."

"Donald."

"I never pretended I was real interested in politics."

"Read me something out of that car magazine you bought about alternators for old Toyotas or whatever it was you wanted to read in there. You'll enjoy it and I'll go to sleep."

"How's your stomach, honey?"

"Sour and generally angry at the world, but it feels like it's exhausted."

"We know the diarrhea is apparently slowing down," I observed as a poisonous odor seeped upward from the covers. The first time you fart without filling your pants is a cause for celebration when you've been really sick, but it still curled my nose hairs.

"Don't even make a comment. I've been sick. You don't have that excuse when you release one of those silent killers under the blankets after we have Mexican."

"You mentioned food and didn't throw up in my lap," I said, and he smiled.

"Maybe I'll eat a banana in the morning."

"And fluids. Can't be taking you to Hawaii dehydrated."

"You think I'll be okay to travel tomorrow?"

"Probably, but I'm going to feed you some mild food and we're going to make sure your stomach's okay. We'll fly out the next day."

"But the resort - "

"Will still be there when we get there. Maybe we can rent a car tomorrow afternoon and go see something while we're here."

"I don't think I'll be up to sightseeing yet."

"Maybe we could cross the Golden Gate Bridge, just to say we did it. In a rental car, of course."

"I never did that. I'd love to see it. Have you ever seen it?"

"When I was a kid. We went on this fucking nightmare of a car trip to see wonders of the Western states. I considered jumping while we were there, but my mother kept too close an eye on me."

"I understand it's the most popular place in the world to kill yourself."

"I was just trying to immerse myself in the ultimate tourist experience," I replied, laughing. He laughed a bit too, and I hugged him. "I'm glad you feel better, sweetheart."

"You always find a way to make me see the good side of things," he said, squeezing back and sighing. "I can't believe I'm looking forward to tomorrow, even though we're not in Hawaii."

"I wish I could make all your days happy, and make all the things that hurt you or make you unhappy just...go away."

"You want to know something?" he asked, looking up at me, making sure I looked him in the eyes. "Most of the time, if it's humanly possible, you do."

I was a little floored by that. It was the one thing I wanted most to do - to make him happy, to take care of him, to make the bad stuff go away - and he was telling me I did that. I had a huge lump in my throat, and the best I could do was wrap him up in a tight embrace, and whisper in his ear a bunch of stuttering declarations of love. That he was everything, that I loved him, that I'd do anything for him, that I was so glad we were married... Him being sick had shaken me up more than I realized, now that he was feeling better. My sense of well-being is so intertwined with his that when he's sick, I can't function right either. I can function, and I will, but mainly to take care of him until he's okay again. Over the years, I've always been so grateful Timmy was pretty healthy and didn't get sick much.

"Why don't you turn off the light and tell me about your family vacation seeing the Western states? That sounds like a story I need to hear," he said, and I laughed. I'd almost forgotten about that vacation, along with most of the rest of my past. I worked hard at forgetting it. It's hard to remember that you had a family once, with parents who loved you, even if their idea of fun was off-base and most of your vacations were horrid fucking car trips because your father thought you should see all the important sights in the country at least once. Thank God he considered both Disney amusement parks, and Cedar Point, to be important sights, too. There were three vacations in my youth that didn't have me contemplating slitting my wrists on the last day of school. And here I was fantasizing about a long car trip with Timmy when I'd hated them so intensely as a child. Either I was turning into my father, a thought that made my blood run cold, or I truly did love the concept of anything that meant I could spend a lot of time with Timmy, just the two of us.

"Are you sure you want to hear about that trip?"

"The very fact you're hesitant to tell me makes me think it's a story worth hearing."

"Okay," I conceded, laughing. So I turned out the light and held him in my arms and told him as much as I could remember about that trip when I was twelve years old. Somewhere during the Grand Canyon, he fell asleep, and I talked on for a while just to be sure the sound of my voice would keep him peaceful. Once again, I tried to figure out why this stunning, brilliant, beautiful man was mine. I smiled and savored the warmth of him against me. I let myself doze off, and let myself off the hook. He was mine, and that's what mattered.

