Mick POV

The week seemed to drag; the usual club things had to be done: inventory, payroll, sacking a bar staff member who turned up drunk, interviewing potential new staff. It never ends. In the back of my mind, I still had the image of Andy’s fat cock.'

I had deleted most of his texts. I didn’t want Ry to come across them while using my phone. I knew he didn’t check my phone, but sometimes, if we were out and his battery died, he would use mine. I had saved a couple of pics in the hidden photos, but I doubt he would look there.

It was Thursday afternoon when I got another text from Andy. The message came through just as I was finishing up the weekly inventory count in the stockroom. My phone buzzed, and I knew before looking who it was. That little kick in my chest had become familiar over the past seven days.

Andy: Hey. Miss me?

I stood there among the boxes of spirits and mixers, phone in hand, reading those three words over and over. I should have ignored it. I should have pocketed the phone and gone back to counting bottles. Instead, my thumbs moved across the screen of their own accord.

Me: Been busy.

The response was almost immediate.

Andy: Liar. You’ve been thinking about me all week. I know you have.

My jaw tightened. The arrogance was infuriating, and yet Andy wasn’t wrong. I’d been thinking about him constantly, while I was in bed with Ry, while I was watching TV, while I was doing the stocktake.

I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I finished counting the last shelf of spirits, my movements deliberate and slow, as if the physical act of tallying inventory could somehow quiet the noise in my head. It couldn’t.

My phone buzzed again. Then again. I ignored it for another five minutes before pulling it back out.

Andy: You still there?

Me: I’m working.

Andy: So you’re avoiding me.

I wasn’t avoiding him. That was a lie I was telling myself. Avoiding would have meant blocking his number, deleting his contact, or taking some decisive action. What I was actually doing was prolonging this, drawing it out, letting it build up like pressure behind a dam.

Me: I’m not avoiding you. Tomorrow night. Will you be there?

The question hung there, and I realised I’d just committed to it without meaning to. Tomorrow was Friday. Of course, he’d be there. The reply came through before I could overthink it.

Andy: I’ll be there.

I set the phone down on top of a box of vodka bottles and pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. What the hell was I doing? I’d just confirmed plans with another man while I had a handsome husband at home whom I loved. The rationalisation came quickly; it was just a drink, just conversation. Andy would show up at the bar like any other customer. Except that wasn’t true, and I knew it.

I picked the phone back up. Andy had sent another message while I was standing there.

Andy: Can’t wait to see you, handsome. I’ve been thinking about that kiss all week too.

The words hit me like a physical touch. My breath caught, and I had to lean against the shelving unit. My cock was already responding, hardening in my jeans.

The stockroom suddenly felt too small; my fingers hovered over the keyboard, knowing I should put the phone away, should walk out of this room and back into the bar where things made sense. Where I was in control.

Instead, I typed: What kiss?

It was stupid. It was a test, maybe, or a way of pretending this was all just some game I could step away from whenever I wanted. The response came through so quickly it was like Andy had been waiting for me to ask.

Andy: The one where you forgot about your husband for thirty seconds. The one that’s been on my mind every single day since. The one I’m going to give you again tomorrow, only this time I’m not going to stop.

Fuck, my stomach clenched. I read the message three times, each time feeling the weight of it settle deeper into my chest.

I stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Every rational part of my brain was screaming at me to put the phone down, to walk away, to pretend this conversation had never happened. But that wasn’t what I was going to do, and I knew it.

Tomorrow night, I typed back. Just a drink.

The response was instant, almost mocking in its brevity: Sure. Just a drink.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and stood there in the stockroom, chest heaving as I’d just run a marathon. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a harsh white glow that made the space feel clinical and sterile. My cock was still half-hard in my jeans, and I had to adjust myself before heading back out to the bar.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of routine. I checked in with Donna, my bar manager, who held down the fort when I wasn’t there. She looked magnificent tonight, rocking a towering purple wig that completely commanded the room.

When I got home, Ry was already there. He was cooking; he was a driver for a Tour company, mostly day trips around Melbourne and Geelong, but he didn’t have anything booked for the day. He was usually busy on the weekends, whether it was a wine tour down at Mornington Peninsula or a Great Ocean Road Tour, he was gone most of the day, sometimes not getting home until midnight.

“Hey, you’re home early,” Ry called from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder as I stepped through the front door. The smell of garlic and olive oil filled the space, something Italian, probably. Ry had a thing about cooking on days off; he said it kept him grounded when he wasn’t driving tourists around the peninsula.

I set my keys on the hall table and moved toward the kitchen, trying to arrange my face into something normal. “Finished the inventory faster than expected.”

