Sunlight slipped through the cabin’s half-drawn curtains in lazy gold ribbons, the kind of gentle winter light that made every dust mote look like a tiny floating ornament. Alex surfaced slowly, deliciously, from the deepest sleep of his life. The bed was like a cloud: thick flannel sheets, two down comforters puffed high as fresh snowdrifts, and the lingering scent of cedar smoke from the hearth still smoldering low. Robert’s back was furnace-hot against his chest, that broad expanse rising and falling in sleepy rhythm. Alex had one arms flung over his husband’s waist in a possessive octopus grip, fingers splayed across the soft trail of hair that arrowed down to paradise. His own cock was wedged snug against Robert’s cheeks like it had staked permanent homestead. The joke between them had always been that Alex, the smaller one, insisted on big-spoon duty every single night. Robert pretended to hate it, but the way he melted back into the hold every time told the truth.
Alex nuzzled the nape of Robert’s neck, breathing in cedarwood, sweat, and the faint ghost of last night’s events. A sleepy grin tugged at his lips. Merry Cuckmas to me.
The snow that had started swirling around ten last night, (somewhere between, what, the second round? The third? Alex had lost track of it) had finally stopped, leaving the cabin buried under a thick, glittering quilt of white. Inches of fresh powder cocooned their little haven, sealing them off from Everpine’s twinkling streets and the world beyond. It was as if the storm had conspired to trap them in this perfect bubble, where nothing existed but the heat of their bodies and the echoes of their passion.
The bedroom was a pocket of absolute silence, the kind that felt sacred, like the hush inside a snow globe just after it’s shaken. The only sound was the soft, steady breathing of the men asleep in the bed. Breaths, Alex realized after a moment, his foggy brain catching the plural. His own exhales wove in perfect sync with Cyrus’s, a gentle duet of soft puffs that matched the rhythm they’d found last night. Robert’s deeper snores rumbled beneath, a grounding bass note to their lighter melody, and Alex’s grin widened against the warm expanse of his husband’s neck.
Robert and Cyrus were knotted together like they’d been carved from one block of marble and then split just enough to fit perfectly back together. Cyrus’s deep-chocolate skin gleamed against Robert’s sun-kissed gold, a living study in contrast that made Alex’s chest do something stupid and fluttery. The blankets had slid down in the night, pooling at their waists and leaving everything above on full display. Morning wood had both men in a chokehold: Robert’s familiar length lay heavy and flushed across Cyrus’s thigh, while Cyrus’s gorgeous monster curved up against Robert’s hip, the two of them practically cuddling like they were still flirting in their sleep.
Alex’s lips twitched into a sleepy smirk at the sight and yet, miracle of miracles, Alex’s own dick stayed perfectly, blissfully soft, nestled harmlessly against the warm cleft of Robert’s ass. Turns out four rounds (or was it five?) with the man of their dreams in the mix had finally found the bottom of even Alex’s libido. He felt wrung-out, glowy, and weirdly proud of himself, like he’d just run a very sticky, very satisfying marathon and earned the right to coast on endorphins for the rest of his life.
Alex let the quiet stretch, breathing them in, and realized he could stay exactly like this until the sun burned out. The same bone-deep, fizzy contentment he’d felt only once before was flooding him now: the morning after their courthouse wedding, when he’d woken up tangled with a sleepy, twenty-three-year-old Robert and thought, stunned, this much happiness. This was different, a threesome, no matter how hot, would never come close to marrying the love of his life, but the feeling underneath was identical: a bright, ridiculous certainty that he was the luckiest man in the world.
He pressed a feather-light kiss to the warm curve of Robert’s shoulder and carefully untangled his limbs. He padded toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at the sleeping giants, Robert’s blond beard buried against Cyrus’s smooth chest, Cyrus’s massive arm draped possessively over Robert’s waist, and felt his heart do a slow, gooey cartwheel.
