No Consequences

Raising her legs to get him in deeper, Louise began to quiver again. "Oh fuck, I'm cumming!" With that, she arched against him, pushing him to his limit. Moments later, as her pussy tightened upon him in the throes of her orgasm, George began to feel the tightness in his balls.

"So am I." Grunted George, and with a last thrust, he began to spurt his seed deep inside the woman of his dreams. They lay in that position for some time until, finally, George slipped out of Louise's thoroughly fucked cunt.

"Uhh, that felt good," Louise purred, "but we forgot to use a condom."

"We'll be alright." George murmured, tiredness creeping back into his brain after exerting himself. Laying next to her, he cuddled closer to Louise.

"That's what you said the last two times it happened, and look what happened nine months later both times!" Louise giggled.

To George's dismay, the love of his life pushed him away and went to the bathroom. Stealing her warm spot, still able to smell her on the sheets, George drifted off to sleep even before she returned, happy with his world as it was. Could life get any more perfect?

Chapter 4

"No, not a fucking chance."

A week on from the phone call from Francis, George has arranged a meetup between his father and his uncle, so they were sat in George's kitchen, drinking tea and coffee.

"The shit that fucking idiot said to me on the phone was the last straw. He's not invited, and it's not up for discussion."

George looked at his uncle in disbelief. Despite explaining everything that Francis had said to him, his uncle Fred refused to believe it.

"I can't believe he'd say anything that horrible." Fred insisted.

"Uncle, when he's drunk, I've seen Francis start fights on countless people for looking at him wrong. Of course he would. He did!"

"You can't uninvite him just because you've had a falling out," Fred snipped, "it's quite childish."

George couldn't help but laugh. "It's not a falling out; he told me my wedding was going to be shite if he didn't organise it, so I told him to fuck off. A falling out would be if he had helped with any of the organising Louise and her mum have spent the last year doing and then I told him to fuck off."

Taking a sip of his coffee, Fred ignored everything George had just said. "Maybe you could just let him help instead of being rude?"

Doing his best to keep his temper down, George clenched his teeth. "There is nothing left for him to do. It's done. And the only person being rude here, Uncle, is you."

"Is that how you let children speak to their elders?" Fred complained to Terry, George's dad. Terry had so far not said a word, contemplating what had been said.

"In George's defence," Terry said in his quiet, calm voice, "you've not actually listened to anything he's said. Fred, you're being quite defensive about Francis' behaviour."

"This isn't a go at you, uncle," George chimed in, "this is about how, at mine and Louise's wedding, Francis is no longer invited."

"I don't see that as very fair, and I don't agree."

"Then it's lucky that I wasn't asking your permission." George unclenched finally. "This is a discussion between adults so that, on the day of mine and Louise's wedding, you're not surprised when he isn't there."

"Then I might not come either, nor will your aunt!" Fred said this triumphantly, as if he were laying a trump card, but George was ready for it.

"Then, while that would be very sad, that would be your decision to make. I recognise that he's your son, but he's also been incredibly rude about me and my wife-to-be, and I don't think I can be any clearer that I will not stand for it."

Terry nodded. "That sounds fair, Fred."

Fred didn't say anything for a minute, his face showing a range of emotions.

"Is there anyway we could discuss a different arrangement?" With a slightly beaten sigh, Fred continued. "What if he promised not to touch any alcohol while he's there, and I would keep an eye on him?"

"I recognise that you want him there, Uncle, but this is mine and Louise's wedding, and he's just too much of a risk."

"Now you're just being unreasonable. Surely we can discuss a compromise?"

"I informed you from the beginning that this wasn't up for debate. Myself and Louise have discussed this; it's our wedding, our decision."

Fred looked as if he wanted to argue, but Terry shook his head slightly, stopping any oncoming complaints.

"He's right, Fred. It's his day, and they've spent a lot of time organising and a lot of money on everything, so let's not see it ruined for a petty reason, okay?"

Finishing his drink, Fred left without saying goodbye, leaving George feeling nervous about what Fred and Francis planned to do. His dad left the house, promising to make sure everything was made right, but all he could think about was, what if it wasn't?

