Threes a Pleasure

The house on the edge of Columbus, Ohio, was a compromise. It wasn't Frank's meticulously organized bungalow, lost in the wildfire that ravaged his California hometown the previous summer. Nor was it Marc's sterile, temporary apartment near the military base in Virginia, or Julian's sunlit, art-filled loft in Chicago, now sold and packed into storage. It was a two-story colonial with a sagging porch and a backyard that sloped into a tangle of buckeye trees—a place none of them would have chosen alone, but together, it felt like a beginning.

Frank stood in the living room, his solid, slightly heavyset frame planted firmly as he squinted at the haphazardly stacked boxes, his thick glasses sliding down his nose. His fingers twitched with the urge to reorganize everything. The chaos grated on him, but he reminded himself this was temporary, practical, until his life could be restored to order. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Marc unpacked dishes with military precision, his stocky, ex-military frame moving efficiently despite the softening age had brought. His tense shoulders and sharp movements reflected the unease beneath his stoic exterior. Living with two other gay men was uncharted territory.

Julian breezed in from the backyard, his broad, indulgent figure moving with a grace that belied his years. His silver-blonde hair caught the Ohio sunset streaming through the back door, and he carried wine and glasses, a warm smile softening the room. “Gentlemen,” he announced, “I propose a toast. To new beginnings.”

Frank frowned. “It’s four-thirty.”

“And?” Julian replied, eyes twinkling. “It’s never too early for a celebration. We’ve earned it.”

Marc hesitated. “I don’t usually—”

“Oh, come on,” Julian interrupted, pouring the wine. “Live a little, Marc. You’re not in uniform anymore.”

Marc’s jaw tightened, but he accepted the glass, his fingers brushing Julian’s. The contact sent a jolt through him. Frank, arms crossed over his sturdy chest, still stood in the living room. “I should finish unpacking,” he said without conviction.

Julian handed him a glass. “The boxes aren’t going anywhere, Frank. Relax. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

Frank sighed and took the glass, perching stiffly on the couch, his frame settling uneasily into the cushions. Julian sat beside him, close enough that their knees almost touched, and raised his glass. “To us,” he said softly. “To finding each other in this chaos.”

Marc raised his glass, expression unreadable. Frank gave a curt nod, and they drank in silence.

As evening fell, the tension eased. Julian’s charm drew Frank out of his shell, and Marc found himself laughing at stories he would have dismissed months ago. They talked about the house, the neighborhood—a quiet cul-de-sac near the Olentangy River—and the cardinals and blue jays Julian had spotted in the backyard—a shared interest that delighted Frank. Later, Julian stretched, his broad form languid and at ease. “I think I’ll turn in,” he said. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Marc watched him go, a strange ache in his chest. He wasn’t sure what to make of Julian—his laughter, his presence. It was unsettling, yet he couldn’t look away. Frank, meanwhile, was making a mental list for the next day. But he noticed Marc’s gaze linger on the empty doorway. Something unspoken was there, and Frank felt a flicker of curiosity. He wondered if this arrangement might be more than just practical.

The first two months were a study in contrasts. Julian’s presence was like sunlight. He diffused tension with jokes or tea, filling the kitchen with the smells of garlic and rosemary, often picked from the small herb garden he’d started by the porch. Meals became a ritual, with shared stories. Julian’s tales of his art gallery days in Chicago fascinated Marc and Frank. Frank found solace in the backyard, observing the birds with Julian, reclaiming a piece of his lost routine. His slightly heavyset frame relaxed in the familiarity of nature, surrounded by Ohio’s lush summer greenery. Marc thrived on structure, managing finances and creating chore schedules. His stocky build moved with the practiced ease of someone used to command, though age had softened his edges. His rigidity brought order to the chaos.

But there were clashes. Frank’s resistance to change clashed with Julian’s spontaneity. One evening, Julian rearranged the living room, only to find Frank distressed the next morning. “What have you done?” he demanded. Marc intervened, but Frank wasn’t placated, meticulously returning everything to its original place. Marc, too, struggled. His discomfort with his sexuality was amplified by Julian’s openness. One night, after wine, Julian made a playful comment about Marc’s “commanding presence,” and Marc froze, flushing, retreating to the garden. Julian watched him go, a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

The decision to live together had been born of necessity and serendipity. Frank, staying in a hotel after the fire, was increasingly withdrawn. Marc, adrift after his forced retirement from the military and struggling with his sexuality, felt the walls closing in. He ran into Julian at a café near the Short North Arts District, and they discovered a mutual acquaintance in Frank. Julian, sensing their unease, proposed the idea. “It’s practical,” he’d said. “We’re all alone, and we could use the company. Besides, Frank needs help, and you, Marc, look like you could use a project.” Marc was skeptical, but the idea of a mission appealed to him. Frank, reluctant, saw the logic. It was Julian’s warmth that convinced them.

