Chapter Text
+++
“You know,” Kyrou says, chewing around his last bite of carrot cake, setting down his fork with a precise click. “I’m glad this worked out.”
It’s possible, Fik thinks, that Kyrou hasn’t cut his hair once in all the time since they last saw each other.
Now Fik can’t stop staring at it, his gaze getting stuck every time Kyrou pushes those long dark curls back behind his ear. It keeps all falling forward into his face, tangled and glossy and teasing over the tops of his shoulders.
A stark reminder of just how long it’s really been, with Kyrou sitting out their last regular season head-to-head on an upper body injury, (more specifically, Fik knows from the obligatory Sorry I couldn’t beat your ass texts they’d exchanged: a separated AC joint) and only barely recovered by the time the Jets had gone up against Vegas in the conference finals.
Nothing much to say about that, really: the Jets got knocked in five; Kyrou played half his regular minutes in for game three and sat the rest. Watched from the box as his team lost the Cup final without him. Then, summer; stretched long and hot and necessary in between, and there was no natural way to say Hey, I know it’s been a while and we all had a tough end there, but should we maybe fly across the country to see each other? because why would they, so they’d said nothing, instead.
Until now, here, the first of three meetings between the Jets and the Knights this season; the next one not for another month at least.
It makes tonight’s whole thing—dinner, drinks, catching up—seem that much more surreal, like the person facing him across his dining room table must be a different one entirely from the man who’d stood in the bowels of T-Mobile and casually propositioned…
Well, not just him.
“I mean you two,” Kyrou waves carelessly at where Fik and Blake are sitting close, elbows brushing on the other side of the table. “Together.”
Fik has to repress a sudden self-conscious urge to scoot his chair away, like he’s been caught out in some illicit affair. Like Kyrou didn’t know the minute he walked through the door—the minute he got Fik’s text, even. Come for dinner tonight. Blake is cooking.
“I really wasn’t trying to step on anyone’s toes, you know.” Kyrou continues serenely, turning his dark gaze on Fik, eyes as keen and teasing and completely unreadable as ever. “Picking you.”
It’s been like this all night: Kyrou the same—blunt, impenetrable—but somehow different, too. Like all the harsh edges have been a little sanded down; his limbs loose beneath a simple white dress shirt, big booming laugh and unrestrained smile as he tells stories of summer visits with his family in Kenitra, in Rabat. Fik finds himself reeled in despite himself, pulled close enough to touch. Forgetting why that might be a bad idea, right up until Kyrou chooses to remind him: cranking that giga-watt smirk up to ten and tossing his new long hair; picking his way through a cutting comment as he laughs right in your face.
It shouldn’t be charming. Worse, it definitely shouldn’t be making Fik feel insecure—make him doubt how well he really knows the guy at all. Because how well could he? After one fuck and a couple of months worth of texts between them… He must be insane to think that’s anything like enough.
“I know you thought I was trying to start some kind of primitivistic pissing contest or something.”
Kyrou is still talking now, mouth curved up dangerously. Talking to Blake, Fik realizes. Or— No, he’s looking at Fik too. At both of them, at the scant distance between. Measuring it.
Fik thinks again that he has to have already guessed. It’s not like Kyrou doesn’t know how to read a play.
“You thought I was… Oh, how did you put it, Franciszek?” He says Fik’s name like it’s something to savour, rolling the soft middle of it between teeth and tongue. “Playing mind games.”
That stupid, eye-catching laugh. “I mean, as much as I do enjoy knocking people down a peg or two when I can, picking you wasn’t about that.” His eyes flick between them again. “I only saw something I wanted.”
And fuck. Isn’t that just the perfect opening— the perfect time to say something smooth. See anything you want right now?
But instead Fik’s voice goes thick in his throat, swelling up fast and sticking there. Under the table, he feels Blake’s hand find his thigh. Reassuring squeeze, then Blake is leaning forward, opening his mouth.
“And if you’d known?”
Fik swallows his surprise, eyes darting quickly to the side. Glances at where Blake’s free hand is wrapped steady around the column of his water glass, grip relaxed. Exactly like how it is on Fik’s leg under the table.
Tonight isn’t Blake’s show to run. They’d agreed: not his job to throw the first pitch, not his call to have to make. But where Fik’s nerves are probably showing all through the tense lines of his body, there’s a strange calmness that’s come down over Blake—something quiet and intense.
Something deliberate.
“I mean, if you’d known beforehand, about me,” Blake repeats, steady, keeping his eyes on Kyrou. “About us. Would that have changed what you wanted?”
It’s almost eerie, the way Kyrou falls suddenly still. Not that he’d been moving all that much to begin with. It’s only that Fik is watching him so closely—watching him watch Blake, and then the both of them—keen, unmoving, subtly readjusting.
Kyrou meets Fik’s gaze with a hundred small calculations running behind his eyes. Weighing and measuring, considering; probably congratulating himself on guessing correctly, the smug bastard—before Fik sees the moment he settles, if he knows anything about the man at all, on something in the broad range of Fuck it, why not.
“No,” Kyrou says, dark eyes gleaming now with a new kind of interest. “No, it wouldn’t have changed anything for me.”
Fik has to clear his throat quietly, feeling his rate heart pick up just ever so slightly.
Kyrou, of course, notices. Smiles at it, one brown hand raising to push an errant curl back behind his ear. “Damn. You miss me that much Fik?”
“God,” Fik groans, casting his eyes to the ceiling. Next to him Blake lets out a small ha. “And there goes fifty dollars.”
Kyrou raises an eyebrow, smaller smile curving his mouth. “Oh yeah? What was the bet?”
“That you’d say something unbearably arrogant in the first thirty seconds after we brought this up,” Blake grins good-naturedly. “Looks like you’re getting a little predictable.”
Kyrou laughs, that full throated thing again. “Looks like you’re not. Finally learn how to share, Wheeler?”
And rather than bristle, Blake returns his gaze to Fik. Still smiling, impossibly soft-eyed.
Unbearably soft-eyed. It’s both wonderful and terrible when Blake looks at him like that. Feels even more raw with Kyrou right here to see it.
“Something like that, yeah,” Blake answers Kyrou, not looking away from Fik.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be,” Kyrou smirks, rolling his half-empty water glass over between his palms. “Tell me, do I at least get to find out what makes Daddy Big Wheels’ cock so special it’s got you blushing right here over the dinner table?”
Blake coughs, choking. Fik’s eyebrows go up. He’d honestly almost forgotten how frankly fucking needling Kyrou can be. The way he’ll say exactly what he’s thinking—completely unconcerned with coming off as a total dick: proud to, even—and then watch carefully at your reaction, missing exactly fucking nothing. The memory of that goading tone, You ever handle an Alpha cock before? You ever been fucked? Fuck. You gonna come for me? sets Fiks palms to sweating in his lap.
“Depends what you mean by find out,” Blake recovers first, darting an uncertain look over at Fik. “I, uh…”
Fik suddenly remembers himself and hastily clears his throat. “No. Yeah. That’s— We could— We need to, ah, talk about things. Beforehand. Like, put it all on the table.”
The way he says it makes it sound more like a question than a statement. Kyrou’s eyebrows go up in amusement.
“Well, I’m good either way,” he says. “You know I’ve taken an Alpha before, and I’m betting your boy Wheels over here wouldn’t so much mind getting a leg over me, fair turnabout and all that.”
The smile he levels at Blake then is downright dangerous. “But hey, if you want this to be your show tonight Fik, you know I’m not gonna say no to front row tickets.” He licks his lips, eyes sharp behind heavy lids. “Is that the idea here? Show me how Wheeler fucks you better?”
