Rising Sap

It's the music that makes me pause outside of Scotty's room. He's playing something current, I'm assuming -- something with a rhythmic bass and simple beat, just vaguely reminiscent of disco. Curious, I nudge his bedroom door open a little more and am treated to the sight of Scotty dancing and singing as he's putting away laundry. He's just in his at-home uniform (briefs and a flannel) while he's wiggling his hips and folding shirts and pants. I just stand there, leaning against the doorway and sipping my morning coffee with an amused smile slapped across my face.

When he finally notices me, he gasps, dropping his socks and putting his hand over his chest in surprise. "You fucking scared me!" he says, laughing. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to see you differently," I tease.

"Dick," he says, his cheeks flushed. "What do you want?"

"Just telling you I booked the trip," I tell him. "We leave on the 27th, bright and early."

"Yay!" he says excitedly, rushing over me and hopping up to give me a quick kiss. "Excited?"

I nod. Truthfully, I am. The holidays are a bit awkward this year since Eric and I are still not on speaking terms. However, even though Scotty doesn't want me to spend Christmas alone, I don't want him to skip out on his parents -- so we came up with a compromise: we'd take a trip together right after the holiday. It was his idea to go somewhere warm, and considering neither of us have been anywhere tropical, nor have we spent any time outside the continental States, Hawaii immediately came to mind. Now, we'll spend a week in what's sure to be paradise, starting off the New Year together.

"I'm gonna make you buy and wear lots of those Hawaiian shirts," Scotty says, patting my bare pecs. I'm in *my* at-home uniform: pajama pants and nothing else. "It'll give you a hot dad vibe."

I laugh. "Fine with me," I say, eager to do anything that gets Scotty riled up.

"Oh, that reminds me," he says. Then, he quickly removes the flannel shirt before grabbing a shirt I haven't seen before: a vintage, nearly see-through button-down. He quickly replaces his flannel with it, buttoning it up to the neck and showing off the alluringly, subtly-flashy fabric. "Do you like this? I just got it the other day. Thinking of wearing it tonight."

"Looks good," I say, eyeing him as I polish off my coffee.

He gives me a playful glare. "That's all you have to say?"

I laugh. "What else do you want?"

"An actual opinion."

"You look positively fuckable," I say instead.

Scotty rolls his eyes but laughs. "Well, I guess that works, then," he says, going back to sorting his socks.

I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm dating Scotty. The thought has seemed so absurd, so impossible for so long that I almost have to remind myself that I'm actually *with* the love of my life. I'm getting what I want. And although this mutual relationship is still in its infancy, the reciprocity is what's keeping that stupid grin stretched across my mug. It's thrilling, and fulfilling, and surprising, and... well, *fun*. Scotty plans out date nights for us, treats me with tiny gifts both material and immaterial, and dotes on me like never before. We both continue to give each other opportunities to consciously and purposefully explore the romantic, and I couldn't be more grateful. Sometimes I have to remind myself that even though we agreed to take this seriously, we also wanted to take things slow -- but it's like I'm falling in love with him all over again.

"I'm excited for you to meet my friends," Scotty says with a little smile.

Ah, yes. Tonight I'm meeting all of his artsy pals. "I'm nervous," I tell him, setting my coffee mug down.

"Don't be," he says -- and for a moment, I just enjoy the sight of him folding his little undies. "I've told them plenty of good things, and they already love you."

"They know how old I am, right?" I ask.

"Yes."

I cross my arms over my chest. "And you made it explicitly clear that I'm not a groomer or a predator, yes?"

"Yes, yes," he says impatiently before smiling. "But sometimes I fantasize about you being one."

I roll my eyes, too, but I can't help but laugh. "I'm serious, baby," I tell him. "I don't want people thinking I'm a creep."

"They won't," he assures me. "We're art students. We're not exactly conservatives." Then, something seems to dawn on him. "Actually, speaking of which... don't be weirded out by my friends."

"Why would I be?" I ask, already getting more nervous.

"They're very gay."

I tilt my head, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

"Flamboyant," he says. "Some are fem, some even do drag, and some are just theater homos."

"Oh," I say. "So, what, you think I'll have a problem with that?"

"Well, you're just so... straight for a gay guy," he says, and when I blink dumbfoundedly, he laughs. "C'mon, Uncle Ant. The only gay thing about you is that you like men."

Maybe he's right. Anyone I've ever come out to has been very surprised that I don't go for women. Still, now I'm thinking I'm in for a real culture shock -- and that my anxiety about meeting his friends is justified.

