The Three of Us Ended Up at His Apartment That Night

Matías’s apartment was exactly as Andrés had imagined it: chaotic in just the right details, with band posters nobody listened to anymore and black-and-white photographs pinned unframed to the wall. In one corner, an old lamp cast an orange glow that mingled with the light from three candles burning on the table. It smelled of sandalwood and something more earthy, a promise of what was about to happen.

Two weeks had passed since the gym locker room. What that afternoon had been lingering looks and a towel brushing that none of them pretended not to notice became messages, and the messages became a concrete plan. Now the three of them were in Matías’s place, ready to cross a line they had been circling for days.

Andrés remembered it with uncomfortable clarity. He had finished training and walked into the showers just as Matías was coming out of his, his hair dripping over his shoulders. Esteban appeared afterward, taking the bench opposite as if it belonged to him. Nobody said much. None of them had to. The looks did all the work, and by the time Andrés tied his shoelaces, he already had both their numbers in his phone.

Over those two weeks, the messages kept getting hotter and hotter, and none of them put on the brakes. First jokes, then questions that weren’t innocent, then half-lit photos taken at odd hours. The idea of the three of them getting together stopped being a fantasy on a screen and became something concrete, with an address and a time. That night, standing outside the door, Andrés felt his heart pounding in his throat before he rang the bell.

Matías opened the door barefoot, wearing a white T-shirt that suggested the outline of his torso and gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His smile was half cocky, half nervous. Andrés was wearing a fitted blue shirt and felt a tingle at the nape of his neck when he saw him. Behind him, Esteban — always imposing, a black T-shirt emphasizing every muscle in his chest — stepped forward and set a bottle of mezcal on the coffee table.

—Nice place —Esteban said, his deep voice reverberating in the cramped space. His eyes raked Matías from head to toe before returning to Andrés, with that intensity that always made the air feel thicker.

—Thanks. I like to think it’s… inspiring —Matías replied with a wink that made Andrés laugh. The tension between the three of them was obvious, but not uncomfortable. It was as if they all knew exactly where this was going and still wanted to savor every second of the road there.

Matías poured three glasses, the golden liquid gleaming under the soft light.

—To nights that aren’t planned —he toasted, lifting his glass.

They clinked their glasses, and their fingers brushed in the gesture, a brief contact that sent a current over Andrés’s skin. They drank. The mezcal burned his throat, but not as much as the look they shared afterward.

It didn’t take long before words gave way to instinct. Matías was the first to move, coming toward Andrés with deliberate slowness. His hands found Andrés’s hips and pulled until their bodies were only inches apart.

—I’ve been thinking about this since the locker room —he whispered, his warm breath against Andrés’s lips.

Before Andrés could answer, Matías kissed him. A slow, deep kiss that tasted of mezcal and held-back longing.

Esteban did not stay behind. He came up behind Andrés, his big hands sliding under his shirt, exploring the skin of his back.

—Don’t hog all the fun, Matías —Esteban murmured, his voice rough as he kissed Andrés’s neck and bit the skin just below his ear.

Andrés moaned, caught between the two of them, his body responding with an urgency that made him tremble. Matías’s hands unbuttoned his shirt button by button, while Esteban stripped him from behind with the ease of experience. The clothes fell to the floor and Andrés was left exposed, vulnerable and needy all at once.

Matías knelt in front of him. His lips traced a path down Andrés’s abdomen and stopped right at the edge of his underwear. Andrés’s breathing hitched when, with a wicked smile, Matías freed him and started stroking him with a slowness that was almost unbearable.

Meanwhile, Esteban took off his T-shirt and revealed a torso that seemed sculpted. He pulled Matías into a fierce kiss, their tongues tangling while Andrés watched, his own arousal growing at the sight.

—Come here —Esteban growled, guiding Matías toward the sofa and easing him down to sit.

Andrés didn’t need any more invitation. He knelt between Matías’s legs, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled down Matías’s sweatpants and exposed the evidence of his desire. When he took him in his mouth, Matías threw his head back against the sofa and gasped. Esteban, standing beside them, shed his own jeans, his naked body shining in the candlelight. He leaned over Matías and kissed him with an intensity that made their moans ring throughout the room.

