Movie night

It started with a movie.

Friday night, cold rain tapping against the windows, no plans. Claire was the one who suggested they stay in.

“Let’s just chill tonight,” she said. “All three of us.”

John ordered food. Marcus brought out a bottle of whiskey he’d been saving. Claire made popcorn like it was some cozy sleepover.

They ended up on the couch — Claire in the middle, like it had always been that way.

John noticed what she was wearing right away: a loose cropped hoodie that stopped just above her ribs, and tight black shorts that barely counted as clothes. She didn’t seem to care. Or maybe she did.

Marcus said nothing, but his eyes took her in.

Claire sat cross-legged, facing slightly toward Marcus, her knee brushing his occasionally. Every time it happened, she didn’t move it away.

“What are we watching?” Marcus asked, flicking through streaming options.

Claire leaned over, shoulder grazing his arm. “Something trashy. Something with tension.”

Marcus raised a brow. “Didn’t peg you for drama.”

She glanced back at John. “He knows I like it.”

John gave a short nod. “Yeah.”

They settled on some slow-burn thriller, all unresolved glances and sex scenes framed as art. The lights dimmed. The rain outside set a rhythm.

Midway through the movie, Claire shifted. Stretched her legs out across both of them — her feet in John’s lap, her thighs draped across Marcus’s.

No one said anything.

John looked down at her bare legs resting on him. Then at the way her body leaned into Marcus, subtly but undeniably closer.

His heart thudded.

Marcus didn’t move, his hand resting near the edge of her thigh. Not touching, but close.

Claire nudged her foot upward, pressing softly against John’s crotch. Her eyes stayed on the screen.

He inhaled through his nose, tense.

“You okay?” she whispered, too quietly for Marcus to hear.

“Yeah.”

“You look… distracted.”

She moved her foot again, just enough. John swallowed.

Then, just as quickly, she retracted it and curled closer to Marcus, tucking her legs up like she was just cold.

John sat frozen, the sound of the movie turning to background noise.

⸻

After the credits rolled, Marcus stretched and stood up. His shirt lifted as he did, revealing cut abs and the defined V of his hips.

Claire looked. Not subtly.

John didn’t.

“Good flick,” Marcus said, grabbing his phone. “I’m gonna shower.”

He left the room. The bathroom door clicked shut.

Claire turned to John, that same unreadable smile on her face.

“You mad?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Jealous?”

A pause. “Maybe.”

Claire shifted, slid closer, her hand resting just above his knee.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You know what you’re doing.”

She tilted her head. “Do I?”

Then she swung one leg over him, straddling his lap, sitting directly on him. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her body warm and close.

“You’re hard again,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

She rolled her hips slowly, teasing. “You like watching me get close to him?”

John’s breath caught. “You’re not making him uncomfortable.”

“No,” she said, smiling. “He’s so calm. It’s kind of hot.”

She leaned in, kissed him — slow, deep, lingering. Then pulled back just enough to whisper:

“You really want this, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he breathed.

“Liar.”

She kissed him again, bit his lip gently, then slid off his lap and walked to the bedroom like nothing had happened.

The sound of water running in the bathroom filled the silence behind her.

John sat in the dark, still hard, still aching.

He didn’t move.