The house on the edge of Columbus was far from perfect, but it was becoming a home. And the three men began to realize that their arrangement was more than practical—it was a chance to rebuild their lives.

One evening, after a tense day, Julian insisted they watch a movie. Frank protested, but Julian dragged him to the couch, wine in hand. Marc reluctantly joined them. The romantic comedy chosen by Julian was lighthearted. As the story unfolded, Julian leaned back, his broad shoulder brushing Marc’s stocky frame. Marc stiffened, then relaxed into the contact. When the movie ended, Julian turned to Marc, his expression soft. “You know,” he said quietly, “it’s okay to let yourself be happy.”

Marc’s breath caught. The walls he’d built seemed to waver. Frank, watching, felt a pang of something he couldn’t name—a longing, a recognition of the connection forming between the two men. And in that quiet, shared space, something new began to take root.

Frank was out for the day, navigating the labyrinth of legal paperwork and insurance claims with a steely determination. The fire that had swallowed his California home had left more than ash and soot—it had scorched through his carefully constructed life, and now he was left picking up the pieces in unfamiliar territory. His absence left the house unusually quiet, the only sounds the occasional creak of the floorboards and the soft hum of the refrigerator.

Marc found Julian in the backyard, wrestling with a stubborn trellis that refused to stay upright. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over Julian’s silver-blonde hair as he cursed under his breath, the words more theatrical than truly frustrated.

“Need a hand?” Marc called out, stepping onto the porch.

Julian looked up, his face breaking into a grin. “Ah, my knight in shining armor. Just the man I needed.”

Marc chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he crossed the yard. He gripped the trellis, steadying it with practiced ease while Julian secured it in place. The proximity between them was comfortable, the kind of silent teamwork Marc was used to, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something new and unfamiliar.

As they finished, Julian wiped his hands on his pants and gestured toward the porch. “Drink?”

Marc hesitated, but Julian’s easy smile disarmed him. “Sure.”

They settled on the porch with a couple of beers, the evening air cool against their skin. For a while, they sat in silence, watching the fireflies flicker in the growing dusk. It was Julian who broke the quiet, his voice soft and curious.

“You don’t talk much about your time in the military,” he said, glancing at Marc over the rim of his glass. “I imagine you’ve got stories.”

Marc stared into his drink, the familiar knot tightening in his chest. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Plenty of stories.”

Julian waited, patient and unpressing, until Marc finally spoke again, his voice low.

“It wasn’t easy,” Marc admitted. “Being… like us. Back then, you had to hide it. Constantly watching your back, making sure no one even suspected. One slip, and your whole career was over. Your life, really.”

Julian’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting the weight of Marc’s words. “That must’ve been… exhausting.”

Marc nodded, swallowing hard. “It was. I spent so many years pretending it wasn’t part of me. Even now, I’m not sure I know how to stop pretending.”

Julian reached out, his hand resting lightly on Marc’s forearm. The touch was gentle, grounding. “You don’t have to pretend here,” he said quietly. “Not with me..”

Marc’s gaze met Julian’s, and in that moment, something shifted. The walls Marc had spent decades building began to crack, the vulnerability raw but liberating. He didn’t pull away from Julian’s touch. Instead, he leaned into it, his heart pounding in his chest.

Julian’s thumb brushed over Marc’s skin, a silent question in the gesture. Marc’s breath hitched, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he whispered, “I m not an expert in this.”

Julian’s smile was tender, his voice a soothing balm. “That’s okay,” he murmured, leaning in until their foreheads touched. “I’ll show you.”

The first kiss was tentative, a hesitant meeting of lips that sent a shiver down Marc’s spine. Julian’s patience was a steady anchor, guiding Marc through the unfamiliar terrain of his own desires. As the kiss deepened, Marc’s hands found Julian’s broad shoulders, the solidity of his frame both comforting and electrifying.

They pulled back, breathless, their foreheads still pressed together. Marc’s eyes searched Julian’s, a mixture of fear and longing reflected in their depths.

“I’m scared,” Marc admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Julian cupped Marc’s face, his thumb brushing gently over his cheek. “I know,” he said softly. “But you’re not alone anymore.”

