Mar Decides to Host a Party

The hum of the dishwasher filled the otherwise silent kitchen, a low, mechanical purr that underscored Cody's irritation. He stood by the counter, folding a T-shirt that didn't belong to him. The cotton was warm, fresh from the dryer, and smelled faintly of Mark's cologne--too citrusy, too smug. Cody pressed a crease down the middle of the shirt with his knuckles, then stacked it neatly on top of a growing pile.

Pale pink shorts skimmed his knees, and the hem of a tucked-in band T-shirt hugged his lean, muscular frame. He didn't look like a househusband. He looked like someone who had lost a bet and was now nursing the grudge like a cheap wine--bitter, but intoxicating in its own way.

The front door opened with a soft click, followed by the familiar rattle of keys and the sound of worn sneakers on hardwood. Cody didn't need to look up to know it was Josh. He could feel him--his presence, his energy--filling the room in that easy way he always did. Even now, with everything between them cracked and fragile, Josh still had that casual charisma Cody had once fallen headlong into.

"Hey," Josh called, cheerful in that careful, curated way that suggested he already sensed something was off.

Cody finished folding the shirt, aligning the seams with precision, before picking up a pair of baggy, oversized jeans. "Hi," he said. His voice was flat, even colder than he intended.

Josh was already halfway across the room, unshouldering his bag and setting it on the counter. He looked good--he always did, damn him. But not as good as Mark. When their new neighbor came into their lives suddenly, the seven-year-long married couple became acutely aware of how the other fell short. The green polo with pink trim clung to his chest, his bleached blonde hair tousled by the wind. He had that slight sheen of sweat on his brow, the kind that made him look freshly alive. Tanned skin, brown eyes, light stubble. D

"Mark's stuff?" Josh asked, gesturing to the laundry with a faint, tired smile.

"Laundry, dishes," Cody said, his tone dry as dust. "Did you pay to have his lawn mowed yet? He was asking before he headed to work earlier."

"I did when I got to the office." Josh chuckled under his breath, but the sound died quickly, like a match trying to strike in the rain. His eyes scanned the room, then landed on Cody again, lingering, maybe hoping for warmth. There was none. What had happened? Well, he knew what had happened but...

"I picked up a few more hours," Josh said after a beat, loosening his collar. "One of the senior designers is on maternity leave, so..."

Cody's jaw clenched.

"More hours," he repeated, as if testing the weight of the phrase. "You're hardly here as it is."

Josh looked at him then, really looked. Not as a husband, not even as a partner in some shared domestic punishment--but as a man standing at the edge of something they couldn't quite name.

They weren't wearing their rings. They hadn't for a while now.

The silence between them wasn't explosive. It was worse. It was practiced.

Josh leaned back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, his voice lower now, more measured.

"I mean... with you going part-time at the shop, I had to make up the difference somewhere."

Cody didn't answer right away. He just stood there, arms loose at his sides, his expression unreadable but undeniably tight around the eyes. The overhead light caught in the blue of his gaze, making it look sharper than it felt.

"I know," he said finally, exhaling slowly. "I know you're right, but there's no way I could keep up with Mark's laundry, and dishes, and cleaning his home and all of our household work..."

"I know." Josh interrupted him. He knew the agreement they had made with the man. Neither was aware of how dirty one straight man could be.

He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers working into a knot that had been growing there for days. Maybe weeks.

"It's just..." he paused, words catching somewhere behind his teeth. "I need help, Josh. Around here. I mean--look at this place." He gestured vaguely to the laundry pile, the gleaming dishes in the rack, the spotless counters. "It's like I've become our full-time maid."

Josh ran a hand through his hair, his stubble scratching audibly as he sighed. "I think that's sort of the point."

"I'm just tired." Cody said, more sharply than he meant to. "Mark's got us doing his chores for the rest of..." His voice trailed off. He didn't know how long. Was there even a time limit? There it was--just the edge of it. The crack beneath the surface. Cody looked down at the countertop, his voice dropping.

"I miss us, you know? I miss..." A pause. Did he? Was that even an honest statement? He hadn't slept with Josh since Mark had invaded their lives weeks ago. He just wasn't interested, and he assumed Josh felt the same. His husband didn't exactly make a move.