"When am I gonna meet *your* friends, by the way?" Scotty suddenly asks.

I scoff. "What friends?"

Scotty frowns. "Like Travis and Yuang and Charlie and all them," he says.

"Yeah, they're my friends, but they're not..." I trail off, unsure what word to use. "We're just not close like that. The older you get, the less... intimate your friend circles get. Your dad's the only one who's legitimatey important to me."

He frowns even more, and I laugh slightly.

"Don't get upset," I tell him.

"I just still feel like it's my fault," Scotty says, putting his hands on my chest and lightly playing with the hairs. "I don't want you to lose your best friend."

"Maybe he'll come around, eventually," I say. After all, Scotty's been very forward with his father about the nature of our relationship now that we're a couple. The ball's in Eric's court. He has to come to terms with it on his own time. I just hope that he actually does.

"Yeah," Scotty murmurs, sounding unconvinced.

I lift his chin with my fingers. "Don't," I say gently. "Even if we got another go at this, I'd still choose you. I'll always choose you."

Scotty blushes and tries not to smile, but he can't resist. He leans up and kisses me with that soft, gracious sort of passion. Then, with a grin: "You better."

"Brat," I mutter, slapping his ass. He squeaks and slips away from me, laughing and then returning to his laundry. "You didn't tell him about the trip, did you?" I ask, figuring that might be a bit too much for the man to handle.

"Of course not," he says. "I told him it's with a friend's family. A before-we-go-back-to-school trip."

"Good," I say with an approving nod, grabbing my coffee mug. I'm about to head into the kitchen before I remember something. "Oh, and speaking of school," I add, "I wanna talk about it again."

He looks up at me with a fake-irritated look. "No," he says, holding his hand up.

"What?"

"I know what you're trying to do," he says. His irritation turns to amusement as I approach him.

"So let me," I say, wrapping my free arm around his waist and pulling him close.

"No," he says, even though he's giggling.

"C'mon, baby," I coo, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Let me daddy you."

He laughs, pushing me away. "That's not gonna work on me anymore," he says -- though that's highly doubtful.

"I can make you work for it if that makes you feel better," I tease, grabbing a handful of his ass.

He grins. "So you'll pay my tuition for sexual favors?"

"Unofficially," I say with a smirk.

"Make it official," he says playfully, standing up on his tip-toes and reeling me in for a soft but sensual kiss. This is something I absolutely love about being with Scotty: learning about the things that turn him on. I love hearing about his kinks and fantasies. He has a wide range of sexual interests, and I know the idea of me paying him for sex is a huge turn on. Just last week, I gave Scotty a little spending money after he let me fuck him even though he was in a hurry (I was unfathomably horny) -- and it turned him on so much that he rode the hell out of me for round two, making himself fully late to meet up with his friends.

But tuition is a bigger deal. I can't exactly toss a few twenties at him like he's a cheap fuck. I have to convince him. "Just promise me you'll really think about it," I say after we're done kissing.

"I will, I will," he says in a half-assed way, and when I give him a skeptical look, he adds, "I promise."

~ ~ ~

We meet Scotty's friends in a classically neutral way: for food. When we get to the Mexican restaurant, I'm surprised by the colorful array of friends Scotty has. There's all manner of dyed hair, funky fashion styles, and flamboyant jewels -- but they're all very distinct, it seems like. It's almost like a Breakfast Club mash-up of body types, color palettes, gender expressions, and ethnic backgrounds. I feel like I'm watching a TV show.

Frankly, it's a little intimidating. I know how intense an uber-liberal crowd can be, and I still don't think I'm starting off on the right foot dating a boy who's half my age. What if they simply think I'm a creep?

However, once they catch sight of us, every single face seems positively thrilled. It could just be because they're happy to see Scotty, but no one's giving me an off look. So far so good, I suppose.

"Sorry we're late," Scotty says. "I was having a fashion meltdown."

That's a lie. I hadn't yet showered, and the scent of me got Scotty rock hard in record time. He couldn't resist, and I couldn't resist him being unable to resist, so we had to fool around to take the edge off.

"Well, you look positively delicious," one of the guys says, and when Scotty opens his coat to show off his outfit, everyone cheers. I feel my eyebrows raising. They seem like nice people, but goddamn, they are high energy.

"How should we do this? It's a tight fit," one of the girls says, glancing around. There are seven of us total, with three of Scotty's friends on one side of the booth and two on the other.