Two Weeks Later

Standing in front of the church as they greeted everyone coming in, George and his best man, Graham, were all smiles. There was half an hour until the ceremony, but most of his family had arrived, as had most of Louise's, with Martina and their father coming in the bridal car with Louise. As of now, the main guests had mostly arrived, and they were just waiting for a few co-workers and family friends. The main standouts were George's uncle Fred and his wife, Marjorie. Although he was doing his best not to think about the implications of this, George was worried.

"Right, thanks for letting me know." Terry came out of the church as he switched off his phone. "Okay, that was Reg and Fred's neighbour. He's just seen Fred, Marge, and Francis getting into a car together, all dressed in suits and a fancy hat. The latter in your aunt's case, obviously."

Shaking his head, George cursed the stubbornness of his family.

"Okay, I think I need to call Uncle Fred. He's left me no choice but to go nuclear." He and Terry moved aside slightly, with Graham staying at the church entrance to continue to welcome those still making their way in or to direct those popping out of the church for a cigarette and a chat.

"Fred? Oh, hi, Aunty Marge. Is Fred driving? Okay. Just please let him know that if Francis is still in the car by the time you get here, I'm going to cancel the wedding." Terry could hear nothing but mumbling. "I know it would be an awful waste of time and money, but today's about me and Louise, so if Francis comes, we've agreed to take the financial hit and get married in the registry office with just our siblings and parents sometime in the future. When I think of my wedding, I want to think about my wife, not anyone else. Oh good, I'm glad you understand."

Even through the muffled phone, Terry could hear shouting and swearing.

"I appreciate that Francis may be upset, but he's brought this upon himself. I no longer want anything to do with him, so he can stop calling me all sorts of swears and curses, thank you."

The noise on the other end of the phone returned to a murmur. "Yes, both you and Fred are still invited, although obviously I am upset that you both attempted to circumnavigate the decision I'd previously made, so please, let's keep everything civil and nothing else will be said, okay? Okay, thanks, Aunty Marge!"

With that, he ended the call.

"Right, that should be that, although, if you don't mind, dad, are you okay waiting out here until they arrive, just as a precaution?"

In the end, George needn't have worried; Fred and Marge arrived alone moments before the thumbs up was given for the organist to start playing the imperial march to announce the bride's arrival, Louise having considered the wedding march too boring to walk down the aisle to. Hell, she was only planning to get married once, and as had been said previously, today was about them and them alone. So why the fuck not?

Later on, at the wedding reception held in the grand hall of a local hotel, which accommodated half of the wedding party at the same time, much wine and beer was drunk and plenty of food was gorged upon. As the night ended, the last refrains of laughter and singing fading away into the night, George and Louise stood naked on the balcony of their bridal suite, all alone; all the kids left with their grandparents. They stared at the nighttime countryside scenery, feeling no shivers on a warm June evening. It was, without a doubt, as they strode back into the room hand in hand, one of the happiest days of George and Louise's lives.

Chapter 5

"What an absolute fucking cunt. Supposed to be my cousin? My family? No family of fucking mine!"

Francis sat alone in the Horseshoes, his local since the English Rose had banned him some years prior. Although his behaviour hadn't changed in his new pub, only one person had been banned from the Horseshoes in living memory, despite a multitude of fights and assaults that had taken place in the pub, and that was Jeremy Corbyn. The left-wing leader of a major political party for the sake of a desperate attention-grabbing article in the local paper. Forget the violent and the angry; it was those who wanted equality who were the real problem! That sums up the Horseshoes in a nutshell.

As his recent outburst hadn't gotten the attention that he felt he deserved, Francis began to shout louder.

"I can't believe that complete arsehole thinks he's better than me! Fucking arrogant wanker."

With Francis' too far gone to notice, the bartenders were starting to have a quiet word with the door staff they were legally required to employ. Although the owner usually complained about the cost he was forced to pay by the local police force, he recognised that sometimes they did have their uses.

"Thinks he's fucking better than me? Well, I'm fucking off to Canada! Can't fucking tear me down there! I'll succeed due to my own ability!"

Completely oblivious to the door staff walking towards him, Francis pattered incessantly at his pockets.

"Knew I had them here," he muttered, "I had my fags here somewhere..."