“Good timing then,” Ry said, turning back to the stove. He was wearing one of his casual shirts, the blue one that brought out his eyes. I had always liked that shirt. “I’m making pasta. Should be ready in about twenty minutes.”

“Sounds good,” I said, and I meant it in the abstract way one means something when one’s mind is somewhere else entirely. “I’m going to jump in the shower; I feel grimy after the stocktake,” I told him.

While I was walking up the stairs, my phone pinged. I knew it was Andy. How’s your husband tonight? He asked. I sent a text back telling him not to talk about my husband.

He sent another text, I bet this tastes better than Ry’s, there was an attachment, fuck I thought, I clicked on it, and it was video, he was in a toilet cubicle stroking his erect cock, fuck it looked so long, it had to be at least 10 inches, there was a drop of pre-cum coming out of the slit of his dick, he sent another text: if you’re a good boy, I might let you taste this tomorrow night? I couldn’t help myself; I quickly sent a text back: “ Oh, fuck yes, please.

I quickly jumped in the shower; Ry would be wondering what was taking me so long if I didn’t hurry up. The shower was hot, almost scalding, and I let the water pound against my shoulders as I tried to wash away the evidence of what I’d just done. My skin was still flushed, my heart still hammering.

I replayed the video in my mind, Andy’s hand moving over his thick cock with deliberate slowness, that drop of pre-cum catching the light. The arrogance of it all, the casual dominance, the certainty that I would be waiting tomorrow night like a dog on a leash.

The worst part was that Andy was right.

I soaped my chest, trying not to think about what that cock would feel like. I failed. The water ran down my face, and I ducked under the spray, holding my breath until my lungs burned. When I came up for air, my resolve had only fractured further.

I dressed quickly in clean clothes, pulling on track bottoms and a T-shirt. When I came downstairs, Ry was on the phone to Jess. He was laughing about something. See you tomorrow night, babes, he said.

Ry hung up the phone and turned to me with a grin. “Your brother wants to catch up for a couple of drinks before his shift tomorrow night, he told me. I told him I’d meet him around eight.”

Tomorrow night. Friday night. The night Andy would be at the bar.

“That’s good,” I said, just tell him he better not turn up to work drunk, though; I’ve already sacked one person this week for that. I moved to the kitchen island and pulled out a stool. My voice sounded steady, which felt like a minor miracle.

Ry set a plate of pasta in front of me, steam rising from the perfectly al dente linguine coated in a rich tomato sauce. “No, it will only be a couple of drinks; I have to get up early Saturday morning for a trip to the Yarra Valley wineries. I twirled pasta onto my fork, the motion automatic. Ry was talking about the wineries, something about a new Shiraz they’d be tasting at Yering Station that had just been released, but the words seemed to come from very far away.

All I could think about was tomorrow night at eight o’clock. Ry would be meeting Jess for drinks. Ry would be gone.

“You listening?” Ry asked, and there was amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, forcing myself to focus on his face. He looked genuinely happy, relaxed in a way I hadn’t felt in days. The guilt twisted something in my chest, but I pushed it down and took a bite of pasta. It was good; Ry was a much better cook than I was.

“You seem distracted lately,” Ry said. I’ve just got a lot going on at work with all the staff changes; the drag queens have been practising a new show, and we’ve been thinking about hiring a couple of go-go boys for Friday and Saturday nights, so there is a lot going on.

Ry nodded, accepting the explanation without pushing further. He twirled his own pasta onto his fork and took a bite, seemingly satisfied with my answer. The kitchen settled into the comfortable silence of two people who’d shared enough mornings and dinners that words weren’t always necessary.

Except they were necessary now. There was so much I wasn’t saying, so much I was actively hiding. The guilt sat heavy in my stomach, mixing with the pasta in a way that made me feel slightly sick.

I finished eating mechanically, rinsed my plate, and excused myself to the living room on the pretence of catching the evening news. In reality, I pulled out my phone the moment I was alone and scrolled back through Andy’s messages.

The video was still there in my hidden folder; I’d watched it at least a dozen times since this afternoon. Each time, my body reacted the same way: that sharp intake of breath when I first saw his cock, the way my dick got hard instantly, fuck I couldn’t wait until tomorrow night.

We watched the news and then a new show on Stan called “Tip Toe” about a gay guy living next door to a crazy homophobe, it was a good show.

By the time Friday rolled around, I felt like I was vibrating out of my own skin. I’d managed to get through the day without completely falling apart, though it had been close. Twice I’d caught myself staring blankly at a stack of invoices, my mind entirely elsewhere. Once, I’d almost called Donna the wrong name.

