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“It’d be totally weird, fucking you. I mean, you have a husband. You made vows.”
If you told Paul Baker months ago that Issa would say this to him, he would’ve been incredibly confused. Not at the husband part, necessarily—well, actually yeah, because marriage happening so spontaneously was not in Paul Baker’s cards. On his bingo board? Is that what the saying is?
Desperate times call for desperate measures, he supposes. At least it felt desperate when the idea was first floated, then gallantly thrust upon him. It no longer seemed as desperate when he glanced at Anton and saw a small nod in return. Like a promise.
All this to say: he wouldn’t have been against having a husband. Hence how he, uh, has a husband. Currently speaking. In a not serious, yet sorta has a serious-esque vibe boiling at the bottom of his gut, way. But it’s still the last thing his past self would’ve expected.
“Iss, we didn’t make vows,” Paul Baker gently corrects, grabbing her animated hands with his own. “You know that; you were there.”
“I know, but it sounds more dramatic like that.” Issa sighs. Her eyes take on a rounded shape when she feels any level of concern. “I wanna support you, Paul Baker. Emotionally, sexually, spiritually. But is there a line I shouldn’t morally cross? Carrie Bradshaw would know what to do. If only I watched her show.”
"Who's Carrie Bradshaw?” Paul Baker asks, suddenly lost. He tends to end up here, especially with Issa—she's a talker, after all. Sometimes, it seems like she speaks in riddles.
“Ugh , I need Anton,” Issa says, moving her hands out from under Paul Baker’s touch to flip over the phone resting on her thigh. She does approximately two things at most—Face ID, which barely counts as a thing, hits the Phone app, and taps the 1st name in her favorites list.
Okay, maybe three things: she clicks the speaker button.
It rings, but there’s no answer. Instead, stomps roar against the stairs. The bedroom door swings open shortly after.
“I set a boundary! No calling if we’re both home. I picture you, like, choking. You being incapable of talking—God forbid—or yelling for help, in need of immediate medical assistance, it’s… fucked up!”
“Shut your perfectly glossed lips, I am in need of medical assistance," Issa says, crawling off the bed to stand in front of him.
It humors Paul Baker whenever those two are directly next to each other. The height difference is nuts. You could compare them to a giraffe and a mouse, and it wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate. He doesn’t have that thought for long, though, because it finally hits him what Issa is implying. Not cool. He doesn’t want Anton to worry.
“She's not—” Paul Baker begins to say before getting interrupted.
“—Yeah, I can see she’s not actively dying, Paul Baker,” Anton quips, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s up? If it’s something stupid, I’m killing you and then myself.”
“You have complicated my super erotic relationship with a man who lets me peg him.” Issa jabs a finger into Anton’s chest. “Fix it.”
Anton guffaws. Paul Baker might not be great with words, but he likes to think he picks up on feelings. He can tell Anton is, for whatever reason, uncomfortable knowing that information. There isn’t any worry on his end—sex has never been a sensitive topic for Paul Baker.
For Anton, on the other hand… he makes jokes, obviously. Maybe too many jokes? It’s not that he’s afraid of sex. No way. But Paul Baker has been made aware of this lasting dry spell of Anton’s, and how hesitant he is to get back out there.
Paul Baker didn’t consider this before, but has he dragged Anton even further down? Most people aren’t into fucking newly-wedded men. Paul Baker can’t even get his girlfriend—who knows the circumstances and usually climbs him like a tree without a question—to take part.
He’s a terrible friend.
“Hey, it’s not a biggie,” Paul Baker reassures, or at least tries to. Stretching his legs outwards, now that he has the bed to himself, feels nice. The duvet under him is soft yet sort of scratchy. He pulls his legs back in to tense the muscles again, then repeats the action. Not as satisfying the second time. “We’ll figure it out. Right?”
Issa shoots him a pout, then turns back to Anton. “Give me permission to sex up your husband.”
Anton furrows his brows. “I’m not stopping you from sexing up anyone.” He does air quotes with his long fingers around the words sexing up.
Paul Baker nods, flippantly pointing to Anton while holding eye contact with Issa. “See? No biggie.”
“Paul Baker, the term ‘no biggie’ is officially off limits,” Issa commands, playfully yet stern. She groans with her entire body. “Mind wipe?”
This causes Paul Baker to sit up straight. He loves this tradition, how it’s still somewhat new to him—it’s cute, and a fun way to learn stuff about each other. Although, he has to pretend to not care immediately after. That’s a major con. He always cares immediately after.
