Backboard
The silence felt dangerous. Tom kept one hand on the wheel and let the other rest on the center console, close enough that if I shifted even an inch, our fingers would touch.
“So… Danny." Tom said it like he was accusing me of something.
“I didn’t expect to see him tonight,” I said.
Tom’s fingers flexed on the wheel. “Yeah. I noticed the way you looked at him.”
“How did I look at him?”
“Like you remembered his mouth.”
I hadn’t seen Danny since the day I walked out nine months ago.
“You only know how it ended,” I said. “Not how it started.”
Tom kept his eyes on the road. “I’m listening.”
“Danny wasn’t supposed to happen. I was in my senior year, trying to hold onto my basketball scholarship and the version of myself that I thought I was supposed to be. No distractions, no fucking around. But then my buddy, Jake, dragged me out one night and said we were meeting up with some guy he'd hooked up with at a frat party.
When we got to the bar, Jake nodded toward a pretty boy across the room who was flirting shamelessly with some other guy. Danny. The moment I saw him, something in my chest tightened, but I ignored it and flagged down the bartender for two beers.
Jake grabbed his beer and said he’d call me tomorrow. I remember asking Jake if he was at least gonna introduce me. I think he asked me why, then clapped me on the shoulder and left me standing at the bar.
I had a game the next day, so I finished my beer and was about to leave when Danny pushed his way in between me and the guy standing next to me. He asked me if we’d met before. I told him ‘no,’ and grabbed my coat.”
“And he grabbed you.” I felt Tom’s eyes on me.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “He caught my sleeve to make me stop. Close enough that I could feel his breath on my neck.
“I’m Danny,” he said.
“When my eyes met his, I couldn’t look away. He was beautiful. He had these deep, intense brown eyes, long lashes, and lips that were made to ruin someone. And he knew it.”
Tom made a sound under his breath. “And you wanted him.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I wanted him.”
Tom's hand on the console shifted just slightly closer to mine. Close enough to make my breath catch.
“When I mentioned Jake, Danny said he didn’t know him. Said Jake lied. He was smiling like he had secrets he’d let you earn one at a time when he said it.”
Tom’s gaze flicked over my face, slow and deliberate. "And you liked that."
My stomach tightened. “I didn’t say that.
“You didn’t have to.”
“That was Danny’s first lie,” I said quietly. I thought we were okay. I don’t know how many lies he told between the beginning and the end.
Tom's hand moved closer, his fingers brushing mine. I could feel him looking at me.
“We weren’t supposed to be anything,” I said. “Not you and me.”
“We aren’t,” he said softly. His fingers grazed mine again, this time deliberately. “Not officially. We said no secrets,” he murmured. “No lies.”
My throat went dry. “And no promises.”
The car kept moving, but everything else stopped--tight, expectant, as if I breathed too loudly, we'd break whatever we were pretending not to want. But sitting beside Tom now, in that thick, dangerous quiet, Danny felt very far away.
Tom didn’t.
Transition Defense
I almost stayed home the night I met Tom. It had only been a couple of months since I ended things with Danny. One of the guys on the construction crew I worked on invited me over to his place to watch the Celtics play the Lakers. I ended up on the couch beside him, our knees touching. When he rested his leg against mine, I felt something more than warmth.
Over the past couple of months, it felt like Tom and I were becoming more of a couple than either of us intended. We’d slipped into this easy rhythm, spending weekends together, cooking, watching games, sleeping at each other’s places, and we both felt the edges of something heavier forming in the middle.
I didn't want to be in a monogamous relationship. Not after Danny. Not after his cheating and lies. For me, monogamy was just a fragile promise that could be easily broken. So, Tom and I started going out to bars occasionally, picking up a third, bringing him back to my apartment or Tom's, and fucking each other until none of us remembered who started what. We could fuck other people, but always together. Our only rule was no repeats. I didn’t even want to know their names. They were just meaningless encounters.
But Tom meant something to me, and sex with Tom was amazing. He liked to bottom, and we embraced each other’s kinks, kinks I didn’t even know I had until Tom showed me. I was still mostly a top, but we both liked being dominated, and we were versatile enough that when we hooked up, everybody got what they wanted, and I got to explore my voyeur kink. I loved watching while another guy railed Tom’s ass, but I wasn’t into being cucked, and humiliating me could put you in the ER.
Tom and I had different types. Tom was into guys with dark hair, tall, well-built, a little hair on the chest, big and uncut. I liked a meaty ass, ripped, smooth, pretty, and I had a weakness for gingers.
Last Saturday, we hooked up with a married couple, Rory and Carlos. They were almost comically perfect for us.
Carlos was at least 6’3”, 200 pounds of Cuban muscle with a gorgeous, thick, uncut cock. Tom couldn't take his eyes off it. Rory was an insatiable bottom with a perfect ass and red hair.
We'd never been with a couple before, but somehow the chemistry was instant. Four men, two hammers, two nails, everything lining up without much effort. Carlos and I were both tops, two bulls in the same pen, yet that didn't stop him from bending me over, and it didn't stop me from getting on my knees for him. But we mostly paired off that night. Tom with Carlos, Rory with me.
