The road stretched ahead in long, sunlit lines–two lanes of cracked blacktop carving through fields of green and gold. Barns dotted the horizon like still lives left out to weather. Every few miles, a cow lifted its head, unimpressed by their passing.

Alexander kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting idly on his thigh, fingers twitching now and then like they needed something to do. Oliver sat beside him, legs curled up in the seat, forehead tilted against the window. The wind lifted tufts of his blond shag, sending strands across his face that he didn’t bother brushing away.

They hadn’t spoken much in the last hour.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… cautious. Like neither of them wanted to lean too hard in either direction–for fear the balance might break again.

Alexander glanced over, then back at the road.

He’d planned this weekend carefully. Not extravagantly. Not with big promises or forced sentiment. Just quiet things. Gentle things. The kind of details that used to matter before everything got complicated.

A room at a boutique hotel on the edge of town–stone walls, soft lighting, a bed big enough to forget everything in. A massage booked for Saturday evening, the kind where no one speaks and the world falls away beneath your skin. A slow walk through the arts district with coffee in hand and maybe a new print to hang in their hallway, where that blank space had waited for too long.

He wanted to give Oliver a reason to want this again.

He wanted to feel wanted.

The road dipped into a narrow valley, trees leaning in over them. Alexander’s foot eased on the gas.

He thought about the night he’d made the reservation, his finger hovering over the “Book Now” button. He hadn’t told Oliver about the massage yet. That was a surprise. He imagined Oliver stretched out on the table, eyes closed, body soft and calm beneath skilled hands. He imagined being the one watching him unwind. Being the reason he could.

But beneath that vision was a knot–something that hadn’t loosened since that morning with Trevor.

Even now, weeks later, Alexander wasn’t sure what they were rebuilding—if they were rebuilding at all. Oliver had said he wanted to try, that it meant something. But feelings didn’t unspool cleanly. They came back crooked, tangled with guilt and desire, with questions too fragile to ask out loud.

Still, he was here. Oliver was here.

And maybe that was enough.

For now.

The sign for Halberd Falls appeared just past a weathered fruit stand, hanging crooked on a leaning post: Welcome to Halberd Falls — Est. 1862. Below it, someone had scribbled in white paint: ART LOVES YOU.

Alexander smiled faintly.

“We’re almost there,” he said, his voice softer than it had been all morning.

Oliver stirred beside him, pulling his legs down from the seat and stretching slightly. “I forgot how far out this place was. I haven’t seen a gas station since, like, three towns ago.”

“That’s kind of the point.” Alexander glanced at him. “No traffic. No noise. Just pottery shops, antique maps, and overpriced linen shirts you’ll want and never wear.”

Oliver laughed, really laughed–and it struck Alexander in the chest with quiet relief.

“Oh my god, the little store that only sells herbs and embroidery kits?” Oliver said. “I remember that place. And the bookstore with the grumpy cat in the window.”

“Still there, apparently.” Alexander’s mouth curled. “So is the wine bar with the garden seating. I thought we’d start there tomorrow. Maybe find you some obscure ceramic creature to bring home.”

Oliver turned toward him in his seat, one knee tucked up, smiling with the kind of ease that used to be second nature. “That actually sounds perfect.”

For a moment, silence again. But this time, it was warmer.

Oliver looked down at his hands, thumbs idly running over each other. “Hey,” he said, voice low. “I know things have been… weird. And I don’t expect this weekend to fix everything.”

Alexander kept his eyes on the road, but his chest tightened.

“I just… I want you to know I’m glad we’re doing this,” Oliver continued. “We’ve had good times. Really good ones. And the sex…” He gave a soft laugh, a touch of color rising in his cheeks. “Let’s be honest, it’s always been stupid hot.”

Alexander gave a quiet hum of agreement, the corner of his mouth tugging.

“I still love you,” Oliver said. “Even after everything. I hope this weekend is good. I want it to be.”

Alexander exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for longer than he realized. He reached across the console, letting his fingers brush Oliver’s.

Oliver took his hand.

The town crested into view ahead, with cobbled streets and bursts of color—murals, flower boxes, wandering couples with tote bags and sunglasses. It was quaint in that curated way, but somehow, in that moment, it felt exactly right.

Alexander squeezed Oliver’s hand once.

“Then let’s make it good.”

The town crept up slowly, like something out of a painting–faded reds, soft browns, ivy crawling up old brick, and hand-painted signs that wobbled gently in the wind. Everything about Halberd Falls looked like it had been curated to soothe.

Alexander eased off the gas, letting the car coast through the first bend of the main street. Flower boxes spilled over balconies. A couple strolled hand in hand, laughing. A man on a bicycle waved like he’d known them forever.

In the passenger seat, Oliver stirred. “It’s… cute,” he said with a small smile. “Kind of storybook.”

Alexander nodded, eyes flicking between the road and Oliver’s reflection in the window.

