Oliver Maes a Request

The apartment was hushed, wrapped in low amber light. Oliver moved with care at the bar cart, the ice cubes clinking too loudly in the quiet. He tried not to rush -- measuring, stirring, twisting the orange peel just so -- but his hands weren't as steady as he wanted them to be. The mezcal burned faintly as it met the glass. Familiar. Comforting. A little dramatic, maybe, but he needed the ritual.

Behind him, he could feel Alexander. The weight of his silence had a shape to it -- heavy, sprawling, irritated. Oliver didn't have to look to know he was doing that thing when he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes distant, jaw tight. Processing. Judging. Bracing.

Oliver's jaw ached from clenching, so he made himself exhale slowly and roll his shoulders back. The tank top stuck to his skin at the back, still damp from the shower. He hadn't changed out of the booty shorts. Part of him wondered if he should've -- if the timing made it all seem more calculated than it was. He hadn't meant to turn this into a performance. He just... hadn't wanted to feel restrained tonight.

The drink was done, but he didn't sip. He just held it, let the orange peel scent curl up around his nose, let the ice sweat against his palm.

He could hear the fan, the music, and the occasional car down on the street. But mostly, he could hear the silence between them. And inside it, the echo of his own voice from earlier. Calm. Measured. "What if we opened things up a little?" God, he'd tried so hard to sound casual. Like he hadn't been turning the idea over in his mind since the incident at the bar with Seth, of course, he didn't mention that part to his husband.

He'd known Alexander wouldn't leap into it. That wasn't how his husband operated. But he hadn't expected this exact kind of silence either -- the kind that didn't feel shocked or curious, just... tense. Like something in Alexander had pulled back.

Oliver took a slow sip, still not turning around.

Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Or maybe he should've said it differently. But it was too late now. The idea had been spoken. And now it sat between them like a glass set too hard on the table -- not broken, but loud enough to change the air.

Oliver finally turned, glass in hand. Alexander hadn't moved much -- still folded forward, fingers laced, gaze trained on the floor -- but something in his shoulders had softened. Slightly. The silence between them wasn't quite the same. Less brittle. More like a held breath.

Oliver crossed the room, slow steps on bare feet, and sat on the edge of the armchair across from him. Not too close. He rested the drink on the side table, untouched now. It had done its job. He cleared his throat once, softly.

Alexander looked up at him. His blue eyes were guarded, tired. He looked like someone trying to understand the rules of a game he hadn't agreed to play.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. But then Alexander shifted, leaned back against the couch. Not relaxed -- just... not entirely closed off.

"I need time," Alexander had said. Oliver felt his heart jump with a little excitement but also fear, knowing they didn't have much time before Trevor would arrive.

Oliver leaned forward in the armchair, forearms on his thighs, eyes tracking every flicker across Alexander's face. He could feel his own heart beating in his throat.

"I wasn't trying to ambush you," Oliver said quietly. "I know it probably felt that way."

Alexander's arms were crossed now. Defensive. Hurt. He wasn't yelling, which somehow felt worse. "Yeah. It did."

Oliver nodded, absorbing it. Letting the weight of it settle. "I should've waited. Or brought it up a different way."

Silence again. Then, after a long breath, "Why now?"

Oliver looked down at his hands, then back up at his husband. "Because I've been thinking about it for a long time." That was a lie. He had only really thought about it for about two weeks since he had his first taste of dick in years. "And not because I'm not happy with you," he added quickly. "It's not about missing anything... It's not about us being broken."

"But it kind of sounds like it is," Alexander said. His voice was still low, but sharper now. "You don't just want to go out and sleep with someone if everything's fine."

"It's not about replacing anything," Oliver said, trying to stay calm, to be clear. "It's about... expansion. Curiosity. Wanting more experience without destroying what we have."

"So what would it even look like? If we tried this?"

Oliver blinked. He hadn't expected the question--not yet--but it gave him hope. And he needed hope, or he was going to have to text the Adonis from the gym to not come over any time soon.

"We'd talk about rules," he said carefully. "Boundaries. What's okay, what's not? Full transparency. And maybe it doesn't mean sex right away. Maybe it's just... seeing what feels possible. Together."

Alexander gave a tired half-laugh. "This isn't what I pictured when I got married."

