Archive of Our Own

It starts in the kitchen, the morning after the Clairo themed lesbian party in Bushwick.

Anton is trying to reach his favorite mug for hangover cures, the one Samir’s sister made for their mom in fourth grade with the janky bottom that can perfectly fit the raw egg in the jutting green crevice at the front to shotgun at the end. Someone, either a completely blitzed Anton, or more likely, unemployed Billie with a stepladder and tradwife delusions, had put it at the top of the tallest cabinet.

And Anton’s not short, for sure, especially compared to his friends, Paul Baker notwithstanding, but he's a Berta Beef Canadian boy who played Squirt hockey with Braden Schneider, whatever that means. He is, however, extremely fucking hungover, and it's just out of reach, and the stepladder’s not in the kitchen.

“Good morning honey,” Paul Baker says, cheerfully galumphing into the kitchen from his morning jog. He’s glistening with sweat, and his shirt is clinging to his abs. He's still got one of those glow in the dark gummy bear earrings in his gay ear, the only evidence of the night they'd all had. Anton loves his energy and his aura 99% of the time, but this 1% of the time his headache is getting worse just looking at him.

“Good morning pookie,” Anton greets him morosely, raising an eyebrow as Paul Baker lifts up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead like he’s in a NextDoorRaw scene. Maybe he doesn't deserve the pet name, which is apparently something that they're doing now. “Where's the ladder?”

“Billie’s closet, I think,” Paul Baker reasons, smoothing his shirt back down and running a hand through his fluffy, sweat soaked hair, looking like he's about to shake it everywhere like a dog after a bath. “They're confiscated until Samir stops trying to climb things. I think she wants to do a House Rules about it soon,” he pauses.

“Hey, you need me to get that for you?” he asks, not waiting for an answer before he moves in to cup the back of Anton’s neck with one big hand. His hand is warm except for the cold metal of his wedding ring brushing against his skin. Anton almost yelps as Paul Baker reaches up to grab the mug and press it into his hands.

“Husbandly duties,” Paul Baker says solemnly, curling his fingers to brush at the hair at the back of Anton’s neck.

Anton takes a breath, stunned into a smile. He had said that, he remembers, last night.

“Wait, Paul Baker,” he furrows his brow, skin tingling as Paul Baker draws away. “Did Samir fall through a skylight?”

—

So maybe it starts at the Clairo themed lesbian party in Bushwick.

“Where's Samir?” Anton asks Issa at the bar, looking over her shoulder to see if their token straight boy is embarrassing himself. “This is a lesbian party, we have to watch him!”

“Samir’s climbing the skylight,” Issa says, and does a double take, the tassels hanging from her nipples swinging wildly, slapping her placard that says Lesbian Dabbler. “What are you drinking? Is that a beer? What are you, a top?” She gasps, slapping Anton on the chest, jostling his own Not a Lesbian card.

“It's Clairo,” Anton protests. “It's on theme!”

Issa ignores him. “Have you been a top this whole time? Literally nothing about you gives top,” she says dramatically.

“Rude,” Anton says. “I could be a top,” he asserts. “Paul Baker, tell her I could be a top.”

“You could top me, hubbie,” Paul Baker says dutifully, simultaneously putting an arm around his shoulder and leaning over to kiss Issa on the cheek, handing her a bright blue drink in a cocktail glass that Issa immediately brandishes dramatically.

“That's true, Paul Baker takes strap like a champ,” Issa says admiringly. and Paul Baker beams. He's wearing a bunch of jelly bracelets that rattle on Anton’s shoulder. Anton imagines him wearing them while on his hands and knees, taking–he shuts that thought down immediately as Issa tries to bully the blue drink into his hands.

“You have to take this, you can't be a top!” she exclaims. “You've spent too much time bulgevestigating Shawn Mendes to be a top. Shawn Mendes!”

“Is that the waiter at that brunch place in Astoria who always wears those tight pants?” Paul Baker asks.

“No, that's Shaun Menendez,” Anton corrects him gently, dodging Issa by lifting the beer above her head.

“That guy who killed his parents with his brother?”

Issa huffs, and downs half the drink herself, her nipple tassels rippling in frustration. “Where's Billie, is she babysitting Samir? I need backup.”

“I can back you up, baby,” Paul Baker says automatically. Anton pushes at him with his shoulder, but he's too solid to move. It does rattle his three charm necklaces, though, along with his own Not A Lesbian placard. He's written in Not a Butch, sorry :(, under the lettering as well. “I think Samir's climbing the skylight.”

“And Billie's with him?” Anton asks.

“No, Billie's getting hunted by milfs,” Paul Baker clarifies, pointing over to a gaggle of middle aged lesbians with wine glasses and Billie in the middle. Her placard is bright red, and says Lesbian Phase.

“Oh, my sweet Paul Baker,” Issa says, reaching up to cup Paul Baker’s face. “Don’t erase women's agency. She's the hunter.”

“I’m sorry, women,” Paul Baker says.

“It's a lesbian party,” Issa reminds him. “You have to say sorry to lesbians.”

“I’m sorry, lesbians,” Paul Baker amends.

“And Clairo,” Anton chimes in.

“I’m sorry, Clairo,” he adds, and he furrows his brow. “Wait, who's Clairo?”

“The person whose music is playing right now? The theme of this Clairo themed lesbian party?” Anton gapes.

“Oh,” Paul Baker says, looking down at his tiny crop topped shirt, dusted with glitter. It says: Claire's. “I misunderstood the theme.”

