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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 months

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Rating: T Words: 6,934 Summary: In the hours after their wedding Carlos struggles to balance his joy with his grief. A/N: Please accept this in lieu of Seven Sentence Sunday! Thanks for the tags @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @kiwichaeng, @carlos-in-glasses, and @strandnreyes! Read on AO3

The reception has been in full swing for three hours.

Carlos smiles softly as he watches Ana swing his nephew around on the dance floor to Kanye West’s “Gold Digger;” a song that he’d definitely put on the no-play list and apparently T.K. had taken right back off again.

In the end, the hours they spent agonizing over the playlist for the DJ, the color of the napkins, and the font for the invitations don’t even matter. They’re not what he’ll remember from tonight.

When he thinks of this night for the rest of his life he’ll remember the tears in T.K.’s eyes as he said his vows, the way it felt to hold him during their first dance, and the joy on their friends’ faces as they smeared cake all over each other. He’ll feel the ache in his heart over the way his mother’s eyes had gone glassy while she pinned on his boutonniere, the way Luisa had clung just a little tighter than normal to her husband’s hand, the way he kept looking for his father in the crowd only to remember that he’ll never see him again.

The joy and the grief are twined together in his soul in a way that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to separate. And he can only hope that one day they bloom into something that feels like peace.

The day hasn’t been perfect; he’s not sure anything is ever going to feel perfect again. But it has been good. Their family, their friends, their love, it’s all so, incredibly good.

What’s not good is that he hasn’t laid eyes on his husband in nearly thirty minutes. Having T.K. by his side is the only thing that has made today bearable, and now that he’s not here Carlos feels adrift and exhausted.

His eyes search the crowd, taking in Nancy and Mateo who are slow dancing and both more than a little tipsy, his mom talking with one of the caterers about what to do with the leftover cake, Owen chatting with his brother and their family. But T.K.’s sweet face still eludes him.

He’s about to get up and go conduct a physical search of the premises, but then a hand, its weight familiar even if the gold band on the third finger is still slightly foreign, squeezes his shoulder and T.K. drops into the seat next to him, a plate in his hands.

His jacket and tie are gone, the top few buttons of his shirt open so that Carlos can see his medallion gleaming in the soft lights that illuminate the dance floor. His hair is a wreck, sweaty and all over the place, and there’s this glow about him, like the joy of the day has lit up his body from the inside out.

He’s never looked more beautiful.

“How many pieces of cake have you had?” Carlos asks, a fond smile on his lips.

“Three? Four? No idea babe,” T.K. says spearing another forkful. “It’s our wedding day, the calories don’t count. Want a bite?”

He extends his hand, but Carlos shakes his head. “I’m good thanks.”

Instead of eating it T.K. sets the plate and fork on the table then leans forward and puts a hand on Carlos’ knee, studying his face. “You’re tired,” he says softly.

“I’m okay,” Carlos assures him. “I’m—I’m so happy T.K.”

“I know you are. But you’ve barely slept this week,” T.K. says. “It’s okay to be happy and want today to be over.”

Leave it to T.K. to put what he’s feeling into words. He doesn’t want this day to end; he wants to stay here and dance and laugh and feel the sparkling joy of forever with those he loves. But he also wants to curl up in bed with T.K., wrapped in the quiet softness of his arms, and be alone together.

Sometimes his husband knows him better than he knows himself.

He must stay quiet for too long, because T.K. squeezes his knee. “Let’s leave.”

“We can’t leave,” Carlos tells him, checking his watch. “We still have another hour of the reception.”

“Is there a rule that says we have to stay for the whole thing?”

“Well we paid for the whole thing, so we probably should.” He looks out at the crowd again. Paul and Marjan are yucking it up on the dance floor while Asha laughs, Judd and Grace cheering them on. His mom is bringing drinks to his sisters who are watching the kids play with a bunch of glow sticks the staff just provided. It’s beautiful and bright and there’s no way they can leave it behind.

“It’s our wedding,” T.K. says. “We can do whatever we want.”

Carlos hesitates. It’s so tempting. It’s what he really wants. But T.K. is here, eating cake, and clearly having the time of his life. He can’t pull his new husband away just because he’s tired. “I’m really okay,” he says again. “Go back out there and dance.”