Alex changed into fresh sweatpants and a thick jumper, the chill raising goose-bumps along his arms until he crouched by the hearth. He fed the embers fresh logs, coaxing the flames back to a greedy crackle that painted the walls gold again. Satisfied, he drifted toward the kitchen, stomach growling loud enough to wake the bears still snoring in the bedroom. He was starving. And he’d only been the popcorn-munching audience member. God only knew what kind of black-hole hunger Robert and Cyrus were about to bring to the table after last night’s Olympic-level sex marathon.
He set the cast-iron skillet on the stove and laid out strips of bacon. The moment the fat hit the heat it hissed and popped. Robert’s big hands gripping Cyrus’s hips right here against this very island, bending him over the cool marble while Cyrus laughed breathlessly and begged for more, Robert’s beard scraping his back as he slammed home again and again, the whole counter rattling like it might snap in half. Alex flipped the bacon, cheeks hot for reasons that had nothing to do with the stove.
Next he whisked eggs with a little cream, poured fluffy rivers of batter onto the griddle. Pancakes. Robert’s favorite. Cyrus straddling Robert on the living-room rug, firelight flickering over every carved muscle while he rode him slow and filthy, looking straight at Alex in the armchair, velvet voice teasing, “Eyes on me, handsome, watch how I steal your husband’s cock,” while Alex stroked himself so hard his wrist cramped. the first pancake bubbled; Alex slid the spatula under it, golden and perfect.
He cracked more eggs into a bowl, added cheese and seasoning, humming under his breath. Sometime past midnight, all three of them boneless on the living room rug. Robert been feeding Alex chocolate-covered hazelnuts one by one, thumb brushing Alex’s lower lip after every bite, while Cyrus rubbed slow, worshipful circles into Alex’s arch with those huge, warm hands. The memory alone made Alex’s spent cock give a valiant but exhausted twitch. He laughed softly, shaking his head, flipped the pancakes onto a warm plate, and started stacking bacon beside them like a very naughty breakfast altar.
Everything smelled like butter, grease, and happily-ever-after.
He’d just finished wrestling the last orange into juicy submission, the sharp citrus tang mingling with the dark, nutty perfume of that special local roast they’d splurged on the first day, when the soft shuffle of footsteps announced that at least one of his sleeping beauties had surrendered to consciousness.
Cyrus padded into the kitchen. Morning light was cheating. It poured through the window like liquid gold and turned Cyrus into something unfairly mythic: bald head gleaming, cheekbones sharper, the rich brown of his skin practically glowing. The man looked like he’d been Photoshopped by a very generous god. Alex’s brain short-circuited for half a second, until he registered the clothes: black trousers and that ridiculous reindeer sweater from yesterday’s market date. Alex’s face did a tragic little pout before he could stop it. All that glory covered up again was criminal. Oh well. At least it meant he’d get the pleasure of watching Cyrus strip out of it all over again.
“Hey you,” Cyrus drawled, voice still wrapped in velvet suaveness as if he hadn’t spent half the night purring filthy promises about permanently taking Robert’s cock.
“Good morning,” Alex answered, fighting a grin that threatened to split his whole face. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” Cyrus folded his massive frame onto one of the island stools. Alex grabbed a mug, filled it with the steaming dark roast, and slid it across the marble.
“Robert awake yet?” he asked, leaning a hip against the counter.
“Dead to the world,” Cyrus said, wrapping both big hands around the mug and blowing across the surface. “Guess we really tired him out.”
The smirk that followed was pure, lazy sin, and Alex lost the battle. His grin broke wide, bright and shameless. God, he loved this, the easy, conspiratorial warmth that had sprung up between them overnight. Brothers-in-arms, bound by sweat and laughter and their ridiculous, shared devotion to the same perfect, exhausted man currently snoring in the bedroom.
“All I did was sit back and enjoy your very impressive hard work,” Alex said, wiping his hands on a dish-towel.
Cyrus tilted his head, that gentle, searching look back in his dark eyes. “So we’re clear… you liked what happened, right?”
Alex let the towel drop and laughed, bright and unguarded. “Oh yeah. Fuck yeah, holy shit.” Maybe a little too loud, but fuck, he wanted to be perfectly clear. “I’ve carried this fantasy around for years, and last night was… Cyrus, it was better than every single version I ever dreamed up. And trust me, I dreamed about it a lot.”
