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He had barely exited the door of the bath when the two of them, surely having coordinated the attack beforehand, were upon him. In the distant light of Cetho from the window there was a flash of Imperial white, the pale profile of a face against the window, before one pair of lips—Csethiro’s, surely, breath sweetened with tooth powder and mint—were against his. From behind him another pair pressed eager, nibbling kisses along the back of his neck and to either side of his jaw, and with an incoherent, breathy sound he melted into the two of them. He darted his tongue greedily into Csethiro’s waiting mouth before moaning into it as the lips at his neck sought the trembling tip of one ear to close around it and suck.
“Sweet goddesses, how thou burn’st already,” Csevet’s voice was low in his ear. Avid fingers clasped his hands where they had flown to Csethiro’s hips, trailing over his unlovely knuckles and along the palms, limning the fine bones there in pure sensation.
“And canst blame him, in truth?” Csethiro asked, hands dropping from his shoulders to cover Csevet’s in turn. A soft noise marked the press of their own lips and then they were on him once more, Csevet sliding the light silk robe from his shoulders, Csethiro divesting him of his nightshirt as readily as his edocharei had bundled him into it not so long before, to leave him bared to the darkness and to his wife and his love. Somewhere in that darkness stood Cala as well, a presence he had once feared and resented for the disapprobation he imagined surely must have been there. His calm, impassive dedication, however, had long since smoothed such rough edges until Cala’s presence was nothing more than there, like the sky or his own mind. Cala would not shame him. Shame them.
“Wilt join us in the bed of marriage, Your Serenity?” Csevet’s voice drew him back to the present and he could only nod with a soft whimper. Then they were moving and he was recumbent and half-swooning beneath them. Twin pairs of hands were upon him, Csethiro’s tracing the angles of his face, his ears, the planes of his chest even as Csevet pulled himself up to straddle his hips. The minutes blurred one sweetness into another, pale hands against yearning skin, whispered endearments that passed between his two loves to occasionally light upon each other before once again returning to him as surely as the caresses became more heated. Behind passion-hooded eyes, writhing between them in the dark, he did not see who it was who shaped the curves of his shoulders beneath avid fingers, whose mouth it was that sucked his nipples into stiff peaks until he cried out and clawed at the bedsheets around him, which fingers raked over his thighs to make him shudder hard with frustrated desire. And yet, he knew—Csethiro’s aggressive, ardent touch that urged upon him as much pleasure as she herself sought, Csevet’s softer, insinuating caresses that could shift from the barest of teasing pressure to ruthless grasping within the space of a breath. He opened his eyes only to see them lean forward for a slow, open-mouthed kiss, hands never leaving his skin, and was nearly undone in that very moment.
One of Csevet’s hands reverently trailed along his flank as with the other he reached down between their legs to grasp both their cocks together. Velvet over a core of steel, a particularly florid novel he had once read had it, but nothing in that description could possibly have prepared him for the soft, blazingly hot skin against the underside of his own shaft, the tightness of Csevet's fingers drawing them together and releasing them in surges of pleasure that left him so close that he drew back further into Csethiro’s lap in near-panicked hesitation. “Csevet, please, wouldst have me spend so soon?” he begged, torn between not humiliating himself with such a rapid climax and thrusting into Csevet’s hand until he could no more, abandoning himself completely to the overwhelming pleasure the two banded together to bring him on these rarest and most beautiful of nights.
“Thou profligate,” Csethiro agreed, voice tinged with amusement at the joke they had all shared for so long. “Wasting thine Emperor’s seed once more, and before I might even come close to performing my wifely office. Thy patriotism leaves much to be desired at times.”
“If thou canst truly doubt my devotion to His Imperial Serenity at such a time as this, I can only wonder at thy standards, Zhasan,” Csevet replied with a grin before turning to him. “What wouldst thou then, love?”
In answer, he rolled over in Csethiro’s lap. She had time to pull up the skirt of her nightgown with a breathless little laugh before his mouth was between her legs, sucking, lapping, teasing as ruthlessly as she had ever urged him to in their earliest days together. “Maia… oh, goddesses, deeper, please,” she gasped, one hand raking over his scalp through the thick shine of his hair. He moaned in response and her thighs pressed either side of his head, hard enough on his ears to notice but not enough to halt his progress. “Csevet, wilt…” he managed, hoping that Csevet might correctly interpret his over-the-shoulder gestures and the glimpse of his wild-eyed face in the dark.
The answering dip of the mattress as Csevet slid off to procure something from his abandoned jacket was all the confirmation he needed, and he returned his attention to the burning heat of Csethiro’s sex. The urgency of them both, the way Csethiro cried and bucked under the hot pressure of his mouth and Csevet’s oil-slicked fingers filled his hole one after another suggested that they hungered too greatly for a slow, voluptuous exploration. At that moment—or any other—he could hardly have brought himself to care. With both hands on the soft skin of Csethiro’s inner thighs he kissed her as readily as he had her mouth, lapping at the soft, full lips and drawing the tender little bud at their apex into his mouth. He slid two, then three fingers into the slick tightness of her quim before curving them with a motion like beckoning, the way she had so enthusiastically taught him, grinning with a weary fierceness the first time he had given her release so. One stroke of his fingers, two, three, and she gasped out his name and shuddered beneath him. Her climax took her in long, rippling waves that rendered the strokes of his tongue and lips all the more eager.