Blake grunts before Fik can answer, mouth twisting into a small frown.
“Yeah, so the thing is Kyrou, is that it’s really not." Blake's eyes are serious. "I just need to stop you right there, ‘cuz I really don’t want you getting the idea that this is some kind of competition, or— or fucked up revenge fantasy for us, you get that? Last season, you said… Well, it seemed like you were up for something we might all enjoy, but if you’re looking for a hatefuck or to be put down here, then I’m sorry, but this just isn’t that scene. And if that’s the case then we’re all just gonna go back to enjoying our cake and call it a night.”
Kyrou listens, impassively (only twitching slightly like he’s delightfully surprised when Blake basically spits the word hatefuck). Silent, as he calmly takes a sip of water, then he puts the glass back down with almost military precisions, and says
“So. Are you saying you don’t want to fuck me?”
It’s actually kind of interesting, watching Blake get knocked off balance in this new way—not like that first time, when he’d been exhausted and overprotective and about ready to bite Kyrou’s head off. Miles away from this: quietly reeling from the full force of Kyrou’s arrogant, self-assured brashness; how every new thing that spilled from Kyrou’s mouth was somehow the most irritating you’d ever heard. Turns out Blake’s a lot better at bouncing back from it than Fik is.
“I’m saying,” he says, calmly, leaning his weight forward on his forearms against the table. “That I’m not one to be baited into anything, Alek. If you want something, you’re going to have to ask. Nicely.”
Fik bites down on a smile, trying not to think that this is exactly how Blake likes to captain a room—minus the puffed-up goading. But direct, genuine, and always conscientious of his position; not that he’s afraid to use it, just unwilling to do so without being perfectly straightforward about it. Blake doesn’t ask you to blindly trust him: just quietly shows you why you might want to. Why that actually might be a really good idea.
Kyrou notices the twitch of Fik’s amusement and cuts his eyes over, gaze gone hot and sharp and distinctly entertained, before he turns his sights back on Blake.
Somehow, he manages to make the flick of his eyebrow look entirely bored as he says— no, drawls. “Sorry, was I not gagging hard enough for you? Guess I’m still learning your tastes here big guy, but I promise I’m a fast learner, you know—I think you’d really like teaching me a lesson.”
He drops his gaze when Blake’s scent spikes, letting his hair fall forward so he can look up again from behind it, and Fik swears he’s doing it on purpose now. All the more when Kyrou quickly drops the facade and cracks a smile like a shark.
“Yeah. You know Wheeler, when I invite you to fuck me, it’s not under some delusion that I’ve got anything to prove. You wanna hear me say I want it?” He half laughs. “Maybe first I wanna know if your cock is worth the goddamn trouble.”
He tilts his head deliberately, gaze narrowing, and Fik’s neck prickles under the focus.
“So. Tell me, Fik. Does mister Wheel ’N Deal over here give it to ya good?”
Blake actually turns to hear the answer, like this’ll settle it. Fik rolls his eyes.
“I guess I should have seen this coming,” he sighs. “Leave it up to a couple of Alphas to turn an offer of a threesome into a posturing match. Why don’t you guys just go ahead and let me know when you’re done measuring.”
“Hey, now you’re just stereotyping—”
“I can be done if he is—”
“Besides,” Kyrou is back to smirking. “I’m pretty sure I’m still the only one who’s even put anything on the table here. Unless you count Daddy Wheels letting us all know that he can’t get it up unless someone’s begging him for it—”
“Okay, first of all, I said that we don’t have to do that, not that I don’t want to. Second of all, I have a name and I know you know how to use it—”
“So you do want to fuck me. I fucking knew it, I called it—”
“Okay!” Fik interrupts, not sure if he’s closer to laughing or yelling or both. “Okay. That’s enough.”
Both fall silent, looking at him. The entire room smells obnoxiously of cinnamon and fresh cut grass. It makes Fik’s nose tickle.
“Okay. Look, I hate to say it but Kyrou is right,” Fik speaks calmly, ignoring it when Kyrou very obviously leers at Blake from across the table. “Nobody’s fucking anybody until we all agree on, y'know, how.”
Kyrou sits back and crosses his arms smugly. When they both turn to look at him, he raises his eyebrows in challenge. “What? I already said I’m good either way, and I’m doubting that Blake is putting his own ass on offer, so I think that covers it. I’m good to fuck, be fucked, or just sit for a show.”
Blake doesn’t even let a beat of silence pass before he jumps in.
“Okay, but what about other stuff? What’s a no-go for you? Are there any positions we should avoid for your shoulder? And what about—”
“Blake,” Fik interrupts, putting his hand down on a thigh. “Take it easy, eh? This isn’t an interrogation, let’s just try one question at a time.”
Blake blinks, deflates, and he ducks his head on a smile. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. You know how I get…”
“All about the details.”
“Yeah,” Blake chuckles, smiling at Fik, and then blows out a breath. “Okay, so?”
And then both Blake and Kyrou are looking at him, the concentrated weight of their gazes both heavy and heady at once. A rush under his skin that he squirms and struggles through, heart racing, before he finally manages to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“Um, okay. Yeah, I mean, same? I’m good with both too, with— Uh, fucking. Or getting fucked.”
He blows out a breath. This is already so much more than what he was expecting tonight, which— now he doesn’t even know what that was. Three way handjobs? Blake watching as Kyrou got him off, or Kyrou watching as he sucked Blake into his mouth… Something like that. Definitely not for Kyrou to want to jump in so quickly, to put himself out there for— for getting on his back. For them. But then, it was still unclear whether the man was capable of feeling shame, and he clearly didn’t feel at all vulnerable offering this.
This.
This feels like jumping off the deep-end. Or maybe more like being pushed backwards off a cliff—falling blind into waters too dark to know how far you might sink. This feels actually a lot like the crawling beginnings of last time, riding just at the edge of too much, heat pushing up his spine. Fik shudders.
“And I’m good with…” he breathes. “I mean if you’re both up to it, then yeah, I think it’d be, uh. Hot. To see you two together.”
He’s not sure who exhales this time. Maybe it’s the whole table, but new tension floods quick into the empty space left in its wake. There’s certainly no mistaking the rush of fresh green that overtakes the room. When Fik turns to look at him, Blake’s pale eyes are darker: thin rings edged around fat pools of black.
“Good,” Blake grates, and then, seeming to hear the wrecked quality of his own voice, swallows twice and says, “Ah, good. That’s— Yeah, I’m up for that.” His eyes flick across the table to Kyrou, and then down. “But you’re right. I’m not— Not sure I’m ready to be the, ah, receptive one. In that situation.”
Kyrou tilts his head to the side, curls dragging at his shoulders, and smiles, “You’re adorable, seriously.” Then, to Fik, “He’s adorable, where’d you get this guy? The receptive one. Literally five minutes after quizzing me on exactly which position I’d like best to get railed in, and oh, how do I feel about taking a hot load of Alpha cum up my ass—”
“Oh my god, that is not even close to what I was asking.”
“Really? So you weren’t going to ask if we need to use a condom?”
Blake blinks, pulling up short. It’s kind of unfairly funny to watch them argue, like the worlds most demented game of verbal tennis.
Kyrou smiles. “Hey, I’m clean, but it’s still important question. No glovin’, no lovin’, right baby? And yeah, sorry Wheeler, but you especially are gonna have to keep that special sauce to yourself— not in my ass, not in my mouth, no marking me. Got that?”
