by Grey Cole
“Ah,” Luna yelped, more out of shock than pain. As a matter of fact, she had to concentrate on her breathing so as not to come right then. Her entire body quaked as she fought off the impending orgasm.
Shea gave her an evil grin that was belied only by the soft expression in his hazel eyes. He turned and walked back to Royce.
Royce put his hand on the small of Shea’s back and guided him into a bending position over the large, ivory ottoman that had certainly been worth its weight in gold over the years. Shea folded himself over, bracing himself up on his extended arms as Luna watched, mesmerized by the two men in action. No matter how many times they were together, it never got boring. Or predictable, she mentally added, as Royce thrust his tongue into Shea’s hole. Luna’s own ass clenched as if she was the one being rimmed. Since she’d had that pleasure many times herself, Luna could imagine all too well how amazing Royce’s talented tongue felt to Shea in that moment. Mmm … how his fingertips dug into your ass to pull you further apart so that he could really get in there as he made a meal out of you.
Again, she was fighting to maintain control over her body as Shea’s lustful cries filled the air. Royce tongued and slurped and sucked until Shea was pushing back against the man’s face at a steady pace. Shea let out a warning, and Royce reluctantly withdrew his mouth, replacing it with his now spit-slicked fingers. Royce pumped two long digits in and out of Shea in a steady rhythm. She could see Royce twist his fingers to graze Shea’s prostate, and she grinned at the resulting hiss of pleasure.
“Mmm …” Royce hummed. “I think you’re ready.”
“No fucking shit,” Shea swore.
Royce smacked him playfully on the ass and then pulled him into his own lap. Shea’s ass engulfed Royce’s cock in one fluid movement, and Luna squirmed as a moan escaped her lips. Both men turned to look at her and smiled before their passion overtook them and Royce began to fuck Shea like a man possessed.
Luna focused on the beauty of the men rather than the sight and the sounds of their lovemaking, as she tried to keep herself from losing the tight grip she had on her own release. She loved how they loved each other. It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. Shea’s head was thrown back against Royce’s shoulder and Royce’s mouth was buried in the muscle at the base of Shea’s neck. She was sure the man’s teeth were digging in because the man was obsessed with marking them. She marveled over the juxtaposition of Shea’s rusty-colored mop of curls with Royce’s near black, meticulously kept short waves. Finally she moved her eyes down her impressive men to see Shea cupping his dick instead of pumping it. She hoped he was saving it for her.
Royce’s hands flew from Shea’s hips, breaking the spell Luna was under. One wrapped around his throat, the other around his chest. Royce ground into Shea like it would be the last climax he’d ever have, grunting and writhing and gasping for breath.
He held Shea still for a moment, his lips brushing back and forth across his shoulder. Once he regained control of himself, Royce eased Shea off his lap, slapped his flank, and told him to “show Luna a good time.”
She nearly giggled with relief before she caught herself. Shea walked over to her on wobbly legs and with a leering grin that she found adorable. But, adorable quickly morphed to hot as hell as he told her to lean against the back of the sofa. Oh, God. He could fuck her so hard in that position.
Luna quickly scampered into place. Her arms rested on the back of the sofa, her knees on the edge pushing her ass out invitingly.
Shea reached down and swiped a finger across the leather of the seat. “Did I say practically dripping, Royce? My mistake.” Without further ado, Shea put one hand on her shoulder, the other on her hip and plunged inside of her. His invasion was so sudden and so intense, she cried out. Yet, she needed more so she slammed back into him on his next thrust. And that quickly, she began coming apart. Her body sizzled and tingled and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do but hold on and ride it out. If Shea hadn’t been holding her up, she was sure she would have collapsed like a matchstick house in a windstorm.
As Luna rode the aftershocks of her orgasm, Royce covered one of her breasts with his hand and lightly grazed her nipple, as he maneuvered around behind Shea, nuzzling his ear. “Love my cum trickling out of you, baby.”