“I thought you’d like it,” he said. “There’s an art walk this weekend. Little boutiques, street music, all that stuff. There’s even a wine bar with garden lights strung up like a movie set.”

Oliver laughed softly. “God. You know me too well.”

And in that moment–simple, quiet, surrounded by farm fields and small-town stillness–Alexander felt a spark of something he thought he’d lost.

Hope.

Maybe it was small. Maybe it was fragile. But it was there.

He didn’t need fireworks. He didn’t need grand apologies. All he needed was this: Oliver’s hand in his, a shared look, and the truth tucked gently between them.

That love hadn’t disappeared.

As they turned off the main road, the hotel came into view—stone and ivy, warm windows glowing in the late afternoon sun—a place that promised rest, quiet, and maybe something else.

Alexander smiled.

They passed through the heart of Halberd Falls like guests in someone else’s dream–narrow streets flanked with art galleries and bookstores, planters bursting with marigolds and geraniums. Shoppers moved leisurely under striped awnings, cloth bags full of handmade things slung over their arms. A boy played violin on the corner, the notes bright and sweet in the late afternoon sun.

Oliver cracked the window and let the breeze drift in. It smelled like lavender, old wood, and fresh bread. He closed his eyes for a moment.

Alexander drove slowly, taking it all in. There was a lightness here–like the air itself was thinner, easier to breathe. For the first time in weeks, he felt the knot in his chest start to loosen.

They turned off the main road and onto a gravel drive framed by flowering hedges. At the end of it stood their hotel–a pale white building with tall windows, delicate trim, and a small iron balcony draped in ivy. It looked like it had been lifted out of a different century and polished to perfection.

Alexander pulled the car to a stop beneath the overhang. The engine ticked as he shut it off.

They both sat for a beat, quiet.

Then Oliver opened his door, stepping out into the sun with a long, slow stretch. The light hit his hair like gold, and for a moment, Alexander just watched him–watched the way he tilted his head back, eyes closed, soaking it in like warmth itself could settle something deep in his bones.

“I’ll go check us in,” Alexander said, grabbing the folder with their reservation details from the console.

Oliver hummed, leaning back against the car, arms folded loosely across his chest. “Take your time. I’m just gonna stand here and pretend I’m still not vibrating from the drive.”

Alexander chuckled, stepping out and closing the door behind him.

As he walked toward the front steps, he glanced back once.

Oliver looked almost peaceful there, framed by white trim and blooming hydrangeas, the sun soft against his skin. The town had already worked a subtle magic, coaxing something loose, something calmer out of him.

Oliver breathed in the sweet air, eyes slipping closed for a moment. There was a faint scent of lilac and rosemary drifting from the flower beds by the front steps, warm stone radiating the heat of the day. The wind carried hints of distant grilling–someone nearby cooking on a charcoal flame–and beneath it all, the clean, dry smell of sunlit wood.

He tilted his head and opened his eyes again.

That’s when he saw him.

The man emerged around the corner of the building. He had short, jet-black hair that was neatly faded on the sides, longer up top, and slicked back with just a touch of effortlessness. He wore a white tank top with the sides cut clean away, exposing the lean but solid lines of a hairy chest and deep tan that made him look kissed by summer itself.

He carried two large shopping bags in his hands.

The tank fell loosely around his torso, barely grazing the narrow dip of his waist. Below, a pair of frayed denim shorts clung tightly to his thick, muscular legs—his thighs were full and strong, each step rolling with quiet force.

And then there was that–the heavy, unmistakable bulge pressing against the fabric of his cut-offs, leaving little to the imagination. Not crude, but undeniably present. Confident.

Oliver’s gaze lingered half a second too long.

The man turned his head, sunglasses pushed up in his dark hair, and caught him looking.

Heat bloomed across Oliver’s cheeks–his stomach tightening with that strange, involuntary thrill of being seen, caught in the act. A reflexive smile tugged at his lips, polite at first, then a little shy.

The man didn’t wave or nod–just gave the smallest twitch of his mouth. Not even a full smile. But his eyes didn’t look away.

Then he turned the key, opened his door, and disappeared inside.

Oliver let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His body was warm in more ways than one now. He shifted his stance, folding his arms tighter across his chest, suddenly aware of how exposed the sun made everything feel.

He looked toward the hotel door.

Alexander still hadn’t come out.

Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, arms still loosely folded, his gaze flicking toward the hotel’s glass door. Alexander was still inside—probably chatting with the clerk, asking about dinner reservations, or checking if the room had a deep tub like the photos promised. He was always so thorough. So careful.

The flowers outside the hotel waved gently in the breeze, white blossoms bouncing with an innocence that almost felt like mockery.

Oliver exhaled and leaned back against the car again, letting his head tilt up toward the sun.

But the warmth on his skin did nothing to stop the flood of thoughts pressing in behind his eyes.

Trevor.

God, Trevor.