Josh's face softened, and for a moment, he didn't look like the polished professional who designed other people's dream homes. He just looked like a guy who didn't know how to fix the one he lived in.

"I didn't realize you felt that alone in it," he said quietly, "I thought we were happy with the decision we made."

"I am!" Cody almost shouted, folding the last of Mark's socks with a tired flick of the wrist, "I love being able to see Mark every day, cleaning his clothes, making his dinner, picking up after him, it all somehow feels fulfilling, it's just... it can be a lot."

The silence returned, not angry this time, just heavy. Familiar.

Josh took a small step forward, his voice tentative. "I get it. I'm a little hurt I don't get to see him as much since I have been financially assisting. At least you get to see him... smell him... taste..." Josh's voice trailed off. There was a silence as their eyes met. "When was the last time you..." He didn't need to finish his words.

"Three days ago, he face fucked me in the kitchen," Cody said with an almost innocent smile. It was still a little strange talking to his partner of seven years about pleasing their straight neighbor.

"Lucky!" Josh couldn't help but copy his smile, "I'm sure that tasted amazing!"

"Well..." bobbed his head back and forth, "He had just gotten back from fucking some girl he met at a bar so... it was... something."

"Oh..." Josh's smile turned to a look of disgust. The pair were gold-star gays, neither had ever been with a women and yet via Mark they have interacted with vaginas more than they had liked. There was another moment of silence. "I was able to eat his ass last night... when..." Josh stopped when he watched Cody's eyebrow raise.

"Oh," The man crossed his arms, "Is that why you didn't make it to the dinner with my parents?" Cody asked, but Josh didn't answer. He couldn't exactly blame him. He would have given up a free dinner with his family to eat Mark's ass as well.

Their conversation was cut short when the front door burst open without so much as a knock--because, of course, Mark never knocked.

"Evening, faggots!" he called, voice booming like he owned the place. The air shifted with his arrival, charged with the unmistakable weight of ego and expensive cologne.

He strode into the living room like it was a stage, already peeling off his fitted gray suit jacket. His thick forearms flexed as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the intricate ink that wrapped down the length of his right arm--bold, black tattoos that contrasted with his skin, a few shades darker than Josh's golden tan. His hazel eyes sparkled, not with kindness, but with the kind of gleeful arrogance that made Cody's stomach clench and dick tickle.

Mark flung his jacket over the back of the couch, where it landed half-on, half-off like a shrugged-off afterthought. He stretched, cracking his knuckles with a smirk before turning toward the kitchen.

"Well, well, well," he said, surveying the counter with theatrical flair. "Looks like my loyal houseboys are hard at work!"

Cody stiffened. Josh visibly exhaled. Almost immediately the pair felt their penis begin to respond to the man's masculine energy.

"I mean, damn, Cody," Mark went on, stepping closer, his thick thighs straining against tailored slacks. "You even ironed my shirts? Someone's trying to get some extra dick! Still; not getting any at home, I take it!"

Josh opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Cody just gave Mark a flat look, saying nothing.

Mark grinned wider, plucking a folded T-shirt off the top of the pile and holding it up like it was a prize. "Not bad. Not bad at all. You know, I could take these back to my place now," he added, already scooping up the neatly folded stack. "Just because I'm so generous!"

Cody muttered. "A real humanitarian."

Mark winked at him. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

Josh stepped forward, his voice strained but polite. "We were just finishing up."

"Good," Mark said breezily. "Because I'm dying to have someone tackle my socks next. Been meaning to reorganize my drawer by color and thickness. You queers wouldn't mind, right?"

The words hung in the air like smoke--dense, lingering, impossible to ignore. Cody's jaw flexed. Josh's hands went to his hips, pulling his pants slightly forward to hide his growing erection.

Mark was already walking toward the door again, clothes in hand, like a man satisfied with the chaos he'd caused. He paused and looked back.

"Oh--almost forgot," he said, snapping his fingers. "I'm thinking of having some guys over Friday night to watch the game. Should be a good crowd. You two'll help out, yeah? Snacks, drinks, general manservant energy."

Cody blinked at him. "You want us to work your party?"

"As if you guys don't love ogling fine men?" Mark said, beaming. "You folded my underwear today. Let's not pretend there's a line anymore!"

There was a long beat before either of them spoke.

"Fine," Cody muttered, "What time?"