T.K. stands, but he doesn’t head back toward their family and friends. Instead he holds out a hand. “Come on.”

Carlos takes it and T.K. pulls him to his feet and then toward the building, away from where the party is. “T.K. where are we going?” he asks.

“We’re leaving,” T.K. says. “And before you say anything,” he continues, cutting off Carlos’ protest, “this is what I want. This day has been…it has been everything I dreamed it would be and more Carlos. But our marriage isn’t about today, it’s about the rest of our lives. And taking care of you is the most important thing I’ll ever do. So we’re leaving. Okay?”

He gives Carlos’ hand a squeeze and tugs him along down the hallway toward the rooms where they’d gotten ready this morning. It takes only minutes for Carlos to pack up his things. Everything is neat and tidy, just the way he left it. T.K.’s room on the other hand is a bit of a wreck and Carlos would tease him about it if he wasn’t so ready to get out of here.

Instead he helps T.K. hunt for a missing sneaker, fetches his toiletry kit from the bathroom, and waits patiently as T.K. stuffs the clothes he came in into a duffel bag.

He’s zipping it closed when the door opens and Ana walks in. She immediately yelps and claps a hand over her eyes, then drops it just as suddenly. “Sorry, sorry! I saw you two and assumed I was walking in on reception sex, but you’re both fully clothed so, obviously not. Or you were about to have reception sex and I interrupted. In which case sorry again.”

“Ana what are you doing down here?” Carlos asks.

“The kids and I are playing hide and seek. So far I’m winning,” she says. “Why are you fully clothed? And packing a duffel bag? Are you about to make an Irish exit from your own wedding?”

Carlos looks at T.K. then back at his sister. “Yes,” he says.

Her eyes go soft with understanding. “Good. I’ll cover for you with Mom, okay?”

He opens his arms and she walks into them. She’s his big sister, but he’s been taller than her for years and he easily envelopes her in a hug. “Love you,” he mumbles into her hair.

“Love you too Carlitos,” she says, her voice a little rough, like she’s holding back tears. “And you T.K.,” she says when they pull apart, going in to hug him too. “Now go. Get out of here. Go start your life together.”

The Camaro is still where he parked it twelve hours ago and just remembering how long the day has been has Carlos sagging a little with fatigue. “I’ll drive,” T.K. offers, and Carlos hands over the keys without resistance.

They’re married now, the Camaro is half his anyway.

Funny how he thinks of everything they own as half T.K.’s except for his heart. That’s belonged to him fully since day one.

“Are you hungry?” T.K. asks as he starts the car. “We can stop and pick something up.”

“Not really,” Carlos says. “We can always order room service at the hotel when we get there.”

Owen booked them a room at some swanky place in downtown Austin where they’re staying for a couple nights before they leave for their honeymoon. They have the honeymoon suite which boasts a jacuzzi, a balcony, a king size bed, access to the hotel’s spa, and a butler. It’s incredibly generous of his father-in-law, and if it were any other time, Carlos would be looking forward to all the things they’re about to do in that hotel room. But tonight? He’s just so. damn. tired.

He must fall asleep on the drive because the next thing he knows T.K. is squeezing his bicep gently and he’s blinking gritty eyes open. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the emotions of the day, but he doesn’t recognize where they are until he stumbles blearily out of the car. He turns and looks at T.K. in confusion over the Camaro’s hood.

“My dad called the hotel and asked them to push the reservation to tomorrow,” T.K. says. “After he explained, they were more than willing to accommodate us. I thought tonight—“ He looks up at the brick building in front of them, “—it felt like you might just want to be home.”

This is what finally breaks him.

It’s as if the center of his chest rips open and he caves inward, wrapping his arms around his ribs to try and hold himself together. How is it possible to feel so elated and so anguished at the same time?

T.K. is there, his hands coming up to cradle Carlos’ face. “It’s okay baby,” he says. “You’re okay.”

“Thank you,” Carlos manages, his voice cracking over the words. “T.K. I—“

“Shh,” T.K. soothes. He presses a kiss to Carlos’ forehead. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Carlos leans heavily against T.K. in the elevator. They’re halfway up before he realizes they didn’t bring in their bags and says as much to T.K. “We’ll get them tomorrow,” T.K. tells him gently. “There’s nothing in there that can’t wait until morning.”