The things they’d done when Alexander was out of town. The way Trevor had taken control–shameless, aggressive, always knowing exactly what Oliver wanted even when Oliver didn’t say it. There had been a dizzying, animal heat in it. No pretense. No long talks. Just want. Sweat. Teeth against collarbones. Fingers leaving bruises. And then…

That guy at Cleo’s.

He hadn’t even caught his name.

But he remembered the way the man had pressed him into the hallway behind the bar–urgent, hungry–and the way Oliver had whispered, “Just for a second. Just don’t stop.”

It had been messy. Stupid, maybe. But so good.

The memory alone made his chest tighten, heat rushing low in his belly.

He looked back at the door where Alexander had disappeared.

The guilt came, soft and predictable, but it didn’t bury the thrill. It never did.

“Hey.”

The voice came low, rough-edged. Oliver startled, straightening a little too fast.

Standing just a few feet away was the man he’d seen earlier–the one with the thick thighs and that tank top clinging to his carved chest. Up close, the bulge in his shorts was just as obvious, maybe even more pronounced. But it was his eyes that struck Oliver hardest now–hazel, maybe, with flecks of something lighter–and set deep beneath a pair of confidently raised brows.

“Sorry,” the man said, smirking slightly. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Oliver’s tongue felt dry. “No—it’s fine. I was just…” he gestured vaguely toward the hotel, “waiting for check-in.”

“Connor,” the man said, offering a hand. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t apologize for his presence. Just stood there, tall and steady, the sun casting golden light along his neck and shoulders like something out of a daydream Oliver wasn’t supposed to be having.

Oliver shook his hand. The grip was firm. Very firm.

“Oliver.”

Connor let their hands fall but didn’t step away. “First time in Halberd?”

“Yeah. Just a weekend away.”

Connor’s eyes scanned him–not lewd, exactly, but bold. Like he was taking stock, not just of Oliver’s body, but of the mood, the vibe, the energy.

“Well,” Connor said, voice like gravel wrapped in honey, “if you’re looking for some fun while you’re here…”

The way he let the sentence trail off was anything but innocent.

Oliver’s chest tightened. He shifted his weight, lifted his hand slightly–enough to flash the glint of gold on his ring finger.

“I’m here with my husband,” he said, firm but not sharp.

Connor didn’t blink.

“I didn’t ask.”

That stopped Oliver cold. His brow ticked upward. “Wow. That’s… direct.”

Connor shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Just honest.”

It was offensive–almost. Or it should have been. But instead of recoiling, Oliver felt his skin prickling with something hotter, deeper. Not just an attraction. It was the confidence, the audacity. The way Connor made no apology for wanting.

Oliver didn’t reply right away. His mouth was dry. His heart was doing something strange–pressing against his ribs like it couldn’t decide whether to race or hold still.

Connor took a step back, not looking away. “I’m around tonight,” he said casually, like he was offering directions. “If you’re interested.”

Then he turned, hands in the pockets of his shorts, right next to that massive bulge. Oliver watched as he strode back to his door.

Oliver stood there, jaw faintly clenched, eyes still fixed on the spot where Connor had been.

He felt hot. Confused. Exposed.

The hotel door chimed behind him.

Alexander stepped out, sunglasses on and a keycard in hand, smiling. “Got us a second-floor room with a view,” he said. “Apparently, the balcony overlooks the creek.”

Oliver turned, the sun catching his face.

He forced a smile.

“Perfect,” he said.

And behind that smile, the heat from Connor’s gaze still lingered like a hand on his chest. Oliver looked towards the man’s room as Alexander opened the trunk of the car to pull out their three days’ worth of luggage.

Moments later, the door swung open with a gentle click, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

The room was bathed in late-afternoon light, golden and soft, pooling over the crisp white linens and delicate blue-and-cream wallpaper. Tall windows framed a view of the forest just beyond the edge of the property–lush green leaves shifting in the breeze, with the shimmer of a creek winding through them like glass ribbon.

A clawfoot tub stood near the far wall, framed by sheer curtains. There were fresh flowers in a glass vase on the nightstand. A bottle of wine chilled in a silver bucket beside it, sweating quietly in the warm light.

“Holy shit,” Oliver whispered.

Alexander smiled, setting their overnight bags just inside the door. “Yeah?”

Oliver stepped farther in, drinking it all in. “This is… this is insane. You really pulled out all the stops.”

He turned, and there was something soft in his face now–something open, unguarded, like the boy Alexander had fallen in love with years ago.

“I wanted it to feel special,” Alexander said, watching him closely.

“It does,” Oliver said. “It really does.”

He stepped forward and took Alexander’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing his cheeks before pulling him into a slow, warm kiss. It wasn’t hurried or heavy. It lingered. Honest. Real.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, there was no edge to it–no awkward silence trailing behind or distraction tugging at one of them. Just this. Just them.

When they finally pulled apart, Oliver rested his forehead against Alexander’s.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Alexander smiled, brushing a hand down Oliver’s side. “We’ve got a whole weekend. This is just the start.”

