Kiss cam

Everyone had seen the footage a thousand times already, so no one in the conference room spoke when it played on the screen. Someone’s shaky camera phone had recorded the Jumbotron at a concert over the weekend, and eighteen seconds of wobbly, tinny video had taken the internet by storm. Now, two marriages and a billion-dollar company were put to the test. 

The stadium crowd roared in the background, but the audio was turned down. Adam’s body pressed close against Gareth’s. Too close for a CEO and his head of human resources, especially when they were both married to other men. Adam’s chin rested near Gareth’s neck, and their drifting, intertwined hands rested just a little too low on Gareth’s hips. “KISS CAM” flashed beneath their blissfully ignorant faces in bright red block letters. 

Then came the realization and a flicker of panic. Gareth’s eyes widened. Adam jolted. They fumbled apart like guilty teenagers, Gareth yanking Adam’s hand away as they both ducked behind the railing. Gareth pulled his hat low. Adam used a drink cup to shield his face. The stadium erupted in laughter. Pure schadenfreude. 

The band’s frontman strummed a minor chord on his guitar. “Uh oh,” he said. “Hope they’re just really good friends.” 

Avery Mastin, chief Crisis Management Agent for Coda, LLC, hit the Pause button. The image froze on the top of Adam’s head bobbing in and out of frame. 

“Fifty-five thousand people saw that live,” Avery said. “Another 10 million have viewed it online in the last 36 hours. And you’ve seen the headlines. ‘Gay CEO Caught Getting Head…of HR.’ ‘Same Sex Kiss Cam Threatens Two Marriages.’ ‘Cheating: Not Just for Straights Anymore.’” 

At the far end of the table, Jake Goldry loosened his tie, then dabbed at his sweaty, bald scalp with his hankie. “I didn’t found Lucidize.io just to let a pair of horny idiots drive it into the ground. The IPO is in jeopardy. You shit-for-brain assholes couldn’t have picked a worse time to fuck everything up.” 

No one replied. Adam sat stiffly, lips pursed. Gareth was pale. Across the table, their husbands looked composed. 

“You’re lucky,” Avery continued. “No kiss. No confession. Just… implication. That gives us leverage. But make no mistake, if even one of you files for divorce, the story explodes. The narrative becomes chaotic. Reputations die. The stock falls.” 

Julian, Gareth’s husband, chuckled under his breath. “So we’re all staying married. For optics.” 

“Correct,” Avery said. “You’re not lovers. You’re survivors. That’s the story now.” 

Mason, Adam’s husband, finally spoke. “And if they slip up again?” 

Avery’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He dropped a fat stack of legal documents on the table and distributed pens to everyone in attendance. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.” 

Adam didn’t flinch. But he didn’t argue, either. The stakes were too high. 

One month later, the story had softened. 

Adam and Gareth were no longer the subjects of brutal op-eds or snarky late-night monologues. The narrative had been sculpted, carefully, according to Avery’s master plan. “A moment of public affection between longtime colleagues.” Regrettable, yes, but ultimately human. The men had made the rounds on every major outlet, sitting stiffly beside their husbands in matching blazers, murmuring phrases like “poor judgment,” “deep regret,” and “committed to rebuilding trust.” 

It worked. 

The IPO was back on track. Public opinion, while not sympathetic toward Adam and Gareth, had at least stabilized. New scandals climbed to the top of the public consciousness. The world had moved on. 

But behind closed doors, there was no moving on. 

In the Braverman penthouse, Adam stood barefoot on the heated tile floor of the master bath, holding his phone in both hands. Mason sat on the edge of the tub in a tailored robe, sipping espresso. 

“Read it again,” Mason said. 

Adam swallowed. “I, Adam Braverman, submit my daily itinerary to my husband and confirm that I have not contacted—” 

“No. Start from the top.” 

Adam flinched, but nodded. “Yes, Sir. I, Adam Braverman, apologize for embarrassing my husband, my company, and myself. I recognize my ongoing need for guidance, correction, and—.” 

Mason raised an eyebrow. 

Adam hesitated. He hooked a thumb into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down, revealing a steel chastity cage locked in place. “—and containment.” 

“Good,” Mason said. “Now get dressed. We’re going to be late for that luncheon.” 

The suit Mason had picked for Adam to wear was a half size too small on purpose. 

Elsewhere, Gareth perched on a velvet ottoman in Julian’s walk-in closet, holding out different ties like a department store assistant. 

“This one, Sir?” he asked. 

Julian didn’t look up from his tablet. “The blue. You look less slutty in blue.” 

Gareth laughed awkwardly. “I guess that’s the goal, Sir.” 

Julian glanced over. “You guess?” 

Gareth’s throat tightened. “No, Sir. That’s the goal, Sir.” 

“Better.” 

The closet was filled with camera equipment now. Ring lights, softboxes, and tripods had transformed the space into a makeshift influencer studio. Gareth’s life had become an endless carousel of curated moments. Couples therapy clips. Candid Sunday brunch shots. An infuriating viral video of Julian and Gareth dancing together at a fundraiser while a gospel choir swayed behind them. 

The captions always said the same thing. Grace. Forgiveness. Real Marriage. 

In public, the betrayed husbands, Julian, the litigator with elegance and edge, and Mason, the mysterious hedge fund manager with quiet authority, were praised for their courage and strength. Gay America loved them. Straight America tolerated them. 