Lost in what he was doing, Andrés felt every reaction from Matías —every shiver, every sigh— like a reward. But it wasn’t enough for any of them.

***

Esteban lifted Andrés off the floor in one decisive motion and led them to the bedroom bed. The deep red sheets seemed to invite them to lose themselves in them. Matías followed, his gaze lit with a mix of lust and something softer, something none of them was ready to name yet. They stripped off the rest of their clothes in a frenzy of hands and bodies intertwining, skin to skin, sweat mixing with the scent of sandalwood.

Esteban took the lead. With a condom and the lubricant Matías had left on the bedside table, he prepared Andrés with a patience that contrasted with the urgency in his eyes. His fingers were skilled, precise, and made Andrés arch against the sheets while his moans filled the room. Matías positioned himself behind Esteban, his hands exploring his body, his lips leaving a trail of kisses down his back.

When Esteban slid inside Andrés, slow but relentless, Andrés’s world narrowed to that sensation: the heat, the fullness, the rhythm binding them together. Matías, with no intention of staying out, prepared Esteban with the same dedication. The feeling of entering him was enough to tear a deep moan from Esteban, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate.

They moved like a single creature, the three bodies synchronized in a raw, primal dance. Andrés, underneath, clung to the sheets, his hips searching for Esteban’s rhythm while Matías set his own from behind. The sounds filled the room: skin sliding against skin, gasps, moans blending into a single line of pleasure. Andrés felt each thrust like a wave pushing him closer to the edge, and Matías’s hands on Esteban’s hips kept them all anchored.

The climax came first for Andrés, an explosion that made him scream Esteban’s name, his body trembling beneath his weight. Esteban followed, his orgasm pulling a grunt from him that thundered against Andrés’s chest. Matías, caught in the intensity of the moment, let go soon after and collapsed on top of Esteban. The three of them were left tangled in a heap of limbs and broken breaths.

They stayed like that, panting, sweating, while the world slowly returned to place. But something had changed. It wasn’t just the sex, though it had been intense, almost otherworldly. There was a new softness in the way they touched each other: in the way Matías traced lazy circles on Esteban’s back, in the way Andrés reached for his hand to lace their fingers together, in the way Esteban kissed Andrés’s forehead with a tenderness that hadn’t been there before.

***

Hours later, well into the early morning, they were still lying in Matías’s bed, the sheets tangled around them. They had found each other again, this time more slowly, exploring every corner of one another with a reverence that spoke of something beyond desire. Matías took Andrés, his movements soft but deep, while Esteban watched them and stroked both of them, joining in when the moment called for it. Then Andrés returned the favor to Matías, their bodies moving in a rhythm that was almost a conversation, a confession without words.

With dawn peeking through the window, they spoke in whispers. Matías, his head resting on Esteban’s chest, said:

—I don’t know what this is, but… I don’t want it to end.

Andrés, lying on the other side with one leg tangled with Matías’s, nodded.

—Neither do I. It’s… different. It’s more.

Esteban, always the most reserved, looked at the two of them with brown eyes softened by something he didn’t know how to name.

—I’ve never felt this with anyone —he admitted, his voice low but steady—. With you two… it’s like we fit.

The words floated between them, heavy and freeing at the same time. It wasn’t just desire, though that still burned underneath. It was a connection that had caught them before any of them saw it coming. The three of them kissed, a soft, shared kiss that sealed something that still didn’t need a name.

—So what now? —Matías asked, with a smile that was half joke, half hope.

—Now we keep going —Andrés replied, squeezing his hand—. The three of us.

Esteban laughed, a warm sound that filled the room.

—Count me in. But next time, at my place. And bring more mezcal.

They laughed, their bodies still intertwined, and in that instant, under the first light of day, they knew that what they had found was not just one night. It was the beginning of something much bigger, unexpected and shared, a bond none of the three wanted to break.