This seems to have softened Anton as well, because he’s not on defense anymore. “‘Course, babe. Shoot.”
“I’m irritated that Anton has become a prude, because I can’t just suggest a threesome and fix everything,” Issa admits. She pops a hip.
Anton’s eyes bug out of his head. Paul Baker’s instinct—after being told countless times he's the slowest mind wiper of the group—is to go through with the implied promise, hand gesture and all. Swooping across the room like a determined bird with a messed up wing, Anton reaches to stop Paul Baker’s wrist mid-air.
“Um, absolutely not, mind wipe paused,” Anton says, standing his ground. Ground Paul Baker didn’t know was allowed. Damn, he so would’ve paused that one mind wipe where Billie admitted to having her first ever wet dream about Pee-wee Herman. He needed to ask who the hell that is right in the moment, rather than having to secretly Google it later.
Issa throws herself forward, palming Anton’s wrist in retaliation. “We’ve never done that, ever. Ever!”
“And you’ve never brought up having a threesome with me, Issa!” Anton shrieks. The grip he has on Paul Baker’s wrist is only tightening.
“Let go of my boyfriend slash your husband.” Issa pulls upwards, their stack of arms moving with the motion.
Paul Baker, ever the ineffective mediator. He can see why this is hard for them both. “Guys, let’s just—”
“—I should be allowed to touch him all I want, since your bright idea is for us to fuck while you watch!” Anton retorts. He drops Paul Baker’s arm, and it flops down at the unexpected release.
Issa gasps. “How dare you assume I’d be a vegetable in the threesome I brilliantly suggested!!”
Paul Baker dismounts from the bed. “Stop.”
They both do. Much to his shock, honestly. He’s only ever seen their bickering subside through the powerful force of distraction. It’s Billie’s go-to. Samir has yet to master it.
There are many things Paul Baker knows about Issa, and one is that she’s not a tactful person. It’s a clash that rarely actually clashes between the two of them. Sensitivity is one of Paul Baker’s strengths, and that bodes well with Issa’s lack thereof.
With Anton, there’s a hidden tenderness. He’s generally warm and friendly, his contact list being longer than anyone’s by miles, but not in a vulnerable way. It reminds Paul Baker of his ex’s cat—she was so sweet, a huge talker, but she’d never let him pet her belly.
Metaphorically, Paul Baker has seen Anton’s belly. Maybe not grazed the skin, but he is aware of it. He was granted that privilege a few times.
So, he pulls Anton aside. Well, as aside as two people can get in a bedroom. It’s less about privacy, anyway, and more… a calmer sidestep.
He rests his hands on both of Anton’s shoulders. “I got you, okay? I’ll shut it down.”
Watching Anton’s body visibly relax brings instant relief. Paul Baker squeezes a shoulder.
“She has a point,” Anton says, his voice soft. “Things are different.”
Different, with Anton? That’s not something Paul Baker wants. What they have is perfect. The easy laughs, how there isn’t a single dull moment.
Paul Baker’s brows furrow, his lips in the shape of an o. “Because of the marriage?”
Anton bites at the inside of his cheek. “No. But yes? Like, it’s my fault. Probably.”
“Hey, no, nothing's your fault, you’re great,” Paul Baker says, and he means it. He then eases the hand closest to Issa off Anton’s shoulder, subtly opening the conversation back up.
“Oh, lucky me, I’m finally re-invited to the thing I started,” Issa satirizes. She looks at Anton. “Hi. I’m not mad at you, BTW.”
Anton’s face lightens, his lips pressing together to resemble a grin. “I’m not mad at you, either.”
The exchange makes Paul Baker smile. Not that he expected anything else—these two are way too close to let anything get in the way of that—but it’s still heartfelt. Paul Baker loves that feeling. The one where his chest bursts with warmth. He remembers summer as a kid, floating in a pool while the sun beats down on him.
“Can we just take a moment to hear me out though?” Issa says, a small pout on her face. It happens to be the most Issa sentence to ever be spoken, and she doesn’t even realize it.
And because of that, Anton laughs. And because of that, Paul Baker laughs.
“The floor is yours,” Anton replies. “But- seriously, you cannot blame us for thinking your idea is deranged.”