Oliver took a breath, one that felt almost too full for his chest. “Then let’s go explore a little before we lose the sun.”

They grabbed their sunglasses and wallets, fingers brushing as they headed back downstairs. The warm summer buzzed in the air outside, and together, they stepped out into the quiet charm of the town, their hands almost finding each other as they disappeared down the street.

~~~~

They pushed open the hotel door, arms full of heavy bags with new clothes, quirky souvenirs, and a few takeout containers from the cafe down the street. The scent of fried potatoes and grilled onions lingered faintly, mingling with the clean, fresh air of the room.

Alexander set the bags down with a soft thud, peeling off his jacket with a tired smile.

“That little pottery shop was something else,” he said, dropping into a chair by the window. “I swear I could have bought everything in there.”

Oliver laughed, loosening the strap of his bag. “And the bookstore–did you see that vintage first edition? I’m still kicking myself for not grabbing it.”

Alexander nodded, eyes bright. “We’ll have to come back next trip.”

Oliver glanced toward the window, where the evening sun filtered gold through the trees lining the creek.

“There’s a walking trail,” Oliver said, voice low but steady. Runs along the river just past the hotel. I saw the sign earlier. Thought it might be nice–take a stroll before dinner.”

Alexander’s face lit up. “Perfect! I love that.” The man put down a final back and turned back to his partner.

The pair stepped outside, the warm glow of the setting sun brushing his skin. The air was softer now, cooler with the promise of night, scented with damp earth and wildflowers.

Alexander took a deep breath, eyes tracing the shadows falling over the garden path leading toward the trailhead. For a moment, everything felt possible. He loved Oliver more than anything, and if this weekend couldn’t help their situation, nothing would.

Oliver’s eyes drifted toward Conner’s door across the hall. A familiar lump tightened in his throat, and a slow heat stirred beneath his skin. Just then, the door opened, and Conner stepped out, walking confidently toward them.

Oliver felt his senses go wild. He was starting to panic. This weekend was supposed to be about him and his husband. They had to get out of here!

Alexander caught sight of him and smiled. “He’s definitely attractive.”

Oliver gave an awkward laugh, shifting on his feet. “Maybe we should just keep going…”

But it was too late.

Conner called out smoothly, “Hey again.” He confidently continued toward them.

Alexander turned, curious. “Do you two know each other?”

“We met when you guys arrived,” Conner answered before Oliver had a chance to speak. The tanned man extended a hand. “I’m Conner. You must be the husband.”

That word seemed somehow vile when said by him.

Alexander shook his hand, grinning. “Alexander.” He glanced back at Oliver and smiled. “We’re planning a walk down by the river.”

“That’s romantic.” Conner almost cooed, “I spent the day at a local gym. I’m just here for the weekend myself. Alone. I had to get away from the city, you know.”

“Definitely,” Oliver said meekly. His eyes drifted down to the man’s still prominent bulge. He was now wearing gym shorts, and a familiar musk from a post-workout session was barely noticeable but there.

“I think I’ll head back up to grab a cardigan–it’s getting a bit chilly,” Alexander said.

“Yeah!” Oliver responded, but his husband had already made it around his back and had entered the hotel lobby that led to the second floor.

The air was warm, but Oliver felt a chill ripple through him as Conner stepped closer, confidence radiating off him like heat. There was a sly tilt to his mouth, eyes dragging over Oliver with deliberate slowness.

“You sure you don’t want to come back to my room?” Conner asked, voice low and threaded with something sharp–teasing, dangerous.

Oliver shifted, clearing his throat. “I’m… with my husband.”

“You said that earlier,” Conner said, stepping into his space. “Didn’t stop you from staring.”

Oliver opened his mouth to deflect, but Conner’s gaze dropped–bold and unashamed–to the growing tension in his jeans.

“Well,” Conner said with a smirk, “your body’s answering for you.”

Oliver flushed, adjusting his legs to hide his growing erection, his heart hammering in his chest. He hated how right Conner was. He hated the part of himself that was thrilled to be seen. Desired. Pulled into something reckless.

“Come on,” Conner murmured, leaning just close enough to brush his voice against Oliver’s skin. “You’ve been thinking about it since you got here. Let yourself want it.”

Across the lot, a few more cars were pulling into the hotel. The noise of engines and distant laughter did nothing to cut the thick, electric tension between them. Oliver looked toward the hotel stairs, wondering how long Alexander would take. Wondering what he’d say–what he’d feel–if he saw what was happening now.

But the ache in his body was louder than the warnings in his mind.

Conner stepped back a pace, arching a brow. “Suit yourself,” he said, turning toward his room. “I’ll be inside. Alone.”

Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. He watched the man’s back retreat, every part of him coiled tight.

He hesitated–just one more moment–then, with a glance back at the empty walkway, he followed.

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality. Oliver stood for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The room was basic—white walls, a small desk in the corner, a beat-up dresser with drawers half open. Conner’s clothes were scattered across a chair and tossed near the bed, which was only half made, with one pillow tossed to the floor.

Two bedside lamps cast a low, golden glow over everything, warm but slightly chaotic–like the man who lived here.

Oliver opened his mouth, a half-formed joke ready about the mess, but he never got the chance to speak.

Conner was on him.