"How about I offer you a cigarette, Francis?" This rumble came from Kayren, the six-foot-six door staff, who was almost as wide as he was tall. It wasn't often that anyone disagreed with Kayren, and even in Francis' drunken state, some form of self-preservation obviously tugged at his mind.

Yeah, that sounds good, mate." He stood slowly, trying to figure out which of the two identical carpets was the real one. Stepping slowly, he managed to reach the exit and walked out in the warm summer night onto the pub's patio.

"T'me, is it?" Francis said, trying to light the cigarette Kayren had offered him.

"About eight p.m." Rumbled Kayren.

"Fuck off. Is that it, really?" Finally lighting it, Francis took a deep drag.

"You've apparently been here since just after noon, turning up looking smart as anything in your suit, so it probably wouldn't hurt to go home."

This was immediately dismissed in Francis' mind. After the divorce, he'd decided to stay local to stay close to family, but instead of a nice flat with multiple bedrooms, he was stuck in a single room in a shared house, shared bathroom, shared kitchen, shared lounge, shared everything if he didn't remember to lock his room, which, after a few, he regularly forgot to do. No respect; that's what it was. Fucking kids these days, especially the fucking women, are just bullshit.

"I get no fucking respect these days, not from anyone."

Kayren leaned down and spoke delicately. "That Francis, is because no one respects you."

Even in his state, Francis couldn't find an answer. Not belligerence, not an argument, not a load of vitriol. He was shocked, his cigarette hanging limply between his fingers. This was the first time someone had spoken to him like this.

"It's common knowledge that your wife left you because you didn't try," the doorman continued, "that your kids don't speak to you because you don't contact them, and you don't have a job because you seem to believe that, no matter what you do, you can do what the hell you want without any form of consequence. You're regularly sat in here with the old men for their lunch time pint, and you don't leave until the same time as the youngsters who come in the evening for a 'sesh', looking desperate as hell as you try to chat up anything in a skirt. But, for you, the session never ends." Leaning further forward, Kayren and Francis were almost touching noses. "You're a joke mate, and the only person who doesn't realise it is you."

Taking the fag from Francis' unprotesting hands, Kayren took a long luxurious puff before throwing it on the floor, stamping on it to put it out. "I think it's time you went home." These were the last words the doorman said before he strolled back into the pub, closing the patio doors behind him pointedly.

Francis sat there for a few minutes before he decided to leave, although it took a few tries upon finally standing there was a prominent shake to his limbs as he did so. Francis desperately wanted to be upset and angry at Kayren, but suddenly things seemed to make sense. He hadn't thought of his life like that before, and he began to get angry. If this was the case, why the fuck didn't people tell him that before?!

His body slumping, he realised that it was because he'd only have started arguing and being a dick when they'd said it. He never considered how his actions hurt others, just how their reactions affected him. It wasn't anyone else's fault, just his. It was why everyone else in the family was currently at his cousins wedding, but here he was, all alone on what should have been a great day.

Stumbling into his apartment, Francis picked up a cider from the fridge, opened it and began to take a swig. Yet he stopped with it halfway to his lips. This drinking, this is what he did to remove himself from the world, he found solace inside alcohol. But with alcohol he didn't have Haley, didn't have his kids, or Scott. He wasn't anybody without them or alcohol. He was just a selfish, self-serving asshole.

Pouring the cider out of his window, Francis vowed to do better, because to be fair, he couldn't do any fucking worse.

Chapter 6

(Two Years Later)

Walking into the English Rose by himself, George relished the feeling of being somewhere comfortable and private. He loved his wife and kids with the entirety of his being, but sometimes he just needed a bit of time to himself that wasn't family or work, especially with three kids, the youngest of whom was undoubtedly convinced just prior to the wedding, so sometimes it was nice to get to familiar haunts and see familiar friends alone.

Martina was already seated at the table with her partner, Matthew, a transman whom they had, to their surprise, met at church. While her presence had initially caused consternation in the ranks of the regulars, over time all had become familiar with and even protective of Martina, to the point that one 'lad' who'd decided to make fun of her had been found beaten to a bloody pulp in the garden shortly after. Matthew had been welcomed with open arms and was, like his partner, incredibly kind and considerate. Martina had always been rather short, but in Matthew she'd found not only a kindred spirit but also somebody else who could also probably fit into a Kinder egg.