If he’s honest, Paul Baker didn’t get a chance to form an opinion. Initially caught off guard, sure, but foreseeing the possible damage. He made an instinctive effort to calm them both down. Not a lot of thinking—especially about a threesome—was going through in his head. Exclusive focus on the unassigned duty laid in front of him: making sure everything, and everyone, is okay. It isn’t a foreign concept, not to him. But it doesn’t always… land the way Paul Baker intends.
He thanks his lucky stars—one in particular: a birthday present from his younger sister, when she named a luminary after him—that it seems to have worked out this time.
“That's because you’re picturing something deranged, with your deranged mind!” Issa defends, flapping her arms about. “Me and you”—her finger casually ping-pongs between herself and Anton—“wouldn’t do anything, together. Obvi.”
A small huff of laughter leaves Anton’s nostrils. “Right. So, what would we do?”
That's when, in the midst of this unpredictable conversation, Paul Baker feels a tug on his arm. Issa pulls him closer—which he willingly obliges, if not just from muscle memory. Her hands have a tendency to roam all over him.
“It’d be all about our Paul Baker.” Issa grins up at him, then gently pushes him so the back of his legs hit the bed. “Sit.”
Once again, Paul Baker obeys. And, admittedly, the idea has grown on him. Will it unfold? Unlikely. Should his newfound opinion be said aloud? He’ll just keep it to himself. Is it still the hottest thing he’s heard in a long while? Absolutely, which says a lot considering how Issa claims she is the Einstein of dirty talk.
Issa turns back to Anton. “We Challengers it.”
“The Zendaya movie?” Anton asks, his hand extended in confusion. “Never seen it.”
“Me neither,” Paul Baker says.
After giving a lethal eye roll, Issa crosses her arms. “Oh my God, so? I’m 99% sure it’s about two tennis players on the same team, and one is dating Zendaya—but the other is enticing, with his little short-shorts. So, she ends up making out with them both to alleviate the tension. Then she stays with the original guy. That’s, like, the synopsis. Ta-da.”
Anton gives a disapproving noise. Issa narrows her eyes at him, keeping a knee propped to force Paul Baker to stay in his place on the edge of the bed.
“Paul Baker would be Zendaya,” Issa clarifies, but in a cadence that portrays 1. how genius she is, and 2. how dumb they are for not picking up what she’s putting down. “We’re his tennis bitches.”
“But Iss, this isn’t a movie,” Paul Baker says, placing a hand on her hip.
“I consent,” Issa blurts out, ignoring him. She raises her brows, continuing to face in Anton’s direction. “Do you consent?”
Paul Baker follows Anton’s wandering eyes—the touch between his body and Issa’s knee, the closed door, back to Issa’s stance. “What the hell, sure. I consent.”
A smile spreads across Issa’s face. She rests a hand over Paul Baker’s, which is still draped atop her hip. “Do you, our stand-in Zendaya, consent?”
Who is he to say no?
They end up situated on each side of Paul Baker. Anton’s leg is bouncing up and down on a sinister loop.
“It’ll be fun, it’s hot, let loose!” Issa leans over, smacking Anton’s worried leg. “I’ll set the tone.”
She brings that same hand to Paul Baker’s face.
Issa’s fingernails scratch at his stubble, a telltale sign she’s initiating a kiss. Tongue is the welcoming point. Always a pleasant experience, but not much of a surprise—when they kiss, they kiss. Why beat around the bush? This habit of theirs is both a pro and con for Paul Baker. A pro because his horniness never has to wait. On the other hand, his horniness never has to wait… and isn’t that part of the fun?
He can’t complain, though. Issa is sexy in all the right ways. She matches whatever energy he’s feeling with such a quickness that it's like she has a telepathic connection to his dick. In that exact moment, she throws in another piece of evidence for the prosecution by gripping his upper thigh. Close enough for her fingers to graze his now slightly chubbed up bulge, all as a tease. Paul Baker lets out a soft sigh.
And just like that, she pulls back.
Paul Baker is reminded of Anton’s presence with the sound of a rough swallow. Now that he no longer has a tongue down his throat, it really is that quiet. His head follows the noise.
“That’s it, baby,” Issa coos, walking her fingers down and off Paul Baker’s leg. “Anton’s turn.”
Paul Baker can’t deny that he loves when Issa calls him baby. It’s a word that leaks out of his own mouth often—that, or babe—but it strikes an entirely separate chord if the term of affection is used about him in the bedroom. Which is exactly why he knows he’s blushing right now. At least a little bit.
Not to mention the whole “Anton’s turn” of it all. That definitely didn’t help.