When Shea hissed and panted and lost his rhythm, she knew Royce was once again fingering the man. Shea and she both loved how absolutely feral their lover could be. He totally got off on pushing his seed back inside them, as if he never wanted to be parted from them. As Shea regained his momentum and pummeled into her once again. Royce’s hand moved down to her clit where he teased and pinched and twisted, his other hand wrapping around her face to meet her mouth.
“Wanna taste?” He offered, before slipping his fingers inside her mouth. Luna sucked and moaned, savoring the combined flavor of both men. When Royce’s thumb pressed and held against the throbbing bud between her legs, Luna shivered and came again. Royce smothered her cries of ecstasy with his mouth, Shea quickly followed her over the edge while holding her flush against him and delivering a series of short thrusts and kisses along her spine until he was completely spent.
***
Luna had always prided herself on being a naturally calm and relaxed person, but even she couldn’t reach this state of Zen by herself. Thoroughly sated and at peace, she sat around the ottoman with her guys, sharing snippets of their day and take-out from their favorite Indian restaurant.
She looked on in fascination as Shea dipped some naan into the hummus and fed Royce a piece. Then he did the same for her. She savored the warm bread covered in garlicky goodness on her tongue before swallowing. They discussed what to do with the rest of their night, easily deciding on some couch time and streaming a movie from Netflix.
“So what happened to you today, Luna?” Shea asked, curious about what had gotten her in a bit of hot water with Royce.
“Mmm …” she hummed around the bite of food in mouth, relishing the heady flavor of cardamom in her Kashmiri Chicken. “Left my cell at the office. Again.”
Shea raised an eyebrow and tsked at her. “If you’d just turn on Bluetooth in your sweet new ride,” he suggested, “it would alert you when it doesn’t sense your phone.”
“I know. I know. I hate all that technology.” The irony was not lost on her—she was technologically-challenged and in love with two of the greatest minds in that very field. She got up on her knees and leaned in to kiss Royce. “But I hate worrying you more, so I’ll succumb to using more complicated gadgets in my life. One of you will have to set it up for me, though.”
“Of course, beautiful,” Shea agreed readily. “So, why were you late? I thought things were looking relatively calm for the moment.”
“Oh, they are. It wasn’t work that held me up. Ms. Dalton had a few follow-up questions for me, but at least the interview is all squared away now.”
“Do you really think this interview is worth it?” Royce asked. She would never describe Royce as indecisive—usually when he made his mind up, he never looked back—but this interview was different.
Luna nodded. Their love story was the most beautiful one she’d ever heard, and she thought the world, or their little corner of it anyway, should hear it. Their interview would show others how natural it was for boy to meet boy, boys to meet girl, and the three of them live in a happy, committed relationship.
Chapter Two
Past: Making Him His
Dropping his glasses on the desk, Royce sat back and rubbed the ever-present indentations that appeared on the bridge of his nose when he threw himself into an all-night study session. He had indulged in tonight’s impromptu cram session for one reason and one reason only—ridding his mind of the scrolling loop of torture that was Shea’s first date. Well, first date with a man. Sitting around imagining Shea with one of the campus jocks that didn’t deserve to lick Shea’s shoes—let alone any other part of him—filled up his first hour of self-imposed solitude, almos
t to the point of driving him nearly insane. The other part of his sanity was surely claimed by the man himself.
Shea.
His roommate.
His best friend.
His deepest, brightest fantasies come spectacularly to life.
Shea and he had bonded over many things. Lost mothers, genius level IQs, a love of hacking, comic books, deep dish pizza, and all things Lord of Rings. The one thing they hadn’t bonded over—the one thing Royce hadn’t been brave enough to commiserate over—was questioning their sexuality. After Shea had determined that Royce wasn’t a homophobe, he’d shared his struggle over tequila shots and a Star Wars movie marathon. Not able to find the strength to do the same, even though Royce had wanted so badly to tell him, he’d leant a friendly ear and offered his best advice. Royce had been unable to tell him of his own depraved thoughts—well, thoughts society had taught him were depraved. Only, his hidden desires hadn’t seemed so wrong to him.
