Power Bottom

This story is fictional and intended for adults only.

Copyright, Boy Mercury X, 2024.

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WARNING: THIS STORY INCLUDES DEPICTIONS OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE THAT MAY BE UPSETTING FOR SOME READERS.

POWER BOTTOM

They'd been locked in the hotel room for half the weekend.

Like many Internet relationships, the translation into meeting in person was awkward at first. After months of Tumblr chat, trading dick pics and writing smutty stories together, the two made the first stumbling efforts at a weekend together in June.

Jon had an intense appetite for Elliot, which he didn't fully understand. The 45-year was exactly as he'd described himself: short and pale with, in his own words, a "dad bod". Nothing like Jon's weightlifting husband, Bahri, who was swarthy, handsome and built. There was nothing in the description that would suggest Elliot should be the one to entice Jon to break his twenty years of monogamy, but he fired some inarticulate desire in the professor.

The moment they entered their hotel room, the typically overthinking and vacillating Jonathan shoved Elliot against the wall, kissed him with abandon and then dropped to his knees. His eagerness to get to Elliot's cock might have been an act to seal the deal, to push things to the point of no return, before either of them could think better of the situation.

He jerked down Elliot's pants and inhaled the odor of pubes and uncut dick. He gobbled down the fat cock like a starving man, feeling genuine satisfaction when the cockhead wedged into his throat, and he could hear the psychiatrist gasp.

Elliot had complimented Jon's full lips previously, so Jon made sure to put them into service now. Taking brief breaks from deep throating, Jon curiously played with the foreskin, sucking on it, getting heady from the distinct aroma he couldn't name -- sweat, flesh, sex.

Elliot stopped Jon, saying he didn't want to get off yet.

"My first uncut dick." said Jon, looking up from his submissive position.

"Because your husband's Muslim," said Elliot, smiling.

"He's Turkish but secular. I told you. He's culturally American." Why did Elliot insist on misremembering this?

"How American?"

Jon had shared information with Elliot about Bahri. About his penchant for bottoming and his capacity for huge sex toys, even about his bakery, revealing more about their lives together than he ever thought he would to a virtual stranger.

"Did you come all the way from Boston to talk about my husband?"

"No, you sexy fucker. Get your clothes off."

Jon stood up and stripped off his shirt. The 50 year old had adopted running daily and had recently begun using his husband's weights. He felt good about his long, lean form, his flat belly and the burgeoning muscle in his chest and shoulders. Elliot had awoken something in him and he felt like a glowing ember there in their shared hotel room.

Elliot stepped up close to him and buried his face in the dark thatch of Jon's chest hair. "Yummy." he whispered.

As a college professor, Jon had unintentionally collected a flock of young admirers in their late teens and early twenties. They were often closeted to varying degrees, and, Jon would learn, frequently had conflicted feelings about their own fathers.

"They're just looking for a daddy," he'd tell Bahri, to explain their frequent emails, gifts and even phone calls. "I can manage them."

"Your boy harem." Bahri laughed.

It was understood by them both that these were just lost boys Jon couldn't help but take under his wing. He listened to their concerns and woes and encouraged them, ensuring them they had a better future. When they confessed their crushes on Jon, which they did, he had well developed techniques for letting them down gently.

"You should have been the father to a dozen sons." Bahri once told Jon. "You're a natural dad."

"You never gave me any," laughed Jon.

He stopped short of pointing out that beyond the biological impossibility, they had not had sex for a long time. Years now. A common issue for longtime gay couples, but still an awkward topic.

Jon feigned attention to the papers he was grading, but he stole glances at Bahri's shoulders and chest and the way he furrowed his brow. Even though he didn't know how to act on it, after 25 years together he was still enthralled by Bahri's physique and good looks.

They had grown older together, in some ways had become more alike. They had shared habits and routines, shared language and expressions. In other ways they couldn't be more different. Nightly, Bahri silently studied ancient history and Jon wrote, or browsed social media and online chat forums. They gave the appearance of togetherness, while living parallel lives.

As Bahri settled back into his reading, Jon logged into Tumblr. He knew Elliot's habits and suspected he might be on any minute.

"Hey babe." messaged Elliot.

"Hey. What should we write about?" responded Jon.

Their connection had begun through an almost chance interaction.

