Chapter Text
It’s pissing down when they finally get back home, which is so typical, though Three is glad for the reprieve. After the Southern states Canada had been a little cooler, and when they’d climbed off the plane in Heathrow the tarmac had stunk of freshly fallen rain, steaming where Vessel stepped.
They try to spend time in the Manor when they have to, but their manager drives them straight to the London flat. It’s not as big as the Manor, obviously, but it’s central and close to the city, easier to become anonymous in. The Manor stinks of magic at the best of times, and the flat only has one room dedicated to Sleep, so it’ll do.
Three presses his fingers to the pentagram scratched into the flat’s doorway, hums when he feels it sparking against his touch, welcoming him home, and walks in.
The flat’s just as ostentatious as the Manor, with a massive layout that still surprises Three whenever he thinks about it. It’s Sleep’s influence, of course, putting them in a place that’ll support them; it’s down the street from a Vivienne Westwood’s, for fuckssake, and all the rooms are massive, Three’s in the middle of Ivy and Two’s, with a view over Savile Row.
But it’s warm and comfortable and smells like all of them, and it’s home, so.
Three missed his bed, the bunks having done a fucking number on his back, and the second he’s back in his room he faceplants down on to it, breathing in the cotton and silk, stretching out over the big mattress. He’s got the second smallest room, even though it’s not small at all, and when he’d moved in he’d painted the entire thing in a dark red that looks like freshly spilled blood, covered over again in posters. It’s a kind of childhood dream bedroom, a thing he desperately wished for when he was young, before… Sleep.
“Two’s going out to get groceries,” Ivy says as he passes, carrying his own shit to his room. “Want anything?”
“Smokes!” Three calls out, even though he hasn’t smoked cigarettes in fucking years, but it’s a bit he always does and it makes Ivy laugh. “And milk! Do we have any good tea?”
“What, you mean the whole damn pantry?” Two snarks back at him, walking into Three’s room and practically sitting on his back. Three groans, even though Two weighs like, nothing, and wriggles under him. “Stop it, seriously, what do you want?”
“Depends,” Three says from under him, and rolls over so Two ends up in the v of his legs, lying back to look at the fabric stretched over Two’s spine. “You goin’ anywhere special?”
“I can do, if you want,” Two says, and Three hums, thinking, before telling him what he wants. “Sure thing, babe, call me if anything else comes up.” Two starts to get up but Three hooks his fingers in his belt loops, tugs him so he falls into Three’s arms, laughing and slapping him, his small love. “Really, Three, you’re so affectionate when we get back.”
“Yeah, well, I have to make up for lost time.”
“You do not.”
It’s true, though. Whenever they tour, no matter how close or far, the second they’re all back in the flat Three’s all over them, demanding and wanting for touch and tenderness. He’s needy and a little starved, and even though he gets enough of it on tour it’s different when they’re home, ‘cause Three doesn’t have to mind his hands so much.
Not that he does, when they’re on stage, if all the videos and pictures of him doing the opposite have anything to say.
“I won’t be long,” Two says, and he lets Three drag him down onto him, holding him close. “Like, two hours, tops.”
“Two hours? That’s so fucking long, Two, the hell.”
“You wanna join me, then?” Three grimaces, because he’s home, and he doesn’t wanna see anything else but the walls that surround them for a while. “That’s what I thought.” Three pouts, playing up the show, and Two laughs again, against his mouth this time, as Three runs his hands up Two’s shoulders and neck, curving along the line of his face, before he pulls him in for a kiss. When Two leans back he sighs, breath sweet along Three’s lips. “Really, Three, I won’t be too long, and the longer you keep me here the longer I’ll be.”
Fuck, can’t argue that logic.
“What’ll I do, without you here to bully me?” Three sighs, dramatic, and throws a hand across his head as Two gets up.
Two snorts, kicks his feet, and leans down to give him one last kiss. Then his voice turns firm, the mother-hen kicking in, and says, “unpack your shit, is what you’ll do.”
Three groans, ‘cause Two’s right, like he usually is. “This would be so much easier if we just had, like, servants or something.”
“What, like that Dark Pope and his ghouls?” Two says, laughing, already leaving his room. “Good luck convincing Sleep of that! He’s already in competition with fucking Satan, now you want his devil spawn in our house?”
Three can still hear Two’s quiet chuckles as he walks down the hallway, all the way until he leaves the apartment; the flat swells a little bit when Two opens the door, before it clicks shut and the swollen feeling cuts off, just the three of them in the house again.
Ugh, but Three’s kinda right, is the thing; they’ve been doing this for so long now that surely they deserve to get some kinda help, Sleep notwithstanding. Sure, their manager is great, and does a good job hiring all the help they need on tour, but when they’re back home it's just the four of them scrambling around doing things, in the flat or in the Manor.