Blake’s face goes serious. “Of course. Is that a… Are instincts going to be a problem? With the both of us being…”
Blake turns to look at Fik, off-balance. He’s been worried about this from the start, and it sucks that Fik doesn’t have any good answers for him. Fik knows what Kyrou had been able to do—had seen him in what felt like complete control in the midst of a rut, geared up to fuck a Beta to get through it, and he’d been downright tame about it too. But Kyrou’s control isn’t really what Blake is worried about here.
“Eh, it depends,” Kyrou says honestly, leaning back in his chair. “I know I can be pretty… let’s say, particular, about some stuff. I’m sure Fik’s mentioned. But I guess you wouldn’t know your own preferences here to start, so. Let’s go on the safe side and assume you’ll like being on top, maybe even more since it’s your boy asking you to, but not quite enough that you’ll be able to stand my come anywhere on you either.”
Fik sets his hand down on top of Blake’s, right on the table, rubs a thumb up over his knuckles. Blake sighs a little. Loosens.
“Hey, we all wanna have a good time, yeah?” Fik nudges, keeping his voice light. “Doesn’t mean we have to throw in everything and the kitchen sink to start.”
They’ve had this talk, and they’ll keep having it. Before Fik, Blake had pretty much had one type of partner. And as much as he’s up for this—as much as he has amazing self-control, Fik knows it doesn’t come without effort. And he knows Blake wishes it did.
“Right,” Blake nods. Kyrou lets them have the moment, though he doesn’t do anything to mask his own interest in watching it, keen eyes on Blake’s shuttered face, Fik’s soothing calm, and then he nonchalantly makes the conversation move on.
“How about you Fik? Any reservations out the gate?”
Fik shrugs one shoulder. “Some warning would be nice, but I don’t really care much where you put it.”
“Mmm. Fantastic,” Kyrou drawls, exaggerated and sleazy.
Fik rolls his eyes and Blake actually snorts a little next to him, like Kyrou is too ridiculous to get riled up over again.
“Uh, and,” Blake clears his throat when Kyrou looks over to him. “Are there any other limits that we should get off the table right now? Obviously if anything happens in the moment just say No or Stop and whoever it is will back off immediately.”
“No safeword?”
Fik shrugs at Kyrou, “We totally can if you want one. I just thought this would be simpler, but I mean, I also I have no idea what I’m doing with this, so uh. Feel free to course correct.”
“Hey, you’re doing great,” Kyrou leans forward and brushes their calfs together underneath the table. “This isn’t rocket science, eh? Stop works for me. No need to push anyone’s limits tonight,” he cuts a sharp grin across the table. “Maybe next time though.”
Blake rolls his eyes, but the bridge of his nose is distinctly more flushed than usual, freckles standing out.
Fik’s heart squeezes fondly. “Yeah, maybe next time.”
Kyrou looks between them, then breaks into a smirk. “Alright, if there aren’t any more objections, then I say we get this freak show on the road!”
Blake and Fik look at each other. Small, indulgent smiles. Are we really doing this?
Then they get up and show Kyrou to the bedroom.
+++
Fik worries it’s going to be awkward, figuring out how to coordinate three people. He probably should’ve figured, given Kyrou’s apparent immunity to the entire concept.
“Okay,” he says, already shirtless and standing in the middle of Fik’s bedroom like a drill coach. “You’ve got a good headboard for this, nice, I wanna get fucked holding on to that. Where’s your lube?”
Blake’s eyebrows have climbed up high on his forehead. There’s a dubious look in his eyes, but he just clears his throat. Says, “I’ll get it,” mild, and pads around the bed to the end-table. Fik can’t help but smile a little. He’d tried to explain, how Kyrou got. Somehow even more self-assured than he was outside of the bedroom. Somehow able to make a straight-up order sound like a pleasant suggestion; like you were only doing him a favour by following it.
Case in point when Kyrou turns to him, all, “Come here,” and “Let me see you,” and “Really bulked up during the offseason, didn’t you?” and in that very short order Fik ends up kneeling naked on the bed with Kyrou standing in front of him, one hand petting contemplatively at the visible ridges of his abs, the now-defined cut of his iliac furrow.
“I really want to call you a vain motherfucker,” Kyrou says to him, almost wonderingly. “But right now the fact that you look like a Sports Illustrated cover model is really fucking working for me.”
Fik snorts and rolls his eyes, trying not to visibly preen under the compliment. Blake sidles up next to them quietly then, lube in hand, and he barely even has time to look awkward before Kyrou is turning to him with a smile.
“Perfect,” he says, taking the bottle from Blake and passing it immediately to Fik. “Now strip.”
Blake looks faintly amused by the order but doesn’t say a word, just reaches for the neck of his henley and pulls it up over his head. Fik gets stuck watching the smooth reveal of skin—Blake has been no slacker this offseason either—before Kyrou draws his attention back with a firm hand under his chin.
“Take off my pants, Fik.”
It shouldn’t thrill, but Fik looks right up at him as he pulls the front of Kyrou’s custom slacks open, as he pushes the fabric down over the generous swell of his hockey ass, his barrel-thick thighs, and Blake’s watching him do it too. Watching him jump to another Alpha’s command.
“Underwear as well.”
Kyrou’s voice is completely level. Steady as his gaze, and Fik pulls at his waistband until the fabric falls, puddles down at his ankles with the rest of it. Kyrou doesn’t even have time to step out of them though, before Blake’s come up behind him, broad chest to his back, soft hands on the bare slopes of Kyrou’s shoulders.
Fik inhales at the sudden crashing wave of scent: Blake is flaring like crazy, so strong that Fik can practically taste the sun-drenched grass of a spring meadow, finds his mouth pooling with spit in conditioned response. Kyrou looks steadily back when he meets Blake’s eyes over his shoulder, not giving an inch, and he doesn’t even flinch when Blake ducks suddenly to lick a stripe over the back of his neck. Fik knows that Blake’s only ever been with Omegas before him, and he knows it shows in a lot of ways, but maybe not the ones you’d expect: not that Blake is the poster boy for nontrad Alphas or anything—he can be domineering, and aggressive, and god knows he can be protective as all fuck when he thinks he has to be—but when it comes to sex, Blake isn’t just careful or gentle about it, he’s downright indulgent.
Fik watches, unable to look away, as Blake noses hotly over the top of Kyrou’s spine, small kisses, and then down, dropping out of sight behind the pillar of Kyrou’s body. He falls to one knee on the carpet.
Kyrou calmly looks back at the bed and meets Fik’s eye, smirking like he’s in on the joke.
“Wheeler,” he says aloud, and Blake freezes instantly. “Now why don’t I remember telling you to do that?”
Blake’s face reappears around the side of Kyrou’s body, long fingers framing his hip. He raises an eyebrow. “Do I have to get all of my moves pre-approved for action here?”
“No,” Kyrou replies easily, voice smug and amused. “I’ll just let you know where and when you go wrong.”
Blake’s expression shifts over into incredulousness, eyes flicking to Fik, like, Can you believe this guy? Fik grins as he swallows a laugh.
“Get on the bed,” Kyrou orders, offhanded, as he finally steps out of his pants. Blake has no trouble hopping to that one apparently, attention swinging to Fik as he climbs onto the mattress and kisses him, clearly not unaffected by this whole thing, one wide hand on Fik’s jaw to keep him there as he licks in hot with his tongue. Fik squirms and pulls him down, spreads out on his back.
“Fuck, you look good with someone on top of you.”
