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Pedro lives his life. He learns his lines, films his projects, works out, spends time with friends, and goes home.
But then, he’ll fly to wherever Oscar is. Sometimes it’s Copenhagen, or London, or somewhere Oscar is filming, or somewhere Elvira is directing.
But mostly, Pedro returns to Oscar’s home in New York.
It’s usually something that Pedro looks forward to with his whole heart. A familiar and comforting routine, established for years as their three-way relationship grew larger and more serious than he ever expected it to. But this time, there’s trepidation in Pedro’s heart. He’s coming home, but... he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be allowed to consider Oscar and Elvira’s old Brooklyn brownstone as one of his homes.
He hesitates at the front door. Stupid—they have a video doorbell and Oscar is expecting him, so he’s definitely watching Pedro stand awkwardly on his front porch. Pedro knows that as soon as that door opens, Oscar is going to be there with concern, and hurt, and questions about why Pedro has barely been in contact with either him or Elvira for the past month.
Pedro swallows and raps his knuckles on the door. It swings open, mere seconds after.
Oscar stands there, wrapped up in a woolly sweater, socked feet, in all his sharp jaw, salt-and-pepper hair glory. He’s gorgeous, and Pedro’s heart aches.
“Hi,” Oscar smiles.
“Hey,” Pedro returns it, though he feels his answering smile is much shakier.
A slight furrow of Oscar’s brow. “Come on in, quick, it’s cold out.”
Pedro does as he’s told, stepping over the threshold. While Oscar shuts the door, Pedro drops his bag and removes his coat, hanging it on a hook.
“How was the flight?” Oscar asks from behind him.
“Good,” Pedro replies absently. He stares at his coat, hanging in a neat row alongside Oscar’s, Elvira’s, and Eugene’s tiny, bright red puffer jacket.
Pedro turns away quickly, but he’s just hit with more reminders. There’s toys on the floor of this foyer, scattered into the kitchen off to the left. There’s dishes in the sink, neon coloured kids’ plastic plates and cups. And though Pedro can’t see it, he knows that just around the corner is the wall where Oscar and Elvira have begun marking indentations of Eugene’s height. So many reminders that Oscar and Elvira are building a family, all nice and nuclear and no space for Pedro.
And their family is growing. Eugene is growing. He stands and walks and talks now. He’s 19 months old—and Pedro hates that he can say that, sounding like something only a parent would say, when any other person would simply say “he’s one”. But “one” does not encapsulate or convey how old Eugene really is. Eugene speaks words, and his vocabulary grows every day. He responds to questions and directions. He’s growing, and soon enough he’s going to be noticing that Daddy kisses someone else who isn’t Mama, and that makes Pedro worry in a way he didn’t when Eugene was younger and only knew how to feel hungry, thirsty and sleepy.
It won’t be long until Eugene is asking questions.
With his bag down and coat hanging up, Oscar comes round to stand in front of Pedro again. He looks—not guarded, but cautious and concerned. He still, however, steps closer and leans in for their customary kiss, a custom Pedro is usually an eager participant in.
But even though there’s no one else here, Pedro is haunted by all the traces of Eugene in this home, reminding him that he may not be able to kiss Oscar for much longer. And with that frightening thought at the forefront of his mind, when Oscar’s lips meet Pedro’s, Pedro flinches away.
Oscar pulls back in confusion. Pedro knows, instantly, that he’s given it all away. The radio silence for weeks, the quiet hesitance in a kiss that should be full of welcome and joy—Oscar knows something is wrong, and he’s going to make Pedro talk about it, and this is going to be the point where this polyamorous relationship they’ve built becomes too much for them.
Pedro grimaces while Oscar stares up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Pedro breathes, in and out in the silence; and then Oscar is all movement, grabbing Pedro’s hand and dragging him into the kitchen, pressing Pedro against the countertop while Oscar stands, opposite him, with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Right, you gotta tell me what’s going on, because I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure it out and I can’t,” Oscar says quickly, sharply, ripping off the bandaid.
It’s the best way to do it. They didn’t get this far in a three-way relationship without confronting hard truths and emotions bluntly. Their honesty policy has served them very well—six years strong in this relationship is proof of that—but it’s not easy all the time, and Pedro doesn’t have to like it all the time, either.
Like now, when he feels like the end of this conversation is going to break his heart.
Pedro sighs and leans against the sharp edge of the countertop that digs into his lower back. He slumps forward, covering his face in his hands for a moment, before taking a deep breath, straightening and lowering them so he can see Oscar’s face once more.
“I…” How to say it? How to put into words something that’s been seriously running through his mind for months, but every time lost the courage to open his mouth? It feels terrifying, to try and tell this truth. But the alternative—lying—is not even a possibility in Pedro’s mind.