“It's fine,” Issa says. “You're not a lesbian, and you still look cute and strappable. Anton, tell Paul Baker he still looks cute and strappable.”

Paul Baker looks at him with big brown eyes over his moustache. “You still look cute, Paul Baker,” Anton admits. He does. He has gummy bear earrings on, and they’re glowing in the dark. His big bulging biceps have glitter and tiny butterfly stickers on them, for God's sake.

“And strappable,” Issa reminds him.

There's a beat, and Anton sighs. “And strappable.” Paul Baker beams, a megawatt smile in this dimly lit penthouse full of lesbians.

“Maybe that's it!” Issa exclaims, tassels bouncing excitedly as she realizes something. It's always a hit or miss, when Issa realizes things. “That's how we break your dry spell!”

“By getting me strapped?” Anton scoffs, looking around at the dimly lit penthouse full of lesbians. “I’ve tried it, but I don't think this is my crowd.”

“Not these lesbians, Paul Baker!” She says, and she grabs both their hands, where the wedding rings they'd taken from the coffee table are. “And he's your husband, it's perfect, it's like, Paul Baker’s husbandly duty.”

Paul Baker, who looked like a deer in the headlights for a second, nods like this makes sense to him.

Anton says it slowly, carefully, trying to wrap his head around it. “It's Paul Baker’s husbandly duty to break my dry spell?”

“Exactly, if he wants to be a good husband–”

But Issa never gets to finish, because there's a loud cracking noise, and the sound of shattering glass, and a few dozen lesbians and Anton scream in unison as Samir falls through the skylight.

—

Paul Baker takes the liberty of making Anton’s hangover cure, which works for Anton, since he still feels like he got skullfucked sideways by whatever that futch bartender with the pantsuit was pouring into their mouths out on the sidewalk while they cleaned up all the glass from Samir’s little incident.

“Aww, is your husband making you a drink?” Issa asks smarmily as she rolls into the kitchen and steals a piece of toast from the toaster. Neither of them had made toast this morning, but it was probably fine. “Since when could we afford eggs?”

“Since Billie started hooking up with that farmer,” Anton supplies, just in time for Billie to sweep in, all soft sweater and general dishevelment from being pawed at by milfs.

“I told you, he’s not a farmer, he just has three chickens in his backyard, and we’d better make that basket last because he cries during sex, and not in a fun way,” she explains.

“Aww, but we found all those farmer’s wife sundresses at the night market!” Paul Baker pipes up, and pats her on the shoulder sympathetically from where he’s carefully stirring Anton’s drink.

“I can still get railed in those,” Billie says determinedly. “I will get railed in those,” she says confidently.

“Maybe you should lend one to Anton,” Issa says thoughtfully, brandishing her toast. “Or Paul Baker. Did we decide on that?”

Before either of them can say anything, Samir bursts in, waving around his phone like he doesn’t have his other arm in a sling.

“They’re calling me a twink!” he exclaims. “I’m not a twink, am I?”

“Who’s calling you a twink?” Billie asks.

“You can’t be a twink, you’re straight,” Issa says at the same time.

“They’re calling him a twink on Tiktok,” Carly helpfully supplies, trailing after him as she’s putting on her work clothes.

“And Twitter!” Samir corrects her.

“And Twitter,” she amends. “A twink who fell through the skylight at a lesbian party in Bushwick.” she summarizes. “He doesn’t think he’s the twink of the group.”

“Obviously, I’m the twink of the group,” Anton says, and everyone makes different noises.

“You’re kind of tall and handsome for a twink, sweetheart,” Paul Baker says thoughtfully. “Does that make me a twink?”

“No, Paul Baker, you’re a twunk, or a jock,” Anton explains gently.

“You have too many abs to be a twink, Paul Baker,” Issa says. “Show us your abs,” she demands, and he does, lifting up his shirt again. There’s still a little glitter on them. “See!”

“That doesn’t make me the twink of the group,” Samir grumbles. Carly pats him on the side sympathetically.

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be a twink, guys,” Billie says, aiming for reasonable.

“That’s because you’re kind of the twink, babe,” Issa says, and that launches off another round of noises.

Paul Baker takes the opportunity to press the hangover cure in Samir’s sister’s mug into Anton’s hands. “Made with love,” he says, beaming again. Anton has to turn away, hiding behind the mug as he takes a deep sip.

“Hey, Paul Baker, could you make me a drink?” Samir asks. “Or are we only making them for Anton?”

“It’s his job, Samir,” Carly explains, of all people, and Anton follows her gaze to the wedding ring on Paul Baker’s finger.

“Husbandly duties,” Paul Baker says, giving Anton a two finger salute.

“Oh, don’t salute him,” Billie says, but it does make Anton smile.

—

It sort of goes on like that, for a while.

Paul Baker is holding doors open for him, pulling his chair out, making him lunch while he's on a meeting pretending to listen while he encourages Kalitha from Accounting to live her dreams and go on Survivor in their side Slack. It's all things Paul Baker would normally do, he thinks,

“Are you a good swimmer?” Anton asks, looking at Paul Baker mid-bread flip with a half-melted spatula. He's wearing that apron he and Samir had found Billie when she was going full trad for Mr. Teacher, the one that said Teacher’s Pet, but Samir had tried to burn when it came in two days late, and now it says ache’s Pet instead. It's stupidly short on him, barely down to his knees.