Cyrus’s smile softened into something warm and almost shy. “Good. I took a gamble with the teasing. Had a hunch you’d love it, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure.”
“I did. I really, really did.” Alex reached across the island and laid his hand over Cyrus’s. Without hesitation, Cyrus turned his palm up and laced their fingers together, big and small, the fit easy and perfect.
“You were perfect,” Alex said quietly, squeezing once.
“I’m glad I could be of service,” Cyrus said, deadpan, and Alex barked a laugh that echoed off the copper pans. “For the record,” Cyrus went on, lifting his mug in a little salute, “it was unreal for me too. You and Robert… you guys are something else.”
Alex propped his chin in his hand, grinning. “Then why the hell are you wearing clothes again, man?”
Cyrus threw his head back and laughed, the rich velvet sound bouncing around the kitchen. “Trust me, I’d rather be naked, but I can’t.” He reached over and flicked the tip of Alex’s nose when the pout appeared instantly, full drama-queen edition. “Hey, quit that. Rob probably told you: my family’s in town for the holidays. The house is bursting. Mom almost murdered me when I texted that I was spending yesterday with ‘this hot firefighter I met at the café.’ If I vanish another full day, Mrs. Bullock will march down here and drag me home by the ear. And nobody wants to see Mrs. Bullock mad, least of all me.”
Alex heaved the most theatrical sigh known to man, but the grin underneath ruined the effect completely. “Fine. I’ll allow it. But only because the idea of your mom kicking down our door is terrifying.”
Cyrus laughed again, warm and unguarded. Alex had been secretly scared that daylight would bring awkwardness: clothes back on, cocks soft, the wild electricity of last night gone cold. Without Robert physically between them as buffer and bridge, maybe they’d turn into two near-strangers smiling too politely across a plate of pancakes, wondering what the hell to say.
But it didn’t happen. Not even close.
Sitting there in ridiculous reindeer sweaters and morning breath and all, trading dumb jokes while the bacon popped, it felt like they’d been friends for a decade. Easy, familiar, the same effortless rhythm they’d found naked and moaning just hours ago, only now it was dressed in soft laughter and shared coffee instead of lube and filthy promises. Some chemistry, Alex decided, didn’t need skin or sex to keep humming. Theirs had already settled into something cozy, lifelong-banter territory, and it felt so natural it was almost better than the threesome.
“When are they leaving?” Alex asked, trying to keep his voice light, like he was just checking the weather. “We’re here till New Year’s. We’d love to have you back, obviously. Like… a lot.”
Cyrus didn’t answer right away. He took a slow, deliberate sip of coffee, eyes on the steam curling from the mug, and Alex felt his stomach drop straight through the floorboards. He already knew the shape of what was coming; he could taste it, bitter under the bacon grease and citrus.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Alex,” Cyrus said at last, gentle as ever, but final.
It hit like a fist to the sternum, sudden and breath-stealing. Alex had been absolutely, one-hundred-percent certain Cyrus would jump at the chance to come back. He’d seen the way the man’s eyes had rolled back, heard the cracked, desperate edge in his moans, felt the way he’d melted into both of them like he belonged there.
So the quiet refusal landed like a punch he never saw coming.
“Oh,” Alex said, the syllable small and lame in his mouth. He tried for a laugh; it came out thin and wobbly. “I… did not see that coming.”
Cyrus’s expression softened instantly, guilt flickering behind the velvet eyes.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Don’t be mad at me, okay?”
“Hey, no, come on, of course not,” Alex answered quickly, squeezing the big hand still tangled with his. “I’m not mad. Promise. Just… can I know why not?”
Cyrus stared into his coffee like the right words were floating somewhere under the surface. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than Alex had ever heard it, almost shy.
“I don’t think you realize how perfect you and Robert are, Alex.” He lifted his gaze, steady and earnest. “What you two have… that kind of love most people only ever get to write about. Last night, being inside that, being loved the way you love each other… it was wonderful. An absolute honor.”
He paused, thumb stroking slow across the back of Alex’s hand.