The bar filled up gradually as the evening progressed. The usual crowd filtered in: regulars who knew their drinks, groups of friends out for a good time. I moved through it all on autopilot, pouring drinks, making change, deflecting flirtation like someone who’d been doing this for years. My attention was fractured, though, constantly tracking the door, waiting.

Eight o’clock came and went. Ry texted around 8:15, a photo of him and Jess at the 86, a club up the road, having a couple of cocktails. Jess was due to clock in at work at 9pm before the rush. I was busy serving Ricky and Stefan when I noticed Andy coming up the stairs. I quickly made their drinks before Andy came up to the bar.

Andy moved through the bar with that same confidence I remembered, the kind of ease that suggested he’d walked into a hundred rooms exactly like this one and expected to own them all. He was wearing dark jeans and a fitted grey shirt that clung to my chest, making my mouth go dry.

Our eyes met across the bar for just a fraction of a second before Andy looked away, settling onto one of the high stools near the far end of the bar. The message was clear: he was here, he was waiting, and he was in control of the pace.

The conversation around me seemed to be happening underwater. Someone was ordering a round of shots. Someone else was asking about the new drag show lineup. Donna was calling out an order of cocktails for one of the new bar staff to start making.

I moved up to where Andy was sitting at the bar and asked what he would like. “I think it’s more about what you would like, don’t you, Mick?” He laughed.

The words hit me like a challenge, and I felt my jaw tighten. Andy was doing it again, flipping the dynamic, making it clear that despite my being the one behind the bar, despite this being my establishment, he was the one pulling the strings.

“Your drink is a Whiskey, neat,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Same as last week.”

“Good memory,” Andy replied, leaning back slightly on the barstool. His blue eyes tracked me as I reached for the Jameson, and I was acutely aware of every movement I made, the way my hand wrapped around the bottle, the angle of my body as I poured, the deliberate care I took setting the glass down in front of him.

Our fingers brushed as he reached for it, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity up my hand, I’m going to go outside on the deck; come and join me when you’ve got a minute, he said.

I watched him stand, the movement fluid and deliberate, and felt the pull of it like a hook in my chest. He moved toward the deck doors with the kind of confidence that suggested he had no doubt I would follow.

The rational part of my brain, the part that sounded like Ry’s voice, screamed at me to stay behind the bar, to find something urgent to do, to pretend I hadn’t heard him. Instead, I caught Donna’s eye and nodded toward the bar. “I’m taking a quick break. You’ve got this?”

Donna gave me a knowing look, one eyebrow raised slightly, but she didn’t question it. She just moved into position behind the bar with the efficiency of someone who’d covered for me a hundred times before. I was grateful for her discretion, grateful that she didn’t ask questions I couldn’t answer.

The deck was cooler than the inside of the bar, and Andy smiled as I walked up to him. Hey, he said.

“Hey yourself,” I replied, keeping my voice low. The music from inside pounded through the glass doors, muffled but insistent. Around them, a few smokers lingered in small clusters, but they were far enough away that the conversation felt private.

Andy was wearing a grey, fitted shirt, the kind that made it impossible not to notice the breadth of his shoulders and the defined lines of his chest. He held his whiskey loosely in one hand, his blue eyes tracking my approach with that same calculating intensity from last week.

“Jess is having drinks with Ry; he’ll be here soon,” I heard myself say. The words came out defensive, like I was establishing boundaries even as I was crossing them.

“I know,” Andy said simply. “You told me that already. Do you think your husband will show up here?” I doubt it, I told him. He has to work early tomorrow morning. He told me he was going straight home after meeting Jess.

Andy moved in and kissed me. I kissed him back but pulled away after a few seconds. “We can’t do this out in the open,” I told him.

“Can’t we?” Andy’s voice was low, amused. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair back from my forehead, the gesture casual but loaded with intention. “No one’s paying attention to us.”

I glanced over his shoulder. Andy was right, the smokers were absorbed in their own conversations, their backs turned. The music from inside was loud enough to mask quiet conversation. Still, the risk made my chest tight.

“I mean it,” I said, but my voice came out weaker than I intended. “People know me here. They know Ry.”

“And?” Andy took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving my face. “He’s not here right now, is he? He’s at the 86 with Jess, probably three drinks in by now, completely oblivious to what his husband is doing.”

Yeah, you’re right, but Jess is working tonight. I don’t need my brother seeing me kissing a stranger; he and Ry are thick as thieves. Andy smiled, and there was something almost predatory in it. “Your brother won’t see anything he doesn’t want to see. People rarely do.” He leaned back against the railing, completely at ease. “Besides, you’re not kissing a stranger, are you? You know me now.”