“I like to think I’m a good swimmer. Spent a lot of time in creeks.” Paul Baker says cheerfully. “Did you want to go swimming? The park pools don't open until later in the summer, but I could get you a guest pass for my gym.”

“Please tell me your friend Scarlett goes swimming with you.”

Paul Baker pauses. “We mostly do a lot of SoulCycle. She has a lot of fun yells.”

“Oh, the Bayside Stabber is really getting into SoulCycle in prison,” Anton says absently.

Paul Baker whips around to frown at him, brandishing the spatula. Cheese flicks into the air. “Baby, you're not writing back to him again, are you?”

“Just once or twice!” Anton protests. “He has a prison boyfriend now!”

“Well, then maybe he should leave you alone,” Paul Baker grumbles, and turns back towards his food.

Anton’s phone buzzes with a text, thankfully not from the Bayside Stabber. It's from Goat Yoga White Girl, who has sent him a picture of a flier.

Benson Boone lookalike contest, backflips encouraged. $500 Grand Prize.

u should totally make ur boyf enter lmao

hes like a yassified benson boone

Anton considers this, resisting the urge to correct her that he's his husband, peering back at Paul Baker, who is back to humming a little song under his breath about grilled cheese, swaying his hips in that tiny apron.

Hell, his ass is definitely better.

“You know Benson Boone?” Anton asks.

“Is he a swimmer?” Paul Baker asks absently, plating the grilled cheeses like he's on Masterchef, his tongue sticking out of his mouth.

“No, but I've seen him in a lot of speedos,” Anton mutters, and he imagines that as Paul Baker walks towards him with freshly made grilled cheese, and just as swiftly tamps that down. “Do you want to win $500?”

“For wearing a speedo? Is this an OnlyFans thing?” Paul Baker sets Anton’s place down with a soft squeeze to his shoulder thumb pressed against the curve, peering over to look at Anton’s screen. “Oh, is that him? He does kind of look like me.”

“You're a darling,” Anton says, picking up the grilled cheese with one hand. It's warm and crisp, and when he takes a bite it's a rush of cheese and subtle herbaceousness. “Oh my god, this is so good. Is that thyme?”

“Took it from the community garden I've been volunteering at,” Paul Baker admits, perked up and proud of himself. “My husband is part of the community.”

“Sounds more like my husband is part of the community,” Anton says, taking another bite and savoring it this time. He sighs contentedly, leaning back into Paul Baker’s touch. “We need to find you a jumpsuit,” he realizes.

Paul Baker blinks. “Like, for prison?”

—

“More glitter, bitch!” Issa stage whispers in a way that is more like a cackle, wielding her sewing machine like a madwoman. “Jessica, you're doing amazing with those frills,” she tells one of the children, who is trying to untangle a ribbon and failing miserably.

“Slay, girl,” Anton offers blankly from the side, facing his phone away from the children. Anton’s selection of jumpsuits is a glaring omission in his repertoire, but Issa’s an expert, though she's usually making them much shorter. She's good at knowing what to hem to show off what you need to show off, and she knows Paul Baker’s body better than anybody.

“He's going to look so good in this, this was such a good idea,” Issa says gleefully, doing something with a pin in one hand. “Hold this down,” she says to him, gesturing towards one of the seams.

Anton goes, pressing a hand down over the cool material of the jumpsuit. “He won't be cold in this?” he asks.

“No way, he'll probably get super hot, especially if he does all the backflipping,” Issa explains, and she pauses, head of a pin between her lips, the sharp point sticking out into the air threateningly. “Speaking of super hot good ideas, has he done it yet?”

“Done what?” Anton asks.

“His husbandly duty,” Issa says, like she's apparently missed all the millions of times Paul Baker has said those exact words in the last few days.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Plenty of times.”

Issa gapes, pin falling out of her mouth. “And he didn't tell me? That glittery who–!” She remembers the kids. “Horse. Glittery horse.”

“I figured it'd be pretty obvious,” Anton blinks, and Issa gasps.

“Oh, we are having words when I give him this,” she seethes, diving into the work as she grumbles to herself. “I should be getting details. Play-by-plays! Diagrams! I expect this from you, but Paul Baker? He's really that horny–”

One of the kids tugs on his shirt. “Mr. Anton, are we making this for a unicorn?” they ask, with big wet, child eyes.

Anton thinks about Paul Baker, in all his entirety, big and kind and wonderful, glow in the dark gummy bears. “Yes, we definitely are.”

Issa laughs, despite herself, and the kids sure do love that.

Later, as they're cleaning up after the kids are gone, Issa sidles up to him. “You know, I wouldn't be mad, if that's what’s stopping you,” she says, apropos of nothing.

Anton pauses, running his finger over the blue glitter lining the jumpsuit. “What do you mean?”

“If you did, if you do, break your dry spell with Paul Baker, I wouldn't be mad.”

Anton stiffens, and tries his best to hide how he relaxes his posture. “I don't want him to do it just because he thinks he has to.”

Issa snorts. “Bitch, he doesn't have to do anything,” she says. “He's offering because he wants to.”

Anton smiles, brittle, and wonders if that's true. Issa would know best, he guesses, about doing things without obligation. They've had this fight a million times; she doesn't need to live in her friend’s parents’ house in Queens. She barely needs this job, but she goes every day, and she loves these kids. She loves them too, under all the bluster. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

“I'm just realizing I should've made us matching jumpsuits,” Issa groans. “We've all gotta be slutty Benson Boone for Halloween!”

