palaces out of paragraphs

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet. 

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none. 

No pulse. No absolution. 

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain. 

It was raining. 

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands. 

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call. 

Calls. 

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense. 

Seven times you called the Devil. 

Seven times he didn’t answer. 

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence. 

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done. 

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered. 

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again. 

{In case you ever need it—} 

[—I don’t trust him.] 

What is trust? 

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold. 

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?” 

You almost laughed. 

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate? 

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant. 

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered. 

Unless… 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

{—That what we are?} 

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?” 

“An alley.” 

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.” 

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought. 

“Off West 51st,” you said. 

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.” 

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next. 

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin. 

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him. 

Only that you had. 

{You call, I come—} 

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.] 

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands. 

So am I, you thought. So am I. 

Frank said your name. Once, twice. 

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?” 

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw. 

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante. 

It was a soldier. 

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.” 

Time dragged. 

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall. 

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp. 

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights. 

What if someone noticed? 

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night. 

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin… 

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable. 

[To a judge? Or to God?—] 

God doesn’t matter. 

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?] 

Why didn’t you answer? 

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?” 

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.” 

You did. 

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse. 

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.” 

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest. 

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior. 

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?” 

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob. 

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.” 

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction. 

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Another weak laugh faded into quiet. 

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them. 

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—] 

Even secret sins are exposed in His light. 

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?} 

By believing in it. 

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists. 

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?” 

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out. 

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired. 

Existence had become an arduous task. 

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?” 

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s. 

You didn’t want to feel alone. 

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?” 

The world was ending. 

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things. 

[What do you see in him?—] 

{—Let me take care of all this.} 

You nodded. 

Frank’s apartment was bleak. 

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom. 

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay. 

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t. 

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe. 

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank? 

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar. 

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.” 

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts. 

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird. 

He’d need a flock. 

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle. 

Still, the warmth lingered. 

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.” 

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at. 

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer. 

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl. 

You pretended not to hear him anyway. 

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began. 

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend. 

You knew better now. 

You should’ve picked the dog. 

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.” 

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended. 

“So you gotta make it worse?” 

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is. 

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?” 

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.” 

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair. 

Frank deserved better than that. 

[Have you forgotten?—] 

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder] 

[—Why are you so attached to this case?] 

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.” 

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. 

“Guess so.” 

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his. 

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions. 

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined. 

Not that you ever had imagined it. 

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails. 

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other. 

Only then did you confess. 

“He had a knife.” 

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening. 

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.” 

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–” 

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you. 

But that had been a stupid, childish thought. 

“I figured I could lose,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–” 

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe. 

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–” 

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?” 

Your brows furrowed in answer. 

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.” 

“I don’t, but–” 

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?” 

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!” 

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.] 

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued. 

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.” 

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter. 

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further. 

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot. 

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.” 

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched. 

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact. 

“I did–” 

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a no nonsense Marine.  

“No. I did.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.” 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him. 

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.” 

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?] 

Do you care about her? 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

… 

[—Can you say the same about Frank?] 

You studied the man before you. 

Frank Castle. The Punisher. 

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget. 

A number not saved, but remembered. 

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you. 

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you. 

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.” 

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?” 

You nodded, and he chuckled. 

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.” 

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text. 

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK? 

Your thumb hovered over the message. 

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected. 

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path. 

You cleared Matt’s message. 

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?” 

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank. 

You shook your head. “Is it good?” 

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.” 

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.” 

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

You scan the massive shelves as you walk into the impressive room, dragging your fingers along the spines as Tim follows your every move. He’s raging beneath the surface. His leather holstered shoulders rise and fall heavily with each breath, all because of your article in the local paper. 

“Awe, did I strike a nerve?” You jab, showing off your pearly whites with a smug grin. You honestly didn’t think it’d matter to him but maybe you were on to something after all.

“So, have you found any clues then?” You ask, edging closer to the chalk outline of the recently deceased. Yellow tape cuts off your quest for a closer look, but you mentally note the markers around it.

“It’s time to go.” The burly detective grunts as he curls a hand around your upper arm and drags you across the room. 