He cracks one eye open, catching a half glimpse of Kyrou’s leering smile up close before Blake kisses him even harder: not rough, but consuming—lush strokes of his tongue that Fik opens further for, sweet pressure from Blake’s thumbs drawing in teasing circles around his nipples. Fik keens and presses up for it, and that’s when Blake lets go of him, panting hard.
Kyrou rolls in closer, one hand joining Blake’s on Fik’s sternum, darker and just as broad. He meets Fik’s eyes.
“Gonna let me get a taste?”
Fik squints at him, “If you’re about to compare me to cake again, I swear to god…”
Kyrou laughs; white teeth and dark eyes. Fik leans in to meet him.
They hadn’t done this, last time. There are lines when it comes to a forfeit, and this is one of them. But it turns out Kyrou is good at it. He lets Fik come to him, only gently nudging closer in return. Push and pull, all soft wet and slick, Kyrou’s short beard dragging at his chin. Fik finds his mouth opening before he quite means it to.
Kyrou inhales sharply, but he doesn’t break away. Slides his tongue in further against Fik’s, pulling the taste of Blake from Fik’s mouth, body heating above him, and the thought gets Fik panting too, his stomach tightening up, aching and restless. Kyrou pets his hand down Fik’s abs like that’s going to calm him, gives him a dizzying smile when he finally pulls back.
“Yeah. Go on,” he says gently, nudging Fik back over. “Let’s see how Wheeler likes it.”
Blake’s gaze is dark and heavy when Fik turns to him. He holds Fik’s eyes for a long moment as he draws in close, checking, one hand brushing the hair back from Fik’s forehead. Fik tilts his chin up.
I’m good.
Blake leans in, but at the last second he diverts and turns to look at Kyrou. “You’re just waiting for me to flinch, aren’t you?”
Kyrou grins, head propped up on an elbow to watch.
“If I wanted you to flinch, Wheeler, I’d make you. Now go on and kiss your boy. See how he’s waiting.”
Blake huffs—a small, sceptical laugh—but he leans down to take Fik’s mouth without any more comment. The kiss stays chaste for longer than usual; shallow, brushing kisses as Blake works up to it. Fik has to concentrate not to just shove his tongue into Blake’s mouth, cranked already.
It’s like that same switch gets flipped when Blake finally does deepen the kiss. Blake snarls, right up against Fik’s open mouth, and he doesn’t cringe away, doesn’t flinch back but presses in closer, chest heaving, breaths puffing out fast against the side of Fik’s face as he kisses him. Fik meets him, surging, wild with it, and gets pinned back down against the bed for his trouble, Blake’s tongue scouring to the back of his mouth, fingers digging bruises into Fik’s waist.
“Easy,” Kyrou rumbles, so close up next to them, one hand on Fik’s shoulder, his breath in Fik’s ear. To Fik’s surprise Blake doesn’t rankle, instead immediately relents. “There you go, don’t fight it, eh. S’good yeah? Here.”
When he pulls back Blake looks winded, almost shocked at himself. Kyrou’s got him by a hand curled around the nape of his neck, fingers digging tight. Doesn’t let go as he leans down between them, long hair tickling at the sides of Fik’s face, and he licks again into Fik’s slack mouth, between his lips, bruised and tender already. Fik belatedly moves to kiss him back.
“Mmmm. Good,” Kyrou gives him a small smile as he retreats, before he guides Blake back forward to take his place. Blake stares, wide-eyed, and its no surprise when instead of going for Fik’s mouth he ducks to nuzzle softly at his throat.
“Hey,” Fik says, hands brushing soothingly over Blake’s sides as Blake latches on to his neck. “It’s okay, Blake. I want you to.”
Blake stalls, pressing one more apologetic kiss under his chin, and he raises again to hover above him. His eyes flick once over to Kyrou, and back to Fik.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says.
“I know you won’t,” Fik replies easily. He licks his lips, legs shuffling against the bed. “Come here.”
Blake finally lowers to kiss him, Kyrou’s hand still firm over the back of his neck. He licks at the seam of Fik’s lips almost helplessly, like he can’t find it in himself to resist, and Fik opens immediately. Is braced for the way it makes Blake shudder and firm up against him, growling, rocking them both down into the bed. Fik’s chest heaves at the friction, and he gets a leg up around Blake’s waist to pull him in tighter, cocks sliding together, eased with sweat and wetness already.
“Fucking hell,” Kyrou’s voice is half-wrecked, low and rough like he’s been swallowing crushed glass, and smugly pleased. “Couldn’t ask for a prettier picture.”
Blake barely pulls away from Fik to look at him, his breath still close enough to brush Fik’s skin. There’s a tense moment of silence, Fik staring dazedly between them, and then Blake strikes.
He doesn’t even let go of Fik to do it; keeps one palm down on the side of his throat as he reaches out with the other, catching Kyrou by the shoulder to haul him roughly forward. Kyrou looks impressed for the one second that Fik gets a good look at him, right before Blake crashes their mouths together.
Fik’s not sure what he’s expecting. For Kyrou to push Blake off, for Blake to snap back and away, recoiling, remembering himself. Instead, Kyrou rumbles, head tilting back slightly, submitting, just for a bare half second, blink and miss, and then suddenly he surges hard into the kiss, pushing, and Blake lets out a growling whine.
Fik actually flinches, thinking Blake must be hurt somehow, but neither of them move to let go. Kyrou’s hand tightens on the back of Blake’s neck and he smiles harshly into the kiss, head tilting to deepen it, rising up to his knees as he starts to move Blake gently, backwards. Fik watches with something halfway between disbelief and fascination as Kyrou comes out on top without even trying, Blake readily giving ground, rolling back off of Fik and landing flat on the bedspread beside him.
Kyrou swings himself to straddle Fik’s waist as he follows Blake across and over, one gentling hand on the side of Blake’s jaw to keep him down, the other landing—without even looking—on the free side of Fik’s throat, a comforting stroke. He gives Blake one last deep, claiming kiss before he pulls back, breathless and flushed and looking incredibly fucking satisfied with himself.
Blake, on the other hand, looks like someone has just given him an electric shock; blinks dumbly up at the ceiling, lips red and shiny and bitten.
Fik doesn’t even have time to ask if he’s okay before Kyrou is bent forward and kissing him, that hand firm around the back of Fik’s neck. It’s deep and messy to start this time, Kyrou’s mouth hot and slick still with Blake’s kiss, and even though Fik can’t taste either of them the way they can taste each other there’s still the faint hint of something: something familiar and earthy and Blake, right there on Kyrou’s tongue, and Fik gets one hand in a grip around Kyrou’s wrist and holds on desperately. He can smell Blake next to him too, sharp green freshness cutting across Kyrou’s haze of mellow cinnamon, both of them here in Fik’s bed, and when fingers suddenly find his own, twining with his free hand, Fik doesn’t startle. Just hums and grips Blake back, completing the circuit.
“Hmmmm,” Kyrou hums as well, content, and he breaks the kiss and settles his weight back over Fik’s hips. Looks down at the two of them—him and Blake side by side, both halfway to blissed out already. A victor counting his spoils.
“Fuck, if I’d known how you both take it so nicely,” Kyrou lets the naked hunger in his gaze fill in the rest of the sentence, one hand landing proprietary on the flat give of Blake’s stomach, just under his sternum. The muscles there go shuddery-tense in anticipation.
Kyrou’s smile then is all bite. “Lucky me I’ve got a pretty sweet consolation prize lined up.”