While researching for a story he was working on, Jon spotted some of Elliot's writing. His specialty was brief, brutal stories about alpha dominance, with little or no actual sex but an emphasis on physicality. Jon's were longer, more ponderous stories in which the sex was secondary to the relationships.

"Hey," Jon messaged Elliot. "I saw your blog and wondered if you could give me a consult on a fight scene I'm writing."

Elliot was standoffish about Jon's request, but finally offered to read a draft of what Jon had written. A week later he responded.

"The story is all wrong," Elliot wrote. "The scenario is too complicated and the situation with the brothers isn't credible."

Elliot's pushback immediately piqued Jon's interest.

Jon had been praised as a fine writer his entire life. Even in 5th grade, his writing was unassailable. At university he won the department writing prize every year, and by the time he was a senior, just knowing he was competing would discourage others from even trying.

He expected to make his living as a writer, but fell for Bahri only a year after graduation, and that love quelled whatever incited his desire to write. His fiction fell by the wayside, and then it was just a memory of something he used to do.

But in the spring of that year he'd begun writing again.

He'd often read smutty stories on gay forums, and took a crack at one, and then another. It seemed like an easy way to re-enter writing. The standards were low, and even Jon's lesser efforts showed off his skill. Bahri knew about it, but never read any, not even when Jon let him know when characters were modeled on him. It was an easy source for praise from readers, which fed Jon's slim ego.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd received actual criticism for his writing, much less a sharp rebuke like Elliot's. It was true too, he'd been lazy in his smut writing, but never expected to be called out on it. For days he nursed a vague feeling about Elliot's response, something like blurred hurt pride, but also arousal.

Elliot wrote again. "I have some ideas about this story. What would you think of me taking a stab at an edit?"

"Go ahead." Jon responded, and his dick stiffened. It was exciting to think of this stranger digging into his own writing.

Eliot's edit became a revision, which became an intense collaboration. Versions flew back and forth, and they discovered a remarkably fruitful sync of their very different writing styles. Jon wrote in nuance and character, Elliot in muscular action. The resulting product was sexually charged and dense with heart, humor and excitement. It was not only better than either could have produced alone; they made each other better writers.

"We made a baby." Elliot messaged.

"Conceived in-scribo." Jon responded. It was the most fun he'd had in years.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so actively engaged with another man. He loved Bahri, but their marriage had become routine and passionless. His colleagues were staid and predictable. His students were sweet but had little to offer but their naive crushes on him. Elliot, however, was an actual man, and one who didn't care about Jon one way or the other. And that excited him.

"Are you built like the guys you write about?" Jon asked.

"Nope. Total dad bod." Elliot responded. He then sent a validating photo.

Jon sent a photo in return, to which Elliot responded, "Those lips! Fucking sexy bro."

Jon lingered on the photo of his collaborator. In it he wore a sleeveless t-shirt and gym shorts, seated on a weight bench at a gym. His arms were not well developed and he had a bit of a tummy. He had a pleasant but ordinary looking face with mousey brown curly hair and beard. He reminded Jon of Richard Dreyfuss in the movie Jaws.

Jon jerked off to the photo later.

He reasoned that it was not disloyal to Bahri to do so. They both had separately jerked off to plenty of porn over the years, with no issue, and this wasn't so different.

Jon had never had an affair behind his husband's back, nor even came close. He made no secret of his students' silly crushes on him. But Bahri himself had been the one affair Jon had ever had, when he'd been with his young architect boyfriend whom he lived with for three years.

"You're leaving me for that -- BAKER?" the architect asked with revulsion.

Jon put on an unrestrained show of regret for the architect, knowing he was in the wrong in every way.

He didn't explain that Bahri, the baker, was also a scholar who read history from original sources. And when the architect derided his work as a baker, Jon struggled to not envision Bahri's thick forearms, with their occasional burns from the baking ovens.

"I'm so sorry," he told the architect, and he knew he should be, but inside he had no regret at all.

Twenty-five years later, he hid away a photo of Elliot in a folder on his laptop called Writing.

Jon's job began to annoy him. Academia annoyed him. His Gender Studies in Shakespeare class annoyed him most of all. When his students expressed their neutered ideas of gender and sex, behind his expressionless face, Jon daydreamed of muscled steroid cases punching each other, and longed to get to his desk to write porn.