My stomach twisted. There was a logic to what Andy was saying that I couldn’t quite refute, even though every alarm bell in my head was going off. I did know Andy now, in some fundamental way that went beyond the hour we’d spent talking last week.

I knew the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hand on the back of my neck, the weight of his attention. That knowledge was both intoxicating and terrifying.

“This is a bad idea,” I said, but I wasn’t moving away.

“The worst,” Andy agreed, and then I was kissing him again, softer this time, deeper, his tongue touching mine. He pulled me closer by the neck, fuck I was lost in his kiss. We must have kissed for over a minute. I looked around, and no one was looking, but the bar had started to get busy again. I have to get back behind the bar, I told Andy. That’s fine; I’m not going anywhere, he said.

I turned and headed back inside, my lips still tingling from the kiss. The bar had indeed gotten busier, the Friday night crowd swelling with the kind of energy that came with the start of the weekend. The first drag show of the night was ramping up, queens moving between numbers, the music pounding through the speakers at a volume that made conversation difficult.

Donna caught my eye as I slipped back behind the bar, and I could read the question in her expression without her having to ask it. I ignored it and focused on the line of customers waiting for drinks, letting the familiar rhythm of pouring, mixing, and serving pull me back into something approximating normal.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it. Then again. And again.

I was in the middle of making a cosmopolitan when Jess appeared at the bar, still in his street clothes but with his work shirt slung over his arm. He was late, sorry, he said. Ry didn’t want me to leave.

My stomach lurched at the sight of my brother, his expression carrying that particular blend of exasperation and affection that came from having just spent the last hour with Ry.

“Mate, he was being ridiculous,” Jess continued, setting his shirt down on the back of the bar stool. “Kept saying he wanted to stay longer, that you never take him out anymore. I had to practically drag him out of there.”

I nodded, forcing my attention onto Jess even as I was acutely aware of Andy’s presence on the deck behind me. The glass doors were right there, the boundary between two worlds so thin it might as well not exist.

“Yeah, well, you know how he gets when he’s had a couple,” I said, reaching for a clean glass. Yeah, well, maybe you need to take some time off and take him out; he misses going out.

I forced a smile, though it felt strained. “I know. I’ll sort something out.”

Jess studied me for a moment, and I had the uncomfortable sensation of being read, of my brother seeing through the careful facade I’d constructed. He had that look he got sometimes, the one that suggested he knew more than he was saying.

“You good, mate?” he asked, pulling his work shirt over his head. “You seem... I don’t know. Off.”

“I’m fine,” I said, perhaps too quickly. “Just tired. It’s been a long week.”

Jess didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop, moving to clock in at the till. I turned back to the drinks I was making, grateful for the reprieve. My phone buzzed again in my pocket, and this time I couldn’t resist pulling it out just enough to see the screen.

You look hot behind the bar

I didn’t respond, just kept serving customers. About 30 minutes later, the crowd wanting drinks seemed to slow down, and I told Jess I was taking a break. I poured another Jameson and took it out to the deck. Andy was still there, looking at his mobile. “ Well, look who’s back, he quipped.

I set the whiskey down on the small table beside him and settled into the chair across, keeping enough distance that we weren’t quite touching. The deck was quieter now, most of the smokers having drifted inside to catch the drag shows. The night air was cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from my body.

“Thought you might need a drink,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t why I’d come back out here.

Andy picked up the glass and took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your brother’s here.”

“Yeah. He was late.” I watched Andy’s mouth curve into a smile, and something twisted in my chest. “He said Ry didn’t want to leave the 86.”

“Guilt,” Andy said simply. “He can feel something’s off with you. People can sense when someone’s slipping away from them.”

Ry isn’t slipping away; our relationship is solid, I told him.

But you’re still out here talking to me, Mick. What does that tell you about your relationship?

I opened my mouth to respond, but Andy held up a hand, cutting me off before I could speak.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t do that thing where you try to convince me that everything’s fine. We both know better.”

The words landed hard. I shifted in my chair, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt out here on the deck, how thin the glass doors were between me and the bar, between me and my brother who was currently clocking in for his shift.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship,” I said, but the protest sounded hollow even to my own ears.

“I know you’re out here with me instead of behind the bar,” Andy replied. He set his glass down on the table and leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know you’ve been checking your phone all week, hoping it was me. I know that when I kissed you before, you didn’t want to stop. You know nothing, I told him.

