Work Text:
The sun barely rises over Krat, covering the city with a golden veil that doesn't quite erase the tension hanging in the air. At the top of the Krat Hotel, Lea crosses her arms as she stares out the window.
"Wouldn't it be easier if they just talked to him?" she comments without looking away. "It's not that difficult."
Beside her, Sophia sighs, turning her teacup between her fingers.
"You speak logically, Lea. But P and Carlo don't know what that means when it comes to Romeo."
And she's not wrong.
While they converse, P glides through the corridors with the same precision as in combat, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers in his arms. Not just any bouquet: each bloom is perfect, wild, and vibrant, as if he'd traveled halfway around the world to gather them. He gently knocks on Romeo's door, who opens it with a surprised expression.
"For me...?" he asks, touching one of the flowers as if afraid of wilting it.
P says nothing, just hands him the bouquet with a slight bow. Romeo smiles gratefully and kisses his cheek.
"Thank you, P. They're beautiful."
Carlo, watching from the corner, purses his lips. The scene pricks him like a rusty needle. Wasting no time, he goes off to prepare his next move.
Hours later, Romeo walks among cages and artificial vegetation at Krat's Zoo. Beside him, Carlo talks excitedly, describing each creature with that ferocious gleam in his eyes. It's not a peaceful stroll, of course: they escape from a pack of deformed animals, climb a broken cage, and are almost eaten by a lion. But Romeo laughs. And so does Carlo.
"Look out!" Romeo shouts as a deer charges at them both.
They roll on the ground and giggle like children.
Unfortunately, not everyone is so happy.
"Who the hell is making that racket?!" Markiona shouts angrily, leaving the building. “Get out of here! This is a zoo, not a circus!”
Unable to contain their laughter, Romeo and Carlo run away, giggling. They walk hand in hand to the hotel, their faces flushed with sun and excitement.
Upon arrival, Carlo gently kisses Romeo's cheek before saying goodbye.
“Thanks for coming with me. I'm glad you had fun.”
But as he enters his room, a familiar figure is waiting for him: P, standing with his arms crossed and his face as serious as a sentence.
“Really a zoo?” P asks.
Carlo slams the door shut with more force than necessary. The wood creaks, and the air thickens between them like before a storm.
“And you think a bouquet of flowers is enough to win her heart?” he spits, turning to face P with a frown.
P doesn't flinch. His blue eyes, cold as the machinery that gives him life, don't even blink.
"It's not enough... but it was honest," he replies, his voice calm, like a taut thread about to snap. "I didn't use him to show him what I could give him. I did it to tell him how I felt."
Carlo grits his teeth.
"And I didn't? Do you think I took him to the zoo just to show off?"
P takes a firm step toward him.
"I saw you smiling when he looked at you. It wasn't just for him. It was for you."
"So what about you?" Carlo raises his voice. "You always hide behind those silences and intense gazes. You don't speak to him, you don't say anything. You just appear as if he's always been yours."
"He's not mine. Nor yours either," P replies softly, and that hurts more than a scream.
Silence falls again, but now it's tainted by emotions neither of them knows how to contain. For a second, they both remain motionless. They are warriors, not poets. Their hearts weren't created to compete like this... and yet, there they are.
"What do you propose, then?" Carlo asks, arms crossed. "Wait for him to choose? Stand idly by while Romeo smiles, unaware of what he's doing to us?"
P narrows his eyes. Not in anger. In doubt.
"Maybe... we should tell him. Together."
Carlo laughs humorlessly.
"Tell him? Just like that? What if he chooses one of us?"
"Then we respect his decision."
"And if he chooses neither of us?"
P's pause is a dagger.
"Then at least he'll know the truth."
For a moment, Carlo hesitates. He looks at the window, where the night begins to cover Krat like a wet coat.
"He's in his room," he murmurs tensely.
P nods.
"Come on."
