The Things We Do For Love
"Why do I gotta wear this monkey suit out there?" Pete questioned irritably while tugging on the sleeves of his suit jacket. "I can throw this crap on after the show, right?"
Michael, who had answered this question six times already in the past ten minutes, turned away from the mirror he was looking into and smiled at his lover. "No, Petey. We won't have time to make you presentable for-"
"What the hell does that mean?" he snipped, the irritation growing with each passing second in the 'uppity duds'. "'Make me presentable'? You sayin' I'm not fit for public display?"
"Of course I'm not." Michael replied with a smile, walking across the room to stand in front of Pete. "But this way all we have to do is get in the car and go."
Michael ran a lazy hand down the sleeve Pete had been tugging on earlier in hopes of pacifying- or at the very least distracting- his less than pleased companion. Once again, however, Pete was not impressed with the man he loved, his answer, the hand on his arm, or the suit he was wearing.
"It ain't like jeans and a sweater won't do, Mike. I bet they ain't even gonna wear suits, and it's their party!"
"For the last time, *Peter*," Michael stated in a firm, matter-of-fact voice. "It is not a party, it's a wedding. Everyone is going to be dressed up, and that includes you."
"But-"
"You are wearing the suit."
"But-"
"You are wearing it now."
"But-"
"You will wear it during the taping."
"But-"
"You will wear it at the ceremony."
"But-"
"No 'but's."
"But-"
"But what?" Michael asked as he snaked his arms around Pete's neck, pulling his stammering lover to him into a slow, long, languid kiss that made Pete's knees weak and his heart leap from his chest and into the man kissing him. With a sly smile, Michael pulled away, opened the door to their dressing room, and tugged Pete's hand insistently.
"The song was right;" Pete sighed and relinquished his stance, following his lover out the door, reluctantly, muttering to himself. "The things we do for love indeed."
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