Paul Baker watches as Anton’s gaze scans his face. Hesitance is more than apprehensible—for Anton, for himself, for these circumstances.
In what seems to be a move of pure instinct, Anton’s lithesome fingers reach up to cautiously curl under Paul Baker’s chin. The touch is cold, yet it creates a tiny spark of heat.
Speaking would be ideal. Checking in, getting verbal confirmation that Anton isn’t in need of backing out. That is what Paul Baker wants to do. But, at the weak sound of Anton’s lips parting, he just surges forward.
For a split second, he feels guilty. He let Issa lead, after all. And honestly, he tends to prefer it that way. So, despite his eagerness, he forces a gentle landing. Putting some space between their lips after the initial brush is the logical next step.
But before Paul Baker can flutter his eyes open to gauge the reaction, Anton closes the gap and their kiss begins again. It’s breath-hitching. Although still tentative, there's a firmness.
Paul Baker can work with a firmness, alright.
He slides his hand to the back of Anton’s neck, noticing instant goosebumps arise on the chilled skin. Anton running cold makes sense, but it’s different to feel it so directly. Paul Baker can’t help but smile.
“What?” Anton irritably mumbles against Paul Baker’s mouth.
“Mm- nothing,” Paul Baker replies, following the decision to not break the kiss while talking.
He feels a hand push back on his chest ever-so-lightly. Anton’s eyes are already on him when Paul Baker opens his own. “Liar. You’re laughing.”
“I’m not laughing,” Paul Baker defends. Unfortunately, he laughs as he says this. He taps his fingertips against Anton’s skin. “Goosebumps. It’s cute.”
Anton’s expression changes from guarded to softened. The corner of his mouth twitches up, like he’s fighting a smile. It catches Paul Baker’s eyes instantly.
“Boner killer,” Issa interjects, which oddly startles them both. “Get steamier!”
Paul Baker couldn’t disagree more with the statement. There was a subtle intensity behind the sweetness and caution. Different from Issa’s, but in a refreshing way.
“Oh, sorry for not being a carbon copy of you,” Anton snarks, his scrutinizing gaze looking past Paul Baker and right at Issa.
Issa scoffs. “I literally never said that.”
“It was implied,” Anton says. He scoots closer, which Paul Baker likes, but it’s only to peer over his shoulder and engage more with Issa.
“Hey, whoa- let’s not get snippy,” Paul Baker calmly suggests. His hand has fallen down to Anton’s back, so he strokes the thin fabric of his shirt with his thumb.
Anton exhales, his body slumping a little. He gives Paul Baker a sad look. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Sure, the words sting. But what really breaks his heart is how defeated Anton seems. His palm spreads open against Anton’s back. “That’s okay.”
“Why not?” Issa asks, like this baffles her. “Is this some weird self-sabotage? You won’t, what- kiss your friend that you’ve already kissed? Eight months of nothing, pretending it’s because strangers freak you out, but now—”
“—I don’t want it like this!” Anton yells. He stands up with urgency, eyes locked on Issa. Paul Baker wishes he would look at him, too. “It’s embarrassing, okay? To want something so bad, and know it's not yours? Yeah, no, it’s not fun, Issa. It’s not hot. It’s not gonna entertain you. It just hurts me, and it’s useless. So I’m not doing it.”
There’s a pause after Anton’s outburst. A pause that probably only lasted a minute or two, but felt like an eternity for all of them.
To want something so bad, and know it’s not yours. This echoes through Paul Baker’s mind like a ball bouncing around in his skull.
This could mean anything. Giving it a fair assessment, it could be as simple as Anton wishing he had a relationship. But, if Paul Baker is honest with himself—which he is, whether he likes it or not—he wonders if Anton is saying more than he realizes.
Paul Baker turns to Issa for support, but she’s just looking at Anton with an expression he can’t quite read. Sympathetic, maybe. She was the puppet-master. Now, it’s like she has given up that control. Letting herself fall into the role of witness of the new, hit play Anton Gets Vulnerable, For Once.
Despite how he is still standing, Anton’s posture could be compared to a deflated balloon. He let out all of the air he had. It’s gone, mixed in with the other air, and he can never get it back. But Paul Baker knows Anton, and is more than aware he would kill to have a time machine to exit this situation in a significantly more nonchalant way.
