I woke to a dry mouth and the feeling of crisp sheets warmed by body heat. For a second I didn’t remember where I was, then the soft whir of the AC and the generic smell of hotel fabric softener brought me back to the room. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and checked the time on my watch. It was just after seven thirty.
I looked over at the other bed, where Sam and Marcus still slept soundly.
They would, I guess. I always sleep better after I get off.
I sat up slowly, careful not to make too much noise. My shirt lay crumpled near the foot of the bed. I reached for it, still half-asleep, ready to slip it on, when something caught my eye: in the other bed, Marcus and Sam lay, tangled in the white sheets. The morning light poured in from the balcony, warm and gentle, falling on them at an angle that made it all feel cinematic, or like a photograph, something intimate and serene.
I stared at them for a second, not sure why. I guess I’d never seen two guys like this before, caught up in something so soft and gentle. Romantic, even. I could imagine hot and heavy, but this? This was new.
Sam lay on his back, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. The sheet cut across his hips, low enough to stir my imagination (or rather, my memory) about the body beneath – muscle layered on muscle, the soft scatter of chest hair catching the light. He looked serene. Sculptural. Like something carved from stone and left behind for others to admire. Marcus was curled in against him, smaller by comparison, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder, one arm draped loosely across that powerful stomach. His smooth skin glowed faintly gold in the morning light. He looked impossibly young next to Sam – tender, almost delicate, like those videos where a kitten befriends a golden retriever – but the way his body curved into Sam’s was effortless, like he’d found exactly where he was supposed to be.
I didn’t mean to stare. But something about them – together like that – struck a chord deep in me. Not just the obvious part, the way Sam’s pecs looked like they’d been built to hold someone, or the way Marcus’s hand rested right above the waistband like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was the feeling of it. Of being at ease like that. Of having someone to lean on and be leaned into. A kind of intimacy that felt less like sex and more like gravity.
Then my eyes caught it – a movement beneath the sheet. Just the faintest twitch at Sam’s groin. Morning wood. Natural. Instinctive. Something I had more mornings than not. But something about it – about seeing his – made me pause. Made my already dry mouth go drier. I tried not to stare, but I did. I wondered what Marcus saw when he looked at Sam like that. What it felt like to wake up with someone who understood the way your body worked, who didn’t treat it as dirty or amusing. I wondered what it felt like to reach for someone without hesitation, to touch them and know the invitation was open. There was something so familiar about it, and yet, at the same time, there was something new. Some charge in the air I couldn’t quite place.
But I felt it.
About that time, Marcus stirred. He didn’t open his eyes, not yet, but he shifted, stretching out like a cat napping in the sun, rolling onto his back, arm reaching above his head. I heard the sheets shuffle, heard him exhale, and then it was still.
I slipped my shirt on over my head and tiptoed into the bathroom, hoping a splash of cool water might wake me up and clear my head. And when that didn’t work, I dug my sandals out of my bag, quietly, trying not to wake anyone, and ducked out into the empty hallway.
-- -- --
I returned about thirty minutes later, hands balancing coffee cups and a couple of pastries nestled in flimsy paper bags. I let myself into the room, nearly losing a latte as I fumbled with the key, and heard the door click shut behind me.
Sam and Marcus were up. Their bed was empty, and the balcony door was open, sunshine drifting in, bringing with it a cool morning breeze. I took a breath, unsure why I needed the extra fortification, and let it out before crossing the room and out into the morning air.
“Morning,” I said meekly as my feet fell on the wooden deck.
“Hey, there he is!” Marcus greeted, his energy astounding me. He was in a pair of navy running shorts, his chest bare and golden in the sun. Sam looked equally casual, wearing only boxers and a loose, gray t-shirt. They looked so comfortable, so relaxed, so domestic.
“We were wondering where you’d disappeared to,” Sam said.
“Sam thought we’d scared you off,” Marcus confessed easily.
“No, no,” I said. Lying at least a little. “Just woke up early and figured I’d go grab us coffee before the crowds hit.” Another lie. The line at the lobby coffee bar was already building up by the time I’d arrived, but I was grateful for the diversion.
“Here, let me help you,” Sam offered, standing, suddenly noticing the potential landslide perched precariously in my arms. His boxers shifted as he stood and I tried not to notice the fullness at the front, the way the fly stretched open and a few curls of dark hair peaked out from behind.
“Thank you,” I laughed. “The iced americano is for me. I got you a cortado again, I wasn’t sure if you’d want something else.”
“A cortado is perfect. Thanks man,” he smiled, taking the small paper cup and a pastry bag and setting them on the patio table.
“Marcus, I wasn’t sure if you wanted anything, but I got an iced latte just in case.”
“God, you know me too well,” Marcus smiled as I handed him the cup. “What do we owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I shrugged. “My treat.”
“Aww. Thanks, buddy,” Marcus smiled.
“Yeah, don’t mention it. Least I can do.”
I stared at the single, empty Adirondack chair on the balcony where Sam had just been.
“Oh, here,” Sam said, apparently realizing our predicament at the same time as me. “Babe, stand up real quick.”
Marcus obliged, standing just long enough for Sam to sit in his chair, then settling cozily into his lap. He leaned against Sam’s broad shoulder, his calves draped over Sam’s strong thighs.
“Thanks,” I chuckled and took a seat.
“We were just discussing plans for the day,” Marcus said.
“I was thinking we could walk into town for brunch somewhere,” Sam added.
“And I think we should hit the beach, at least for a little bit!”
“Anything you wanted to do?”