Mark lit up like he'd just won again. "Knew I could count on you. See? We're bonding just like straight and gay men should! The guy's will arrive at 8 but I expect you two to be ready by... however long to takes to make the food, drinks, and all that bullshit."

"You want us to do the whole thing?" Josh interjected.

"You can do it, or pay someone else to do all that. I don't care but I expect you both to be there to help liven up the room like you faggots are so good at." And with that, he turned on his heel and strode out the door, the stack of laundry in his arms and a bounce in his smug, self-satisfied step.

Opening the door, he looked at the front of the house, "Oh, and thank you for removing that rainbow flag nonsense, it was really trashing up the quality of the neighborhood." The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the moment with a final exclamation point.

Silence returned, as it always did after Mark left. Only now it felt heavier, somehow.

Cody could still hear Mark's voice in his head--loud, smug, and maddeningly pleased with himself. Game night. His thoughts turned reluctantly toward Friday. Finger foods, maybe? Sliders, wings, that buffalo dip everyone loses their minds over. He could do it in his sleep, but the idea of prepping a spread for Mark's crew made his shoulders tense all over again. He pictured them: loud, probably cocky, full of beer and unsolicited opinions about sports and grilling.

Still... he admitted to himself, half-smiling, half-shrugging--some of Mark's friends were probably hot. The thought wasn't exactly noble, but it was real.

Josh opened his eyes and looked toward the kitchen, where Cody was now leaning on the counter, arms crossed, staring into nothing. He looked tired--but he couldn't help but notice the tented outline of Cody's barely concealed dick.

His brain was already spinning in quiet panic, trying to figure out how he was going to get Friday off. They were short-staffed at the firm, and he still had two client presentations to prepare by Monday. He'd have to shuffle meetings or take work home--again.

But even as the stress curled in his chest, there was a part of him--some buried, half-starved part--that didn't hate the idea of being around people. And hell... some of those guys were stupidly good-looking. He wasn't dead.

They didn't speak, but something passed between them anyway. If anything, they both could appreciate a night checking out the guys.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By Friday evening, the sun had slipped low behind the rooftop, casting a honey-colored glow across Mark's aggressively modern kitchen. The granite counters gleamed, the stainless-steel appliances hummed quietly, and Cody stood at the center of it all like he owned the place, which her certainly did not and Mark would make it very understood.

He couldn't count how many times the man 'accidentally' spilled his beer for Cody to clean up or left condiments strewn across the counter for him to put away.

And he did. Everytime. Just for the occasional taste of the grade-A alpha cock. Which didn't happen nearly enough. His mind slipped from the sandwiches, imagining Mark's massive rod. It was a solid ten inches, rock hard and imaginably thick. He would give anything to have that dick fill his ass but he had yet to be given then honor if he ever would be. His attention was brought back to the kitchen when Josh's knife collided with the surface of the cutting board.

Cody was slicing a tomato with surgical precision, arranging sandwich fixings in rows that were borderline obsessive. A serving tray had already been styled with tiny ramekins of aioli and neatly fanned out pickles. Beside him, Josh was less invested in aesthetics, slapping turkey and cheese between slices of ciabatta like someone racing a clock on a cooking show.

"I'm just saying," Cody said, reaching for the lettuce, "if you layer the tomato directly on the bread, it soaks through. You need a buffer."

Josh raised an eyebrow. "They're sandwiches, not structural engineering projects."

Cody gave him a look. "That attitude is why your tea sandwiches always fell apart," Cody said with a hiss. He had always been the homier one. His background in event design offered him to learn all he could about event management and catering services.

"Once. That happened once." Josh grinned, bumping Cody's hip gently with his own. "And we both know everyone came for your mini quiches anyway."

That made Cody smirk, even as he rolled his eyes. "Damn right they did."

For a moment, it was easy. They worked in sync--passing, slicing, stacking. Familiar motions. A familiar warmth. Cody set down the knife and looked around the kitchen, eyes lingering on the spread they'd built together. It reminded him of the nights they used to host dinner parties--wine on the sideboard, records spinning in the background, the two of them playfully arguing over plating while friends filled their old apartment with laughter and half-remembered anecdotes.

"We used to be good at this," Cody said softly, more to the counter than to Josh. "Parties. Hosting. Life."

