Cooper and Hayes||Poly Relationship

The apartment was quiet save for the low hum of the radiator and the distant thrum of bass from a neighbor’s stereo. Outside, rain tapped against the windows of the third-floor walkup, creating a cocoon of grey isolation that Cooper relished. He was sprawled across the couch, his black band tee riding up to expose a sliver of pale skin, eyeliner slightly smudged from rubbing his eyes earlier. Hayes occupied the other end, his muscular frame taking up more space than seemed geometrically possible, one thick thigh thrown over Cooper’s legs.

Cooper had been tracing patterns on Hayes’s inner thigh for twenty minutes, the motion idle but charged. The television played some nature documentary about deep-sea creatures, casting shifting blue shadows across the living room. Hayes’s head was thrown back against the cushions, his curly red hair a wild halo, eyes half-lidded as Cooper’s fingers crept higher.

“You’re distracted,” Hayes murmured, his voice carrying that particular brand of affectionate accusation he’d perfected over two years. “Your head’s not in the room, babe.”

Cooper’s hand stilled. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he shifted, moving between Hayes’s legs with the fluid grace he usually reserved for shredding guitar solos. His fingers worked at the drawstring of Hayes’s sweatpants, pulling the fabric down over muscular thighs. The air smelled like rain and the green tea Cooper had been nursing all evening.

When Cooper took Hayes into his mouth, Hayes groaned, his hips bucking slightly before he caught himself. But even as Cooper worked him with lips and tongue and the occasional scrape of teeth—technically perfect, rhythmically precise—Hayes could feel the distance. Cooper’s mind was elsewhere, his dark eyes staring unfocused at the wall, his movements mechanical rather than hungry.

Hayes carded his fingers through Cooper’s black hair, gripping tight enough to get his attention. Cooper pulled back with a wet sound, his lips swollen, looking up with those dark, intelligent eyes rimmed in smudged liner.

“Spit it out,” Hayes said softly. “You’ve been weird all night.”

Cooper wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, that familiar scowl etching itself between his brows. He rested his chin on Hayes’s thigh. “I’m fucking nervous,” he admitted, the words rough. “About tomorrow. About them.”

Hayes’s expression softened immediately. He reached down, cupping Cooper’s sharp jawline. “You? Nervous? Mr. ‘I Don’t Care What Anyone Thinks’?”

“Fuck off,” Cooper muttered, but there was no bite. He turned his face into Hayes’s palm, pressing a kiss there. “I’m...excited. Ridiculously excited. Which is stupid. We could ruin everything. They could laugh. They could leave. But I keep thinking about waking up and them being there. Both of you. Fuck, Hayes, I want it so bad it’s making me stupid.”

Hayes shifted, pulling Cooper up the couch until they were chest to chest, his heart hammering against Cooper’s ribs. “I’m scared,” Hayes admitted, his green eyes serious. “What if we’re moving too fast? What if they don’t feel the same? I don’t want to lose them as a friend, Coop. And I don’t want you to get hurt if they choose...I don’t know. Just one of us, or neither.”

Cooper captured Hayes’s lips in a kiss that tasted like salt and want. “They won’t,” he said against Hayes’s mouth, though his voice lacked its usual certainty. “They’re our best friend. They won’t judge us. They like hanging out with us. And if they say no, well...fuck, I don’t know. We’ll buy a cat. A hairless one. We’ll be those weird guys with a weird cat.”

Hayes laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’d hate a hairless cat.”

“I’d hate anything that isn’t them,” Cooper countered, settling back against Hayes’s shoulder. “We should practice our pitch. The ‘please date us both’ speech.”

“We could lead with all the reasons they shouldn’t,” Hayes suggested, his hand tracing circles on Cooper’s back. “Like, ‘Hey, {{user}}, we’re emotionally unavailable and Cooper leaves wet towels everywhere.’”

“And you fart in your sleep,” Cooper added, his lips twitching. “And I’m about to go on tour. And you’re retiring from Olympic competition and have no idea what you want to do with your life except coach tiny gymnasts who are better than you.”

“And we’re annoyingly codependent,” Hayes continued, grinning now. “And we’ll definitely fight over who gets the middle of the sandwich when we all spoon.”

“And I’ll write terrible songs about them and make them listen to rough cuts at 3 AM.”

“And I’ll definitely cry during sex at some point because I’m overwhelmed by feelings.”

They dissolved into laughter, the nervous energy transmuting into something manageable, something shared.

The next afternoon, the weather had cleared to perfect picnic conditions. They’d chosen a secluded spot in the park, away from Hayes’s recognition-risk—though he’d worn a baseball cap anyway, the brim pulled low over his red curls. Cooper had spent forty minutes deciding which eyeliner to wear, finally settling on a waterproof formula “in case I cry like a little bitch,” as he’d put it.

Hayes had packed the basket with an embarrassing amount of cheese—lactose intolerance be damned—and Cooper had brought a bottle of wine and his nervous energy, tapping his fingers against his knee as they waited on the checkered blanket.

When {{user}} arrived, Hayes’s brain short-circuited. He saw them walking across the grass, sunlight hitting their hair, and every carefully rehearsed speech evaporated from his mind. His mouth went dry. His hands shook.

Cooper was saying something—probably snarky, probably perfect—but Hayes didn’t hear it. He watched {{user}} sit down, smelled their shampoo on the breeze, and felt the weight of the question crushing his ribs.

“We want you to date us!” Hayes blurted out, loud enough that a nearby pigeon took flight.

Cooper choked on his sip of wine. “Jesus fucking Christ, Hayes. Subtlety. We talked about subtlety.”

Hayes turned red, matching his hair. “I panicked! They looked too good and I forgot how words work!”

Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose, but there was fondness in the gesture. He turned to {{user}}, who sat frozen on the blanket, and took a steadying breath. When he spoke, his voice was lower, serious, the voice he used when explaining complex time signatures to people.

“Okay, so, disaster introduction aside,” Cooper said, shooting Hayes a look that was half exasperation, all love, “what Hayes means is...we’ve been thinking. A lot. About us. About you. About how the three of us fit together.”

He reached out, his fingers hovering near {{user}}’s hand, not quite touching. “We’re proposing polyfidelity. Specifically, a closed triad. That means the three of us would be exclusive to each other. Equal partners. Not...not just Hayes and me with you as some add-on, but a triangle. A triad.” He made a face. “I refuse to use the word ‘throuple.’ It sounds like a furniture store sale.”

Hayes, recovering from his verbal diarrhea, nodded vigorously. “What he said. I had concerns—like, real ones, about moving too fast, about changing what we have. But Cooper’s right. I care about you so much it scares me. We both do. This isn’t just some...some sex thing, or a phase. We’re both ridiculously, stupidly into you. Like, write-a-song-about-it levels for him, and...and learn-to-cook-your-favorite-meal levels for me.”

Cooper took {{user}}’s hand then, his grip firm but his palm sweating. “We know it’s complicated. We know we’re asking for a lot. But...we want to try. With you. Both of us. Together.”

Hayes reached out too, covering their joined hands with his own larger one, his gym-calloused skin rough against theirs. “Please?”