Still, it’s nice, with just the three hot spots of magic in the house. When Three breathes in he can feel Ivy and Vessel, moving around, doing what they need to do, and it’s what kicks Three into gear; he wants to unpack his bass, get it settled against the wall again, and he really does want a cup of tea.
He’s just bringing in the last of his things, dragging his shit down the hallway, when he stops in front of Sleep’s shrine room. Vessel’s already unpacked the things they brought on tour, Ivy helping him, about to start lighting candles and settle in for a quick recon with the Big Guy, when Three sees Ivy pull out a jar from one of the bags, and makes a questioning noise.
“What is it?” Three asks, coming up to look at the jar, just as Vessel joins them. He’s big, next to Three, not as tall but wider, and Three reaches around to settle an arm around Vess’s waist, pulling him close. He smells good, like hot evenings and freshly fallen rain.
“It looks like the red paint from Australia,” Ivy says, and opens the cap of the jar. It doesn’t immediately stink of ozone, just looks like regular paint, though it's untouched and thick. When Ivy shows it to them Three leans down, sniffs at it. It smells a little like their make up girl. “How’d it end up in our stuff?”
Three has no damn clue. Shevy’s usually so meticulous, cataloguing all her things after every show, and he can’t imagine she’d miss something so obvious - while it doesn’t stink of magic, Three gives the jar and lid a sniff, and that smells a little like ozone, a little Sleep-touched, seafoam and familiar.
Huh.
-
Two comes back a little less than two hours later, just as the sun is dipping down and the rain starts up again. He’s got so many things, and even though he probably doesn’t need the help - Two’s strong, arms corded with muscle - Three does it anyway, bringing in bag after bag with Two, already searching through the groceries to see what he grabbed.
“Did you get-”
“Yes, of course I did,” Two says, raising an eyebrow up at Three. “Who do you think I am?”
Three helps him pack it all away, while he also looks for mugs and tea. He never got around to making himself a cup before, too busy getting all his things in the right place, and when he flicks the kettle on to boil he settles back against the kitchen counter, watching Two figure out what to do for dinner.
“We could always get take out?” Three suggests, and pours the hot water into the mugs when the kettle clicks off, earl grey for himself and Two, chamomile for Vess and Ivy.
He’s stirring in the sugar and milk when Two hums, thinking, and says, “nah, we’ve had enough, I just want home food now.”
That’s fair. Their manager tries to get them to eat decent meals while on the road, but take out is usually the way to go, easy to get on the bus and easier to get delivered in a hotel. “Puttanesca?” Three suggests, trying to be helpful.
“Mhm, not a bad idea.”
“Want some help?”
Two looks up at him with a flat stare, and Three hides his grin behind his mug when Two says, “you, helpful? You just want an excuse to push me against the counter.”
“Mhm, probably.”
Three does it, anyway, and Two lets him. Settles his mug back down on the counter top and presses Two against another one, runs his hands down Two’s slim hips and grabs him, so he can pull Two up into him and bend him over the bench top, as he licks into his mouth. Two groans around his tongue, breath heavy between them, and Three giggles into his mouth, enjoying it.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Two pants, and tries to shove Three away. He doesn’t move, and Two lets him suck on his tongue a little longer, kiss him a little deeper. “Oh my god, is that how it’s gonna be?”
“What?” Three asks, pecks him softly on the cheek, humming in his chest.
But Two is smiling, despite his firm words, and Three keeps humming, affection swelling in his chest as he looks down at him. Two’s so sweet, is the thing, soft and gentle with his words and fingers, hard and stern when he needs to be; it’s been a while since Three’s taken him to bed, for him at least, and Three breathes out with hot want and longing.
“Dinner first,” Two says softly, brushes their lips together once. “Then I’ll take care of you.”
Ah, okay.
Three goes to let Two up, decides against it and kisses him rough and sloppy, one last time, until his lips are swollen and Two’s needy in his hands, grinding up against him, half hard between them while Three works his teeth into Two’s bottom lip.
“Vess and Ivy found the red paint,” Three huffs against Two’s skin, nipping at his neck with human teeth. “Reckon Sleep chucked it in with our shit.”
“What?” Two pants out, thrown from Three’s words, and keens when Three bites down, a little harder. Fuck, but he wants to paint Two in it, rub the red paint into the corner of his lips and lick it off, ah. “Fuckin’ hell, Three, what’s with you?”
Three ignores that, sucking the skin around Two’s bite into his mouth until it bruises, pretty and purple. He knows what’s up, and so does Two, ‘cause Three’s always been like this, when any of them leave him for a bit - even if it’s just a small trip into town to get clothes, or Ivy and Vess have to step out for something, the second they’re back in the flat with Three he’s demanding, wanting and affectionate.