********

What I'd first thought of as the worst possible honeymoon disaster actually turned out to be one of the sweetest, most romantic times of our lives. I can't even believe how Donald turned around my being felled by food poisoning into a romantic little detour on our trip. I didn't feel very strong yet the next day, but he fussed over me and treated me like something fragile and precious. I managed to eat a small banana and some dry toast, along with a little Gatorade. We hung out in the hotel room until about noon, just to be sure I kept it in both ways. My stomach was churning a little, but I seemed okay, so with a good size bottle of water to keep me hydrated, we set out in a rental car Don got for us, heading for the Golden Gate Bridge.

One of the wedding gifts I was the happiest with was a digital video camera. Back then, they were a lot more expensive than they are now, so I was very moved when Senator Glassman and her staff gave us a nice one for a wedding gift. I still missed being there, part of that team. Whenever I got together with them socially, it felt like going home. But like any other journey, you have to follow the twists and turns it takes you on before you can end up where you belong. I'll always be grateful to Don for believing in me like he did, and urging me to reach for something better. It was a growth experience that prepared me for the job I really wanted.

Anyway, we experimented with the video camera, getting the knack of it, taking footage of ourselves with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. Before long, we got chatting with another gay couple who were at the park, too, and they offered to take some footage of the two of us together. Bernie and Andre were a good fifteen or twenty years older than we were, and the way they interacted made it apparent they'd been together about that long. Bernie was the kind of guy you'd call a bear - big, broad, hairy, with a robust laugh. His bearded face was usually split with a big smile. Andre was tall and well-built, but it looked as if he spent considerably more time fretting over his diet and visiting the gym than his partner did. He had an unruly head of blond hair and blue eyes.

We found out Bernie was a real estate broker and, according to Andre, was very good at what he did. Andre was an artist, who made his living in advertising, doing graphic art and layouts. Both of them looked at us, incredulous, when we said we'd only decided to stay over in San Francisco because I got sick.

"Let me be sure I'm getting this," Bernie said as we all sat at a picnic table. "You're a gay couple, you're passing through San Francisco on the way to your honeymoon, and you weren't planning to spend a couple nights here checking out what the gay community has to offer?"

"Next, you'll be trying to sell them a house here," Andre said, smiling, taking a drink of his bottled water.

"We have an amazing honeymoon waiting for us in Hawaii," I explained. "I would like to vacation here someday, though."

"You have to at least let us take you to dinner...or maybe our favorite bathhouse," Bernie added, with an affectionately lecherous look at Andre...and then he looked at Don, and did all but salivate. I didn't like it at all. I wished he'd kept his mouth shut, but he had to say that one extra thing. "I bet you're blond all over," he added.

"That's none of your fucking business, and watch your mouth." Don gaped at me, like he didn't expect me to go all defensive, territorial, and antisocial. I generally make peace or mingle with the natives. Not when it comes to someone leering at my husband, or making lewd remarks to him. He's more than capable of taking care of himself, and I knew he was probably a hell of a lot more worldly and harder to offend than I am when it comes to some other guy putting the moves on him, but I didn't care. I was going to defend his honor.

"Whoa, calm down, Tim," Bernie said, still chortling. "I have a weakness for blonds, and you can't blame me for finding yours attractive."

"He isn't my blond, he's my husband. I think we're done here," I stood, and Don did, too.

"Look, we like to play - it keeps things interesting," Andre said, standing, too. "Bernie didn't mean to offend you guys. We were having a great time. Why don't we just forget this whole unfortunate exchange, and let us buy you dinner? No funny business."

"Actually, Timmy's still getting over the food poisoning, and we want to make the trip across the bridge...I think that'll be all he's up to for today," Don said, taking my hand.

"I'm sorry if I upset you boys. You don't know if you don't ask. No hard feelings, eh?" He held out a hand toward me. I looked at Don, and he smiled at me like I was the best thing on Earth for defending him. I took for granted he'd defend my honor anytime the situation called for it. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I'd never had an occasion to do that for him, and I wondered if anyone else had done that for him, either. I wouldn't accept the apology unless Don said it was okay. He squeezed my hand and gave me a little nod. I shook hands with Bernie.