In one quick stride, he took Oliver’s face in his hands and kissed him hard–mouth urgent, lips full and hungry. The kiss hit like a wave–forceful, silent, impossibly hot. Oliver’s body reacted before his mind could object. His hands found Conner’s waist, gripping tightly. He leaned into it, lost in it.

There was no teasing now. Just heat. And the wild, electric hum of everything he wasn’t supposed to want.

Conner broke the kiss, his lips trailing down Oliver’s neck. “You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, his voice ragged with desire.

Oliver threw his head back, a moan escaping his lips. “More,” he begged, his voice desperate. He needed this so bad. He was desperate for a good fucking. He hadn’t been fucked since Trevor had laid him down over two weeks ago.

Conner obliged, his mouth capturing one of Oliver’s nipples through his shirt. Oliver gasped, his hips bucking against Conner’s. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans, desperate for release.

Conner’s hands moved to Oliver’s belt, unbuckling it with ease. He pushed Oliver’s jeans down, freeing his cock. Oliver’s cock was hard and leaking pre-cum through his green briefs. Conner reached inside and groaned as he wrapped his hand around it.

“Fuck, you’re so hard,” Conner murmured, his voice laced with desire, “You’re desperate for this, aren’t you?”

“Yes…” Oliver moaned into another passionate kiss.

“Your husband must be absolute shit in bed.” Conner moved to gnawing on Oliver’s ear. The deepness of his voice mixed with the strokes of his hand over his shaft sent waves through the younger man’s body.

“I love him.” He said plainly.

“I didn’t ask that.” Oliver almost hissed. Removing his hand from Oliver’s dick he slipped the man’s briefs off causing the erection to bounce up.

Conner’s lips moved down his neck, rough and hungry, fingers sliding beneath the hem of Oliver’s shirt. Everything about him was overwhelming–the press of his body, the heat of his breath, the confidence with which he touched.

And yet, somewhere beneath the rush of sensation, a thought broke through like a crack of frigid air.

Trevor.

The man at Cleo’s.

The way Alexander had looked at him on the drive in, smiling, hopeful–so damn trusting.

Oliver’s breath hitched, and for a split second, he froze under Conner’s touch. This wasn’t the first time. And he knew it wouldn’t be the last unless something inside him changed.

What was he trying to prove? What was he trying to fill?

Conner didn’t stop. He couldn’t know what was flickering through Oliver’s mind: the guilt, the ache, the soft voice of Alexander telling him he still loved him. Telling him this weekend mattered.

Oliver closed his eyes.

And kissed Conner back harder, gripping his dick once again.

Oliver moaned, his hips thrusting into Conner’s hand. “I need more,” he begged, his voice desperate.

Conner obliged, his hand stroking Oliver’s cock with steady, firm strokes. Oliver moaned, his hips moving in time with Conner’s hand. He could feel his orgasm building, but he didn’t want it to end yet.

“Not yet,” he gasped, his hand grasping Conner’s wrist. “I want to feel my massive cock inside you.”

Conner’s eyes darkened with lust, and he quickly pulled the t-shirt over Conner’s body, revealing his muscular body.

His chest was broad and lightly furred, and dark hair dusted across his pecs and narrowed into a trail that disappeared below the waistband. Each muscle seemed to sit in perfect tension—his abs sharply cut, his arms veined and relaxed at his sides—the kind of physique born from relentless discipline and unapologetic pride.

Oliver’s eyes widened as he took it in, a mixture of awe and desire coursing through him.

Alexander could wait.

Who the fuck needed a walk by a river?

Conner led Oliver to the bed, pushing him down onto his back.

Hands locked on his basketball shorts, he gripped the elastic and pulled the fabric downward. As if revealing a present, Oliver watched the massive rod he’d felt in the man’s shorts emerge inch by inch.

Fuck.

His uncut cock was at least a good ten inches but the beauty of it was the unbelievable thickness of the shaft. For the briefest moment, he wondered if he could handle it. But he knew all too well he wasn’t leaving the room till he at least tried.

Conner grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand and poured some onto his fingers. Oliver spread his legs, eagerly anticipating the sensation of Conner’s fingers inside him.

Conner slid a finger into the man’s ass, and Oliver moaned, his hips bucking against the intrusion. Conner worked his finger in and out, preparing Oliver for what was to come. He added a second finger, and Oliver moaned louder, his body adjusting to the sensation.

“You’re so tight,” Conner murmured, his voice ragged with desire. “How small is your husband?” he asked with a deep laugh.

“He’s…” Oliver began to answer but hesitated. Taking a breath as the finger worked his hole opened, he continued, “He’s very small.”

“I can tell!” Slowly Conner slipped in a third finger, watching as Oliver’s body bucked at the intrusion, “You seriously need to get a regular dicking.”

“I don’t cheat…” The words slipped out of Oliver’s mouth too easily. Conner raised his eyebrow at the man lying on the bed legs spread and dick hard.

Both of them decided not to acknowledge the comment. Instead, Conner widened his three fingers.

Oliver moaned in response, his body aching for more. “I need your cock,” he begged, his voice desperate.

“Give it time, I’m fucking thick.” Conner continued to finger fuck the man lying before him. He could tell this wasn’t the man’s first time straying, “I need to loosen this tight hole or you’ll be in a lot of pain.”

Somewhere beneath the rustle of clothing and the hush of Conner’s breath against his skin, a faint sound broke through.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Oliver’s phone vibrated insistently in the pocket of his shorts, muffled but persistent. He didn’t have to look. He knew who it was.

Alexander.

His mind painted the scene without effort–his husband standing outside the hotel, glancing around the empty parking lot, maybe calling his name down the trail. The image hit Oliver square in the chest.