We kept it all in my bedroom. Barely. I’m still amazed the bed survived.
After they left, Tom and I showered together, changed the sheets, and crawled into bed. He rested his head on my shoulder, fingers tracing my nipples, down my abs, curling around my cock. I rolled him onto his back, slid between his legs, and was seconds from burying myself inside him when he asked me if I thought Rory and Carlos would be open to getting together again.
The question hit like cold water.
“I thought we agreed, no repeats,” I said.
“Yeah. We did,” was all Tom said.
I wasn’t sure it was something I wanted. I didn’t tell Tom, but I had flashes of Danny and Mark when I watched him with Carlos.
We didn't talk about it again until Saturday morning at my kitchen table. Tom pushed what was left of his scrambled eggs around the plate, avoiding my eyes.
“Is something wrong with the eggs?” I asked.
He looked up, sheepish. “Carlos and Rory are coming over tonight.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“I ran into them at Home Depot yesterday. They asked if we wanted to get together again. I should have talked to you before I said yes.”
I stood, dropped my dish in the sink harder than I meant to. “We agreed it was a one-time thing.”
“We can go to my place if you’d rather we do that.”
"When you say 'we', are you talking about you and them, or am I included?"
“Of course you’re included. I think Rory’s crushing on you.”
Tom and I argued now and then, but we’d never fought. This felt like the edge of one. And I didn’t want to cross it, so I forced myself to step back.
“Okay,” I said. “But from now on, we talk things over. Before.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Agreed.”
Tom went to his apartment to grab a few things, and I went for a run to clear my head. By the time he got back, I’d cleaned the apartment and tossed fresh sheets on the bed. We made salmon and avocado for dinner, something light, something that wouldn’t sit heavy while we were… busy.
“Cal, look at me,” Tom said gently. I was at the sink rinsing plates, pretending the water running over my hands was more important than what he was about to say. He stepped behind me, close enough that I could feel his chest at my back. His fingers curled lightly around my waist before he turned me to face him.
“Are you really okay with Carlos and Rory coming over tonight?” His eyes searched mine. “Because if you’re not, I’ll call it off. Right now.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I just… needed some time to get over what I was feeling.” The second it came out, I regretted it.
Tom’s expression shifted, barely, but enough. Concern, curiosity, and something warmer flickered across his face.
“What were you feeling?” he asked quietly.
“Tom…” I looked away. “It’s not worth talking about.”
He tilted his head, studying me. “Cal, if it wasn’t worth talking about, you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
He was right, but I hated that he knew it.
“I just had a moment. That’s all.”
“About me?” he asked. There was a hint of caution in his voice, like he was hoping for one answer but expecting another.
“That’s not…” I stopped, my jaw clenching.
He waited.
Of course he did. Tom never pushed, not openly. He just held still in a way that made you feel like the truth had nowhere to run. Is withholding the truth the same as lying? Maybe.
I let out a slow breath. “It’s… complicated.”
“Try me,” he said. “We’ve done a lot of things together that were complicated.”
The truth was messy. I'd felt played. Watching Tom with Carlos had made something twist in me. Something possessive. But Tom wasn't Danny. He wasn't going to cheat. He wasn't going to lie.
The other, filthier truth was that I’d jacked off thinking about Tom and Carlos that week. And I'd gotten off more than once thinking about fucking Rory’s ass. But none of that was coming out of my mouth.
"You said yes to them without talking to me first," I finally said. "And it felt sneaky. It felt like… maybe you and Carlos had something going on. I saw how the two of you were really into each other.”
Alternating Possession
I was stepping out of the shower when Rory and Carlos arrived. Tom let them in. I toweled off, threw on jeans and a T-shirt, and ran a hand through my hair. I’d barely taken two steps when there was a soft knock on my bedroom door.
Rory slipped in and closed the door behind him with a quiet click, like he didn't want anyone else to hear it. He leaned against the wood for a second, eyes dragging over me in a way that made it obvious he wasn't here for small talk. He looked even better than he had last weekend, shirt stretched tight, shorts hanging low enough that the V-lines underneath shadowed the fabric.
“Where're Carlos and Tom?" I asked, grabbing the towel from the bed, pretending to do something with my hands.
Rory pushed off the door and walked toward me. “They’re… busy.”
His voice had that low, teasing warmth I remembered from last time. He stopped a foot in front of me, all heat and coiled muscle, then hooked his thumbs under the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, slow enough to make it a performance. The shirt hit the floor. His abs tightened. His chest rose, thick and flushed.
“We should go find them,” I said.
What looked like exasperation flickered behind his expression, only for a second. Then he nodded, stepped back, and scooped his shirt off the floor.
I pushed past him gently, opened the door, and the moment I stepped into the hallway, I heard a low moan, something wet and unrestrained.
I rounded the corner and found them in each other’s arms.
Carlos had one hand fisted in the back of Tom’s shirt, pulling him into a kiss. His other hand was shoved down the back of Tom’s jeans, gripping a handful of Tom’s ass, pulling a soft sound out of Tom’s throat.
