Tell Me Our Story

“Sit down.”

He laughed, grabbed Jonathan’s laptop and curled himself over it on the couch. “Figured out your password.”

Jonathan glanced over at him.

“JohannStrauss.”

“And now?”

A mischievous grin lit up David’s face. He clicked around and Jonathan gave up drying the last of the dishes to check what exactly it was he was up to.

Jonathan glimpsed a Word document, a random page halfway—

David’s eyes shot up to his, lips parted with surprise.

Jonathan tried to shut the lid, but David scooched out of reach. “You didn’t . . . cut me up into pieces and make me into a smoothie.”

Heat swamped his face; he looked away. “Stop. That scene is . . . explicit.”

“This is a big book. You can’t have . . . You must have written this when . . .” David’s voice grew husky. “This is about us.”

Jonathan slammed his eyes shut.

David read on, swallowing hard. “Is that . . . what you want to do with me?”

Jonathan opened his eyes and glared.

He clapped the laptop shut and set it aside. That dimple winked between them. “Your novel is very, very naughty.” He raised a hand, and Jonathan swiftly pulled him to his feet.

“Those parts will remain fiction.”

Eyes glittered.

Breathless at his ear, “Do they have to?”

Near dawn, they collapsed into a naked tangle under the sheets. They’d exhausted themselves, on and off throughout the night. That last time . . .

Jonathan curled David close and kissed the top of his head.

David looked up at him with a sleepy smile. “I need lulling. Lull me.”

“Relentless.”

“You love me.”

“I do love you.”

“So, lull me.” Words grazed over his skin, a sparkly kiss. “Tell me our story.”

Epilogue

One year later, David and Jonathan. Turkey. Amongst the ruins of Aphrodisias, holding hands after a kiss. Laughter. There’s always laughter.

I’m back in the ancient city that worshipped Aphrodite, goddess of love. I feel giddy standing here with the love of my life. It’s like I can feel love in the air around us. Like it knows I’m his beating heart. And he is mine.

Jonathan in the weeping willow, reading his novel aloud. He reads the last words, looking into the camera.

. . . and they lived happily ever after.