"Don's right. I'm not feeling a hundred percent yet, and we want to do a little sightseeing before my energy runs out."

Once we were in our rental car, Don took my hand and kissed the back of it. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You didn't have to do that."

"If he'd said something like that to me, I'd have had to tackle you to keep you from ripping his head off," I said, and he chuckled.

"I suppose you're right." He was quiet a moment. "Nobody ever defended my honor before."

"I know you can take care of yourself. But it's like you keep telling me, that doesn't mean I don't like to do it, too, sometimes, even if you don't need me to."

"I've done some things in my life I'm not entirely proud of," he said, and I almost thought I was going to hear some details from his past. But that was it. "You're a good guy, Timmy. You're a nice guy. You have a lot of honor that's worth defending." He wasn't looking at me. He was looking down at the steering wheel.

"I know you have a past. So do I. Everyone does. I don't know everything about your past, but what I do know is that you're a good, sweet, decent man and you're my husband, and I love you, and you're the most honorable person I know." I reached over and touched his hair. "That's all that matters to me, honey. I won't let anyone treat you with less than the respect you deserve."

He swallowed, and looked at me with a little smile and so much love.

"Should we take on the bridge?" I asked, smiling, stroking his cheek with my fingertips. He nodded, still smiling a little, but not saying anything. I could see his eyes were moist and I knew he was choked up.

"I could take on anything with you, sweetheart," he replied.

So we drove across the bridge and we enjoyed the sights. We stopped at a nondescript little family restaurant and I carefully ate a plain grilled chicken breast and a little rice, while Don had a steak. I kept the food down, and I felt better after I ate. I needed to get my strength back, and getting some food in me helped. We headed back for the hotel by early evening, and spent the rest of the night just lying around, watching TV, kissing and cuddling, and finally getting some sleep so we'd be ready for our departure the next day around lunchtime. By the next evening, we'd be in Hawaii.

As I dozed off in his arms, I wondered how Don could ever question that his honor was worth defending.

********

There were times I doubted we'd ever make it to Hawaii, but we finally did. The resort was all we hoped it would be, and the staff were more than accommodating. Lush tropical grounds with a main lodge, and a few isolated cottages. We had one of those cottages to ourselves, and since they knew we'd been delayed because Timmy had been sick and was still getting back on his feet, they took us in a four-seated golf cart to our cottage, so Timmy didn't have to walk that far and tire himself out.

The cottage was a small white frame structure with lots of windows, with a big deck in front with chaise lounges, surrounded by tropical plants and swaying palm trees. Inside the cottage was a large bedroom with a king size bed adorned with bedding in various soft shades of green and yellow with some kind of pretty leafy pattern in it. One wall of the bedroom was a view of flowering plants and woods behind the cottage. There was a huge garden tub and a double shower in the bathroom, and another huge window with another gorgeous view. There was a sitting room with bamboo furniture, and a small kitchenette. It was a gay friendly resort, so even if we happened to run into other humans while we were there, we'd have a vacation from stares and homophobes.

"Do you want to take a nap, honey?" I asked Timmy, concerned he'd be tired from the flight and running around the airports. I didn't want him to feel under the weather or pressured to do more than he felt able.

"No. I want to change into the clothes we packed for our honeymoon, and explore this amazing place you found for us." He pulled me into his arms, and I slid my arms around him. I could have died happy right there, him holding me, and us in the closest thing on Earth to paradise. I had one more surprise in store he didn't know about. He knew we had a private cottage, he knew the grounds were beautiful, but the final surprise was at the end of the trail that led through the trees behind the cottage.

So I changed into swimming trunks and a tank shirt and flip-flops, and Timothy changed into khaki shorts and a white shirt and sandals. God, he looked beautiful. Cool, crisp, classy, and stunning. Like he always does. We set off strolling along the path into the trees, hand in hand, breathing in the fresh, warm air tinged with the scent of tropical flowers. It occurred to me then that we'd met in the cool weather, and I'd never seen Timmy in shorts - well, not in shorts you wear outside the house. We'd never been together in the warm weather. It was hard to believe that we'd met and fallen so hard so fast and now it seemed unthinkable to live our lives any other way but as two halves of a whole - and we still hadn't spent a summer together.