Rory stepped up behind me, close enough that I could feel his breath at my neck, and murmured. “See? I told you. They’re busy.”
Tom’s fingers curled hard in Carlos’s hair, the way he did when he wanted someone deeper, closer, rougher. I’d seen him like this before, but never when it wasn’t my hands on him. His hands clutched at Carlos’s sides, fingers digging into muscle like he needed something to hold on to.
Carlos broke the kiss only long enough to murmur something against Tom’s mouth, too soft for me to hear, but whatever it was made Tom’s eyes flutter shut for a second before he forced them open again.
That’s when he saw me.
His chest heaved as he panted. His lips were parted, wet, swollen. He didn’t move away. Didn’t pretend he hadn’t been moaning a second earlier.
I felt Rory behind me, close enough that his chest almost brushed my shoulder. His voice dropped, warm and dangerous. “God,” he whispered, “look at him.”
Carlos followed Tom’s gaze and saw me watching. He didn’t remove his hand from Tom’s jeans. If anything, he dragged his fingers deeper, making Tom gasp softly.
"We started without you," Carlos said, voice low, warm.
Tom swallowed hard, the slightest tremor running through his body, but he didn’t deny it. He just breathed my name, barely a whisper, barely a sound. “Cal…”
Behind me, Rory exhaled like the whole scene was turning him on as much as it was unravelling me. He pressed into me from behind. His cock was as hard as mine.
Carlos drew Tom closer, one hand sliding up Tom’s spine in a slow, deliberate glide, like he was drawing a line he wanted me to cross. His other hand lifted Tom’s chin, turning his face toward mine, like he wanted me to see exactly what he had taken… or what he could take.
Tom’s breath hitched, but he didn’t step away. He looked at me, searching for something. Permission? Reassurance?
Rory’s grip tightened on my hips from behind, possessive and eager.
Carlos looked at Rory and me with a confident smirk. “So nobody here wants to pretend this is casual,” he said. “Good. Then we don’t need to play nice.”
Tom leaned against Carlos, chest rising fast, caught in the pull of his gravity.
Carlos pressed his mouth to Tom’s ear. “Let’s take this to the bedroom,” he whispered. “It’s time to see who belongs where.”
Tom swallowed. “Cal…”
My name wasn’t a plea. It had weight. Need.
Carlos slid his hand along Tom’s waist, possessive, challenging, guiding him toward the hallway, glancing back at me with a satisfied grin, like he was pushing the first domino and waiting to see how the rest fell.
Tom hesitated only long enough to look at me, and something in his expression cracked open, raw and unguarded. His fingers brushed mine, tentative but unmistakable.
We followed Carlos down the hallway, pulled into the same room by different hungers, different loyalties, different fears for whatever waited in that bedroom.
Carlos stepped into my bedroom, pulling Tom with him, as if the room and Tom belonged to him. His voice dropped into something low, velvet-dark.
“Cal,” he said, “you look like a man trying not to lose something.” Carlos smiled. Not kindly.
Being with Rory and Carlos tonight didn’t feel the same as the first time. It was just anonymous sex that night. We made out with each other, and paired off for a while, then Carlos and I swapped places. It was emotionless. This felt dangerous.
The bedroom door closed shut behind us, soft, but final enough that it felt like the room exhaled around us.
Tom swallowed. “Carlos--”
But Carlos didn't give him the space to finish. He angled Tom’s face toward my direction. “Tell him what you told me.”
Tom’s head dropped. It was plain to see that Carlos had exposed something Tom wasn’t ready to admit out loud.
Then Carlos turned his attention fully to me. He stepped closer again, still holding Tom, still guiding his body as if testing how far Tom would let him go.
Carlos’ voice dropped to a whisper meant for me alone. “He told me he’s been thinking about me all week, thinking about my cock, thinking about me fucking him again.”
“Cal,” Tom whispered.
Carlos watched both of us with that maddening, knowing calm.
Tom reached for me cautiously, but with the kind of urgency that came from a week of unspoken things finally snapping loose.
His hands slid up my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt like he needed to keep me from leaving. He pressed his forehead against mine; his breath was shaky and uneven, like he’d been holding it since the living room.
“Cal,” he whispered, voice rough. “Look at me.” His eyes were blown wide, not just with want, but with something scared and needing.
“This,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along my jaw, “you and me… You know it’s real, right?” He stepped even closer, chest pressed to mine, hands sliding around my neck. “Cal,” Tom whispered, mouth grazing mine without quite making contact, “I need you to feel that.”
His hands slid down my sides, grounding me, claiming me with slow, deliberate pressure, not sexual, but intimate enough that it struck deeper. He pressed his forehead to mine again, exhaling shakily.
“Tell me you want this,” he said. His voice shaken by the idea I might say no. “I shouldn’t have let it look like… anything else,” he said, voice dropping. “I shouldn’t have let Carlos touch me like that before I talked to you. I shouldn’t have made you wonder.”
Being with Carlos and Rory shouldn’t have felt any different from how it did a week ago. But it did. This felt like it meant something.
Tom’s fingers tightened, pulling me close until our mouths were a breath apart, choosing not to touch, which somehow broke me open more than any kiss could have.
