“How does that feel?” Fletcher grits, fisting his own cock in more fevered strokes. He drops the pretense of this being for Julian’s benefit. Now he just wants to hear Ogden talking, talking dirty, narrating how it feels to have his cock in Julian’s throat, gagging for it.
Ogden’s answer is broken by gasps and groans: “G-good. Good. S’good. His tongue....” His flat stomach is convulsing, his thin T-shirt bunching with the movement. “I want him deeper.”
“I can help with that,” Fletcher offers, standing, and walks toward them, shedding clothes as he goes. Pants and underwear in a pile, then his socks a step apart. He follows Ogden’s wide-eyed gaze down to his cock jutting out from underneath his hanging shirt and smiles.
“Let me see.” He tsks when he’s beside them, touching the top of Julian’s head as if to greet him. Julian’s hand snakes back, clasping the back of Fletcher’s thigh. Granting permission.
Fletcher grasps a fistful of Julian’s hair, sticky with the day’s product, and shoves his head down onto Ogden’s cock. Ogden dissolves into thrashing moans, thrusting without rhythm, and Fletcher crouches, his hand still holding Julian in place, trying for a better view. Julian’s jaw is wrenched open, lips red and wet with saliva. His eyes are teary, but he isn’t panicking. Fletcher reaches around with his free hand, under Julian’s chin, and cups his cheek tenderly.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he praises. “I want you to know how gorgeous I think you look right now.”
With that, he lets Julian go and watches him pull back, panting and gagging, a string of saliva stretching between his mouth and the tip of Ogden’s cock. Ogden lets out a high, needy moan, inspiring a smirk from Fletcher.
“Patience is a virtue,” he lectures, gathering up Julian in one arm and pressing a series of thankful, affectionate kisses to his eye, his cheek, the side of his mouth.
On second thought, he leans in to kiss him again, properly, slow and deep, exploring the different-but-familiar taste of Ogden’s cock on his tongue. He watches the expression on Ogden’s face through one eye as he does, swelled up with the excitement of performance, and lets the heel of his palm drag up over Ogden’s quivering thigh.
Breaking off the kiss with Julian, he takes him by the chin and turns his head to face Ogden again: Ogden who is writhing on the couch, red and confused and frustrated, his cock glistening between his legs. “Look what you did,” Fletcher chides, though now there’s a lightness to his tone again. He settles back to sit on his heels. “You’re awful.”
Julian smiles breathlessly. “Devious,” he adds. “Cruel. Some might call me an evil genius.”
“They’d be right to,” Fletcher agrees. “Now strip. You may want to help poor Ogden there too. I’m not sure how well his motor skills are working just now.”
Ogden, not needing to be told twice, is already peeling away his flimsy V-necked tee, revealing the compact muscles of his abs and the typewriter tattoo etched under his bellybutton. He’s got his arms crossed over his head and a face full of fabric when he says, “You’re not going to ask me to touch my finger to my nose or rub my tummy and pat my head, are you?”
It’s the first time he’s joined in on Fletcher and Julian’s snark, and he does it so easily, like they’ve been friends for ages, that Fletcher and Julian are helpless at the odd charm of it. Apparently, that’s what cocksucking does for a group dynamic, Fletcher realizes, making a mental note. Blowjobs: also a great icebreaker.
He looks to Julian, who has efficiently shed everything but his boxers already. Watching Fletcher and conscious of being watched, his expression unreadable, he drops those too, revealing what must be an absolutely aching cock, swollen and red-tinged. Fletcher fights back the urge to take Julian into his mouth right then and suck him until he cries. He forces himself to look Julian in the eye instead.
“His shoes, Julian,” he orders, losing the easy-going smile, and Julian drops to his knees again, eager to the point of shamelessness. He makes slow, deliberate work of Ogden’s laces and slides his sneakers and socks off his feet, stroking his hands over the newly bared skin. For a minute, Fletcher begins to regret that he didn’t think to have the pair of them undress him that way.
All of them seem to be holding their breaths, waiting for something, and after a moment, obedient Ogden lifts his hips, allowing Julian to strip his trousers and boxers away in a slow, curious gesture. For some reason this act inspires matching blushes in the both of them. It’s actually kinda sweet.