I got up and left the deck and went back to the bar. I tried to keep busy by serving customers and letting other staff take a break. The crowd inside were cheering hard for the Drag queens on stage. I noticed Andy walk past, heading to the toilets. He turned his head and nodded and winked at me, telling me to follow him.

Fuck I thought, I should just stay here and keep busy, except it wasn’t busy at the moment. I told Jess I was going to the toilet and rushed to follow Andy. I noticed the last cubicle door was slightly open. I opened it and fuck Andy was all ready with his pants down, stroking his hard cock, it was truly a thing of beauty, thick and long, I couldn’t stop staring at it.

I locked the door, he started kissing me, it wasn’t a slow kiss this time it was hard and fast, he kissed me deeper, one hand gripping the back of my neck while the other wrapped around his own cock, stroking it deliberately, making sure I could feel it pressing against my hip. My breath came in short gasps as Andy broke the kiss just enough to speak against my mouth.

“Get on your knees,” Andy commanded, his voice low and rough.

Every rational thought screamed at me to stop, to pull away, to walk back out that door and pretend this had never happened. But my body wasn’t listening to reason anymore. My body was listening only to Andy.

I sank to my knees on the grimy bathroom floor, the cold tile biting into my skin through my jeans. Andy’s cock was right there, inches from my face, and up close it was even more impressive than it had looked in the video. The head was flushed, fuck it was so thick, I licked the head and mouthed up and down licking the shaft, fuck it was nice. I licked and sucked on his balls. They were so big I could hardly fit one in my mouth. He was seriously gifted.

Andy groaned above me, his hand tangling in my hair as I worked his cock deeper into my mouth. The taste of him was salty and masculine, and I found myself wanting more, pushing further despite the size of it, despite the way my jaw ached with the stretch.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Andy breathed, his hips thrusting forward slightly. “Take it deeper.”

I gagged, pulling back for a moment to catch my breath, but Andy’s hand on the back of my neck was insistent, pushing me back down. There was no tenderness in it now, no pretence of anything other than what this was: raw, desperate need in a bathroom stall at my own bar.

The tile bit into my knees, cold and unforgiving. My jeans were soaked with pre-cum from my own arousal, and I couldn’t remember sex with Ry ever feeling this good.

Andy pulled out, his breathing ragged, and I gasped for air, my throat raw. Before I could fully register what was happening, Andy was turning me around, pressing me against the cold tile wall of the stall. My jeans were being yanked down, and my mind went blank with a kind of white-hot anticipation.

“You want this?” Andy’s voice was low, almost a growl against the back of my neck.
I couldn’t speak, could only nod, my forehead pressed against the wall. I heard the sound of a wrapper tearing, felt Andy positioning himself, and then….

The door to the bathroom banged open.

“Oi, mate, you in here?” It was Jess’s voice, unmistakable and far too close. “We’re getting slammed out there. Need you back on the bar.” I managed to tell him I’d be right out, and I heard the toilet door close.

Fuck that was close. I quickly pulled up my jeans and told Andy I had to go.

He quickly dressed, and I opened the door of the cubicle.

Oh fuck, shit no, Jess, my brother, was standing right there, and he was fucking angry. Andy stepped out behind me, and Jess just looked between the two of us and shook his head, you are fucking piece of shit, Mick…..and slammed the door behind him.

To be continued……

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Mick Pov

It was a busy Friday night at URQ; the drag shows had just started, and there must have been 20 people lined up at the bar waiting for drinks. I decided to help out the bar staff for a bit; I didn’t want people to get pissed off waiting too long for a beer.

Flower had just finished their version of I Will Survive, and now there were 3 other queens in the middle of their It’s Raining Men routine. I was serving some regulars: Stefan, a cute, tall Italian guy; his shorter South African friend, Ricky; and Dom, a twinky-hot Greek guy. It was tequila with a slice of lemon all round.

I just happened to look over Stefan’s shoulder and noticed this tall, gorgeous, dark-haired guy, who must have been at least 30, checking his phone and then glancing up at me, trying not to make it obvious he was watching me.

The guy could have been a model. He was giving Tyson Beckford vibes; he had that sharp jawline, an expensive-looking watch, and the kind of confidence that came from knowing he belonged anywhere he walked into. He wore a fitted black shirt that showed off broad shoulders, and when he finally looked up and caught me staring, he held my gaze for just a fraction too long before turning back to his phone.

My chest tightened. I didn’t like the feeling of being caught, especially not by someone I’d never seen before. Usually, I was the one doing the looking, the one in control of whatever this was.

“Earth to Mick,” Ricky said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Are we getting those tequilas or what?”

