Meeting Ashley's New Man

The ice clinked softly in Larry's glass as he swirled the amber liquid, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering candle between them. Across the table, Jack leaned back in his chair, one boot propped on the rung, watching his husband with a quiet unease. The dining room was dim but warm, the kind of glow that made things feel softer than they were.

"So," Larry said, finally, voice low. "Are we... boring now?"

Jack blinked, then gave a tired half-smile. "You mean like old slippers boring, or, like, we should start seeing other people boring?"

Larry snorted. "Old slippers. You know. Comfortable. Predictable. Just... same old, same old."

Jack took a sip from his drink, let it burn a little before answering. "Seven years. That's what they say, right? The itch?"

Larry raised an eyebrow. "You itchy?"

"Not... like that," Jack said, shaking his head. "More like... restless. Like we're just running the same script every day."

Larry leaned back, his tank top clinging slightly to his torso in the heat. "Remember when we used to stay up all night talking? Or drive out to nowhere just for bad diner coffee?"

Jack's smile grew a little. "You fell asleep in your eggs once."

"You were boring that night," Larry said, deadpan, then cracked a smile.

Jack chuckled, rubbing a hand over his stubble. "Maybe we need something to shake us up."

Larry leaned in, eyes glinting. "Like a spontaneous trip? Or a threesome?"

Jack choked on his drink. "Maybe not that shaken."

They laughed, a little too hard, like they were trying to remember how.

Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still coughing slightly. "Jesus, Larry."

"I'm kidding--kind of," Larry said with a shrug, leaning back and letting one leg drape over the arm of his chair. "But maybe... I don't know. Maybe it's something we could actually talk about."

Jack looked at him sideways. "You serious?"

Larry met his gaze. "Serious enough to bring it up. Look, I love you. That hasn't changed. But we're in a rut. We both feel it. So why not consider... options?"

Jack was quiet, swirling the last bit of whiskey in his glass. His brow furrowed like he was working through a problem he wasn't sure how to solve. "So... what are you saying? You want to sleep with other people?"

"I'm saying maybe we could explore together," Larry said carefully. "Something mutual. A shared thing. Not some secret side hustle. Just... open a window, not burn the house down."

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Wouldn't that be burning the house down? What if it messes everything up?"

"What if it doesn't?" Larry said. "What if it reminds us of how lucky we are? Or, hell, what if it just gives us something new to talk about over drinks?"

Jack chuckled dryly. "Yeah, 'So how was your day, honey? Good, Chad and I did some light bondage. You?'"

Larry grinned. "See, that already sounds more exciting than payroll reports and whose turn it is to do the laundry."

Jack looked down at his hands. "Do you already have someone in mind?"

Larry hesitated. "No. Not really. But I've... thought about it. Fantasized, I guess. Have you?"

Jack took a breath, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. I mean--who doesn't?"

They sat in silence for a beat, the candle's flame dancing between them. Something unspoken had cracked open, and neither seemed eager to slam it shut.

"We don't have to decide anything tonight," Larry said softly. "Just... talk. Like we used to."

"Well, it's not like we have time with Ashley coming over in thirsty minutes." He popped in.

Larry toyed with Jack's fingers, his brow furrowed in thought. "Do you think this is just... what it's like? Being gay and married for seven years?"

Jack smiled faintly. "What, existential dread over cocktails?"

"Exactly," Larry said, laughing under his breath. "We fought so hard for the right to be married. No one warned us it might get... mundane."

Jack leaned back again, sighing. "Straight people didn't exactly send us a manual either. 'Congrats, here's your mortgage, your grocery list, and occasional identity crisis.'"

Larry laughed. "Don't forget 'mild resentment and matching bathrobes.'"

Jack smirked. "I like our bathrobes."

"I know you do," Larry said, with mock affection. "That's part of the problem."

They both went quiet again for a moment, the tension easing. The clink of glass, the distant hum of city life outside their window. Then Jack glanced at the clock.

"Ashley's coming soon, right?"

"Yeah," Larry said, perking up. "Her and the new guy. Kyle? Or Connor? Something aggressively handsome."

Jack grinned. "One of those names that sounds like it lifts weights for fun."

Larry rolled his eyes. "I just hope he's not a walking protein shake."

"Either way," Jack said, pushing back from the table, "we're getting out tonight. A real bar. With loud music. Bad flirting. Weird lighting."

Larry smiled, genuinely this time. "God, I need it. We need it."

Jack looked over at him fondly. "Let's be reckless tonight. Just a little. Like we're twenty-five and don't know what sleep is."