Plus, it really has been a while. For them.
Two puts his palms against Three’s chest, his hands so much more delicate than Three’s, and shoves. Three steps back, gives him space, ‘cause he asked, and stares down at him, eyes hot and molten. “It’s the tea,” Three says, very serious, and Two bursts into a twinkling laugh, and actually. “Ah fuck, it’s probably gone cold.” It has, and when Three takes a sip of his earl grey he finds it tepid. Blegh. “A little help?”
Two sighs, melodramatic, and puts his hands around the porcelain. He hums, a little in his throat, and Three watches Sleep’s magic simmer in his mug, heating it back up to an appropriate temperature. Two does it again with the other three cups, and Three watches, enjoying the little show.
Magic’s fucky, yeah, but it works just fine with small bursts like this. Three could do it, but he’s lazy and wants to watch Two work it in his fine fingers, and by the time Two’s finished he’s not as flushed, not as keyed up with how Three had been working him over the bench.
Damn, least he promised he’d take care of Three after.
“I’m keeping you to that,” Three says, and dips down to press an obnoxious kiss against Two’s cheek, giggling when Two huffs at him. “I’m very needy, I need to be taken care of.”
“Go away,” Two says, voice firm, mother-hen kicking back in, though he does let Three press a softer kiss against his lips. “Check on Vess, make sure he’s okay.”
Vessel’s been fine, ever since the paint incident. They’d taken care of it the rest of the tour, just as promised, and by the end of the Canada leg he’d been back to himself, sinking into Sleep’s magic softer and slower, every show an energetic offering. Thank fuck for that, too, since Three’s not sure how much more he could take of being half-horny on stage every night, watching Vess work the crowd.
He’s fucking good at it, too, the hot bastard. Least Three’s one of the ones taking him to bed at night.
They didn’t manage to fuck again, after the shower, too busy and bussing between shows. Quick handies in the bunks and blow jobs in bathroom stalls could only get one so far, and while Three enjoyed every one of them he’s happy to be back home, and wants to stretch out on one of the big beds, take his time.
Oh, that reminds him.
“Can I-” Three starts again, turning back around to look at Two as he’s pulling out things from the fridge, and Two shoves a hand into his pocket and pulls out the bag of weed. “Awh, fuck yeah, you’re the best.”
“I know,” Two says, smirking, and starts to shoo Three out of the kitchen. “Now fuck off, let me make dinner, you goddamn menace.”
Three does, laughter loud and bright in the hall as he makes his way down it, having shoved the bag into his hoodie pocket and picked up the other two mugs. He did hospo for a few years, like every other poor musician in this damn city, and carries the two cups of chamomile down to Sleep’s room, where he finds Vess and Ivy talking quietly on the floor.
“Is that for me?” Vessel asks, voice soft, like he’s just woken up. Three hums, hands his mug to him and leans down to breathe in Vessel’s hair. Gods, but he smells good. “Thanks, darling.”
“Mhm, anytime,” Three passes Ivy’s mug too, just as hot as Vess’s, and gets a sweet nudge from Ivy in return, bumping his head up against Three’s chin. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” Vessel sighs, after he’s taken a sip of his chamomile, and leans back into Ivy’s hold. They’re sitting in the middle of the carpeted pentagram, circle shaped and stitched with Sleep’s runes around the edges, with Sleep’s crest in the middle of the five pointed star. There’s a bigger, painted one under the carpet, but the rug is travel sized, and more comfortable for Vess when he needs to nap to connect to Sleep. “He’s happy, giving us a break; thank fuck, I’m exhausted.”
That’s good. As wonderful as the rituals are, they can be a lot, especially for Vess. He’s their God's special boy, and every offering takes it out of him, though Vessel would never say so. Still, Three sees it, the tender looking bruises under his eyes, the weight of jet lag starting to settle into Vess’s bones, as he lies against Ivy.
They don’t have any more shows until November, so it’ll give them a couple months break. They’ll probably need to supplement an offering at some point, to keep Sleep happy, but that’s a far off thought for the time being.
Besides.
“Two went and got us something fun,” Three says as he sits down on the rug, close enough that Vess has to throw his long legs over Three’s knees with how near he wants to sit with the two of them. He pulls out the bag with one hand, grinning when Vessel lets out a breath. “Want me to roll you one?”
“Please.”
The weed Two get’s is always good, clean and smooth, the kind that makes Three wanna doze in the afternoon sun. He cuts Vessel’s with chamomile and lavender, rolling the sweet smelling joint in his fingers before he hands it to the singer, then he rolls three more. He could pack a bowl, but it’s in his bedroom and he can’t be fucked getting up, Vess’s legs warm over his.
