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He stalked to the table and yanked out a chair.

I poured a cup of coffee and sat across from him. I didn't shy away from confrontations. I'd done nothing wrong.

He didn't speak until I swallowed the last of my coffee. I wasn't a shy man, but I also wasn't a man who liked to talk about anything involving emotions. And whatever he thought I'd done wrong had everything to do with the emotional state of the man I left sleeping upstairs.

“He told you about that asshole from college? Jake?”

“He did,” I said.

Richard removed his hand from the cup and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his strong arms in front of him. His stare pierced me so long I almost started to speak, and then he continued. “He told me after he talked to you. I don't think he liked the idea of one of us knowing personal shit about him without the other knowing too.”

“Makes sense. He said he didn't want to keep anything from us.”

“That's why I brought it up. He's the kind of man who needs to get things out in the open. He needs to talk them through, get them off his chest.”

“I'm not blind.”

“You weren't seeing so clearly last night.” He stared at me, his arms still crossed, his body still. “After he told me about that fucker, I noticed a difference in him. He seemed more connected to us, more relaxed, more open, both in and out of bed.” Richard drummed his fingers on his biceps, the muscle in a state of permanent flex. “I won't let you push him away from us.”

“What the hell do you think I've done wrong?”

“You can't just let him fuck you and make all the bad shit disappear.”

“Really?”

He surged forward. His hands smacked the tabletop. “No, you can't.”

I shook my head. “He's up there sleeping. He looks pretty blissed out to me.”

“And in an hour, when you and I are off to work and he wakes up alone, what then? I don't think he'll be feeling all that blissed out. He'll be feeling like shit, and he won't know what to do about it. If we'd talked last night, maybe he could have gotten past it, thought about his next step while we were there to listen and support him, remind him how good he is. Now, today, he'll sit here feeling like a loser, a failure.” Richard stood and scooped up his empty cup. He dropped it into the sink. I heard the glass crack on contact. He didn't flinch. “I hope you have a good day, Luke.” He walked out. The front door opened and slammed shut.

Shit. Not likely.

Sure enough, every time I turned around, I pictured Matthew curled up on the couch, flipping through TV channels, not knowing what else to do. By the end of the day, I seriously considered going home and sitting on him until he talked about it— whether I wanted to hear it or not.

Though I was pretty sure I did want to hear it. I sat in the hallway for over an hour the night before trying to figure out how to get him to talk to me. I'd wanted to know what was wrong. I'd wanted to be there for him.

Richard was right. We should have waited and listened.

That meant I had making up to do— with both men.

When I finally made it home, I dashed for the kitchen. I longed to see Matthew bounce around the room as he made dinner, his iPod on his belt, a smile on his face.

I wasn't awarded that vision.

The room was dark. The aroma of spices and fresh herbs didn't linger in the air. Pots and pans didn't cover the stovetop. I couldn't find one hint he'd even been in the room. Richard's broken coffee cup still lay in the sink.

I sank into a chair.

Solid footsteps sounded behind me.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“He left a note. He went to his mom's for dinner.” Richard sat beside me. He reached out and took my hand in his. “I was angry, but I didn't handle it right.”

“You wanted to make sure he'd be okay. You care about him. I get that.”

“I care about you too.”

“I know. I care about you. And him.”

Richard caressed the back of my hand with his thumb. “I know that's hard for you to say. I know it isn't something you want to feel, but— ”

“No, it is. At first, it wasn't. Not at all. But now... I wanted him to talk to me last night. I just couldn't leave him alone. I had to do something.”

He kissed me. Strong coffee flavored his mouth. He usually didn't drink more than a cup or two in the morning. He probably needed the caffeine. His side of the bed had barely looked slept in.

The heat of his strong body and the passion of the kiss made me dizzy fast, made the familiar tightness in my pants return. He could get me hard no matter what else I felt.

I'd get the man off and send him to bed. It was the least I could do.

Richard jerked back. “I want you both to move in with me, permanently.”

It took a moment for my swimming head to shake off the desire. “Stay?”

