Page 4 of Julian Shared (Secret Lives of Hot Twinks #2)

Joel

From the western seaboard to the sun belt, soldiers call this post the Big Prick.

The commander has tried to squash out the nickname and get everyone to call it by its proper government-mandated designation of Fort Cactus, but that there’s the problem with nicknames in the military: the more you let folks know you hate it, the more joy they’ll take in saying it.

Big Prick is as enduring as it is endearing.

One part juvenile humor and one part sarcastic glee. You’d think a post with a nickname like that would mean it’s a pain in the ass being assigned here as your duty station, but it’s the exact opposite.

Big Prick is a cushy job.

About as good as it gets when it comes to military installations in the southwest.

Sure, we’re smack-dab in the middle of nowhere with only a small town next door. For anything cosmopolitan, you’re in for a full day trip to someplace like Las Vegas or Canyon City.

But with Big Prick’s focus on research and development, the army’s strong arm here doesn’t do much flexing.

Mostly, we’re here to provide security to all the scientists doing their nerd shit.

I have my identification ready as I pull up to the checkpoint. Doesn’t matter that it’s the end of the day and I’m leaving. Everybody, no matter their rank, gets checked in and logged out of headquarters. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Manuel’s on checkpoint duty today. “Hey man,” I greet with a grin while he scans my badge. “We never got your RSVP for tonight. You’ll be there, yeah?”

I didn’t exactly pull any strings to get Manuel assigned out here…but I might have done some nudging. Being with my husband and having my best friend on the same post? I’d brag about being the luckiest son of a bitch to ever live, but luck had nothing to do with it.

Julian’s unfailing love and never-ending support got me, got us , where we are today. Without him, I never would have started climbing the promotional ladder. From E-5 to E-8 in ten years.

Manuel hands back my badge and fully slides open the checkpoint window. He leans out so we can talk face to face instead of speaker to face. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there, but why the fuck are you guys hosting some big party for your wedding anniversary?

I shrug. “Julian wants to celebrate with all our friends and neighbors.”

Besides, it’s a great opportunity to do some networking…and a little ass kissing.

Manuel shakes his head. “If I had a husband, I’d be taking him into the city for a very different sort of celebration, you know what I mean?”

“If you had a husband, he wouldn’t have anything to celebrate.”

“Asshole,” Manuel laughs.

“I’ll see you later,” I tell him, “and you better not to be late.”

“Sure thing, Command Sergeant Major,” Manuel says with a cheeky salute.

“Knock that shit off. I ain’t been promoted yet,” I warn him before driving off.

I leave my windows rolled down and the AC turned off, enjoying the wind and bopping along to the Latin jazz on my favorite station, as I drive right past the barracks and head toward the outskirts of post. That’s where all the family housing has been constructed.

A series of quaint lanes meant to mimic a picturesque slice of suburbia.

Row after row of houses surrounded by white-picket fences and perfectly parceled green front yards with gardens that’d never survive in the natural desert landscape without man’s pride.

Our house is way in the back and nestled right along the perimeter.

Private and quiet too. All our neighbors are gay and child-free, so there are no screams of play to be heard.

Our house is the prettiest on the block.

The hedges trimmed, bushes blooming with color, and flowers sprouting everywhere, whether in the ground or a pot.

All Julian’s doing, mostly.

I do my part and keep the lawn mowed.

I pull the jeep into the garage. Before I get out, I take a moment to smooth the lapels of my uniform and slip my cap back onto my head. “Love?” I call out while dropping my keys into the key tray and setting down my briefcase.

Julian’s usually right at the door to greet me when I get home, but not today. I follow the techno beat down the hall and find Julian in the guest bathroom.

What a pretty picture he makes. I let out a low wolf whistle as I lean against the door frame. "If you wanna welcome me home down on your hands and knees, we've got more comfortable rooms for that.”

“Joel!” Julian pokes his head up and starts to peel off his rubber gloves. The fan is on and the window is open, but the artificial smell of sanitizing lemon still creeps up my nose. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you get home,” he shouts over the music.

I stop leaning, but don’t stop smiling as I offer a hand to help Julian out of the bathtub. He taps at his phone screen to silence the music.