Larry stood, stretched, and grabbed his glass. "Deal. Let's get ready to disappoint some twinks."

Larry disappeared into the kitchen to rinse out his glass, calling over his shoulder, "By the way--Ashley texted me earlier. She said her new boyfriend can be a little problematic."

Jack, now half-sitting on the arm of the couch, raised an eyebrow. "Problematic how? Like 'doesn't recycle,' or 'quotes Joe Rogan unironically'?"

"She didn't specify," Larry said, reappearing with a towel slung over one shoulder. "Just said, and I quote, 'please don't fight him, Jack.' So. You know. Consider that a loving heads-up."

Jack placed a hand on his heart. "Me? Fight someone? I'm a gentle flower."

Larry arched an eyebrow. "You tried to lecture her last ex about late-stage capitalism while drunk on cider."

"He was wearing boat shoes in November," Jack said, shrugging. "And quoting Elon Musk."

Larry grinned. "Just... be nice, okay? We're going out. We're having fun. Maybe even letting go a little."

Jack gave a mock salute. "Nice. Fun. Flirty. Got it. I'll only say problematic things under my breath."

"Jack."

"Okay, okay!" Jack stood up, brushing invisible lint from his jeans. "I'll be on my best behavior. Like, golden retriever at a wedding level good."

Larry smiled, crossing the room to fix the collar of Jack's blue shirt. "You're lucky you're cute."

"I know," Jack said, pulling Larry in for a quick kiss. "Let's make tonight count."

There was a knock at the door, sharp and familiar.

Larry raised his eyebrows. "Showtime."

Larry opened the door with a warm smile that faltered--just slightly--when he took in the sight of Derrick.

"Ash!" Larry beamed, stepping forward to hug her. "You look like trouble."

Ashley grinned, arms flinging around his neck. "That's because I am." She pulled back and struck a pose, one hand on her hip. "Thought I'd remind the world I still have a belly button ring."

She looked radiant--shoulder-length blonde hair tousled just enough, tube top snug and gleaming in the hallway light, white denim clinging tight, strappy heels clicking like a punctuation mark.

Behind her stood Derrick. A head taller, with the kind of presence that felt both solid and uncertain. His black hair was slicked back in deliberate messiness, and his shirt--half unbuttoned--showed the curve of a tattoo curling out from his chest. His arms were thick, dusted with dark hair, casually powerful. He nodded at Larry, then at Jack, not quite meeting their eyes.

"Hey," he said. His voice was low, with a rough edge. "Nice place."

"Thanks," Jack said, extending a hand. "Jack."

Derrick took it briefly--firm but quick. "Derrick."

"Cool," Jack replied, a little too brightly. "You, uh, into home decor or just tolerating it?"

Derrick's mouth twitched, like he was trying to decide whether to smile or leave. "I guess I don't... think about throw pillows much."

Ashley jumped in. "He's more of a 'fixes motorcycles, judges your bourbon' type."

Larry laughed politely, but exchanged a quick glance with Jack--an entire silent conversation.

"Well," Larry said, stepping aside, "you two ready for a drink or three? I say we let the night take us somewhere weird."

Ashley gave a little cheer. "Yes, please. I've been trapped in couples-ville all week."

Derrick muttered something like, "Let's get it over with," under his breath, then immediately cleared his throat. "I mean--yeah, sounds good."

Jack's smile thinned, but he turned smoothly, reaching for his jacket. "Great. I've been dying for mediocre music and overpriced cocktails."

As the four of them stepped into the night, Larry whispered to Jack, just loud enough, "Golden retriever, remember?"

Jack's reply was tight-lipped. "He's lucky I like Ashley."

Back inside, the apartment buzzed with the low hum of a Bluetooth speaker playing a curated "going out" playlist--just the right amount of nostalgia and bass. Larry moved behind the counter, already pouring mezcal over ice while Jack grabbed the fresh lime and bitters.

"House special," Jack said, holding up the bottle like a magician about to perform. "We call it the 'Seven-Year Sting.' It hits hard and makes you question your life choices."

Ashley laughed, slipping out of her heels and plopping onto the couch. "Perfect. I want to forget I exist."

Derrick stayed standing, arms crossed, surveying the room like a bouncer on break.

Larry handed him a glass. "You strike me as someone who drinks things neat."

Derrick took the glass without a word, sniffed it, then nodded once. "Better than I expected."

Jack raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He handed Ashley her drink, then joined Larry on the opposite couch, legs touching out of quiet solidarity.

