Work Text:
4th May 2026
Smitty
They were getting married tomorrow.
And Smitty felt like a giddy little kid counting down the hours until their birthday or Christmas morning. But this was far more special. Far more nerve-wracking too.
He was feeling good- no, he was so fucking excited about tomorrow. So far, everything in terms of planning had gone smoothly. Back home, everything was prepared and set in place. The furniture - the chairs for the aisle, the tables for eating - had already been set up out in the back garden. The curved arch they would be standing in front of stood proud in the centre of the grass. Beautiful wildflowers of all kinds and colours making it up. The floral decorations inside the house were put up - in the hallway, the kitchen, some in the living room.
Earlier that day, John had taken a selfie in front of the flower arch and captioned it with the words 'Something crazy happening tomorrow' before posting it on his Instagram story. He'd also snapped a picture of Smitty poorly hiding behind one side, poking his head out one side with a mischievous expression on his face. With only one word pasted beneath it, he posted that too - 'Crazy? 👀'. John tagged him in both slides, so Smitty reposted them onto his own story. And on the second slide, he added some additional wording: 'he drives me crazy (negative)'.
There were still some things left to arrive. Specifically the bouquets John insisted they both carried. The cake was arriving too at nine. And the food truck was set to rock up at around one, after the ceremony. Smitty had moved the cars into the garage so the truck would have plenty of space on the driveway.
He honestly couldn't have asked for a smoother preparation period. Perhaps it was the universe's way of apologising for the shit they went through at the beginning of the year.
And even though they had been legally married now for a month, both of them had agreed they wouldn't refer to the other as his 'husband' until after the actual wedding tomorrow. As soon as the words 'I do' left their mouths.
Smitty took another sip of his beer and looked up at the night sky. They were supposed to be stargazing, but neither of them actually knew anything about constellations and their locations in the near blackness above them. It was just fun to sit and drink and stare up at the sky. Thankfully it was a cloudless night, so the stars were visible and twinkling as they sat in the bed of the truck, in the middle of a grassy field. The road was a decent distance away, so any cars whizzing down it would go unheard.
Smitty was sat up with his back to the cab, legs stretched out. And John sat perpendicular to him against one side, his legs crossed. Both with beer cans in hand. He just about done with his first, and John was already onto his second. Octavia lay stretched out towards the end of the truck bed, awfully close to the edge. He was moments away from leaning forward and pulling on her legs to bring her further in.
They'd taken some blankets and a couple of the sofa cushions with them. As well as a cooler full of canned beer and ice packs. John had even strung some fairy lights along the edges of the truck bed, which Smitty hadn't even noticed until he switched them on. It was all very aesthetically pleasing - 'inspired by Pinterest' kind of thing.
"I would like to make a toast." Octavia opened her eyes and lifted her head curiously at the first break of silence in a while.
"Practising for tomorrow, I see."
John shrugged with a soft smile. "Something like that. Now raise your cans."
"I've only got one, dumbass."
"Y'know what I mean, dick." John shot back, before raising his can in the air; he did the same. "To our final night of freedom," he said. To which, Smitty arched an unimpressed brow. "No, I'm kidding."
Smitty had always hated that sentiment. Because it implied that one was free to cheat on their partner until marriage, which kind of defeated the purpose of a relationship at all, if you asked him. And thank fuck his friends hadn't ordered a stripper for their bachelor party. That wouldn't have ended well, especially if they'd booked a woman. Despite neither of them labelling themselves as strictly gay, they didn't have any interest in women. Not anymore, at least.
"To us," John said instead with a soft expression.
"To us."
"Cheers," they said simultaneously, clinking their cans together and swapping fond smiles.
"Y'know what we should do?" John asked a moment later after downing a couple of gulps of his drink.
"What?"
"Tell each other the worst pick-up lines we know. And we drink if it would've worked."
Smitty chuckled softly, loving the idea. "Okay. Wanna go first?"
"No, you go."
"Okay, uh..." Smitty tipped his head back, thinking. "Hey man, are you my pinkie toe? 'Cause I'd like to bang you on every piece of furniture in my house."
John giggled, and took a sip. "You basically have, you dirty dog." Smitty hummed knowingly. "That one's a classic."
"You go."
He also took a few seconds to think of something. "Do you like tapes and CDs? Then let me tape my dick to your forehead so you can see CDs nuts."
Smitty grimaced. "I would not let you hit if you came to me with that."
John clicked his tongue. "Darn."
For his next go, Smitty recalled a silly post he'd seen on Instagram the other day. "Just clocked in for another shift at the loving you factory."
Nudging his foot playfully with his own, John said, "That one's not much of a pick-up line. It's cute, though."
"Like you."
He rolled his eyes, kicking him again, a little harder that time.
"Okay, I've got a good one." John cleared his throat. "Is that a mirror in your pocket? 'Cause I can see myself in your pants."
Smitty sipped his drink. "Good one."
John waved his hand in front of him as if he were bowing. "Why, thank you, sir."
Thoughtfully rapping his fingertips along the of the can cradled in his hands, Smitty tried to find another pick-up line in the depths of his mind, before eventually settling on, "Do you like to draw? Because I put the d-in-raw."
That gained a pretty chuckle. "Immediate erection."
Smitty giggled too as John gulped down a mouthful.