“Uh,” I paused, “not really. I didn’t exactly…research things to do here. Ellie had been the one scoping out options and then I just never got around to it.”
“Makes sense,” Sam nodded.
My eyes flickered to where Sam’s arm curved around Marcus’s body, his hand resting where Marcus’s thigh met his glute. It was innocent contact, more a result of how their bodies fit together in the small, shared space than any type of intentional touch, but something about the way it rested there, personal and intimate, felt important.
“But I’m down for brunch and/or beach!” I smiled. “Unless, I mean…if you guys were wanting some alone time, I completely understand. I could totally find something to do.”
“Don’t be dumb, of course you’re coming with us,” Marcus waved a hand dismissively.
“You sure?”
“Of course. I haven’t seen you in over a year, I want to hang out!”
“Okay,” I smiled, touched by his sincerity.
“Unless,” Sam cocked an eyebrow. “You wanted to scope out some of the pretty ladies here for the weekend.”
“Ohhh, I didn’t even think of that!” Marcus exclaimed, suddenly energized.
“No, I –” I stammered, caught off guard by the suggestion. “That is not on my radar this weekend.”
“You sure?” Marcus asked. “There were some lookers around last night. And I’m sure they’d love a handsome guy to hang out with.”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, his eyes lingering on me. “Nothing more romantic than a wedding weekend to get a girl in the mood, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I chuckled, nervously.
“Did any of them catch your eye last night?” Sam asked, earnestly.
“Yeah, what’s your type these days? Honestly, we could totally wingman for you if you wanted. Girls love me,” Marcus boasted.
“I have no doubt,” I rolled my eyes. “But, I don’t know. I’m not really sure anyone caught my eye last night?”
“No one?” Sam asked, voice even, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise.
“Not really,” I confessed. “I guess I just…haven’t totally gotten over the Ellie thing.”
“That’s understandable,” Sam nodded.
“But what if one of these girls is your way to get over it? I mean, you’re a handsome dude, you could totally get some this weekend if you wanted!”
“Nah, I’m…I’m good,” I laughed, taking a sip of my coffee. I was flattered by the compliment, but for some reason the thought of finding a girl, of striking up a conversation, trying to signal interest, trying to gauge her response…it all sounded so exhausting. “I’d rather hang out with you guys, anyways.”
And I meant that.
The truth was, I hadn’t even noticed any of the girls at the cocktail hour last night. Sure, I’d seen them. Olivia’s friends. Sorority sisters. Some downright beautiful girls that, if I wanted to, I could totally blow off some post-Ellie angst with for a night. But for some reason, at the time, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I was too invested in catching up with Marcus. With studying Sam. With trying to understand this new dynamic I’d found myself in the middle of, these guys who were cool and friendly and chill, and yet totally unlike any other “guy time” I’d been a part of.
Even now, the way Marcus sat so casually in Sam’s lap, the way Sam’s legs fell open, boxers riding up his thick thighs, they looked so comfortable, so inhabited, so unafraid of any questions or insecurities that governed the way men usually moved together in a room. It was like the fraternity house, only without everyone yelling “no homo” at the first sign of genuine affection. And weirdly enough, in their presence, these questions and insecurities began to leave me alone, too.
And I realized, there, quietly on the balcony, basking in the morning sun, that, naively, I’d always thought of being queer, for a guy at least, as some kind of burden. Some curse. Some cross he’d have to carry through the world. (The joys of a Midwestern upbringing, I suppose.) But now, seeing Sam and Marcus and the ease that flowed effortlessly between them, I started to think it might be just the opposite. That these might be the two freest guys I know.
“Well then, it’s settled. Brunch. Beach. Bride and groom. A full day,” Marcus smiled.
“Not a bad Saturday,” I nodded.
“Not at all,” Sam agreed.
“Now,” Marcus said sternly. “Tell me what these pastries are because I am starving.”
-- -- --
The beach was quiet for a Saturday. Just a few scattered families down shore, the rhythmic crash of waves a steady heartbeat beneath the late morning sun. I laid out my towel and stripped down to my swim trunks, blinking against the light as it caught the edge of the water.
Marcus was already shirtless, laying out a towel and rummaging through his beach bag for sunscreen. He started applying it to his chest and stomach, moving quickly, impatiently. After a moment, he tossed the bottle toward Sam, who caught it without thinking.
"Turn around," Sam said, and Marcus obeyed.
I tried not to stare – but failed, openly.
Sam was methodical, his large hands slow and certain as he worked the lotion over Marcus’s narrow back. The white cream disappeared into Marcus's tan skin with each firm pass of his palms, his thumbs dragging down along Marcus’s spine before curling out toward his ribs. Marcus shivered slightly, not just from cold but from the sheer enjoyment of it, eyes closed like a cat being scratched behind the ears.
Watching them felt like peering through a crack in the door into something private and sacred. Their bodies were perfectly at ease, not performing for anyone – not even me – and somehow that made the moment even more arresting. Their casual contact suggested more intimate, intentional types of touch, and my mind flashed back to the night before – the rustle of fabric, soft whispers in the quiet room.
“Need some?” Sam asked suddenly, turning his gaze on me, bringing me back to the present.
I blinked. “What?”
He held up the bottle. “Sunscreen. Hate to break it to you, dude, but you're pale as shit. You’re gonna fry.”
“Oh. Yeah, thanks,” I said, chuckling, hesitating. He tossed me the bottle, and I squirted a generous amount of liquid into my palms, spreading it across my chest and shoulders. The muscle felt soft beneath my hands, a sad shadow of the definition I had back in the day. The hair on my chest and stomach had grown out a little, long enough to curl, to flatten beneath the lotion as I rubbed it into my skin.
