Though still in love with his long-time partner, Michael is compelled to respond to a demure yet vulgar offer by an alluring young man on a gay dating website. Surprised and flattered by a positive answer, he makes hasty plans to bring Tomasz to the west from his central European location, dismissing the possible consequences.
Will he regret bringing Tomasz into his comfortable home and partnership? Or might they become the perfect threesome?
There had been a challenge of some sort between the Caravaggio and the Swan soon after they were first introduced, each face carefully guarded. The care of movement, locked gazes or studious attention elsewhere; sometimes they almost mirrored each other in the way of cats facing off. But eventually, like neutered felines of lesser stature, the two men slowly relaxed, simulating casual disinterest.
Whenever Michael entered the flat and they happened to be in a room together or sunning themselves on the penthouse’s potted plant lined balcony deck, all interaction between them ceased. Polite attention was given to his intrusion, but neither was willing to provide explanations of what might have passed between them. If any agreements were made, if they might have had sex, (which he would have been thrilled to see), Michael never knew, but things seemed to work for a while, so he did nothing that might upset the uneven triad of their existence.
During daily life, Michael learned the Caravaggio usually accompanied the Swan on necessary tasks for the household, so that he wondered at the premise given about applying for courses or studies. Leaving work earlier than normal one day, Michael stopped to pick up a few special items at a shop in their neighborhood and saw the Caravaggio and Swan shopping. When he’d asked the Swan about it later, if that accompaniment was usual, to his surprise, his question had been answered in the affirmative.
Eventually, the Swan seemed to like Tomasz well enough, as much as he showed attention to anyone save Michael, even though the Caravaggio did his preening, knew his attractiveness, and was content in admiration and inaccessibility. Dinners were made and served with no problem, the responsibility toggling between the younger men; the bathroom shared comically or pragmatically. Michael felt in heaven with the promise of hell’s fulfillment, willing to sell his soul if necessary to obtain it.
Yet as each night fell, tension would grow. Every time. It seemed only to move Michael. The forbidden nature of the Caravaggio’s charms drove him nearly crazy with desire. Though easily assuaged with Per, like a drug addict’s momentary satisfaction with a substitute for his special craving, soon it ate at him again even more strongly.
When, when, when? The question circled in his mind constantly.
It had been over two months. Looking at himself in the mirror one night, even he could see the madness in his eyes, the skin faintly bruised beneath them. Exiting the bathroom, standing in the darkened hallway, Michael peered through the cracked door of their bedroom where Per sat facing away from him at their shared desk, eyes on the monitor of the computer screen, tapping occasionally on the keyboard.
Heat flushed his face as the Swan’s head lifted, turning half toward him, catching him peripherally, before returning to the perusal of the display. Exasperation warred with admiration of the Swan’s intuitiveness, and Michael silently hissed a curse. Uncannily, Per always knew when someone moved about the flat, something about feeling displaced air or the vibration of the wood underfoot Michael had been told long ago.