They turn twin gazes on Fletcher, expectant.
Oh, yeah. He could get used to this.
He flops back onto the couch, legs sprawled, and grins. The almost painful throb of his neglected cock gives him an idea. “Julian!” he calls out, cheerfully sadistic, and Julian’s answering look is wary. “Come here.”
When Julian climbs up off his knees and walks to Fletcher’s side, Fletcher grabs him roughly around the cock, manhandling it. “See this?” he asks Ogden casually. Julian’s eyes are shut, his jaw set, probably reciting the times table. He’s hot, thick, heavy in Fletcher’s hand. It takes real effort on Fletcher’s part to maintain the illusion of casual disaffection. “We’ve got him just this side of begging for it. Wanna have some fun?” Ogden looks between Fletcher and Julian, looks for a long time at Fletcher’s hand gripping Julian’s cock, and swallows what must be an incredibly dry throat before he nods.
“Good boy,” Fletcher says, and then turns into the boss again. “Julian, over my lap.”
Julian does as he’s told: head-down-ass-up with his elbows on one side of Fletcher’s lap and his knees on the other. Fletcher runs a hand up the back of his thigh, knee-to-ass, presenting him to Ogden like he’s the prize on a game show.
God, he wants to fuck him. Wants to fuck Ogden too. Or have both of them on their knees giving him head.
“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Fletcher says, dragging his fingers up the cleft of Julian’s ass and hearing Julian hiss. Touching him this intimately, Fletcher can feel the tension trembling all through his muscles. “I’m feeling pretty generous today, so I’ve decided to let you fuck him.”
He looks down to Julian, who has his cheek pressed to the sofa, and is satisfied with the sharp, urgent little nod he receives.
Ogden sits up straighter now, hands on his knees in an attentive schoolboy’s pose, eyes huge and dark with anticipation.
“You want that?” Fletcher asks him, grabbing a fistful of Julian’s ass and smiling at the helpless little moan Julian lets out in response. Ogden gulps and nods. “One catch. You do everything—everything—I tell you to. Starting with condoms. Should be some in the end table there. Lube too.”
From his spot muffled into the cushions, Julian says, “No comments from the peanut gallery. If you were fucking him, you’d keep lube in unexpected places too.”
Fletcher swats him across the ass, hard enough to set his fingers stinging, and turns his face to enjoy the view of Ogden bending over the couch’s armrest to root around in the end table’s drawer. “Quiet, now,” he says, and Julian’s posture goes relaxed underneath his hands—pliable.
To make his point, he reaches down to Julian’s face, touching the softness of his lower lip with his first three fingers until Julian’s mouth opens and draws his fingers in, narrowing Fletcher’s entire perception to the feeling of wet heat and flickering tongue and enthusiastic suction. His cock jumps at the sensation, and once again, Fletcher fights off the strong urge to cut right to the chase, enough with the play and the teasing, let Julian bathe his cock with that dutiful tongue of his.
“The thing is,” he narrates, tugging his fingers from Julian’s mouth with a thoroughly satisfying, wet pop, “He loves to play dignified, like he’s above all this—uppity little brat—but he’s not.” Ogden, hands full of condom and lube packets, breathes through his mouth and watches absolutely enthralled as Fletcher runs his spit-wet fingers across Julian’s hole. When Fletcher circles, presses with his middle finger, breaching Jul
ian slowly, both Julian and Ogden moan in time.
Julian’s almost uncomfortably tight—spit is no real substitute for lube—but it’s enough for now, enough for Fletcher to work that first finger down to the second knuckle and withdraw it again in a rough stroke. “Fuck,” Ogden breathes; or was that Julian?
“See? He’s a slut for it,” Fletcher explains. “Now come here and make him beg.”
Ogden needs prompting, but not guidance, in slicking up his fingers, and then he’s there, right there, a third warm body, close enough that Fletcher could tilt sideways in his seat and be able to kiss him, bite his lips. Fletcher can hear Ogden’s breathing, the long exhale when Fletcher reaches with both hands to spread Julian’s ass cheeks and expose him. Ogden is trembling. He reaches out, unsure, with his dry hand, running it down the arced expanse of Julian’s back.
