cream crackered tbh love

Rubbing a hand across your face, you scoffed at the box of cigars clutched tightly in your hands.

Oh my god, this is so fucking stupid.

You had hired the two for a case against your psycho ex and after working with them for a few weeks things got- well, complicated.

Conflicting feelings and thoughts- ohh, the thoughts. The way your cheeks flushed when the warmth rushed to your thighs as you sat across from them at the diner on multiple occasions to exchange information and your mind aimlessly wandered thinking about their dick sizes-

Yeah. Totally normal thoughts.

The three of you grew close; at one point you joined them at the diner not for the case, no, just to talk with them. No investigation, no mentions of your crazy ex, just casual conversation.

Holland sat across the way while Healy now sat next to you, a new and very much welcomed change from the usual seating arrangement. The lingering doubt in the back of your mind that you had any feelings for them suddenly became very clear the moment you playfully hit Healy on the arm as you all laughed together.

Hell, you don't even know what it was that was so funny and hope no one asked because all you put to memory in that moment was the way the three of you genuinely smiled at each other.

You took a moment in the doorway to gather yourself, fidgeting and adjusting the hem of your shirt before finally knocking on the door to the March residence.

"This is crazy; they're gonna think I'M crazy. Maybe they're not home, Yeah, I'll just leave-"  You paced back and forth, talking to yourself like a madwoman.

The moment you thought about spinning on your heels to sprint back to your car, like a blessing- or maybe a curse, you still weren't really sure on how you felt about this- the door opened and you were greeted by the mustachioed man, now donning a warm smile after seeing you.

"Well this is a nice surprise, sugar. Is everything ok? It's pretty late." Holland leaned against the doorway, his concern now very much evident on his face as he scanned your body. He knows just how crazy this ex of yours was and checked for any signs of harm.

" No! I mean, yes! Yes, I'm fine-" No, you're not fine, you were kicking your foot and fumbling over your words like you're talking to a highschool crush-

"I know this is weird, stopping by unannounced and all, but I really can't thank you two enough for helping me with my ex. So here's a little something as a thanks I guess." You shrugged as you offered him the box of cigars and he took it, thanking you as he ushered you inside.

Healy sat over at the kitchen table looking over a pile of scattered papers. He peeked over them and you were greeted with a smile paired with those kind eyes you've come to love so much.

"Darlin', it's our pleasure really. It's what we do." He chimed in with a wink, voice rough from the days' work.

You returned a smile and your thighs clenched tighter together at the roughness of his voice- Fuck, there's those thoughts again.

Holland rushed over and pulled out a seat for you at the table.

"Care to join us for a bit, doll? We, uh, have whiskey or I can get you a water? Cigarette?"

"I'll take you up on that whiskey-" you graciously accept the offer of alcohol, desperately needing a bit of liquid courage right now.

You stifled a laugh as the two of you watch him fumble through the cabinets for a glass.

Apparently, you weren't the only one who was nervous here though and you relaxed a bit at the thought. Holland juggled the glass for a moment before pumping his arm towards the ceiling in celebration.

Healy sighed shaking his head as it dropped.

"I apologize for him on his behalf."

A few drinks and shared laughs later, all of the second guessing, the worries and what-ifs washed away as Healy threw you over his shoulder and whisked you away to the bedroom.

Little did you know they also shared the same feelings for you and it was all coming to a head tonight.

You almost drew blood from how hard you bit your bottom lip in anticipation. Holy shit this was finally happening.

The bed sank as Healy perched up behind you, slotting you between his knees as you knelt on all fours. His calloused hand kneaded the swell of your ass, and your breathing hitched the moment he lightly tapped the tip of his cock at your entrance, running it teasingly along your slick folds.

Your eyes locked on to Holland as he knelt in front of you, gripping your cheek with his fingers digging into each side.

"You like that, huh, babydoll?" Holland searched your eyes, a hint of softness lingering behind the fronted intensity as he looked for any hint of discomfort.