Blake’s fingers tighten reflexively over Fik’s. Kyrou abandons them momentarily as he looks around the bed for a moment, twisting to reach something behind him, and his bare ass rocks back suddenly against Fik’s hard dick. Fik gasps shortly and tightens his fingers in Blake’s grip, eliciting a rumble as Blake rolls in towards him, teeth worrying the cap of Fik’s shoulder sympathetically.
“We’re both going to die here,” Fik whispers to him, entirely serious. If anyone can make sex fatal, it’s probably Kyrou.
Blake laughs and presses a kiss to the teeth marks he’s left in Fik’s shoulder, just as Kyrou turns around with the lube.
“Nonsense, Franciszek,” Kyrou says, letting the bottle land on his chest. “Now why don’t you go ahead and get me all opened up for Blake’s cock.”
Fik’s gut clenches, and he makes an embarrassing noise as his fingers tightens around the bottle. Pressed up next to him, Blake shudders a bit too.
Yeah, they’re both digging themselves deep here.
“I can prep you,” Blake manages gruffly, rolling up on his knees as Kyrou moves to settle himself at the top of the bed, hands on the headboard, kneeling to face the wall. Fik sits up with them more slowly, all his blood rushing around in a clamour.
“I know you can,” Kyrou says to Blake calmly, watching him. “But Fik’s going to,” he turns his gaze. “You remember how I did it for you?”
Fik nods, mouth dry with the memory.
“Good,” Kyrou adjusts, spreading his knees on the bed. Presenting. “Blake, you can help him, but Fik, I want your fingers.”
Fik meets Blake’s eye as he swallows heavily, as he carefully shuffles forward to kneel up behind Kyrou. It’s not like he’s never used his fingers, but this is… yeah, this is an Alpha trusting him with his ass. He knows it probably doesn’t mean much to Kyrou, but Fik can’t get the thought out of his head.
“Slow,” Blake says quietly, kneeling next to him at Kyrou’s hip. He leans in and gives Fik a short kiss, all comfort, hand on his elbow. “Get him warmed up nice and easy.”
Fik squeezes some lube into his hand as Kyrou laughs and wiggles his ass.
“Good captaining there Blake," Kyrou teases. "Come on Fik, you know you gotta win those battles in the corners. Get pucks in deep.”
Blake swats at Kyrou’s ass so that Fik doesn’t have to, and then he puts his hand there, digging in with his fingers. Holding Kyrou open. Fik sucks in a breath through his teeth and reaches out to touch Kyrou lightly with a thumb, gently up and down and then dragging in small circles.
Kyrou doesn’t flinch. He arches his back and pushes into it.
“You do remember,” he husks, voice nearly a purr. “Good.”
Blake’s eyes are watching Fik with a dark intensity, and i t’s not like they haven’t talked about it, but Fik hadn’t thought he needed to drag into every minute detail. Maybe he did. Maybe Blake would look at him like this the whole time he tells it back.
“Alright Fik, don’t be shy now,” Kyrou calls, rocking a bit against Fik’s hand. “Get in there.”
Fik gets more lube as Blake moves closer, gets his other hand on Kyrou’s ass to hold him really open. Watches, as Fik slowly gets his finger in, in and out down to the second knuckle, easy slide as Kyrou breathes, hums, and it’s obscene: Fik’s hand in his ass is obscene, Blake’s face watching it. Fik leans forward to kiss him as he drives all the rest of the way in, as he draws his finger back out again, and Fik can hear it. Lube, and Blake’s tongue opening his mouth. Slick wet everywhere.
They break for air panting, everything an easy glide. Fik immediately starts to feed Kyrou a second finger, hearing him groan, his body opening hot and tight around it. He pulls out, re-lubes, then goes in again.
Blake shuffles over to the front of the bed, hand trailing over Kyrou’s back, meeting Kyrou’s gaze like he’s worried the other Alpha isn’t getting enough attention.
“Good?”
Kyrou tilts his chin on a smile, reaching out to catch Blake by the nape of the neck.
“You’re seriously adorable,” he tells him, and then he leans forward and sticks his tongue in Blake’s mouth.
It’s hard for Fik to decide what he’d rather watch: his own fingers disappearing into the clutch of Kyrou’s body, or Blake’s tiny frown of concentration as he tries to keep up with the way Kyrou is kissing him, both hands hanging limp at his sides like he’s forgotten how to use them. How to do anything but tilt his head back and forth where Kyrou guides him, leaning in for it, hungry.
“Ah, fuck,” Kyrou breaks away as Fik scissors his fingers, stretching, and Fik can see the shivery pleasure of it running all up through Kyrou’s body, ending in his hand on Blake’s neck, his fingers rubbing just behind Blake’s ear. Feeling up his scent glands. They’re not swollen and leaking like they’d be in a rut, but Fik can still appreciate how Blake is yielding mildly back into it, eyes slitted, thick chest rising and falling with the force of his rolling breaths.
“Gimme another Fik, yeah.”
The one arm Kyrou is using to support himself is shaking, fine tremors down the length of it. Fik shuffles up to kiss gently at the hollow dip of his spine, three fingers dragging back and forth inside, smooth tight squeeze, and marvels at how easy this is for Kyrou. Fik would have never guessed he had the self-control for it—half of Fik’s hand in his ass and another Alpha working to suck his tongue right out of his mouth, not an Omega or synth pheromone in sight. And Kyrou didn’t even have to concentrate to open for it. Even with the knowledge that this is something he’s done before, Fik can hardly believe that.
Fik presses his fingers up and watches how it makes Kyrou’s strong body shake. Kyrou hadn’t said it was about liking it.
“Blake,” Fik finally says, catching his attention as soon as Kyrou has to push away from kissing him, shuddering on Fik’s fingers, driven deep up inside. “His arm is gonna have to give sometime.”
Blake looks completely thrown for a minute, like Fik might’ve suddenly slipped into half-broken Polish, but then he finally clues in to the way that Kyrou is leaned over, arm wavering. Fik pulls his fingers out as Blake helps Kyrou sit back on his heels, and Fik wraps his dry hand around Kyrou’s middle to pull him back up against his chest, nosing in behind one ear. It’s a bit hard to navigate with all the extra hair, but eventually Fik finds what he’s looking for—licks a fat stripe over the gland there, then gets his mouth down around it and sucks.
“Mmmm, fuck, Franciszek,” Kyrou groans, shivering, leaning in to it. Blake is sitting close in front of them, hands restless on the caps of Kyrou’s knees, watching. “You ever do that for Blake?”
Fik breaks away and drags his mouth down, wet fingers trailing lightly over the hard, throbbing length of Kyrou’s dick. Teasing.
“No. Pretty sure scent glands are your kink, Alek. I seriously don’t taste shit doing this.”
Kyrou doesn’t move forward into Fik’s fingers on his cock—he laughs, head dropping back on Fik’s shoulder, and the movement brings his ass back to press against Fik’s dick. Fik hisses and very nearly bites down, pulling his teeth at the last possible second. That’d be a very bad way to find out if Kyrou has any actual instinctive limits.
“Well,” Kyrou says, rolling his head to show Fik more of his neck, the thick cut of his trap, totally unconcerned. “I think you should. I think he’d like it.”
Blake is looking at Kyrou as he drifts in closer towards them, big hands spreading over Kyrou’s bigger thighs, and Fik can’t stop the automatic shudder at how dark his eyes are, barely any of the familiar ice-blue left. They’re all so close now: sharing the same air, panting like you do to get your breath back after a double shift. Blake’s got this look on his face, and it’d be hard to read if you didn’t know him.