He pictured Alexander’s face, confused at first, then worried.

It made his heart twist–an ache that started in his ribs and rippled outward.

Buzz.

Buzz.

The phone fell silent.

Oliver was brought back to reality when Conner removed his fingers from his hole. The sudden desire to be filled against quickly replaced the ache inside him.

The taller, tanned man positioned himself between Oliver’s legs. The foreskin of the massive cock instinctively moved back over the bulbous head causing Oliver’s mouth to water. He wanted to taste that mammoth rod, but he wanted Conner to lead.

The man poured more lube onto his cock and slowly pushed the head inside Oliver’s hole. Oliver moaned, his body tensing at the intrusion. Oh fuck! He was big!

“Relax,” Conner murmured, his voice soothing. Leaning forward, he locked lips with the smaller man. He knew his cock was a beast. Slowly but surely, he began pushing further in, centimeter by centimeter.

Oliver took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles, allowing Conner to push further inside. The cock was widening his hole more than his fingers did! He moaned as Conner’s cock filled him, stretching him in a way he had never been stretched before. Alexander’s little dick didn’t come anywhere close to this. Hell, even Trevor hadn’t been this thick.

He tried to remember back to his youth. Had he even taken a cock this thick. He couldn’t focus on memories as the intrusion continued to go on forever.

The phone on the floor went off again.

Finally, Oliver felt the man’s pubes connect with his balls.

Reaching down, Conner took his dick in hand and gave it a few strokes. The thickness of the man’s dick was so much he’d begun to lose his erection.

Conner began to move, his cock sliding in and out of Oliver’s ass with slow, steady strokes. Oliver moaned, his body adjusting to the sensation. He could feel every inch of Conner’s cock, and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

The fiery pressure against the ring of his hole was taking much longer to subside, but he didn’t care.

“Faster,” Oliver begged, his voice desperate. “Fuck me harder!”

He knew all too well the only way to get past the pain was to work through it.

Conner obliged, his hips moving faster and harder. Oliver moaned, his body moving in time with Conner’s.

“Harder,” he begged, his voice ragged with desire. “Give it to me harder! I need this dick so bad!”

“What about your weekend?” Conner chucked.

“Fuck this weekend!” Oliver threw his head back, and the tan-skinned man lifted his left leg into the air, using it as a lever to push even deeper into the man’s tight hole.

“What about your husband?”

“Fuck! Fuck him, too!” Oliver shouted, “Or don’t! His useless babydick isn’t worth it anyway!”

The dark-haired man couldn’t help but laugh. Oliver was clearly going through it with his man. He was over being chained to a husband that couldn’t fuck worth a damn.

Conner’s hips moved faster, his ten-incher pounding into Oliver’s ass with a force that left Oliver gasping for breath. Oliver moaned, his body tensing as his orgasm approached.

“You like that?” Conner yelled, his voice filled with lust.

Oliver nodded, his eyes locked on Conner’s. “Yes, please don’t stop!”

Conner grinned, his thrusts speeding up as his nuts hit the edge of the cushioned bed.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Conner moaned. He let Oliver’s leg fall, his hands gripping the man’s hips, “I don’t think I’ve fucked a hole this tight in ages! Most men as so blown out by now!”

That was one bonus of being with a man with a tiny dick for years. Oliver pushed back against Conner, his body adjusting to his size. At some point, the throbbing pain had subsided. Conner slowed his thrusts, his cock sliding in and out of Oliver’s ass. Oliver could feel every inch of the massive rod, and he moaned with pleasure.

The slowness wasn’t cutting it.

“Harder,” Oliver almost demanded, his body aching for more.

Conner laughed but obliged, his hips slamming into Oliver with force. Oliver could feel the bed shaking with each thrust, and he moaned with pleasure.

“You’re gonna kill me!” The black-haired man said with a smile.

“Oh baby, even half your dick is bigger than, Alexanders!” Oliver let out a cry. “It hurts, but it feels amazing at the same time,” the man said, gripping the covers and unable to contain himself, “Fuuuuuck!”

Conner waited until his pubic region finally touched Oliver’s ass again, allowing the man a moment to catch himself.

Conner waited only a moment longer before he remorselessly pounded into Oliver’s hole.

As the enormous rod appeared and vanished into his depths, the dark-haired man hunched over the bed and let out a cry.

Every pump, vein, and bend of the bigger man’s dick seemed to be remarkable to Oliver.

“I love fucking virgins, and you may as well be from what your sad ass husband has been giving you!” Conner repeatedly hammered him, his massive balls slapping against his ass.

Oliver wanted to defend his husband, especially against this man he had just met. But he couldn’t it was painstakingly obvious his husband had a tiny dick from his lack of confidence, the way he couldn’t command a room, and how still now he stuck around after being cheated on and fucked over time and again.

Oliver had never felt anything like it in a long time, his ass filled and every nerve tingling as the tall, strong man took what he wanted. The man who had forced his way into him at the bar was nothing compared to this.

“Oh my god! Oh, Jesus, it feels so good!” Oliver screamed. Instinctively he rocked his hips back into the man’s thrusts trying to get as much as the man’s thick ten-inch cock as he could. He hadn’t noticed, Trevor had taken his dick into his hand and was stroking it underneath him.

Oliver had not experienced such a sensation in a long time, not a dick this plump; the tall, powerful man took what he wanted, filling his ass and sending a tingle through every nerve.