They haven’t smoked for a while, especially with how busy they’ve been on tour. Edibles are easier on Vessel’s throat, too, keeping it velvet smooth and soft; smoking fucks with it, but they have months of rest ahead, so he’s not too put out. Two will probably end up turning half of it into baked goods, the sweet fucker. Three likes to feel the smoke filling his lungs, and when he’s done rolling the last one he’s tempted to light up, right here in Sleep’s room, but the idea of accidentally connecting with the God while he’s high out of his mind isn’t that appealing. Plus, Two’s almost finished dinner.
“Started without me?” Two asks, when he finds the three of them lazy on the floor, lying on top of each other. Three shakes his head, and Two smiles, genuine and serene. “Good, c’mon, food.”
The puttanesca’s fucking good, exactly what Three needed after months of pizza and fancy diner food, and when they’re finished Ivy and Vessel do the dishes, so sweet of them, and bring back a bottle of dessert wine, the pink kind that Three likes so much.
“Gimme,” Three whines, when Ivy pours out four glasses, handing him his last. “Fuck yeah, thanks, babe.”
Two’s a warm heat against him on the couch, their legs kicked up onto the cushions, with Two’s small body in the cradle of Three’s legs and on his chest; it makes his mouth water, his teeth ache, and he wants to bite into his skin again. He tucks his finger into Two’s shirt collar, hoodie long gone, and tugs it to the side to see the hickey he’d bruised into his neck before. It’s dark, swelling with magic and blotchy with blood, and a prominent bump when Three runs his thumb over it.
Two shivers in his hold, and Three smirks, so happy.
“Here,” Ivy says, and nudges the lighter into his hands. Vess has already started on his joint, half the thing fucking gone already, as the room starts stink of weed and sweet smelling flowers. Ivy takes a hit from his own one before he asks, “want me to get snacks?”
“Nah,” Three says, flicking the lighter before it catches the tip, sucks in the first inhale so it expands in his chest. He gives the lighter to Two. “I’m good.”
And he is. Good, that is, as the weed starts to take its hold. It’s just as good as he remembers, feeling his tongue start to go a bit numb in his mouth, and when Two says something Three giggles, his brain already starting to grow a little hazy.
Time passes, in a soft haze, while they finish their own joints. If he’d packed a bowl they would have shared it, and sometimes Three remembers to get longer papers, occasionally pre-rolled cones, so they can enjoy passing it between them; Three cuts them like Vessel’s when they do, the chamomile and lavender easing their taut muscles, making their joints loose.
Not that he needs the help right now. When Three’s joint burns down to the filter he rolls the paper in between his thumb and forefinger, watching the way the brown paper crushes a little when he squeezes it, and that’s so funny, right? The funniest fucking thing he’s ever seen.
“Watch,” he stage-whispers to Two, still in his lap, and delicately squashes the paper filter until he feels it fizzing in his hands, popping away into ashes as Sleep’s magic folds around it. “Tada!”
Two, normally so stoic and firm, giggles against him, rolling over to brush the ash away and rubbing his face into the fabric of Three’s shirt. Fuck, that’s nice, and he must have said it out loud, with how Two’s shoulders shake, and he does it again. Scrubs his forehead into the cotton over Three’s chest, sighs out when he settles back down, lying with their legs tangled together.
Shit, but it’s nice, to be back home. To be in their own space, with no demanding God under his skin, no stage to prepare for; they have all the time in the world now, and if they ask Sleep will probably expand the bubble for them - stretch time until it feels like molasses, slick and slow. He’s happy, Sleep’s magic thrumming under Three’s flesh, not to move or to action, but just. Content.
Speaking of.
“Still wanna take care of me?” Three asks, feels his words slur a little, and smiles softly when Two hums. “You said.”
“I know,” Two sighs, breath hot against Three’s skin, where he can feel it under his shirt. “In a bit, I’m enjoying myself.”
“Could enjoy me.”
Two laughs, properly laughs, his shoulder shaking as he presses his forehead to Three’s chest, before he tips his head up to look him in the eye. Gods, he’s got the prettiest eyes, though, soft and light ocean blue, his pupils dilated, swallowing him whole. “You’re being sweet,” Two says, and Three realises he said all that out loud. “Soon, promise, I just wanna hear Vess finish his song.”
Huh, when did he get up? Three tips his head to the side, and sees Vessel seated at his grand piano, an old antique that matches the one in the manor. He’s got his synths and keyboard in his room, of course, the grand is mostly for show. It’s tuned perfectly, kept in great condition, and every time they’re gone for a tour someone comes through and checks on it, making sure it’s fine.
