Chapter 3: The Papers

Jon glanced at the time and sighed. “Gotta head to work. You mind locking up when you’re done?”

Mark stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. “No problem.”

Jon flashed that easy, open smile again—the one that made something in Mark’s chest tighten. “Thanks, Mark. See you around.” And with that, he grabbed his keys and walked out the door.

Mark listened for the sound of the car pulling away before turning back toward the kitchen. He should finish the job. Pack up. Get out.

But then he saw them.

A fresh stack of papers sat on the dining table, half-tucked under a coaster. His throat went dry. The last batch had rattled Bob to his core. And now here was more.

Mark hesitated. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

But his hands were already moving, picking up the pages.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t a story. Not this time. It was something real.

Jon had written about himself. His loneliness. His craving for something he had never had—a strong, older male presence in his life. Someone to guide him, hold him, love him. Not just sexually, but completely. Someone to trust. Someone to surrender to.

Mark sat down hard in one of Jon’s chairs, his hands gripping the pages like they might disappear.

It was too much. Too raw. Too close to the things he never let himself think about.

Heat pooled in his stomach, then lower. His cock twitched in his jeans, thick and full, pressing against the zipper.

Fuck.

Mark stood abruptly, dragging a hand over his face. His heart pounded. His whole body burned. He needed to calm down.

The bathroom.

He strode down the hall, shut the door, and locked it.

His reflection in the mirror stared back at him—sweaty, flushed, eyes wild. His hands went to his belt before he could stop himself. His cock ached, straining against his jeans, demanding relief.

He unzipped, freed himself, and gripped his thick shaft with a rough, calloused hand. His forehead dropped against the mirror.

Jon.

Jon, kneeling. Jon, looking up at him with trust in his eyes. Jon, wrapping those soft lips around his cock, moaning as Mark guided him.

Mark pumped faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Then—

Bob.

Mark’s body stiffened.

No. Not Bob.

He forced his mind back to Jon. But Bob was there, standing behind him. Big. Solid. Protective.

Jon’s moan was different now—deeper, fuller.

Bob belonged there.

Mark clenched his teeth, trying to push Bob out. But it was better this way. Jon looked happier. Mark felt whole.

The realization sent him over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him, hot and overwhelming. He bit his lip, barely muffling his groan as thick spurts of cum hit the bathroom counter.

Mark braced himself against the sink, panting.

What the fuck had just happened?

Bob took a long sip of beer, eyes fixed on Mark across the kitchen table. “Alright. Spill it.”

Mark swallowed, gripping his own bottle. “I found more papers today.”

Bob’s posture stiffened. “Another story?”

Mark shook his head. “No. It was about him. His life. His loneliness. Bob ... he wants something real. A connection. A man—an older man—to love him. To guide him. To nurture him.”

Bob exhaled slowly. He looked away, fingers tightening around his beer. “Shit.”

Mark nodded. “Yeah.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then, finally, Bob spoke.

“I get it,” he said. “I mean ... I really get it.” His voice was rough. “I’ve been alone for so fucking long, Mark. I miss ... touch. Not just sex. Closeness. Someone to take care of. Someone who wants me.”

Mark’s chest ached. “Me too.”

Bob met his eyes. They didn’t say it, but they both knew—they weren’t just talking about Jon anymore.

Another beat of silence. Then Bob chuckled, humorless. “Problem is, Jon might be looking for one older man to love him. Not two bald, hairy plumbers.”

Mark smirked. “Yeah. We’re not exactly a package deal most people would sign up for.”

Bob sighed. “Still. We can’t just ignore this.”

Mark nodded. “I was thinking ... maybe we just keep it simple. No pressure. No expectations. Just ... ask him if he’d want to go on a hike sometime. Just the three of us.”

Bob’s brow furrowed, considering. Then he nodded. “Yeah. A hike. Casual. See how he responds.”

They clinked their beer bottles together in silent agreement.

Tomorrow, they’d find out if Jon wanted to spend time with both of them.