Carlos shifted, barely audible, but Tom didn’t turn.
Rory lingered near the door, breath unsteady, like he could feel the shift in the room’s gravity.
No one but Tom mattered in that moment. His hands were on me. His voice was for me. His body leaned into mine like it had so many times, like he’d fall if I didn’t catch him.
Tom’s reassurance was still warm against my jaw when Carlos finally moved into the space Tom and I were trying to hold together. His presence felt like heat from an open door on a hot day, undeniable, deliberate, meant to disturb.
“Beautiful speech,” Carlos murmured. He stepped close enough that I could feel his breath on my face. He glared at me, like the two of us were in some private negotiation the others weren’t invited to. “But from what I saw out there,” he continued, “your man comes apart in my hands far too easily.”
Tom’s hand tightened on my shoulder. A quiet warning.
Rory came up behind me, slow and confident, his hands settling on my hips like he’d been waiting for permission all along. His breath touched the back of my neck, steady and warm. “Carlos isn’t wrong,” Rory murmured. “We all saw it.”
Tom’s eyes snapped to Rory.
“But we also saw the way you looked at Cal,” he said to Tom. “Don’t pretend we didn’t.”
Tom’s jaw tightened. “Rory--”
But Rory didn’t stop. His hands moved, steady, intentional, guiding me back. His grip on my hips firmed, his body warm against my back.
Carlos watched this with a slow, satisfied exhale. He stepped even closer to Tom now, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Rory moaned, low and appreciative, as if the escalation was what he wanted.
Carlos watched all of it like a man who’d lit a fuse and was waiting for the explosion.
The air in the room tightened. Four bodies touching just enough. A circle with no clear center.
Carlos moved around Tom, assessing and provoking without touching, the way a fighter looks for openings before throwing the first punch.
Tom stayed directly in front of me, his hand still gripping my shirt. There was nothing calm in him now. His pulse throbbed visibly at his throat, his eyes darting between Carlos’s and Rory’s creeping closeness.
Then Carlos shifted closer to me. His gaze locked on me and Tom like we were prey.
Tom’s hand slid from my shirt to the back of my neck, pulling me forward with quiet, fierce certainty.
Rory’s fingers curled more boldly at my hip.
Carlos pressed forward from behind, forcing Tom closer to me.
Every man waiting for the next move. No more pretending.
I lay my hand gently on Tom’s chest. I wasn’t pulling him away or pulling him closer. I was reminding him I was there with him.
“Tom,” I said quietly.
His eyes snapped to mine, desperate, torn, confused, like the ground had shifted beneath him.
I slid my hand up, cupping the side of his neck, guiding him to meet my gaze.
“You want him,” I said softly. “I can see it. I saw it last time. I felt it. It’s okay.”
Tom’s breath shook out of him. “Cal… what are you saying?”
I stepped even closer to him. I’m not afraid of sharing you. Not if you still come back to me.”
Tom’s eyes softened, not with affection, but with something far more devastating: relief.
Rory leaned into my back, warm, steady. I turned just enough to meet his eyes over my shoulder--heated, hopeful. He nodded, sliding his hand from my hip to my waist.
“I want this,” Tom admitted, hungry and needy. Tom turned to Carlos and gazed into his eyes. “But only if Cal knows he’s not losing anything.”
I looked at Carlos, then back at Tom. I nodded, giving Tom the smallest, surest sign of permission. He let himself lean into Carlos’s again, this time without apology.
Rory’s hand slid beneath my shirt, steady and warm. And for the first time that night, I let myself lean back into him.
Carlos lifted a hand to the back of Tom's neck, fingers threading into his hair, guiding Tom closer. His breath came fast, warm against Carlos’s skin. Carlos peeled off Tom’s shirt.
“I want to be with you,” Tom whispered into Carlo’s mouth.
Carlos’s hand slid from Tom’s neck to his chest, pressing him back a step, not to push him away but to look at him fully.
“Nothing’s stopping you.”
Carlos glanced in my direction and said, “Not anymore.” He pulled off his shirt and stepped forward, crowding Tom back until his back pressed against the wall beside the bed. His forearm braced lightly beside Tom’s head, caging him in without touching him.
Tom gasped softly.
Carlos dipped his head and brushed his lips along Tom’s cheek, slow and deliberate, whispering words I couldn’t hear.
Tom pulled Carlos closer, a sound escaping him that was more growl than breath. He was done holding back. Tom lifted his chin, offering himself to Carlos in a way that I’d only ever seen him do with me.
My cock was so hard it hurt.
Carlos smiled against Tom’s skin, a dark, satisfied curl that told everyone in the room exactly what this meant.
Rory exhaled behind me, a sound pulled from his chest involuntarily, arousal at watching Carlos and Tom give in to each other so completely. His hand on my waist tightened. “They both wanted this.”
I nodded because it was true.
Carlos’s breath ghosted along Tom’s throat. Tom groaned as his back hit the wall again.
This time, Carlos didn’t bother with restraint.
Tom’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath shaking out of him, his hands clutching Carlos like holding on was the only way to keep himself steady.