Fik forgets that his right hand is still covered in lube; he reaches out and reels Blake in close, fingers slippery on his shoulder, and he tilts his head back as he calls his name.
Blake’s attention fixes immediately: the bare stretch of Fik’s throat. He lists forward, and Kyrou inhales hard between them when Blake opens his mouth and cuts his teeth down, right to the blood.
Fik bucks up once, half lust and half the reflex to try and shake off the bite. It calms again in another second, in no small part because he just inadvertently drove his dick right up into the cleft of Kyrou’s ass, barely slick with lube, and his hindbrain got distracted—gearing from fight to fuck in the blink of an eye. Kyrou looks like he’s right there with him, caught between the two drives, and caught more literally between two bodies primed dangerously for the same, Blake licking the blood up off of Fik’s neck, rumbling like a chainsaw.
It’s actually kind of a relief to see him struggle under the weight of his instincts—Kyrou twisting fast to keep track of the movement, eyes cutting up to Fik’s face intermittently like he needs to check that this is actually okay—clearly not immune to the looming presence of another Alpha with his teeth out right over his shoulder.
“We’re good,” Fik says to him, calmly. He probably should’ve brought this up earlier, but he honestly hadn’t thought Blake would end up anywhere near cranked enough to do it. “You need some space?”
Kyrou looks to him, and then shakes his head slowly, wonderingly, “Nah, it’s not… Not uh. I think I’m kind of impressed, actually.”
“Fuck,” Blake grunts, not leaving from the side of Fik’s neck, dropping his temple down against it. Definitely hiding. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Kyrou’s eyebrows go up, like Blake’s guilt is more unbelievable than where he likes to put his teeth. “Hey, no need to apologize for the stuff you get down to big guy. Not like I wasn’t already imagining you two doing some crazy shit in here anyway.”
Blake laughs, once, but he quickly falls silent again. His body is kicked into high fucking gear—Fik can feel it thrumming under his hand. It’s all heavy and quiet when Blake reaches out, when he reaches deliberately down between them, eyes at half-mast and tracking Kyrou. Watching his face as his hand disappears between Kyrou’s spread legs, and— fuck, fuck, Fik feels Kyrou inhale, feels him twitch and shudder as Blake’s finger presses all the way up into him.
“Yeah,” Blake says, rough and low. “You ready for me?”
Somehow, Kyrou manages his signature smirk, “Yeah, I’m ready for ya, big guy.”
Then his breath hitches. Blake working in a second finger. Fik’s dick is so, so hard against the side of Kyrou’s ass, and he’s never been more relieved to have over-compensated with lube.
“Just how attached are you to the idea of getting screwed up on the headboard?” Blake asks, careful and low. “‘Cuz right now I’m thinking I’d rather have you like this.”
Kyrou laughs, and it moves from his back through to Fik’s chest. “Is that you asking me nicely?”
“No,” Blake tilts his head, the muscles of his forearm flexing. Kyrou gasps, back arching up. “This is me letting you know what I’d like. Guess it’s your call what to do with it.”
Kyrou’s eyes—twinned black pools already—somehow manage to darken further.
“Got my number already, do ya?” he sighs in pleasure, bearing back on Blake’s fingers. “Yeah. Yeah, get me on my back then. Let’s see you work for it.”
Blake takes his time before he slips his hand away, and then Fik shuffles back to give Kyrou the space to lie down.
Dark hair fans out in a glossy tangle behind him, a black halo painted over the bedspread, and Fik does what he’s wanted to do since the moment Kyrou walked through his door tonight and cards his hand back through those ink-dark curls. Gently pulls at a knot until it comes loose under his fingers, silken and soft. Kyrou has a bit of stubble going, and Fik tests the scratch of that against his thumb too.
“You sure it’s okay like this?”
Kyrou’s eyes are impossibly dark, watching him. His hand is stroking over Fik’s hip, easy with touch, just like the last time. “Yeah, I’m good. Get to see you both this way, don’t I?”
Fik smiles and leans down to kiss him, hand tangling deep in his hair, just because he can. After another moment he feels Blake knee up over to them, condom already snapped in place, his cock swinging heavy and hard between his legs. Fik turns to look at him. Still that burning heat, still leashed as hard as Blake can manage; held behind his eyes, in the flush of his chest.
Kyrou notices him too: plants his feet on the bed and spreads them, making room for Blake in between, and Fik can actually see how it makes Blake’s breath hitch, how his fists clench and unclench rhythmically at his sides. He doesn’t move.
“Hey,” Fik leans over to touch, to pull Blake closer, one hand soothing at the base of his throat. Blake’s cheeks are incredibly flushed. “S’okay, hey? It’s okay to like this.”
Blake swallows, eyes dark like an ocean storm. On the bed Kyrou’s chin tilts up, his gaze almost incandescent on Blake, white-hot and unyielding.
“We’re gonna be here all night if you’re still waiting to hear me beg for it,” he sprawls further, hitching his left leg up with one hand around the back of his thigh. Fik’s stomach clenches tight, watching Blake’s face hollow out with need in response. “You’ve already got your invitation.”
Blake closes in then with no more hesitation, and Fik follows him down, pressing himself along the long line of Kyrou’s body. There’s the pop of the lube bottle opening, and Fik can feel all through Kyrou’s body when Blake presses in again with his fingers, adding more slick and spreading it. Kyrou’s neck tilts back just the tiniest bit.
“Is that okay—”
“Fuck,” Kyrou’s voice is mostly growl, rolling right over Blake’s. “Get the fuck in me Blake.”
Fik presses a soothing kiss to his jaw and sits up to watch, pulling Kyrou’s right leg further back and open to match the left while Blake gets a grip around the base of his cock.
One of Kyrou’s hands lands tight on Fik’s shoulder, anchoring him close, and Fik is torn between watching Kyrou’s (oddly endearing) sex faces, and the place where his body is opening, inch by inch, to take Blake in.
Both of their breaths hitch faster, Blake’s movements tightly controlled, slowly feeding in his cock— he pulls out, pushes in deeper, prickling out with sweat at the effort, and Kyrou groans quietly. Fik rubs a comforting hand over Kyrou’s arm, bends down over him when Kyrou meets his eyes, dark and half-glassed and wild with it. Barely contained. Fik settles a hand on his chest and kisses him.
Kyrou pulls him in instantly, sucking at his tongue, biting at his mouth. Behind them Blake groans, and Fik can feel it— more, when he drags his hand down to rest low on Kyrou’s stomach: the deep fucking motion of Blake’s hips, driving himself in, holding there, and then further again. Kyrou’s body bucking up under him to take it.
Fik kisses him harder, hand a fist in Kyrou’s soft hair, and Blake sinks in far enough to bend forward and press his head to the back of Fik’s shoulder, moaning. The both of them curled up shelteringly over Kyrou’s body, all three of them holding on to each other so tightly. Kyrou’s fingers bite deep into the meat of Fik’s bicep.
“Good?” Fik pulls back to get a look at Kyrou’s face. Feels Blake hovering behind him at an angle to do the same.
Kyrou presses his shoulders back against the bed, stretching as luxuriously as he can with two heavy bodies practically pining him, and the motion makes Fik aware that he’s still clutching at his hair. He relaxes his grip and pushes a few stray curls back from Kyrou’s face.
“Great,” Kyrou says, smiling. He arches his back a little and Blake makes a small noise. “Fuck yeah big guy, come on. Do me.”
