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Josh most certainly did… and handed over his keys.
After an hour wearing breeches on the interstate as a willing prisoner, Josh had learned two absolute truths:
A) Tyler loved dressing up in extravagant costumes, and
B) Boners were impossible to conceal under velvet.
Still baffled about the actual destination, Josh satisfied himself with trying to gather clues from the signage. They had driven north on I-15 and been on the road at least an hour. “Los Angeles…? Malibu?” With a smile, Josh turned to his handsome abductor. “Dude, are you taking me to Disneyland?”
“Relax, we’re almost there.” Tyler took the exit for North Sunset Ave., and then Josh scanned the signs for clues. Irwindale… that rang some long-ago bell. Then something called Santa Fe Dam Recreational Area.
“Wait.” Josh turned to look at a cross street. “I think they make sriracha here.”
Tyler neither confirmed nor denied reports of local hot sauce production.
As they turned down a tree-lined street, Josh spied a vast parking lot with a looming archway at the opposite end. A combination of T-shirted tourists and fully costumed patrons milled about the entrance under a sign that read Renaissance Pleasure Faire.
“No way!” Josh sat up straight. He’d always wanted to attend one of these but had never had the nerve.
Tyler beamed and threw an arm around Josh’s shoulders. “Welcome, good sirrah, to a world of knights, jesters, and lusty escapades.”
Despite his initial apprehension, Josh couldn’t suppress an excited grin. How had Tyler known? How did he always know? Mr. Fantana never stopped surprising and delighting him. The real Tyler was so much more wonderful than the imaginary “alpha jock” he’d pined for way back when.
Josh goggled at the sights and sounds as they strolled through the Faire gates. Minstrels plucked lutes, jugglers tossed flaming batons, and the air smelled of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Costumed villagers hawked their wares from makeshift wooden stalls draped with vivid silks and tapestries. The crowd was a jolly mix of hard-core costumes and average civilians wearing shorts and flip-flops.
“Milord, since you are my prisoner this day, I offer you my protection and patronage in this lawless domain,” Tyler said in an exaggerated and terrible British accent. “Perhaps a flagon of ale?”
Josh laughed. “Indeed not, villain. I’ll have my revenge. But first, we must away to yon field of valor, where my knights clash in contest!” He pointed to a sign for the jousting arena.
Tyler’s eyes lit up. “I can but agree! Let us make haste, lest we miss the fray!”
As Tyler hurried off, Josh watched him walk away, feeling absolutely no guilt. That butt, that back, those arms were something else. If Tyler wanted to showcase his extraordinary assets under Lycra that thin, Josh for one was not willing to waste a miracle by walking in front.
And for the first time, he got a proper head-to-toe gander at Tyler’s outrageous chest-baring costume.
Tyler looked every inch the storybook rogue, all bulging biceps and bunching pectorals with a dusting of crisp dark fuzz across them. At six foot five and two hundred and sixty-something pounds, Tyler stood a head taller than anyone else in the Faire. His abs flexed every time he chuckled, and the wide V of his back looked like a D&D campaign waiting to happen.
However, the real public nuisance was presented by his massive lower half.
The folks wandering the Faire might not recognize America’s Tightest End behind his half mask, but everybody in striking distance was having a hard time keeping their eyes above his beltline, fore and aft. Josh could sympathize.
For whatever nefarious reason, Tyler had opted to wear darkish tights, somewhere between brown and purple and textured like hide, that showed off every intense inch of his jacked legs and backside. His gigantic thighs looked like carved tree trunks, and his meaty calves rose out of a pair of fold-top cavalier boots. And the crowning glory front and center? A literal glittering codpiece cupping his huge bulge behind a jeweled rooster picked out in red, black, green, and orange gems, its beak tipped up to nip at the perfect dark treasure trail reaching up from his waistband toward his navel.
A glittering cock? For real? He must have done that on purpose, right?
Thing was, the whole getup might look obscene in its particulars, but more than anything, he looked perfect. Tyler might have stepped out of a fairy tale to ravish someone.
“My lord?”
Busted. Josh raised his eyes and realized Tyler had caught him staring, but he seemed pleased, if anything. Obviously he didn’t mind anyone getting an eyeful. Tyler beckoned him with a roguish grin. “Shall we?”
“Right.” Josh finally got his legs moving and closed the distance separating them. “These costumes are amazing.”
“I know a gal in La Jolla who hooked us up.” Tyler spun in a slow circle, looking down at himself. “She designs for the opera.”
Football players go to opera? As soon Josh reached his bandit king, Tyler threw an affectionate arm around his shoulders. For the past couple of weeks, Tyler had become more openly tactile, and Josh cherished those casual moments of closeness.
He wondered whether—hoped—it meant Tyler’s feelings had nudged beyond mere friendship. But he dared not assume too much. For now it was enough just to share this adventure together.
