Beneath Both Of You

There's a moment just before you make a mistake before the line is crossed, the curtain drawn, the plunge taken where the world pauses.

You know you could still stop it.

You could shut it all down, turn your phone off, pretend you were joking. Pretend you're not wet just thinking about what's coming. Pretend you're not broken in the exact shape of the man you can't let go, or that you're not about to make it worse by dragging another body into the wreckage.

But I didn't stop it.

I was halfway through my second glass of red, the deep kind that tastes like smoke and regrets. My robe clung to my thighs like a secret, the silk still warm from the shower, a whisper of sin brushing my skin with every shift. My apartment was silent, dim, thick with candlelight and nerves. I was sitting in the space between choices, waiting for two men to walk through my door and either ruin me, save me or some complicated, filthy version of both.

One of them was Igor.

The man I loved. The one I hurt. The one I kept hurting, over and over again, because I didn't know how to love him right. My ex, my mistake, my fucking addiction. I could still taste him. Still hear the way he said my name when he hated me enough to want me.

The other was Stefan.

Igor's friend. Not close, but close enough. Tall, quiet, with eyes that missed nothing and a mouth that rarely said what it was thinking. A man who didn't owe me anything but was apparently willing to show up tonight and wrap his hands around my waist anyway.

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

This wasn't a plan. This was a domino line of mistakes, each one toppling faster than the last. It started with a text. A "hey." A "can we talk." Me trying to find my way back to Igor, even though the road was littered with broken glass and old arguments.

We talked. Kind of.

Mostly, we fucked.

It happened again after drinks. Then again after an apology I never really finished. The sex was raw ugly and toxic and full of teeth. We clawed at each other like animals, like we were trying to rip the pain out by the root. He slammed into me like he was punishing himself for coming back. I let him. I wanted him to. I came twice and cried after the third.

But it wasn't enough.

Even when he was inside me, it still felt like something was missing.

I knew he wasn't trying to fix anything. Neither was I.

So I offered him the only thing I had left.

"Whatever you want, Igor," I whispered one night, sweat cooling on our bodies, my throat raw, my body already bruised. "No rules."

He didn't answer. Just stared at me.

Eyes hard. Chest heaving. His cock still hard between us, like even his body didn't believe me.

A few days passed.

I thought maybe he'd forget it. Or pretend I hadn't said it. Or maybe that he didn't want anything from me anymore.

But then he asked.

"A threesome," he said. "With Stefan."

I laughed. Out of instinct. Shock. Nerves. I thought it was a joke. I hoped it was a joke.

But Igor didn't laugh. He didn't even blink.

"Why him?" I asked, sitting up in bed, still naked, the sheets tangled around my waist.

"Because we talked about it once," he said simply. "Back when things were good. He said he'd be down. And... he's the only guy I'd trust not to be a dick about it."

I hesitated. "And... you're okay with it?"

He didn't look at me when he said it.

"I just want to get it over with."

The words were a punch to the gut cold, final, bitter. Like sex was something to check off the list. Like he needed to exorcise me from his system and this was how he'd do it. With another man watching.

And maybe... maybe I deserved that.

Because I didn't say no.

I didn't fight it. I didn't even cry.

I just said, "Okay."

I didn't think he'd actually call Stefan.

But he did.

Apparently, it only took one phone call. A single, quiet conversation. A low voice. A long silence.

And Stefan said yes.

They showed up ten minutes apart. Stefan was first. He knocked lightly, probably trying not to seem eager. I opened the door in my robe, barefoot, and his eyes dropped just a little lower than they should've.

"Tina," he said with a small smile. "Looking... committed."

I laughed. "It's the outfit of a woman who's either making a huge mistake or finally learning to shut up and listen to what she wants."

He raised a brow. "So is this really happening?"

"That depends on both of you," I said, stepping aside.

Inside, we didn't touch right away. I offered drinks. We sat on the couch, awkward, talking about work and mutual friends and the weather like we weren't all quietly thinking about where this night was supposed to lead.

"I still think this is weird," Stefan finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean... you and Igor. You guys were"

"A mess?" I offered.

He smiled. "I was going to say something nicer."

I nodded, gripping my wineglass tighter. "He deserves closure. Or revenge. Or a fantasy fulfilled. Maybe all of it. I just... I want to give him something real, even if it's fucked-up."

