Three-Way Split

by Elia Winters

  She watched him pass by on his way to deliver another table’s food, and as he caught her eye, he gave her a quick smile, which she returned. No, Mitchell was good to flirt with, but she wasn’t going to take that any further. She could find a fuck buddy, or she could entertain herself.

  Chapter Two

  Mitchell flicked on the lights in the living room as he passed through, already itching to strip his clothes off. Everything he wore smelled like food. He was nose-blind to it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know, and he couldn’t wait to shower and change. Tonight was the monthly Chamber of Commerce meeting, and he didn’t want to smell like the kitchen at the Mapleton Pub. This meeting was one of the only places he saw Hannah outside the restaurant, and it would be nice to remind her that he was more than just a chef.

  Except in all the ways that he was not more than just a chef, like how his restaurant had subsumed almost all meaningful relationships in his life. Still. Hannah didn’t need to know that. At the Chamber of Commerce meeting, he could wear normal clothes, approach her without carrying plates of food, and…talk about the restaurant. Yeah. Super exciting.

  Thinking about Hannah while standing under the hot stream of water was always a quick journey to half hard in no time. It always started innocently enough—picturing her mischievous smile, those dimples, the way she laughed… maybe laughing at one of his jokes. But imagining her smile always led to him imagining other expressions she made, like the way her eyelids fell half closed and her lips parted in bliss after a bite of dessert. Studying her like that, as he sometimes did, he could easily picture that expression in other situations. Perhaps her mouth would fall open in the same way as he kissed her collarbone, or rolled her nipples between his fingers, or dipped his tongue into the wet heat between her legs…

  “Hey!” Ben’s excited voice boomed in the small space of the bathroom.

  Mitchell lost his footing in the tub in surprise, banging his funny bone hard on the shower rack.

  “What the fuck, man?” He rubbed his elbow, the pain wilting his erection down to half-mast. His fantasy evaporated. Nope, here was the only meaningful relationship he had in his life right now: Ben Harrington, the man with terrible timing and no sense of personal space, his business partner and roommate, and—for over two years now—his fuck buddy.

  “Did I scare you? Sorry. You’ve gotta try this.” A large hand was suddenly thrust into the shower, holding a pint glass half full of beer. Mitchell’s erection withered the rest of the way.

  “This can’t wait until I’m done showering?” Mitchell pulled back the curtain and glared at Ben, who was grinning like an idiot. Ben always looked younger when he got completely immersed in his projects. Even his full beard and six-foot-five stature—a height that should probably qualify him for giant status, in Mitchell’s opinion—didn’t take away from his childlike wonder. It was hard to believe that, like Mitchell, he was already in his thirties. Maybe Mitchell carried his stress more visibly, because compared to Ben, he always looked much older than his age.

  “What? Your showers take forever.” Ben gestured with the beer again. “I didn’t want to wait for you to spend a half hour jerking off. Try this beer.” He lifted the glass again, shoving it into Mitchell’s face. “This is the newest ale. It’s the first barrel with that malt I special ordered.”

  Oh yeah, Ben had been babbling about different varieties of malted barley a few weeks ago. When Ben got like this, he was better off just giving in, even if that meant drinking half a glass of beer while standing soaking wet in the shower. He wrapped the shower curtain around himself for an extra measure of modesty.

  “Come on. It’s not like I don’t see you naked all the time.” Ben gestured at the curtain and the area where Mitchell’s cock was now draped in opaque plastic sheeting.

  Ignoring that comment, Mitchell took a sip of the beer. “It’s good.”

  Ben waited expectantly for more. Mitchell took another sip, trying to be more specific. He had an excellent palate from his culinary training, but he wasn’t as good at beer as Ben. “It’s…smooth. Notes of chocolate?” He sniffed it, then took another sip. “It’s not that hoppy.”

  “Right? Mostly malt, fewer hops.” Ben nodded. “You want to finish it?”

  “I want to finish my shower.” Mitchell handed the glass to Ben and pulled the curtain closed. The water was starting to run colder. “I’m losing all my hot water.”