Carlos clings to him like a child, tears still streaming freely as T.K. rubs his arm and murmurs sweet things into is curls while they wait for the elevator to reach their floor.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” T.K. suggests once they’re inside the loft. “I’ll make us some tea.”

It’s ridiculous, but the thought of being separated from T.K. for even as long as cleaning himself up feels impossible to bear. “Come with me?” Carlos asks. “Please?”

“Yeah, baby. Of course.” T.K. brings Carlos’ knuckles to his lips for a kiss and then guides him toward the bathroom.

Carlos doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he starts trying to undo the buttons on his shirt. He only manages a few before T.K. takes over, strong, capable, and steady. When he finishes Carlos slides it off, letting it drop to the floor without caring that it’s not anywhere close to their laundry basket. His undershirt, pants, boxer briefs, and socks join it as T.K. turns on the spray of the shower.

Carlos steps in, the water hitting him in the face, not fully warm yet. He closes his eyes and lets it pour down, holding his breath until his lungs feel like they might burst. He only releases it when he feels T.K. step in behind him, his husband’s hand finding the small of his back. Carlos leans into him as T.K. presses a soft kiss into the skin of his shoulder before reaching around Carlos for the shampoo.

“I can do it,” Carlos tells him.

“It’s okay,” T.K. says softly. “I got it.”

T.K.’s hands work through his curls first, soft and gentle, and then down the rest of his body. The water washes away the sweat and the tears, but not the ache that now lives permanently between Carlos’ ribs. It hurts more with every breath and he struggles to try and push past it. He doesn’t want to feel this. Not tonight.

“Go dry off,” T.K. says when all the suds have been rinsed away. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Carlos towels off, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before sinking down on the edge of their bed. He should do something. It’s their wedding night. He should pour sparkling cider or sprinkle rose petals or find the leftover chocolate covered strawberries his sisters brought to their family dinner that are somewhere in the back of the fridge. But he can’t make himself move. All he can do is sit and try to remind himself how to breathe. In, out. In, out. In…

T.K. steps out of the bathroom in a clean pair of boxer briefs, the scent of their shower swirling around him. He’s gathered up their soiled clothes from the bathroom floor and Carlos watches as he sorts them out according to their laundry system. It’s this small act of love that causes tears to well and begin falling silently all over again. He’s married someone so good, so tender hearted. A man who takes the time to care for the pieces that Carlos can’t right now.

“I love you,” Carlos says, the words somewhere between a croak and whisper. He wishes for all the world that there were better words. Love is not strong enough for the feeling that lives inside him because T.K. Strand is his.

T.K. closes up the hamper and comes to him, his hands cupping Carlos’ face and wiping the tears away. “I love you too.” He looks into Carlos’ eyes, searching for something, though Carlos doesn’t know what. “Do you want tea?”

Carlos shakes his head and tilts his chin up. T.K. understands his wordless request and meets him, their lips coming together in a brief kiss. “Let’s go to bed,” T.K. says softly, brushing his thumb over Carlos’ cheek one more time before leaving him to slide beneath the covers on his own side of the bed.

Carlos joins him in the middle of the mattress, hands reaching to pull T.K.’s body into his. He’s desperate to close his eyes and succumb to the oblivion of sleep, but his husband deserves something more. Something better.

He kisses T.K. once, then again, trying to say without words what he’s feeling, like maybe if T.K. can feel it too he’ll be able to help Carlos make some sense of the tangled emotions knotting themselves around his heart.

T.K. kisses him back, his hand coming up to rest on Carlos’ side, unusually still, just his thumb moving back and forth in a soothing motion. Carlos takes a breath and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, the warmth of T.K.’s mouth a familiar comfort against his own.

He finds the waistband of T.K.’s briefs and begins to slide them down his hip, but T.K. covers Carlos’ hand with his own breaking their kiss. “Baby no, not tonight,” he says quietly.