I hated to admit that I’d changed, that I’d let myself go. To be fair, I was still in perfectly decent shape – but as Ellie and I settled into our relationship, the pressure to stay in peak form seemed to melt away, little by little. My body had some padding now, some softness and heft. Still strong, just fuller. But I missed that other version of me – firm muscle, groomed chest, easy confidence. A guy that felt good in his body. A guy who could move like Sam and Marcus, like my skin was an outfit I knew made me look good. I envied them a little.
“Could you, uh, get my back?” I asked, a little surprised to say it.
Sam nodded, not saying anything.
I sat forward on my towel, trying to look casual. Sam knelt behind me, his thighs settling on the towel on either side of my hips. Then came the cold dab between my shoulder blades, and a moment later, the warmth of his hands. They were broad and sure, smoothing the lotion in long strokes over my back, my shoulders. I didn’t dare breathe too hard. His fingers dug gently into the muscles beside my spine, trailing lower to the small of my back. Not suggestive. Just...thorough.
“There,” he said, clapping me lightly between the shoulder blades. “All set.”
I turned my head, catching his smirk.
“Thanks,” I muttered, my voice lower than I expected.
We walked down to the water, the rocks hot beneath our feet until the cool foam found our ankles. Marcus ran ahead, screeching like a child, diving into a wave, and I followed, slow, careful, enjoying the feeling of the cool water inching its way up my leg. I'd made it almost waist-deep, flinching slightly as the water made contact with my groin, exhaling as I stepped further into the deep.
Then, without warning, Sam tackled me from the side.
“Hey!” I gasped, sputtering as he dunked me under. I came up laughing, wiping water from my eyes.
“Thought you could use a nudge,” he said, grinning.
Marcus sauntered up behind him, laughing. “Damn it, Sam! I wanted to tackle him.”
“I know, babe, but – no offence – I'm not sure you could sink him,” he smirked.
Marcus gasped, offended and amused in equal measure. “Um, I resent that! I can be very forceful when I need to be. You of all people should know that!”
He winked at Sam, but I was the one who blushed.
“You're right, you're right,” Sam conceded. “You get the next tackle.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Can I get a say in this?”
“No!” Marcus cried as he flung himself at me. What he lacked in mass he made up for in enthusiasm. His arm caught my shoulder as he planted a foot behind me, throwing all his weight forward and slinging me back like some kind of WWE wrestling takedown.
It was clunky, but it was surprisingly effective.
When I resurfaced, laughing and sputtering, Marcus was parading around me, hands in the air, celebrating his victory while Sam applauded him from nearby.
“Oh, you're on,” I growled. I wiped the last bit of water from my eyes, found Marcus in the blur, and lunged.
Soon we were all thrashing in the surf, water flying, bodies colliding. Marcus’s arms wrapped around my waist as he tried again to drag me under, but this time I was prepared, legs wide, braced into the ground below. This was an effective defense until Sam got involved, wrapping his arms around my chest and heaving himself backwards, taking me with him.
We laughed, lunged, tackled, yelled like kids, but I caught myself thinking how different this was from the usual horseplay with my college buddies. This wasn’t just mindless physical competition – it was warm, easy, welcoming, affectionate, charged with some knowledge that didn't exist before.
They weren't just roughhousing, they were inviting me in. Not just into the water, but into this strange and casual intimacy they shared. There was joy in it, and trust, and something else – something I couldn’t name yet, but felt blooming low in my belly like heat from the sun.
-- -- --
By the time we got back to the hotel, my skin felt raw from sun and waves. We’d only been out a few hours, but the summer air had worked some kind of magic. I felt loose. Flushed. A little drunk on vitamin D and the warmth of easy company.
Marcus dropped the beach bag as soon as we entered the room.
“Dibs on first shower!” he yelled, already stripping off his trunks as he walked toward the bathroom. His ass was pale and perfectly round, a soft contrast to the golden tan along his back. He didn’t shut the door behind him. Just flicked the water on and stepped into the glass stall like it was no big deal.
Sam peeled off his shirt beside me. “Want second?” he asked, nodding toward the bathroom. The offer felt loaded, though I wasn’t sure with what. I figured that was probably just me, nervously making assumptions, filling in gaps, misinterpreting his kindness.
I shook my head, maybe too quickly. “Nah, you go. I’ll take the leftovers.”
He grinned. “If there’s any hot water left after Marcus’s full spa treatment.”
Sam’s shorts hit the floor in a wet slap. He stepped out of them, kicked them toward his suitcase, then made his way to the bathroom. I caught myself watching the way his back muscles rippled, how the tan lines broke across his hips, uneven and bold. The swell of his thighs. The way damp hair clung to his legs. He passed by me bare and unabashed, like the nudity meant nothing.
And maybe it didn’t, not to him.
But I couldn't shake the feeling it meant something to me. Something liberating and nostalgic, but also unnerving and new. Something I couldn't quite name.
I stood by the edge of the bed, my own suit clinging to my legs like damp moss. My skin itched with leftover sunscreen. And something else too – something restless, like a child who keeps asking why but no one will give him the answer.
When I heard the water shut off, I stood, peeled off my shirt, then slipped my thumbs under the waistband of my trunks. My heart pounded for no reason, or maybe for a very good reason. This was stupid. Normal. But it still felt like a choice.
I dropped them.
Stepped out.
Stood there for a beat in the open, fully naked. The light from the balcony window hit my chest, glinted on the damp hair below my navel. I wondered how I looked in that light – soft, pale, imperfect. A shadow of the body I used to have, the guy I used to be.