Your eyes fluttered as you shook your head, only humming in response.

"Need you to use your words for us, sweetheart-" Healy pulled away. You whined as you tried to buck back up against him, core now aching and desperate.

Communication. Neither of them wanted to make you uncomfortable or push you in any way and needed to hear your words.

"Mmm f-fuck, yes-" Reaching back, you gripped on to his ass to move him back to where you needed him most. He huffed a laugh and in return, gave your ass a squeeze before continuing.

Holland's eyes wandered over your body, admiring every curve before his attention honed in on Healy rocking slowly back and forth between your folds that were now slick with his precum.

"Fuck, look at you-" Holland's dick twitched at the sight of your slick dripping down your thighs to where it pooled on the sheets and he sighed, trying to compose himself before leveling his eyes with yours just inches away from your face.

You slightly part your lips as an invitation but he held back searching your eyes once again, pausing a moment to give you an out.

The hesitation you had left long ago with the last glass of whiskey you threw back, and you were tired of the games. You wanted them and wanted them now.

Moving past you leaned in close to Holland's ear, lips now grazing his jaw as you spoke- "Are you boys gonna fuck me, or are you just gonna tease me all damn night?"

A sly smile beamed across as he took a long drag and sent a quick nod behind you.

Healy lined himself up at your entrance and pushed only to the tip. You bucked forward with one hand gripping on Holland's shoulder to ground yourself at how fucking good he felt already.

At the same time you opened up to let out a moan, Holland took this golden opportunity to turn his head and exhale into your mouth. It was intoxicating; your mind went blank, eyes now rolling back as you inhaled in desperation from all the pent up feelings, taking in every saccharine vapor that left his lips.

Holland's tongue swept across your bottom lip, feeling the grit of his smoke that stuck to you and his kiss deepened; moaning open-mouthed into each other, noisy and sloppy, as your tongues intertwined in some sort of raunchy tango.

Healy inched slowly, giving you a moment to adjust but Holland on the other hand, had different plans. He cupped your face crashing his lips into yours once again but this time he pushed you back.

Tears swelled into a wave of pleasure as you moaned into Hollands mouth and he smiled as you sat flush against Healy.

"S-shit March, let the lady breathe-" his breathing was ragged as he composed himself from the sudden impact of your ass pressing against him.

You chuckled against Hollands lips at his remark, appreciative of his concern but you obliged, finally breaking the kiss and getting some much needed air.

Jackson Healy. Always a gentleman, even when he's buried 8 inches deep inside you.

Holland groaned in response, pulling away to sit back on the headboard, cock in hand now pumping strenuously as Healy began rolling his hips into you. He wriggled impatiently against the sheets, his breathing grew shaky and you immediately took notice of his thighs when they started to tremble.

"J-jesus, y-you two are killin' me over here- Im-"

Fuck, he was getting close already.

"Holland, s-stop- ohh-"  Your eyes fluttered, voice falling into a gasp as Healy leaned over, wrapping a strong arm around your body, angling himself in a way that reached deeper. His scruff left goosebumps in their wake as he buried himself in the crook of your neck, whispering praises along your skin.

"That's my girl. Breathe, honey-" His voice trailed off as he placed kisses along your pulse point.

The praises, the way his body wrapped yours as his length slid between your walls, Holland whining your name, it was all too much- your arms shook as you tried to steady yourself before finally collapsing.

"Oh my god- Jack- f-fuck-" Your body melted into the sheets in pure bliss and the band in your stomach snapped an your orgasm washed over your body like a river as you clenched, releasing all over him.

He propped your hips up with one arm and placed a hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you down to the sheets as he meticulously fucked you through it.

Your head spun, seeing stars as he blissfully stretched your walls, tip kissing that plushy spot just right with each thrust sending you over the edge once again. God, he's going to fucking kill me. Death by dick... Yeah, great, just put that on my headstone.

Holland pumped faster, fingers now slick with his precum as his back arched off the headboard, moaning your name at the sight of you being- quite literally- fucked into the mattress.