And Adam and Gareth? They smiled. They apologized. They ate what they were told to eat and said what they were told to say. The public thought the scandal was over, but only Adam and Gareth knew it had just begun. 

Two months after the Kiss Cam incident, Lucidize.io signed a quiet contract with a discreet firm called Greybridge Consulting, specialists in “restorative moral optics.” 

The press release was clear: Our leadership is committed to values that transcend temporary lapses. Integrity, accountability, and the power of traditional partnership will guide us forward. 

The results were immediate. Adam and Gareth launched a joint podcast, “Build Back Better Men,” full of pithy reflections on “repairing fractured bonds” and “resisting the allure of ego.” Their husbands frequently appeared as guests. The comments were heavily moderated. 

Next came the gala hosted by the New Purity Foundation, a donor-advised group that advocated for “classical virtues in public life.” At the center table sat four polished men in matching tuxedos: Adam and Mason Braverman, and Gareth and Julian Lyons. The cheaters smiled and nodded through speeches about family values and the sacredness of fidelity, while their scorned partners accepted the foundation’s Exemplar Award. 

After dessert, Adam and Gareth stood side by side at the podium, reading from prepared remarks about temptation in the digital age. The room gave them a standing ovation. 

At a Christian businessmen’s breakfast in Dallas, Gareth sat on a panel with two ex-evangelical pastors and a crypto banker turned marriage coach. When it was his turn to speak, he cleared his throat and leaned into the mic. 

“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” he said. “I was just looking for attention. I thought power meant freedom. But the truth is I needed limits. I needed discipline. I needed to be caught.” 

The crowd murmured approvingly, while Julian, seated in the front row, nodded. But he didn’t smile. 

In private, the makeover ran deeper. Adam now wore a sleek collar with a brushed titanium clasp. It looked like an expensive fashion accessory, but it locked at the back, and Mason held the key. 

“I don’t think anyone noticed, Sir,” Adam said in the car on the way home from yet another interview. 

“I don’t care if they noticed,” Mason replied. “That’s not why you wear it.” 

That night, when Mason reached to remove it, Adam flinched. Mason raised an eyebrow. “Something to say?” 

Adam looked down. “May I… keep it on tonight, Sir?” 

Mason said nothing. But he didn’t remove the collar. 

While Adam stayed on as Lucidize.io’s CEO, Gareth found working as its head of HR increasingly unfulfilling. It wasn’t long before he left to accompany Julian to a newly launched nonprofit, The Lyons Foundation for Marital Renewal. 

It was a façade, just a shell org for appearances, but Gareth treated it like a real job. He answered emails, fetched coffee, and took notes during fake board meetings. When Julian gave interviews, Gareth stood off to the side, smiling faintly and holding a clipboard. 

He grew quiet. Respectful. Careful. 

One afternoon, Julian looked up from his laptop. “You haven’t even asked about going back to Lucidize.” 

Gareth looked down. “No, Sir.” 

“Why not?” 

Gareth swallowed. “I don’t think that would be appropriate. Not unless it would please you, Sir.” 

Julian stared at him. “You really mean that?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Julian stood, walked over, and placed a hand lightly on Gareth’s cheek. “Good boy.” 

In a slick, high-production interview with OutFront Magazine, Mason and Julian sat side by side, polished and unbothered. 

“We chose not to punish,” Mason said. “We chose to rebuild.” 

Julian added, “Anyone can fall, but not everyone gets back up with dignity. That’s what Adam and Gareth are showing the world.” 

The closing shot was a stylized family portrait of all four men in the Bravermans’ private garden. Matching smiles. Coordinated outfits. Two pairs of hands discreetly interlaced. 

The caption read, “Betrayal is public. Forgiveness is private. But redemption is for everyone.” 

“You missed a spot,” Mason murmured without looking up from his newspaper. 

Adam, kneeling on a towel by the windows, dipped his brush back into the can of shoe polish and reexamined Mason’s boots. “Yes, Sir.” 

He worked in steady circles, his breath shallow, collar gleaming under the soft light. He liked how it felt now, snug and constantly corrective. 

Across the room, Gareth sat behind Julian, pressing slow circles into Julian’s shoulders with his thumbs. Julian took the massage as an opportunity to dictate into a voice memo app. 

“And in moments of great personal failure, we feel an irresistible need to return to structure.” 

Julian tensed his shoulders slightly. Gareth adjusted his grip without being told. 

Mason set the newspaper down. “They’re making progress.” 

Julian nodded. “I think they’re finally getting it.” 

Gareth looked up. “Getting what, Sir? If we may ask, of course, Sir.” 

Julian smiled. “That it was never about punishing you. It was about fixing you.” 

Later, in the kitchen, the four men ate together in silence. No phones. No distractions. Just calm. Afterward, Julian and Mason lingered in the living room, sipping brandy. Gareth cleared the dishes. Adam took the glasses. 

As he loaded the dishwasher, Adam glanced at his husband, leaning back, amused, entirely in control. He felt it again. That strange, low ache. Not resentment. Not humiliation. Submission. He closed the dishwasher and wiped his hands on a towel. 

That night, he wrote the words in his journal before bed. 

W/we’re still married. Still powerful. Still public. W/we just switched who runs the show. i think i’m finally in love.