I shook my head and turned away from the dark-haired stranger, reaching for the bottle of Patrón on the top shelf. My hands moved on autopilot, pouring three generous shots, grabbing the lemon slices and placing them on top of the shot.

I’m sorry, guys- I said- I got distracted. Stefan looked at me. Well, it’s okay to get a little distracted, Mick; just don’t forget about Ry, you remember him, don’t you? You know, that husband who’s waiting for you at home. They both cracked up laughing.

I served a few more customers, and then the bar staff seemed to have everything under control. I noticed the tall guy from earlier sitting on the outside deck, vaping. I started picking up some empty glasses so he wouldn’t think I was stalking him.

He raised his drink, whiskey, neat, by the look of it, and took a slow sip while maintaining eye contact. A challenge, maybe. Or an invitation. Hard to tell in a place like this, everyone was after something on Smith Street on a Friday night.

Hey, I said to him, “Haven’t seen you in here before. I’m Mick, the owner. ”Hi there, Mick the owner”, he teased. I’m Andy, and no, I haven’t been here before. Just moved down from Sydney, he said, putting his hand out for me to shake. I took his hand; the handshake was a little longer than normal. He was definitely flirting.

Well, nice to meet you, Andy, hope this becomes one of your regular haunts. “Well, I am enjoying the view, so I might be back.” There was something in the way he said it that made me wonder if he was talking about the bar at all. I turned to leave, but Andy’s voice stopped me. “So, Ry’s the lucky one, then?”

I paused, looking back over my shoulder. Andy was still holding my gaze, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth. There was something deliberate about the question, something that suggested he’d been listening to the entire exchange with Stefan and Ricky.

“Well, I’m the lucky one,” I said carefully, unsure why I felt the need to defend myself. Ry was waiting at home, had been for three years now. Solid. Safe. The kind of choice a man made when he was tired of looking.

“Must be nice,” Andy said, turning back to his whiskey. “Having someone waiting.”

There was an odd note in his voice, it is nice, I told him, but there was something in the way he said it that made me hesitate. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, just swirling his whiskey, watching the ice move through the amber liquid like it held all the answers.

The Drag Queens were still dancing on stage, the music pounding, the crowd roaring, but in that moment, it felt like the whole bar had narrowed down to just this small pocket of space between us on the deck.

I should have left then. Ry was home, probably already in bed, probably wondering where I was, even though he knew exactly where I would be, here, always here on Friday nights. That was our arrangement. That was what worked. So I didn’t know why I was still standing there, why I hadn’t moved.

“You seem like someone who’s used to getting what he wants,” I said. The words came out before I knew what I was saying. Andy leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He took another sip of his whiskey before answering, and I found myself holding my breath for the response.

“Usually,” Andy said quietly. “But I’ve learned that wanting something and being able to have it are two different things.”

There was a weight to the words that I didn’t expect from a stranger. I watched Andy’s jaw tighten slightly as he looked back out toward the dance floor where the queens were moving through their routine. The music thrummed through the deck, bass-heavy and insistent, but it felt distant somehow. Muffled.

I should have moved. Should have walked away, checked on the bar, and made myself useful. Instead, I found myself settling onto the edge of the small table near Andy’s chair, not quite sitting, not quite standing. A compromise position. “So what brings you to Melbourne?” I asked. The question, feeling safer than whatever had just passed between us in that loaded silence.

Andy turned his head to look at me properly then, and I felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing. His blue eyes were sharp, assessing, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. A married man playing at flirtation? A bored bar owner looking for a distraction?

“Work,” he said simply. “I’m a masseuse. Figured I’d try a fresh start down here, see if the market was better than Sydney.”

I nodded, filing that away. There was something about the way he said it, smooth, easily rolling off his tongue, that made me think he’d delivered this explanation before. To other people. In other bars. The thought shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

“You picked a good neighbourhood,” I said. “Smith Street is one of the largest LGBTQI+ neighbourhoods in Melbourne”, I told him.

“Ry doesn’t know you’re still here, does he?” Andy asked, not looking at me, just watching the dancers. The question landed like a punch. My throat went dry. “He knows I work Friday nights.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Andy finally turned to look at me, and there was something almost clinical in his gaze now, like he was reading me the way a mechanic might assess an engine. It should have felt invasive. Instead, I found myself oddly exposed, as if Andy had just switched on a light in a room I’d been trying to keep dark.

“He trusts me,” I told him, and I heard the defensiveness creep into my voice.

“Trust is interesting,” Andy said softly, swirling his drink again. “It’s like a contract where only one person knows the terms.” He paused. “Or thinks they do, anyway.”