"That's okay," Scotty says, taking my arm. "I'll sit on his lap."

We do a little rearranging so that everyone is comfortable. In the end, Scotty and I sit by the wall -- and true to his word, he seats that cute little peach of his right in my lap. I grunt a bit when he purposefully adds a little flourish with his hips just to tease me. "Don't," I murmur in his ear. I may have cum in his mouth not too long ago, but being around Scotty makes me feel like I have the libido and the refractory period of a teenager. I'll be roaring to go in no time if he keeps that up.

He just giggles a bit before addressing his friends. "So happy we could do this, guys."

"Oh my god, same," a blue-haired girl says, her bangs nearly covering her eyes. "And we finally get to meet your maaan."

She draws out the word "man" in a sing-song voice, and everyone else giggles a bit while I feel my face get hot.

Scotty smiles as he addresses me. "I don't expect you to remember everyone's name," he starts to say, knowing I'm terrible with names -- and as soon as those words leave his mouth, I tune out the rest. For now, I'm pinning details about each of his friends to a single physical trait so that I don't mix up names. There's Blue Bangs, a moody-looking girl who marries girly and gothic; Mohawk, a rather attractive boy with a severe punk aesthetic; Big Red, a larger man dressed in a red, frilly, patterned, admittedly handmade jacket; Tats, a charming girl whose skin color, due to the sheer number of tattoos, would be impossible to determine from the neck down; and the Bearded Queen, who's quite literally a bearded drag queen. It's an eclectic group -- one where Scotty looks the most, dare I say, normal.

"So what's your story, Antoni?" Big Red asks.

"My story?" I ask, not sure what he wants to know.

"Yes," the Bearded Queen says, clapping his fingers together to get our attention. He smiles playfully in my direction and says, "You can start with... how you two met."

I tense up a bit, but Scotty just giggles. "C'mon, leave him alone," he says, defending me. "You know the story already."

"I haven't gotten *all* the deets, babe," the Bearded Queen says. "And you know I just *love* an illicit romance."

"To be honest, it took me forever to realize he wasn't your real uncle," Blue Bangs says, making her companions chuckle.

"Woulda been hotter," Big Red murmurs, and a few of them burst into laughter.

"You know what's bad?" Scotty says. "I still can't call him just his name. I only know him as Uncle Ant."

The laughter continues as eyes scan between me and Scotty. "So, wait," the Bearded Queen interjects, clearly the louder personality in the group, "when you two are doin' the nasty-nast, you still call him Uncle?"

"Or 'Daddy,'" Scotty boldly says -- and that gets his friends riled up with glee. I just sit there, fascinated by these expressions of excitement.

"'Daddy' is *very* fitting," Big Red says, "if you don't mind me saying so."

"I think so too. He takes good care of me," Scotty says, turning to face me with an adorable smile, "and I love him."

I hear a few of his friends go "Awww," but I don't pay them any attention. I've got my eyes locked with my boy's, and for a few moments, we just smile at each other before I give him a quick, tasteful kiss.

"God, you guys are hot together," one of them says. I'm not sure who. I'm guessing Tats, since she doesn't talk much and I didn't quite recognize the voice.

"For real. Where can I get me a man like him?" the drag queen asks with a dramatic sigh.

Then, Blue Bangs says, "My first boyfriend was fifty-two," which causes the conversation to spiral as everyone presses her for details.

However, before she can be grilled, our waitress comes by to take our orders -- and Scotty and I didn't even discuss food. "Wanna share nachos?" Scotty asks me.

"Sure," I say, fine with whatever.

"What about drinks?" he asks. "You gonna get toasted?"

I laugh. "No. But I can order you a drink if you want." Usually his fake ID would've taken care of things, but it got nabbed by security on one of his most recent outings.

"I don't wanna drink if you're not gonna drink," he says -- but I can tell he wants to. All his friends are getting alcohol.

"It's fine, baby," I tell him, sliding my hand up his thigh a bit more. I lean in and murmur in his ear, "Then I can take advantage of you."

He grunts a bit, flushing with sensual energy. "Promise?"

I chuckle. "Is that what you want?" In response, he takes my hand and guides it to his crotch, where I can feel that he's already hard. "Jesus, baby," I whisper with a laugh.

"I just really like that idea," he says with a little smirk. "I'm gonna get plastered tonight. Take advantage of me."

"You serious?"