Before class began he'd message Elliot. "Send me a pick of your cock. I need to know there's something outside this pussy job of mine."

All during class he'd long to pick up his phone to see if Elliot had yet responded.

Jon couldn't resist sharing clues of what was going on, but discovered there's no such thing as giving only a bit of a secret. He told his colleague Stephen about the writing exchange with Elliot, and then later how it led to greater flirtation. Every revelation opened the leak wider until more and more spilled out.

"We send each other photos," Jon said. "You know -- dicks, chests, asses. I felt like it was still not a violation of my marriage. Then I sent a video of me jerking off onto a photo of Elliot, on my tablet. He said he wanted me to send him the t-shirt I wiped it up with."

He justified his actions to himself, thinking Bahri had his sex toys, huge dildos he used while Jon was at work. And if Bahri didn't want Jon, why should he care if someone else did.

"Jesus, Jon," said Stephen, "what the fuck are you doing?"

Jon had known Stephen for years. He was the only other gay professor he'd gotten to know well. They'd confided in each other a variety of work-inappropriate topics, all in good humor. Although Jon considered Stephen a classist prude in some ways, he was a talker and a listener, which provided a relief from Bahri's taciturn ways. But he'd never before shared anything about his own sex life, there being nothing to say until now.

"This is beneath you, Jon. I'm disappointed," said Stephen.

In that moment Jon felt Stephen fade into the periphery of his life. He told Elliot about it.

"Who is this Stephen asshole? He's jealous. He's in love with you." Elliot messaged.

"Don't be stupid. He's not in love with me." Jon responded. "I can manage him."

"You're mine. I'll beat him up if he tries anything with you." Elliot messaged. It made Jon feel heady to think of someone fighting for him.

The next week Stephen made a clumsy pass at Jon and grabbed his crotch. Jon pushed him away, shocked at Stephen's intent, but more repulsed by the weak ineptitude of the attempt.

"I don't know what got into me." Stephen said. "Please excuse me."

Stephen stopped talking to him after that, outside of work matters.

"What a pussy." thought Jon.

That night he tried to work out with Bahri's weights. He failed to secure one weight on the bar and it fell off, hitting Jon's arm hard. The next day he sported a massive black bruise on his right bicep.

He sent Elliot a photo of the bruised muscle and Elliot responded, "Hot as fuck bro."

Jon's moods became tied to Elliot's messages.

"You're a hot fucker" or "Are you hard bro?" elated him, but left him susceptible to emotional crashes later. Sometimes a back and forth about fucking each other would draw to a halt with Elliot shifting diretion to ask about a development in the story they were writing, leaving Jon unsure of his own perceptions.

Jon's daily life outside of Elliot or their stories began to feel tinny and unreal.

Years ago Jon had been an occasional and undisciplined runner. Now he began running daily, at 6 a.m. before classes. He wanted to be more fit, in the event that he and Elliot ever got together in person. He lost the slight weight he'd put on in his forties, becoming lean again, his abs showing again like they used to. His early runs also served to increase his isolation.

One day his Teaching Assistant Tai said, "You've lost so much weight. You're going to vanish if you get any thinner."

Jon found this prospect strangely comforting.

Without Stephen's company at work he spent more time chatting with Tai, and again began to reveal clues of his -- whatever it was -- with Elliot online. Affair by fiction?

Tai listened patiently and curiously, always interested to know more, and Jon found himself revealing more than he intended. Tai offered oddly mature counsel for a man in his twenties.

"He's using you." Tai said about Elliot. "He gives you enough to keep you hanging on, but there's something fishy about him."

"I know it seems that way," Jon said, "but he's just messed up. He told me about how when he was a kid his brother was physically abusive to him. He beat him up all the time, and their parents never intervened."

"That's why he writes those muscle revenge stories?" asked Tai.

"I guess." answered Jon. "I mean that has to fuck you up some, right? To be beaten up by your own brother, and for your parents to let it go on?"

"Don't let him in your head Jon, I'm just asking you to not do that. He's like Chillingworth in the Scarlet Letter."

"I can manage this." Jon replied. "I know it seems dangerous, but I can manage it."

Some weeks later Tai told Jon he needed to say something that might be problematic.