“I think Paul Baker is already slutty Benson Boone,” Anton says, grateful for the subject change. “That's kind of the whole reason we're doing this.”

“Babygirl,” Issa says gently, reaching up to cup his face. “We’re doing this to objectify him and win $500.”

And he can't exactly argue with that.

—

“You have to nail your dismount, I could show you–” Samir starts, moving to get up, and Billie stops him.

“Sling,” she says, and Samir makes an aggrieved, miserable noise.

“You don't need two hands to do a backflip,” he protests.

“Sure, if you're Simone Biles,” Anton interjects. “Did I miss that I was living with Simone Biles?”

“Simone Biles wouldn't be doing backflips in a sling,” Billie asserts, and she's probably right, but Anton doesn't ever want to underestimate Simone Biles.

Not to be underestimated himself, Paul Baker adjusts himself in the jumpsuit, and Issa whoops from where she's filming as he does another backflip off the arm of the couch.

Anton’s been trying not to notice how well the jumpsuit hugs his figures, but it's hard not to.

“We can really see your whole dick in that thing, dude,” Samir notes. He's not wrong.

“You're welcome!” Issa chirps cheerfully.

“Geez, do you think that's fine?” Paul Baker asks.

“I think it's true to the subject, darling,” Anton says diplomatically. And then, because he can't help himself. “You're much bigger though.”

“How would you kn–” Issa starts, combative and Paul Baker interrupts her by vaulting into a higher backflip, knocking a picture of Samir’s grandma off the wall in the process.

“Oh, Sitti!” Samir exclaims, moving to pick her up with his good hand.

“I’m sorry, Sitti!” Paul Baker says, from a heap on the floor.

“Your Sitti just got a faceful of Paul Baker’s dick,” Anton snickers.

“You know, she'd probably enjoy that,” Billie pipes in.

“You're welcome!” Issa cackles again.

“This is why I said you should work on your dismounts,” Samir says stubbornly. “Here, I’ll show you,” he says, scrambling up.

“Sling!” They all remind him at once.

—

Anton knew these things were popular, but he kind of didn't expect so many Benson Boones at this Benson Boone lookalike contest.

There's a whole cadre of butch lesbian Benson Boones in Canadian tuxedos. There's a grand piano in the middle of the park, and so many men with floppy hair and moustaches lining up to show off their backflips. There's a bouncehouse labeled Bouncin' Boone that Paul Baker and Samir keep looking over towards longingly.

Issa got them all fake moustaches for solidarity, and Anton’s is itchy, and doesn't go with his outfit.

That's annoying, but he's not trying to distract from his Benson Boone lookalike, who is obviously still the best of the lot.

“Do you really think I can win this?” Paul Baker asks, sidling up to nudge his shoulder. He looks nervous, and Anton's only ever seen Paul Baker nervous when he was asking to marry him.

“Of course you can,” Anton tells him. “If I have to marry a Benson Boone lookalike, I’m going to marry the best Benson Boone lookalike,” he says. Paul Baker bounces on his heels, perked up. “Now go take Samir to the bouncehouse before he explodes.” Anton swats his ass, can't help himself when Paul Baker’s dressed like this.

Paul Baker grins, let's out an extended ya boy, and grabs at Samir’s good arm.

“Mind the sling!” Anton calls after them.

“What do you think moonbeam ice cream is?” Billie asks him, peering over to one of the stalls.

“God, I hope they've laced it with something,” Anton says.

“Do you want to be fucking zooted around all these men who look like your husband?” Issa asks. “I definitely would. 100%.”

Anton looks around at all the Benson Boones, and he guesses some of them do look like Paul Baker. “There's only one Paul Baker,” he says.

“Amen to that, honey.”

They wander over to the moonbeam ice cream stand, Billie striking up a conversation with the hot tattooed ice cream scooper who compliments her fake moustache, and Issa trying to trick some of the more half-assed Benson Boones into giving her their ice cream instead of waiting in line. Samir skids up to them, indignant as usual.

“The lesbians are monopolizing the bouncehouse,” he reports huffily, patented crazed Samir look in his eye.

“Okay,” Anton says slowly. “Did you ask them to share?”

“They don't like me. One of them recognized me from the Clairo party,” he looks incensed. One of them probably called him a twink again.

“Oh my god,” Anton sighs. “Where's Paul Baker?”

“He was mediating, but they're starting the backflip competition soon, so they called him over.”

Anton startles. “Why didn't you lead with that, we should go watch!” He turns towards the girls. “Issa, let's go! Billie, put your dick down, we have men to watch flip.”

“I didn't get a turn in the bouncehouse!” Samir whines, and Billie makes a similar noise of protest. Anton glares them silent until they get their asses hustling to the piano.

“There's so many Benson Boones backflipping, I definitely had more time to talk to them, this is their pop-up, they make artisinal–” Billie is saying, and Anton shushes her as the Benson Boones pair off, and there is Paul Baker.

He's matched up with a sturdy, shorter Benson Boone in an American flag speedo.

“Fuck, maybe we should have had him wear a speedo,” Anton groans.

“That was an option?!” Issa asks, scandalized.

“Honestly, I still think you can see more of his dick in this one,” Samir says, and once again, he's not really wrong.

The presenter, an excited girl with a beret and $500 to spend, apparently, is counting them down with a stopwatch and a lap counter.

Paul Baker catches his eye during the count, eyes sharp and determined, and he winks.

“Paul Baker's got this,” Anton says, and Issa reaches over to squeeze his thigh supportively.