And without another word, the two leave. They walk together, but not as allies. As temporary rivals with a common purpose. Upon reaching Romeo's room, Carlo knocks on the door. Once.
"Yes?" his voice is heard from inside.
P opens it slowly, revealing the young man with blond hair sitting by the window. He turns, surprised to see them together.
"P? Carlo? Did something happen?"
They both enter. They close the door behind them. There's no turning back.
Romeo watches them with a nervous smile, not knowing whether to worry or laugh.
"You're very serious..."
P and Carlo look at each other for a second. It's P who speaks first.
"We want to talk to you. About us... and about you."
Romeo blinks, confused.
"About me?"
Carlo sighs, walking toward him.
"About how we feel about you."
And then Romeo's heart skips a beat, and he freezes, as if his feet were rooted to the spot. He looks at P. Then at Carlo. Then back at P. His heart pounds, but it's not fear he feels—it's vertigo.
"What... what do they mean by that?" he murmurs, as if afraid it was all a cruel joke.
Carlo steps forward, his voice trembling with sincerity.
"I like you, Romeo. I have for a long time. You make me feel... alive. And today, as you laughed among those wild machines... I thought there's no place I won't go if you're by my side."
Romeo stares at him, perplexed, feeling his cheeks burn.
Before he can respond, P also steps forward.
"And I... I don't know how to put it in a flowery, elegant way. But when you're near, something in me calms. As if the machinery stops hurting." As if I finally understood why I was created.
Romeo's eyes widen in astonishment. His heart doesn't know who to look at. Or what to say.
"I... I didn't know you felt this way," he stammers, with a shy smile. "All day I thought you were competing to see who was the most attentive. But I didn't think... you were sincere."
"We are," Carlo says, moving closer.
"A lot more than we should," P adds, without looking away.
Romeo takes a step back, until his back hits the bed. He sits up, his face flushed, nervous.
"I don't know what to say. I don't want to hurt either of you..."
"You don't have to choose," P says suddenly, and Carlo looks at him in surprise.
"What?"
"Not now, at least," P continues, serene. "Because... I think all three of us feel something." And if he has feelings for you too, Carlo, I can't hate him for it. I saw you today. You were happy.
Carlo frowns, but then he looks at Romeo, and his expression softens.
"And you were happy when he gave you those flowers."
Romeo brings his hands to his face, covering his smile with his fingers.
"You're fools. Both of you."
"But we're yours... if you want us to be," Carlo says, lowering his voice.
P sits down next to Romeo. His expression becomes softer than Romeo thought possible.
"We can learn. Not to fight. To share... if that makes you happy."
Romeo watches them both. His heart is beating so hard he feels like it's going to burst out. But he smiles.
"I don't want to choose between you two," he whispers. "Because I feel alive with you too, Carlo." And I feel at peace with you, P. And if I have to leave one behind… I feel like I'd lose a part of me.
"Then let's try," Carlo says with a smile.
Carlo and P look at Romeo with other intentions. The young man watches them with a nervous smile, and together they throw him down on the bed. Romeo tries to sit up.
"What are you going to do?" Romeo asks, breathing heavily, leaning his elbows on the bed as he looks up at them.
Carlo crawls onto the mattress with a sly, feline smile and positions himself next to him.
"What we should have done from the beginning," he replies in a low, almost purring voice.
P says nothing. He just watches him with those intense eyes that seem to read the deepest recesses of his soul. He kneels on the edge of the mattress, letting his hand slowly rise to Romeo's ankle, caressing his leg through his clothes. The touch, gentle but firm, makes Romeo shudder.
"Not so fast..." he says, trying to joke, but his voice trembles a little.
"Are you scared?" Carlo asks, his lips now close to the boy's neck.
"No..." he whispers. "I'm just... nervous."
"Then let's go slowly," P replies, with a disarming gentleness.
Romeo slowly falls onto the sheets as they lean over him. Their hands move carefully, undoing buttons, sliding over the exposed skin as if discovering a new map. Carlo runs his lips down Romeo's chest, leaving a trail of kisses. P caresses his waist, pausing to feel each labored breath it provokes.