What Paul Baker didn’t know before, however, is how that nonchalance was a façade. No, he’s not completely oblivious—he could tell something within their dynamic was charged. He just interpreted this as a good sign. Especially with how much lighter he feels himself while in Anton’s company. Paul Baker came up with a reasonable equation: Strong Compatibility + Friendship = Emotional Weight. Math was never his best subject, but it made sense to him.
He has no qualms with Issa, though. Never had to think of reasonings as to why he’d feel certain things around her. If anything, their relationship slips on like a trusted glove. The chemistry is hot and familiar, her playfulness intrigues him. Nothing more and nothing less.
Since he’s been forced into this corner—one he suspects he would’ve ended up in eventually—he realizes that what Anton gives him is what he and Issa’s connection lacks.
And what he craves.
Anton’s voice breaks the stretched silence. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize—” Paul Baker begins to soothe, before Issa chimes in. Ironic, considering what she says.
“—If I’m reading the room right, I should probably leave it.” She stands, then wraps her arms around Anton’s torso. “I love you. And I totally get it. Too little too late by JoJo, but I get it. And I approve of it. So do it.”
Paul Baker watches this interaction, sees Anton mollifiedly return the hug. He feels like he’s right on the precipice of grasping the situation. It’s like lining up the perfect shot, but it ends up hitting the back of the board instead.
Issa throws them a wink before shutting the door behind her.
“I didn’t wanna upset you—”
“Please tell me you’re not traumatized—”
They speak at the same time, which ends up with them laughing at the same time immediately after.
“Why would I be traumatized?” Paul Baker asks. He pats the spot next to him on the bed.
Anton sits in the same place he was before, but everything’s different now. “I saw spit fly out of my mouth. Mid-love confession, too. That’s probably the first result when you Google ‘traumatic experience’.”
Paul Baker’s face contorts into a hybrid of emotions: amusement and astonishment. Both starting with A, both ending with -ment. It couldn’t be more perfect.
“Oh?” he cocks his head to the side. “Love confession. Interesting.”
“Don’t be annoying,” Anton jokes. He sheepishly glances down to watch his own fingers pull at the duvet underneath them.
“I’m serious!” Paul Baker pokes Anton’s busied hand. “I didn’t know, if that’s what you meant. Mr. Vague over here.”
Anton looks up at him through his lashes. It’s a beautiful sight. He’s seen this face—from many angles, in various moods—and yet it feels entirely new. Revelations shift every detail.
“You have no idea how… ugh.” Anton shakes his head. “My brain has been actual hell. I tried so hard not to like you. Apparently, it’s impossible.”
Paul Baker bites back a smile. “Oh, I love this. You having no choice but to show me your cat belly.”
Anton’s brows knit together. “My cat belly?”
“Yeah. You usually hide it, you don’t let anyone touch it. But now…” Paul Baker brings a hand up to Anton’s stomach and starts to tickle.
“Stop!” Anton says, buoyant annoyance in his voice. He grabs both of Paul Baker’s wrists. “Never do that again, and your analogy is ridiculous.”
“It’s dead on and you know it,” Paul Baker teases. He rapidly moves his fingers around, despite being trapped where they are.
Anton’s mouth twists up in a small smile. “Whatever.”
It’s a flirt-fest, a feeling of butterflies—hell, every flying insect to exist—internally flapping around.
And it’s not that Issa didn’t give him that. He loved her, loves her, because of her frivolosity. She’s fun. Endless energy, open-minded. Up for any adventure. Truly a one-of-a-kind person. He wouldn’t change what they had for the world. That’d be changing her, and doing so is not only wrong, but also inconceivable.
The banter Anton and Paul Baker have encapsulates that same portion of love—jest, airiness. But he needs more than just that.
“Love… you’re sure?” And if Anton isn’t, Paul Baker wouldn’t blame him. Not in the slightest. Certainty isn’t a choice.
Anton loosens his grip on Paul Baker’s wrists, then slides them up to intertwine their hands. “Yeah. I’m so sure, it scares me.”
Want? No, this is what Paul Baker needs. Has needed. What skewed their friendship to feel heavier than what he has with Billie, or Samir. What he simultaneously knew and didn’t know he saw in Anton when asking him to be the one he marries. What confused him about a kiss that was meant to be a joke. What made Issa question the ethics. It was always there, in plain sight.
At least he sees it now.
Paul Baker tugs Anton closer with their connected hands. “Lemme actually kiss you now.”
“We have—three times already—but okay,” Anton corrects, like he couldn’t help but prove him wrong.