Vessel’s singing, his voice lovely while he plays, an easy lullaby that could lull Three to sleep if he wanted. He sings, gold rush, acid flux, as Three swivels back down to look at Two. Opens his mouth, breathing him in, tastes the magic and want in the air.
God, but he’s horny, dick stiffening against the line of Two’s body, and he rolls his hips up, once, so Two feels it.
“Okay, okay,” Two laughs again, smacking his hands against Three’s chest gently. “C’mon then.”
They get up, and Three tangles their fingers together, lifts Two’s hands so he can count the folds that crease them. They’re just so interesting.
“G’night,” Two says, and drags Three over to where Ivy’s still sitting, on the other couch and stretched out to watch Vess play. He leans down to kiss him, and Three joins him, smacking their heads together as he tries to kiss Ivy on the mouth at the same time as Two, and giggles when they bump against one another. Hehe. “I’m taking this asshole to bed.”
“Mhm, not an asshole,” Three says, whines, and sways a little on the spot. Man, the wood in here is really nice, though. “I just wanna kiss you.”
“More than that, I bet,” Ivy says, laughing, his smile gorgeous and sweet. “Awh, thanks, Three, you’re cute.” Fuck, did he say that out loud? Stupid mouth. Could join, though, that’d be nice. “Not tonight, sweetheart, I’ll stay with Vess. Come find me in the morning, if you want.”
Ah. He’s gotta figure out how to stop speaking. With his mouth. The thing on his face. Where his tongue is.
But the wood is really nice, right?
“Fuckin’ hell, Three, how much did you smoke?” Ivy is saying, laughing with Two, huh? “Go, have a good time. You deserve it.”
Yeah, he fucking does. Says that out loud, knows he spoke, cause his teeth feel like they’ve felt air, that makes sense. They stop beside Vessel, just as he starts tapping at higher keys, humming in his chest, and Three tips his head back so he can kiss him, Spiderman style.
Fuck. They should watch Homecoming. What a good movie.
Two’s dragging him away, though, out of the lounge to the sound of Vess’s beautiful laughter and Ivy’s snort, the little bastard, and past Sleep’s room. Three stops, feels Two tugging on his fingers, and says, “wait, I just.” And he ducks into the room, because he just remembered, again, about. “Aha!” He finds the jar of red paint after a second, pulling it out and holding it aloft in triumph.
When he brings it out to show Two the smaller man blinks, down at the jar, and shoots Three an incredulous look. Or is a flat look? He can’t tell. He looks pretty either way. “Why?”
“I wanna.” Three stops, blinks, starts again. “Paint you. Like Vess. Yanno, worship. Devotion and all that.”
“But, we don’t need to?”
“I want to."
Two shrugs, and his ears turn pink when Three hums, grabs his firm ass in his hand and squeezes. “Fuck, maybe you did smoke too much. You sure you’re good?”
Three shakes his head a little, feeling his brain rattle around his skull. Blinks rapidly, trying to clear his mind, and he could probably ask Sleep to help, but he feels really good, really nice, like the world is full and hollow at the same time, and Three’s swimming in it.
He sucks in a deep breath, focuses. Then says, voice steady, head a little clearer, “yeah, I’m good. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, love,” Two says, voice soft and full of care, and when Three bends down to kiss him he lets him. “I just wanna be sure. Consents important, Three, even if it’s just us. Especially when it’s just us.”
Ah, but that makes Three feel a little weak in the knees, twists the softness in his chest into hot want, because he cares so fucking much about them, and they feel the same, for him. Fucking hell, what a lovely thing, too, to know he’s cared about so damn much, and that he’d ripped the earth apart for them - for any of them.
When he presses his mouth against Two’s mouth he’s full of hunger, desperation and longing, teeth aching and human blunt. The slick slide of his tongue against Two’s wonderful, a hum in Two’s throat when Three presses a hand against it, nails biting at the delicate skin of his neck. Feels Two’s groan as it rattles through his small body, right into Three’s mouth, down his throat to settle into his belly, warm and right.
“Can I have some water?” Three asks when he lets Two breath, though he keeps his fingers at his neck, petting softly. “I’m really thirsty.”
“Sure,” Two pecks him, once, twice on the mouth, soft and affectionate. “Your room?” Three hums, nods, kisses him again, ‘cause he wants to. “Okay, won’t be long.” A beat, as Two looks up at him, his narrowed eyes growing hot and heady. “Grab the lube.”
Awh, fuck yeah.
Three’s rooms unpacked, his bass in its cradle against the wall, the lights dimmed so it throws the red walls into almost black shadows, atmospheric and all his. He has so much washing to do, already piled into the basket in the laundry, and wouldn’t it be so much easier if they just had, like, one ghoul? Surely Satan can share, and Sleep wouldn’t bitch about one ghoul, right?