  “Nobody wants that.” Ben’s voice sounded muffled, like he was speaking through fabric. Mitchell heard the telltale sound of a zipper, another shuffle of fabric, and then the shower curtain was ripped back as a fully naked Ben stepped into the shower with him.

  “Fucking hell.” Mitchell stepped back under the water, laughing despite his protests. “I’ve told you before, our shower is not big enough for this.” Ben’s large frame crowded him against the wall, and his body responded even as he gave lip service to refusing. He couldn’t help the way his heart rate quickened at Ben’s proximity, thoughts running fuzzy as his cock twitched.

  “You say that every time, and every time you stop complaining when I get my hands on your cock.” Ben’s hand closed around Mitchell’s dick and, with one smooth stroke, brought him all the way to hardness. Lust slammed into him full force, his toes curling.

  “It’s the—” Mitchell lost his words in a gasp as Ben started to stroke him in earnest, large hand pulling steadily at his erection. Jesus, he was trying to say something.

  “What? Hmm? The what?” Ben was grinning. Yeah, he could laugh—he wasn’t the one who was dissolving into incoherence. “What is it?”

  Ah, fucking hell. This was the only way Ben could get the upper hand, and he knew it. Not that Mitchell really minded getting topped now and then, that breathless overwhelming feeling crashing through his senses, but damn, he was gonna get even. Ben twisted his wrist at the top of the stroke, and Mitchell’s only response was a groan, slamming one hand on the wall behind him to keep his knees from buckling. Ben knew he couldn’t resist, knew just what to do to turn him from focused to desperate. Mitchell screwed his eyes shut, trying not to thrust into Ben’s hand, trying to keep some control over this moment and failing miserably as his hips stuttered forward.

  Ben leaned in closer, his mouth nipping at the sensitive skin of Mitchell’s earlobe. His hot breath against wet skin was a shock of contrast, and Mitchell couldn’t stop the needy noises coming from his mouth.

  “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Give it up for me.” He leaned in for a kiss.

  All right, yeah, he loved this. Mitchell kissed him back, letting all his control fall away—just for now, just for this moment—and thrusting into Ben’s tight, perfect fist around his erection. With Ben, he could come apart like this, didn’t have to worry about anything but the all-consuming, breathless pleasure that fuzzed out his brain. Ben had discovered this power over two years ago, when he first propositioned Mitchell to take his mind off an upcoming restaurant inspection. Fucking Ben was the best antidote to stress he could have imagined.

  Mitchell’s breath hitched, and Ben pulled back to look into Mitchell’s eyes. Mitchell couldn’t look away. The intimacy was too much, and he couldn’t fight it, could only give in to the pressure in his body and Ben’s deep, searching gaze. He seized up, his orgasm roaring through him like a tidal wave, pulled from the depths of his body and whiting out all the thoughts in his head except for how incredibly good it felt. He was lost, coming all over Ben, who stroked his cock all the way through it until Mitchell was too twitchy and sensitive, and he pulled back.

  “Fucking hell.” Mitchell wiped an arm across his forehead, panting, reality returning as Ben rinsed his hands off under the water with a smug expression on his face. “What was that for?”

  “It seemed like a good idea.” Ben leaned in to kiss Mitchell, sweeter and more gentle than his words. Moments like this, Ben was tender, hinting at a desire for some intimacy beyond the intensity of their frequent sex. Then it faded, and all that sweetn
ess was replaced by an impish grin. “Now, get out. There’s almost no hot water left.”

  “Fuck no. It’s your turn, you asshole.” He reached for Ben, whose erection jutted out almost obscenely, and wrapped his hand around Ben’s thick cock, which was proportionately appropriate for his giant body.

  “We’re running out of hot water,” Ben protested, but it was a weak protest.

  “You just want me to make you take it.”

  Ben’s answering grin gave him away.

  “Yeah, that’s what you’re waiting for.” Mitchell smiled. “Tease me, wait for me to get my revenge. Make you give in. Hmm?” He let his voice drop low. “Jerk you off like this so you can’t get away?” This side of himself was always a surprise, this bossy, dominant tendency that he exhibited in the kitchen and also in bed. It worked for Ben, too, who let his smile slide in favor of a gasp. Mitchell was working him over hard, rough, probably almost too much, and Ben was fucking loving it. His mouth had fallen open, all laughter gone as he sucked in breath after breath. He was so sexy like this, and if it were possible for Mitchell to get it up again so soon, he would have.