“Hell yeah he does, hubbie!”

The presenter blows a whistle, and Paul Baker flips from a handstand, like it's nothing. The crowd cheers, and he's grinning. There's another whistle, another backflip. Another whistle, another backflip.

The Benson Boone in the speedo slips on the grass, and they replace him with a Benson Boone shotgunning a beer that doesn't even last the next flip.

“You call that a backflip, you're a joke!” Anton finds himself yelling, Issa clapping his back, hollering beside him.

The four of them start to get into it, Issa producing a cooler of drinks she'd found somewhere, and Billie increasingly gets wasted on Mom Waters as they go through Benson Boones trying to beat their Paul Baker.

“This isn't a Jamiroquai lookalike contest, take off that hat!” Billie yells across the crowd.

“The other one should take off that jumpsuit!” Someone else yells.

“Too bad, sluts! He's married, and he's using his hall pass on me!” Issa screams at them belligerently. Her moustache is half falling off and she's found some glittery sunglasses.

All through it, Paul Baker, breathing quick now, chest heaving under the ever lowering zipper of the jumpsuit, keeps glancing towards Anton with every flip.

They let Paul Baker go back to them for a water break while they bring out the piano for the finals.

“Am I doing okay, baby?” Paul Baker asks, slumping over to lean on Anton’s shoulder, breath ghosting over his skin. The jumpsuit is plastered to him with sweat, dappled over the light dusting of his chest hair that peeks out over the zipper.

“Honey, you're doing amazing,” Anton tells him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his hair. “You're almost there.”

Issa slaps his ass, clambering over his shoulder. “Let's fucking gooooooo!!!” she yells, and hands him an open Susan.

Paul Baker crows, reenergized, and the crowd cheers as he chugs the Mom Water, and then another for good measure crushing the cans in his big hands.

“Recycle those?” He asks Anton, before he bounds off to win this whole fucking thing.

The presenter hands him the microphone when he gets back up there. “So, Paul Baker, tell us what you're doing this for?”

Paul Baker grins, a megawatt even while he's head to toe in glitter. “This one's for my husband!” He proclaims, pointing out in the audience towards Anton. Issa and Billie both sandwich him, and Samir tries to give a noogie with his good arm, but Anton only has eyes for Paul Baker.

Paul Baker keeps his gaze, grin easy, and Anton grins back, and nods at him to win this thing.

He climbs up the grand piano, still pointing at Anton, and the crowd watches, rapt. Anton almost forgets they're there, even their friends, even as he's surrounded. Paul Baker stays on top for a second, and holds his gaze. Anton winks, and Paul Baker nods, and he runs over the baby grand, pushing off with one foot, and–

He's majestic, flipping through the air, the New York City sunset behind him, the crowd screaming and–

“Now that's a dismount!” Samir yells, spilling half a Linda all over them as he jumps up and down. He shouldn't be drinking so much on his painkillers, but the post-it on their fridge is about antibiotics.

Anton doesn't have time to worry about that though, doesn't have time to worry about anything. “We have our winner!” the presenter announces, the crowd screaming, and he's screaming too.

“That's my husband!” He finds himself yelling, to anyone who'll listen. “Peep the fucking ring, that's my fucking husband!” The crowd cheers, and his friends are cheering with them. Issa is cheering with them.

And then Paul Baker thunders down and sweeps him up in his arms. Anton almost falls backwards but Paul Baker catches him, pulling him up to press their foreheads together.

“Hi, Anton,” Paul Baker says, still catching his breath.

“Hi Paul Baker,” Anton says, hand slotting against his wrist to feel his heartbeat. “You did it.”

“I did it,” Paul Baker echoes, so close the people around them settle into a dull roar.

“Your husbandly duty,” Anton muses, and Paul Baker laughs. Anton loves making him laugh.

“I did this for you,” Paul Baker tells him, holding him tighter. “You just so happen to be my husband.”

“Just so happen, huh?” Anton repeats.

“I chose you,” Paul Baker reminds him. “I’m so glad I did,” he says.

And Anton can't help but kiss him.

He braces himself up on Paul Baker’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. Paul Baker takes a breath, and wastes no time in kissing him back, pulling him deeper.

His hand splays over the small of his back as he murmurs against Anton’s lips, keeping him up even as he holds the both of them.

When he finally pulls away they're both breathless.

“Okay,” Issa says, smiling like she's just had a plan come together. “Before you maul your husband, they're trying to give you money, Paul Baker.”

“Go, Paul Baker,” Anton says, running a hand over his arm. “I’ll be here.”

Paul Baker nods, though he looks stricken.

“Wait, hold on,” Anton says, reaching up to fix his hair to effortlessly mussy rather than actually mussy, one hand moving to bring his zipper up to best show off his chest. “For the picture,” he clarifies.

“Thanks, honey,” Paul Baker says.

“Husbandly duties,” Anton says.

It takes Billie and Issa both pulling Paul Baker away to keep him from kissing him again.

They hang around Paul Baker's collected his winnings and done his press, although it's not like Anton's going to go anywhere without him.

“Issa,” he says, finding her sitting on the cooler, nursing a Julie. “Was that okay?”

Issa looks up at him. “Are you kidding me? That was actually so much more fun than I thought a Benson Boone lookalike contest would be,” she says, which is fair.

“No, I mean,” he gestures towards Paul Baker, beaming with a big fake check.

“I told you I would be,” Issa reminds him.

“You tell me a lot of things you don't actually mean,” Anton reminds her.