"You may have guessed already," Tai said, "but I've fallen for you."

"Oh Tai - I -- I'm sorry. I didn't know. And I've been talking to you this whole time about another guy. What a jackass I am."

"No, Jon, it's okay. I kept asking. And I know you have a husband. But something's not okay there or you wouldn't be fooling around with this fight story guy."

"Tai. I just don't know what to say. I'm sorry to be so thoughtless."

"It's really okay. We're just a lot alike. And we get along. We talk all the time. We could be good together. Really good."

"Tai, that is so flattering. But I'm a mess. You don't want to be with someone like me. I'm a lot older than you. I'm not even good looking, I'm not in great shape."

"You're more attractive than you think. I know who you are." said Tai. How could Tai know who Jon was, when Jon himself knew less every day?

"You're very sweet. But I could never leave Bahri. And I couldn't be with someone so much younger. You deserve someone who will really love you and build a life with you."

Tai nodded. "I understand. I'll get over it. I know that. Please don't change how we are together. You're my friend and I don't want that to change."

Jon went home and swore to ignore Elliot's next messages, at least for a while.

Sitting together with Bahri on the sofa he re-read A Midsummer Night's Dream in preparation for his class. He lingered on Oberon's lines to Titania, as he wakes her from the love spell that made her infatuated with the ass-headed actor, Bottom.

"Be as thou wast wont to be. See as thou wast wont to see..."

Students often stumbled over the language. Jon had explained countless times that it simply meant be as you used to be, see as you used to see.

What students also missed was the power of the lines delivered by Oberon, who loves his queen even after her failings and betrayals, and who orchestrated the chaos that set the ground for their reconciliation. The repeating cycles of their immortal relationship seemed beyond the life experience of his students to grasp.

Jon imagined Bahri saying the lines to him and choked up. He turned to his husband with watery eyes. "Ask me what's wrong." Jon thought, "Just ask me, and I'll tell you everything."

Instead Bahri smiled and patted Jon's arm and said "Everything's okay."

An hour later Bahri went to bed, and Jon sent Elliot a message saying "I want you in me."

That first night in the hotel Jon dropped onto his belly for Elliot to mount him. He hadn't bottomed in years.

Elliot was nowhere near the size of Bahri's toys - who was? - but he was big enough that Jon would feel it. But instead of mounting Jon, Elliot had him hump a pillow as if it were Bahri's ass.

"I want you to cum in me," Jon pleaded, growing close to getting off from his own humping and Elliot watching. "I haven't done anything but top for -- so long."

"You and your rigid sex roles," said Elliot. "I'm vers."

"I am too," said Jon. "But Bahri -"

"The power bottom? Tell me about him. Is he a hairy chested Muslim? Is that why he gets off on cock up his ass?"

"Fuck you," said Jon, turning to sit up, his urge to cum subsiding. "Don't be an asshole."

"What would he do if he caught us?" asked Elliot, grinning.

"Beat the shit out of you, probably."

"Really?" That seemed to arouse the psychiatrist.

"Bahri has some anger issues. He's quiet, keeps everything to himself. Until he blows."

"What would he do though? Punch you? Break your dick in half?" Elliot asked, stroking his hardon.

"You don't understand Bahri at all. He would never hurt me. I don't even know if he'd care that much about the sex."

"What would he care about?'

"Nothing. It's not - " Jons hesitated, calculating the various degrees of betrayal his words and actions perpetrated. "You're a psychiatrist. You figure it out."

"I'm a psychiatrist. Not a psychic." He stopped jerking off. "Tell me."

"Psych it out," Jon replied. "He loves me. What do you think would upset him the most?"

"That's not fair. That's a `what am I thinking' question."

"No it's not. It's about character and motivation. Seriously, how do you not get this? What do you think would bother him more than the sex?" It troubled Jon that Elliot could not see something so fundamental.

Sometimes Jon felt like Clarice Starling to Elliot's Hannibal Lecter. Sometimes the reverse.

There was a loud rap at the hotel room door.

"Jon?" called Bahri from the hallway. He pounded again on the door. "Jon -- let me in."

"FUCK," said Jon.

He and Elliot pulled on bathrobes. There was no point in dressing more for appearances now. Jon opened the door and let Bahri in. He was visibly agitated, eyes darting around, his hands bunched into fists.