Blake laughs breathlessly and obliges. He draws back, hands spread flat against the backs of Kyrou’s thighs to brace him, his own chest sheened in a light sweat all the way down. Rolls with his hips; measured, deep thrusts, Kyrou’s body meeting him with resistance, then starting to give way.
Kyrou inhales hard through his nose and wraps one leg around Blake’s lower back when it slips sideways, reels him in closer, forcing the motion of his hips to go shallow and hard. Blake’s eyebrows pull together helplessly, his mouth dropping open, and he grinds Kyrou industriously into the bed, both of them gasping with it, groaning. The bed-frame complains loudly about the upped pace and Fik presses in close, skin buzzing, the pit of his stomach tied up in a tight, tender-hot knot, watching them. Full-up with it. He licks a stripe up just behind Kyrou’s ear, teasing out another sudden low noise and tasting salt.
“Want my hand?” he murmurs, fingers dancing low on Kyrou’s stomach, teasing at the soft skin of his waist. “Or d’you think you can get there, like this?”
“Mmmm, no, no,” Kyrou’s hands are all over him too, stroking up his back, touching his neck, scratching at the short hairs there. “No. Just wanna feel it for now. Feel this— Blake. So good for me.”
Fik’s fingers dig into Kyrou’s skin. Blake makes a noise, shoulders curling, hand fisting in the sheets.
“He’s a good fuck, huh?” Kyrou asks, growls, low and rasping, and Fik has to again suppress the wild urge to bite at him, to all-out whine. “You let him do you?”
“Sometimes,” Fik answers, breathlessly. “When I’m in the mood for it.”
Kyrou smiles.
“You ever ride him?”
Fik hums a yes— nods, dumb with it, and presses closer.
“I’m thinking that’d be something to see,” Kyrou says, mouth running now. “I’m thinking about you riding me like this, Fik. Fucking you while he fucks me. You know, I wouldn’t be able to get any deep, Fik, you’d have to just fuck yourself on the tip of my cock. You’d have to work for it.”
He groans then, and Fik’s dick twitches, thinking about Kyrou inside him again. Blake right there to see it, to feel it with him. Down between Kyrou’s legs Blake is panting, he’s sweating, leaned over and grinding so hard, working so hard to make it good, and Fik reaches out and gently pries his white-clamped fingers from the back of Kyrou’s thigh. Blake groans, maybe in protest, but he lets his weight drop forward, forehead bending to Kyrou’s chest, folding him practically in half, and Kyrou’s breath shudders unexpectedly as Blake pushes in deep. The smell of cut grass and cinnamon is ablaze all around them.
Fik leans in, licks the sweat up from Blake’s jaw, one hand snaking down to cup himself, squeeze tight at the base to hold himself back from coming. The sight of Blake like this— red-faced, focused, so fucking beautiful. Black eyes pooled deep with lust, pleasure almost like agony all over his face.
“Fuck,” Blake groans, hips still working, small tight thrusts. “I can’t— I’m gonna. I can’t hold on.”
“Shhh,” Kyrou grabs him by the back of the neck, flexes up with his body, dick dragging into Blake’s stomach. “Feels good?”
“Yeah, yeah, Alek,” and Blake tips forward to kiss him, hips snapping harder, and there’s a harsh sudden ripping noise as Blake shreds the bedspread under his hand. “I can smell how much you want me.”
Kyrou’s fingernails bite all the way down Blake’s back, four raised marks on either side of his spine, and Fik watches the strong curve of Blake’s body go tense, hears his breath turn hard and ragged.
He gently threads his fingers into Blake’s sweaty hair, tugs his head up firmly. Blake’s eyes are dark and slow to track, but the unmarked side of Fik’s throat is right there, his head tipped back on Kyrou’s chest, offering, and Blake only has to duck down inches to sink his teeth in against it.
There’s the sharp, painful pressure of skin splitting, blood hot, Kyrou bucking and snarling feral underneath him, whining, “Fuck,” and then suddenly Blake is tearing himself away, falling back on his heels towards the foot of the bed, gasping.
There’s blood across his mouth, and he pants up at the ceiling and shudders and comes into the condom, alone on his knees at the foot of the bed.
“Jesus Christ,” Fik hears Kyrou gasp faintly, then the sound of his head thumping back against the bed, legs going limp out in front of him. Boneless and bereft. “That almost looked like it hurt.”
“You said,” Blake is still panting, still shuddering. “Not in your ass.”
Fik exchanges a look with Kyrou, and neither of them says that’s what the condom was for. Blake is still visibly shivering when he ditches the rubber and crawls back up the bed, when he settles himself on his stomach between Kyrou’s thighs, arms wrapping around the thick bulk of them. Kyrou’s legs go up over Blake’s shoulders, and Kyrou’s dick disappears down the hot wet of Blake’s throat.
“Fuck,” Kyrou swears, hips trying to come up instinctively, but Blake holds him down. “Fuck, fuck, holy shit. Blake, oh my god.”
Fik shivers, watching them, squeezing his own dick as he puts his other hand over Blake’s head, scratches lightly at his scalp with his nails. When Fik catches Kyrou’s eye he looks half-crazed, caught off guard. The other half of it is pure, black lust, so Fik leans back down over him and gets his mouth in behind Kyrou’s ear, runs his tongue along the hot ridge of his scent gland, feeling the skin get slicker and saltier underneath his mouth.
“Shit, shit, Fik,” Kyrou moans. Then, “Blake,” and Fik can’t help but grin. He can hear the wet sounds of Blake’s mouth working, feel the top of his head pushing up against his palm. Pushing up to get more of Kyrou’s dick, and moaning, Kyrou’s voice joining him.
“Ah, fuck. Christ, yeah, swallow my dick.”
“Wow,” Fik laughs, “you are such a prick,” and he keeps laughing as Kyrou raises a lazy hand to push at him, shoving his face away between gasps.
“It works for me,” he manages, and then, “Oh Blake. Oh fuck that’s good,” and then, almost deliriously, “Okayokayokay, Blake, fuck, baby, wait. You’re gonna make me come.”
Kyrou pulls on Blake’s hair, gripping the longer bits at the top to physically lever him up off his dick. Blake’s beard is wet, practically dripping with his own spit and Kyrou’s precome, lips shiny and red and swollen. His dark eyes flick over once towards Fik, and Fik has to consciously suppress the embarrassing urge to whine for him, to get a hand tangled into Blake’s hair and pull his mouth down around his own cock next.
“Fucking hell,” Kyrou breathes, staring at Blake like he’s never seen him before. One thumb traces gentle around the curve of Blake’s brow, down his cheek towards his mouth. “You’re goddamned insane, you know that?”
Blake smiles, cocky. “Come on. I’ve got this.”
Kyrou watches him, small furrow between his brows like he’s not convinced. “We said we weren’t gonna push it tonight.”
“I’m not,” Blake says. “Look,” he ducks down to mouth around the base of Kyrou’s cock. Seals his lips in a kiss to the side of the dark ring of skin where his knot would swell, where the scent of him must be so strong now it must burn, and then he moves back up, slowly, licks at the fat tip, the flat of his tongue catching up the wetness there. Kyrou’s head tilts back as he groans, fucks his cock once into the give of Blake’s tongue before he pulls back.
“Believe me,” Blake says, steady. “Okay?” and then he goes back down when Kyrou fails to protest, fails do to much more than tighten his fingers in Blake’s hair. Fik can hardly blame him: watching avidly as Blake’s cheeks hollow around blood-hot skin, knowing exactly how sweet that slick pressure feels.
Kyrou’s head rolls back, the long dark length of his neck straining with pleasure. Hazy eyes, slitted, shift to meet Fik’s.