“Well, this was my idea, and it was hot watching you kiss,” she tells him. “Besides, this whole contest was your thing to fuck him about. I’ll get the next one.” Issa pauses, and levels a look at him. “You're gonna do that, right?”

“Fuck him about it?” Anton asks. She looks at him like he's stupid. “Yeah,” he says, laughing. “I fucking better.”

“You fucking better,” Issa repeats.

Paul Baker starts to walk towards them now, $500 in cash tucked in his cleavage like a stripper. Anton wants to kiss him again, but–

“You call those flips!” Samir yells, way more drunk than he should be off a pack of Mom Waters, standing at the entrance of the bouncehouse. “I’ll show you a flip!” He builds up speed on the platform the kids use to enter the bouncehouse, pushes up off his heel. Paul Baker is moving, fast as he can, and the rest of them are too, Billie appearing from the other side of the ice cream stand.

Samir falls through the air, spinning more than flipping, right into the crowd of lesbians, just as Paul Baker skids his way through them to cushion his fall.

“I’m so sorry, lesbians!” He hears Paul Baker say, just as the dust settles.

“Hey!” one of the lesbians yells to the others, pointing at Samir. “That's the twink that fell through the skylight at the Clairo party in Bushwick!”

And by the time Anton joins the fray, elbows are being thrown.

—

Thankfully, Samir doesn't get put in another sling. They're a little scratched up, and Paul Baker has a black eye that Anton carefully nurses with an ice pack from Billie’s ice cream scooper as they walk home from the contest.

“We're having a House Rules in the morning,” Billie is saying, as she trails behind them while Paul Baker props Samir up. “Samir, no more climbing.”

“This was jumping off something,” Anton corrects her.

“I can't climb or jump off anything?” Samir asks miserably.

“Not in the sling!” Billie amends.

“We'll workshop it,” Paul Baker says sympathetically.

“We can't update the rules until Anton does his!” Issa pipes in pointedly.

“We're workshopping it,” Anton responds, and Paul Baker curls his hand around his side.

They clamber into the house, deposit Samir in his room, Issa lets them go with a wink, and then it's the two of them in front of Anton’s room.

“You don't want to take this off, Paul Baker?” he asks, finger trailing over the seam of the zipper over Paul Baker’s chest.

“You could take it off me,” he says, voice husky and low.

“Is that one of my husbandly duties?” Anton asks.

“Husbandly duties are whatever you want them to be, babe,” Paul Baker says, hands finding their way to his hips.

“You still haven't done the one you promised,” Anton reminds him, fingers pressed over his chest as he slowly moves the zipper down.

“What's that, Anton?” he asks, like they both don't know.

“Break my dry spell, Paul Baker,” Anton says, as he pulls him down into a kiss, opening the door at the same time to push him into the room.

The beds are already pushed together, and there's some battery powered fairy lights draped around the room.

“Paul Baker?” Anton asks.

“I had a plan,” Paul Baker admits sheepishly, and he's so cute about it Anton has to push him down onto the bed.

He kisses down his neck, slowly, carefully, unzipping the jumpsuit as he explores his husband underneath him. He pulls down enough to free Paul Baker’s shoulders and nip at the broad slope of them. Sequins press into his skin as he gets flush against him, feeling every muscle underneath him through the thin fabric.

“My thoughtful husband,” Anton says, kissing over Paul Baker’s chest to swirl his tongue over his nipple, lap at them like he's been wanting to do all fucking day. “Thought you'd win the Benson Boone lookalike contest and come here and fuck me.”

“Actually,” Paul Baker says, and he's big enough that he doesn't have to move off the bed to reach the bag next to it.

There's condoms and lube, obviously, and then also, fresh out of the box, a harness, and, bright purple and still with the charging cord in, a vibrating strap on.

Anton stops, head on Paul Baker’s chest. “Baby, that's a lot.”

Paul Baker shrugs. “I really wanted to win this thing for us.”

“You know I don't need the strap, right?” Anton asks. “And I’m not really a top?” Paul Baker shrugs again. “I'm still trying them, don't worry, Paul Baker.”

“Oh, that's good,” Paul Baker says. “They were kind of expensive.”

Anton laughs, moving in to kiss him again. His hand moves down again, snaking between their legs, and he finds Paul Baker’s bulge, squeezing the heft of it through the jumpsuit. “I have been staring at this for days now though, and if I don't get it inside me, I will kill you and then everyone in this house.”

“Heard,” Paul Baker says, arching his hips up against his touch, the sequins leaving a mark against Anton’s skin. Paul Baker’s big hands start to work on shrugging Anton out of his clothes as Anton works on pulling him out of the jumpsuit plastered to every inch of muscle.

It was obvious to everyone that Paul Baker wasn't wearing anything underneath, but it’s nice to have the confirmation as Anton finally pulls his big, heavy cock out, framed by the pooling blue sequined fabric around him.

“Fuck,” Anton says, breathless.

“Something wrong?” Paul Baker asks, eyes wide.

“Just that my husband is so fucking hot,” Anton tells him, wrapping his hand around Paul Baker’s fat cock, and then another, just to guide it to run over the bow of his lips.

“Yeah, having a similar problem here, honey,” Paul Baker says. Anton ignores him in favor of slobbering all over his dick.

It's been a while, and Paul Baker’s cock is every bit as advertised, stretching out Anton’s mouth and throat in a way that he hasn't practiced for far too long. He tries to deepthroat him, squeezing his fist and pressing a hand against Paul Baker’s thigh, trying to take more and more.

