Compromised

Chapter 1 - After Hours

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……