“What’re you doing scrubbing that?” I ask as I slip my arm around his slender waist and pull him in for a kiss. “Nobody gonna be using it tonight.” Julian and I don’t throw those types of parties. No over-nighters. Nothing that leaves anyone…messy.

“No, don’t,” Julian protests as he tries to resist my affection and laughs, “I’m all sweaty.”

I directly kiss his sweat-soaked brow and only barely stop myself from licking him.

“It looks nice,” I tell him as I squeeze his waist and take a gander around the guest bathroom.

Looks more than nice, really. Looks like something out of a showroom or a television set.

Everything shiny clean and thoughtfully decorated.

Our whole house looks like that. “Though I still don’t understand why we had to renovate it to include the shower and bathtub combo. ”

When we moved in, it was just a toilet and sink with extra storage space.

“Because half-baths are quitters,” Julian puffs out his cheeks while slotting his rubber gloves into the portable plastic organizer that he keeps all the household cleaning products in.

Julian has more pride in that thing than most guys have with their tool belt.

“Might as well just have our guests use an outhouse.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I shake my head with a renewed grin. “Go on and get your picky ass upstairs. Pick out your party outfit.”

He’ll need more time to get ready than me. All I’m going to do is wash my face and throw on jeans and a short-sleeve button-down shirt.

“Yes, sir.” In lieu of a salute, Julian hops up on his tippy-toes to peck a quick kiss on my mouth.

And plucks my hat off my head.

Just like I knew he would.

It’s a familiar ritual by this point. Julian always puts my cap on for me before I leave for work in the morning and takes it off for me when I get home.

I follow him out, lingering at the bottom of the stairs to enjoy the sight of his pert little ass going up. When the show is over, I put Julian’s cleaning organizer away and double-check to make sure the grill is ready to fire up.

◆◆◆

“Make sure to keep some of these vegan patties on stand-by.”

“Who the hell here is vegan?” I question under my breath, but I accept the package of patties that Julian hands over to me.

“Well, no one,” Julian clears his throat, “but I want it out as an option. Just in case.”

Of course he does. Party host extraordinaire.

Julian’s all refreshed and dolled up, dressed in a salmon colored polo shirt and blinding-white slim-fit capri pants with matching sneakers.

Him and those goddamn polos. He’s done his hair with some product and I can faintly smell his fresh layer of sunscreen underneath the floral cologne he’s spritzed on.

Our anniversary barbecue is in full swing. Some popular pop music intermingles with chatter and laughter as people congregate into groups around dinner. The smell of meat, potato salad, and corn on the cob makes my mouth water.

I’m starving, but our guests have to eat first.

Even the non-existent vegan ones.

I throw the patties on the grill to get them started, sprinkling on some seasonings to try and make the lack of meat more appetizing.

For good measure, I add some spice too. Red pepper flakes to give it a spicy kick.

Shit, if I slathered the patties in hot sauce, I could make it into a game for the soldiers. See who can stand the heat.

In between my spice-based intervention, I notice Julian pausing in his drink-making to scan the crowd.

“Who’re you waiting for?” I ask.

I can’t imagine we’re missing anyone. Fuck, I don’t recognize half the people here. Julian likes to complain he doesn’t have any friends on post, but I understand what he really means is that he feels left out by the popular housewives.

Julian finishes stirring a Bloody Mary and hands it off to a very thirsty guest. The drinks are flowing as freely as the food is flying off the grill. “The commander,” he finally answers.

I shake my head. “I thought they weren’t coming?”

“Yes, she did, but I may have also sent an invitation directly to his office too.”

I cluck my tongue and wave my spatula in his direction, but say nothing.

Ain’t the time or place to argue with him.

But this right here is exactly why Julian gets himself slowly iced out by the housewives in every post we’ve ever ended up on.

He does it to himself. Has done it on every move.

Belligerent behavior undermining the chain of command among the army families.

I know he means well enough, but sometimes his efforts are a bit…much.

Not everyone knows how to handle Julian. I know how to handle him, but I’ll admit sometimes I do worry about being good enough for him when Julian’s so goddamn perfect at the house spouse shit.

He does the cleaning and the cooking (minus the grilling). Plans our social calendar. Makes our appointments. Fills his days with hobbies both interesting and practical.

All that while sucking cock too.