Eventually, Anton gags, and Paul Baker pats the back of his neck sympathetically, handing him a little water bottle from the bag with all the toys in it. He really was prepared. “We can get there,” he says. “Even Issa still has trouble.”

“Fine,” Anton says, downing half the water and letting it dribble down his face. He's already a mess in front of his husband, and it's becoming increasingly clear to him that his husband really doesn't mind.

“I can do this, though,” he says, determined, as he strips off the jumpsuit completely, revealing the curve of Paul Baker’s ass. He bullies his way between Paul Baker’s long legs, spreading them and pushing up to grab his ass and find his hole. It's just as pretty as the rest of him, and Benson Boone could never.

Anton nips down Paul Baker’s thick inner thighs, putting one hand on each to spread Paul Baker’s hole, and run his tongue over the rim.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart,” Paul Baker gasps out, breath coming uneven as Anton licks into him, sliding a finger inside that goes in easier than he expects.

“I told you,” Paul Baker says. “I had a plan.”

Part of Paul Baker’s plan, apparently, had been taking too long in the shower before the contest to finger himself open for Anton.

“You're amazing, darling,” Anton says, pumping two careful fingers inside of Paul Baker, seeing how open he is as he squirms around him.

He reaches over for the bag, finding the vibrator and the lube. He doesn't want to figure out how to deal with putting it on the harness, so he figures they can save that for later.

Anton drizzles the toy liberally, holding the base and finding the button to turn it on, but he doesn't just yet. He looks down at Paul Baker, bruise around his eye still, spread out for him, and thinks he wants to be gentle with him, as gentle as his husband’s been with him.

“You ready, Paul Baker?” Anton asks, sliding another finger inside of him, crooking them in as he drags the head of the toy over his stretched out rim.

“Y-yeah.”

“I hear you take it like a champ,” Anton says. “Are you a champ?”

“I’m a champ,” Paul Baker says, goaded. “I can take it.”

That's enough for Anton, and he leans over to kiss his husband as he eases the toy inside. He fucks into him slowly at first, adding more lube, letting it open him up as he observes the way it racks and roils.

“That's it,” Anton says, as he pushes it fully inside of Paul Baker, as he gets to see what Paul Baker looks like full up, muscles tensing, dusted with sweat and glitter as he clearly wants more. “My champion. My star. My husband,” Anton muses, observing the hitch in Paul Baker’s breath as he finds his prostate, presses up against it, and turns it on.

“A–Ahh! Anton!” Paul Baker says his name, grabbing for him, pulling him roughly into a kiss to interrupt the pump of the vibrator inside of him, Anton finding that spot and bullying it again and again. The kiss is hot and messy, the toy still seated inside him, and it's not long before Paul Baker tenses, his hard cock slotted against Anton’s thigh, rutting up against him as he paints the two of them with his heavy load.

Paul Baker cries out, a loud tenor as he comes between them. Benson Boone, once again, could fucking never.

Anton moves to slide the vibrator out, relieve him, but Paul Baker grabs at him again. “Anton, fuck, sweetheart. I need you to sit on my face,” he says.

“Paul Baker,” Anton warns, at least trying to turn the vibrator off, but Paul Baker stops him, wild and overstimulated as is.

“No, Anton, baby, keep fucking me, just, I need you to sit on my face.” And when he's asking like that, Anton wouldn't be a very good husband to deny him.

He positions himself to straddle Paul Baker’s broad shoulders, bracing his hands on his come covered, glittery abs. He tries to watch Paul Baker’s eye, but Paul Baker grabs at his hips, manhandling him to maneuver him so he can lick a stripe down Anton's cock, and slide it down his own throat.

It's a position that Anton can mostly only keep up on Paul Baker’s strength, holding on to his side and his other hand alternating between bracing at his thigh or pumping the vibrator still inside him.

Paul Baker worships at his cock, tongue eager and desperate for more of him before he slides Anton down, has him bracket his face as he dives into Anton’s hole, his moustache tickling at the rim just like Anton always thought it would.

Whatever bruises he has, or soreness from all those backflips, or tenderness from the load he just released are nothing to Paul Baker as he laps at Anton’s hole, eats him out far more thoroughly and eagerly than Anton did, though he has a lot more work to do to loosen Anton back up.

Anton loses track of time, leaning over to fuck into Paul Baker with the vibrator as he presses those vibrations back into Anton’s hole with his tongue. Eventually, Paul Baker’s cock starts to harden again, leaking against Anton's chest as he nips at Paul Baker’s thigh, shallowly thrusting the vibrator into him and feeling his writhe full body underneath him.

“Okay, honey,” Paul Baker finally says, voice hoarse. “Think it's my turn. Are you ready?”

Anton is breathless and wrung out on Paul Baker’s mouth, on the way he’s bucking against him at both sides. “Yeah, I think so,” he says, slowly pulling the vibrator out–he can feel the hiss between Paul Baker’s teeth pressed against the swell of his ass, admiring the way his hole tightens for the want of it. Anton’ll have to fuck him with his actual dick soon enough.

But first, it’s Paul Baker’s turn. Paul Baker hands him one of the condoms, nodding up at him. “Can you?” he asks, gesturing.

Anton obliges, leaning down to kiss the tip of Paul Baker’s cock. He licks it clean of dried come before he opens the condom packet, sliding the condom on with enough poise that he's a little proud, given how impatient he is.