Josh didn't answer right away. He was arranging sandwiches now, more carefully, like he'd picked up Cody's rhythm. "We could do it again. If you want."

"How? Could you imagine?" Cody's expression was unreadable, but his fingers slowed their movement, "Cody, Josh, what happened toy our wedding rings? Oh, we pawned them to help pay for a straight man's new 85" flat screen."

Josh couldn't help but chuckle. The pair had tossed their rings in the trash after Mark had made a mockery of their marriage. And he was right. It was a few days later the man announced he was looking to get a new TV when his broke in the move. The pair rushed to dig their rings out of the trash and pawn them off. Of course the rings didn't cover the television completely... Josh was still working to pay the thing off.

"How would our friends understand we...did whatever this is..." Cody gestured to them both, "Just to serve this... albeit incredible man."

"Maybe if they saw how amazing his cock is." Josh shrugged.

Cody just rolled his eyes. They never took the time to think about the practical implications of how worshiping their straight neighbor would look. And somehow neither of them cared. They tried their best to keep their life together as best they could while making Mark as happy as possible, and if they were lucky, they'd get the opportunity to... Cody's swallowed his saliva.

The front door opened, and in came Mark, seeming to flow in like the autumn wind, kicking up the leaves outside. He wore a white tank top, sloppy over some worn-out jeans. Immediately, his thick cologne overtook the massive living room.

Making his way across the space, he grabbed one of the sandwiches and shoved it in his mouth.

Even the way the man chewed ignited a spark inside Josh. He let out a soft sigh; he hoped the man or Cody didn't hear.

"Mmm," he said, holding half a sandwich in one hand and a paper bag in the other. "Turkey pesto? Damn, boys! This is what you get when you hire professional queers!"

Cody stiffened. "You didn't hire us."

Mark winked, strutting across the kitchen with his usual swagger, his what shirt rolled at the elbows, tattoos peeking out like a warning label. "Semantics. You're getting paid." He said carefully gliding his hand to his crotch and giving the bulge a nice squeeze, "Can't resist this hetero dick, can you!"

The pair remained silent.

He dropped the paper bag onto the island with a smug flourish, then leaned against the counter like he was settling into a lounge chair.

"Guys'll be here in, like, forty minutes," he added, mouth still half-full. "Should be a good crowd. Real bros. Loud, fun, very opinionated. Not the limp-wristed crew I'm sure you're used to. I told 'em you two were helping out. They're excited for the game."

Josh and Cody exchanged a glance, already bracing themselves.

Then Mark clapped his hands once, eyes gleaming. "Oh! Almost forgot. Got you something." He gestured his head to the bag on the table. The couple didn't budge so he reached into the bag with the theatricality of a magician about to reveal a rabbit--only what emerged was worse.

Two bundles of black and white fabric hit the counter with a soft, ominous swish.

Cody frowned. "What the hell is that?"

Mark beamed. "Uniforms."

Josh picked one up cautiously, letting the ruffled skirt and lacy apron unfold in his hands. "Is this a joke?"

"Nope," Mark said brightly. "Full French maid fantasy. You're hosting. You're faggots. You should look the part."

Cody's face went red--more with disbelief than embarrassment. "Absolutely not. It's one thing that we... that we help you out in private but..."

"Not happening," Josh added, crossing his arms.

Mark only chuckled. "You sure about that? 'Cause the terms of our agreement said--and I quote--'whatever chores I want, however I want them if you want this fat hog'" His chuckled turned into a full laugh, "But by all means if you want to go back to your faggy life across the street and suck each other's fruity dicks till you die go right ahead."

Josh muttered something under his breath. Cody's jaw clenched. The pair finally looked at each other.

They both knew what the other was thinking. Cody was not about to stick Josh's overused clit dick anywhere in his body. He hadn't had a cock as good as Mark's in... well... ever. He'd only ever been with other fags like himself and this... THIS was a whole other experience.

Josh felt the same way. He was a certified top. He'd never bottomed for anyone, including Cody. And while he got around a lot before their marriage like all gay men had he had never tasted a dick like Mark's! And strangely he even found myself wanting... hoping the man might... be willing to fuck his hole the same way he had so many others.

"C'mon," Mark goaded. "I can't keep this all to myself? Its only a matter of time before everyone learns how pathetic your fag marriage was."