"You're awfully quiet," Timmy said, smiling at me, looking beautiful in his designer sunglasses. Still, I didn't like that I couldn't see his sweet, wonderful eyes.

"I was thinking this was the first time we've been outside in warm weather together."

He was quiet a moment, processing that.

"Does it ever bother you, that it happened so fast?"

"Bother me?" I thought about that. I decided not to overanalyze the question. Timmy loved me, and he was mine, and I was his, and he wanted me. We were on our honeymoon. I was trying not to be the Donald Strachey who would immediately assume that it bothered him, that he was finally figuring out he'd jumped into a huge mistake, settling for me. "No. I just can't believe how lucky I got, that's all," I added, and he positively beamed at me.

"Me, too."

We stopped in our tracks. I knew what we were going to come upon, but even I wasn't prepared for how incredible it really was. Timmy was still, silent, and awestruck. He took off his sunglasses.

In front of us was our own pond, at the base of our very own waterfall. A tropical paradise just for us, with no prying eyes and no interruptions. Just us, the water, the rocks, the plants and trees, and the sun filtering through. I could only imagine what this would look like by moonlight. I'd seen Timmy naked in the moonlight inside when the moon was full and its light came through a window...just thinking about it makes me hard. But like this, outdoors, by the light of the moon? Or in the heat of the afternoon, in the sunshine? I could only imagine...at least, I could only imagine until I would get to see the real thing, which I hoped was sooner than later. Still, I didn't want to push him if he was still feeling weak or a little icky in the stomach.

"If somebody asked me to describe Heaven, I think this would come awfully close. Don, this is... I knew we were going to have a nice private cottage, but...this is ours? Just for the two of us?"

"Just for the two of us. We don't have to share with other guests, if that's what you mean. This is our own private waterfall. You wanna sit on a rock and dangle our feet in the water?"

"Yes, at least until the shock wears off," he said, following me to a nice spot that had room for both our butts on the same rock ledge and would allow us to submerge our legs up to mid-calf while we sat there. We tossed our footgear aside and let our feet swing a little in the mild water, holding hands and feeling wonderfully cut off from the rest of the world. Timothy was right. This was the closest to Heaven you could get on Earth. "The water's a nice temperature," he said, and I nodded, trying not to smile. I was hoping to gently lure him into dangling more than his perfectly shaped feet in the water.

Unable to sit still any longer, I pulled my tank shirt over my head, stood up, stepped out of my trunks and dove into the water. It felt great, and after being cooped up in hotels, airports, and airplanes for the last few days, I couldn't get enough of the freedom of movement, the water, the perfect temperature... I felt like I was a fish in a former life who was just reunited with my native habitat. The first time I really came up for air, Timmy was watching me with this big smile on his face.

"I was thinking the view was lacking something," he said. "Now I know. A hot naked man in the middle of all of it."

"So are you gonna leave this hot naked man all alone here?" I challenged, and a moment later, Timmy was shedding his clothes and diving in after me. He glided through the water, and I let him be, resisting the urge to pounce on him. That moment of liberation and movement and utter pleasure just splashing around was something to be savored before sampling other pleasures.

We met under the waterfall, and it was nothing short of magical. There was a spot just big enough for two of us where the water was coming down all around us and brushing us but not pouring down on our heads. The setting obviously stirred Timothy's passions, because he pulled me into an embrace and kissed me in a way that was possessive and decisive and left little room for debate that he was intent on having me right then and there. I was only too happy to be had, and I kissed back for all I was worth, reaching down to stroke him. I would have given him a blow job but I was afraid of drowning myself, so I settled for using my hand. He returned the favor, and for a moment, I thought that's all we were going to do. I was a little puzzled when he let go and slipped back underwater, swimming toward the spot where he'd left his shorts. I was about to follow him when he swam back, dipping under the waterfall, emerging with a little tube in hand.