“Come on, Tim.” You argue with a soft sigh. No matter how hard you tried to free yourself his hold wouldn’t budge. “I was only doing my job.”

He stops in his tracks and turns on his heel standing over you with a feral gaze. Your belly swells with hot arousal from being so close to the stoic man. His size overwhelms you as he squares off his shoulders turning him into a brick wall. The grip on your arm locks ever tighter leaving you no chance to run.

“Doing your job? Really?” His lips curl into a snarl. “Could’ve fooled me. I think you get off on ruining people’s lives.”

“Fuck you.” You bite, poking his white button up chest. “I am doing my job. I’m just as invested in this case as you. We all want to know what happened.”

His eyes soften for a moment as your anger crests. Remorse balances on his tongue when tears prick your eyes. The chaotic relationship you two danced around for the last few years always beguiled him. No one has ever gotten under his skin quite like you.  

You shove at his chest yearning to break free from the intense moment as bitterness laced with heavy desire consumes you. The throbbing between your legs has you close to whimpering and you can’t have him knowing the effect he’s had on you despite your long held affection for the older Detective.

He easily thwarts your escape by locking his free hand around your other arm and tugging you into his solid frame. “We’re not done yet. You can’t run from this.” 

You close your eyes and will the burning torture away as your breasts press against the crisp white linen of his shirt. Your hands inadvertently smooth over his strong chest before a gasp tears from your throat when your fingers brush the straps of his holster.

His brows quirk at your response from touching the leather. “Look at me.” Tim gently commands. You shake your head and bite your lip too afraid that’ll give your feelings away.

He gives your body a slight shake, showing off his strength. “Open those pretty eyes now or I’m bending you over the nearest object and spanking your ass until you’re screaming.”

A needy mewl slips from your tongue at his sinful threat and you finally open your eyes. 

“Thatta girl.” His wild, deep mocha eyes are tinged with slight softness as he slowly traces his thumb over your bottom lip. You purse your lips and kitten lick the pad making you both moan in unison. 

He tests the waters and slips the thick digit into your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed as you suck on his thumb with a purr and lave the salty skin. 

“All this time we could’ve been hate fucking. Such a waste.” He muses with a deep groan that makes your cunt clench. “You gonna be good and let me fuck my cock into that sweet pussy? Or are you gonna be a brat?”

The terse tone makes your cunt quiver and you moan unabashedly around his thumb like a writhing whore.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His lips pull into a grin as he slips his thumb from your mouth only to shove your body into the nearest wall.

Air is forced from your lungs as your back hits the rich mahogany. You shudder along with the books on the shelves as he stalks toward you with ravenous energy. He smothers your lips and body with his own, pressing you cruelly into the hard wall. 

He licks into your mouth with hot, heavy swipes and his mustache tickles your lips leaving you a moaning, wanting mess. Teeth clash as each kiss deepens more than the last. Large hands descend your body and weighty palms drag over your breasts, shoving the thin material of your dress down and exposing your soft globes before giving each a rough grasp that sucks the air from your lungs. 

Tim smooths around the curve of your hips and settles his hold on your panty covered ass making you grind against his growing bulge.

He breaks the violent kiss with a heavy huff but smiles when you instinctively try to follow his lips. 

“Grab ahold, Sweetheart.” Tim nods toward his right shoulder with a smirk. 

Your brows pinch together in slight shame. He found one of your weaknesses. 

That damn holster. 

The man always looked good. Dressed to the nines in his suits. However, when he donned the shoulder holster without his suit coat all coherent thought went out the window. 

“Go on. I know you want to.” He chides. 

You teethe your bottom lip as you slide your fingers along the strap. The warm leather is butter soft under your fingers and it’s just like you imagined. Your belly swirls with nervous energy as you grab each strap and meet his frenzied stare.

“I’d hold on tight.”

A strong, nimble hand dives between your thighs and forces your legs apart. He rubs your panty covered core making your eyes roll back and grasp the holster hard. 

He tuts. “You’ve soaked through your panties. Naughty girl.”A finger hooks under the sticky material and pulls it to the side before he deftly teases your drenched folds. 