“Yes, he would,” Two says when he comes back, carrying a water bottle, and when Three takes it he needs a little encouragement to take a sip. “Also, I don’t know how that would work.”
“We should ask,” Three says, voice serious, and fuck, Two’s cute when he giggles like that. “Like, ask Vess, I mean.”
Two’s still laughing at him, and Three breathes in, feeling his chest grow warm with love and devotion, and when he’s close enough he drags his hands under Two’s legs and pulls, until he has to settle on Three’s lap to stay upright. “Three, you’re really… soft, tonight, are you okay?”
“I just like you a lot,” Three says, without hesitation, and blinks up at Two’s face, stares at his pretty eyes and swallows. “Also, I’m hoping you let me eat your ass, jussayin’.”
“Ah, there is it,” Two whispers, bumps their heads together, and presses his mouth against Three’s, moans when Three bites his bottom lip. “Was wonderin’ where you went, darling.”
“M’right here. Like, under you.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Doesn’t matter, cause Three’s done talking, and grabs Two’s face with both hands and pulls, until he can properly lick into his mouth, chases his tongue and feels it sliding against his own. He’s so done talking, running his hands down Two’s narrow hips and drags him across the line of his hard cock, groaning.
Yeah. Just.
“I wanna fuck you,” Three says, wanting and desperate, and when Two sucks in a gasp Three blinks. “That’s cool, right? I can totally wait to eat you out later, like, after. I just wanna fuck you really badly, right now.”
“Yes, fuckin- yes, Three.”
Two has to fight to get Three’s shirt over his head, cause he keeps falling back onto the blanket, and eventually he huffs, gives up, and just snags his own shirt off. When his chest is on full display Three sighs, grabs just under his arms so both of his thumbs press against Two’s nipples, sucks in a breath when Two moans, rolling his hips.
The paint. He needs.
Three slams one hand down on the jar, unscrews it one handed and hums so Sleep wraps around it, so it won’t spill on his covers, ‘cause he needs to do this right. Dips two fingers into the paint, and when he slides it across his own lips, ducks a tongue out to taste it, he knows he was right.
“This isn’t just paint,” he says, and rocks his hips up, jostling Two. “Tastes like ritual.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Three,” Two says, and makes a needy noise in his throat when Three pinches his nipple, until it's hard and raw between his fingers. “Did you grab lube, like I asked?” No, he didn’t, he forgot, fucking shit. Says so out loud, and Two laughs a little, reaches into his back pocket and drops the half-used bottle on Three’s chest. “I fucking knew it, you bastard, you’re too horny to think.”
“Yeah,” Three says, full of hot honesty, and Two looks away, his face burning red. “Is. That not okay? I just really-”
“Wanna fuck me, I know, oh my god,” Two shuffles off the bed, and Three whines when he’s too far to touch, slaps Three’s hands when he tries to drag him closer as he works on his pants, before he kicks off the last of his clothes. Settles back on Three’s lap, okay, yeah, that’s good, and uncaps the bottle with his teeth.
Fuck, that’s hot as hell.
“Wanna help?” Two asks, and Three hums, thinking, because actually, he’d kinda like the show. “You beg me for a fuck all day and now you don’t wanna help me get ready?”
He does, wants to help that is, and he starts to say so, but instead all that comes out is: “I wanna worship you.”
Two blinks, stops pouring the lube out onto his fingers, and looks down at Three. He’s naked and hard, his pretty cock curving against his stomach, seated on Three’s lap like he belongs there. A small prince, full of fondness and affection, on a throne made of Three’s longing and admiration.
This feels important, and Three hums in his chest, his head clearing a little more so he can properly think, and when Sleep touches his mind the fog lifts a bit, like he’s coming up from being deep underwater.
“I want,” he says, slower, words a little steadier in his mouth. “To worship you.”
“Fuck,” Two whispers, and swallows, throat bobbing. The hickey Three had worked into his neck is so flush against his pale skin, and it makes Three wanna put his fingers there; does, smearing red paint over the bruise. “You’re a lot, Three.”
“Thanks.”
“Ugh,” Two says, with feeling, like he’s trying to reprimand Three, but he’s blushing, his skin growing hot. Three hums, dips his hand back into the jar and spreads it between his fingers, before he puts his hand against Two’s slender neck and presses down. Feels Two shudder, around his hand and on his lap, along the line of his stiff cock, the paint smearing over his flesh. “Keep doing that, it’s. It’s really good.”
Three does, holding on, and when Two tips forward onto his chest curls his hand up into his hair, tugging a little and getting paint in it. “You’re right, I wanna help, gimme the-” Two squeezes a decent amount of lube on to his other fingers, the ones not coated in paint, and Three wastes no time, dragging Two up his body so he can slide his hand down the crack of his ass, until he can press one finger in, Two’s head in the curve of his shoulder.