They felt right.
So very fucking right.
Royce’s problem? His longings weren’t vague, homoerotic thoughts. No, they had one succinct and direct target: Shea Shepherd. Sighing, he repeated the mantra that he’d come to rely on over the past few years.
I fucking love women.
I love fucking women.
And then there was the thought that always bulldozed all others and left him with an almost painful truth …
I love Shea more.
When he considered his future, it had a name. It had a destination. It had a terrifyingly shiny goal—making Shea his and making him happy forever.
Forever.
How was he supposed to deal with forever when he never considered himself anything other than a heterosexual male, hell bent on getting enough pussy to see him through his twenties unscathed and unattached? Only then did he think he might be exhausted enough to settle down with one woman.
Woman.
Not man.
Now, that man was the only person he wanted. When thoughts of running his hands through Shea’s wild, rusty-colored curls and staring into those near-translucent, hazel eyes had his synapses misfiring again, he shoved his glasses back on and mentally kicked his own ass for lamenting like a love-sick teenage girl.
A quiet click of the door jarred him from another failed attempt at dislodging those disquieting thoughts. No matter how confusing his thoughts about Shea were, he wanted nothing more than to see him happy, so Royce managed to paste what he hoped was a genuinely interested smile on his face before he turned, only to have it fall almost immediately. Shea had his back against the door, and his breath was coming in quick, short puffs. How the man managed to be so quiet while looking so thrown was beyond him. The unnerving sight had Royce bouncing from his chair in abject fear. The scraping of metal against tile caused Shea’s eyes to fly open and his hand to throw on the overhead lights.
A distinct blanket of panic practically engulfed the dorm room before Shea caught himself and braved a small, half smile. “Hey, I didn’t realize you were here. Thought you were going out,” he huffed.
“What’s wrong?” Royce demanded, ignoring any attempt at small talk.
“Oh … yeah. Nothing. Just didn’t have much in common.” Shea jerked a thumb toward the bathroom. “Gonna hop in the shower.”
Royce was across the room before Shea could get two steps in the opposite direction. “What happened? And don’t bullshit me,” he pressed. He felt about two seconds away from losing the hold on his already battered sanity. He quickly assessed Shea for any outward signs of abuse, but other than his usual disarray of curls and slight stubble, he didn’t note anything out of order. They may live in a liberal part of the country, but bigots were still doing their part to keep hate and injustice alive and well, even at Cal.
Shea’s ever-changing eyes seemed to dim before taking on a chill Royce had never witnessed in the man. “It just … wasn’t right.” Raking a hand through his overly long hair, which was one of his tells, he continued fiercely, “I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, Royce. I need a few minutes to regroup. Can you give me that?”
Stunned into inaction for a moment at the uncharacteristic brush off, Royce barely had a second to stop him before Shea swept by. His hand shot out and he rushed, “Just know I’m here when you need to talk about it, okay?”
Glancing down at the hand gripping his bicep, Shea only nodded before moving off at a less hurried pace and closing the door behind him.
Royce practically sprinted across the room to pack away his books and secure his laptop for the night in the hopes that Shea would talk and he could soothe whatever was bothering him. Never having been an overly sympathetic person, his compulsion to ensure Shea was safe and happy should have sent him reeling, but it had been that way between them since day one. They seemed to have a direct line into each other’s thoughts and fears and hopes and dreams. God, and shouldn’t that say something huge about them—regular guys didn’t make friends like that. He guessed there was nothing normal about wanting to throw his best friend on the bed and shove his tongue down his throat. Snapping out of his angst, Royce tidied the small space so that they could sit on the futon and watch the next episode of Doctor Who. He hoped that Shea would at least take him up on some down time even if he didn’t want to talk.