The only one of their group not yet present was Graham, George's best man, whom he'd met at work and who had then eased into a friendship that had lasted since they'd met. An asexual man, he'd been a great uncle and godfather to George's kids and had always been kind and generous. Physically, he was also Brad Pitt in the nineties, so not being interested in any romantic or sexual entanglements, he relied on his friends to help put off any interested parties, both male and female.

"I'll tell you what," George said, grinning from ear to ear, "it's nice to have some adult company for the evening. If I watch another episode of fucking Paw Patrol, I'm going to break a window."

"Aww man," Matthew sighed, "but Rubble's so cute! He's always getting into such silly trouble!" Feeling the anger within George's stare, he hastily attempted to change the subject. "So I hear that Graham had a surprise the other day."

George looked surprised, but Martina elbowed Matthew hard in the ribs, with Graham immediately going red. Looking back and forth at his friends, he finally broke the silence.

"Right, you're going to have to tell me what's going on. Is this why he's late?"

With a sigh, Martina spilt the beans. "Are you aware that Graham has always said that if he found anyone both physically and sexually attractive, he'd buy himself a sports car as both a prise and a distraction?"

"...Yes..." George had major concerns.

"Well, he's just bought himself a Jaguar XJS."

"...Fuck." George considered his further response to what he assumed to be a major concern. "Is he okay?"

To Martina and Matthew's relief, Graham walked through the door, and George immediately rounded on them.

"What the fuck is this? I hear that you've bought yourself a goddamn sportscar?"

With a gulp, Graham attempted to dodge the question. "Is it my round?"

"Yes," George answered instantly, "and if you don't explain immediately, it'll be your round all night."

Offering to assist, Martina went with Graham up to the bar, returning a few minutes later with the appropriate drinks, giving Graham time to not only consider what to say but also how to say it.

"So... It's obvious since I've bought a sports car that I have found someone that I find attractive. Before you ask, no, I haven't done anything about it, so no, they don't know I find them attractive, and no, I don't plan to do anything about it."

"Why not?" George nosily inquired.

"Because," Graham went bright red, "he's an absolute bellend, and it would be embarrassing."

"Oooh," George's eyebrows rose, he, eh? How'd you know him?"

Wincing as he answered, Graham took a quick swig of his beer. "Because he's your cousin."

Blinking, George wasn't quite sure how to deal with this information.

"Look," Graham babbled, "I just happened to pop into the Horseshoes, and we just got talking, and yes, I ended up getting a stiffy. But it wasn't intentional! I know what a dick he was about your wedding! He's just not like he once was."

Stretching his fingers, George closed his eyes as he spoke. "So what, now he's not a raping, abusive drunk?"

"Look," Graham answered defensively, "I don't know about his past, but he's no longer an alcoholic. He was in the Horseshoes for a quiz, but he was only drinking Pepsi, and actually, since your wedding, he's smartened up a lot."

"Okay," George sighed and spoke flatly, his self-control at a maximum, "I'm glad he's doing better, but I'm also glad that you're never going to shag him."

As George took a drink, Graham looked at Martina and Matthew with worry.

"I've not said I'm not going to shag him."

Staring out of the window into the beer garden, George wanted to scream.

"Also," Graham continued, "I've invited him to join us tonight."

To Graham's surprise, George relaxed.

"Well," George grinned, "that's alright then; he's banned from the Rose for life."

Graham sucked in his lips. "Well, actually," he gulped, "I spoke to the new owners of the Rose, and they've agreed to forgive any lifetime bans."

"Why do you hate me? You were my best man!" George could have cried.

Graham was adamant. "Because he's changed, and also because I've never wanted to have a girlfriend as much as I have thought about Francis."

Martina laughed. "That's a sentence no one else has ever said."

"I'm just disappointed, Graham," George countered. "I just thought you had better taste than that!"

"You still think that despite us being best friends for how long?"

This joke managed to act as the icebreaker they all needed, and for the next half hour or so, the quartet chatted and laughed almost as normal, until, upon receiving a text, Graham walked out the front of the pub to meet Francis.