This used to be no big deal. I used to share a shower every day, for God’s sake. Used to strip down and walk to my room, towel around my waist or, some days, casually thrown over my shoulder. Confident. Cocky, even.
But now?
I felt the flutter in my gut like I’d just boarded a roller coaster and the first hill was about to drop. Like I’d fallen out of habit with my own body.
A few seconds later, Sam emerged in a towel, damp curls stuck to his forehead. His eyes passed over me like he was checking the weather.
“Good timing,” he said, walking past me. His bare shoulder brushed mine. “Water’s still hot.”
And that was it. No pause. No stare. Just acceptance. As if my nakedness didn’t need justification or explaining.
Maybe it didn’t.
Marcus followed a few seconds later, pausing a little as he took in my presence. I saw his eyes flicker, the moment quick, almost imperceptible, but definitely there. I felt the air on my skin – on my pecs, on the gentle curve of my belly, on my cock – aware of its presence in the room, but I didn’t cover up. I savored the feeling.
“Bold outfit for a wedding,” he smirked.
“Thanks,” I teased, swinging my hips back and forth. “Thought I would make a statement.”
“Oh, you will,” he said as he walked past me to the dresser. “Although, you’re really not supposed to wear white to a wedding and, brother, your ass cheeks have a glare right now.”
“Yeah, yeah. You only know that cuz you’re staring,” I grumbled as I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, heart racing in my chest.
-- -- --
I toweled off and slipped into my underwear, the cool hotel air brushing against my still-damp skin. When I walked back into the room, Marcus was pulling on a crisp pair of light khaki slacks, his lean frame glowing against the fabric. His shirt – a pink linen number – hung open for now, revealing the smooth lines of his chest, collarbones sharp and luminous. Sam was buttoning his own shirt, a light blue that made his eyes brighter, more electric. They looked like models from a destination wedding shoot – effortlessly composed, stylish without even trying.
And then there was me.
I reached for my hanger in the closet, pulling out the charcoal suit I’d worn to interviews in college and maybe one cousin’s wedding. It still technically fit, but something about the cut now felt off – too tight in the shoulders, too flat in the chest. The fabric clung to my stomach in a way I didn’t love. I pulled it on sheepishly, standing near the closet, fidgeting as the pants clung to my thigh and the sleeves strained against my arms.
Afterwards, I stared into the mirror, straightening the lapels, then knotting a silky blue tie with hands that felt suddenly clumsy. I stared at the final result.
“You look like you’re heading to a finance internship,” Marcus said lightly from behind me.
“Fuck you,” I teased. But he wasn't wrong. I turned, embarrassed. “It’s the only one I have.”
He walked over and studied me with a furrowed brow, walking a circle around me like I was a sculpture he hadn’t quite finished. “Lose the tie,” he said, completing his orbit. He was already reaching for it, his fingers nimble, untying the knot, sliding the strip of fabric off and tossing it onto the bed. He popped the top two buttons of my shirt, exposing the base of my neck and the faint glimpse of chest hair beneath.
“Better,” he nodded approvingly. He unbuttoned my jacket and tugged slightly at where my shirt tucked into my slacks, giving it a looser, more casual flow. “This too. Makes you look more...approachable. Less funeral director.”
Sam snorted. “He never looked like a funeral director.”
Marcus ignored him.
“Sit,” he ordered, nudging me gently toward the bed. I sat, obedient in the face of his confidence. “Ditch the socks.” He disappeared into the bathroom. I looked at Sam, who just rolled his eyes and shrugged, as if to say this is just him. I smiled and suppressed a laugh.
Marcus returned with a small tin of something.
“Pomade,” he said, rubbing it between his hands before stepping between my legs. His shirt was still unbuttoned, and at close range I could almost feel the warmth coming off his skin. His abdomen was smooth and lean, the ripples of his abs pronounced, as if daring me to reach out and feel them. “Your hair’s got great texture. Just needs a little...intentionality.”
I could feel him in my space – his breath, his presence, the warm glide of his fingers through my hair. He didn’t rush, sculpting strands into place, sweeping some to the side. His touch was firm but careful, his fingertips occasionally grazing my scalp in ways that sent tiny sparks down my spine.
I let him.
It felt good – being touched like this. Cared for. It reminded me how Ellie used to play with my hair when we'd lay in bed in the morning or watch movies on the couch. I always liked it, and I hadn't realized until now how much I'd missed this kind of touch. Sure, I'd been well aware how much I missed the sex, but I hadn't realized how much a simple touch had meant, too.
So I relaxed, leaning into Marcus's hands. It was silly, maybe, letting another man style me like a doll, but there was something sacred in the moment. A gentle reshaping. A glimpse of a self I didn’t know how to summon on my own. His hands left my hair, reaching into his pocket to retrieve one more container – a small, clear bottle of a sticky pink substance.
“One last thing,” he said.
“I don’t know,” I replied warily. “Makeup?”
“Just trust me,” Marcus said authoritatively as he opened the bottle. He dabbed the wet brush once on each cheek, then closed the bottle and returned it to his pocket. He leaned down, his face level with mine, and his hands began to brush at my cheeks, shaping and smoothing them.
“Okay,” he said, pulling back with a satisfied smile. “All done.”
“Wait,” I heard Sam say from across the room. “One more.”
He took Marcus's place in front of me, my eyes level with his groin due to their height difference. I looked up, unsure what to do, and met Sam's intentional gaze.
“Stand up,” he said softly.
I did.