“He’s not your boyfriend,” Fletcher bites out, and it hits him that at this late fucking point he’s jealous. “Don’t pet him. He doesn’t want little butterfly kisses, he wants you to fuck him senseless.”
Fletcher clenches in sympathy at the sight of Ogden clumsily, rudely, plunging his first finger into Julian’s hole, no warning, no hesitance, all the finesse of ripping away a Band-Aid. But then Julian moans, loud and shameless, and his body arches and his spine stretches and his shoulders roll in their joints and his ass thrusts back and Ogden falls on him, fucking him with that single finger like it’s the only thing he understands anymore.
“More,” Fletcher orders, his voice cracking at the sight of Julian’s body writhing, the sound of Julian’s gasps and groans, Julian’s fists curling into the couch cushions. He runs a hand through Julian’s hair, compulsive and quick. “More. Give him more.”
Ogden looks to Fletcher briefly, then back to Julian, working a second shaky finger and biting his lip in concentration.
It’s not enough. Keeping one hand on Julian’s head, sweeping his thumb around the rim of Julian’s ear, Fletcher thrusts the fingers of his other hand into his own mouth, toying his tongue over them. He closes his eyes at the sensation, bucks his hips, almost loses himself—then removes them, reaches over to thrust the first two into Julian’s hole in a press of muscle and warm lube and spit and Ogden’s knuckles.
“Fuck,” Julian hisses. His fingers stretch and curl as he pants into the cushions. Sweat pricks up on his neck. Fletcher and Ogden’s fingers work inside him, no cooperation or rhythm, just feverish movement.
Fletcher wishes Julian could see himself right now, flushed, bright with the sheen of sweat, body trembling and arching over Fletcher’s lap. He brushes at the hair behind his ear. “Good,” he praises, nearly whispering. “You’re so good, Julian. Do you want to be fucked?”
“Yes!” he cries out as Fletcher curls his fingers inside him, stroking with the pads of his fingertips. Fletcher leans down to place a kiss on the nape of his neck. He tastes salty.
“You heard him,” Fletcher says to Ogden. Then, still stroking, he turns to Julian and says, “That’s it, that’s it,” except the words are meaningless encouragement, just nice gentle sounds. He feels Ogden’s fingers slip free, then hears the sound of a condom packet. He keeps up a firm pace in Julian, watching the pink-red on his upturned cheek.
He withdraws his fingers almost automatically when the blunt head of Ogden’s long cock nudges against his knuckles, impatient. Julian moans “Oh God!” and it’s fear and abandonment and relief as Ogden slowly, surely, presses his cock inside, lets out a long growl that seems to dip in tenor with—that follows his inward stroke.
Fletcher watches Julian’s back arch, opening himself, exposing himself, greeting Ogden, his whole body saying Yes, more.
“Harder,” Fletcher orders, through his teeth. He wants to see Julian used to exhaustion. Ogden’s face scrunches up in intense concentration, the color high on his cheeks.
“I can’t...!” he gasps, but he’s doing it already, gripping Julian round the hips and pounding himself forward. The sound of flesh slapping flesh drives Fletcher wild. He reaches to Julian’s far nipple and twists.
“Louder, Julian,” he says, voice shaking, and he doesn’t touch his cock, because he can’t come yet, not yet, he’s waiting for something.
Julian, obedient, filthy Julian, sobs out a string of, “Fuckyesmorepleasefuckfuckfuck.”
Turning from Julian, Fletcher finds Ogden puffing through his nose, pupils blown. Looking at Fletcher like he wants approval. So Fletcher lowers his eyelids, smug, daring him, and Ogden collapses forward, digging his fingernails into the skin of Julian’s shoulders for balance, and crushes his mouth against Fletcher’s in a thorough, enthusiastic kiss, his tongue lashing against Fletcher’s own.
He tastes of coffee and skin, and he pants against Fletcher’s mouth, forehead tipping, and just like that, his thrusting becomes erratic until he drives forward three more times, deep and disjointed, and comes without a cry. Julian, underneath him, makes an impatient noise.
For a minute there, it’s all panting, a half-conscious sense of “what now?” with Julian slumped across Fletcher’s lap, trembling with adrenaline and Fletcher fisting his own cock out of pure frustration and Ogden peeling and tying his condom, holding the knot by his thumb and forefinger like it’s distasteful.