Carlos feels like he’s grasping at straws. There’s a script for how a wedding day is supposed to go, and T.K. has been nothing but gracious as they’ve improvised the whole thing instead. But there are expectations about how the night is supposed to end and Carlos can’t stand the thought of T.K. being disappointed if it doesn’t. “But it’s our wedding night. It should be special. You deserve to feel special.”

His voice breaks as he says it, the words coming out almost like a whimper.

“Oh Carlos. You are in the midst of unspeakable grief and you chose me anyway. That is,” T.K. swallows hard, his eyes growing bright with tears, “that is more than I could ever have asked for. I don’t need your body to make me feel special tonight.”

Carlos inhales a shaky, uncertain breath. “Are you sure?”

“You’re exhausted and grieving. This isn’t the moment. It will be. But not tonight. Tonight we both need to rest.” He gives Carlos a watery smile. “I’m not exactly in the right headspace either.”

Carlos’ heart squeezes in his chest. He’s spent the last few hours so overwhelmed with his own pain that he hasn’t thought of T.K.’s. “Your mom?” he asks.

T.K. nods, his mouth twisting a little, like he’s trying not to cry. “I miss her.”

“I miss her too,” Carlos tells him. “I wish she could see you. She’d be so proud.”

“I thinks she can,” T.K. says. “I hope she knows that I chose right. That you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I hope she knows how incredibly happy you make me.”

Carlos absorbs his words and feels them touch on a something he’s been feeling for the last week but hasn’t quite had the words for. “I’m sorry,” he says.

T.K. furrows his brow and brushes a hand through Carlos’ damp curls. “For what?”

“When your mom died, I thought…I thought I understood. I thought I knew how deep your pain was and that I could be a part of fixing it for you. I didn’t know,” he swallows down a sob that gets stuck in his chest where it aches and aches, “I didn’t know that it’s unfixable. I didn’t know how deeply losing someone breaks you. I wasn’t enough for you then. I didn’t do the right things or say the right things and I—“

“Carlos, Carlos stop,” T.K. soothes. “You were enough. You were everything I needed, even though you couldn’t understand.” He bites his lip, his soft gaze full of compassion and sorrow. “And I’m sorry that you do now.”

“It’s too much,” he says, his voice cracking. “I don’t know—god everything hurts. I don’t know how I can hurt so badly and feel so much love for you at the same time.”

“It’s okay,” T.K. tells him. “Don’t try to figure it out. It will ease.”

“It doesn’t feel like it will,” Carlos tells him, giving voice to the fear that’s eating inside him. He doesn’t want to be like this forever and he’s terrified that he’s just forced T.K. into marriage with a grief stricken monster.

“It will,” T.K. says. “You can trust me, it will.” He kisses Carlos’ knuckles. “Turn over. Let me rub your back.”

He’s too tired and sad to protest, so he does as his husband asks. T.K. moves his fingers slowly up and down Carlos’ spine. Carlos turns his head so he can see him, focusing on the feel of T.K.’s fingers against his skin and his eyes immediately begin to slide shut. “I love you,” T.K. tells him again and again and again, the only weapon he has to wield against Carlos’ exhausted grief. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Carlos says, his words slurring with sleep. “I love you.”

When Carlos wakes in the morning he feels rested for the first time in days. His head aches, his eyes feel gritty, and his face is stinging and raw from the salt of last night’s tears, but he doesn’t have that spinning, dizziness that comes with lack of sleep or the immediate feeling his gut that something is wrong. He remembers within seconds, he always does, that his father is gone. But it’s immediately followed by a second, much more welcome thought; he has a husband.

He shifts a little and reaches out blindly, his hand landing on T.K.’s thigh. When he manages to blink his eyes open he finds T.K. sitting up against the headboard, smiling fondly down at him. “Good morning husband,” he says softly, brushing his fingers through Carlos’ curls.

“Good morning,” Carlos says, smiling back. He rolls onto his back and captures T.K.’s hand, staring at the gold band encircling his finger. “You’re happy?” he asks, looking up to meet T.K.’s eyes.

“So happy,” T.K. assures him. “So, blissfully happy.”

“Me too,” Carlos says. He shifts a little, brow furrowing when he sees what’s in T.K.’s lap. “Are you reading my book?”

“I am,” T.K. says.

Carlos furrows his brow. “You don’t read. And you definitely don’t read my smutty romance novels.”