It was the first time Elliot had ever seen Bahri, and he took in the sight of him. He was only 5'10" but broad and solid. He was thick in his chest and shoulders, his back slightly arched, and the sleeves of his gray t-shirt were taught around his biceps.

"Bahri, what are you doing here?" Jon asked.

"What am I doing here? What are YOU DOING HERE?" Bahri snapped in response.

It was a fair question. Jon had explained the weekend away as a work retreat in Spokane, and he had no reason to be in a hotel right there in Seattle, much less in a room with Elliot.

"Well -- I guess it's obvious what I'm doing. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you."

Bahri sized up Elliot, who was preternaturally calm for a man in his position. The white bathrobe he had loosely wrapped around his slight frame made him seem even more defenseless.

"Who is this FUCKER?" Bahri asked, circling Elliot like a shark. "This is the piece of shit you're fooling around with?"

"Bahri... please," said Jon, "can we just go talk somewhere? How the Hell did you know I was here anyway?

"Someone sent me an email," said Bahri who now only had eyes for Elliot, his chest rising as he breathed more deeply and frequently.

"Fucking Stephen," muttered Jon. "What a shit." Or was it Tai?

Bahri suddenly grabbed Elliot, pulling him close by his bathrobe collar. "Do you FUCK him? Or does he FUCK YOU?"

"I'm versatile," sneered Elliot. Without warning Bahri coiled one strong arm and sprung loose with an angry fist right in Elliot's face, spinning his head and knocking him over a coffee table and onto the floor on his side.

Bahri stood over Elliot, red faced and wringing his hands. He growled. "You fucker."

Jon ran to intervene, but Bahri just shoved him back onto the bed. "Don't touch me," he seethed, as if it took all his effort to speak with such restraint. "Don't touch me now, Jon."

Bahri reached down to grab Elliot by the collar again. He hauled the smaller man up and threw him over the hotel room sofa.

Jon put himself between his angry husband and the target of his rage, careful not to make physical contact. Bahri was so affable, except when he was like this, and then he was unpredictable.

"Bahri PLEASE -- let's go talk! I wanted to tell you, I don't know why I didn't -" Jon began.

"He didn't tell you," said Elliot, rubbing his jaw, "because he knew if he told you he'd have to stop what we were doing." His words were slightly slurred. "And he didn't want to stop."

"Jesus, shut the fuck UP!" Jon warned.

"He didn't want to stop." chuckled Elliot.

Bahri tried to dart around his husband, but Jon blocked him, the two wary of touching each other.

Bahri looked into Jon's face, imploring. "How could you DO this to me?"

"I don't know. It was wrong Bahri." Jon said, his eyes going wet. "I was just sad and lonely."

"HOW COULD YOU BE LONELY? We're always together!" He pounded his own chest, over his heart.

Jon sighed and looked away. "Our bodies are together. But -- you never ask about me. I was crying and you never even asked why. Don't you ever worry about me?"

"You keep everything together! You're the most together person I know." Bahri said, starting to soften at the sight of Jon's grief. "Why would I worry about you?"

"Because I'm the most fucked up one of all," muttered Jon.

The room was silent until Elliot asked, "Aren't triangles fun?"

Bahri shoved Jon aside and was on Elliot again, slapping him hard.

Elliot reeled, his face red from the slap. He reoriented and said, "I prefer a punch. I know how to take a punch."

"You're fucking HIM?" shouted Bahri at Jon, "This piece of SHIT?" He grabbed at Elliot's bathrobe and pulled it off, letting the psychiatrist roll out of it, naked at his feet.

Jon couldn't help but again note the disparity in their appearances. Elliot was naked and soft and vulnerable, and Bahri more than ever looked menacing and strong.

"Bahri," said Jon. "Stop this. Someone's going to call the police. Is that what you want?"

"You should fuck your husband more." Elliot said to Bahri. "I'll bet he takes it like a champ."

"STOP!" shouted Jon.

As the two jerked Bahri's emotions back and forth, Elliot agitating and Jon calming, Bahri struggled in silence.

"What's the worst thing I could do to Jon?" Elliot asked Bahri, propping himself up to a seated position on the floor, his dick erect. "What would really get you? If I fucked him? If he fucked me? What if I made him fall in love with me?"