Two groans, the sound rattling into Three’s skull, and he has to kiss him, nudges Two’s head until he gets the message and sighs against his mouth. The weed’s made Two a little loose-limbed, relaxed enough that when Three thrusts in a second finger the glides so easy, perfect and right.
“You’re so good to me, Two,” Three says, whispers it against his ear and bites on the lobe. “Taking care of me, even though I’ve been a shit all day,” Two huffs a laugh against his shoulder, nuzzles into the fabric - fuck, he’s still wearing most of his clothes. “I don’t tell you enough, how much you mean to me.”
“You do, though,” Two says, shivers as Three gently fucks into him with his fingers.. “You don’t say it, but you mean it, and-” gasps as Three pushes in another finger, fucks against that spot that makes Two cry out. “Fuck, Three, hurry up.”
Three feels the same, and manages to kick off his pants and briefs, after he pulls his fingers out of Two and reaches down to grab his dick, still hard, and presses his cockhead in, until Two’s sinking down on to him, hot and full of want. He rocks back, once, balancing with his hands on Three’s chest.
Fuck, but he’s gorgeous, tipping his head back with a sigh as he rolls his hips, and Three’s so caught up in watching that he barely pays attention when he grabs the paint, pours a good amount over his fingers and spreads it over Two’s chest, running two fingers in a line down to his navel. His hands leave paint streaks over his body, like he’s sliding blood over Two’s pale skin.
Two whines, when he wraps his hand around his cock, and thrusts up into his fist, breath heavy in the air, arousal so thick Three could choke on it. He could get him off like this, could probably come by just watching Two work himself between his hand and on his dick, and wishes so desperately that Vess and Ivy were here, to watch, with him.
Another time.
“I’m,” Two says, throws his head back when Three plants his feet and thrusts up hard. “Fuck, Three, again. Do that again.”
He does, because Two asked, because he wants so badly to be good for him, and when Two’s hands are too shaky to hold himself up anymore Three runs his palms up his sides, red paint dragging behind in his wake, and curves his fingers over the delicate skin of Two’s neck. Pushes into the bruise, watches Two cry out as his orgasm builds up in his hips and thighs, his body shaking.
Feels his own teeth growing sharper, his blood burning with want and love and the desperate need to devour. He won’t, though, not tonight, ‘cause Three has other plans.
“Shit,” he says, fucking up into him, feeling Two trembling. “But you make it so good, Two, makes it hard for me to think.”
“It’s hard for you to think ‘cause you’re still high as hell,” Two says, and laughs, the sound beautiful and delicate. Three hums, agreeing, ‘cause Two’s right, like he usually is, even though Three’s heads clear, focused and aware. He whines when Three drags his hands down to the narrow line of his waist, digs his hands in with his nails, leaving crescent bites in his flesh. “Fuck, again-”
Three holds him still as he grinds up into him, feeling Two squeeze around his dick, moans when Two slaps a hand on his chest again, anchoring himself. Two can’t move like this, can’t chase his pleasure the way he wants to, and whines when Three drags him up his cock, manhandling him like he weighs nothing.
“You’d be a king, in another life,” Three sighs, and Two hisses, his voice strained, while Three rocks up into him. “A prince for me, Two, all for me, I’d follow you anywhere.” And he would. If Vessel is the one he’ll walk into the dark for, Two’s like a shining beacon beside him, calling him home. “I’d devote myself to you, give myself to you completely-”
“Shut up,” Two snaps, his eyes squeezed shut, and Three doesn’t mention that he can see tears prickling in the corners. Wants to lick it up, slide his tongue over his flesh and taste it. “Shut up, oh my god, Three, the fuck-”
“I’ll bleed for you, Two, I’ll be with you until the end,” and fuck, if isn’t the most right thing he’s ever said, as Three keeps talking, ‘cause now that he’s started he can’t stop. “Vess is gonna eat us whole one day, but until then I’m yours, too, all yours.”
Two hisses, and those tears that prickled earlier drop; roll down his cheeks and mix into the paint at his chin. Three has to taste it, taste him, and puts his hands against Two’s slender neck so he can pull him down on top of him, licking his tongue over his cheek. He tastes like ritual and worship, like the salt of the ocean and love.
Like paint and Three’s affection, so hot and swampy in his chest, and Two sobs against his mouth when he finally kisses him, biting at his lips and sucking on his tongue. “What’s with you tonight, Three,” he says, and Three doesn’t know either, doesn’t really care, ‘cause he means it all the same. “You can’t just say-”
“I can,” Three says, words firm, against his mouth and kisses him again, sweet and chaste, even as he can feel his hips twitching, his orgasm so close. “You’re my home, Two, you’re everything to me.”