Marc felt Julian’s hands on his shoulders, the gentle pressure urging him back against the porch railing. Julian’s eyes, warm and hungry, took in the sight of his stocky, slightly softened frame. With trembling hands, Julian began to unbutton the shirt that concealed the treasure trove of chest hair that had fascinated him since they’d first met. As the fabric parted, the silver strands caught the last of the sun’s rays, a stark contrast to the paler skin beneath. Julian’s gaze followed the trail of hair down to the waistband of Marcus’ pants, his own heart racing.

With a soft sigh, Julian leaned in to kiss the tender skin of Marcus’ neck, feeling the pulse quicken beneath his lips. His hands traced the path of the hair downward, over the firm mounds of his chest. Marcus’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed. Julian’s mouth followed his hands, kissing a path down the broad expanse of chest. The heat of Marcus’s skin, the scent of him, filled Julian’s senses.

Marc’s own hands had found Julian’s shirt, and he began to mimic the act of undressing, his eyes never leaving Julian’s. With a tug and a twist, Julian’s shirt was gone, revealing the broad, art-covered canvas of his torso. Marcus’s eyes widened at the sight of the other man’s body, so different from his own—less rigid and more indulgent in its curves.

Their shirts discarded, the two men stood in the fading light, their breaths mingling in the warm summer evening. Julian’s thumbs hooked into the waistband of Marcus’s pants, and he began to pull them down, revealing the man’s thick cock, already hard and waiting. Julian’s own erection strained against his pants, and he knew that the moment had come to explore the differences that lay before them.

Marc stepped closer, his own hands now on Julian’s body, mirroring the earlier touch. Julian’s skin was smoother than he’d imagined, a stark contrast to the bristly chest he’d just felt. Julian’s cock was longer, leaner, a stark contrast to Marcus’s own.

The unspoken question hung in the air as Julian stepped out of his own pants, his cock standing proud against his thigh. Marcus took a deep breath, then knelt before Julian, his mouth watering. Julian’s grip tightened on the railing, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Marcus took him in his mouth. The feeling of the other man’s velvety skin sliding over his own was foreign and thrilling, a sensation that sent shockwaves through his body. Julian’s hips rolled slightly, guiding the pace, as Marcus grew bolder, his hands exploring Julian’s thighs and ass.

The moment stretched, the two men lost in the exploration of each other’s bodies. And as the darkness fell around them, Julian reached down, cradling Marcus’s head in his hands, and whispered, “It’s okay. Just feel.”

Inside, Julian led the way to the bedroom, his hand a warm guide on the small of Marcus’s back. The room was softly lit by the glow of a bedside lamp, casting a warm, inviting light over the unmade bed. Julian turned to face him, his own need palpable. With a gentle nudge, he pushed Marcus onto the mattress, his broad frame hovering over him. The older man’s eyes were filled with a fierce tenderness as he leaned down to kiss him again, deeper, more demanding. Marcus moaned into the kiss, his hands reaching up to clutch at Julian’s shoulders. Julian’s cock brushed against his stomach, and Marcus’s eyes widened as he felt its length and heat. Julian took control, positioning himself between Marcus’s legs, his own eyes never leaving Marcus’s. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

With a gentle hand, Julian guided Marcus’s face down, aligning their cocks. Marcus took the hint, tentatively swiping his tongue along the length of Julian’s shaft. Julian’s hiss of pleasure spurred him on, and soon Marcus was lost in the sensation of giving, his mouth eagerly worshipping Julian’s cock. Julian’s hand carded through his hair, setting a rhythm that had Marcus’s own cock throbbing in time. The dynamic was unfamiliar, but the trust between them was unmistakable. Julian’s touch grew more assertive, and when he finally pulled away, Marcus could feel the ache in his own jaw, the desire pulsing through him.

Julian’s eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he reached for the lube on the nightstand. His hands were steady as he slicked himself up, and then he was pressing against Marcus, the tip of his cock nudging at his entrance. Marcus took a deep breath and nodded, his heart racing. Julian pushed in, slow and sure, and the world narrowed to the sensation of their bodies joining. It was a dance of dominance and submission, of giving and receiving, and as Julian began to move, Marcus knew that he had found a piece of himself he’d long ago buried.

Their bodies moved in sync, the sounds of their breathing and skin against skin filling the room. Julian’s thrusts grew stronger, more demanding, and Marcus arched up to meet him, his hands tight on the sheets. Julian leaned down, capturing Marcus’s mouth again in a bruising kiss, their tongues mimicking the rhythm of their hips. The tension grew, tightening like a coil within Marcus until it snapped, sending him spiraling over the edge. Julian followed closely behind, his own release a shout into the night that echoed through the house.

