Sunlight poured through the tall windows of one of the two groom’s suites, warm and golden, catching on the scattered details of the day: cufflinks on the dresser, a pair of polished black shoes lined up like soldiers, and the faint scent of coffee and hotel shampoo lingering in the air.
Outside, the distant murmur of guests arriving drifted up from the garden—soft laughter, the clink of glasses being set out for the reception, the low hum of anticipation on what was supposed to be the happiest day of Alex’s life.
Inside the suite, the atmosphere felt heavier.
Alex stood in front of the full-length mirror, fingers clumsy on his cufflinks for the third time. His shirt was already sticking to his lower back with nervous sweat. Across the room, Marcus moved with that effortless, hyper-masculine confidence he’d always had. The best man rolled his broad shoulders, the fabric of his own white shirt pulling tight across his chest and biceps. A few dark strands of chest hair were visible where his top buttons were still undone. His jaw was freshly shaved, but the shadow was already returning, and when he stretched his arms overhead, the movement revealed the powerful lines of his back and the thick muscle along his sides.
He looked like pure sex wrapped in wedding-day politeness.
“Jesus, you’re quiet this afternoon,” Marcus said, voice low and rough as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. “You’re supposed to be the guy getting married, not heading to a funeral. What’s going on?”
Alex swallowed hard. His heart hammered against his ribs. He’d carried this secret for years—and today, of all days, it was clawing its way out. He stared down at his hands, then forced the words out before he could choke on them.
“I’ve never made him cum.”
Marcus’s hands stilled on his tie. He turned slowly, one thick eyebrow raised. “Come again?”
“Jordan.” Alex’s voice cracked. “In all the time we’ve been together… I’ve never made him cum. Not once. He gets hard for me. He moans, he arches his back, he says it feels good when I’m inside him or when I’m going down on him… but he never actually finishes. Not from anything I do. He always waits until he thinks I’m asleep and finishes himself off in the dark. Or he just pulls me close, kisses my forehead, and tells me it was perfect.” Alex let out a shaky breath, shame burning hot up his neck. “I’ve tried everything. Different positions, toys, taking it slow, going rough. Nothing. I’m failing him, man. On every fucking level. And today I’m supposed to stand up there and promise him forever when I can’t even give him that.”
The silence stretched, thick and heavy in the sunlit room. Then Marcus let out a low, rumbling laugh—deep in his chest, more surprised than mocking. He stepped closer, close enough that Alex could smell the warm, masculine scent of his skin under the cologne. A heavy hand landed on Alex’s shoulder, squeezing once, firm and possessive.
“Never made your own fiancé cum?” Marcus shook his head, the smirk slowly curving his mouth—slow, sharp, and far too knowing. “Shit, Alex… that’s rough.” His fingers tightened just a fraction, thumb pressing into the muscle. “Don’t worry, bro. I’ll fix that for you tonight.”
Alex tried to laugh it off, a weak, nervous sound that died in his throat. “Yeah… funny.”
Marcus didn’t laugh with him. His dark eyes held Alex’s for a long beat, the smirk deepening as the weight of his words settled between them like a promise. The distant sound of wedding guests chatting and laughing outside felt suddenly very far away.
Alex’s stomach twisted. He searched Marcus’s face for any sign that it was just crude best-man banter, but the other man’s expression stayed steady—confident, almost amused, as if the matter were already decided. Heat crawled up the back of Alex’s neck. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.
Marcus gave his shoulder one last firm squeeze before letting go, turning back to the mirror as if the conversation had been no more than a comment on the weather. He finished knotting his tie with practiced ease, the muscles in his forearms flexing. “Better get your head straight, man. Big day ahead.”
The words hung in the air between them. Alex nodded numbly, fingers finally managing to secure the first cufflink. Outside, the garden music swelled faintly—string quartet warming up, guests finding their seats. Jordan was probably downstairs right now, handsome and hopeful in his own suit, completely unaware that his future husband had just failed to defend his own marriage bed on their wedding day—too weak to claim his right to his husband on their first night together as a married couple.
Marcus caught Alex’s eyes in the reflection, that smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth. “Relax, best man. I’ve got you.”
Alex froze mid-motion, the second cufflink slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the polished floor. Best man. The words hit him like a slap. It was the first time Marcus had ever called him that. He wasn’t the best man—he was the groom. This was his wedding day.
But the way Marcus said it… it sounded like a demotion. Like Alex had already been quietly moved to the sidelines. His face burned with humiliation.