  “Fuck yes. You want it so bad.”

  It was such a rush ordering Ben around, directing this man who was so much larger than he was, and then watching Ben obey. They’d fallen into this dynamic, and after so long, they barely deviated from it, even if he might sometimes want something different. When Ben reached for his own dick to help, Mitchell swatted him away again.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  Ben did as he was told, leaning back against the wall of the shower with his hands pinned behind him. Mitchell wrapped both hands around Ben’s dick and began to stroke, steady and firm, the exact way that Ben liked it. Taking him to the edge like this was satisfying, a steady burn of pride in his gut, the power of making someone else feel this kind of pleasure. He and Ben had always felt this tension between them, and once they gave in to it, they were able to have some of the hottest sex he’d imagined, without even worrying about feelings getting in the way.

  Even if Mitchell might sometimes want feelings to get in the way.

  The water was fading, lukewarm to downright cold, and Ben’s expression changed with mingling discomfort and arousal. His ensuing climax kept him motionless even as the water ran colder and colder over his erection, and perverse satisfaction tingled across Mitchell’s skin. The cold water would delay Ben’s orgasm but not prevent it, and the temperature shock would make the moment more intense. The paradox was evident in each shift of Ben’s body, wanting to pull away from the stream of water but also push into Mitchell’s hands, and Mitchell couldn’t look away from his face, fascinated. This kind of control, freely given, coursed through him like a drug.

  “Fuck,” Ben groaned, wincing, his open mouth turning into a grimace. Mitchell knew that look. He kept up the intensity, one hand twisting at the head of Ben’s cock, the other running along the shaft in firm, insistent strokes, dragging Ben over the edge, and he came with a shout. Power ran through him, that mix of pleasure and sadism along with the cold water like needles on his sensitive skin. Mitchell let him go and rinsed his hands in the icy-cold water. At least an unexpected benefit of the cold water was it helped him fight off the urge for tenderness.

  “You fucking asshole.” Ben leaned heavily against the shower wall, his knees clearly shaking, smiling despite his words. “I’m fucking freezing. Let me out of here.”

  After getting dressed, Mitchell joined Ben in the kitchen, where he was sitting at the kitchen table with some beer bottles lined up in front of him. He gave Mitchell a grin. “You’re a fucking sadist, you know. You probably take cold showers all the time.”

  “It’s good for my muscles, yeah.” Crossfit made him sore, and cold showers were one of the ways he’d learned to ease some of the soreness. Plus, cold showers were bracing. Taking a cold shower, he could conquer anything, his body completely under his control. When so many things felt out of his control, ownership of his physical body was empowerment. Mitchell opened the fridge and peered inside. Damn, they needed to get groceries soon. He was running out of everything. “So, before I was rudely interrupted in the shower, I was trying to ask if you were coming to the Chamber of Commerce meeting tonight.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ll go. Still figuring out what I want to feature at the booth. I’ve got a few new flavors that I think would make out there. I’m going to try and write a few of these descriptions before tonight.” Ben took a sip of one beer, stared off into space for a moment, then started scribbling in a notebook.

  The kitchen stayed silent except for the scratching of Ben’s pen as Mitchell started poking in the fridge again. Pasta would have to do for dinner. He pulled out a couple of the birds’ nests of pasta that he’d made yesterday after work, then started scrounging around for the ingredients he’d need to make sauce. He didn’t have time to prepare tomato sauce from scratch, but he could doctor up some canned sauce so it didn’t taste so processed.

  Ben didn’t look up until the sauce was on the stove simmering away, and then he came to like a man being startled awake. He looked around, blinking in surprise like he’d forgotten where he was. “You’re making dinner?”

  “Yeah, I’m making us pasta. I have to use canned sauce, though.”