I should have brushed off the comment, but I didn’t. Something about the way Andy said it, so casually, so certain, made it impossible to dismiss. The comment hung between us like smoke, and I found myself trying to remember exactly what I’d told Ry before heading to the bar. Working late. That’s what I’d said. Not a lie, exactly. Just not the whole truth either.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship,” I said, but my voice came out quieter than I intended.

Andy smiled then, a small, knowing thing that made something hot and uncomfortable twist in my stomach. “No, I don’t. But I know the look of someone who’s wondering what else is out there.” He turned back to his whiskey. “I’ve seen it before.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Jess, my younger brother, who also worked behind the bar, appeared at the glass door, gesturing frantically. There was a problem with the till. I felt a surge of relief at the interruption and followed him out.

The till problem turned out to be nothing; Jess had just hit the wrong button and voided a transaction. Five minutes of explanation and a quick refund later, I was back behind the bar, but the deck had emptied out. The queens had moved into their finale, a synchronised number that had the whole venue stomping and cheering, and most of the smokers and vape crowd had drifted back inside to watch.

I scanned the outdoor area, telling myself I was just checking the tables, making sure no one had left glasses or mess behind. Andy was gone.

The disappointment I felt was sharp and immediate, which should have been my first warning that something was wrong. I should have been grateful for the reprieve, for the chance to get back to normal, to move through the rest of my shift without that unsettling weight of attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted him again, he was coming out of the men’s toilets, but looked ready to leave, I watched him approach, but was not expecting what happened next, he kissed me on the mouth, I was stunned, but I didn’t stop him, his touch was electric, he pulled me in by the back of my neck and kissed me deeper this time.

Oh fuck, in the middle of the club where all the staff could see, I pulled back, sorry, I said, that was a mistake. He looked at me with a grin. What I felt just then, Mick, was no mistake. He told me, looking me up and down, “I’ll see you next week,” and then he was gone.

Fuck, what am I doing? I just met the guy, and I had the hardest cock for him. I hoped none of the staff saw, especially my brother Jess. I know he would have something to say if he heard about it; he loves Ry, always telling me he’s too good for me.

Later that night, I slipped into bed beside Ry; he was asleep already. I heard the familiar sound of a notification on my phone and had a quick glance; it was a friend request from Andy. I know I should have left things alone, ignored the request, and just moved on, but before I realised what I’d done, I had hit accept on the friend request.

Another notification on Messenger, it was Andy: Hey, handsome, thanks for the add, great to meet you tonight. I responded, hey there, it was nice to chat with another happy customer. Andy: Is that all I am after that kiss? I told you that was a mistake. I texted. Andy: Well, we’ll see about that next week. He sent an attachment. I know I shouldn’t have opened it, but I clicked on the image. Andy was naked in bed, and his shot was from his head down to his stomach, his doona covering anything below. Fuck, this man was seriously built, big chest, tight stomach, absolutely gorgeous.

I know I shouldn’t have, but I took a similar selfie showing just a bit of my happy trail going down south- oh fuck yeah- he responded. I put the phone down, not wanting to wake Ry. The phone buzzed again, and my stomach clenched. I didn’t look at it. Couldn’t. Not with Ry sleeping beside me, breathing steady and even, completely unaware that his husband was lying in the dark with his pulse hammering in his throat.

The sheets suddenly felt too warm, too confining. I told myself it was just a bit of fun, just some flirtation with a stranger. People did this all the time. People had harmless exchanges online.

Except it hadn’t felt harmless when Andy’s lips were on mine. It hadn’t felt like nothing when Andy had looked at me with those sharp blue eyes and seen right through me.

The phone vibrated again. Once. Twice. Three times in quick succession. Messages. Multiple messages. Fuck he wasn’t going to stop. I picked up the phone again, another attachment; I clicked on it and almost dropped the phone, this guy’s cock was huge, I knew he was packing in his shorts earlier, but he had to be at least 10 inches and thick. The next text was over the top: Am I as big as Ry? I quickly texted: I have to sleep. Stop texting. It was stupid, I know, but I sent one more text: Easily….

I deleted the whole message roll and turned the phone off. That was the only way I was going to stop him. I kept picturing his cock, I wondered what it would feel like in my mouth.

The next morning, I woke to sunlight filtering through the bedroom blinds and the smell of coffee drifting up from downstairs. Ry was already out of bed, moving around the kitchen below. I could hear the familiar clink of mugs, the soft shuffle of Ry moving through his morning routine with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before.

I lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my phone dark and dormant on the nightstand beside me. I’d turned it off last night, but I could feel it there anyway, a small weight of consequence that seemed to pull at me even when powered down.