"Me either," Oliver said. "But I still want you. That hasn't changed." He took a breath. It was now or never, "And in the name of transparency, I invited someone over."

The words landed like a dropped pin in a silent room.

Alexander blinked. Once. Twice.

"From the gym," Oliver added, voice low, steady. "Today. When I was there."

A sharp stillness rippled through Alexander's body. His jaw tightened again, and he sat upright, suddenly very awake.

"You what?"

Oliver didn't flinch, but his stomach twisted. "I didn't want to lie about it. I didn't do anything with him. I just... asked. In case. I thought if we talked more tonight and--if it went well--maybe..."

Alexander stood, just enough to pace one step, then stopped himself. His hands were on his hips, head tilted back slightly like he was searching the ceiling for a better version of this moment.

"Oliver, we just talked about it. I haven't even had time to process it," he said finally. His voice cracked at the edge, not angry exactly -- but shocked, disoriented. "You should've warned me. Before it got real. Before time was a person."

Oliver nodded slowly. He deserved that. Maybe more... but when his eyes fell on Trevor, one of the gym regulars today, he couldn't help it. Trevor was always at the gym and was always fine as hell, but after his weekend at Cleo's bar, getting railed by a complete stranger time was suddenly a tingle and excitement in the air, and Trevor helped ignite that tingle all the more.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just didn't want it to be all talk forever. I didn't expect you to say yes, or... I don't know. I just needed to know it could actually happen. That I could do it."

A knock at the door. Sharp. Two raps, no hesitation.

Oliver's breath hitched before he could stop it. His eyes darted to the clock -- right on time. Of course. He'd said eight. His fingers flexed against his thighs.

Alexander stiffened.

The change in the room was immediate, electric--like the temperature had dropped. The weight of their conversation hung suspended, suddenly dwarfed by the fact that someone else was really him.

Neither of them moved at first.

Oliver's heartbeat sped up, and he hated that he felt it -- that thrum of excitement just beneath his ribs, the unmistakable buzz of possibility. It wasn't about feelings, it wasn't about love, but it was still thrilling. New. Dangerous. Real.

He swallowed hard. Looked at Alexander.

"I can send him away," Oliver said softly. "We don't have to do anything. I just... what do you want me to do?"

Alexander didn't answer right away. His jaw was tight again, the muscle flickering like a warning light. His eyes stayed on the door, then flicked briefly to Oliver, unreadable.

Another knock.

Alexander exhaled through his nose, then stood slowly, like he needed a second to remember how his body worked. He didn't look at Oliver when he spoke.

"Let him in," he said. "We can... at least have a drink."

Oliver froze for a half-second, almost unsure he'd heard right. Then nodded. He rose from the chair, legs suddenly shaky beneath him, and crossed the floor with the feeling of standing on a cliff edge -- terrified, exhilarated, unsure what came next.

Behind him, Alexander stood by the couch, arms crossed again -- not angry now, but braced. A little distant. Present, but not fully in the room yet.

Oliver opened the door. Trevor stood in the doorway like he owned it.

All six-foot-three of him leaned casually against the frame, tank top clinging to his torso like it was painted on, skinny jeans hugging his thighs in a way that seemed deliberate. His hair was gelled but just messy enough, and his caramel eyes scanned the apartment behind Oliver like he was already measuring it -- and them.

Alexander recognized him from the gym but didn't know him personally.

"Hey," he said, voice smooth, low, touched with something that sounded like a dare.

Oliver gave a small smile, heart jackhammering. "Hey. Thanks for coming."

Trevor's eyes dipped once, unapologetically, over Oliver's body. "You're looking good."

Oliver felt heat creep up his neck but didn't respond, stepping aside to let him in. Trevor smelled like cologne and gym sweat -- clean, sharp, undeniably male. He moved like someone who expected the air to part for him.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Alexander was still standing, posture stiff, but when Trevor turned his attention toward him, something shifted. Maybe out of politeness. Maybe pride. But Alexander stepped forward and extended his hand, not quite smiling but composed.

"Is this the husband with he small dick?" Trevor said with a chuckle.

"What...?" Alexander's face turned red.

"He's joking!" Oliver laughed. Gesturing to his husband, "This is Alexander, my husband."

"Trevor." A flash of white teeth. "Nice place you've got."

Alexander didn't answer that. Instead, he motioned toward the living room. "Come in. We were just about to have a drink."