I felt his hands on my chest, doing something to my jacket pocket, but I didn't look down. My eyes were fixated on his face – his thick brows, sharp jawline, and perfectly trimmed beard. And his smell, God, what was it? Some kind of cologne that made it seem like he'd just stepped off a mountainside. Clean air, crisp pine, a hint of wildflower mixed with leather. For all I knew, it wasn't even cologne. This was just him.
“Okay,” he said gently. “Now you're done.”
I stepped over to the mirror and looked at the man in the reflection. He looked like me, only way more attractive. His face was sun-kissed and glowing. His hair was perfectly tousled, striking the balance between windswept adventurer and big city model. It framed my face differently, made my jaw look sharper, my features more defined. Like I had style. Like I had presence.
Sam whistled low. “Damn, Drew.”
His voice had weight to it – something admiring, almost possessive. He tilted his head, like he was seeing me for the first time.
I looked again.
The open jacket and unbuttoned shirt looked effortlessly cool. The hint of chest hair was tasteful but suggestive, and without my socks my bare ankles gave off a sort of sexy, European style, like I was going out to dinner somewhere on the Italian coast. And the last detail, Sam's contribution to the new ensemble, and blue and yellow silk pocket square, perfectly tucked into my jacket pocket, scalloped like a seashell, giving just the right pop of color against the dull gray of the suit.
Beyond just the outfit, I looked…different. Styled. Mature. Refined. Like someone who actually belonged at this outlandish resort. I looked somehow both more youthful and more masculine. A better, truer version of myself.
Marcus stood beside me, hands on his hips, pleased with his handiwork.
“There. Now you’re ready for a summer wedding,” he said, grinning.
“Yeah, man,” Sam echoed from behind us. “You look really good.”
And standing there, admiring the handsome devil in the mirror, I believed him.
-- -- --
Olivia looked beautiful, of course. Sunlight caught the gauze of her veil just right as she made her slow approach down the aisle and took her place amongst the wedding party. The water glistened at her back, a small gazebo – blistering white with a cheerful, red roof to match the resort – framing her and Beckham, waves lapping softly against the rocky beach, underscoring the officiant’s welcome, turning the whole moment into something peaceful and serene.
Beckham looked incredible, also of course, like he’d just stepped out of a GQ photoshoot. His suit was tailored impeccably, his hair styled to perfection. I couldn’t help but wonder what was running through Marcus’s head as he gazed on, seeing our old friend the most polished, literally the most attractive we’d ever seen him. They were both immaculate, the whole scene like something out of a big-budget Hollywood rom-com.
I was impressed.
I sat in the third row, between Marcus and Sam, my dress shirt slightly damp from the humid summer air. I hadn’t meant to sit between them, but Marcus had taken off down the row and Sam just motioned for me to follow, closing the gap behind me. His shoulder pressed up against me on one side, Marcus’s thigh on the other. But being here, between them, it didn’t feel like an accident. It felt like a choice.
Everyone watched the ceremony unfold. Hands clasped, eyes misty, phones tucked away in pockets. But me? My mind kept wandering.
Back to earlier. To Sam rubbing sunscreen into my back. To Marcus combing his fingers through my hair. To tan lines and pale skin. To tented bedsheets and whispers in the dark.
I felt warm. Warmer than just a suit jacket on a summer evening. This warmth was as much internal as it was on my skin, though I felt it acutely where Sam's shoulder brushed up against mine, where Marcus's leg bounced up and down against my thigh. A bead of sweat trickled down my back and I could almost feel Sam’s hand on me, steady and strong, wiping it away.
No, this warmth was low and steady and pulsing, like the first orange glow of kindling just starting to ignite. This warmth…was settling between my legs.
Damn it.
I was getting hard.
I was getting a fucking boner in the middle of the wedding. I thought about it for a second and realized I hadn't gotten off since the morning before I left for Michigan, so…a solid two-and-a-half days ago. Basically an eon for a guy like me. No wonder something, anything, grazing my thigh like this would have my body ready for action. It was just confused.
I'd have to find a way to take care of it later tonight. Maybe in the shower. Not my favorite place to conduct my business, but it would have to do.
Unless…
Nope, not going there.
I knew some of the guys back in the fraternity who shared rooms and just took care of business at bedtime, privacy be damned. And hey, power to them. But that's one thing when it's two frat bros sharing a room. It's another thing when it’s two gay guys in the next bed over.
Or is it?
I mean, it's not like they would mind. I wasn't unattractive. Hell, they might even…enjoy it? Not that I'd want to make a show of it or anything. And I wasn't totally convinced they hadn't conducted their own little business in the dark last night, so it seemed like maybe they owed me this one. So maybe after lights out I could just…go for it.
But wouldn't they be able to tell?
And they're not me, so if they could tell, would they just ignore it? Give me my privacy and let me have my moment in the dark? Or would they want to…I don't know, join in?
My cock twitched suddenly at the thought, catching me by surprise. I saw the movement in my lap, just on the edge of my peripherals. And if I could see it…
Shit.
There's a wedding happening.
Focus.
The warmth spread to my cheeks, and I was suddenly embarrassed. Paranoid. Worried somehow that Sam and Marcus could tell what I was thinking. Worried they'd both just seen my hard-on try to speak now or forever hold its peace.
I turned to look at Sam, but saw him staring ahead, watching the ceremony with a neutral-yet-pleasant expression. He noticed the movement and turned to look at me. His eyes met mine, offering a question or an answer, I couldn’t quite tell which. But he smiled, earnest and reassuring. I tried to return it, with questionable efficacy.
I turned back to the ceremony, to Beckham and Olivia.