Carlos’s smile against Tom’s skin was slow and wicked.
“Te deseo,” he whispered against Tom’s neck.
I felt myself moving toward them without thinking, drawn, caught in the spiral of watching Tom surrender to Carlos’s touch. Before I could take another step, Rory’s hand wrapped around my bicep, firm and certain.
“You gave him permission,” Rory’s eyes flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes. He pulled me closer, his breath mingling with mine, his hands sliding to my waist, fingers fumbling, opening my jeans. It felt like he’d been waiting for the chance to touch me without boundaries.
“Let them have each other for a little while,” he said, voice warm and possessive.
Across the room, Carlos had Tom pressed against the wall. Tom’s body leaning into Carlos’s touch. And then Tom turned his head. His eyes scanned the room until he found me. Found me in Rory’s hands. Found Rory leaning into me, kissing my neck, fingers buried in my jeans.
Our eyes met. Tom parted his lips, as if my name was about to fall out of him. His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising fast.
Carlos pressed closer, using his body as an anchor and distraction, and pulled him into a slow, commanding kiss.
“Forget them,” Carlos murmured against Tom’s cheek, his voice dark with intent.
Rory’s hands slid lower until he felt my hard cock.
“Let him watch if he wants,” Rory whispered, circling his thumb on the precum leaking from my dick.
Across the room, I saw Tom’s body shiver, caught between what Carlos was doing to him and what Rory was doing to me.
Carlos smiled when he saw it.
Rory turned my head until his lips found mine. Slow. Wet. Sloppy.
Behind us, I heard Tom moan a quiet, broken sound.
I opened my eyes. Carlos’s hand was on the back of Tom’s head, his fingers twisted in Tom’s hair. Tom’s face was buried in Carlos's armpit. Carlos’s other hand went down the back of Tom's jeans, wedged between the crack in Tom's ass.
Rory turned to look. We watched his husband claim my man. Then Rory took my hand, opened the bedroom door, and led me out, quietly closing the door behind us.
Point Guard
The moment I heard the bedroom door latch shut, I pulled my hand back from Rory and asked him what he was doing.
“Take me someplace where I can be alone with you. They’re not going anywhere. But this knot that ties the two of you together needs loosening.”
I led Rory to the guest room and closed the door behind us. I’d forgotten just how beautiful he is. His skin was the color of alabaster. His shoulders and arms were roped with muscle. His nipples looked like tiny pink buds on his chiseled chest. Rory’s eyes followed mine down the faint trail of golden hair that disappeared beneath his shorts.
He turned away, not because he was shy; he was baiting me with his perfectly smooth ass. He slid his shorts down and bent over, pulling them off along with his jock. He turned around and stood naked, a prize for me to claim. His cock was a thick five or six inches, cut, and straight as an arrow. A gossamer thread of precum hung off the tip. I realized I hadn’t given his cock much attention last time. I was too distracted by his ass and watching Tom and Carlos.
He pulled my shirt off reverently and kissed my neck. He lifted my arms and buried his nose in my pits, licking my sweat. He slowly kissed his way down my chest and belly, and got on his knees. He pulled down my sweats, letting my cock spring free.
He looked up at me as he licked my swollen cock. “I can’t wait to feel this in my ass again,” he said, sweat glistening above his lips.
“Not like this,” I said, reaching down and pulling Rory to his feet. “I’m into you, but Tom and I only fuck other guys together.” I could hear how ridiculous the weak excuse to go back to my bedroom, back to Tom, sounded.
I felt Rory’s heat at my side as we walked naked down the hall to my bedroom. My cock was still hard and wet with his spit. I could hear Tom’s and Carlos’s moans on the other side of the door. Part of me wanted to throw it open and end this. But the other part of me, the part that trusted Tom, that trusted us, wanted to watch him coming undone in Carlos’s hands.
I hesitantly opened the door. Tom was on his back, lying naked across the bed. His head hung over the side while Carlos fucked his mouth. Tom’s arms were behind him, wrapped around Carlos’s meaty thighs. I don’t think either of them heard me open the door. I felt Rory’s hand on the small of my back, pushing me forward.
I moved to the bed and crawled between Tom’s legs, spreading them open. His cock was as hard as I’d ever seen it. Precum was oozing out of the slit and running down the shaft. I looked up and locked eyes with Carlos. He looked down at Tom’s mouth stretched around his cock.
“¿Quieres que te folle mi gran pene de caballa cubano? You want me to fuck you with my big Cuban cock?” He was asking Tom, but he was telling me.
Tom moaned around Carlos’s cock. He was leaking so much precum that it was pooling at the base of his shaft. I bent down and licked it up. His cock throbbed and twitched when I dragged my tongue over the slit and wrapped my lips around the head. He lifted his hips and pushed it deeper in my mouth, grabbing my hair in one hand, and pressing his other hand against my cheek. He knew I was there.
I didn’t look at Carlos when I pulled Tom under me. I flipped onto my back, taking him with me, lifting him up and turning him around so I could eat his ass. I pulled his cheeks apart and buried my tongue deep in his hole. I felt the mattress dip when Carlos and Rory climbed on the bed. The room filled with wet noises of Rory slurping on my dick and Tom and Carlos making out.