The clothes fall one by one, like dry leaves at the end of autumn. Everything is slow, intimate, full of glances, small touches, and suppressed gasps.
Carlo approaches Romeo's member and touches it. Romeo watches intently, just as P kisses him intensely on the lips, with a passion that is instantly returned. The blond feels Carlo's tongue lick his member. He shudders, barely separating from P's kiss, panting against his lips. His eyes, glazed with desire, lower to Carlo, who looks up at him with a lascivious smile, as if enjoying every second of his reaction. Carlo's tongue slowly runs along the length of his erection, lingering at the tip with a wet, almost reverent caress.
"Carlo..." Romeo murmurs, his voice trembling, between pleasure and wonder.
P doesn't let him get lost. He holds his face, looks into his eyes as his hands caress his chest, his ribs, his hips. It's as if they adore him between them. As if every touch is an affirmation: we love you, we desire you, we accept you.
Carlo begins to move more rhythmically, taking him with his mouth, deep, while Romeo arches against the mattress, one hand buried in the sheets, the other clutching the back of P's neck.
The kiss returns, but this time it's more desperate. Romeo seeks it hungrily, wanting to stifle his moans against P's mouth. He feels as if he's being consumed inside and out, and there's no place in him that doesn't burn.
"I can't take it anymore..." he gasps.
P understands. He settles behind him, kissing his neck, his shoulders. He speaks in his ear:
"Then take us."
Romeo looks at him, his face flushed, and one more lick is enough for the young man to cum inside Carlo's mouth, who receives him entirely and drinks in with devout pleasure.
A moment later, it's Carlo who lies face down, brazenly offering himself.
Romeo needs no more. He positions himself in front of Carlo and carefully inserts a first finger inside him. The boy stifles a moan as Romeo moves his finger up and down. A second finger enters, gently opening him. He wants to prepare him well; he's not looking to hurt him, just to please him.
When he sees he's ready, he takes his member and slowly inserts it into his partner's entrance.
P, still behind him, accompanies him. He guides him with caresses on his back and soft kisses on the nape of his neck, as if his mere presence gives him strength and comfort.
Carlo moans as he feels him enter completely inside him. His body reacts with an inevitable shudder, and Romeo begins to move inside him, slowly, as if afraid of breaking something precious.
"God..." Romeo murmurs, his voice hoarse, trembling with pleasure.
"That way... move," Carlo asks, without shame, a lascivious smile on his lips.
Romeo moves closer, takes him by the head, and kisses him passionately. Their tongues intertwine with hunger, with need. When they separate, a thread of saliva remains between them, shiny, vibrant, like an invisible bond that still unites them. The rhythm of the thrusts is slow and deep at first, punctuated by gasps, sighs, and the wet friction of their bodies. Carlo presses himself against the sheets, his skin burning under each caress.
Romeo kisses Romeo on the lips, strokes his hair with his left hand, and with his right, massages his chest, playing with his nipples. Pleasure spreads through the room like a gentle storm, enveloping the three of them. It's more than physical. It's surrender. It's connection.
Romeo thrusts harder, with more intensity, and Carlo stifles his moans by biting the pillow. Romeo's body trembles, every fiber of his body aflame. When they both feel the end approaching, they can't and won't stop.
And then, together, they come at the same time.
Romeo stays still for a few seconds, panting on Carlo's back, his hands firm on his waist, as if he needs to anchor himself to him so he doesn't float away. His body is still trembling, shaken by their shared orgasm, and he feels Carlo shuddering beneath him too, his face half-hidden in the pillow, his legs still trembling from the intensity of the experience.
P circles him from behind and hugs him by the waist. His warm chest presses against Romeo's back, and his labored breathing caresses his neck like an intimate, real breeze.
"Don't go yet," P whispers against his skin.