They joined hands, beginning the exchanging of vows. Everyone let out a collective sigh. But I wasn't listening. I was thinking about hands.
Not theirs.
Sam’s.
Working over Marcus’s skin with a mixture of freedom and tenderness and electricity I’d rarely seen in real life. Rubbing over my back slowly, methodically, unselfconsciously. I imagined those hands in their shared showers, washing and massaging with attention and care.
Honest and intimate and erotic.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever been touched with hands like that.
Ellie’s had never felt like that. They’d felt…obliging. Going along with it. Doing their duty. I resented them a little, a truth I hadn’t realized until right now. And as we sat there, watching the ceremony, noticing the light change from yellow to gold to orange, I realized something else – I was so glad she wasn’t here.
The past twenty-four hours with Sam and Marcus had been such a blast.
I’d had fun.
I’d felt free.
I’d seen just a hint of the guy I used to be – confident and carefree – return for the day. And now that he was back, I wanted more of him. I wanted more of this assurance. This energy. This feeling at home again in my body.
I’d never have had that with her here.
I was jostled out of my daydreaming when Beckham and Olivia went in for their kiss and the audience applauded around me.
Sam and Marcus turned to look at each other, catching me in their gaze, and something passed between them. I felt it travel through the air, though I didn’t quite know what it was. I felt it like radio waves. Like a secret language.
Like a whisper meant for my ears too.
-- -- --
As the ceremony concluded, we were ushered into a cavernous ballroom – all vaulted ceilings and bay windows looking out at the approaching sunset. Everyone mingled, enjoying cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, the hum of conversation filling the space like the steady, dull drone of a beehive.
Sam, Marcus, and I hastily fell in line at the bar where we each ordered the signature “groom drink” of the night – some riff on a Manhattan designed to taste like a cherry cola, embarrassingly Beckham’s favorite soda. It was…sweet and syrupy and, we were delighted to find out, strong as hell; we found ourselves back in line before we’d even finished the first.
Refill in hand, we took over a cocktail table by the wall of windows, watching the crowd graze on one side, the light change on the other. It was nice, this little corner we carved out for ourselves. Quiet. Cozy.
Conversation drifted in and out easily, effortlessly, not really talking about anything of consequence but enjoying every moment of it nonetheless, until a man in his early thirties with long hair and a loud, floral tie approached us at the table.
“Can I get a photo?” He asked in a friendly tone.
Ah, the dreaded wedding photographer.
I was about to dismiss him politely when Marcus practically squealed beside me.
“Yes please!” He exclaimed, pulling Sam by the cuff of his jacket to one of the ornate columns which broke up the line of bay windows.
“Perfect,” the photographer smiled, giving them a bit of direction in regard to their posture, their positioning, how to get the best light.
And I watched them, sipping my drink, feeling my skin tingle with a sudden self-consciousness. Sam’s arm wrapped around Marcus’s back instinctively, hand bracing his ribcage like he was holding something precious. Marcus’s body seemed to melt into Sam’s side, turning inwards, one hand resting on Sam’s broad chest. And even though it was posed, it just looked so…natural. So easy. Like they just fit together.
I couldn’t help but think of the photos Ellie and I had taken over our two years together. She always wanted some similar pose to what I was watching now, but I always felt like our attempts came off unnatural and stilted, like I didn’t quite know what to do with my arms and Ellie didn’t quite know how to settle in against me. It was subtle, of course. Minute enough that hardly anyone would see past the polished veneer of a happy couple. But I could tell.
I could feel it.
Sam’s eyes flashed to mine, and I felt my cheeks get warm, embarrassed I’d been caught staring. Again. I tried to turn, to focus my attention on something, anything else in the enormous room when I heard him speak.
“Drew, get over here,” he called with a friendly voice.
“You sure?” I asked. “I don’t want to crash the photos.”
“Of course you do!” Marcus teased. “Besides, we need the full trio so we can remember the weekend!”
“Yeah,” Sam smirked. “You’re part of this, too.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed – part surprise, part gratitude – and drained the rest of my glass.
I walked over to them, settling in on Sam’s other side. He raised his arm to accommodate me, then let it settle behind my back, pulling me in, snug against him. I donned the best smile I could muster and tried not to think too hard about the way his palm lingered against the small of my back. It was a light touch, almost casual, but it burned through the fabric of my jacket and shirt, and while we listened to the click of the camera, I tried not to think about how nice it would feel on my back without the fabric between us, a repeat performance of our sunscreen moment earlier, only this time without the excuse of UV protection as a cover.
“Alright, one more silly one?” the photographer suggested, and suddenly we were a tangle of shuffling limbs.
Sam’s arm repositioned itself behind my back, bracing around my shoulder and holding me tight, our sides fully pressed together; Marcus left Sam’s side and settled himself in front of us, leaning back into our chests; Sam’s other arm wrapped around Marcus’s torso, encouraging mine to follow, which it did, resting on top of Sam’s arm and bracing just below Marcus’s collar bone. We leaned in, a giant, goofy mess of arms and smiles, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I felt my cheek brush lightly against Marcus’s, felt his shoulder blade press into my pec. His butt brushed up against my hip, setting off an unexpected flurry in my stomach. And I could smell his cologne, warm and sweet and peppery, wafting up from his neck.
I felt a little drunk. A little giddy.
I heard myself laugh before I felt my chest shake.
The camera clicked.
“Man, look at us,” Marcus sighed as we broke apart. “Best-looking threesome at the whole damn wedding.”