Trevor's eyebrows lifted slightly, amused but not surprised. "Sounds good to me."

He walked in further, unbothered, and Oliver watched Alexander track every movement. There was no mistaking the tension in his husband's shoulders, but he hadn't recoiled. If anything, he looked more grounded now, like the decision to let Trevor in had woken something up in him -- a spine of control, or pride, or maybe just the need to reclaim some power.

Oliver moved back to the bar cart, hands moving by muscle memory now.

"You like mezcal?" he asked Trevor, mostly just to fill the air.

Trevor gave a shrug. "I like anything strong."

Oliver poured. His hands were steadier now than they had been earlier. He felt a heat building in his chest... and his pants.

Alexander stayed standing while Trevor lowered himself onto the couch, legs spread wide, confidence rolling off him like heat. His gaze flicked back and forth between them, assessing, maybe testing, definitely enjoying the effect he had.

Oliver handed out the glasses, and the three of them settled into the strange, simmering silence of this new territory.

The mezcal burned pleasantly on Oliver's tongue, anchoring him for a second as the conversation stumbled forward.

They'd passed through a few neutral topics -- Trevor's lifting routine, a trainer they all vaguely knew, a joke about how bad the gym's sound system was -- but the room still felt stiff around the edges. Oliver noticed Alexander's posture, still upright and alert, one ankle crossed over the other like he was ready to bolt or spring into action, depending on what came next.

Trevor lounged like he had no such nerves.

"So," Trevor said, swirling his drink with lazy confidence, "you ever notice how half the people at the gym are just trying to figure out who's on top?"

Oliver blinked, nearly choking on a sip.

Alexander raised an eyebrow.

Trevor smirked. "I don't mean sexually. Not just sexually. I mean... dominance. Posture. Who walks like they own the place? Who makes eye contact? Who looks away? You can spot the people who need to be in control, and the ones who want to be controlled. It's all the time."

He leaned back against the couch like he'd said something profound, one arm draped casually across the backrest. His tank top rode up slightly, exposing the defined cut of his waist. He knew it, too.

Oliver shifted, pulse ticking up again. He could feel Trevor's gaze brush across him like a hand, not touching, but definitely claiming space.

"Pretty sure that's why you noticed me," Trevor added, eyes fixed on Oliver now. "You've got good instincts."

Oliver felt the heat rise behind his ears, and not entirely from flattery. There was something about the way Trevor said it -- like he was holding court, like this was already his room. He glanced over to his husband, who seemed almost unfazed by him, other than his tightening grip on his glass.

"I think Oliver's instincts are usually thoughtful," Alexander said, voice calm but cool. "He doesn't really go for showy."

Trevor's lips curved. "You think I'm showy?"

Alexander shrugged. "I think you know exactly what effect you have and lean into it."

Oliver looked between them. The air had changed again -- not tense exactly, but charged.

He hadn't expected Trevor to start pushing so fast, or Alexander to meet him with such sharp, quiet precision.

Oliver swallowed. "I think there's more than one kind of dominance."

Trevor cocked his head. "Sure. But some kinds are more fun than others."

That earned a small exhale from Alexander -- not a laugh, but close. Dry. Measured.

Oliver stared into his glass, then looked back up. "I'm not sure I'm drawn to dominance," he said, carefully. "I think I'm drawn to clarity. To people who know what they want." His mind drifted back to his time at Cleo's. He hadn't remembered how good dick could feel like a long time. It wasn't that Alexander was bad... he was just used to more, a lot more, and a lot more often before they married.

Trevor lifted his glass slightly, as if in salute. "Same thing."

Trevor leaned forward, setting his drink down a little too sharply, his eyes narrowing just enough to notice.

"You know," he said, his voice smooth but edged with challenge, "you don't have to act like you're not in on this."

Alexander's posture stiffened. It was subtle, the way his shoulders tightened, the way his jaw set. He looked at Trevor -- still that calm, collected exterior, but Oliver could see the undercurrent of something else flickering beneath. Something not calm. Not anymore.

"I'm not acting," Alexander said, his voice quiet but taut, "I'm just not rushing into anything."

Trevor let out a low, almost pitying laugh. "See, that's the problem with guys like you. You think you're in control. But you're just sitting back, letting things happen to you." He leaned forward again, his presence suddenly more physical, more inescapable. "Sometimes, you've got to man up. Take control of the situation. Stop worrying about how it looks and just... own it."

