Page 27 of Steam

The momentum was paused for only a moment, just long enough to push open the door to his dark condo, and Oliver was on him again, practically wrapped around him. He didn’t even have a moment to turn on a light—and as Oliver’s mouth had found his again, the only thing he could think through the veil of liquor and lust was that he was vaguely impressed the kid still had the energy for this after his long day of flights across an ocean and a goddamn continent.

Logan had struggled to have a realistic conversation with Oliver as the younger man undressed him against his own kitchen counter.

“I’m sure this is against a hell of a lot of company policies,” Logan had said.

“Who cares?” Oliver had said, somewhere in front of him in the dark, his hand already down Logan’s pants. Logan’s breach hitched.

“You’re supposed to live with me for six months,” Logan said, not exactly protesting.

“I’m here tonight and I like you Logan,” Oliver had said smoothly, pressing up against him again. “Why d’you need it to be more complicated than that?”

Logan could’ve said no that night, knowing that it could sour the entire relationship, endanger things for him at work.

The risk was calculated.

The payoff had been worth it.

The next six months had been some of the best of Logan’s life.

Things with Oliver were easy. They shared the same schedule, the same habits, the same interests. Day in and day out, they rode in to work at IGT together. They dined in the city. They drank after work. They enjoyed friendly and vigorous fucking.

It was as simple as that.

This was the type of relationship, maybe, Logan had been after his entire life—not that he had much to compare it to. Oliver was a nice companion, a submissive friend. Someone who aided him in his work instead of getting in the way, who loved to go toe to toe with Logan when they were drinking instead of insisting that he drank too much and cared too little. In fact, Oliver didn’t demand anything of Logan and didn’t expect him to compromise a damn thing, stepping out of the way even at work if necessary.

And it helped that Oliver was always warm and pliant in his bed.

Oliver was consistent and insatiable—and though their fucking (it could hardly be called lovemaking) was always hurried and never tender, Logan couldn’t complain. It wasn’t hard to get off with Oliver with his slender, tan lengths, his tawny, almost downy hair. Sure, it stayed a bit vanilla. Oliver’s tastes didn’t stray much past straightforward sessions where Logan did most of the work—but with the beautiful younger man goading him on, it was hardly a chore.

And Logan had skirted away from romantic relationships for so long, it was incredible to have access to sex on the regular. As long as he was willing to put the work in, Oliver never once turned him down.

It was just as nice to sleep wrapped up in the other man, to wake up next to him in the morning and appreciate the soaring views through his condo’s floor-to-ceiling windows, cooking breakfast on the weekends or heading out for the day together on weekdays.

But statistically, all runs of favorable outcomes eventually come to an end.

In October, Logan put him on a plane back to Manchester.

They were never boyfriends, of course, and only a few key players in Logan’s life knew about the physical relationship. Wyatt had figured it out, of course—could tell almost just by the change in Logan’s posture that he was getting regularly laid for the first time in the tenure of their relationship.

Wyatt had been all for it, luckily.

Wyatt Holman’s IGT specialty was in post-sales customer service and engineering, but he worked just a few hallways away from Logan.

Wyatt was the guy the casino big shots called when their proprietary cabinets were fucking up, when their multi-level progressives suddenly seemed way too loose, or when the hardware problem wasn’t fixed by turning it off and on again. It meant that his job was equal parts fixing actual problems and explaining statistics to floor managers who were worried about their bottom line and blaming machines for losses on their shift. He was diplomatic but assertive. Level headed. The type of person Logan could get along with easily.

Plus, it helped that if a floor manager got too pushy, Wyatt could roll up his sleeves, cross his arms across his broad chest, and take a stance that clearly communicated “the odds are against you.”

They’d bonded over a gigantic oversight in game mechanics that had been under-tested and rolled out too fast in Logan’s fifth year with IGT—a bonusing concept that corporate thought was fabulous but in reality had them hemorrhaging money almost immediately.

Logan was tasked to quietly fix the mechanic. Wyatt was the boots-on-the-ground guy, explaining the issue vaguely enough that no client was too mad.

And afterwards, they were the default team you went to when something major fucked up. The fixers. It earned them a nice reputation in the company and more than a few bonuses. Naturally, they’d ended up at more than one casino bar or restaurant together (on the company dime, of course), the two of them trading stories. Wyatt was just as smart as Logan—probably smarter—and ambitious as hell. Those traits coupled with his easygoing personality, his casually muscular physical presence, and close proximity meant that it didn’t take long for Logan to want Wyatt.

They never talked about their private lives—and conversations with Wyatt so often bordered on flirting—that it was essentially impossible for Logan to figure out Wyatt’s orientation without simply asking him. The man had no social media presence, never talked about exes, and seemed to flirt openly with most people he encountered, from drag entertainers and beautiful casino waitresses to dudes in the office and male casino managers. Was he pansexual, Logan wondered, or just that incredibly personable?

Three years into their friendship, Logan fueled himself up with whiskey and asked Wyatt to come home with him.

And smiling, shrugging… Wyatt had.

---