Randy Dreyfus stretched out languidly on his bed. Yawning loudly, he peered out of one eye to the figure on his left and smiled sleepily at the sight of his lover, magnificently naked, his dark body contrasting with the cream colored sheets.

Lover.

To this day, it still amazed him. Even more amazing, he supposed, was the fact that he didn't regret one of his actions -- yet it was the god's truth. Any other person, he supposed, would be living in a constant state of panic if everything they knew, everything they believed about themselves turned out to be false, but for Randy, it was the opposite.

*Before*, his life had been like that. And since he's been with DJ it's like he could finally breathe.

Now of course, any sane person would say he was crazy to throw away everything that he had, and some did on a regular basis but Randy paid it no mind. Why would a famous, rich, successful baseball player want to give it all up, including a wife and kids for *gasp* a man? Well, it often made him feel like a huge fa... er, queer (he's been trying for DJ) but the answer was always the same: for love.

Of course, the media would never settle for such a nelly answer so they'd often try their best to get some dirt out of him; Knocking on the cabin widow at ungodly hours of the morning with inane questions: 'Randy, will you come back if asked?' 'Is DJ Pickett your first male lover?' 'What do you think of the rumors that your wife is writing a tell all book?' 'Is it true your daughters are in therapy with an Egyptian?'

He'd answer as best one could to such requests and hope they'd leave before he belted someone. Naturally, it was all media bullshit. In actuality, he and Susie were better friends now than ever before. She eventually got over her initial hurt and now harbors no resentment toward him, simply accepting the fact that she loved and married a gay man and neither of them had realized.

And of course she'd have no problem finding someone else. Like most of America thought, she was a fox. At times he missed the twins, but really he'd barely known them all that well to begin with. He was proud to announce though that he could finally tell them apart; Molly has the squeakier voice.

DJ rolled over and nuzzled Randy's chest.

"Mmm..."

"Hey."

"Hi."

"I want pancakes."

DJ yawned and kissed his chest. "We don't have any."

"Okay, then I want eggs."

"Omelet?"

"What else?"

"Mmm, sounds good."

"Come on, you can help me perfect it."

"God forbid I eat shells again. Ouch, okay. Just ... little longer." DJ kissed his way down his stomach.

"Ah ... you're just trying to distract me."

"Possibly."

DJ's head disappeared beneath the covers and Randy stretched again, spreading his legs.

"I suppose -- breakfast can ... wait."

He closed his eyes on the sound DJ's muffled laughter and sighed.

Life was good.