Alexander's eyes flashed at the word. He stood, slow, deliberate, his height giving him a brief moment of dominance. But Trevor wasn't daunted. In fact, the smile that curled on Trevor's lips grew, like he could already tell he'd hit a nerve.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the sudden confrontation or because part of him couldn't look away. Trevor's dominance was alluring.

"I know what I'm doing," Alexander said, finally. But it wasn't as forceful as it had been a moment ago. More measured, almost like he was trying to convince himself, too.

Trevor didn't buy it. Not for a second.

"No, you don't," Trevor said bluntly, smirking. "And that's why you're so damn tense. You've got no idea what this is supposed to look like, because it's new to you. You're scared of losing control. You're scared of what it means when you stop playing it safe."

Oliver's heart raced again, but this time for a different reason. His eyes flicked from Trevor to Alexander, to the way his husband's face hardened, and how Trevor seemed so eager to keep digging, to push, to win. It felt like a game now. A dangerous one.

"Frankly, Alexander, you need to man up!"

The room fell silent. The three of them didn't dare budge.

"This is the man you invited over?" Alexander finally said, turning to face his husband

"Dominance keeps things fresh, interesting. Maybe that's why your husband wants to open this marriage up."

"That makes a lot of sense, don't you think, honey?" Oliver interjected, but his husband wasn't exactly amused, "You see how when Trevor talks, acts, it's... empowering? Maybe I just..." His words trailed off.

Alexander took a moment to consider his words. Oliver had never complained about any of this before. He opened his mouth to speak, but Trevor interrupted.

"The thing is Alexander, we can tell you're attractive. Look at your body." Trevor gestured to the man. Alexander couldn't help but blush, as annoyed as he was. "But the times I've seen you at the gym and now here, to coin a phrase -- and I'm sorry-- but you seem like a cuck."

Oliver giggled nervously while Alexander tried to hide his embarrassment and anger. Was this really what his husband wanted? A quick glance down at the growing bulge in Oliver's shorts was evidence of that.

Trevor moved to the dark-haired man who had invited him. If this was to continue, it was obvious he had to take the wheel. He took Oliver's hips in his large hands and pulled him to him. He kissed him roughly on the lips, bowing his head to force his tongue into his mouth.

Oliver was shocked, this quick invasion was unexpected. He was too surprised to resist and honestly didn't want to. Oliver's hands slid slowly over Trevor's back, fingers tracing the ridges of muscle that flexed beneath his skin--solid, warm, unmistakably masculine. The smooth expanse of Trevor's back was like sculpted stone softened by heat, every shift of his body alive with power. As their lips met, the kiss was deep, heady, edged with hunger. Oliver breathed in the musk of him--clean sweat, something earthy and dark, like cedar and salt. It was as if Alexander was gone. It filled his senses, grounding and intoxicating all at once. Trevor's strength was undeniable, palpable beneath his touch, and Oliver felt swallowed by it--overwhelmed, aroused, and dangerously alive.

Alexander saw what was happening and had finally had it. It was bad enough that Trevor was putting him down, had told his husband how weak he was, and humiliated him with a simple kiss. He figured this was a test, to see if he could show that he could be a real man. There was no way Trevor could think this was ok. He stood as tall as he could and approached the embraced pair, placing a hand on his Latin man's shoulder, which was about level with his eyes. He made his voice as deep as he could.

"I think you need to leave now!"

Trevor broke his kiss from the breathless Oliver, cupping his face in his hand. He smiled at him before turning to Alexander. He growled:

"Do NOT interrupt me again, boy." Releasing Oliver, he shoved Alexander back. The blonde stumbled back a few steps, his right leg colliding with one of the side tables. "I'm going to show you how to treat your man. You need to shut the fuck up, watch, and maybe you'll learn something."

Alexander looked at his husband. He could barely read the expression on his face. Was it disgust? Horror? Sorrow? Why didn't he say anything about this man's aggression towards him? He didn't have a moment longer to consider it. As they both stood there, Trevor shoved a hand down the back of Oliver's shorts.

"Something you need to learn, Alexander, is that bottoms like your man get turned on by how you act. Let's see how Oliver has reacted to being around a real man for a change."