He pinches the tip once it's on. “Husbandly duty,” he says smarmily. He knows how much Paul Baker can come, has just seen it even if he hasn't seen the evidence all over their bathroom. At least he's throwing them away properly nowadays, but now that he's part of the whole experience, Anton understands how Paul Baker and Issa could've been a little sloppy. He's hoping to get more than a little sloppy himself.

Paul Baker wastes no time then in lifting Anton by the hips and turning him around, pulling him in for another greedy kiss. “I want you to ride me, and I want to look at you while you do it,” he says, nothing if not clear, and Anton nods, shifting so that his ass brushes up against Paul Baker’s cock.

The head of it is even huge, teasing at the rim of Anton's hole as Paul Baker shifts his hips, Anton lifting up so he can make the slide down Paul Baker’s cock. This at least, it was easier to practice during his dry spell, although nothing Anton has in his toybox is as big as his husband.

Anton lets out a breath as Paul Baker pushes in, praising him all the while for how good he is, how perfect he is, all the time but especially now, and it spurs him on, lets him take those last couple of inches until he's fully seated on Paul Baker’s cock. “Jesus,” he says, staring down at admiring eyes.

“Paul Baker,” Paul Baker teases. “Or Benson Boone’s best lookalike, if you'd rather.”

“Fuck Benson Boone,” Anton snarls.

“I’d rather fuck you,” Paul Baker responds, and Anton swats him on the thigh as a way of telling him to get on with it.

Paul Baker obliges, because of course he does, holding onto Anton’s hips to lift him and up down bodily, rutting his hips to fuck into him all the while. When Paul Baker had asked Anton to ride him, Anton had assumed he'd be doing some of the work. Once again, he underestimates Paul Baker.

His husband fucks him, for the first time, and he fucks him stupid. He fills him up with every inch, gets him feeling like he's about to burst under his skin with how full of Paul Baker he is. Anton loses himself to the heft of his cock, the whispers against his skin when he pulls him down to kiss him, the cold metal press of the wedding ring against his thigh.

Soon enough, that hand, with that wedding ring, wraps fully around his cock. “Maybe I should–” Paul Baker starts, and Anton stops him from reaching over and taking off the ring.

“No!” Anton cries out, surprising Paul Baker as he grabs him by the wrist. “You're my husband,” he grits out between his teeth. “You keep that ring on.”

Paul Baker blinks, and laughs, Anton’s favorite sound in the world right now. “Oh,” he says. “Okay, sweetheart.”

And so he starts to pump at Anton’s cock, slowly at first, then matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He's careful with the ring, the metal sliding over the side of his shaft along with a spattering of lube, warming as Paul Baker moves.

It's so much, it's overwhelming, being full of his husband, being surrounded by him, and it doesn't take long before he's coming in Paul Baker’s fist, pent up streaks of come spilling out from between his fingers, coating the ring that makes them husbands.

“Fuck, you're beautiful,” Paul Baker says, and he pushes deep into Anton, pressing against his prostate as he fills the condom, pulsing inside him as he does.

Anton surges to kiss him, Paul Baker’s cock sliding out of him and the condom with it, some of his come dripling out over his thighs and abs. He kisses Paul Baker hard and desperate, groans against his lips until they catch each other's breaths.

“Did everything go according to plan?” Anton asks, laying next to his husband, cheek to cheek.

“I didn't think–” he gestures to his face.

“You didn't think you'd get a black eye at the Benson Boone lookalike contest before you brought me home to fuck me?” Anton asks.

“Well, yeah,” Paul Baker admits, and Anton laughs as he leans down to kiss him.

“All part of the husbandly duties, Paul Baker.”

—

“Stop making lesbians fight you!” Billie proclaims, pointing the gavel at Samir.

“They should stop trying to fight me,” Samir protests, putting up a peace sign from where he's draped over the arm of the couch, his feet over Anton and Paul Baker’s laps.

“So ruled?” Billie asks the room.

“So ruled!” The others chime, Billie slams the gavel, and Issa leans over their laps on Paul Baker’s other side to pour from the Springsteen cup into Samir’s open mouth as Billie slaps Stop Fighting Lesbians under Samir’s picture.

“Anton’s turn!” Paul Baker speaks up, beaming, squeezing Anton’s palm in his.

“Oh, I got one for both of you!” Samir starts, accusatory.

“Stop pretending to propose to each other to get free stuff?” Paul Baker offers.

“No, that got me that free cheesecake,” Issa says.

“Oh good,” Anton says. “I wasn't going to stop doing that.”

“Stop trying to set people up with the Bayside Stabber,” Billie offers.

“That's mostly Paul Baker’s thing,” Anton clarifies, nudging his husband.

“I need him to leave you alone!” Paul Baker yells, not for the first time.

“No,” Samir interjects, waving the gavel. “You guys either need to stop fucking so loudly, or put on music when you fuck.”

“Oh, yeah,” Billie agrees.

“We put on music when we fuck,” Issa says to Paul Baker, confused. “Don't you have a playlist for him? I helped you make a playlist for him.”

“I like being able to hear myself think!” Anton protests.

“How can you think with that inside of you? Come on,” Issa asks.

“Okay,” Anton admits. “I can't really do much thinking–” Paul Baker beams at them both, as Samir pounds the gavel.

“So ruled?” he asks, and even Paul Baker answers.

“So ruled!” They all say, and Billie writes the card. Anton sighs, and nudges Paul Baker with his shoulder, and they both take the Springsteen cup, and drink together.