And then Ogden collapses back, panting still, and runs a hand through the sweat on his mostly-hairless chest. His ribs appear and disappear with his breathing. One of his long legs dangles off the side of the couch, the other bent up at the knee and resting sideways against the cushions. His cock, soft but still swollen, a little red and shiny with lube, rests against his belly, pointing up to his tattoo, which stretches out black across the tautness of his belly: STARVING HYSTERICAL NAKED.
A smile creeps across Fletcher’s mouth. He looks fucking edible.
“My turn,” Fletcher says. He gives Julian’s ass a quick spank as a signal to get off his lap and then leans forward on his knees, covering Ogden’s body with his own. He bites across Ogden’s collarbone, his neck, his left pectoral and nipple, leaving a path of bite marks that meanders from his neck down to the undulating tattoo across his heaving belly.
Julian, loitering at the head of the couch, half-seats himself on the armrest propping up Ogden’s head and reaches, almost casually, for one of the long-forgotten water bottles. He chugs half of it down in one breath—God, the sight of that long throat working, extended, his bobbing Adam’s apple! Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, uncharacteristically undignified, he raises an eyebrow in Fletcher’s direction. In question.
How selfish is he?
“I have an idea,” Fletcher says, stroking his hands up Ogden’s inner thighs, taking him by the knees and parting his legs. “How about I fuck you while Julian gets his cock down your throat? That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Both of us at once?” He says it offhand, like suggesting they put in a DVD. His cock throbs, watching Ogden’s face change as he pictures it, morphing from languid pleasure to something curious and fearful.
Julian, just hearing it suggested, strokes up the length of his cock, casting Fletcher a smoldering stare that’s meant just for him. Fletcher swallows past a dry mouth.
“Do you want that?” he asks, tearing his eyes from Julian, wanting to hear it, gripping Ogden’s knees again and pushing them back so his legs are bent up over his chest, so his hole is exposed.
Ogden’s eyes are dark, narrowed with arousal. “Yeah,” he says, and his gaze is moving greedily from Fletcher’s face to Julian’s and back again, his mouth propped up in a crooked, pleased little smirk. “Yeah, I want that.”
“Hold your knees up,” Fletcher directs him, letting go. “Yeah, like that. Just like that.”
Julian doesn’t move at first, choosing instead to watch as Fletcher slicks up his fingers and begins to work Ogden open. He’s tight and nervous, and Fletcher has to coax him to relax, has to talk him down from the tension, past Ogden’s twisting body and bitten-back sounds of desire as Fletcher’s fingers begin to curl and twi
st inside him—
Then Julian is standing, his hand is on Ogden’s face, is smoothing over his cheek, is thumbing his lower lip, is touching his chin and his jaw and his lips, is turning his face.
“Oh,” Fletcher breathes, as Julian, holding Ogden’s chin in one hand and his cock in the other, nudges his cockhead against Ogden’s slightly parted lips.
“Open,” Julian grits out and, still clutching Ogden under the jaw, feeds him the first inch of his cock. Fletcher catches glimpses of Ogden’s tongue thrusting out over his lower lip, bathing the underside of Julian’s shaft to strangled sounds of approval.
“Oh, yeah,” Fletcher amends. Ogden’s legs tremble with the effort of holding them up, but even so, his hips are moving in time to Fletcher’s fingers, his head bobbing enthusiastically but shallowly over the end of Julian’s cock. Fletcher’s own need is searing through him, like the crackling of electricity under his skin. He becomes hyperaware of his straining cock, the close, clenching heat of Ogden’s hole around his fingers, the sound of Ogden’s mouth slurping wet over Julian’s cock, the telltale gasps of Julian trying to suppress the noises of his own arousal.
Before he even has time to think of what he’s doing, to second-guess himself, he’s rolling a condom down his cock, running his lube-smeared hand across the slick surface of it. Ogden gasps, that familiar mixture of relief and disappointment, when Fletcher’s fingers slip free. “Okay?” Fletcher asks as he positions himself, guiding Ogden to rest his calves on his shoulders. Ogden actually gives him a thumbs-up. Fletcher flicks his eyes up to Julian. He doesn’t repeat himself, but it’s there in his expression, the little tilt of his head.
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