Romeo just nods, his eyes closed, letting his fingers search Carlo's face in the darkness, needing that last touch.
Carlo turns slightly, still lying face down. He smiles through half-closed eyes, panting, satisfied. He approaches the blond and kisses him again, slowly, gently, as if he wants to taste him after having been completely his.
"Do you realize how you make me feel?" he murmurs, barely audible, but charged with emotion.
Romeo doesn't respond with words. He only caresses him tenderly. His fingers tremble, not from nervousness, but from how overwhelmed he is... from the intensity, from the surrender, from the acceptance that flows between the three of them like a warm, inevitable current.
He separates from Carlo with a warm sigh. His skin, still damp from their shared effort, gleams in the dim light. His lips are slightly parted, his chest rising and falling slowly. He turns, and then he meets P's eyes.
He watches him silently.
There is tenderness in that gaze, there is fire. A silent devotion that always disarms him.
Without saying anything, Romeo leans toward P and kisses him. It is not a gentle kiss. It's deep, hungry, filled with pent-up passion. Their tongues intertwine tightly; their bodies draw closer until there's no air left between them. Romeo takes him by the waist and then lowers a firm hand to P's rear, squeezing it with a confident, possessive gesture.
P gasps into his mouth, clings to his shoulders, and his body reacts with a shudder that runs through him.
"You're so beautiful..." Romeo whispers against his lips, gently pushing him down onto the mattress.
Without letting go, he leans down and begins to kiss his neck. But he doesn't just kiss: he marks him. He leaves small hickeys, one after the other, descending along his collarbone, as if he wanted to draw a visible map of his desire. Each mark is a silent confession: I love you, I want you, you're mine.
P breathes heavily, half-closing his eyes, surrendering to the heat, the touch, the wet sound of the kisses that claim him. His skin prickles with every contact; His body arches slightly, seeking more, letting him do it.
Carlo watches them from the sidelines, a satisfied smile on his lips. He lazily strokes Romeo's back, as if he can still feel him inside him, and then reaches out to take P's hand, which P squeezes, still staring at the blond man above him.
"I never thought this could feel so... good," P says in a low voice, moved, broken by emotion and pleasure.
Romeo looks up. His face is flushed; his breathing is still uneven. He smiles at him and gently kisses his forehead.
"You deserve it... you both deserve it. And now you have me."
Romeo moves down to P's thighs, which tremble as the blond settles between them. He lowers his gaze and watches him with devotion, with desire, with tenderness. He holds his erection in his hand and kisses it gently at first, as if it were something sacred. Then he runs his tongue slowly over the entire length, exploring it patiently, with suppressed hunger.
P sinks back against the pillows, closing his eyes, moaning softly, as if pleasure were rising from the center of his chest. Carlo, still at his side, caresses his abdomen, tracing circles with his fingers while watching him with shining eyes.
"Romeo..." P murmurs, almost voiceless, his breathing labored. "No... you don't have to..."
"I want to," Romeo replies, barely breaking away to speak, his voice husky, heavy with desire.
And without further ado, he takes him completely into his mouth, slowly at first, letting himself be carried away by the gasps he elicits, by the taste, by the heat. His tongue moves with precision; his lips surround him firmly, and his hand caresses what he can't reach. He moves with rhythm, feeling P shudder beneath him, his back arch, his fingers dig into the sheets.
Carlo moves closer and kisses P on the cheek, then on the lips, stealing his breath, sharing the warmth of that moment with him. He caresses his chest, plays with his nipples, and his other hand moves down to P's crotch, fondling him while Romeo continues to devour him with his mouth.
The combination is too much. P can't contain his moans, the instinctive movements of his hips, or the trembling that comes from his belly. His whole body vibrates between Romeo's hands, lips, and tongue, and Carlo's caresses that never cease to stimulate him.
"I'm going to..." P gasps, his voice breaking.