  “You know I can’t tell the difference.” Ben set his pen down and leaned back in the kitchen chair. “You want some help?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” This wasn’t the kind of cooking Mitchell enjoyed, since canned sauce was barely a step above drive-through. Even in this limited form, though, he liked the process of preparing food for someone else. Somehow, running a restaurant hadn’t cost him his love of cooking, and he hummed to himself as he salted the water for the pasta.

  “How can you tell the difference between thirty types of hops and you can’t tell between canned sauce and fresh sauce? I don’t know why I bother with you sometimes.”

  Ben smiled, the infectious, charismatic grin that no one could ever say no to, including him. If Ben set his sights on a beautiful person, it was only a matter of time before they ended up in his bed. He hadn’t had any company other than Mitchell in a while, but it was probably only a matter of time. There were no expectations of exclusivity, no strings attached, and Mitchell was able to get off with another person instead of alone. Maybe things would be different for Mitchell if he started dating again, but he hadn’t been willing to step into that minefield for some time.

  As the bubbles began to bead on the bottom of the pot, Mitchell’s thoughts wandered. Ben’s kind of charm must be nice. His own dry sarcasm didn’t seem to have the same effect. Ben would probably have asked Hannah out by now. He snorted quietly to himself at the thought. It had been far too long since he’d dated anyone. Starting with someone like Hannah, who challenged him and brought out all of his most intense feelings? Probably too much for both of them to handle.

  “Hmm?” Ben was poking in the fridge and glanced up at the noise Mitchell made.

  Mitchell shook his head. “Nothing. Grab me a beer while you’re in there?”

  If he were honest with himself, which he tried to be, his reasons for not asking Hannah out didn’t have anything to do with his personality. He knew they’d get along. But how was he supposed to commit to one person with a job that took up so much of his time? He could imagine that conversation. “Hey, I don’t have time for a meaningful relationship with you because I run a restaurant, but I jerk off to you a lot, so maybe we could date a few times anyway”? Fat chance. Between what more than one girlfriend had called his “emotional intensity” and his crazy work schedule at the restaurant, relationships weren’t really his thing. Whatever this thing was with Ben, it was right for now.

  Even if Ben wasn’t interested in a true emotional connection.

  Hannah was busy, too, though, a small voice reminded him. But maybe they could eke out some time for each other…

  No, that was ridiculous, too. He couldn’t provide the kind of emo
tional stability a romantic partner needed. He couldn’t promise to be there for her in every way she might want. The prospect of being everything she needed, whenever she needed it? Christ, who could live up to that? But it was such a treat when she came to the restaurant alone, eagerly expectant and peering toward the kitchen door every time he came through it. He smiled just thinking about it. Seeing her eyes light up when she looked at him was the highlight of his work shift on those days. Or at least it made work a little more pleasurable. He’d been seeing her so much and they had hardly had a long conversation. They’d talked casually, but none of the deep, soul-searching conversations you were supposed to have when getting to know someone.

  Maybe that was for the best. He was intense, and that intensity tended to drive people away.

  With the water boiling and the sauce ready to go, he dropped the two nests of pasta in and gave them a stir, watching the noodles separate. Behind him, he could hear Ben setting the table. This was all the domesticity he needed; at least it was something.

  Eating together felt like the early days of when they moved in, each rootless for different reasons. That was, what? Six years ago? Six and a half years. It would be seven years this coming March. Somehow they’d kept out of each other’s beds for most of those years, until that night Ben had come to Mitchell’s room, casually leaned against the doorjamb, and asked if Mitchell was going to freak out about the restaurant inspection all night or if he wanted to fuck instead.

  Thinking about that night still sent chills down Mitchell’s spine. The switch had flipped inside him, no longer dancing around what they had been avoiding for years. Wrapping his hand around Ben’s cock for the first time had felt like a benediction, everything he never knew he always wanted. Nobody he’d been with before that, no girls or guys, had ever let him take control the way Ben did. Ben just yielded, letting Mitchell push him down on the bed, groaning at Mitchell’s strong touch. Their kisses were hot and passionate, the sex like an explosion. Afterward, though, when Mitchell had leaned in for comfort, Ben had clearly and politely drawn a line.