That's when Igor knocked.

And suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.

When I opened the door, he looked the same and completely different. Same shaggy hair, same jawline that clenched when he was mad. But something behind his eyes had gone darker.

"Hi," I whispered.

He stepped inside without a word, nodding at Stefan, then walking right past us into the living room. He didn't sit. Just stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at nothing.

We all sat in silence for a few long, thick seconds. The kind of silence that doesn't settle it tightens, curling around your ribs like a too-tight belt. My skin felt hot, but the air felt heavy. Unspoken things pressed in from every angle.

Then Stefan shifted in his seat, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and broke the silence.

"Look," he said, voice calm and grounded, like he was trying to set something straight. "We don't have to do anything tonight, alright? No pressure. If this was a one-time thing for fun or even a mistake we can just talk. Chill. It's not a trap."

He looked between us, his eyes pausing longer on Igor.

Igor didn't lean forward. He didn't say anything for a moment. Just snorted under his breath and shook his head, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping his nose.

"I'm not here to talk," he muttered, not looking at either of us.

But Stefan stayed steady. "I know, man. I just..." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just want to make sure you're really okay. This kind of thing? It changes shit."

That made Igor look up. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were darker than they'd been all night.

"I'm not cool," he said, voice low. "But I want this. I need it."

That hit harder than I was ready for.

I felt something swell up in my throat regret, guilt, maybe. I wanted to say something, maybe apologize again, tell him he didn't have to go through with this if it hurt too much. But the words tangled up and died behind my teeth. All I could do was move.

So I stood.

I crossed the room slowly, the robe I wore swishing softly around my thighs, suddenly too warm. And I stopped between them, physically closing the space but not yet bridging the emotional divide.

"If either of you don't want to do this," I said quietly, "I'll understand. I really mean that. This has to be something all three of us want. Otherwise, it's just gonna leave more bruises."

Igor's eyes met mine. Something behind them cracked just a little.

"It's not about that," he said, and his voice was rough now, like it had been scraped across glass. "It's not that I don't want to."

He looked down, jaw clenching again, then back at Stefan.

Then, quieter, more vulnerable than I'd ever heard him:

"I just don't want to spend the whole night comparing myself to you."

For a second, I didn't understand.

Then Stefan blinked, eyebrows pulling together. "Wait... what?"

Igor let out another short, humorless laugh. "I don't need to see some goddamn big fat dick in front of me and feel like the lesser man while I'm trying to fuck my ex one last time, alright?"

His voice was sharp. A little embarrassed. Not angry at Stefan, just... cornered. Exposed. A man already holding broken pieces and not wanting someone else's confidence to make the cracks feel deeper.

The air shifted again.

And I felt it not just between them, but in me. Not arousal, not yet, but a swell of heat that wasn't just sexual. It was emotional. I felt the rawness of his words. How unguarded he was willing to be, right there, in front of both of us. And something about that made me ache.

Stefan stayed still for a second. Then his face softened. Not pity respect. He stood slowly and crossed the few feet between them, keeping his posture easy, open. When he spoke again, it was low and steady.

"Igor," he said. "Man. Listen. No one's measuring anything here."

He gestured between the three of us. "This? Tonight? It's not a pissing contest. It's not about dick size, or who gets her off more, or any of that insecure bullshit guys are trained to obsess over."

He stepped a little closer but didn't crowd him.

"We're here because we all want to be. Because last night wasn't just hot it worked. It was messy and honest and good. And we're here to do it again because we trust each other."

Igor's gaze dropped for a second, but he was listening.

"I'm not gonna do anything you're not okay with," Stefan said. "You lead. I follow. Always. If you need space, I'll give it. If you want to push, I'll support it. And Tina?"

He turned to me, softer now.

"She decides what happens. When it happens. How it happens. It's about what she wants and how we make her feel. Not about how we stack up."

I couldn't help it. I swallowed hard, heat rising behind my eyes.

Stefan turned back to Igor. "I'm not here to compete with you. I'm here to make this unforgettable for her. And if we both get off doing that? Fuck yeah. But I'm not gonna make you feel small. Ever."

The silence this time felt different. Not tight. Not heavy. Just full. Brimming with something that could turn into anything.