Marcus bent smoothly to pick up the fallen cufflink, pressing it back into Alex’s palm with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re gonna need steady hands for the ring later.” His voice was low, almost teasing, but the undercurrent was unmistakable.
The power shift had already begun.
Alex swallowed thickly, cheeks hot. He wanted to push back, to remind Marcus who the hell was actually getting married today, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he fumbled the cufflink into place, pulse racing, shame and something darker twisting low in his gut as his cock gave a helpless twitch.
Marcus clapped him on the back once more—hard enough to jolt him forward a step—then headed for the door. “Come on. Let’s get you married… best man.”
The walk down to the garden felt surreal. Sunlight dappled the stone path, flowers heavy with perfume, guests turning with smiles and murmurs of appreciation. Jordan waited at the end of the aisle—tall, handsome, his suit fitting perfectly, a soft, hopeful smile on his face when he saw Alex.
For a moment, the guilt hit Alex like a wave. This man deserved better. Deserved to be taken apart and put back together in pleasure, not left quietly unsatisfied night after night.
Marcus walked just behind Alex the whole way, close enough that his presence felt like heat at his back. During the ceremony, Marcus stood to the side as best man, the picture of supportive charm—holding the rings, clapping at the right moments. But every time Alex glanced over, Marcus was watching Jordan with dark, appreciative eyes. Sizing him up.
Claiming him already.
At the reception, the toasts flowed. Marcus gave the perfect best man speech—funny, warm, and full of stories that had everyone laughing. But when he raised his glass at the end, his gaze slid to Alex. “To the groom… and to making sure the honeymoon is everything it should be.” The smirk was small, private, meant only for Alex. The words best man weren’t spoken, but Alex felt them hanging in the air anyway.
Later, as the music played and Jordan pulled Alex onto the dance floor for their first dance, Marcus watched from the edge of the crowd, arms crossed over his broad chest, that same knowing look on his face. Alex’s stomach stayed in knots the entire evening.
The party stretched late into the night, golden lights strung through the trees, laughter and music spilling across the lawn. Alex smiled on autopilot—cutting the cake, posing for photos, kissing Jordan while guests cheered.
But every time he turned, Marcus was there: refilling Jordan’s drink with a lingering touch to his lower back, leaning in to murmur something that made Jordan laugh, low and easy as if they were sharing a secret.
Alex’s chest felt tighter with every passing hour.
Finally, the crowd thinned. Jordan’s hand found Alex’s as they said their goodnights, eyes bright with love and a hint of nervous excitement for the honeymoon suite waiting upstairs. “I can’t wait to be alone with you,” Jordan whispered against his ear. Alex forced a smile, the confession from that afternoon burning like acid in his throat.
They rode the elevator up together—three of them. Marcus had casually tagged along “to make sure you two lovebirds get settled.”
In the hallway outside the honeymoon suite, Marcus took the key card from Alex’s hand without asking. He opened the door, stepping inside first like he owned the place.
“Big bed,” Marcus noted approvingly, voice rough. He turned back to them, eyes flicking from Jordan to Alex. Then he looked straight at Alex. “Go sleep in the spare room tonight, best man. I got this.”
Alex stood there, stunned, the words slamming into him harder than they had that afternoon. Jordan blinked, glancing between them with a confused little laugh, clearly assuming it was some kind of bachelor-party-style joke. But Marcus’s expression stayed calm and commanding, one thick eyebrow raised as he waited.
“Go on,” Marcus said, softer this time but no less firm. He placed a large hand on Jordan’s shoulder, guiding him gently but unmistakably farther into the suite. “I’ll take good care of your husband. Promise.”
Jordan hesitated, looking back at Alex with a flicker of concern. Alex wanted to protest, to push past Marcus and claim the room that was supposed to be theirs. Instead, he swallowed hard, cheeks flaming, and gave a jerky nod. “It’s… it’s fine,” he muttered, voice barely audible. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Marcus’s smirk deepened as he started unbuttoning his shirt right there in the doorway, revealing the broad, hairy expanse of his chest. “Night, best man.”
Alex turned and walked down the hall like a man in a daze, the spare room keycard heavy in his palm. The click of the honeymoon suite door shutting behind him sounded final. He stood in the small, impersonal room with its single bed and generic art on the walls, listening.
At first, there was only low murmuring—Marcus’s deep voice, Jordan’s softer replies. Then a laugh from Jordan, surprised and warm.
The first real moan came twenty minutes later.
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