“Stay. Indefinitely. Stop pretending you'll be looking for an apartment at some point. Move all your stuff here. No talk of this place as mine anymore. It'll be ours.”

I didn't say anything.

“I know this is a huge thing for you.”

I stared at my hands. No tensing. No freaking. No desire to run. “Okay.”

“What?”

I looked up at him. Hopeful green eyes gazed back at me.

“It may not seem like it, but I'm trying. I want to stay here. I want to make this work.”
I want to believe nothing will make me leave. Not me. Not my father.

Richard flung himself at me. The force sent me sailing over the side of the chair. I landed on my back with him on top of me.

“Oh God. Luke, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Ow. I think so.” I laughed and rubbed the back of my head.

His fingers explored my scalp.

I brushed his hands away. “I'm fine.”

He smiled at me, and his lips covered mine again. He rolled us around on the floor, tickling my sides. I laughed more, letting the ease and comfort wash over me.

I attempted a dodge of his movements. My hips and ass wiggled, but his solid body pinned me in place. He unbuttoned the top of my pants and slid a hand in. I was still laughing as he grasped my dick.

He didn't relent with his hand or his mouth. I thrashed my hips into his touch. He knew how to work me with his big fist. I could smell my own need.

My hands grazed his bulge as I went for his pants, and he groaned. I lowered the zipper, pushed down his underwear, and released the red, swollen prick. As it always did, his cock firmed more with my touch. I considered taking him in my mouth, but his next words stopped me in my tracks.

“God, Luke. I need to fuck you.”

I stilled. “Maybe we should leave the clothes on.”

Richard threw his head back and laughed. “I'd hope I can have at least some control.” I stroked his cock. His eyes rolled back and he pumped his hips. “Uh... okay. Let's leave the clothes on, but let me at your dick.”

He undid my pants and lay on top of me. We rocked in swift jabs, sliding our dicks together, and came fast. We lay on the kitchen floor, breathless, our shirts lifted, our stomachs slick with our spunk, and our spent cocks lying free.

Some goddamn humping, and it was one of the best fucks of my life.

Richard reached for a kitchen towel and wiped us clean before he fell back onto the floor beside me. “Shit, never thought you'd say yes.”

“Me neither. When you first asked us to stay, I thought I'd be moving to Walter's after two days.”

He rolled onto his side and propped his head on a bent arm. “That was my fear. It only grew the more I got to know you. At first I didn't want to see you leave before you gave us a try. Then I didn't want to see you go because I didn't think I could take you walking out on us.”

I pushed him over and straddled his hips. I drove my lips, my body, my hands against him, letting him feel me, showing him I had no intention of leaving.

I swept my hands under his shirt. I'd never get over the addiction of his skin. My fingers brushed over the scarred flesh. “How'd you get this?”

A laugh rushed out of him. It was almost Matthew's giggle. It took a moment before he could form words. “Matthew asked me that the first week you were here.”

“I never said I was one for heart-to-hearts.”

He lifted a hand to my face. “I never asked you to be.” His fingers stroked my cheek. He dropped his hand and snaked it under his shirt to the edge of the scar by his nipple. “Some homophobic asswipes attacked me at a college party. One of them had a knife.”

“Oh God.” I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my fingers through the blond chest hair, over the firm pectoral muscles. His flesh jumped. Small bumps rose up. The color of his tan skin darkened. My fingertips examined the raised line of flesh.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Luke.”

I traced the scar to his underarm and back.

“I've never liked anyone touching me there but you.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “It was bad?”

“I was in the hospital for a week. I lost a lot of blood, and there was an infection. It was full of dirt and glass from the beer bottles. They dragged me pretty far.”

“What happened?”

“I've never hidden who I prefer to sleep with. My junior year I lived in a frat house on campus. Some of the brothers didn't like knowing a gay guy slept in the same house they did. They wanted me out, and beating the shit out of me was their best plan. I lost the fight.”

“That's hard to imagine.”