Igor didn't answer right away. His jaw was still tense, but his shoulders had lowered slightly, and his hand ran through his hair, like he was finally letting something go.

Then he looked at me.

And in that look was all the weight of the past, all the trust he still somehow had left, and all the broken pieces he was trying to put into place by doing something insane, messy, and incredibly human.

"You sure about this?" he asked, voice hoarse now.

I nodded.

"I want this, Igor. Both of you. But only if it's something we can all enjoy. Together."

I stepped closer to him, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the way his heart thumped under my palm. I looked at Stefan, then back at him.

"This isn't just about one last fuck," I added, voice quieter. "It's about letting go. Or maybe finding something new in the wreckage. I don't know. But I don't want either of you holding back."

Igor exhaled slowly. He nodded once. Then again. Then turned his head toward Stefan and offered a small, crooked smile.

"Well," he said, shrugging slightly. "Let's see if you're as respectful in bed as you are in a pep talk."

Stefan grinned. "Try me."

And just like that, the mood shifted. The tension didn't dissolve it transformed.

And everything that followed... we stepped into willingly.

He exhaled like he'd finally let go of something he'd been gripping for too long, then sank slowly into the couch. The cushions barely rustled beneath him, but the energy in the room shifted. Stefan followed suit, quieter than before, his gaze flicking between us as he took the other seat, a careful space left between them like they were giving me the floor without saying it.

And I was still standing suddenly hyperaware of just how thin and revealing my robe really was.

The silence returned, but it wasn't the same silence as before. This one pulsed. Warm. Charged. Like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting.

I looked down at myself, the soft fabric tied loosely at my waist, still clinging to my curves from where my skin had grown flushed and hot. The edge of my breasts peeked beneath the lapel. I could feel both of their eyes on me. Not lusting yet. Not devouring.

Watching.

Waiting.

Let her move first.

So I did.

My fingers reached for the sash at my waist, slow and deliberate. I tugged the knot loose, the material sliding apart. I shrugged my shoulders gently, easing the robe down my arms, letting it slip, whisper-soft, along my skin. It caught for a second at the swell of my hips, then fell.

A puddle of silk at my feet.

I stood there naked.

Between two fully clothed men.

And for a second, no one said anything. No one needed to. I could feel the moment shift, feel it surge around us like a held breath breaking. Their gazes weren't watching anymore they were taking. Drinking me in. Stefan's jaw visibly tightened, and Igor's lips parted, the soft sound of a breath caught in his throat.

My nipples stiffened under their gaze, the air feeling ten degrees cooler on my skin than it had before. A flush crept up my chest, but I didn't cover myself. I owned it. I held both their gazes.

I could feel my heartbeat not just in my chest, but between my legs hot, heavy, pulsing with the slow ache of need.

I took a slow step forward, then another.

And then I straddled Igor's lap.

His body stiffened beneath mine for just a moment surprised, maybe. Or unsure. His hands hovered near my waist, not quite touching, as though waiting for permission.

I leaned in, lips near his ear. My voice was low, a whisper wrapped in heat.

"You can touch me."

His hands came up then. Lightly at first, fingers brushing my sides like I might disappear. Then firmer. Gripping my hips, his palms warm and rough, spreading heat through my whole torso. He looked up at me, his eyes darker now, something unreadable there anger? longing? memory? and I leaned in and kissed him before I could second-guess it.

The moment our mouths met, it was like lighting a fuse.

His kiss wasn't gentle.

It was familiar. Sharp. Bitter-edged. Like kissing a scar you hadn't meant to reopen.

His lips moved with more force than finesse, mouth opening against mine, tongue sliding deep as he groaned into me. His fingers dug harder into my skin, pulling me down onto him, grinding me against the growing bulge in his jeans. I rocked against him once, slow and deliberate, and felt it the rush of heat between us, thick and heavy and raw.

He was already getting hard. And it made my head spin.

But then I turned.

My body shifted, bare and warm, and I reached for Stefan, who had been watching with a gaze that burned steady, intense.

He didn't hesitate.

The second I leaned toward him, he met me halfway. His hand slid behind my neck, and his lips touched mine different from Igor's. Stefan kissed me like he was discovering something. Slow. Lingering. Deep. Like he wanted to know how I tasted in each breath, like he was building something one layer at a time.