And he curls his fingers around Two’s neck, squeezes until Two gasps, needy and desperate, while he works his hips. Two rocks back, one hand slapping over Three’s chest while the other flies down to squeeze his dick, and he comes - across Three’s shirt, over the fabric, whining as he shivers with the afterglow.
Three wants to devour him.
Doesn’t, drags Two down so he can curl him into his body, so small and perfect, just for him, and fucks up into him like he means it, like he’s so fucking desperate for it, and when he comes it’s to the sound of Two whispering his love, his devotion, ‘cause he gets it, and he feels the same.
-
After, once Three’s pulled his soft dick out of Two and holds him in the cradle of his arms, Two says, “what the fuck was that.”
Three shrugs, grins up at his ceiling - he should put some posters up there, seems like it’d be cool to look at night, or a mirror - and Two scoffs at him. “I’unno, I meant it, though, so who cares.”
“I care, Three,” Two says, and his shock settles down into a simmering warmth, hot and stinking of magic. He’s got paint all over him now, splashed across his neck and down his chest, over the sharp lines of his hip bones. “Fucking hell.”
“Yeah,” Three says, hums in his throat when Two gives him a look. “You too.”
-
Two makes him help clean the paint off, in his shower, and Three spends the entire time pouting ‘cause he wanted to watch him sleep in it.
“I’m not falling asleep covered in this,” Two snaps, half hearted, and Three has to dip down to kiss him, ‘cause he’s so cute when he’s mad. “Hurry up, I’m sore, and you fuck like a bastard.”
Ah, but that makes Three so happy, and he’s okay with washing the paint away now. Scrubs gently across Two’s neck, and watches the paint run down the drain.
“Think you’d be up for letting me eat your ass now?” Three asks, ‘cause he has to, and barely ducks out of the way when Two goes to slap him. “C’mon, I’ll be nice.”
“This is you being nice? Fuck off.”
He does, though. Two lets Three bend him over on his bed, knees on either side of his head, while Three tongue fucks him to oblivion.
What a good homecoming.
-
Three’s on breakfast duty, ‘cause Two’s still passed out in his bed, curled up in his covers and stinking of him. They fucked again, before they fell asleep, Two on his belly while Three sat on his thighs and fucked him slow and gentle, taking his time, and didn’t even complain when Three kept talking to him through it.
The masks are good, obviously, they do their job, but Three likes being able to see Two’s face when he fucks him.
Vess is still asleep, but Ivy’s awake, standing in the kitchen with Three, sipping his tea. “Have a good night?” He asks when Three’s jaw cracks with a yawn for the fifth time. “Smells like you had a good time.”
“Such a good time,” Three says, with feeling, and giggles when Ivy rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you’re next, big boy.”
Ivy snorts, but his face flushes a little. He’s just as used to Three’s overbearing affection, and Three thinks he’s just mad he missed out, again. Says so out loud, and Ivy gives him a flat look.
“We could hear you,” Ivy says when Three grabs bread for the toaster. “You’re not the quietest fuck, just so you know.”
“Get off to it?” Ivy flushes, and Three knows he’s right. “Shame, could’ve watched, wouldn’t have minded the audience.”
“You love a goddamn audience.”
“Mhm, yeah.”
Ivy snorts again, finishes his cup of tea and helps Three finish breakfast. It’s just eggs on toast, but Ivy digs out bacon and sausages, and fries them on the griddle while Three sorts out plates and mugs. Vessel shuffles in eventually, tired and smelling like the sea, and when Three opens his arms Vess falls into him, scrubbing his bare face against his neck.
“Mornin’,” Vess says, and yawns. Three doesn’t try to stop the yawn he returns, and Vessel chuckles a little. “Tea?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Three presses a kiss to Vessel’s hair, breathing him in. He shuffles Vess so he’s leaning over Ivy, the bigger man easily holding him up, while he turns the kettle on and gets started.
By the time they’ve set up at the smaller dining table, Two's finally awake, shuffling into the room wrapped in Three’s duvet and nothing else. Three can’t help it, his affection pooling in his gut when he picks Two up, so he’s holding him up against his chest.
“Yes, hello,” Two sighs against his mouth when he kisses him. “Fuck, still? Give a man a break, babe.”
“Hm, nah,” Three says, giggles when Two sighs again. “Okay, okay, sorry, want some food?”
“Yes, put me down, you fucking menace.”
They eat, and when Two runs out of tea Three gets up and makes him another cup, ‘cause he’s trying to be nice. Vessel’s still half asleep, and he has to be nudged into finishing his plate, but it’s good. Really good. Feels like home.
Three sighs, feels magic pooling inside him, pushing past all the affection and love. It’s good.