Carlos lifted Tom off my face and laid him on his back next to me. Tom reached over, grabbed hold of the gold chain around Carlos's neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. I watched their tongues twisting and pushing into each other’s mouths. Carlos broke their kiss and pressed his hands into the mattress. The tip of his nose touching mine, his breath was hot and sweet.
“You can be here, or you can go somewhere else, but I need you to stay out of my way and take care of my husband while I fuck your man.” He spat the words into my mouth. Then he looked at Tom.
“Do you want them to stay here, or go somewhere else while you and me fuck?”
Tom turned his head and looked at me. His pupils were blown wide with lust. He hesitated too long before he said, “It might be better…if you and Rory went to the guestroom.”
Man-to-Man Defense
I don't know how long I glared at Tom before I got off the bed. I picked Rory up in my arms and carried him out of the room, kicking the door closed behind us.
I threw Rory face down on the bed and shut the door. Maybe it was better this way. I needed to forget Tom tonight, and I would with Rory. I climbed on top of him and pressed his head into the mattress.
Tell me what you want?” I demanded.
“I want you to fuck me. I want you to feel my tight hole milking every drop of your cum out of your big cock until there’s nothing left.”
I buried my face between Rory's plump cheeks and ate his ass like a starving man. I didn’t know how badly I needed to be wanted this much.
He got on all fours and reached back, grabbing hold of my hair, pushing his ass back on my face.
"I've been thinking about you,” he said, “thinking about you fucking me senseless again ever since Tom invited Carlos and me to come over.”
I flipped Rory onto his back and wrapped my hands around his wrists, pressing his hands above his head and slipping my tongue between his lips. His legs wrapped around my waist.
We became feral. I fucked 2 loads in his ass and another down his throat. But it wasn’t enough. I grabbed his dick and balls and swallowed him down to the base until my throat was full of his thick cock. I could have sucked him off; I wanted to. I was drunk on the taste of his precum, but I needed to get fucked. I straddled his hips, covered my fingers with lube, and reached back to position his cock at my hole.
His fingers dug into my thighs as I eased myself down slowly until I had all of him in me. When I leaned down to kiss him, his cock slipped out of my hole. I flipped onto my back and pulled my knees into my chest. Maybe he wasn’t a top, but he knew how to fuck. Slowly at first, watching his cock slide into my ass, staring at the place where we were joined.
I heard myself begging Rory to fuck me the way I just fucked him. Telling him I needed him to come in me.
He thrust into me, grunting and cursing, pounding my ass harder. I gripped hold of his muscular thighs. His chest glistened with sweat. Feeling his cock pulsing as he unloaded in my ass made me shoot all over my belly and chest.
He collapsed against my chest. I wrapped my arms around him and held on, breathing him in until his breath evened out. When his soft snore came, I brushed a curl of red hair off his forehead, pulled the blanket up over us, and let myself sleep.
I woke to the dull blue light of early morning and the tight pull of wanting.
5:20.
I wanted Tom. Enough that it hurt. I slipped out of the guest room and stood naked and barefoot outside my bedroom door, listening. The apartment was quiet, too quiet. When I tried the handle, it didn’t budge.
Locked.
Then I heard it: low voices, the sound of breath being lost and found again, a murmur that belonged to Tom but wasn’t meant for me.
Something in my chest went cold and sharp. I went back to bed and pulled Rory close, as if proximity could fix what had just fractured. I made love to him because it was there, because it was allowed, because it was easier than standing alone in the hallway feeling replaced.
When I woke again, the apartment had gone still.
10:08.
I left Rory asleep in bed, warm and untroubled. I fished a pair of dirty boxers out of the laundry basket and made coffee. I sat at the kitchen table and watched the clock, each minute stretching thin.
It was almost noon when Tom appeared—naked, disheveled, like he’d forgotten himself.
“Go take a shower,” I said. “You stink.”
I tried to make it sound casual. It came out clipped.
“Carlos and Rory are in there,” he said.
“Then put some boxers on.”
He hesitated, searching my face. “Are you okay?” And then, softer: “Are we okay?”
I told him we’d talk after they left. He nodded, relief flickering through his guilt. About an hour later, Rory and Carlos gathered their things. We hugged them goodbye, too polite, too careful, no promises, no next time spoken out loud.
When the door closed, Tom and I cleaned up in silence and sat back down at the table.
I didn’t want to admit how much it had shaken me. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to care. Maybe I didn’t have the right. But what we’d done didn’t feel like a one-night detour. And being locked out, left listening had turned something inside me obscene. I hated myself for taking it out on Rory.
Tom and I talked for three hours, circling, dodging, protecting ourselves from words that couldn’t be taken back.
Eventually, I said I was jealous. I said I was scared.
Tom reached for my hand immediately. Of course he did. “I get it,” he said. And he did, maybe too well.
Then he told me the rest. That he’d exchanged numbers with Carlos the first night we met them. That he’d called him. That inviting them over again had been his idea. His voice shook when he apologized.
It hurt. But it was honest.