“I just… worry that we won’t have this for much longer.”
Oscar’s brows furrow in concern. “Why?”
“It’s…” Pedro struggles to find the words. “I just keep thinking about, y’know. The future. With you. And Elvira. And—and Eugene.”
Oscar just stares at him, half-confused, half-expectant. Pedro swallows.
“I don’t know, man, I mean—Eugene is getting older, now. It’s probably not the best idea for him to see me kissing you, now.” Pedro forces a chuckle which falls flat. “Might make for some awkward questions later on.”
“Eugene isn’t here,” Oscar says, head tilted to the left, puzzled.
“Yeah, but I mean, he’ll be back soon, right?” Pedro sighs. “How long can I keep staying here and kissing you before he starts asking questions?”
“We’ve kissed in front of him loads of times…” Oscar trails off, seeming a bit lost, like he wasn’t expecting this conversation. “Why is this an issue now?”
“He’s older! He’ll start actually… realising what he’s seeing.” Pedro swallows. Does he really have to spell it out?
Clearly he does, because exasperation begins to creep into Oscar’s expression as he shakes his head. “What are you saying?”
An answering frustration rises within Pedro, giving him the moment of confidence he needs to say this bluntly: “I’m saying that I’m sure you don’t want your kid telling others that his Dad kisses another man!”
There it is.
Oscar’s eyes widen slightly before they close. “Oh,” he sighs, in realisation. “Oh, I get it. I—it makes sense.”
Fear grips Pedro’s heart at how exhausted Oscar looks, how defeated—
“Eugene is not just my kid,” Oscar tells him.
Pedro sets his jaw. That hurts. “Exactly,” he manages to get out, “I doubt Elvira wants the same thing.”
“No,” Oscar says immediately, harshly. He visibly stops himself and pulls back, says, calmer: “I meant he’s not just mine or Elvira’s kid, he’s your kid too.”
Pedro freezes. He wonders if he heard wrong. Surely he is just hallucinating the words he’s wanted to hear for—for months, for a year. “What?” His voice is a croak. “Eugene… Eugene is not my kid.”
“Yes, he’s your kid,” Oscar tells him firmly, easily, as though it was never in doubt.
Pedro is floored by the utter confidence in Oscar’s tone. His eyes search wildly around him. “What—I don’t—That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Yeah it does,” Oscar scoffs. “You’ve known him since he was born. You’ve spent more time caring for him than his own grandparents, which is really saying something. I mean, just think back to—you know, last year. For three months, you cared for Eugene every day since the very moment he was born.”
“Yeah but that wasn’t…” Pedro trails off. “I was just helping out. It was a really busy time for you. It was easier if I just helped out so you wouldn’t have to find a nanny at such short notice.”
Oscar just stares at him. The stretching silence is what makes Pedro start to realise that maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Oscar looks… angry? Fuck.
“What do you mean you were just helping out?” he says, a thin note of incredulity slipping into his voice. “How can you possibly sit there and call yourself a nanny, like that’s all you are to us? To Eugene?”
Pedro blinks, and wonders just how they’ve even gotten into this situation. He really did not foresee this conversation, which is strange, because he’s had a knack for knowing almost everything Oscar is going to say since 2012.
“Why do you think Eugene calls you Papa?” Oscar continues, now sounding exasperated. “Because we tell him to, you idiot! We tell him that you’re his Papa Pedro. We’ve been doing this since he was born, you were there! Why didn’t you ask?”
“I just thought it was kind of… a joke,” Pedro says weakly. “Because Papa and Pedro start with the same letter. And I was hanging around all the time. So. I thought you were… just being funny.”
Now that he says it out loud, it sounds dumb. Beyond dumb—it sounds foolish. Delusional. What was he thinking?
Pedro is beginning to realise that he’s had the wrong idea about all of this for a very long time.
Oscar seems to have reached that same conclusion, too, because the bemused anger in his tone and stance is melting away. Now, Oscar takes a step closer to Pedro, and another, until they’re standing almost chest to chest. Their faces are mere inches apart. Pedro has to tilt his head down only slightly to stare directly into Oscar’s eyes.
“You idiot,” Oscar says, resigned and fond. “You absolute idiot.”
And with that, he leans up and captures Pedro’s lips in a deep kiss.
Pedro is surprised by how immediately intense the kiss is. It’s not open and wet, but deep and concentrated and firm, like Oscar wants to kiss the sense back into Pedro.
Pedro is very on board with that.