“It was me against five. I knew I'd never win. Not when I saw the knife. But I couldn't back away. I couldn't let them push me around.” He laid a hand over mine. “No one bothered me again. The rest of the fraternity respected me for fighting— for staying when it would have been easier to leave.” He moved our combined hands along the scar until my palm lay over his heart. “They sent me to a plastic surgeon, but I didn't want it fixed. I wanted the scar.”

“Why?”

“To remind me no matter where I go in life, someone could always have an issue with me. For whatever reason. Because I'm well-off. Because I'm opinionated. Because I'm gay. I can't let people get in my way or I'll never succeed; I'll never get what I want.”

“What do you want, Richard?”

“Right now? I want you to move in with me.”

“I want that too.”

We stared for several moments, watching each other's eyes, lips, and tongues. When the kiss finally came, he met me halfway, and the slow touch said more than the words we'd just exchanged. We didn't make it about anything more than being together— about saying what words couldn't.

We eventually let go, adjusted our clothes, and got off the floor.

Richard righted the chairs and took a seat. “I have to check in with Matthew when he gets home. See if he wants to talk. Maybe help him figure out what he wants to do next.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you be there with us?”

“Sure. But when the talking's done, can we fuck the shit out of him again?”

“Yeah. We're guys after all.” He winked.

I had missed that calm confidence. I didn't like being the reason he'd been upset. He deserved better. He gave Matthew and me a place to stay. He deserved the truth.

I sat across from him. “I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I don't want anyone knowing I'm living here.”

The pleased expression vanished, replaced by a creased forehead and a frown.

“I don't tell people where I'm living. Work never even has my address. I gave them Walter's.”

“Why?”

I sucked in a deep breath. “My father.” Easier to say than I expected. “I don't want him to know. I move around, never stay in one place too long, and he spends a lot of time and money to find me. His way of tormenting me.”

“Why would he want to hurt you?”

“I think he'd do anything to change me; but since he can't, he's been trying to control me, to get me to live the way he wants. I don't think he considers me a son anymore. I'm a challenge for him.” I shrugged. “I'd rather he didn't know. It's less complicated.”

“Okay. I won't tell anyone if that's what you want.”

“Thanks.”

“If you need help with anything, if there's any trouble, you'll tell me?”

I wanted to say I'd handle things on my own, but that would bother Richard. As much as I wanted to keep my father away from them, I couldn't let my own fears hurt either of them.

“I will.”

Richard and I settled in to watch a movie and were halfway through it when Matthew came home and headed for the kitchen. Richard flicked off the TV, and we trailed in after him.

He was bent over with his head in the fridge.

Richard smirked and groped his ass. “Hey.”

Matthew stood, a bottled water in his hand. “Oh, hi guys. Thought I heard the TV. Anything good on?”

Richard sat at the table. “No. How was dinner?”

Matthew sipped his water and sat. “Good. I feel bad I haven't told her about us. About Luke. She wants to see where I'm staying and meet you. I've been putting it off. She knows something's up. Most of my stuff's still at her place. I'm scared she's not going to forgive me for keeping this from her.”

I sat next to Richard and eyed him.

“Speaking of that, Luke and I were talking about making things permanent. You could move your stuff in. Tell your mom about us. Have her over here. We'll set this place up so it belongs to all of us.”

The water bottle halted halfway to Matthew's mouth. “Yeah?” He looked at me, those dark eyes unsure, uneasy.

“I'm going to bring over the rest of my stuff from Walter's as soon as I can.”

Matthew set the bottle on the table. “You're gonna live here?”

“I thought I already was,” I said.

“You know what I mean.”

“I want us to live together. Not as a temporary thing, but for real.”

Matthew sat taller. “You do?”

I reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. “I do.”

His fingers looped around mine. “I want to live with both of you.”

Richard scooped up Matthew's other hand and kissed his fingers. “Me too.”

I gave Matthew's hand a squeeze and sat back. “I'm sorry about your job, but your boss sounded like an asshole.”

“He was. But I liked working there— up until they hired him.”