“That’s true. But you’ve been asleep for a long time and I needed a way to entertain myself because you seemed very reluctant to let me go last night. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

It’s crazy how T.K.’s words can light him up from the inside out. The level of care T.K. lavishes on him is unparalleled. “Thank you,” Carlos says softly. “What time is it?”

T.K. glances at the clock. “A little after eleven.”

“Eleven!” Carlos startles. “I slept for twelve hours?!”

“It’s good babe. You’ve barely gotten any sleep this week. You needed the rest.”

Carlos is still shocked. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since like eight.”

“You sat here with me for three hours?”

“I did get up and go to the bathroom,” T.K. admits. “But I was very quick. I wanted to get back and find out why Alex hates Henry so much.”

Carlos snorts. “He doesn’t hate him.”

“Oh I got that,” T.K. says. “The blatant horniness practically leaps off the page.”

“Don’t make fun of my book.”

“I’m not! I’m not!” T.K. chuckles. “It’s sweet the way they want each other.”

“That’s why I picked it,” Carlos says. “It felt like it might be fun to read before our wedding. Two young men falling desperately in love.”

“Just like us,” T.K. says, locking their fingers together. “I am desperately, desperately in love with you Carlos Reyes. Always have been. Always will be.”

“Soulmates,” Carlos says softly.

T.K. nods. “Soulmates.”

He pushes himself up so they can kiss, long and sweet. When he pulls back he grimaces. “Sorry. Morning breath. I didn’t brush my teeth last night.”

“Yeah I knew you were out of it because you skipped that and the seven step skincare routine,” T.K. teases lightly.

“Is this what marriage is going to be? You making fun of my books and my self care routine?”

“Absolutely,” T.K. says immediately. “It was a footnote in my vows. I vow to take care and nurture you heart for the rest of my life and also mock you mercilessly as is my right as your husband.”

“Damn,” Carlos snaps his fingers. “I knew I should have read the fine print.”

“Too late. You’re stuck with me,” T.K. says.

“Stuck with someone who puts off our hotel reservation and stays with me in bed all morning. Not a bad way to be stuck,” Carlos says, partly to T.K. and partly to himself.

“How do you feel this morning?” T.K. asks.

Carlos considers this. “Better,” he says. “Lighter.”

“We don’t have to go to the hotel,” T.K. tells him. “We don’t even have to go on our honeymoon if you’re not feeling up to it. We can cancel the whole thing and just stay here.”

It feels overwhelming to try and make that decision. He feels okay now, in control of the grief instead of letting it consume him the way it had last night. But his hold on it feels tentative and he’s not sure what tomorrow or even the next few hours will bring.

T.K. seems to sense this. “One thing at a time,” he says. “Do you want to go to the hotel?”

“Yes.” Carlos is a little surprised by how quickly the answer comes, but the thought of spending time with T.K. in such an incredible space feels safe enough. They’ll be close to home, they can always come back if he falls apart. “Yes I want to.”

T.K. beams at him. “Me too. Let’s go.”

Their bags are still packed and in the car, they hadn’t planned on coming back home after the wedding at all, so they’re ready to go in a matter of hours.

Carlos drives this time, T.K.’s hand tucked into his most of the way. He keeps rubbing his fingers over the cool metal of T.K.’s wedding band. In so many ways it feels like they’ve been married since the day T.K. came home to the loft, but having this tangible, visible reminder of their love feels so incredibly special.

They pull up to the valet and Carlos brings T.K.’s hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “All right, save it for the jacuzzi,” T.K. teases, making him smile.

The joy he’d felt yesterday during the ceremony and the beginning of the reception feels like it’s rekindling in his chest. He’s married. For real this time. To a man who holds his heart and his body with care and love. It’s more than he ever could have dreamed of.

They check in and are immediately swept into five diamond luxury. Their bags are whisked away and they’re given fresh, fruit flavored water before being ushered upstairs by their personal butler Victor. It feels slightly ridiculous, they’re a paramedic and a police officer, not the Kardashians, and he catches T.K.’s eye more than once in the elevator, his husband looking like he’s about to burst into laughter at the poshness of it all. This absolutely feels like something Owen Strand would enjoy and is far too rich for the two of them.