My body melted into his kiss even as Igor's hands kept roaming over my back. I was pinned between them. Straddling one man. Kissing another. Their heat and breath on both sides of me, their tension crackling under my skin like static.

My thighs clenched tighter, not from pressure but from need. Caught between them between history and possibility. Between the man I'd loved and broken, and the one who was just now starting to unfold me.

I moaned softly into Stefan's mouth when Igor's hands slid up to cup my breasts from behind, his thumbs brushing over my already-tight nipples. Stefan's tongue slid past my lips in that same moment, deepening the kiss, and I could've cried at how fucking perfect it felt.

The three of us, overlapping. Breathing together. Moving in sync before we even took anything off.

My hips rolled instinctively again, grinding against Igor's clothed cock, my pussy already soaking with want. I could feel the slickness between my thighs, the ache starting to demand more.

But none of us rushed it.

We were climbing toward something.

Clothed and crawling toward the edge of something uncharted together.

And it was only just beginning.

My robe was already on the floor, a soft black puddle of silk at my feet, and I was on Igor's lap completely naked, skin still flushed from nerves and the heat of their eyes. My body was trembling, not from fear, but from the slow-brewing pressure rolling through the room like thunder that hadn't quite broken.

It felt like I was the storm.

Stefan's kiss still tingled on my lips, a memory made of heat and softness, tasting like something new. Meanwhile, Igor's hands had grown more confident. They slid along my waist with a steady kind of hunger, pulling me in as if he wasn't sure if I was real or maybe like he'd decided he didn't want to let go this time.

I turned just slightly, still perched on Igor's thighs, my legs spread across his, still slick and aching. My breasts rose with each sharp breath, the air cool against my nipples, which throbbed from exposure and tension. Both men were looking at me like they were waiting for something.

For permission.

"You can touch me," I whispered again quieter this time. More intimate. More dangerous.

The invitation was a flicker of a match, and Stefan moved first.

He leaned forward slowly, like I might vanish if he moved too fast, his hand reaching out to rest on my thigh. His palm was warm. Big. Intentional. His touch wasn't teasing he wasn't playing. He was feeling me, appreciating the texture of my skin, the way my leg trembled under his fingers.

He dragged his hand upward in a long, slow stroke. Across the curve of my hip. Stopping just shy of my breast.

His eyes flicked to Igor's quiet, respectful. Is this okay?

Igor didn't say a word. His jaw clenched once, then he gave the smallest nod.

And that was all Stefan needed.

His hand slid higher.

The back of his knuckles grazed the underside of my breast first, the lightest touch, and my body lit up like a flare. I inhaled sharply, my spine arching just a bit, nipples tight and heavy from the way they watched me, from the way his hand hovered.

I couldn't take the tension.

So I reached back and guided Stefan's hand higher cupping my own breast under his palm, giving it to him fully. His fingers flexed once, then settled, thumb brushing softly over my nipple.

At the same time, I turned and grabbed Igor's wrist, lifting it from my thigh and placing it on my other breast.

It was symbolic, maybe. It felt like I was offering myself splitting myself in two and giving each of them a piece of me to hold.

And they took it.

"Fuck," Stefan muttered under his breath, his voice dark, full of wonder. "You're so warm..."

Igor didn't speak, but I felt his cock beneath me hard and growing harder, straining against the fabric of his jeans, pressing up between my thighs where I was slick and throbbing and more than ready. His silence wasn't indifference. It was control. Barely.

I rolled my hips once, dragging my pussy over his clothed length in a slow grind, just to feel it. His breath hitched. I felt his fingers tighten on my breast, thumb circling my nipple like it was something he was rediscovering.

"Still want to just get it over with?" I teased softly, leaning close to Igor's ear, my voice silk and smoke.

His jaw tensed, his eyes flicking to mine. Then his thumb gave a slow, deliberate flick against the tight bud of my nipple.

"Starting to change my mind," he muttered.

That did something to me.

I smiled, slow and sultry, then leaned in to kiss him again. This time, I made it soft. Slower than before. Deep, but not desperate. A kiss that didn't scrape like a scar it soothed like balm over something healing. He responded with a low groan, his hand sliding around my side to hold me close, lips parting as he opened to me.