Jon understood it at all, clearly and suddenly.

"You're the one who sent the email." Jon said, looking Elliot straight in the eye. "You set this up."

Elliot smiled with blood between his teeth.

"Bahri," Jon said, his voice calm but resolute. "Listen to me. He's just fucking with us. He's fucking with us both."

"Say more," laughed Elliot.

"It wasn't Stephen or Tai who sent the message to Bahri to be here. It was you. You knew Bahri's bakery. I told you. You wanted this, didn't you?"

Bahri's rapid breathing eased.

"Because?" asked Elliot.

"Elliot, I don't know. I don't know why you do the things you do. I don't know if you want to be beaten. Or to be rescued this time. Or to see me beaten, to see it happen to someone else. Whatever fucked up shit you still have with your brother for what he did to you when you were kids."

"You wanted trouble," said Elliot. "I'm trouble."

Jon thought back to their messages, to their writing together. He'd sent photos of himself to Elliot, getting off on some stranger somewhere saying he was hot. He'd sent videos of himself jerking off, saying "I've become a ridiculous person."

Jon had liked for once in his life not feeling in control.

He should have known it couldn't last.

"Bahri," said Jon, taking up the old familiar reins. "He was just using me. He was mean and made me feel like shit. He hurt me."

Bahri's rage spiked suddenly. He grabbed Elliot by his pale, bare arms and furiously dragged him to the bathroom, which was divided by a thick glass barrier, separating the shower from the rest of the room.

Bahri threw Elliot at the glass wall, which the smaller man bounced off of with a crack, landing on the bathroom floor. Bahri dragged him again around the barrier, and turned on the shower, raining down first cold and then hot water on Elliot, and then a hail of punches. He didn't put up a fight, not that it would have mattered.

Bahri pulled the flailing psychiatrist up by his arms, and Elliot tried to wrap around his assailant, his erection jabbing as his hips humped onto Bahri.

"What the fuck?" Bahri said in disgust.

He spun Elliot around, pressing him hard against the glass divider. He was breathing faster, and even flat against the glass he snaked in a hand to jerk himself as Bahri held him in place.

"Is this what you wanted?" Bahri asked Jon, now fully under the shower head himself, water running over his face. "Over me?"

Jon nodded. "No. Never over you."

Even distorted as it was, Jon could see something like ecstasy in Elliot's face as he stroked himself.

"Is this how it was with your brother?" Jon asked, and Elliot quivered. "No one's going to help you."

"What do you want then?" asked Bahri.

"Finish him." Jon answered, coolly. He stepped up close to the glass, face to face with Elliot. "You. Deserve. This."

Elliot's cock erupted against the glass, blasting it with streams of white cum.

Repulsed, Bahri let Elliot fall to the floor and kicked him.

Elliot lay with hot water raining down on him as the last of his cum trickled out. For the first time in his ugly affair with Jon, he'd gotten off.

Bahri stepped over Elliot and walked around the glass wall. His eyes were red and watering.

It was a cycle as inevitable as spring after winter, his husband's crash when he came to himself, after the spell of his rage faded. Jon had seen it before.

Bahri fell into Jon's arms, wet and shuddering. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Shhh," Jon answered, soothing his husband. He kissed Bahri's neck and cheek, and pulled up his trembling hands to kiss his knuckles. "Let's get you out of this."

He peeled Bahri's wet shirt off and then his jeans and briefs. His muscles were inflamed, and his cock erect. They'd been together since they were young men, and Bahri had never looked so magnificent, like a young bull.

Jon kissed him passionately, running his hands over Bahri's muscles and clasping his ass, their erections pressed against each other.

"I love you so much," he said, between kisses. But it would take more than words now, after everything.

He turned Bahri to face the glass shower wall and ran his hands over Bahri's broad back, down his flanks, then working his cock with one hand while he fingered his hole with the other. Bahri leaned against the glass and arched his back more than his usual posture.

Jon knew the signs.

He reached to the sink to grab the tube of pricey moisturizer and squeezed out a stream of it onto the palm of his hand, to smear on his erection. The rest he ran between Bahri's ass cheeks and into his tight hole, using his fingers to stretch his sphincter.

Bahri spread his legs and groaned, eager to be taken.