"You win the prize for best prepared," I teased him as we moved into each other's arms again and picked up where we left off. Then his finger was in me, probing and stretching. As I turned around and braced myself on a rock that seemed almost too perfectly shaped for that purpose, it niggled at the back of my mind how much of this was engineered by man instead of carved out by God. I had trouble believing that God would carve a rock in the ideal shape for someone to bend over and hold on in just the right spot under the waterfall.

I didn't have a lot of time to think before I was focused on relaxing and letting Timothy's full length ease into me. He was gentle and taking his time, and once he was all the way in, he wrapped around me, his wet skin pressed against mine, the rush of the water all around us.

"I love you," he whispered in my ear.

"Oh yeah," I said, smiling, shifting against him, making us both gasp. He chuckled. "I mean, I love you, too," I added, and we both laughed.

He kissed my shoulders and the back of my neck, slid his wet hands over my wet body, rubbing my nipples, wrapping a hand around my cock and pumping it. He rode me slowly and gently, but he did ride me, and I felt every thrust as he retreated and moved forward, in and out, tender but inescapable. The pressure on my prostate was acute and made me scream until I could swear I was scaring the birds out of the trees. Devil that he was, Timothy was concentrating on overwhelming me with sensation, on dragging those screams out of me, adjusting his position so he could get even deeper in me. He was moaning and shouting and making sounds with every thrust, and that was just making me hotter.

When I came, it felt like it went on forever, like I was emptying my entire supply into the rippling water, like my prostate was wearing out, like I'd just be a hunk of used of flesh hanging on the world's most perfect "fuck me" rock formation. If this thing was natural, it needed to be added to the natural wonders of the world by anyone who's ever gotten nailed while hanging onto it.

Timmy eased out of me and I felt empty without him in there until he took me in his arms and started kissing me and caressing me and fussing over me. I couldn't get enough of his mouth and his hands on me, or mine on him, and the afterglow turned into foreplay until we were touching every inch of each other, and I was easing my fingers into him, wanting to feel him like this, with the waterfall all around us, to be in him that way, to see myself moving in and out of his beautiful naked ass, making him scream. It was primal and sensual and loving and intimate on a whole new level somehow. I was careful sliding into him, filling him, until I was against his back, my arms wrapped around his body, my hands caressing his chest. I stroked his cock, and thrust deeply and slowly, like he had with me, and he gasped, his back arching. His moans were pure pleasure, and he rocked with me, encouraging me.

When it was over, we stayed in that water-veiled cocoon, kissing and petting each other, licking and sucking and tasting wet skin. We finally swam out of that spot, and the warmth of the sun felt good as it filtered through the trees. I don't know how long we played around in that pond, but the sun was setting when we finally got out. I talked Timmy into just putting on our sandals and walking naked back to the cottage. There wasn't a soul around, and that privacy was part of the fun. Nudity was apparently an aphrodisiac for both of us, since we ended up hastily shoving the covers out of the way and making love on the bed the minute we got back to the cottage. Deciding we didn't care if we missed the resort's complimentary luau or the nightlife for that first night, we spent the rest of it in bed, only venturing out to the kitchen to make ourselves a light meal when our stomachs started growling ominously.

Hedonism is a key part of a really good honeymoon, and spending the first afternoon and night of it making love so much that you have no clue how many times you came, until one time blends into the next, and until you fall exhausted into a dead sleep for hours, too utterly sated to move, means you're having a good time.

********

Our little paradise was so wonderful that I hated to leave it, but we did have a few tourist plans for our trip, and I did want to see some of the sights. Fortunately, we had most of the day to frolic in the pond, eat a little picnic by its shore, and take a long walk around the beautiful grounds of the resort before our sunset dinner cruise on a 50-foot sailboat. There were two other couples on board - an older gay couple, and a young lesbian couple, also on their honeymoon. I refuse to be segregated in my everyday life. I like to go to a gay club sometimes, or attend social functions that are built around a cause in the community that we're advocating, but I also want to go out for the evening with my partner to anyplace I choose.