-- -- --
From there the usual wedding things occurred – dinner was eaten, drinks were drunk, toasts were toasted, and before long we found ourselves out on the dance floor. The music was reaching the fun point of the night, past the formal duets and the emotional love songs to the throwbacks to all the greatest hits from our college days, which somehow felt like yesterday and two whole lifetimes ago.
We ditched our jackets on the back of a chair and let the music lead. The tempo shifted to something upbeat and delirious. The kind of song that didn’t ask you to be coordinated, just loose. Just willing. Just there.
The three of us danced, at first in a circle, facing each other, laughing when someone stumbled on the beat or sloshed a bit of drink onto their shoes. Beckham and Olivia came over to join us for a bit, laughing and smiling and hugging and exchanging congratulations before they moved on to their next group of guests to entertain. It was goofy. Playful. Fun. But it didn’t stay like that. The drinks kept flowing. The music blurred. Eventually Sam and Marcus got caught up in the swell of it and started dancing a little more…together.
Marcus leaned back into Sam’s torso. Sam’s arm wrapped around his sternum, his face burying into Marcus’s neck. Marcus’s ass pressed back into Sam’s hips as they gyrated to the music. And I just watched. It wasn’t salacious – it was hardly PG-13 – but after being caught up in their orbit all weekend I couldn’t help but notice the new dynamic. The new heat. The way that their points of contact came and went as if they didn’t mean anything…until suddenly they did.
I stood there, swaying, trying not to feel like the odd one out, when I felt a hand suddenly take hold of mine.
Marcus.
He pulled me in, drawing me further into their gravity, until my body hovered just inches away from his own, encasing him, along with Sam, on either side.
My neck grew warm. My eyes flittered around me, instinctively on the lookout for other people’s reactions, gauging their response. But no one noticed. No one cared. No one even looked. Everyone was too caught up in their own euphoric swell as the lights grew darker and the music grew more intense.
So I leaned in.
My arms found Marcus’s shoulders – or Sam’s, I couldn’t really tell. His hands found my hips. I tried to keep that final, one-inch barrier between us. I don’t know why; some part of me demanded it. But every once in a while the music would swell and our bodies would sway just right and I’d feel a brush of Marcus against me. Light. Brief. Nothing more than a graze. But I felt it in my entire body.
Eventually we broke formation and collapsed into each other, circling in and out, shoulders bumping, hips grazing. Sam’s hand brushed against my arm, Marcus’s chest knocked into mine as he turned. Sam pressed into my back; I felt Marcus grind up against me; the song changed and we switched it up again.
There was no choreography. Just bodies. Just energy.
I let go of trying to monitor myself, of trying to notice whose body I was touching and for how long. I let their rhythm carry me. Let my body be an instrument rather than an object. I felt the freedom they moved with, the way they didn’t ask permission to be close, to be free, to be beautiful or bold or queer. And for the first time all weekend, I felt like I was a part of it with them.
I laughed – really laughed – as Marcus spun me, then pulled me back in so we collided chest to chest, grinning like kids. Sam reached out, his hand sliding low on my waist, steadying me. His thumb pressed there for a moment, deliberate and protective, and our eyes locked in the dark. Encouraging me. Beckoning me to lean in.
So I did.
-- -- --
We spilled out onto the patio, the three of us, still flushed from dancing. A fresh round of drinks clinked between our hands, condensation running down the sides like our sweat. The music had softened from a distant thump to a warm pulse behind us. The table we landed at was tucked in the corner, half-lit by paper lanterns, a little removed from the rest of the party. We sank into our seats with the kind of happy exhaustion that only came from movement and laughter and surrender.
Sam peeled his damp shirt away from his chest and let it cling back again with a soft slap. Another button had come undone, revealing glistening skin and a peek of hair beneath it. Marcus fanned himself with a cocktail napkin. Our jackets were still somewhere at a table inside. We’d have to find them again later, but for now we didn’t care. For now, I just watched them rest – two men at ease with themselves, and with me.
“Man, I haven’t danced like this in ages,” Marcus sighed, words slurring just a little.
“Me neither,” I exhaled, sinking further into my chair.
“You two were wild out there,” Sam smirked with a drunken flourish.
“Oh, you should’ve seen this one at our fraternity formals,” I smiled, nodded towards Marcus. “He was the star of the show. Remember when you tore your pants at the Spring Semi?”
“You what??” Sam asked, eyes lighting up.
Marcus tossed his head back and laughed. “Oh god, how could I forget! My mom was so pissed when I brought my suit home trashed.”
“How did this happen? I need to know,” Sam laughed.
“Some song came on,” I explained. “And Marcus and his date got way too into it.”
“Um, excuse you,” Marcus rolled his eyes. “It was Single Ladies, and Kelly and I were doing the choreography, which is exactly how into it Beyonce would have wanted us to be, thank you very much.”
“Okay, okay, you got me there!” I giggled, holding up my hands in surrender.
Marcus laughed, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Man, I don’t know how it wasn’t obvious I was queer,” he laughed.
“I mean,” I just shrugged. “That was just you, man. Gay, straight, whatever, you were just a shit-ton of fun.”
He held my gaze, eyes deep and rich, though slightly glazed over from the alcohol.
“Thanks, man,” he smiled. “That means a lot.”
“Of course,” I gave an exaggerated nod. “I wish…I wish you would’ve told me though. You know? I wish we could’ve…I don’t know. I just wish I could’ve known…all of you. Ya know?”
“I know, man,” his head bobbed like it was on a spring. “But, to be fair, I barely even knew back then. I hadn’t really…committed or anything, so it didn’t feel worth sharing.”
“That’s fair,” I conceded, until a thought popped into my head. “Wait – so were you, like sneaking dudes in and out of the house??”