We agreed, no more repeats. No exceptions. We sat there longer than necessary, hands still linked, both of us quietly recalibrating what we meant to each other now.
Nothing was broken. But something had been tested.
Offensive Foul
There wasn’t a sign or a name on the door; just a harsh yellow light above the address. 8629. After we paid the membership fee, the attendant handed us towels and keys to the lockers. We stripped down to our towels and put our belongings in the lockers.
It was my idea to go to a bathhouse. I told myself that a gay bathhouse is nothing more than a playground of anonymous sex. I even said we should play separately tonight, just as long as we went home together and told each other about it.
Tom laid his hand on my shoulder. “Cal…” I expected him to say something more, but he just kissed my cheek and walked out of the locker room, turning down a shadowy hall.
I went in the opposite direction, and when I turned a corner, I saw Tom pull off his towel and walk into a room, closing the door behind him. We hadn’t even been there 10 minutes, and he was already with somebody. I wondered who was in that room that could lure him in so soon, and make him not even look back to see where I was.
I walked around for a while, avoiding the room I saw Tom go into. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone following me. I stopped and leaned against a wall so he’d have to walk by me. He looked to be in his 20s, handsome, with a curly mop of dark hair, clean cut, wearing glasses. I followed him into a dark corner. He got down on his knees and pressed his mouth against my dick, still hidden beneath the towel. He looked up at me and opened my towel. He ran his tongue around the head, moaning, licking the precum up like a cat from a saucer of milk. He slid his tongue down the shaft to my balls and lifted them to his mouth. He took as much of my cock as he could in his mouth before he started to gag. I ran my fingers through his hair, telling him he didn’t have to take it all. He spat in his hand and wrapped it around my cock, keeping it in his mouth while he twisted his fist around, jacking me off. It didn’t take me long to unload in his mouth.
I left him on his knees, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. I walked around looking for Tom, and when I couldn’t find him, I walked by the room I saw him go into earlier. The door was still closed, but I could hear grunts and Tom’s muffled moans. It was making me hard, but I wasn’t going to stand in the hall stroking my dick, so I sat in the steam room for a while, then took a shower. I walked back to the room where Tom was. The door was still closed, but there wasn’t any noise coming from the other side of the door now.
“Tom?” I said in a loud whisper. There was no answer when I knocked, so I tried the door. It was unlocked. The room was empty, but there were poppers and a bottle of lube on the bed.
I looked in the showers and the steam room first. Then I checked the sauna. I felt sick when I saw him sitting there with his head thrown back, eyes closed, his arms spread wide across the top of the bench.
Mark.
My eyes traveled down to his lips, swollen and red, down his chest, his abs, down the golden trail that disappeared beneath the head of the man slurping on Mark’s cock.
Tom.
Mark lifted his head and saw me. A dirty smile curled his lips.
“You want my nut?” He was asking Tom, but he was looking at me when he said it.
I could hear Tom moaning around Mark's cock.
“Are you gonna suck every drop of my cum out of my balls and swallow all of it for me?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Tom’s nose was buried in Mark’s pubes, and his hands were gripping Mark’s ass, like Mark might float away if he let go.
Mark wrapped his fingers in Tom’s hair and started fucking his mouth. Mark still hadn’t taken his eyes off me, staring, smiling that smile again, telling Tom he’s gonna come.
The sound of Tom gulping down Mark’s cum is all I can hear.
When Tom finally took his mouth off Mark’s cock, he was gasping and wiping his lips. He looked up at Mark and said something I couldn’t make out. I walked out before Tom saw me.
I got dressed and waited for Tom. It was another 20 minutes before I saw Tom walking towards me, hair still damp, a little flushed.
“Where’d you disappear to?” he said. “I was looking for you.”
“Yeah?” I said. I didn’t wait for more. We walked out together and got in the car.
“I saw you come out of one of the rooms,” I said.
Tom turned slightly in his seat. “Oh. I didn’t see you.”
I nodded, as if that settled it.
“We said we’d play separately tonight,” he added carefully. “As long as we left together.”
“I know.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence. After a minute, I felt him glance over.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m just tired.”
He hesitated. “Did something--”
“No,” I said too quickly. “It’s fine.”
At home, he asked again in bed, then once more after the lights were out. I gave him the same answer both times.
It wasn’t even a good lie. But I didn’t have a better one. I had no right to be angry, not out loud, not yet. He didn’t know what I’d seen.
We drove back to my place and went to bed.
I was still awake when his arm came around my chest, when he pulled me back against him like he was anchoring himself. The trust in that small, unconscious gesture undid me.
It was then, in that quiet, dark, fragile moment, that I understood what I’d been circling for weeks.
I was in love with him.
Intentional Foul
I usually need to be at the job site by 6:00 am on Thursdays. But my foreman called last night and told me I didn't need to come in until noon. I'd been wearing the same pair of work jeans all week, so I decided to wash a load of clothes. Tom must have thrown some of his laundry in with mine because when I dug through the laundry basket, I found a pair of his jeans, a couple of his T-shirts, and a pair of his boxers. They still held Tom's scent--something warm and musky and unmistakably his. As I was going through the pockets, I found Tom’s gym card.