“I swear I meant to say ‘buddy,’” he drawls, husky, lids sliding shut in pleasure. “Promise m’not angling for your man here, he just sucks really good cock.”
Fik laughs despite himself. “Should I be worried? You seem way too coherent right now for that to be true.”
Kyrou groans, and Blake buckles down over him, angling his head for Kyrou’s cock to slide up against his palate and into the soft back of his throat. Sucks at him hard.
“Bad jokes. Just mean,” Kyrou gasps, fingers twisting in the bedsheets. “I’m about to. Come.”
Blake is completely silent as Kyrou shoots off in his mouth, loud about it, as Kyrou’s back arches and his feet press reflexively into Blake’s sides; squeezing, thrashing, and Blake holds him down as his throat works, once. He falls still as Kyrou shudders down, cock softening between Blake’s lips and the vicegrip of his thighs relaxing from around Blake’s shoulders, then sliding off limply.
Blake calmly pulls back, sits up, and he shoots Fik some kind of significant look as he turns to him. Leans in, scant distance, leans forward to kiss him and Blake— Blake hasn’t swallowed.
Fik makes a half-strangled noise as Blake gets a steadying hand around the back of his neck and feeds the load of another Alpha’s cum into his mouth, and Fik groans low and takes it, startled and hungry, buzzing hot under his skin. He feels Blake’s hand petting at his flank to soothe him, and doesn’t feel soothed at all. He clutches Blake’s jaw and eats at his mouth desperately.
“Oh fuck. Fuck.”
Noise behind them, and then Kyrou is sitting up with his thighs still loose about Blake’s knees, and he looks as close to frantic as Fik’s ever seen him. Fik feels the same. He goes easy when Kyrou catches him, kisses him, sucks hungrily at his tongue.
“In me. Get the fuck in me, now.”
It’s a scramble of sweat-slicked limbs, Fik kneeing his way up between Kyrou’s thighs as he flops onto his back, spreading, pulling Fik in closer. Blake hands Fik a condom and he fumbles it on, almost too cranked to see, all his long-banked need coming down on him now like a sudden crushing wave.
“Come on, come here. Fuck, Fik, come here.”
Fik looks down, watches—breathless, holding his breath—as his cock pushes easy into Kyrou’s body, feels the hamstrings bunching and stretching under his palms, the hot tight clutch of Kyrou’s body taking his dick. Effortless. Right down to the hilt, and they both groan. Fucked out already, Fik’s cock where Blake’s had been only minutes before, and Kyrou is breathing fast out of his mouth and staring up at Fik, gaze hot, still hungry for it.
“Come on,” he says again, like a stuck record. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”
Fik finds himself laughing, breaking, mouth carved up into a sharp grin. Feels Blake’s hand on his neck, his heat by his side. Fik moves, and he can’t keep it together. It’s hard, unrestrained fucking from the start, Kyrou’s ankles digging deep into the small of his back to egg him on. Kyrou’s ass is perfect— there’s a quivering of pool of sweat gathered in the hollow of his neck. Fik is disastrously close already.
“Fuck,” he says.
“Yeah,” Kyrou answers. “Yeah, yeah.”
There’s a hand in Fik’s hair, petting him. Fingers tighten, small pain all over his scalp, and Blake smells like the greenest grass, is so hot beside him, watching him fuck an Alpha. Fik ducks his head and licks at Kyrou’s skin, his nipple, expecting cinnamon but getting something else as Kyrou arches up. The taste of it is caught up at the back of his throat, tickling at him even under the bitter salt, the bitter semen.
Fik whines, those embarrassing punched-out groans rising up in him again.
Not entirely objectionable, he remembers thinking, last time. He wants to laugh. The sweetness burning up through him now is… it’s fucking incomparable.
“Fuck,” he moans, as each individual sensation resolves itself: Kyrou’s tongue on his neck, kissing him to clean the blood from the bite; Blake’s curling growl, shuddering down through him everywhere they touch, shivering through to his bones. Hands cling to him, press at him: at his shoulder, wrap around his neck, grope at his back, his thighs. Fik can barely move. The hands move for him. His cock presses deep, deeper—sweeter, and then he’s blindly coming, spine curling, and Kyrou is panting underneath him, around him, nose pressed to his savaged neck, keeping Fik close as he keeps fucking him through it, giving it all up. Fik whines, finally, shuddering orgasm pulling long down his spine, his balls, and then Kyrou is kissing at his mouth, slow and soft, and Fik eases. Breathes, eyes closed, and kisses back until he can’t, anymore.
It’s Blake who unsticks them eventually, gently rolling Fik to sprawl limp against the bedspread, somehow making the motion of taking the condom away look smooth and well-practiced. Fik breathes, heart still pounding, and it’s familiar to let Blake smooth a damp washcloth over him, comforting to be quietly cleaned, quietly touched. Blake kisses his cheek before he moves on to Kyrou, and Fik lazily rolls his neck to watch—
Kyrou, boneless and fucked out next to him, body pouring off heat like a furnace, and Blake careful and dark-eyed above him, all soft hands and fingertips, gently petting through the damp trails he leaves with the washcloth. Kyrou shivers, and hums, and stretches. The thick breadth of him; the clean, proud line of his jaw. Completely naked, casually lounging, and with another Alpha leaned over him cleaning the sweat from his thighs— fuck, Kyrou has no goddamn right, looking like that.
“Easy,” Kyrou says, voice a low buzz in Fik’s ears, and Fik thinks he’s been caught out before his eyes catch again on Blake.
Kyrou takes the cloth from Blake’s slack grip. Kyrou is half-hard—Fik had pretty much nailed right through his prostate at the end there—and Blake is looking at his face with that hunger again, that quiet, barely leashed heat. Kyrou doesn’t look bothered to see it. He throws the cloth to the floor. He’s almost whispering, “There you go, that’s great, Blake. Come on, you’ve got us. You’ve got us. We’re all taken care of now, let’s sleep.”
He kisses Blake’s nose— not the tip, but the flat side of it, the strong slope of bone and the dip where it smooths into his cheek. The small, mindless affection seems suddenly, oddly, striking to Fik, watching Kyrou’s hands move gentle over Blake’s skin, watching him look Blake right in the eye with something that looks a lot like care. Quiet, warm affection. It suddenly feels…
Fik blinks. His chest forcefully eases. Blake knee-walks over to him, following Kyrou’s guiding hand, and comes up around Fik’s other side. There’s a small tussle to get the blankets down, and Fik doesn’t help at all by refusing to get up or really even to move, just shoves them down under his shoulder, his hip.
Stay? he doesn’t want to ask, so he just watches: Kyrou peels back the covers, stretches a kink out of his shoulder, slips under next to him.
Is your shoulder bothering you? he wants to ask, but doesn’t. He just watches.
Kyrou turns on his side to face him. Fik can feel Blake curled up behind him, heat and breath on his neck. Broad fingers on his hip.
“You don’t have to worry,” Kyrou says. Fik watches him, how the skin of his cheek pushes up to crinkle around his eye when he smiles. “Promise I’m not a blanket hog. We both know how much I love to share, eh?”
Fik’s face twitches with a smile. He reaches, and manages to pat at Kyrou’s elbow, manages not to grab at him. It’s clear— easy smile on his face, easy joke to settle the mood— that Kyrou doesn’t want to be reached for. Fik pats his elbow, then moves his hand back to thread with Blake’s fingers on his hip. Snuggles into the big, warm body behind him, and falls asleep, his eyes still on Kyrou’s face.
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