He lets himself be kissed. Oscar’s hands come up to his cheeks and Pedro lets them guide his head left for one kiss, then right for another, their lips apart only for a split second before they join again for long, luxurious seconds. Pedro desperately wants to hold Oscar’s waist, so he does: he lets his hands come up and grip that tight bulk of muscle below Oscar’s ribcage, the rightful place for Pedro’s hands, the place he needs to hold onto lest he sinks into the floor in his own weak-kneed relief. Pedro’s body had been tense with confrontation and fear, but with every firm kiss of Oscar’s lips against his, he feels that tension melting away.
Pedro quickly loses count of how many of those kisses Oscar plants on him, but it’s still too soon when Oscar pulls away. Pedro blinks, his eyelashes fluttering open. He wants to take his glasses off and rub at his eyes, feeling starry-eyed, but that would mean he has to stop looking at Oscar, which is… impossible.
Oscar keeps his palms flat on Pedro’s cheeks, so that Pedro can’t look away.
“Listen to me, you dummy,” Oscar says fondly. He over-enunciates his words, which draws a rueful smile to Pedro’s lips. “You are part of this family. We want you here, and you chose to be with us. We don’t call you Uncle, because you are so much more than that to Eugene. Elvira is his Mama, I am his Papa, and you are his Papa Pedro, okay?”
Pedro swallows once, twice. His throat is dry. “Okay,” he says hoarsely.
“And to me…” Oscar lets his voice drop to a murmur and his eyes drop back to Pedro’s lips. “To me, you are my partner. You are important to me. I want you here.”
There they are: the words Pedro’s been waiting to hear for so long but didn’t let himself realise it. The desire now blooms deep within him, hearing Oscar affirm everything he’s quietly always wanted. Tears prick behind his eyes, sharp.
“Yeah,” he croaks out, throat gruff. He can’t say anything more, because he’s already leaning in for another kiss, pulled in by the sheer gravity of Oscar’s sincerity.
Against the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions in Pedro’s head, all he wants is to be wrapped in Oscar even further. Oscar must feel the same, because his hands abandon Pedro’s cheeks in favour of wrapping his arms around Pedro’s neck, bringing one hand to bury in Pedro’s hair. As they share deep kisses, Pedro’s own hands explore the expanse of Oscar’s broad back. His palms travel all over Oscar’s sharp shoulder blades, then down to the centre of his low back. Pedro brings one palm between their bodies to lay flat against Oscar’s stomach; he just wants to feel the firmness there, the strength and softness, the core of Oscar. Pedro knows he always looks weird when he does it, with his elbows sticking out to the sides as he sandwiches Oscar’s body between his palms, but he can’t help that he wants to feel Oscar whole between his hands.
Oscar opens his lips, and Pedro follows suit, and soon enough their kisses grow wet with saliva. When their lips part a small smack resounds, before they join together again, unable to get enough of each other. At one point Pedro sighs into a kiss, and that’s the moment when his body finally relaxes totally, all tension gone. He sways forward into Oscar, trusting him to hold Pedro up. Their chests brush together, their noses touch, their lips stay close. They melt together, equally feeling reassured and wanting to reassure the other.
With every kiss, Pedro feels certain of his place at Oscar’s side once more. And though most of his brain is preoccupied with being kissed senseless, there is a small part of him that cannot stop thinking about how silly and shortsighted he’s been. At every turn of this relationship, whenever Pedro thought ‘it will be too much this time’, it wasn’t. They have worked through and talked through so much. Pedro doesn’t know why it felt like it would be too much for real this time. He should have known; he should have listened.
He knows now.
Pedro returns Oscar’s kisses eagerly and with no small amount of relief. He always knew that he’d make a great weird uncle to Eugene, but it wasn’t what his heart wanted. He doesn’t love Oscar like a brother. He wants more, and now he has it—has learned that he has always had it.
Pedro is jolted out of his thoughts by Oscar’s hands. No longer latched around Pedro’s neck, they roam down his body until they come to Pedro’s ass. Even through his thick jeans, Pedro can feel Oscar’s fingers spread wide as he digs them into the roundness of his ass.
Pedro breaks their kiss to gasp, wetly, into Oscar’s mouth. He opens his eyes, just in time to see a wicked grin dance across Oscar’s face.
“Now that we have that sorted,” Oscar says, a bit breathless, “Can you please let me welcome you home in the way I originally planned?”
His words start a fire in Pedro’s gut.
“That depends,” he plays coy as he slides a hand up Oscar’s back. “Am I gonna like this welcome?”
Oscar leans up to let their noses brush together, sensual. “You know you will,” he murmurs.
Oscar takes Pedro’s hand and squeezes it. As he leads Pedro to the bedroom, Pedro is filled not only with lust and heat but also love, and above all, trust.