But Romeo doesn't stop. He feels him swell, shudder. Pinocchio grips Carlo's wrist tightly and lets go, spilling himself into the blond's mouth with a deep, sustained moan, his whole body tensing... and then letting go.
Romeo holds his mouth to the end, swallowing without looking away, while Carlo kisses him on the forehead and caresses him gently.
"You did well for your first time," Carlo says with a smile.
"You think so? Ah..."
Romeo, without warning, inserts two fingers inside P, which he begins to move like scissors to dilate the entrance and prepare him. He doesn't want P to feel pain, only pleasure. P's gasps are suppressed, while Carlo approaches his neck and bites it, leaving marks.
When Romeo sees that P is ready, he takes his member and slowly inserts it inside him, feeling P's insides squeeze him tightly.
"God... P... you're so tight..."
He thrusts with slow, deep movements, feeling the heat envelop him. P arches his back and moans. He squeezes Carlo's metal arm so tightly that it crushes him, breaking him to pieces. Carlo watches him closely. He doesn't say anything at first. He just stares at the remains of his metal hand on the floor… and then he turns his attention to P, who's breathing heavily, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed with pleasure and the intensity of the moment. Romeo continues thrusting into him at a steady pace, each movement measured, attentive to P's every reaction.
"I didn't think you could break it so easily…" Carlo murmurs, leaning down to caress P's cheek with his human hand. "Are we making you feel that good?"
P doesn't respond with words. He barely manages to nod. His body shudders beneath Romeo, who holds him with one hand on his hip and the other on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat.
"I love the way you squeeze it…" Romeo whispers huskily, licking P's skin where Carlo has left marks. "I want to feel you tremble for me."
Carlo, without moving away, leans in as well and kisses P passionately.
"We're yours, P," Carlo says with a smile. "Don't hold back... let yourself go."
Gasps mingle with the wet sound of thrusts. The heat in the room becomes thicker, more intimate. Romeo slightly increases the pace, while Carlo synchronizes his caresses so that the pleasure invades him all at once.
"Almost... almost..." Romeo gasps, gritting his teeth.
P trembles. His muscles tense, his body arched between them like a rope about to snap. And then it comes: the climax shakes him whole and he comes, staining his belly. A cry escapes his lips as he grips the sheets tightly and lets himself go.
Romeo follows soon after, filling her insides. He breathes heavily and falls onto P's chest, burying his face in his neck. Carlo holds them both, breathing calmly, hugging them both with his one arm, as if they were the most precious thing in the world.
Silence. Only the labored breathing can be heard, the still uncontrolled heartbeat. And then, very low, Carlo's voice:
"Next time... I think I'll use a new hand... But I won't stop touching you, P."
P, still panting, lets out a long breath. Her eyes are closed, her body relaxed, and a small, serene smile graces her lips.
Romeo caresses her abdomen with his fingers, drawing soft lines that seem to have no end.
"Are you okay?" he murmurs, his voice hoarse from exertion and emotion.
P nods slowly, without opening his eyes, as if he doesn't want to burst the bubble of that moment.
"I feel... floating. As if it's not real."
Carlo laughs softly, stroking her hair.
"It's real. Here we are," he says, kissing her temple tenderly. "And you don't have to pretend to be strong with us." Not now… not ever.
P opens his eyes, and his pupils shine with more than desire: there's vulnerability, but also trust. He rests his head on Carlo's chest, reaching out for Romeo, who quickly intertwines his fingers with his.
"When you two are close… I feel like I'm lacking nothing."
Romeo looks at him silently for a few seconds. Then he leans down and kisses the back of his hand.
"That's because you deserve to feel loved."
Carlo nods.
"And you are. Truly."
P shrinks a little between them, as if he can finally rest. They feel his fingers slowly caressing Carlo's torso, while Romeo traces invisible patterns on his back. No one speaks. There's no need. The silence is comfortable, full of meaning.
The world outside can be cruel, cold, demanding.
But in that bed, under those sheets, in those arms… the three of them feel loved and desired.