I reached for it now, hesitating before pressing the power button. The screen lit up, and immediately the notifications began to accumulate, not from Andy, but from various apps and messages that had come through overnight. I scrolled past them until I got to the last couple of Andy’s messages that I hadn’t looked at.

I clicked on the first one. Well, I can’t wait for you to play around with something bigger than Ry’s, it said. The last one was the worst, can’t wait to stretch you open with this thick cock, sounds like you haven’t had much of a stretch yet. I should have been pissed that he was talking about Ry like that, but fuck, my cock was hard, the cocky bastard.

I heard Ry calling up the stairs, something about breakfast being ready if I wanted it. I shoved the phone under my pillow, my cock still half-hard, my head a mess of conflicting wants. I called back to say I’d be down in a minute, then sat on the edge of the bed, trying to get myself under control.

The thing was, I knew better. I’d been with Ry for three years. We had a life together, a good life, the kind of life people were supposed to want. Stable. Predictable. Safe. So why did Andy’s crude, cocky messages feel like the first time anyone had actually looked at me?

I went downstairs and found Ry in the kitchen, standing at the stove in his weekend clothes, old joggers and one of my hoodies that he’d stolen years ago. He turned when he heard me come down, smiled that easy smile and gave me a kiss. Hey, you must have come in late last night, he said.

Yeah, Friday nights run late, I said, accepting his kiss and trying to make my voice sound normal. I pulled out a stool and sat down at the kitchen island, watching Ry move around the space with the kind of comfortable efficiency that came from three years of mornings like this one.

Ry set a plate of eggs and toast in front of me, along with a mug of coffee, exactly how I liked it. Black, one sugar. The normal Saturday morning routine should have felt grounding. Instead, it felt suffocating in a way I couldn’t quite articulate.

You seem tired, Ry said, leaning against the counter across from him. Everything okay?

I forked a piece of egg into my mouth, buying myself time. Fine. Just busy at the bar. We had a good crowd last night.

That’s good, Ry said, and he meant it. I’m catching up with Jess later if you want to join. Ry and Jess had hit it off as friends ever since I started dating Ry. They’d go shopping or out for coffee or lunch, just catching up on what was happening in their lives. Although I loved my brother, I couldn’t think of anything worse than to have a catch-up with them gasbagging about god knows what. It’s okay I told Ry, I just want to relax at home and watch a bit of footy.

Ry nodded, accepting the deflection without pushing it further. That was one of the things about him: he didn’t press. He let me have my space, my privacy, my Friday nights. It was part of our arrangement, part of what made it work. Or what was supposed to make it work.

I pushed eggs around my plate, not really tasting them. My phone was still under the pillow upstairs, and I could feel its presence like a splinter I couldn’t quite extract. I wondered if Andy had sent more messages after I’d turned it off. Probably. The man seemed like the type who didn’t accept rejection well, who was used to getting what he wanted.

The thought shouldn’t have sent a little thrill through me, but it did.

“You sure you’re okay?” Ry asked, and there was a note of concern in his voice now. “You seem as if you’re out with the fairies this morning.” I forced a smile and shook my head. “Just didn’t sleep well. Must be getting old.”

Ry laughed, that soft, warm sound that had once made me feel safe. “You’re not old. You’re just restless sometimes. It’s one of your things.”

One of my things. As if my sudden inability to sit still, to be present, to not think about a stranger’s cock was just some quirk I’d learned to tolerate. I took a long sip of coffee and didn’t respond.

Ry finished his breakfast and moved to the sink, rinsing his plate with the methodical care he brought to everything. He was a good man. The kind of man who made breakfast without being asked, who didn’t push when you said you needed space, who loved you steadily and without question. The kind of man I was actively betraying, even if it was only a kiss and texting that had occurred.

Ry got dressed and left to go and meet Jess, fuck, why was Andy’s cock suddenly in my mind? I ran upstairs to the bedroom to grab my phone, turning it back on with trembling fingers. The screen was flooded with notifications, and I scrolled past the usual apps until I found Andy’s messages. Seven new texts. My stomach twisted as I read through them.

You’re thinking about me right now, aren’t you?

Bet you’re lying next to him wondering what I’d do to you.

I could make you feel things he never will.

Next Friday can’t come soon enough.

I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, Mick.

The last message was just a single word: Mine.

My breath became shallow. I should delete them all, should block Andy entirely, should throw my phone across the room. Instead, I found myself reading them again, my pulse quickening with each word. The arrogance of it was infuriating, but I still couldn’t wait until I saw him again, next Friday.

To be continued……

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