Tim watches your features twist from his torture, loving every single one of them as he learns what takes you apart. Your heart thumps against your ribs as he glides a heavy thumb over your swollen clit and elicits frantic mewls from your feverish form.

“Is that what you needed? Hmm?” His brows meet his hairline as he slightly mocks you but you couldn’t care less as the pleasure builds brighter and brighter. 

He presses two thick fingers into your searing heat and groans as your body widens around his digits. Your cunt drools as he thrusts his fingers steadily and smacks his palm into your aching clit. Your hands tug anxiously on the holster for support when he grazes that serene spot that always left you breathless.

“Shit-” A cavernous groan rises from his chest when he feels the pulse in your cunt quicken. He fights past your tight opening as your walls begin to shudder and clench down, ready to drown him in your arousal.

Just like hot coals doused in water, your orgasm is stamped out when he rips his fingers from your warmth. You want to cry as he leaves you a withering mess while he shoves his fingers in his mouth and tastes you for the first time. 

“You’re only coming on my cock.” A desperate groan rumbles from his throat as he tastes your sweet slick. His eyes flash a wolfish black when you mewl and grind your throbbing core against his own aching cock. 

“This what you want, Sweetheart?” In a flash, he unbuttons his slacks and pulls out his swollen, girthy cock that’s leaking from its bulbous tip.“You need my cock to fill you up? Keep you from being a brat and getting on my nerves?”

“Yes, please.” You whine and tug the holster bringing his lips to yours in a delirious kiss. He holds one of your legs around his hip and taps his meaty length against your shiny folds as he holds your panties to the side and smears his pre cum all over your puffy center making you hiss.    

He tips your chin with his slick stained fingers before curling it around the back of your neck forcing you to look at him. “I’m going to ruin you.”

Your head hits the back of the wall as he plunges his cock into your core in one long, unending thrust. He barely gives you time to breathe as he cants his hips and rapidly drives his length between your soaked folds. Your channel convulses with each brutal shove as he fucks you into the wall forcing you to the edge in record time.

 “That sweet pussy wants to cum. She’s practically drooling down my balls, she needs it so bad.” He taunts making your insides flip.

“Please, Tim! Please! I need-” You beg with tears in your eyes as your velvet walls flutter from the rough treatment as he opens you up with his cock.

“Shh. Shh. I’ve got you, Sweetheart.” He slips the hand from behind your neck under your other leg and easily lifts your shaking frame with his strong arms. He settles your ass in his large palms and pins you under him. The stretch is obscene as he shoves every inch of his length in your tight hole and his crown cruelly kisses your cervix. 

“Want to feel you come around me as I fill this cunt to the brim.” 

He nails you to the wall with heavy, pounding thrusts that drag sinfully along your channel. The unyielding movement rattles your bones making you fight to hold onto the sweaty leather still in your grasp. 

You can barely breathe as he wickedly grinds his pelvis into your clit forcing a strangled noise from your throat. He stokes the flames in your gut to rise and rise until you explode.

“Come on. That’s it. Let me feel you.” He commands, sinking his cock even deeper.

Your mouth goes slack as every muscle in your body tenses. Your shouts of bliss echo off the walls as you drag Tim over the edge. He grunts like an animal as your cunt spasms and locks around his girth and milks his balls. His heels leave the ground as he pumps you full, never leaving your warmth for a second as he fucks his seed into your cunt like it’s the last act he’ll ever do.

The tension that used to settle around the two of you like a heavy blanket is no longer. Tim gently cradles your face in his palm and kisses you so softly you’d think you were made of glass. Tenderness pours from his lips and drowns you in affection.

Your hands finally detach from his holster as he carefully sets you back on solid ground before tucking himself back into his slacks. 

You share a knowing look that things would be different now as he reaches for your hand and interlocks your fingers. 

He walks you over to the scene of the crime and points to the mantle above the fireplace. “See the candlestick? That’s the murder weapon. Happy now?”

Frankie sputters into his beer beside you, his mind temporarily skittering away from reality.

In retrospect, it may have been a mistake to confirm that your husband has, at times, spent literal hours with his head between your thighs.