As they drifted into a comfortable silence, Marc realized that this—they—was more than just a new beginning.

Frank came home later than usual, the quiet of the house greeting him like a familiar, albeit unwelcome, companion. He set his keys down with a soft clink and paused, listening. The house was still, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of old floorboards settling into the night. But then he heard it—a low, rhythmic sound, almost like… snoring.

His brows knit together as he followed the noise down the hall. It grew louder as he approached Julian’s bedroom door, slightly ajar, a sliver of soft, warm light spilling into the hallway. Two distinct snores intertwined in an awkward duet. Frank’s heart sank as realization dawned—Marc was in there.

A heavy, unexpected weight settled in his chest. He turned away, his sturdy frame moving stiffly as he headed back to the living room. The walls felt closer now, the house suddenly too small. Without thinking, Frank grabbed his keys again and slipped out the door, the cool night air hitting his face like a wake-up call.

He found himself driving into Columbus proper, the familiar cityscape blurring past as his mind raced. The neon lights of the Short North Arts District beckoned, and before he fully understood why, he was parking outside a bar with a rainbow flag fluttering under a flickering sign.

Inside, the bar pulsed with life—music thumped, glasses clinked, and laughter bubbled from groups huddled together. Frank stood awkwardly by the entrance, his solid, slightly heavyset frame feeling out of place among the younger, more energetic crowd. He ordered a drink and took a seat at the bar, watching as people danced and flirted, their movements effortless and free.

But he was invisible.

The hour dragged until a slightly tipsy businessman, tie loosened and eyes gleaming with mischief, shimmied up to him. “You look like you could use some company,” the man slurred with a charming grin.

Frank hesitated but found himself nodding. They talked—small, forgettable conversations—until the man suggested they head to his hotel room. The suggestion hung in the air, and Frank, feeling a desperate need to escape his thoughts, agreed.

The hotel room was a stark contrast to the warm, cluttered home they'd all created together, its sterility a cold reminder of the impersonal nature of the encounter. Frank watched the slightly tipsy businessman stumble out of his clothes, the man's heavy frame already glistening with sweat. As Frank undressed, a peculiar sense of detachment washed over him. He felt his own body, the softness of his stomach, the way his cock hung low between his legs. The businessman's eyes lit up as he took in Frank’s body, his hands reaching out to stroke his belly. The gesture was surprisingly tender, his fingertips tracing over the contours of Frank’s midsection. The intimacy of the touch was foreign to Frank, his mind a whirl of confusion and desire as the businessman's large hands explored his chest, teasing his nipples into hard peaks.

The air grew thick with anticipation as Frank settled on the bed, kneeling between the man's legs. He took the businessman's flaccid cock into his mouth, feeling the weight of it on his tongue, the warmth of his breath against the skin. As he worked to coax a response, his own cock grew hard, a silent protest against the emptiness that had driven him here. The man's praise grew more fervent as he grew in Frank's mouth, his hips rising to meet each eager suck. The sound of the businessman’s pleasure filled the room, mingling with the distant throb of the city outside.

Finally, with a strangled groan, the businessman climaxed, his cum spilling into Frank’s mouth. Swallowing, Frank took a moment to catch his breath before the man pulled him up, kissing him deeply. The kiss was clumsy, fueled by whiskey and lust, but it was a kiss nonetheless—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Frank’s own hand found his cock, stroking in time with the businessman's gentle touches. With a grunt, he came, painting a sticky mess across his stomach.

He left quietly, the city streets cool and quiet as he made his way back to the car. The drive home was long, his thoughts louder than the hum of the engine. He wondered if this arrangement with Marc and Julian was truly sustainable. The house, once a symbol of new beginnings, now felt like a fragile construct, threatened by unspoken desires and shifting dynamics.

When he pulled into the driveway, the house stood silent, bathed in the soft glow of the porch light. Frank sat in the car for a moment longer, gripping the steering wheel as if it could anchor him.

In the weeks that followed, Julian and Marc tried to keep their burgeoning relationship discreet. They were cautious, sharing glances over dinner and quiet moments when Frank wasn’t around. But they couldn’t ignore the shift in the house’s energy. Frank had been spending more time out, his presence in the home becoming sporadic. When he was there, he seemed preoccupied, his usual meticulous nature dulled by something neither Julian nor Marc could quite identify.