Jon glanced down on Elliot who watched everything unfold as he entered his husband and slid into him. He knew Bahri's sex toys, and his own cock was not a match for them in size, but there was still something about the intimacy of the act between them that got them both off.

"Oh baby," Jon whispered. He'd forgotten the intense heat inside his husband, like a furnace, and how the dissonance between Bahri's hard body and soft yielding sighs struck a chord in him.

He wrapped his hands around Bahri, kissing his tough back. "You feel so good."

He withdrew his cock and then thrust in the full length again, feeling Bahri's body tense, and did it again and again, picking up speed, as Elliot watched.

Bahri ground his hips back, groaning "Fuck me." He met Jon's thrusts with his ass as Jon found his footing and fucked Bahri hard. His husband knew how to take a fuck, like he was made for it, for his own pleasure and giving pleasure to another man. What a miracle.

Jon locked eyes with the beaten Elliot. "You're not trouble," he wanted to say. "You're a mousey nuisance. You're an ass."

Jon rested a hand on the glass, and with the other cupped his husband's hard pec, which was always sure to get him off. Bahri gasped and worked his cock with the same fist he'd punched Elliot with. He groaned out loud as the fucking pushed him over the edge, forcing his hot load out of him and onto the glass wall where it ran to the floor.

The spasms inside the cumming Bahri milked Jon's cock, and he grasped the meaty pec harder. What put him over the edge, though, was the sight of Bahri's cum, the proof of his husband's pleasure that Jon gave to him.

When Jon came it was so overwhelming he could barely stand, and he rested his weight on his husband just to stay afoot. It was the most intense orgasm either could remember since their earliest days together, when they were the ones having their own affair.

The husbands washed up as if they were alone, as Eliot pulled himself up and began to tend to his wounds. They dressed, Bahri wrestling his legs into his wet jeans. He put on one of Jon's t-shirts he'd packed for the weekend. It was two sizes too small for his frame, but would do.

They left the hotel room, without looking back.

They entered couples counseling. Their counselor was a gay man, one found by Jon and approved by Bahri. He was just handsome enough for them both to be eager to please him and earn his praise, which seemed like it would help. It was, in its own way, another triangle.

The counselor's focus was on gay couples and restoring intimacy. "As couples we pair, we have conflict and - if we can - we recover. Or re-pair. It's not a failure. It's cyclical. Let's focus on re-pairing." he said.

To illustrate his philosophy, he had a framed diptych of two photos of a car shop on his wall. In one, the shop's neon sign was only partially lit, PAIR. In the second it was fully lit, REPAIR. It was cleverly done.

Jon, of course, ended any contact with Elliot.

"I can see in retrospect I was using him to leverage some needed change." Jon said, in counseling. "I used him to get myself in shape. To push a lot of long term problems in our marriage to a head. I know it was a terrible way to do it. But I hope we can use this opening to improve our marriage."

Bahri didn't comment, but they held hands and agreed they wanted to make things better.

Stephen came back around, saying he was glad whatever disaster Jon had courted was done and over with. Tai also said he was glad Jon and Bahri had dodged a bullet. "I just want what's best for you," Tai told Jon, full of sincerity.

The rest of the summer was full of infatuation with each other, like their earliest days together. They made love frequently. Jon kept up his running, and Bahri coached him with his weightlifting. They sometimes went on writing dates, sitting in cafes, Jon with his laptop, Bahri trying his hand at poetry, with a pen and notebook.

Sometimes Jon would look up from his screen adoringly at Bahri, scribbling down his poems, quoting Oberon in his head. "`Now thou and I are new in amity.'"

One day, about three months after the hotel incident, Jon prepared to head out for his morning run, lacing his shoes in the dark. He looked at Bahri still sleeping, peacefully. He was so handsome.

When Jon stepped outside there was a chill in the air. Fall was nearing again.

He opened his phone to select a playlist for his run, and spotted the Tumblr app. He'd used it rarely, since the events that summer.

He pulled up the app and Elliot's profile. "Hey."

He thought of how Elliot might respond, even now. "You sexy fucker."

The phone screen illuminated Jon's face. "What now?"

"Write about what happened." He heard Elliot answer in his head. "Third person. Start in the hotel room."

So he did.

• END -