Before I left for work, I sent him a text. I found your gym card in the laundry. I’ll drop it off at your apartment on my way to work.
We have keys to each other's apartments, so I let myself into the building. The elevator was in use, so I started up the stairs. I’d only gone up a few steps when I heard the elevator door open. I turned back, and that’s when I saw Mark step out of the elevator, satisfied, smug, like he’d never left wreckage behind.
My first instinct was to leave, but I didn’t. I let myself into Tom’s apartment and walked down the hallway to his bedroom. He was wearing a pair of boxers, and his hair was still wet from a shower. He was stripping the sheets off the bed.
“You never told the rules had changed,” I said.
“Jesus, Cal! You scared me,” he said. “I thought you’d be at work.”
Something passed across his face. I wondered if it was guilt or something else.
“I didn’t mean for anything to get… ” he said finally. “He called and… I didn’t think. I was going to tell you. I didn’t think it would matter.”
The way he said he didn't think it would matter made something inside me go still.
“But it did,” I said. Not accusing. Just stating it.
He nodded, too quickly. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I saw you,” I said. “At the bathhouse. In the sauna.”
Tom’s shoulders loosened, just a little.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Then I should explain. He’s the guy from that night.”
“The night at the bathhouse.”
He nodded. “Yeah. That was it.”
“It?”
“There wasn’t anyone else,” he said. “I didn’t hook up with anybody else that night.”
The words took a second to arrange themselves into meaning.
“His name’s Mark,” Tom said.
“I know,” I said.
I saw the moment Tom understood what I meant, before he understood what it meant to me. The room felt emptied, as if the word had taken the air with it. Tom sat down like his legs had given out.
“I didn’t know,” he said finally. “I swear to you. I would never do that to you. I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry. I keep…” His voice broke. “I keep hurting you.”
Look at me,” I said.
He did. His eyes were already wet.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered again. The words sounded weak now. Not a lie, just not enough.
“I believe you,” I said. And I did, completely. “Be honest with me. Have you been fucking other guys behind my back?”
He shook his head. “No. Please. We can figure this out.”
“Well, from now on, you can fuck whoever you want,” I said. “But he can’t be part of this. If you keep fucking him, I’m done. He already blew up my life once. I won’t let him do it again.”
Tom nodded hard, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand, furious at himself,
“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
“Is that enough?” I said.
“It is for me.”
I looked at him, rumpled, scared, still reaching for me.
“I love you,” he said, like confession and promise and fear tangled together.
“I need some time," I said.
“Cal…” he reached for me, then stopped himself.
I didn’t answer.
One-on-One
I walked until I realized that I didn’t even know where I was going. I tried not to think about the way Tom had reached for me like instinct. That was the part that kept undoing me, the sincerity of it. If he’d been defensive and callous, if whatever was between us meant little to him, I could have walked away.
But he’d been devastated. Innocent and guilty at the same time.
You don’t get to pretend this is nothing, I told myself. But you don’t get to punish him for a wound he didn’t make.
Mark’s shadow had been long enough to change the shape of my life. I remembered how small I’d felt then, how foolish, how replaceable. The way trust had turned into a bruise I kept pressing to see if it still hurt.
And it did.
Seeing Mark again dragged all of it forward—not just my anger and hurt, but the part of myself that had believed in my relationship with Danny so completely. I wouldn’t do that again.
But then there was Tom, who had listened to the stories without turning away. Who had never minimized what Mark had done. Whose arm around me in the dark made me feel safe.
I know that love arrives quietly sometimes. You don’t hear it coming until it’s already there, rearranging you. And it never arrives alone. It always brings risk with it, like a shadow that can’t be separated from the light.
Tom hadn’t lied. Hadn’t hidden. Hadn’t known.
I closed my eyes and imagined walking away for good. The grief of it settled heavy in my chest, unmistakable.
I love him.
As I started walking back to Tom’s apartment, I didn’t know what I would say. I let myself in without knocking.
Tom was in the kitchen, staring into a mug of coffee. He looked up too quickly, like he’d been listening for the lock. We stood there, taking each other in.
“I didn’t know if you’d come back,” he said.
“I didn’t either.”
He nodded. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I told myself it was harmless because it didn’t mean anything. He doesn’t mean anything to me, Cal.”
“I can’t do this again,” I said. “I can’t pretend to be brave if it goes wrong.”
Tom stepped closer, then stopped himself. “I don’t want you to be brave,” he said. “I want you to be safe. I want you to be with me.”
That’s when I told him I loved him, because it was true, and because not saying it now would have been its own kind of dishonesty.
“If we stay together,” I said, “there are lines. Clear ones. No repeats. No secrets that get explained later.”
“And if something feels like it might hurt,” Tom said, “neither of us gets to decide it won’t.”
“I’m still scared,” I said.
Tom nodded. “Me too.”
He held out his hand, not demanding, not desperate. Just there.
I hesitated. Then I took it.
His fingers tightened around mine.
Love hadn’t fixed anything. But it had survived the truth.
And for now, that was enough.
Elam Ending
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Wattpad.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