"So, Derrick," Larry said, "Ashley says you're good with your hands?"

Ashley let out a playful groan. "Larry!"

Derrick gave the smallest smirk. "Work on bikes. Build furniture sometimes. Real stuff. Not... throw pillow stuff."

Jack's expression didn't change, but the silence stretched an inch too long.

Ashley jumped in quickly, fingers brushing Derrick's arm. "He means like--manual work. Masculine stuff. He's not great at wording things."

Derrick shrugged, taking a sip. "Just saying, some guys get a little... soft.... Get too into decorating and couple's brunch."

Larry blinked. "Soft, huh?"

Jack tilted his head. "Yeah, god forbid we enjoy brunch."

Ashley let out a nervous laugh. "Okay! Okay! Let's not spiral. Derrick--stop."

Derrick looked genuinely confused, like he hadn't said anything wrong. "What? I didn't mean it like that."

Larry smiled, tight. "No worries. We're very soft. Like ethically-sourced cashmere."

Jack reached for his drink. "And brunch is sacred."

Ashley looked between them, biting her lip. "Can we just... drink? Talk about literally anything else?"

Larry raised his glass. "To new friends."

Jack followed, eyes cool. "And saying less."

They clinked, Ashley's laugh a little too high as she tried to smooth it all over. Derrick took a long sip and looked out the window, already halfway gone from the room.

"Actually," Ashley said, her voice bright and rehearsed, "we have some news."

Larry blinked. "Oh?"

Jack raised an eyebrow.

Ashley beamed, practically vibrating. "We're engaged."

There was a beat of silence.

Then she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small, silver ring. Not in a box. Just loose, casual, like it had been bouncing around next to loose change and gum wrappers. She slid it onto her finger with exaggerated flair and held up her hand like it was sparkling under stage lights.

Larry's mouth opened slightly. "Wow. That's... congratulations."

Jack forced a smile. "Yeah. Congrats, you two."

Derrick nodded once, arms crossed. "It's not official-official yet. No big production. Just figured we knew."

Ashley looped her arm around his. "We're doing it our way."

"Totally," Larry said, his voice just a shade too high. "Very you."

Jack took another sip of his drink. "So when's the big day?"

"No date yet," Ashley chirped. "We just felt like it was time, you know? When you know, you know."

Larry and Jack exchanged the quickest of glances--tight, subtle, meaningful.

Larry smiled again, thinner this time. "Of course. You two seem... solid."

Ashley beamed, oblivious. Derrick stayed silent, eyes darting around the room like he was already over it.

In the space between them all, something tense and unseen curled quietly, twisting just out of reach.

Ashley let out a sudden gasp as her drink sloshed out of her glass and splattered down the front of her white jeans.

"Shit!" she cried, jumping to her feet and looking down at the spreading amber stain. "Oh my God, these were new."

Larry was up in a flash with a towel, but the damage was done. "I've got club soda--might help."

Ashley dabbed at her jeans helplessly. "No, it's hopeless. I look like I peed myself at a whiskey tasting."

Jack stood, already heading toward the stairs. "It's okay, Ash. I've got jeans that'll fit you."

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "You sure? My ass hasn't seen the gym in... well, ever."

Jack turned and grinned. "Please. We used to share jeans all the time in college."

Ashley snorted. "Yeah, when we were twenty and had the metabolisms of hummingbirds."

"Well," Jack said, "let's see if nostalgia has stretch fabric. Come on."

She followed him, still dabbing at the stain with a laugh that had just enough embarrassment in it. "God, remember that pair of red cords we used to trade like a sacred artifact?"

"You wore them with heels," Jack said over his shoulder as they climbed the stairs. "I wore them with eyeliner and bad decisions."

Ashley giggled. "You were a little slutty sophomore year."

"And you were jealous," Jack tossed back, winking.

Downstairs, Larry glanced at Derrick, who was busy inspecting the edge of the liquor cart like it had personally offended him.

Derrick set his glass down with a dull clink and stood, stretching his shoulders like he was shaking off the room. "Gotta take a leak. Bathroom?"

Larry nodded, gesturing toward the hall. "Just past the second door on the right."

Derrick gave a half-thank-you and disappeared down the hallway, his boots making soft thuds on the hardwood.