It dawned on them both, slowly but unmistakably, that despite Frank’s quirks—his rigid routines, his need for order—they genuinely liked him. His absence left a quiet void, an unexpected emptiness they hadn’t anticipated. The easy camaraderie over shared meals, the comfort of his familiar footsteps in the hall—these things mattered more than they’d realized.

One afternoon, while Frank was out, Julian needed to check something for the household finances. Frank’s computer was always organized, and Julian figured it would be a quick task. But as he navigated through the browser tabs, he stumbled upon something unexpected—rental listings. Apartments, small houses, even shared spaces. Frank had been looking for other living arrangements.

A sinking feeling settled in Julian’s chest. When Frank returned later that evening, Julian couldn’t keep it to himself. He found Frank in the kitchen, meticulously organizing the spice rack, and cleared his throat.

“Frank, can we talk?” Julian’s voice was softer than usual.

Frank didn’t look up. “If it’s about the basil, I’m just sorting it.”

“It’s not about the basil,” Julian replied, stepping closer. “I saw your computer. You’re looking for a new place.”

Frank’s hands stilled. He stared at the neatly aligned jars, his shoulders tensing. “I figured it was time,” he said quietly.

Julian took a breath. “Is this because of me and Marc?”

Frank’s laugh was brittle, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, I know about you two. I’m not blind.” He finally turned, and Julian was struck by the rawness in his expression. “I just… I don’t want to be in the way. I’m always in the way. At work, with friends… now here. You don’t need me hanging around like some third wheel.”

The words tumbled out, more vulnerable than Julian had ever seen him. It wasn’t just about their relationship—it was about Frank’s entire life, his perpetual feeling of being an outsider.

Julian felt something shift inside him. He saw Frank not just as their meticulous, slightly rigid housemate, but as a man carrying years of loneliness and quiet resignation.

“Frank,” Julian said gently, “you’re not in the way. This house wouldn’t feel right without you.”

But Frank shook his head, brushing past Julian, his emotions too raw, too exposed. “I need to clear my head,” he muttered, heading to the bathroom.

Julian heard the shower start—an uncharacteristic move for Frank in the middle of the day. He stood there, staring at the closed door, the sound of running water amplifying the silence in the house.

Without overthinking, Julian followed. He knocked lightly, but there was no response. Pushing the door open, he stepped into the steamy bathroom, his heart pounding. Through the fogged glass, he saw Frank’s silhouette, hunched under the stream.

Julian stripped off his clothes, his movements slow and deliberate. He slid open the shower door and stepped inside, the warm water cascading over them both. Frank stiffened, but Julian reached out, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not alone, Frank,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the water. “You never were.”

Julian’s mouth found the soft skin of Frank’s neck, his tongue tracing the line of his jaw before he leaned in to kiss him deeply, the water mixing with their saliva to create a steamy, slippery mess. Frank’s body responded to the contact, his thick cock growing harder between his legs. Julian’s hand reached down to cup it, feeling its weight and heat, his own erection bobbing against Frank’s stomach. The shower grew tighter as their desire grew, the water beating down on their heavy, entwined bodies. Julian’s kisses grew more urgent, his tongue probing, exploring, until he reached Frank’s ear and whispered, “Let’s not keep our secrets anymore, Frank.”

With a tremble, Frank’s hand reached around Julian’s waist, pulling him closer. Julian took this as an invitation and dropped to his knees, his tongue tracing the trail of water down Frank’s body until it found his armpit, the taste of musk and manhood overwhelming him. Frank’s knees buckled slightly at the sensation, and he leaned against the shower wall for support, his own hand reaching down to stroke Julian’s hair. Julian’s eyes never left Frank’s, the connection between them palpable as he licked and kissed the sensitive skin, his breath hot against Frank’s wet, hairy pit.

The air grew thick with lust, the sound of the shower a white noise to the panting and moaning that filled the small space. Julian’s hand reached around to stroke Frank’s cock, the head slick with precum. Frank’s hand reached back, his fingers finding Julian’s, and together, they worked his shaft in a slow, mesmerizing rhythm. Julian leaned back, his cock standing proud between his legs, and watched as Frank’s eyes grew dark with desire.

With a low growl, Frank pushed Julian back, his own knees hitting the tiles with a soft thud. He bent over, his tongue darting out to tease Julian’s puckered hole, the taste of his musk and sweat intoxicating. Julian gasped, his hand flying to his own cock, stroking it in time with Frank’s tongue. The older man’s mouth was insistent, his beard scraping against Julian’s ass as he licked and kissed, his tongue pushing inside.