Finally, figuring they were probably in for an all-nighter, he shucked his jeans and polo shirt to pull on a pair of solid black pajama bottoms and the ridiculously dorky t-shirt featuring two dumbbells, Darth Vader, and a line that never failed to crack him up: Luke, I am your spotter. Shea had bought him the shirt and thought it was hilarious that a nerd like him worked to keep his body in peak physical form. He’d always said “our brains and our hacking skills are the only thing people notice about us.” Royce had complained that if he didn’t work out he would look like a tree trunk, and just because Shea was naturally cut and lean, it didn’t give him the right to give him shit. That compliment had Shea beaming and asking to join his next workout, saying he was sure he could improve upon his awesomeness. And he definitely did that. His lithe, toned body became a drool-worthy swimmer’s body in record time.
Jesus.
Here he was, snapping himself out of another runaway thought over his roommate. What the hell?
Crossing over to the mini-fridge, he jerked out a couple of beers, inadvertently slamming the door too hard and causing the remaining bottles to rattle together.
“That fridge piss you off?”
Royce spun around and damn near swallowed his tongue. There stood his fucking walking, talking wet dream in nothing but a towel. And did he really have to have his arms up and braced on the door frame so that every muscle was pulled taut and put on stunning display? Shit. This was getting worse, not better as he had foolishly hoped.
Shea’s strong features creased with worry. “Dude, what’s wrong with you?”
“Uh … sorry. Nothing.” Royce searched his brain for the last thing that had pissed him off before his obsession took over. “Just irritated over the faulty alignment on our op fiber project. Signal accuracy fucking sucks.”
“Checked the filter on the lens?” Shea asked, making his way to the dresser and grabbing a pair of athletic shorts. A slip of his towel had Royce turning his back to stare blindly at the television.
“Yep. It’s good,” he managed.
“Air gap?”
How did he know I was having trouble breathing? Oh, right. Project. Royce walked around the futon and slid down, twisting open his beer on his descent down. That’s right. Down boy. “More than likely.”
“Hardest thing to get right.”
“No way. Temperature cycles.”
“Shit. You’re right about that.” Shea eased into the seat next to him, his bare arm sliding against Royce’s own. Small room. Small couch. Nothing to get excited over. He loved that Shea wore as little as possible when they were locked away in their room. No. Hate. You hate that Shea sits around half-naked.
Leaning forward, Royce snatched Shea’s beer off the table before handing it over and propping his bare feet up on the table. Shea practically mirrored his pose. Things were so easy between them. What if Royce tried something, but he wasn’t really gay? He could just be inexplicably in emotional love with his best friend. Putting those thoughts into action scared the hell out of him, though. More and more frequently, he was drawn to do just that, but what if he made a move and couldn’t get past the thought of Shea being a guy? Fucking that up would ruin them, and since Royce wasn’t an easy person to get along with, he couldn’t afford to piss off his one true friend. He even tried watching a bit of gay porn, the images doing nothing for him. Although, when he pictured doing those things with Shea … yeah, fuck yeah. But that little bit of proof wasn’t enough to make him risk everything. And Shea was his everything.
“You gonna start the show?”
Royce stammered out an apology and pressed play without further delay.
***
Five beers and one and a half episodes under their belts, Royce felt a shift in the atmosphere that had him turning toward his friend, his eyes downcast as he picked apart the label on his beer. The fact that Shea had matched him beer for beer for the first time in the three years of knowing one another finally registered. Reaching for the remote, he paused the show. Shea’s eyes bounced to the screen in surprise, but then he released a heartfelt chuckle. Out of habit, Royce looked to see what ridiculous pose he froze the good Doctor in and shared in his laugh. It was one of those stupid games they played. Just as quickly as Shea’s laugh tumbled forth, it died out and was replaced by a shaky sigh.
“Shea, you’re killing me.”
“I’m so stupid.”
“Funny. Your Mensa membership directly contradicts that asinine assessment.”
“Fine.” Shea huffed out another breath. “I have no common sense, rendering myself completely useless in all matters outside of the academic realm.” Finally turning toward Royce, he raised a wry brow. “Better?”