“Mr. and Mr. Strand-Reyes,” Victor says as they reach the penthouse floor and Carlos bites back a laugh because of course Owen made sure the reservation went his way on the hyphenation, “welcome to your suite.”

The door slides open and they walk into a room so big the loft could fit in it three times over. There are floor to ceiling windows that highlight the downtown world of Austin, along with a king size bed covered in rose petals, a freaking chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a bottle of sparkling cider on ice, and a tray of handcrafted pastry treats. They can’t see the bathroom from where they’re standing, but Carlos has a feeling it’s equally as grand as the rest of the room.

Victor explains the call button to them and gives them a tour of the space (the bathroom is indeed huge and Carlos feels T.K. squeeze his hand when Vincenzo shows them how to work the jacuzzi), while a second hotel employee delivers their bags and begins to unpack for them.

It’s everything last night should have been and Carlos resolves to make up for ending their wedding night in tears. Tonight? Tonight things are going to be perfect.

“Well, your dad really outdid himself,” Carlos says when Victor takes his leave. “If Owen Strand was a hotel room, this is what he’d be.”

“My dad does enjoy going overboard,” T.K. says, hopping up onto the bed and bouncing a little. “How much do you think it’s going to cost if we break that chair over there?”

“More money than we’ll ever make in our lifetime,” Carlos says.

“That’s what I thought.” T.K. flops all the way down onto the comforter, rose petals fluttering around him. “Oh my god this bed is amazing. Babe, come here.”

He wiggles a hand and Carlos huffs a fond chuckle as he walks over to join him. They lie flat on their backs staring up at the crystals of the chandelier, sparkling with tiny rainbows as they catch the light of the late afternoon Austin sunlight. “We’re married,” T.K. says softly. He turns his head and looks at Carlos. “You kissed me in a honky tonk bathroom and then you married me.”

That night seems like a million years ago and yet Carlos can still feel every second of it in his bones. The instant he’d looked into those green eyes he should have known this was where they’d end up. It was inevitable. “This is a little nicer than that bathroom,” he says, his eyes dropping to T.K.’s lips.

“It is,” T.K. agrees, leaning closer, that half lidded, wanting look on his face.

The kiss is soft, the perfume of the rose petals filling the air as they’re crushed beneath their bodies. Carlos doesn’t wait long before rolling so that he’s hovering over T.K. There’s an urgency thrumming through his veins, but he refuses to give into it. He doesn’t want to rush this moment. He wants it to be like that first night, so bright and sharp that it writes itself on his very soul so he can relive it over and over again in the years to come.

“Let’s get this off,” Carlos murmurs, sitting back so that T.K. can push himself upward. They work together to remove his shirt and then he lays back down again while Carlos makes quick work of his sneakers and then undoes the button on his pants, slowly sliding them down his legs.

T.K. puts his hands behind his head, his eyes following Carlos’ every move. “Yours too,” he says when Carlos goes to rejoin him, still fully clothed.

Carlos shakes his head. “Let me take care of you first.”

But T.K. sits up again, his hands coming to rest on Carlos’ hips. “If you’re taking care of me, then you should give me what I want,” he says, tilting his head to the side and looking up at Carlos from underneath his lashes. When Carlos doesn’t move T.K. lifts the hem of his shirt with one hand and presses a kiss into the softness below his navel, causing the muscles in Carlos’ stomach to clench with want. He drops one hand into T.K.’s hair, tightening it when T.K.’s teeth scrape gently across his skin. “Okay,” he breathes. “You win.”

T.K. smirks up at him. “I usually do.”

Bastard. He always does.

Carlos pulls off his shirt and throws it somewhere to be found later and then lets his pants join it. “Better,” T.K. says as he reclines once more, his eyes going dark as he drinks in the miles of bare skin Carlos has exposed.

Carlos presses his knees into the mattress, straddling T.K.’s hips. He gazes down, memorizing the sight of him with a halo of rose petals scattered around his head. T.K.’s lips are already pink from their kisses, his cheeks flushed with desire even though they’ve barely started. He’s so achingly gorgeous that it takes Carlos’ breath away.