Julian’s breath hitched, his body tightening as he felt the pressure build. Frank’s mouth was hot and wet, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Frank’s tongue pushed deeper, and Julian’s hips rolled, his cock swelling. And then, with a final, desperate thrust, Julian came, his cum spurting across the shower floor, mixing with the water that swirled around them. Frank’s own orgasm followed, his body convulsing as he spilled into Julian’s thighs.

They remained like that for a moment, panting and spent, before Julian leaned in to kiss Frank once more, the kiss a declaration of something more than friendship or shared living space.

The water grew cold, but neither of them moved, the warmth of their shared release wrapping them in a cocoon of intimacy. As the chill seeped into their bones, they pulled apart, smiling at each other through the steam. Julian turned the water off and handed Frank a towel then wrapped his arms around Frank’s girth, the embrace feeling more natural than it had any right to be.

For a moment, Frank didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned, his eyes meeting Julian’s. The vulnerability there was palpable, but so was the flicker of something else—hope.

They stood there, the water washing away more than just the day’s tension. It was a silent acknowledgment of something deeper, something that had been building between them all along.

Neither Julian nor Frank mentioned the shower encounter to Marc. It lingered unspoken between them, a fragile, tender moment tucked away. But a few weeks later, something happened that neither of them could ignore.

Julian had gone out shopping one afternoon when he ran into a group of homophobic thugs. The confrontation turned violent, and Julian was assaulted. The hospital called Marc, giving him little information, just enough to ignite a cold panic in his chest.

Marc found Frank in the living room, and the moment he relayed the call, Frank’s face drained of color. They rushed to the hospital, the drive a blur of flashing streetlights and mounting dread. Neither spoke much, but the shared fear was palpable, heavy in the small space of the car.

At the hospital, the waiting seemed to stretch forever. Time felt like it had slowed, each minute dripping by with agonizing slowness. When a nurse finally led them to Julian’s room, they braced for the worst.

Julian was there, shaken and bruised but alive. His face was a patchwork of purples and blues, but his eyes lit up when he saw them. Relief washed over Marc and Frank in equal measure, though it didn’t erase the deep, lingering worry.

Julian needed to stay in the hospital for a few days. Marc and Frank went home that night, emotionally shattered but grateful he would recover. The house felt emptier than ever, every familiar creak and shadow magnified by their lingering fear.

Later that evening, Marc received a call from the police. The perpetrators had been caught. The news brought a sense of justice, but it didn’t ease the tight knot of emotion inside them.

Sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, Marc poured them both a drink. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was charged, filled with all the things they hadn’t said.

“I thought we were going to lose him,” Marc finally whispered, his voice raw.

Frank nodded, his throat too tight to respond immediately. When he did, his voice was hoarse. “I did too.”

Marc passed the whiskey bottle to Frank, their eyes locking for a brief, intense moment. The realization hit them both like a tidal wave—Julian was more than just a roommate, more than a source of comfort or companionship. He was the thread that had woven their disparate lives into something resembling a tapestry of belonging. The unspoken understanding grew thicker in the air, a bond forged in the fires of shared experience and burgeoning love. As they sipped their drinks in the quiet embrace of the kitchen, the gravity of their situation settled heavily on their shoulders. They had come together out of necessity, but in the face of brutal reality, they had discovered a connection that transcended mere convenience.

Marc reached out, his hand resting on Frank’s. The touch was simple, but it spoke volumes. Frank didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his hand over, their fingers intertwining. Frank stared at their fingers, feeling a swell of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to experience in years. The air grew thick with a tension that was anything but uncomfortable—it was a tension of yearning and connection. They sat there, in the quietude of the night, the whiskey a silent witness to their unspoken confessions. The kitchen, usually a place of order and routine, had become a sanctuary for their vulnerabilities. The silence grew, a soft symphony of unspoken truths. And then, with a shaky inhale, Marc leaned in first, his lips brushing against Frank’s tentatively. Frank responded, the kiss deepening with each heartbeat. What started as a tentative touch grew into something more, their shared vulnerability fueling the passion

The kiss grew deeper, their tongues dancing together as they stumbled to the couch.

The passion grew hotter as the kisses grew deeper, and before they knew it, they had stumbled to the couch. Clothes were shed with trembling urgency, revealing the bodies they had both admired from afar. Marcus' stocky frame was a stark contrast to Julian's more indulgent one, and as they lay entwined, the heat of their skin was like a warm embrace. The fabric of their shirts and pants fell to the floor, forgotten in the urgency of the moment. Their cocks stood firm and eager, brushing against each other, a silent testament to the desire that had been simmering just beneath the surface for weeks. Frank’s hands explored the contours of Marcus’ chest while Marcus’ own hands found purchase in the soft flesh of Frank’s stomach, his touch tentative but filled with a hunger that had been denied for too long.