“My God! It feels so good, Jesus!!!” Oliver let out a yell. He tried to get as much of the man’s massive cock as he could by instinctively rocking his hips back into the thrusts.

The world around them vanished as Oliver’s eyes met Conner’s. That look had an electric quality, an unsaid pull that was laced with reckless yearning and need. Oliver felt the heat surge between them like a tide as Conner’s molten, deep eyes met his without flinching, challenging him to get closer. The air was heated, the passion growing in the silence like a storm on the verge of erupting with each passing second.

Oliver was unaware of how long he had been staring into the man’s eyes until the top jerked him back to reality by adjusting his pounding cock inside of him.

The phone began to buzz again in the background. Oliver rolled his eyes. If he could reach the cell without removing Conner’s massive tool, he’d throw it out the window.

“Can’t that man take himself on a walk by the river?” Conner laughed, unrelenting his fucking.

“God, he could drown in the river at this point, for all I care!” Oliver chuckled, his eyes rolling back. “I can feel your big cock inside me baby!” Oliver said with growing sensation It’s still stretching me so fucking much…God damn!”

Conner began to pick up speed.

Moaning now. Oliver’s words began to become jumbled as Conner’s dick again found its rhythm and began taking the once tight hole. The man underneath the onslaught slammed his head back against the bed, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“You like that bitch?” Conner growled through ragged breath.

“You’re pushing against my prostate!” Oliver screamed. He thrust his dick into his hand vigorously.

Oliver was mentally gone, lost in the pressure of Conner’s body against his, the heat of the moment blinding him as the torrent of pleasure carried him away and need. The sensation of being wanted, claimed, and the sharp edge of longing had swept his thoughts away. A pleasure that he was unfamiliar with appeared to tear through his body. His eyes widened as it took a while for it to become evident.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Oliver chanted, his body on fire with desire.

Conner’s hand went to Oliver’s cock, stroking it as he fucked him. The sensation was far too much! It was only interrupted by another buzzing of the phone.

That familiar sound was pissing Oliver off, stirring emotions he didn’t want. As if understanding, Conner leaned down, pressing his tender lips against his.

Oliver’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, lips parted as Conner kissed him with unrelenting hunger. The ghost of Alexander’s call still pulsed somewhere in the silence, but it was already fading.

His heart ached, and still… he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Because as much as he hated this–the sneaking, the guilt, the split that was quietly widening between him and the man who had once been his whole world–there was another part of him, darker and needier, that wanted this.

No… not just wanted.

Needed.

Alexander gave him love, safety, and stability. But Conner gave him rawness, power, and permission—just like Trevor and whoever that guy was at the bar.

Fuck!

His body surged forward with renewed urgency, as if driven by something deeper than thought. He kissed Conner like he was starving for it–because in a way, he was. Tightening his hole around the ten-inch, beer can thick dick, Conner let out a firm masculine moan into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum!” Conner gasped, and his body began to convulse.

“Fuck yes!” Oliver called out, “Cum in my hole! I fucking need a real cock, please! Breed me!

The dark-haired man let out an earthy, almost animal-like moan as he shoved his rod as deep as he could into Oliver’s spent hole. Just when the bottom man thought Conner couldn’t reach any further in yet he somehow managed another inch or two, releasing his seed deep in his depths.

Oliver’s hand raced over his dick as he felt the dominant figure fill his insides with his warm seed.

“Fuck, fuck!” Oliver yelled. The man groaned, his orgasm following close behind.

Oliver’s hand sped up, his cock sliding in and out of view. With a final whimper, his body shuddering, his orgasm washed over him. Semen shot out in ropes, mixing with Conner’s dense chest hair.

Conner groaned as his orgasm began to subside. Thrusting a few more times into Oliver’s ass he slowly leaned forward, collapsing onto of the man’s frame.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies entwined, before Conner rolled off of Oliver. Oliver turned to face him, a satisfied smile on his face.

“That was amazing,” he murmured, his voice content.

“Fuck, that was intense,” Conner whispered, his body still trembling.

Oliver smiled, turning to face him. “I’ve never felt anything like that before. Not that thick. God damn.”

Conner grinned, his hand going to Oliver’s face, cupping his cheek. “I’m glad I could fill in what you’re missing.”

The room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sheets tangled beneath them, half pulled from the mattress. The only light came from the lamp on the far nightstand, casting a soft amber halo over their bodies, which Conner reached over and turned off.

Oliver lay sprawled against Conner’s chest, the thrum of his racing heart slowly giving way to something slower, heavier. Conner’s strong and massive arms were wrapped around him with a possessive ease, his fingers idly tracing circles against Oliver’s spine. The steady rise and fall of his chest was hypnotic.

Oliver’s eyelids fluttered, exhaustion seeping in like a tide pulling him under.

He should get up.

He should go back.

But the weight of Conner’s body against his, the warmth of his skin, the way he held him–like Oliver was something claimed–it was too much to leave just yet.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, guilt still echoed, faint but insistent.

But that voice was softer now, numbed by the afterglow and the way Conner’s breath moved against his temple.

His last thought before sleep took him was simple, shameful, and brutally honest:

I needed this.