"Holland, f-fucking stop-" Any words you muttered were lost on him as you were muffled by the sheets. You didn't want him coming, not yet. Not alone. With a weak hand, you reach behind and tap Healy's arm once.

One tap = take over. An action you vehemently established beforehand for a moment like this where you were left breathless.

"March- pretty lady over here told you to stop." Healy commanded in a low octave that sent shivers down both you and the detective's spine.

Holland was teetering right on the edge and it took every ounce of willpower in him to stop. He threw his head back against the wall, landing promptly with a thud and a sharp inhale rushed through his teeth as he looked at you two with pleading eyes.

"C'mon doll, this is unfa-"

Lifting your head up off the sheets with newfound strength, you meet his gaze through your eyebrows and growl through gritted teeth- "Come- I need you to fucking come on me Holland-"

Yeah, that shut him up real quick. His mouth fell before snaking back up into a grin. 

You tap Healy's arm twice this time, and he stops. You had a plan for Holland but needed to readjust, and like the gentleman he is, he did just that, helping you with care as you readjust to your back. He runs his hands along your thighs before spreading you wider to slot himself better between you and sigh hitches into a low growl as his eyes wondered down, taking in the way his cum dripped out of you, folds now puffy and red, all because of him.

"Here. Now."

You beckon to Holland with one finger and without another word he positioned himself above you, tip directly above your breasts. Much to his surprise, you squeezed your breasts around his length and his head flew back, letting out an almost animalistic growl as Healy began a steady pace, fucking you up into him.

The pillowy warmth around his cock, Healy growling with each thrust, the way you moaned their names- It didn't take long before Holland released his spend across your stomach and collapsed beside you in tears.

"mmfh you too Jack- come for me, baby- "  Your hand grazed along his cheek and you felt his cock twitch between your walls. He quickly pulled out just seconds before releasing over you.

Both men now laid collapsed beside you and you couldn't help but chuff at their ragged breaths as you lay there staring up at the ceiling in a fucked-out daze, chest heaving right along with them.

The mixture of their cum glistened across your body in the low light as Healy looked over at you and his cheeks quickly flushed red, a tad bit embarrassed at the state you were left in.

"Give me a minute sweetheart. I'll uh... I'll get a towel."

Look down, a huff of air escapes your nose at the sight before taking each one of their hands into your own.

Yeah, there were no doubts now, the three of you were exactly where you wanted to be.

After the 'secret sexy video' conversation, where he was reassured you were not annoyed at him for having certain kinks, Ken has simply been desperate to find out yours. He wants to do whatever it takes to please you. And if you're into what he's into, it makes things so much easier!

So he searches your history with trembling fingers...

... and is disappointed when he finds very little.

Clearly you haven't needed to look for secret sexy videos for a while -because of his presence? Hopefully! - or you've cleared your searches. Which is something you can do, apparently.

However, a link does catch Ken's attention. What's "AO3"? You've spent a lot of time there. He clicks, and as he reads, his eyes go wide.

Spike's head lolls back onto Angel's shoulder as he feels the other vampire slide inside him, causing Buffy to laugh as her strap joins and stretches out his hole. He's unbelievably full, the two cocks jostling for space, and he can feel himself leaking as his heat takes over and the Alphas coo their praise at him, telling him how beautifully submissive he is--

Ken googles quite a few terms in quick succession, but his eyes get wider with each one. When you walk back into the room, he's full-on beaming at a picture of a picture of James Marsters.

"Ken, I thought you wanted to borrow my laptop to watch horse videos--"

"Submissive bleach blond man!" he says, excitedly, jabbing his finger at the screen.

"Honey, you have to start giving me more context for situations when I walk into the room."

"Him! He's a submissive bleach blond man, and you were reading about him! We are into the same things! Yippee!"

It takes you a moment to compute this.

"You... that's why you wanted my laptop? To see what sort of men I'm attracted to?"