T.K. reaches up to cradle his face. “You’re my husband,” he says. “We take care of each other.”

Husband. Carlos lowers his head and kisses T.K. once, then again. He breathes the word into his mouth, marks it into his skin with his teeth, paints it with his tongue into the lines of his stomach and hips until not a single part of him is unclaimed. Nothing about them has changed physically, but those two syllables make everything feel different. His mind knows and he ensures T.K.’s body does too.

It’s soft and slow, the minutes melting into hours as they take their time finding their way through this new level of intimacy.

In between, when they’re catching their breath, they drink the sparkling cider and feed each other pastries in a tangle of bedsheets before falling back into each other’s arms again. By the time the sky turns pink with dusk Carlos feels boneless with pleasure. He never wants to leave this bed. He never wants to be separated from T.K. again.

“I’m hungry,” T.K. says from where his head is pillowed on Carlos’ chest. He’s stroking his fingers slowly up and down in the space between Carlos’ hip and his ribs. “Let’s order room service.”

Carlos’ stomach rumbles in agreement, putting an end to his plans to stay in this bed forever. “Good idea,” he says, pressing a kiss to T.K.’s hair. “Go ahead and grab the menu.”

T.K. props himself up so he can look at Carlos. “Oh I have to be the one to leave the bed?”

“Well you’re on top right now,” Carlos reminds him. “And you did say you wanted to take care of me.”

“I believe I said we take care of each other,” T.K. reminds him, poking a finger into his stomach.

“Well if you get up I promise I will take care of you any way you want when you get back,” Carlos says with a grin.

T.K. huffs but rolls off the bed, walking across the room without bothering to put any clothes on. Carlos sits up against the pillows, watching as his husband walks across the room and grabs the menu off the table. He smirks when he turns around and catches Carlos staring. “Like what you see?”

“Always,” Carlos says.

T.K. plops back onto the bed, turning the menu over and reading through it. “How do we feel about duck confit tacos? Or strawberry goat cheese crostini?” He looks up at Carlos. “Let’s get both. It is on my dad after all.”

“Whatever you want,” Carlos says and means it. God he would do anything for this man, his heart is so full he feels like he could burst.

T.K. orders half the menu in the end and insists on a glass of wine for Carlos even though he says he doesn’t need it. “We’re celebrating,” T.K. says firmly. “You should drink the fancy wine.”

“Okay,” Carlos agrees. “If it will make you happy I will drink the wine.”

“Good,” T.K. says. He sits back and looks at Carlos. “How are you feeling?”

Carlos’ heart twinges and he tries to push it away. He doesn’t want anything to poke at their little bubble of happiness. “I’m fine,” he says, smiling and settling back beneath the sheets. “I’m happy T.K. Really. I’m not…last night won’t happen again.”

“It would be okay,” T.K. says softly, “if it did.”

Carlos swallows hard. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore.”

“I know,” T.K. says, his face compassionate. He squeezes Carlos’ knee through the sheets. “I wish I could tell you that you won’t. That the worst of it is over.”

“I know you can’t,” Carlos says. “I know it’s…I know it’s going to take time.”

T.K. nods and then leans over and reaches into his suitcase. “I got you something.”

Carlos holds out his hand and T.K. drops a silver chain into it. It coils in his palm and Carlos looks up at him questioningly. “When I’m on shift,” T.K. says, “I’m going to wear my ring on the chain with my medallion. I thought you might want a way to keep our ring and your dad’s ring close too.”

Carlos looks down to where both rings rest on his fingers, one of them a blessing, the other a reminder of his loss. Tears clog his throat at the thoughtfulness of his husband. “Thank you,” he says. “God, I love you so much, you know that?”

Instead of answering T.K. leans forward and kisses him. “I know,” he murmurs against Carlos’ lips. “Always and forever I know.”

The warmth and weight of their bodies pressing together makes Carlos thrum with want all over again and he pulls back reluctantly. “We should wait,” he says. “Victor will be here soon and we don’t want to give him a show.”

“Are you sure?” T.K. asks, ever the bad influence in their relationship.

“Later,” Carlos says, giving him another firm peck on the lips to finish it.

“Fine,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes as he slides off the bed. “I have to go to the bathroom. Don’t do anything fun without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Carlos says as he disappears behind the bathroom door.