~~~~

Morning light leaked through the slats of the blinds, cutting across the room in pale gold stripes. The smell of last night lingered–sweat, sex, something unmistakably raw.

Oliver stirred in the bed, sheets sticking slightly to his skin. Conner was still asleep, one arm draped over Oliver’s stomach like he owned him. Slowly, carefully, Oliver slid out from beneath it.

He moved quietly, every motion deliberate, every breath held as he searched for his clothes. His shorts were near the dresser, his shirt flung over the chair, and his underwear crumpled on the floor. He dressed in silence, pulling the fabric over last night’s choices, trying not to think.

Then his phone lit up in his hand.

32 missed calls.

All from Alexander.

His stomach dropped. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, trying to straighten himself out, as if neatness could somehow undo what had been done.

He turned toward the door.

But just as his hand touched the handle, a sleepy voice cut through the room. “That was amazing,” Conner said, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

Oliver didn’t look back. “Yeah,” he mumbled, flat and hollow, like the word had lost its shape, “I have to go… bye.”

He opened the door.

And he froze.

Alexander stood by their car, arms crossed, eyes locked on him with a kind of quiet devastation.

He wasn’t moving. He didn’t need to.

Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. Every part of him screamed to say something, anything. But the weight of the moment hit like a freight train–the disheveled clothes, the door he was walking out of, the man he’d left waiting.

The silence stretched like a blade between them.

And there was no place left to hide.

Oliver shut the door and stepped off the curb, his sneakers crunching lightly on the gravel. His steps were slow, like wading through water, each inch between him and the hotel door feeling like miles. The morning air was crisp, the sun already warming the pavement, but he felt cold, exposed.

Around him, the world spun on indifferently. A couple herded their kids into an SUV a few cars down. An older woman was loading bags into her trunk. Laughter rang out from somewhere behind the trees. Life, unconcerned with the slow unraveling of his own.

Then the click of the hotel door sounded behind him.

Conner stepped into view, backlit by the soft interior light, leaning lazily against the door frame like it was his stage. His tight boxer briefs clung to every curve of his carved body–thick thighs, defined abs, and of course that ten-inch cock.

And he was smiling.

Right at Alexander.

Arrogant. Pleased. Unapologetic.

Oliver didn’t need to turn around to know what Alexander was seeing–the picture it painted. Him, walking out of that messy room, and him, standing there practically naked, looking like he owned the whole damn morning. That was when he heard Conner’s deep voice call out.

“Hey loser” the voice bellowed, grabbing the attention of most of the people in the parking lot, “Your husband was a fucking animal in the sack, just how small is your dick anyway, cause you must be the worst lay ever for him to act like that!”

Oliver watched as Alexander’s face turned the most vivid red he had ever seen. As strangers around them began to laugh, the man slowly moved back, opening the car door and disappearing inside.

Oliver turned his head down as he moved towards their car.

He knew the weekend trip was over.

 

The End.

 

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