He nods, as if he can't think of anything he's done wrong. You pinch the bridge of your nose for a long, long time, but when you look up, you've got a fond smile on your face.

"I'm into bleach blond submissive men, Ken, obviously."

Ken jumps off the chair and does karate kicks in the air in celebration. You burst into laughter before embracing him.

"You could have just asked me, silly man."

"Okay, I will next time." A beat. "You know, Spuffel is a lovely name for a child."

“Grace.”

“What’s up?”

“Where are your pants.”

He looks down as if he had only just noticed he wasn’t wearing any. “Oh, right. None of them are clean.”

You blink, extremely slowly, and try to stop yourself from glancing down at his bare thighs. “There is not a single pair of clean pants that you can wear? None at all?”

Your attempted restraint is not going unnoticed. Grace smirks a little when your eyes flick down again, and you would very much like to wipe the expression off of his face. Your hand twitches against your leg. “Well, technically I have a pair, but there’s a hole in them.”

“A hole.”

“Yep,” and he pops the ‘p’ very deliberately and shifts in the chair. The movement causes the hem of his boxers to hike up, revealing another sliver of his bare thigh. “Haven’t gotten around to patching them yet.”

“Of course. So the natural solution was to just walk around in your underwear.” You push yourself off the frame to stand straight up. He does not say anything when you look at his legs again, but his smile grows.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, just barely, and you know that it’s intentional. “They’re basically like shorts.”

Okay, you think, at least this is something to do. You look at the screens, then, and tilt your head toward them. “Can I take a look?” He blinks at that, because this is not where he was expecting you to take the conversation, but he nods anyway and starts to get up so you can sit. “Oh, no, you don’t need to get up.”

You cross the room, but instead of turning your attention to the screen, you slide your legs underneath the chair to sit on the footrest. His legs widen to accommodate you. It is…not a very comfortable place to sit, all things considered, but now you have a front-row seat to the pale skin of his inner thighs. “Ah. You didn’t want to look at our trajectory.”

“Nope.” He looks down and watches as you place your hands on his knees, smoothing the skin with your thumbs. The sight of him, his legs spread, looking down at you with reddening cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest, is so delicious that you wish you were holding a camera. You settle for taking a few mental pictures before you slide your hands forward, now resting midway up his quads, feeling the hairs on the tops of his thighs. Your fingers have almost reached the hem. “How fast are we going?”

“Uh—what?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, smiling softly. Your finger starts to idly trace random shapes. “How fast are we going? What’s our speed?”

Grace clears his throat and shifts in the seat again. His boxers are already tenting. “You—already know this, but okay. We’re going ninety-two percent the speed of light.”

You nod at his answer and splay your fingers a little wider, so your thumbs reach down to the soft skin of his inner thigh. “And what’s that in miles?”

“Um, that’s—ninety-two percent of, hah,” he gasps, because you’ve just pressed a kiss to the side of his knee, “one hundred and eighty-six thousand, two hundred and eighty-two miles per second, so—about—”

You interrupt him sharply. “I didn’t ask for an estimate.” You look at his thigh, then, just above the crease of his knee, before leaning forward to gently graze your teeth against the spot. His hips shift up, and you glare at him, cheek pressed against his leg. “I didn’t ask you to move, either.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m—okay, alright, mental math, not super easy at the moment—” His hands tighten their hold on the arm rests when you nip gently at his thigh in warning. “One hundred and seventy-one thousand, two hundred and eight-two point forty-four. Miles. Per, per second.” Grace is already panting slightly.

Pressing a kiss against the spot you just bit, you murmur, “Good. Now in meters?” There’s not actually any way for you to check his numbers, but you know he’s good at math. You trust that he’s giving you the right answers. He’s too much of a nerd not to.

His head falls back onto the headrest, but he keeps his legs and arms still. “You—you’re killing me here, you know that?”

You shift your head to his other leg, moving up a little, and you bite this new area of skin, still on his soft inner thigh. Grace keens, low and desperate, and you can imagine his knuckles turning white from gripping the arm rests so hard.