His phone chirps and he picks it up, his heart immediately squeezing with a lightning flash of pain. It’s a reminder about their flights tomorrow. They’re supposed to be on a two fifteen flight to Mexico. And they still haven’t decided if they’re going.

A second reminder pings onto the screen about their hotel reservation. He taps it and watches as it opens up to the hotel’s home page. His eyes drink in the sight of blue water, white sand, gorgeous pools, and stunning sunsets. It’s beautiful. The stuff honeymoon dreams are made of.

He hears the toilet flush and the water run in the sink before T.K. reappears, now dressed in a massively fluffy white robe with the hotel’s logo embroidered over his heart. “I’m never taking this off,” T.K. says, holding out his arms so Carlos can get the full effect. “This is the softest thing I’ve ever put on. I feel like a WASPy woman from New England.”

He catches sight of Carlos’ face and cocks his head. “You okay?”

“Will you be disappointed if we don’t go to Mexico?”

“No,” he says immediately. “We can do it another time. Or never. It doesn’t matter to me. All that I care about is you feeling safe. If that means staying home then that’s what we’ll do.”

“T.K. the entire last week has been about me and what I need,” Carlos says softly. “What do you need? What do you want?”

“I want to do what’s best for you.”

“T.K.”

T.K. shakes his head and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Sorry babe. It’s all about you this time.” He flashes a smile. “Don’t worry, it will be all about me again someday.”

Carlos snorts. “I’m sure it will.”

“But for now you have to make the call. And if you can’t, then I’ll just tell you, we’re not going. I’m not taking you out of the country when you’re uncertain about it. If you barely made it through a vacation with your family out of state, we’re definitely not going somewhere that requires a passport to get back.”

Carlos’ heart tears a little bit. Hearing T.K. talk about them not going hurts. They’ve both used up so much vacation time, there’s no chance they’ll be able to go again in the next calendar year. “I think we should go,” he says, testing the words out to see how they feel.

T.K. looks at him intently. “Are you sure?”

Carlos glances down at the pictures again. “So much about the last few months has been us trying to scramble and fix things. We had to rush to plan the wedding and then we barely made it to the altar at all. This is one thing we can do that fits the script of getting married. I think it might feel good to do something normal. We need a break. We need time and space. I think,” he swallows, “I think that’s what my dad would want for us.”

“I think so too,” T.K. says.

It feels right. “Then we’re going.”

T.K.’s face breaks into that sunshine filled, elated grin that took Carlos’ breath away on that honky tonk dance floor three years ago. “Baby! We’re going to Mexico!”

He launches himself at Carlos, tackling him into the mattress and kissing whatever part of him is closest to his mouth. Carlos laughs and pushes him off. “Stop! Victor’s going to be here any minute.” He looks around and winces. “Maybe we should clean up a little.”

The room looks like they’ve been having a sex marathon. Their clothes are everywhere, the sheets and duvet are practically on the floor, and somehow they’ve knocked over the fake potted plant in the corner.

T.K. rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure Victor knows what people get up to in here. It’s fine.”

Carlos starts to get up. “I’m just going to move—“

T.K. grabs his hand and forces him to stay. “Do not get out of this bed. We only have so many hours left and we are not wasting time cleaning up.”

Carlos gives him a look. “Fine then. What do you want to do while we wait that doesn’t involve sex or cleaning?”

T.K. flops onto his side of the bed. “Read me some more of your smutty book.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes seriously. I want to know what happens on New Year’s Eve.”

Carlos laughs as he reaches down beside the bed and retrieves the book from his bag. “I’ll make a romance reader out of you yet,” he says as T.K. snuggles into his side.

“One book,” T.K. says. “I’m not committing to liking an entire genre. Don’t invite me to your book club.”

“That’s how it starts. One book and then another and then another…”

“Not happening babe.”

Carlos smiles fondly. “Good thing I have the rest of our lives to try and convince you.”

#Crowd Me With Love #Tarlos #Post Wedding Fic #Husband Era #Tarlos Husbands #Tarlos Wedding #911 Lone Star #911lsfic #911 Lone Star Fic #Tarlos Fic

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