“But love like yours is addictive. If we do it again, and again, and again… there’s gonna come a morning when I wake up and I won’t know how to leave this cabin. I won’t know how to live without it. And I’m pretty sure there isn’t room for a third heart in what you and Robert already share so completely, right?”
Alex felt his eyes sting, a sudden rush of warmth pooling behind his lashes. Cyrus was right; he’d known it the second the words left the man’s mouth. It had always been him and Robert, from the first drunken kiss at twenty-two to the courthouse steps to every lazy Sunday morning since. Last night had been a supernova, bright enough to light up the sky for one perfect orbit, but the gravity at the center of their universe was still just the two of them, spinning steady and eternal. Adding a third star for good would only throw the whole system off its axis.
He blinked fast, several quick flutters to chase the tears back where they came from, then let out a watery laugh that sounded a little ridiculous even to his own ears.
“That’s… really nice of you to say, Cyrus. Thank you. Seriously, from the bottom of my sappy little heart.”
Cyrus gave his hand one last gentle squeeze, that dazzling smile soft around the edges. “Hey, it’s only the truth.”
Cyrus didn’t linger long after that. He demolished a short stack of pancakes half-drowned in syrup and a heroic amount of bacon while they waited for Everpine’s single taxi driver to make his slow way down the snowy roads. They promised to stay in touch, Cyrus insisting he needed Alex’s brutally honest notes on What Remains Unspoken, plus a standing offer a “coffee only, clothes mandatory if the Crawford-Hayes boys ever landed in New York City.
When the taxi finally honked out front, a cheerful beep-beep that sounded almost apologetic in the muffled white hush, Alex walked Cyrus to the door. The world outside had turned into a blank page: everything soft and blinding under fresh snow, the cold rushing in like it wanted to remind them winter was still boss.
Alex paused, struck by a sudden impulse. “Hold on one sec.”
He darted back into the living room, bare feet slapping the wood, and snatched up the red scarf that had spent the night abandoned on the rug, the same one Robert had worn yesterday, then Cyrus, then nobody, because clothes had stopped being a priority. When he returned, cheeks pink from the cold and the sprint, he looped the soft wool around Cyrus’s neck and knotted it with a flourish.
“Keep it,” Alex said, voice a little rough. “Looks better on you anyway.”
Cyrus fingered the fringe, eyes glinting with that wicked spark. “Gonna snuggle up with this tonight and pretend it’s still wrapped around both of you,” he promised, smirk dialed to eleven.
Alex barked a laugh, heat flooding his face. He was ninety-nine percent sure Cyrus was teasing… but that leftover one percent was already writing very detailed fan-fiction.
He stepped in for the goodbye hug, already plotting one last shameless squeeze of those superhero biceps, but Cyrus beat him to it. One thick finger slipped under Alex’s chin, tilting his face up, up, until Alex was staring straight into that gorgeous face. The height difference hit like a sugar rush; Alex felt about fourteen again, cheeks burning, heart doing cartwheels.
Time stretched, thick and syrupy.
Then Cyrus leaned down and kissed him: soft, slow, no urgency, just the gentle brush of lips and the tiniest flick of tongue. Same as last night’s afterglow kiss, but out here in the bright morning it felt even sweeter, pure affection poured straight into Alex’s mouth like warm honey.
When they parted, Alex was definitely blushing hard enough to rival the scarf.
Cyrus’s smile went tender. “Take care of each other, ok?”
Alex could only nod, throat too full of feelings to answer with actual words.
Then he stepped out into the snow, red scarf bright as a cardinal against the white, and disappeared into the back of the taxi with a final wave. Alex stood in the doorway until the car was just a black blur fading down the lane, the scarf the only splash of color left in the whole frozen world.
He shut the door against the cold, cheeks still tingling from the kiss and the wind, and decided Robert had officially slept enough for three hibernating bears. He poured two fresh mugs of coffee and padded back to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway and felt his heart do that ridiculous swoopy thing it still did after five years.
Robert was awake, propped against the headboard, sheet pooled low on his hips. His blond hair stuck up in every possible direction like an exploded dandelion, eyes half-lidded and puffy with sleep. He looked about twelve years old and grumpy as hell, the same face he made whenever his alarm went off for a 6 a.m. shift. Alex honestly didn’t think it was possible to love another human more than he loved that man right now.