Now alone, Larry sank onto the edge of the couch and took a slow sip of his drink, letting the mezcal's smoky bite roll across his tongue. The music thumped softly from the speaker, now some indie synth track that felt too dreamy for the air in the room.

~~~~

Jack descended the stairs with an amused little huff, still barefoot. "She's going to take forever picking something out. You'd think I offered her the Louvre's costume department."

Larry smirked, handing Jack his drink. "Classic Ashley. She'll try on five things and settle on the first one she hated."

Jack took a sip and flopped beside him on the couch. "Honestly? It's nostalgic. She even made me rate her options out of ten, like we're back in the dorms."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the evening slowly creeping in again.

Then Larry glanced toward the hallway, brow creasing. "Hey, has Derrick been in the bathroom this whole time?"

Jack followed his gaze. "Seriously? He's not exactly the bubble-bath type."

"Yeah," Larry said, sitting up straighter. "Feels like he's been in there a while."

Jack stood and stretched, already moving toward the hallway. "Alright, I'll bite. Maybe he's building a shrine to toxic masculinity in there."

Larry followed behind, both of them padding quietly toward the bathroom. As they neared, they noticed the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light casting a diagonal beam across the dark floor.

Jack slowed, frowning. "That's weird."

Larry tilted his head. "Maybe he didn't latch it?"

Jack's voice dropped. "Or maybe he's doing something he shouldn't be."

Larry blinked. "Like what?"

Jack hesitated. "I don't know. My brain just went straight to drugs. The vibe is... off."

He stepped closer and rapped his knuckles softly against the doorframe.

"Derrick?" Jack called.

No response.

The bathroom was eerily quiet.

Larry looked at Jack, tension drawing between them.

Jack called out again, a little louder. "Hey--Derrick, you good, man?"

Still nothing.

They exchanged a look--half concern, half dread.

Jack reached for the door and gently pushed the door open with two fingers, just enough to peer inside--and immediately recoiled.

"Oh--shit!" he blurted, spinning around so fast he nearly knocked into Larry.

Larry peeked in after him--and immediately turned as well, eyes wide. "Oh my God. Sorry! We didn't--!"

Inside, Derrick was mid-stream at the toilet, frozen in a half-turn, expression caught somewhere between confused and deeply irritated.

"What the hell?" he barked, shifting just enough to preserve what dignity he had left.

The gay couple nearly fell over each other trying to back up, the embarrassment overtaking their sense of logic and equilibrium. In their struggle to re-shut the door, the white wood seemed to swing open further.

Derrick immediately stopped pissing, his dick flopping through the air as he turned back.

Even in their confusion, fear, and embarrassment, Larry and Jack could help but lock eyes onto the massive 8 inches of solid man meat swaying between Derrick's legs. The uncut cock seemed to jump from the large dark patch of public hair escaping from the man's waist.

"We thought something was wrong!" Jack said quickly, one hand over his eyes. "You were in here forever! The door was open!"

"Fucking faggots!" Derrick snapped.

"Excuse me!" Jack added, still facing the hallway wall like it could erase what they'd just witnessed. "It was a mistake. We didn't mean to walk in like this!"

"Just like you don't mean to keep standing there?" Derrick questioned.

Larry and Jack hadn't realized that after their initial panic, they still hadn't moved from the small hallway just outside the bathroom. Each of them wanted to escape so badly from the embarrassing situation, and yet neither could pull themselves away.

"Well," Derrick said, placing his hands on his hips. His dick danced about drawing the gay couple in like hypnosis, "I don't really like fags who go around pretending they're like the rest of us!"

"That's uncalled for," Jack said, allowed, but his words felt insincere.

Larry barely heard his words. He wasn't proud of the thought, but it crept in anyway. That cock--accidental, awkward, and absolutely not asked for--had left something humming beneath his skin. A stirring. A jolt of something that had been missing for a while. He glanced at Jack, who stood to his right. While he'd been physically satisfied, Jack's dick fell a few inches shorter than Derrick's. And aside from porn that they occasionally watched together he hadn't seen a dick that big in a long while.

Larry didn't say anything. Didn't have to. There was an unspoken tether between them--seven years of shared glances, unfinished sentences, and knowing silence.

Jack felt it too.

That same restless flutter. That low ache of something's missing, and maybe this is it at the same time.

But neither of them spoke.

"But I'm a nice guy so I'll give ya something in return. If you agree to divorce before me and the cunt's wedding, I'll let you two clean the piss of my dick with your mouths."

Derrick's words lingered in the air.

Larry and Jack were both stunned, unable to speak. This arrogant man barged into their home, claimed he was marrying their friend, and now gave them this sick, homophobic ultimatum.

"You have until I stop pissing to decide." Derrick, with no care in the world, turned back to the toilet. Taking his thick cock in his hand he let loose the stream of piss again. The urine blasted the side of the porcelain tub.