John let out a long droning sound from the back of his throat, thinking of another. "Hey man, is your name Abraham Lincoln? 'Cause you're causing an uprising down south."
"That's so bad."
The corner of John's mouth tipped up. "Would it've worked?"
"On me, yeah. Not sure about anyone else." Smitty giggled and drank. "Okay, now… uh- Wanna go watch a porno together on my flat-screen mirror?"
John took a sip. "That is something we should do, though. Film it, I mean."
"You'd wanna do that?"
"Hell, yeah! It'd be hot as fuck, man. We could watch it back, see how we can perfect our forms, y'know?"
Smitty huffed a laugh, knowing full well neither of them needed to do that. They had sex down to a fine science. "What cliché plot line would we do?"
"Does there have to be one?"
He shrugged. "Not necessarily."
John groaned a little. "Ah, but it'd be so funny to have some stupid fucking plot line." He cleared his throat, and said in a ditsy, high-pitched voice. "Something like, 'Oh, I'm so sorry, sir, I haven't got any money to pay you for my food delivery. Is there any other way I can pay? Oh, you want to suck your dick? Okay!' Yeah?"
"God, that was painful," Smitty said after giggling for half a minute. "We'll think about it later."
For his next go in the game, John turned his body a little towards him, holding his thumb, index and middle fingers pinched together over the opening of his beer can "Okay, pretend I'm splashing you with the drink I bought you at the bar."
Smitty giggled, unsure what he was playing at. "Okay?"
John mimed throwing droplets at him. "I think we should go back to your place and get you out of these wet clothes."
"Nice. Very clever. It's a good ice-beaker. Fuck, we'd be going at it all night if you'd tried that out on me." John looked immensely proud of himself as Smitty drank.
He wracked his brain for another, staring up at the starry night sky. A star twinkled down at them, but then again, it was probably a plane flying over. "I'll love every bone in your body, including mine."
John let out a seductive hum. "I love your bone in my body too."
He kicked his foot playfully. "I'm aware."
"Are you a coroner? 'Cause I really want you to inspect my body."
"Damn, dude, that's fucking dark."
"What can I say?" John wiggled his brows, then asked, "Would it have worked on you, though?"
"Probably, yes." He took a sip and tried to wring his brain for just one more for his go, but quickly came up short, having depleted his limited selection. "I don't have anything else that's not cringe."
"We can end the game there, then." John shrugged before throwing his head back and chugging the last of his can, scrunching it up and chucking it into the cooler. "I'm gonna come join you over there."
Smitty just smiled, lifting one arm as John shuffled over to him on his knees, making the truck shake. He settled into his side, curling into a ball under his hold. Smitty buried his nose in his curls, eyes shutting softly, and inhaling. He smelled himself since they shared the same shampoo nowadays. About a month ago, John had converted him to using a curly hair-specific brand that he always used. And now, his hair was just as soft as John's always felt. And even more curly than before.
"Do you ever wish we met sooner?" John suddenly asked after a few minutes of sitting in silence.
"Why?"
"I dunno. We would've had more time together, I guess."
"You say that like we're going to die tomorrow."
John laughed softly, realising the slight error in his phrasing. "Okay, uh- do wish we got together sooner?"
"Obviously." There was no denying that. "But I like how we are, what we've become. Even if it's only been three-ish years."
"We've definitely both mellowed out a little." Smitty wasn't about to deny that. It was mostly around each other. On stream and in videos, nothing had changed. But when it was just the two of them, things were softer, and more domestic. It sometimes felt like they'd already entered the elderly couple stage. The idea that they acted like 'an old married couple' becoming a reality. They could still bicker like children, of course, but there was an ever-present, underlying fondness.
John was his favourite person. But he wasn't going to tell him that yet; he was saving that for tomorrow. Speaking of-
"Do you think you'll cry?"
John huffed a mocking laugh that he knew he didn't mean. "Of course not. Men don't cry. I'm going to be completely emotionless."
He squeezed him tighter. "I'll make you cry."
John lifted his head to gaze up at him. "Not if I do it first."
Smitty sighed, not out of irritation, but rather adoration, taking in that pretty face. He reached out cup John's cheek, swiping his thumb over pleasantly warm skin. "I love you. Like, I'm really, really in love with you."
"I'd hope so." John's eyes crinkled happily before he pushed up to kiss him softly. "And I love you. Probably more than you love me."
He huffed petulantly. "I don't think that's possible."
John let out a disbelieving high-pitched hum. "Oh, but it is."
"Can we just agree that we both feel the same about the other?"
"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, pal."
Neither of them said anything after that. Just happy to dwell in the comfortable silence between them. Octavia stood up and padded the short distance over to them. She curled up against John's bent legs, resting her snout on Smitty's outstretched knee, even though it didn't look quite so comfy, her eyes fluttering shut again. John stuck his hand out and left it buried in her soft fur.
At some point, he felt John grow heavier against his side, his breathing evening out. Fidgeting against his side as he sought out comfort under the blanket of sleep. He'd wake up him in a little while - they had somewhere important to be tomorrow, so both of them falling asleep in the middle of a field wasn't really a liable option, no matter how badly Smitty wanted to sleep.
So, he just held him tighter, lightly scraping his nails along John's forearm; and angled his head down to kiss his curls a few dozen times, hearing John sigh contently.
He couldn't fucking wait for tomorrow.