One of the things that clicked between Don and me early on was our desire to just be who we are, be together, and act like any other couple in public. Not to shove it in people's faces - anymore than I think it's especially appropriate for a hetero couple to lick each other's tonsils in the middle of a shopping mall. But just to hold hands, exchange a little kiss, or just sit close together, closer than buddies would. If we want to change the world, we have to do it a little at a time. It's like chipping away at Mt. Everest with a teaspoon, but even that makes a dent if enough people do it long enough, steadily enough.

All that having been said, it's nice to be somewhere that you're the norm, not the exception. Where someone might stare at you because they think your partner has great muscles (taking Donald out in public in warm temperatures does invite more than a few looks when he's wearing something sleeveless, or just a tank shirt and shorts. The man has a body that's better than anything Michelangelo could have carved on his best day. I try not to feel too smug as it occurs to me that if they think those muscles are something, they should see his adorable ass. And he's all mine. And he thinks I'm the hottest thing around. Sometimes I still wonder what I did that was so good that I deserve him. Not just because of the obvious physical attributes, but because he's sweet and romantic and faithful and he adores me and would lay down his life for me. It seems like having someone so beautiful on the inside that's also beautiful on the outside is just more than anybody deserves.

I digress. Don had on a pair of jeans, flip flops, and a loose, lightweight white shirt that was open about four buttons and not tucked in. All through the cruise, all I could think about was throwing him on the bed and having him, but leaving that white shirt on him. I don't know why it turned me on like it did. Maybe it was because it was so atypical for him, maybe it was because it covered quite a bit while leaving just enough of that perfectly sculpted chest visible to tantalize me...maybe it was because he was so relaxed and all the natural sweetness, charm, and playfulness that's inside him was right at the surface in this setting.

His guard was down, as much as I've ever seen it. Donald only lets his guard all the way down with me most of the time, but here, where almost everyone was gay, there was little chance of any unpleasantness, and he was with me on our honeymoon, I was seeing the real Donald all the time. It made me realize how much his guard is up for my sake. He unconsciously is in protection mode when we're out together at home, even if he doesn't plan it that way. It's so ingrained in him to not want anything bad to touch me, that he's always on alert for it. Not that he can take on every bigot who looks at us the wrong way, but he's prepared to do it if the situation calls for it. Here, he wasn't, he didn't have to be, and everything was free and easy from the atypical flowing shirt to the utter relaxation in his posture and his easy interactions with our fellow guests.

I sort of regretted my chinos, my blue polo shirt, and my boat shoes. I looked like I was on my way to play 18 holes instead of being laid back on my Hawaiian honeymoon. Steve's voice was nagging at me. Telling me I was uptight and prissy and dressed for a polo match when we were just going out for a few beers.

But then I smiled. Donald had hugged me and told me I smelled good and that the blue shirt brought out my eyes - and that I always look so good when we go out anywhere. If he liked the way I dressed and how I looked, that was all that mattered. I hoped Steve was enjoying whatever vapid, pointless relationship he was probably in, hopefully with someone whose sense of style he liked better. Personally, I was having the time of my life, even if I was a tad overdressed, sipping some fruity drink, exchanging adoring looks with the love of my life, and seeing the humpback whales surfacing and sounding as the sun set over the ocean.

The next day, we visited the Pearl Harbor memorial. It was a sobering place to visit, to think of so many young lives cut short so abruptly and so brutally. I kept a tight hold on Don's hand while we were there. He was in the military, and it would have been so easy for something to happen to him and I'd have never had him by my side, sharing my life. His expressions were a little unreadable and almost...closed off as we toured the site. We took some pictures and talked about some of the displays, but his whole demeanor changed. It was then I was positive that whatever dogged him, whatever demon lurked in his nightmares, was tied into his military background. Maybe it was military intelligence, and he couldn't talk about it. I hoped he felt safe and loved enough to tell me if he could. Nothing he could have told me would have changed anything between us. I wondered if it had something to do with the scar on his back, the one his phoenix tattoo almost obscured. But like his internal scars, Don wasn't likely to talk about the external ones, either. And I didn't ask. They were part of him, I love him just the way he is, and if he wanted me to know, he knew I wanted to hear the stories.