He is, apparently, not done with talking back. “If that’s the punishment,” he breathes, mouth curling up in a slight smile, “I might just, you know, keep giving the wrong answers.”

This is the wrong thing for him to say, and he realizes it as soon as the words leave his mouth, because then you’re leaning back and nodding, removing your hands from his legs. “I see. Then I probably shouldn’t bother, right?”

“No, that’s—please don’t.” His eyes are wide with panic. “I’m sorry, you—do you still want our speed in meters? I can, I have the number.” You say nothing at that, instead slowly returning your hands to his thighs. “Oh, thank god, okay, it’s—it’s—two hundred and seventy-five million, six hundred and fifty-two thousand, three hundred and sixty-seven point one hundred and nineteen meters per second,” he rushes out.

It is very impressive, so you give him an appreciative squeeze and mouth against his skin gently, right on top of a little mole he has on his right leg. “Very good.” You can hear his head rest against the chair again at the praise. “How long is the journey from Tau Ceti to Erid?”

“It’s almost—” Your nails dig into his skin, not hard, just enough to make him whine. Grace is catching onto the game very quickly—he wants the sting that comes from your teeth and your fingernails, but he doesn’t want to push back so far in order to get it that you’ll stop, so he’s probing the boundaries of what you’ll let him do. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for an estimate, I know, it’s—wait. Do you want from our perspective or Earth’s?”

“Hm, good question,” your purr, sucking lightly on the same spot of this thigh. He whimpers, and you think he’s nodding. You wonder if his eyes are open or closed, but you are too busy to look. “Ours first.”

“A little less than four years.”

The edges of your mouth lift up in a smile, and you switch back to his other thigh and bite, farther up, a little harder than the last one, not enough to break skin, but enough for the imprints of your teeth to remain visible when you pull back. Your tongue darts out to soothe the spot as he groans, and you can just barely see his cock twitch underneath the fabric. “Why did I do that?”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth; he is trying very, very hard not to buck his hips up. “Because—because—you haven’t asked for an estimate, not once, so I shouldn’t have assumed, because you didn’t explicitly say.”

You gently brush your finger across the teeth marks indented in his skin. “That’s exactly right. So…?”

“Three point nine years from our perspective.” Your hands move up just a little bit more, the tips of your fingers now brushing up against the hem of his boxers. His hips shift, almost imperceptibly, but you decide that you will let him off the hook for that. For now. You toy with the edge of the fabric and look up at him. He’s waiting for you to ask how long the journey is from Earth’s perspective. You simply nod, and he exhales in relief. “Thirteen years. I’m sorry, that is an estimate, but I don’t, relativity is really hard—which, right now, feels very topical, I have to say, but ask me another question, please,” he begs.

Maybe on a different day, you might have been a little meaner, might have pointed out that he’s not the one who gets to decide how all of this happens, but right now you would like to keep biting and sucking on his bare thighs, so you show him a little mercy. “Alright. Would you like me to touch you now, Dr. Grace?”

This makes him moan, loudly, and it’s a good thing that Rocky is asleep (though, of course, he would have heard all of this anyway). “Yes, oh my gosh, yes—assuming you mean, well, where I think you mean,” and then he sees the look you give him and decides to stop talking for a few seconds.

First, you keep sliding one of your hands upward, still kissing and biting at his thighs, until you can feel his muscles quivering underneath your mouth from the strain of keeping still. Your fingers hit the crease of his hip and then stop. He looks so good like this, you think, sitting so nicely and waiting for you to do whatever you want with him.

Instead of moving the hand underneath his boxers where you know he would like it to be, you drag it downward, lightly scratching the top of his thigh. Your other hand moves up, over the top of the fabric, and finally, finally slides over his aching cock, and the groan he lets out shoots straight between your legs. You shift, just slightly, so the metal rod connecting the footrest to the chair presses against your core. Grace is too busy squeezing his eyes shut and gasping at the way you’re slowly palming him through his boxers.