They kissed and touched, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the night. The couch creaked in time with their movements, a gentle sound that echoed the rhythm of their hearts.

Frank’s slightly heavy frame was surprisingly nimble as he knelt before the stockier man, his glasses askew. He took in the sight of Marcus’s cock, thick and proud, and felt a thrill of excitement and nerves. Julian’s eyes never left Frank’s as he watched him, his broad chest rising and falling with anticipation. Frank leaned in, his soft lips parting to take the tip of the cock into his mouth. He tasted salt and heat, and the sound of Marcus’s moan was music to his ears. The room was alive with their gasps and the rustle of fabric as their bodies moved together, the rhythm building like a crescendo. For once, Frank’s need for order was overshadowed by the primal need to explore, to claim, to give in to the desires that had been buried so deep. And as he felt Marcus’s hands in his hair, guiding him, the chaos in his mind was replaced by the sweet symphony of their melding flesh.

Marc’s grip on the couch cushions tightened as his climax approached, his hips bucking upward. Frank felt the pulse of the other man’s cock, the warmth spreading over his tongue as Marcus came with a deep, guttural moan. He swallowed, savoring the taste of him, feeling a sense of belonging that was as intense as the act itself. And in that moment, as he sat back, wiping his mouth, Frank felt seen, desired, and accepted for the first time in years. The quietness of the house had transformed into a cocoon of shared passion, and as they lay tangled together, panting and spent, he knew that this was where he belonged.

As they lay together in the quiet aftermath, Marc whispered into the darkness, “We’ll figure this out, all of us.”

Frank nodded, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time. “Yeah, we will.”

Julian left the hospital with Marc and Frank at his side, their support palpable but tinged with something unspoken. As the days passed, Julian couldn’t ignore the subtle shifts between them. The glances, the pauses in conversation—it was clear something had transpired while he was gone. He wasn’t sure what, but he felt it in the way Marc lingered near Frank, in the silence that sometimes stretched too long.

Julian found himself pondering the possibility of something more. A threesome arrangement between them. The thought was both thrilling and daunting. He weighed the pros and cons—how it could deepen their bond or complicate everything beyond repair. The house had become a sanctuary, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. But the idea of being with both Marc and Frank, of sharing something intimate with them, was hard to shake.

One afternoon, Julian approached Marc while they were fixing dinner. "Have you ever thought about… all three of us?" he asked, his tone casual but his heart racing.

Marc paused, knife hovering over a tomato. "Julian, I don’t know. It’s complicated. I care about both of you, but what if it messes everything up?"

A few days later, Julian found Frank in the garden, meticulously pruning the roses. "Frank, do you think… we could ever be something more, the three of us?"

Frank’s hands stilled, his gaze fixed on the petals. "I worry about ruining what we have," he admitted quietly. "This… whatever this is, it’s the best thing I’ve had in a long time. I don’t want to lose it."

Despite their reservations, the idea lingered, unspoken but ever-present.

A week later, the three attended a birthday party for Walter, an elderly bird-watcher friend known for his sharp wit and bawdy stories. The small gathering was filled with laughter and old records playing softly in the background. Walter, ever the entertainer, regaled them with tales from his youth, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You know," Walter said, swirling his drink, "I once had the chance to be with two men at once. Back in '72, during a birding trip in Maine. We were all young, drunk on cheap whiskey and the thrill of the chase—not just for birds, mind you." He chuckled, shaking his head. "But I was too scared. Worried about what it meant, how it’d change things. I let fear win. Spent years regretting that night. Life’s too damn short."

The words stuck with them as they left the party, the car ride home unusually quiet. Back at the house, they sat in the living room, nursing glasses of bourbon, the warmth of Walter’s stories still lingering in the air.

Later that night, as the house settled into its familiar quiet, Julian made his decision. He stood in the doorway of the living room, watching Marc and Frank, their faces soft in the dim light. Without a word, he began to undress, his movements deliberate, his gaze steady.

Marc’s eyes widened, and Frank set down his glass, his breath hitching. For a moment, the room was suspended in silence, heavy with anticipation and unspoken desires.

Julian stood naked in front of Marc and Frank and stepped closer, his voice low but clear. "I don’t want to live with regrets. Do you?"