It was at this moment that Csevet pushed inside him and it was all he could do to not simply collapse across his wife, abandoning himself to his lover’s enjoyment. The rigid heat of Csevet’s cock sent jagged shocks of near-painful pleasure up his spine with every thrust, the shaft brushing against the spot inside him which could make him sob and beg for a release still long in coming if teased long enough. With unsteady arms he braced himself against the headboard to either side of Csethiro to allow Csevet the most purchase. She emitted a low groan at the sight, raising herself up onto shaking elbows for a better view of their love. “The picture the two of you make,” she breathed. “My only regret is that I cannot feel what thou feel’st now, Csevet.”
“There are… devices that one may employ, to have a man so in the absence of a true organ. Or a woman,” Csevet replied, and he could hear the smile in his breathless voice. “How lovely thou wouldst look buried inside him.”
His groan was loud in the darkness, provoking a kiss from Csethiro. “If… if thou wouldst perform thy wifely office, love,” he told her, lips brushing against hers with the formation of every word, “it must be soon, else the two of you will make me finish where I lie.”
“And the Ethuveraz could hardly countenance that,” Csethiro replied sagely. “Here, let me…” A moment of squirming, a few pillows snatched from the mountains of them at the head of the bed and she was spread beneath him, her hips nearly level with his own. He took himself in one trembling hand, but when the head of his throbbing, aching shaft slid into her, provoking strangled exclamations from them both, it was Csevet’s hand that guided his own.
Sheathed entirely in her heat, whimpering with Csevet’s every thrust, all he could possibly do was surrender himself completely to them both. Any coherent thoughts, any sort of further request or observation, were driven from his mind, and yet he could not bring himself to care. He was safe, secure in the knowledge that they would not let him come to harm, they would keep him well. “Wouldst have thine Empress one day, Csevet?” Csethiro’s voice was soft in the darkness, cadence odd as each thrust of Csevet’s was transmuted into a motion of his own. She had grasped one of his hands in hers, guiding his fingers over the flaw in her mound in desperate search of a second climax even as Csevet’s slender, capable hands held his hips inexorably in place. “To enjoy me as our beloved watches, or perhaps to have me between the two of you, as he is now?”
He heard Csevet’s breath catch in his throat, felt avid fingers tighten on his hips. “Were thy lord husband to consent, I would have thee as enthusiastically as I have ever seen him have thee.” Csevet’s lips were on the back of his neck, the side of his jaw, his own lips for a wet, open kiss that made both of them moan. “Hast imagined thyself in his place when thou’st seen the two of us together? Seen me fuck him?”
“Yes,” Csethiro moaned, and at that, finally, he was undone. The thought of his two beautiful, pale loves entangled in the marriage bed, Csethiro’s head thrown back in bliss as she straddled Csevet’s hips, made him spasm once, hard, inside of her before the darkness behind his eyes exploded in colored sparks. His climax felt torn from him in a single rush of sensation that left him too overwhelmed to even cry out. Somewhere he felt Csevet bite him viciously hard where shoulder met neck, heard Csethiro’s cry of pleasure as, guiding his fingers with hers, her body arched in a second, stronger release that drew out his own with every wringing spasm of her passage until all he could do was slump across her in a boneless heap. The aftershocks of Csevet’s climax resonated through him like the vibrations of a plucked harp string, and with the last of his strength he pulled Csevet down alongside them both in a sweat-damp heap of limbs and askew clothing.
Csethiro was laughing as she drew close to kiss him once more. He lifted his head only to feel her mouth replaced with Csevet’s, her arms encircling his shoulders as Csevet’s tongue ghosted over his lips. Too overwhelmed for anything but drowsy, blissful acceptance, he nestled between the two of them with the contentment of the truly protected. “You… the two of you… I don’t… not long…” he managed, glancing between them, entirely spoiled for choice: which silvery hair to card through his hands, which breast to rest his head on with a satiated sigh, whose hands to clasp to his own breast even as he felt sleep beginning to cloud the edges of his mind. Far easier to abandon governance, even of himself, to allow those who loved him and whom he loved to use him as they would in the darkness and solitude that was theirs for the time.
“Maia. It’s all right.” A pair of lips—Csevet’s, he thought—pressed the curve of his cheekbone. “Sleep if thou wilt, only know we will be with thee till thou wakest.”
Such words had been enough, once, to make him weep tears of overwhelmed gratitude. Now, however, he could smile at the words, his thankful relief enough to make him shiver with it but keep him from shaming himself with tears. “I maintain,” he murmured, “that whatever I have done for the gods to have blessed me with the two of you, it could not have been enough.”
“Then trust in their divine wisdom,” Csethiro replied, laying a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, “and allow their blessing to collectively attend thee this night.”
With a breath betraying the slightest tremor of emotion he eased himself under the covers, pulse still palpable through his entire body as Csethiro and Csevet arranged themselves to either side of him, still kissing, still soothing overstimulated skin with gentle fingers. His eyes drifted closed and sleep rose to claim him more immediately than he had ever felt at any time outside the arms of either of those who lay to either side of him now. The last thing he marked before oblivion was his was a soft pressure across his chest that made him inch an eyelid open. In the dim light, his lovers’ hands were clasped across his chest, joining him between them even in sleep and beyond.