Wooden Abomination

"Go on. Enjoy the party. Don't forget to give them my gift, okay?"

Yves whined and stamped his feet on the pavement like a five-year-old kid as Timothy shoved the paper bag to his hand. "Why don't you come inside so you can give this... this thing to them instead?"

"Nah. I'm not really suited to this kind of event. Just look at my clothes." Timothy pulled the open vest of his dark leather jacket over a white T-shirt and skinny jeans. He had his shoulder-length hair secured in a messy top knot, showing the intricate pattern on both shaved sides. They can both agree that Timothy looked like a wedding crasher with his ragged style.

Yves wanted nothing more than to thwack Timothy's head with the wooden sculpted phallus. If only it wouldn't attract unwanted attention, he would have done so. He was sure his boyfriend didn't dress up according to the wedding motif, so he has a reason to flee and leave him with the embarrassment of handing such atrocious gift.

Timothy only sniggered at his disgruntled expression, coughing a laugh to his fist. He snaked a hand to his waist, pulling Yves for a brief kiss to pacify his irritation, unbothered that they were on the sidewalk. "Go on, Baby. Have fun with your friends. I'll pick you up tomorrow."

Yves' shoulders slumped in defeat. He couldn't deny that it worked, but he still turned away with a pout. "I'm not bringing you take-outs."

"As long as you won't be someone else's takeout."

Yves kicked Timothy's shin before he stormed off. The beautiful laughter that followed after him moved his head from side to side, grinning. There's no point convincing someone who didn't want to attend. He'll just party hard and enjoy the night as much as he can.

At the very least, Timothy wasn't a strict boyfriend and trusted him enough to party with his friends.

El Cielo Lodges—a privately owned property situated on top of the mountain sought by many high-profile personalities as a venue for intimate weddings. With Patrick and Nico coming from influential families, the price was nothing they couldn't afford.

Greeted by the well-dressed staff, Yves walked inside the banquet hall, lit with crystal chandeliers and purple neon lights. The tables and chairs were covered in black cloth accented with lavender ribbons and flower arrangements. A passing waiter offered him a champagne flute from the rounded beverage tray he's holding, but Yves raised one hand to decline politely. It's too early to get drunk.

"Beb!" called a high-pitched voice that belonged to no other than the human kettle—Alexandra Martinez. She waddled towards him, grabbed two champagne flutes from the waiter, then handed one to him. Or more like, forced it to his hand. "Oh, my gosh! What took you so long? You've done—!"

Yves shoved the champagne flute to her lips and made her drink the sparkly beverage, already knowing what's about to spout out of her dirty mouth. He flashed a fiendish smile. "Go, girl. Bottom's up. Open that esophagus for something potentially larger, if you find one later."

Alexandra gasped, coughing a little. Then an excited grin slithered through her red-painted lips. She pointed a finger at him in agreement. "I like the sound of that. You're getting better, Beb."

Yup. He's getting better at mimicking her crude speech. Yves felt the need to wash his mouth and sipped from his own glass. He rolled his tongue against his palate at the bittersweet taste, scrunching his nose at the fruity scent. It was good.

"Beb, what's that?" Alexandra pointed at the fancy paper bag hooked to his arm as they walked to the side of the banquet hall, going for the long table to get foods.

"I-It's a gift," Yves said, trying to act nonchalant.

"May I see?"

"No." Yves pulled his arm away when she tried to reach for it. "It's for Pat and Nico. Are you the newlywed? Why don't you grab us plates while I look for a chance to give this to them?"

Alexandra made a face at him but went for the stack of chinaware. Undoubtfully, with her mouth that has the frequency of a freaking megaphone, she'd garner attention if she found out what's inside the paper bag.

The stars of the evening were not hard to find. Yves spotted them near the designated seat for the newlywed. Problem was, they were surrounded with guests, congratulating them. One particular personality he recognized with just a glance was a man who kept making a buzz in social media. Not only because he was vocal to being a straight ally but also because he was undoubtfully handsome.

Congressman Richard Alonzo—an actor turned politician, who starred in numerous adult-rated films in the late 90s. Twenty years later and he still looked like a magazine model, thanks to a healthy lifestyle and probably his dermatologist. The charismatic congressman had broken the usual image of politicians with bulging bellies and receding hairlines.

Yves tried to contain his inner fanboy. Although it would be hypocritical of him not to get excited seeing the man up close when he had watched all of his films in high school out of teenage curiosity. After all, it was what made Yves realize he's into men.

Now, if only the paper bag didn't contain a scandalous object inside, he would put on a brave face and approach them. Getting a handshake from the respectable man would be more than enough to satiate his inner fanboy.

When Congressman Alonzo turned to his direction and smiled, Yves jolted in shock then spun around, only to crash against a waiter who toppled the alcoholic drinks he's carrying all over his suit. He gasped at the coldness that seeped inside his suit, but he tried to stay calm.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry, sir!"

"No, it's fine—!"

"I'm really sorry! Wait! Handkerchief. Towel. Hold on! Shit!" The waiter almost didn't know what to do as he put down the tray and fumbled in his pocket.

Yves saw the fear in the young man's eyes; the fear of losing his job, so he tried not to make a big deal out of it as he accepted the table cloth to dry the stain on his suit. Thankfully, the waiter had prevented the glasses from falling down on the floor, or it would have been a bigger mess for the two of them.

"Sir—!"

"It's okay, really. It was my fault, so don't worry. I'm not gonna call your manager to fire you or anything like that."

"Is everything okay?"

Yves stopped patting the front of his black suit at the hand that rested on his shoulder. He looked at the hand, then craned his neck to look at the man who just smiled at him a few moments ago. To say he was star-struck would be an understatement.

Like, damn! How can a forty-two-year-old man has no visible wrinkles on his face? He wanted to know his skin care routine.

A hand waved in front of him, and Yves snapped out of his stupor and stuttered a reply. "Y-Yeah, I'm okay. Everything is okay, sir." He turned to the equally captivated waiter. "Right?"

The young man nodded his head and crouched down to pick up the paper bag on the floor. "S-Sir, you dropped this."

"T-Thank you." Yves snatched it in his hands and pressed it protectively against his chest. Oddly, the paper bag felt lighter, so he peeked inside and his blood froze.

Congressman Alonzo cleared his throat as he bent down to grab the wooden abomination in between their shoes that fucked Yves' life for eternity. He handed it to him, and in a casual tone, he said: "I think you drop this, too."