"One-hundred percent. Fuck me good." He says it in his confident, horny little commander voice, and I grin at him. Alright, monkey. If that's what you want, you little freak.

When it's our turn to order, Scotty asks for the nachos and I pretend like I'm the one getting a margarita. That's when I realize Scotty is the youngest of his group. As soon as the waitress leaves, Tats turns to Scotty with a grin to confirm that realization. "Our little baby still can't order his own drink," she teases in a playfully demeaning voice.

Scotty just waves her off. "I'm old enough for other things," he says in a sultry voice, which makes me immediately hot and all his friends laugh.

For a while, I simply observe Scotty's friend group interact. They're an intriguing bunch, for sure, but I can't keep up with them. It's one topic to the next within a flash, constant laughs in between, and I'm just a bit dazed and amused. When the food comes, the conversation does focus on me for a bit because Scotty brings up the fact that I, like them, am an artist. We all have very different definitions on what constitutes "art," but I find out that some of Scotty's friends have already seen some of my work and consider me talented. Scotty, of course, talks me up, but it gives me a tingly feeling knowing Scotty's been showing me off to his friends when I'm not there. It makes things feel more... real, I suppose.

The meal goes by without a hitch. By the end, I'm mostly grateful that my anxiety was unfounded. I don't feel like a creep like I expected to. In fact, all of these kids have dabbled in non-traditional romance, so it makes me feel like less of an oddball. I can just relax, share one or two sips of Scotty's margarita, and chime in when necessary.

Then, the conversation shifts towards Christmas, due to some of their last-minute shifts in plans. What I find particularly touching is how familial this group is. Mohawk, Tats, and Bearded Queen (for whatever reason) all don't have blood families to see for the holidays -- and that's where the rest of them pick up the slack. Mohawk's staying with Big Red and Bearded Queen and Tats are joining Blue Bangs' family. It's a sweet sentiment perfect for Christmas.

"You two are going to Hawaii, right?" Blue Bangs asks me and Scotty.

"After Christmas," Scotty confirms.

"Ooo, how romantic," Bearded Queen murmurs dreamily.

"Oh, it will be," Scotty says. "I have plans." I arch my eyebrow. Plans, huh? Whatcha got in store for me, kiddo?

But then, after a little gasp, Blue Bangs half-whispers question that makes me tense up every muscle. "Are you gonna propose?"

Scotty's friends seem to all think it's funny, though. Even Scotty giggles -- which makes me feel like I missed out on the joke. Instead of responding, Bearded Queen steps in and points to me. "The question is: would you say yes, big guy?"

"Don't put him on the spot," Scotty interjects before turning to me. "You don't have to answer."

"It's a simple question," Bearded Queen insists. "Right now, would you say yes?"

For the first time all dinner, the table falls silent for a few seconds, and the spotlight is on me. God, marriage? I never once thought I'd get married. Even in all my fantasies with Scotty, the idea of holy matrimony never even came up. We just skipped right to happily ever after. No ceremonies necessary. No rings required.

And yet, the thought of me slipping a gold band onto Scotty's finger, of having one to match, of claiming him and him claiming me... Fuck, am I hard right now? Why is that both turning me on and making my chest swell?

So, when Scotty turns to me, likely to relieve me of having to answer, I simply say, "Absolutely."

All Scotty's friends squeal and giggle, but they're all in my periphery, because I'm staring right at Scotty so that he understands. He blushes deeply, his adorable cheeks getting rosy and warm, before he gives me a sweet kiss and then leans back against me comfortably.

The evening goes by slowly but smoothly. Everyone save for me and Big Red has multiple cocktails (Scotty more than any of them), and once the majority of the group is a touch past tipsy, we all go for a walk and have an impromptu caroling session. It gets some amused looks from people in the neighborhood, but several of the older folks are quite cheery when we waltz by singing "Deck the Halls" and "Twelve Days of Christmas" at the top of our lungs. Even I join in. It's not very characteristic of me, but I don't know. Maybe it's the infectious energy of the group. Maybe it's the holiday spirit coursing through me. Maybe it's the adorably drunk boy attached to my arm whose smile is so bright that it completely disarms me.

Finally, the night comes to an end, and we all say "Goodbye" and "Nice to meet you" and "Happy holidays!" and all those niceties -- but they feel genuine, at least. I let Scotty get his hugs in before leading him back to the car. One of his friends shouts "Take care of him!" to me, which just makes the two of us laugh. In response, Scotty once again latches onto my arm, and we walk back to the car attached at the hip.