Marc and Frank exchanged a look, their eyes mirroring the same mix of desire and uncertainty. Then, slowly, deliberately, they rose from their seats. Marc's fingers trembled slightly as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest, a testament to his military past. Frank's movements were more hesitant, his slightly heavyset frame hunching as if to shield himself from view. But Julian's gaze, warm and accepting, gave him the courage to continue.

As layers fell away, their bodies were revealed in the soft glow of the living room lamp. They stood, naked and vulnerable, realizing that this moment wasn't entirely new. Their indivdual encounter had prepared them for this moment when they finally declare their love for each other

The air hummed with anticipation as they stood there, drinking in the sight of each other. It was Frank who moved first

The air in the room grew thick with anticipation as Julian approached the couch, his eyes moving from one to the other. Frank’s hand trembled slightly as he reached out to Julian, his eyes dark with need. Julian took the lead, leaning in to kiss Frank deeply, their tongues tangling in a dance of passion. Meanwhile, Marcus’ eyes never left Julian’s body, his cock growing harder as he watched the scene unfold. Julian pulled back, a mischievous glint in his eye, and turned to face him.

Marc’s stocky frame was a stark contrast to Julian’s indulgent one, and as they kissed, their bodies melded together, creating a harmony of desire. Julian’s hand found its way to Frank’s cock, stroking it gently while they kissed. The sensation was overwhelming, and Frank’s breath grew ragged. Julian pulled away, turning to face Frank fully. He sank to his knees, and with a knowing look at Marcus, took Frank’s cock into his mouth, sucking and licking with a finesse that made the other man’s eyes roll back in his head.

Marc, unable to resist the erotic scene before him, knelt beside Julian, his own cock aching for attention. Julian reached over, wrapping his hand around it, and guided it to Frank’s mouth. The sight of his friend, his confidant, with another man’s cock in his mouth, was more arousing than he could have imagined. Frank’s eyes fluttered open to meet Marcus’, and the silent understanding between them grew stronger.

Julian’s mouth worked Frank’s cock with an expertise that made Marcus’ knees weak. He watched as the older man’s cheeks hollowed and his throat bobbed, the sound of suction and the occasional gag a symphony of pleasure. Marcus’ own cock was leaking precum, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Julian’s hand reached back, gripping Marcus’ thigh, urging him closer.

Without breaking rhythm, Julian spoke, his voice muffled by Frank’s cock. “Take me, Marcus. I want to feel you both.”

Marc swallowed hard, his heart racing as he positioned himself behind Julian. He took a moment to admire the man’s plump ass, the dimples at the base of his spine. Julian looked over his shoulder, his eyes filled with both lust and trust. With trembling hands, Marcus lubricated Julian’s hole and then himself, feeling the heat and tightness as he pushed inside.

Their moans filled the room as Marcus began to thrust, his movements matching the rhythm of Julian’s bobbing head. Julian’s body was a conduit of pleasure, connecting them in a way nothing else could. Frank’s hand reached out to stroke Julian’s cock, the precum slicking his palm. Julian’s moans grew louder, his body tightening around Marcus’ shaft as he felt the orgasm build.

With a final, desperate gasp, Julian came, his body spasming around Marcus’ cock. The sensation was too much, and with a roar, Marcus followed suit, filling Julian to the brim. Julian’s mouth was still wrapped around Frank’s cock, and the vibrations of his cries sent the other man over the edge, his seed spilling into Julian’s eager mouth. Julian swallowed greedily, his eyes never leaving Marcus’ as they rode the wave of their shared release.

They remained entwined, the only sounds their panting and the distant echoes of their cries. The three men looked at each other, the room alive with the electricity of their newfound intimacy. It was a moment of raw, unbridled passion that had changed their dynamic irrevocably, yet somehow, in the chaos of their lives, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

In the weeks and months that followed, their lives grew more intertwined than ever. The house on the edge of Columbus became a bastion of love, understanding, and acceptance. Despite their differences—Frank’s meticulousness, Julian’s spontaneity, and Marcus’ structured nature—their bond grew stronger. They learned to navigate their desires and boundaries with grace, creating a space where love and friendship flourished. It wasn’t always easy, and there were moments of doubt and fear, but their commitment to each other was unwavering. They became more than just roommates, more than lovers—they were a family. And in that family, there was room for compromise and experimentation. If two of them grew closer, the third would support them, and when they invited outsiders into their bed, it was done with open hearts and clear communication. They discovered that love didn’t diminish when shared; it grew, enveloping all who dared to enter. And so, in the quiet cul-de-sac, amidst the whispering of the Olentangy River and the chirping of the birds, the three men thrived, a testament to the enduring beauty of love in all its forms.