Friday night, 11:30 p.m.
Mac was pissed. It was the fifth Friday night in a row that he had to work late. Not that he minded the work, hell no, he was the co-owner of one of the hottest Gay/Bi websites to hit the internet in 15 years. The connections were endless, the paychecks were great, but his sex life resembled a fifteen year olds and he was only 28. A lot of masturbation, a lot of frustration and very little one on one contact. He was not one to suffer this enforced celibacy silently either. Kevin, his business partner and closest friend, got his balls busted every day when he walked into the office.
Kevin was getting married tomorrow and his wonderful bride to be had scheduled something damn near every night for the past month and a half. Showers, parties, luncheons, dinners. . . all bullshit as far as Mac was concerned. He knew why she tied up every spare second before the hallowed event. Little Miss Perfect aka. Paige Thornton, was afraid that Kevin would go out, start talking to another woman, and realize mere seconds before saying, "I do" that Paige wasn't much warmer than the 3.5 carat diamond weighing down her finger.
Mac stretched, groaning as the muscles across his back strained against the fabric of his shirt. He'd started working with a personal trainer a couple months ago, right after Kevin asked him to be his best man. He wasn't where he wanted to be, but he had come a long way. He gained two inches in his arms, three and a half across the chest, narrowed his waist to a fairly solid 34. All in all, he looked pretty damn good.
"G'night, Mr. . . Mac" The cleaning lady chirped through the half open door. She had been told right off the bat that Mac and Kevin were not Sir this or Mr. that, they were Mac and Kevin plain and simple. Margaret really liked those two boys too, millionaires the both of them and as nice and down to earth as could be. "Goodnight, Margaret. Don't bother locking the door, I'm right behind you."
Mac finished proofing the pictures for next month's edition of "How hot is hot?" a weekly contest where men send their pictures in and members vote on who's the sexiest, it was time for a drink.
There was a night club right across the street, but he really wasn't in the mood for "who's looking better than who" tonight. What he could really use was a nice cold double martini, and knew just the place. Victoria's on the Bay, a quiet cigar bar that overlooked the water, a bit out of the way, but he deserved it. He would only stay for one, maybe two, and be on his way home for a good night's sleep like a responsible best man should.
They spotted Mac the second he walked through the door. He was sexy as hell. Short cropped hair, blonde as far as they could tell in the dim light, tight little goatee. Just their kind of man.
Mac settled into his favorite seat at the corner of the bar.
"Good evening, Mac"
"Hey, Sharon. How've you been?"
"Not bad," She put a martini on the coaster in front of him, tilting her head towards two men at a nearby table, "Hell, you haven't been here 5 minutes and you're already getting free drinks. If I could only be so lucky."
Mac followed her motion. There were two men sitting at a high top table, a pitcher of beer, and a couple of shot glasses between them. The bigger of the two smiled and Mac felt his cock thicken. They were big, just the way Mac liked them. Not just muscular, tall too, but the hair and face did it. Ripped from the cover of a trashy romance novel. A Strong jaw, just barely covered by yesterdays shave, piercing eyes and a mane of hair that any woman would kill for. One jet black, the other golden blonde. Mac tipped the drink up in thanks, "Not bad, not bad at all." He turned around ready to say something to Sharon, but she had disappeared into the kitchen.
"I hate it when that happens."
"Excuse me?" Mac turned back around and came face to chest with one of the men from across the room. He leaned back slightly and looked up.
"Sorry," the man said, and stepped to the side, reaching for a stack of napkins, "My brother dumped a shot in his crotch."
Brothers? Very interesting, Mac thought.
"Why don't you join us for a drink?"
"Sure, why not."
"The name's Terry Wright," the man said, shoving a stack of napkins toward his brother with one hand and sticking his other out to shake Mac's hand, "that. . . is Jacob."
"Pleasure to meet you."
Terry settled onto the barstool, the leg pressing against Mac's thigh was more than a simple distraction. It felt like a hot hand stroking him each time Terry would readjust in the seat. Jacob hadn't wasted any time moving in either and it wasn't long before Mac was sandwiched between the brothers with hands replacing the brushing thighs. They spent the next two and a half hours drinking beer, doing shots and feeling each other up.
Jacob ran his fingers over Mac's crotch, "Want to get out of here. My place is only 5 miles away. we can have a few more drinks?"