“Morning, babe,” Alex said softly “You just missed Cyrus.”
“I know,” Robert grumbled. “Heard the door.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you get up to say goodbye?”
Robert only shrugged one massive shoulder. “Wasn’t ready to people yet.”
Alex rolled his eyes so hard it was audible, then crawled onto the bed and offered up the steaming mug like a white flag. Robert wrapped both big hands around it, inhaled the aroma like it was oxygen, and took a grateful sip. Only then did the cranky-kitten scowl start to soften.
“Better?” Alex asked, settling cross-legged beside him.
Robert grunted (an affirmative, definitely) and leaned sideways until his head thumped gently onto Alex’s shoulder. “Missed you,” he muttered into Alex’s neck, like Alex had been gone for days instead of twenty minutes.
Alex’s heart did another cartwheel. He pressed a kiss into that disastrous blond hair and smiled against it.
“Slept well?” Alex asked, nudging Robert’s calf with his foot.
“Like a baby on tranquilizers,” Robert rasped. “You?”
“After last night? I slept like I’d been hit with a sledgehammer.”
/
Robert’s laugh rumbled out, low and warm, the last of the grumpiness dissolving. “Guess we can finally check that one off the bucket list, huh? ‘Watch husband rail ridiculously hot Vermont guy—check.’”
Alex snorted, then sobered fast, scooting closer until their knees knocked. “Hey… seriously. Thank you. For being game. For not side-eyeing me once. For trusting me, trusting us, with something that big.”
Robert set his mug on the nightstand and reached over, cupping Alex’s cheek with one big, sleep-warm hand. “Babe. Listen to me. I will never, ever judge you. Anything that gets you hot, anything that makes you happy, you just say the word and we figure it out together. That’s the deal. Always has been.”
His thumb brushed Alex’s cheekbone, gentle and certain. “I love every single part of you. Even the filthy, perverted, watching-in-the-chair parts.”
Alex’s laugh came out a little watery. “Especially those parts, apparently.”
“Especially those parts,” Robert confirmed, grinning wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. Then he tugged Alex down into the blankets, coffee and all, until they were a tangled, giggling mess of limbs and morning breath and perfect, unshakable love.
After a while, curled together under the rumpled comforter, Alex traced idle circles on Robert’s chest. “Cyrus says he thinks we should keep it strictly platonic from now on,” he murmured. “Apparently we’re too perfect and he’s scared he’ll fall in love with us.”
“Yeah, that tracks,” Robert said, cocky grin flashing in his voice. “We are pretty irresistible.”
Alex elbowed him gently. “You’re not disappointed?”
Robert hummed, considering. “A little, sure. Wouldn’t mind another round with the guy, trust me. But… eh.” He shrugged his shoulders, “There’ll be other guys.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow, mock-scandalized. “There will?”
“If it’s up to me?” Robert’s grin turned wolfish. “For fucking sure.”
Alex bit his lip, feeling that familiar spark flicker back to life between them. “What about you?” Robert asked, nudging him.
Alex pretended to think about it for half a second. “Yeah,” he said, matching Robert’s grin. “For fucking sure as well.”
“Then it’s settled,” Robert said, voice soft and certain. He leaned in and pressed a slow, coffee-sweet kiss to Alex’s lips. “Merry Christmas, babe.”
Alex melted into it, the taste of dark roast and them, just them, filling every corner of his heart. Outside, the snow started falling in fat, lazy flakes, sealing the little cabin in its quiet white spell. Inside, the fire crackled low, the bed was warm, and Robert’s arms were home in a way no fantasy could ever improve on. Alex closed his eyes, listened to Robert breathe, and decided other men would have to wait.
Right now, right here, everything was perfect.
The End.
That’s a wrap on Merry Cuckmas, Alex! If you loved the ride, a paid subscription on my Substack page lets you binge everything at once next time + keeps more unhinged smut coming your way. Thank you for making my Christmas merry and bright! See you guys on my next story, Siren Song!
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