Marcus tossed his head back and laughed. “No, I was not,” he said defiantly. “Senior year I hooked up with, like, two guys. One rando from Grindr and then…,” he paused, blushing. “Do you remember Preston McPherson?”
“The KA?” I asked, a little incredulously.
“Yeah,” Marcus grinned mischievously. “I ended up…staying the night with him after Stoplight Party. And then a couple other times.”
“What??” I exclaimed, a huge smile taking over my face. “You were hooking up with the president of KA and didn’t tell me about it??”
“Would you have really wanted to listen to me talk about giving Preston McPherson a blowjob?” Marcus laughed.
“I –” I paused. He had me there. “I don’t know. Maybe!”
We both laughed.
“Okay, probably not back then,” I admitted. “But, holy shit, this was a plot twist I did not see coming.”
Marcus flashed a mischievous grin. “We both had reputations to uphold.”
“Damn,” I laughed, taking a drink. My eyes flickered to Sam, who sat quietly, an amused smile hanging on his face. “Sorry, Sam. Didn’t mean to drag up Marcus’s body count in front of you.”
“Oh, no worries,” he raised his glass. “I’ve heard all about it.”
“Oh really?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, we’ve talked about everything,” Marcus chimed in. “No secrets here.”
“Huh,” I nodded. “Ellie always lost her shit if I even acknowledged the fact I’d slept with other girls. So we had lots of secrets.”
“That’s lame,” Marcus scoffed.
“I get that,” Sam pondered. “I guess it’s just different when you meet hooking up.”
“Yeah, I guess it would be,” I laughed. “So I take it you two met on…”
“Grindr,” Sam said simply. “Not exactly a fairytale, but...yeah.”
“It was supposed to be just some random Tuesday evening hookup,” Marcus admitted, smiling affectionately at Sam.
“And it was…really great. He ended up hanging out so long we decided to go out for dinner.”
“I would’ve spent the night but somebody kicked me out,” Marcus smirked.
“I had the work the next day and I didn’t think you’d want to get kicked out at 5:30 the following morning,” Sam rolled his eyes, as if he’d had to justify this decision a thousand times.
Knowing Marcus, he probably had.
I smiled. It was a sweet story. Crazy from my point of view, to meet someone in a hookup and then actually end up with a relationship out of it. That wasn’t the world I was used to. I’d gone out with Ellie, like, four times before we finally had sex.
“That’s…” I searched for the right word. “That’s cool.”
Not the right word. It sounded lame and hollow leaving my lips.
“I was just curious,” I said dismissively.
“Well, speaking of curiosity,” Sam said. “What about you? What’s your body count?”
“Oh uh,” I laughed nervously. “Nothing crazy. Like four girls during college. Then Ellie.”
Sam just nodded, his face unreadable despite our collective tipsiness.
“Are you happy with that number?”
I laughed, thinking the question was a joke, but he held my gaze and waited for an answer. I could feel the blush blooming across my cheeks and I took a drink to steady myself.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess they were…fine. Not always what I hoped they’d be.”
“Yeah,” he leaned in a little, grinning. “I've heard that review a lot from straight dudes.”
I looked up sharply. His tone was neutral, but the words weren’t. There was something deliberate in how he said it – something that lingered in the space between us.
Marcus caught it too. He looked between us, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How long’s it been, Drew?” he asked, gentler now. “Since you…y’know. Got laid.”
I looked back and forth between them, not really sure what to say. Their tone straddled the line between earnest curiosity and some kind of trap. Add that to the alcohol I’d had, and I didn’t know how to proceed.
“Too long,” I finally admitted. “Not since before the breakup.”
“Oof,” Marcus grunted.
“Would you ever have sex with a guy?”
Sam’s voice was quiet as he asked it – so quiet that I almost missed it beneath the sound of the breeze and the bass humming from inside. It took a second to land. The question floated there, gentle and bare, not a dare or a joke or a proposition. Just curiosity. Just...Sam.
My first instinct was to laugh, to roll my eyes, to throw out a casual, masculine deflection like, “not my thing,” or “sorry, I don't play for that team.” But something stopped me. Maybe it was the way my cock twitched at the suggestion. Maybe it was the way Sam was looking at me – not smug, not teasing. Just interested.
I shifted in my chair, eyes flicking from him to Marcus and back again, and cleared my throat. Marcus had gone still too, sipping his drink with a little half-smile, like he enjoyed watching me squirm, but not unkindly. I thought back to just a few minutes ago, when I told Marcus I wish we’d been able to talk about it back in college.
Well, I guess we were talking about it now.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice a little raw from the drinks and the heat and the dancing. “I never really thought about it before.”
Sam just raised an eyebrow.
That wasn’t quite true. Of course I’d thought about it. Hadn’t every guy? At some point? It had crossed my mind – when my relationship was in the toilet, when I couldn’t sleep and found myself particularly curious online, when I saw Marcus’s first post with Sam. And now: sitting here, flushed and tipsy, with my shirt still damp on my back, thinking of Marcus and Sam in bed, limbs tangled, mouths moving, breath escaping in muted sighs.
“Maybe, yeah,” I heard myself say. “I mean…I probably won't go hop on Grindor or anything, but…maybe if the right moment came along. Don’t knock it till you try it, right?”
Sam flashed a satisfied smile and drained the rest of his glass.
“Couldn't have said it better myself,” he said.
My eyes flashed to Marcus, who was also busy nursing his cocktail. But I thought I could see the faintest bit of pink painted on his cheeks.
And this time, I was pretty sure it wasn’t just the alcohol.
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