“That’s—hah, so good, not exactly what I was thinking, but—”

You stop moving your hand and wait to speak until he’s looking down at you again. “I didn’t ask you to think,” and then you lower your head to bite at his inner thigh, just below the hem of his underwear.

He throws his head back against the chair again. You are slightly worried he might give himself a concussion at this rate. “You’re right, sorry—thank you, this is really good, amazing even, please—I can, are there more questions?”

“Not at the moment,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss against the bite mark you just left. Your hand resumes in its movements. God, the sounds he is making right now; maybe you could turn the camera on, start recording, and the next time Rocky sleeps again you could play it in the screen room, have two versions of Grace whining and moaning at the same time while you ride him.

It seems like a little too much effort, and you don’t want to pull away to set it all up, so you simply focus on sucking and nipping at his trembling thighs, twisting your hand and listening to the way he gasps when your palm moves over his tip.

You rock your hips forward a little as you consider your options. You could pull his boxers down and take him into your mouth—he really enjoys it when you do that—or, maybe, you could stand up and turn around, placing your hands on the console and let him fuck you. They are all pretty great, but then you wouldn’t get to watch in between bites and kisses as he grips the armrests, alternating between tipping his head back and looking down at you, face entirely flushed.

“I have another question,” you say, and you think he tries to respond, but all that comes out is a choked whimper. “Do you think you could come like this?”

It takes him a few shuddering breaths to gather himself enough for words. “Is that—that’s a rhetorical question, really, yes, yes I can, it won’t even take that long. Which, that might sound a little pathetic, but I have the feeling that you like when I’m—”

You cut him off by sucking another spot on his thigh, your nose brushing against the fabric. Your back is straining a little to lean forward like this, but it is so worth it for the reaction it pulls out of him. You are fairly certain, at this point, that you would probably be able to come like this, too, just from grinding into the footrest.

But that is a side benefit, really, while this is the main event, so you focus on grasping his cock and searching for the movements that make his hips stutter upward, because then you have a reason in this game the two of you have created to nip at his soft skin even more. Grace is right: it won’t take that long, if the way his control starts to deteriorate is anything to go off of.

He swallows hard and manages to whisper, “Can I—would it be alright, would you let me touch you?”

Technically, he’s still not supposed to be asking any questions here, but you nod (and then press your teeth into his thigh for it), and one of his hands lets go of the armrest to gently slide through your hair. He doesn’t grab or pull; he simply cards his fingers through your hair, so softly that it’s almost at odds with the way his cock feels in your hand and the positively obscene noises he’s making.

“So good,” you mumble into his skin, “you’re doing so good. Want you to come like this, whenever you want to, yeah?”

Grace nods feverishly and stops trying to keep his hips pressed against the chair. They jerk and stutter against your hand, and you keep palming him and sucking at his thighs, chasing the thing that you know is coming, the thing that you will watch and hear and tuck away in your mind to replay over and over again.

The sound he lets out when he finally comes is so broken that you might call it a sob. You guide him through it, still moving your hand, tenderly kissing and licking at all of the marks that you’ve left. Finally, you lean back a little to take it all in: the way his glasses have slid down his nose, the flushed tinge of his cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest as he pants, the red splotches you’ve sucked into his thighs, the indents from your teeth, the dark spot in his boxers.

You keep staring for a few moments before looking back up and meeting his eyes. A spark travels down your spine and sits in between your thighs at the thought of him watching you look over his body, taking stock of all of the ways that you have marked him. “So,” he finally says, “I hope you know that this means I will be walking around without pants, like, all the time.”

You simply smile at that and extract your legs from underneath the chair to stand, a little shaky, until he has to tilt his head back to keep looking at you. “I think I would probably lose it a little bit if you did that.”

“Is that a promise?” Grace returns your smile and raises his eyebrows a little bit. You grab his face then, softly, gently, only pressing your fingers in enough to see the way his skin dimples underneath them.