Over the next few days, we went on a glass bottom boat "dolphin adventure" and an inter-island tour by both ground and air that took two days to complete, including a stay at a nice hotel on the Big Island. We decided to stay over an extra night there, since they were famous for their amazing luaus and shows. So we frolicked on the beach with the rest of the tourists, visited some shops to pick up souvenirs for ourselves and our family and friends, and enjoyed a wonderful meal and show with hula dancers, fire dancers, and a guy who thought he was Don Ho. Well, he sang a few sappy old love songs, and that was a good excuse for us to hold hands and look into each other's eyes like the honeymooners we were.

We had such a beautiful time that I felt sad when we were ready to leave. I'd come to feel like the cottage and the waterfall were our own private paradise, and given what the trip had cost, I wondered if we'd ever see it again. We spent a little while sitting on the rock like we had the first day, dangling our feet in the water and kissing, talking about our trip, about all the great pictures and great video we'd taken. We talked about our wedding pictures, and how anxious we were to see how they'd turned out. The truth was, we had to leave for the airport in an hour or so, and neither one of us wanted to go back to reality and schedules and the separation inflicted on us by long hours and his night work.

"Maybe we ought to save up and retire to a place like this," Don said, kicking the water with his feet. He can be as cute as a little kid sometimes, splashing around when most adults would settle for just letting their feet hang there. So I splashed, too, and I understood the lure of it. He grinned at me. Donald makes me splash through life instead of dangle in the still water.

"I don't think so," I said, and he frowned, puzzled. "Too many people spend their lives saving up for a place like this, and then...something happens...and what good is all that money in the bank? I'd hate a place like this without you."

"I guess we could wait until we save up for the down payment on the house before we worry about saving for retirement."

"I have a retirement fund."

"Somehow I knew you would," he teased, and I laughed. Don can tease me about almost anything, because I know there isn't anything but love behind it.

"Somehow, I knew you wouldn't," I retorted.

"Ouch," he replied, laughing.

"I meant since you were self-employed and so far, we've sucked up any extra you bring in on wedding and honeymoon plans," I clarified, though he wasn't offended and he knew I didn't mean it that way.

"Yeah, it's kind of pointless seeing a financial planner if you don't have any finances to plan," he said, still chuckling. "I kind of blew the money I had from the Army. I didn't decide right away what I wanted to do, so for a while, I didn't do anything. Then I used what was left to start up the business."

"We'll figure it out," I said, lacing my fingers with his, putting my head on his shoulder. "As long as one of us has a retirement fund, we'll both eat when we're old."

"The business'll do better, and I'll get my shit together one of these days."

"Your shit's together. You're just in the paying dues phase right now, before the money rolls in."

"I'm glad you love me now, even before I become independently wealthy from the PI business."

"I enjoyed this trip, and this remarkable, beautiful place we had to stay in." I moved my head so I could look him in the eyes. "But it wasn't the pond or the waterfall or the dolphins or the boat tours." I rested my hand on his cheek. "It was you. It's always you. For me, paradise is in Hawaii, Albany, even San Francisco, though it was totally unplanned and I was vomiting through half of it. As long as I'm with you, I couldn't be any happier."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," he replied, his voice a little tight. And then we kissed, and what sweet, long, wonderful kisses they were. "We need to get our bags together. The hotel's sending the shuttle to take us up to the main lodge pretty soon. The airport shuttle's at three."

"I know."

I sighed, looked around, and then decided not to waste anymore time looking at foliage. I looked at my beautiful, wonderful husband, the best looking thing in that tropical setting, and I got to take him home. So why feel blue over leaving some palm trees and a few flowers? I kissed him again, tasted his mouth, lingered over it, caressing that soft blond hair of his that I love to touch, that I love to feel on my chest when he puts his head there, that I love to have tickling my nose when his head's on my shoulder on our couch at home.

So, the trip was coming to an end, as all things, good and bad, eventually must. I stood up, and so did he. We took one last look around, and then I took paradise by the hand and we started our journey home.