My body settled a bit through the meal as I chatted with my sister who sat next to me and then turned my attention to the few additional guests who came up to the table to offer their congratulations. I had a chance to exchange some with the rabbi and her wife about the state of same-sex marriage in the States. Prince Charles even came forward, greeting us warmly with apologies that his mother was ill-disposed that evening. After eating, I was feeling rather stuffed and could have taken a nap when a rather husky black woman took to the band stage and called for the audience’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to call the happy couple to the floor for the first dance of the night.” Angus eagerly took my hand. “I picked this song myself and she has a great voice!” He pulled me out of my comfort zone.

“Do you even know how to slow dance?” I asked, having my doubts after seeing his last attempts at fast dancing at the gay bar.

“How hard can it be?” Really? As we got to the floor and everyone’s eyes fell on us, he put his hands on my waist and I draped mine on his shoulders. And as the introductory chords came from the musicians, he put his forehead against mine and began to sway slightly to the beat. “See, not so bad.” He was right, of course. The singer started her rendition of an old Boz Scaggs song, Look What You’ve Done to Me. Her sound was soulful, full of haunted longing and sensual desire.

“Mmm, this is nice,” I whispered.

“I heard this song the day after you kissed me and it has stuck since,” Angus said. “I can’t hear it and not think of you.” Angus said, “You know, you’re right, we’ve never kissed in public.”

“Ah huh,” I murmured. “We also never said how we felt about one another.” The singer was moving to the chorus and I was enjoying her contralto voice – like she had felt these feelings of astonishment that someone would just drop from heaven and believe she was brilliant.

“Desmond?” He pulled me from some dreamy state I’d fallen into by using my full name.

“Yeah?” The singer inflected hand gestures to welcome the guests to come to the floor.

“Do you love me?” Angus asked.

Is he kidding? I stopped and pulled away just a hair, enough so I could look at him directly. His eyes were pleading, darkened green, like grass glazed by spring early morning dew. His question took guts – I remember hearing an older person say once, “Women have children and thus are always practical. But men, they are the true romantics.” I had taken my affections for granted, having lived with them since I could remember. But I’d never said it to him and sometimes words matter, like now. “I grew up watching classic Hollywood movies. Bogart and Bacall, Tracy and Hepburn, Loy and Powell taught us what to expect so I always thought that love was between a man and a woman. Now I know that I have all those things with you. Just to say I love you would simply be much too prosaic.” I kissed him like I should have under the chuppah.

Although kissing Angus was wonderful, it led to an unexpected problem. Simms, coming out of nowhere, as usual, pulled me aside before Angus and I returned to the table. He discreetly said, “I believe someone has spilled something on the dance floor, sir. I should have it cleaned up before you and his Grace return to your seats.” I turned around and looked down to find that drops of something had led a trail that stopped directly under my kilt. Dryly, as if such incidences were routine, Simms continued, “If you and his Grace would prefer tidying up, I have a room prepared for such an eventuality just down the hall, four doors to your right. The guests are sufficiently distracted that they would not miss you should you need a half an hour or so.”

“Why, Simms, thank you,” answered Angus with a calm that masked my embarrassment. “We appreciate your discreet assistance.”

Simms bowed his head, “Always willing to be of service, Your Grace.”

Angus grabbed my arm and led me quickly to the room identified by Simms – smaller than most of the guest rooms in the B&B with only a bathroom and bed space. Angus closed and locked the door for good measure. “Oi!” he pouted. “We’ll have to take a good look at what’s going on down there.” He fitted his hand around my bound cock. “Right, well it appears we have sprung a leak.” The heat from his palm against the tiny slit sent a shock that made the BBalls wiggle. It came on so quickly and intensely that I swooned, and nearly fell over. Angus braced me and then gently laid me down on the nearby bed, careful not to let the pre-cum stain my kilt. He got a warmed wet washcloth from the bathroom, removed the binding, and started to clean me, much like he did in the shower earlier. “However, I am a bit miffed with you, Deetz.”

The warm cloth was nice against my aching balls. “How so, my lord?”

“There was nothing in that marriage contract about serving me my pretzels. Some commands a master shouldn’t have to indicate. I mean…”