“What?” Frankie squeaks inelegantly, wiping beer from his mustache with the back of his hand. You grin, patting his shoulder with affection. Benny points to you. 

“She’s happy all the time. Now I know why. Teach. Me.”

Benny’s boyish blue eyes sparkle with a schoolyard dare, his grin growing wider as a blush creeps up Frankie’s neck.

It’s a game the two of you play—stretching back more than a decade—seeing who can make Frankie flush that gorgeous rosy color first. Back then, when Frankie could hardly grow more than peach fuzz over his top lip and Benny’s cheeks were still full of baby fat, life had been a lot easier. 

“Why don’t you just watch porn like the rest of us?” Frankie quips before downing the last of his beer to hide from the racy conversation. 

You cough around a laugh. 

“Yeah, because porn is notoriously focused on women’s pleasure,” you quip, eyeing both men. Benny points to you again, his eyebrows rising in silent agreement, driving his point home. It might be the alcohol humming in your veins or perhaps the years of easy friendship between you that has you making the remark without much thought.

“You can be a fly on the wall in our bedroom, Ben. We’re not shy,” you say, leaning heavily into cartoonish flirtation. Frankie nearly chokes on his tongue, a noise catching in his throat. Predictably, Benny matches your energy, smiling like a fool and comically waggling his eyebrows.

To the average onlooker, the three of you appear like any other group of friends in a bar, gathered on a Thursday night after work to catch up and razz each other a little. There’s something there, though, beneath the facade of friendly jests. A spark, a bolt of lightning, air thickening in the ozone before a storm. A pull of attraction none of you acknowledge nor deny. It’s always been there, a low hum in the background that’s followed your friendship through the years, even as you and Frankie grew closer, eventually tying the knot. 

Benny’s been there through all of it, never faltering in his reliable, affable attitude. A best friend for the ages to you both. It isn’t hard to imagine what it might be like, to include him in the one part of your life he’d been closed off from. It flashes in your mind—both of them in your bed, sharing you, each other if they’d like—and then it’s gone as Frankie clears his throat. 

“She’s obviously kidding,” he clarifies, a large hand squeezing your thigh under the table.

Enough, the silent request from your husband says. He releases his grip, smoothing over your jeans with a gentle stroke; another silent communication, this time, a plea—please.

Your eyes flit to his, and behind his calm, collected poker face, you see the twist of torment underneath. A secret shared between lovers, the quiet desire you both harbor for your best friend. Your hand settles atop his, one quick pulse, an apology without words.

Frankie looks back to Benny, downing the last dregs of his room-temperature beer.   

Benny, unaware of your silent conversation, waves the joke away. “Eh, so was I. Good for you, Fish. Happy wife, happy life, yeah?”

Frankie swallows, settling his cap atop his wild, overgrown curls. You squeeze his hand again. 

“Yeah. Something like that,” he agrees, flicking his wrist to check the time. “It’s about time we head out. I’ll get the tab.” 

Benny stands, quicker to his feet than your husband these days. Age has been kind to Frankie everywhere except his knees. 

“I’ve got it, bud. You guys had me over for dinner last week. I owe you,” Benny offers. Your friendship is so comfortable that there’s no protest against Benny’s generosity. It all comes out in the wash, anyway. 

The three of you say your goodbyes. You, with a friendly parting kiss on Benny’s scruffy cheek, a wisp of his clean, masculine scent sparking arousal sharp and bright down your spine. Frankie, with a hug that lingers for a fraction of a second longer than usual, the two men pulled in tight to each other’s embrace. When they part ways, you swear the tips of Benny’s ears have reddened just slightly.

Benny fishes into his back pocket for his wallet, pulls out his credit card, and ushers you and your husband toward the door with a simple gesture. 

“Go on, ya animals. Keep that smile on her face, Fish.” 

Frankie laughs, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. He lazily salutes the blond man in lieu of a verbal response.

“Stay out of trouble, Benjamin,” you toss over your shoulder as Frankie steers you toward the exit. 

Benny grins devilishly, blue eyes sparkling in the dim bar lights. Not quite brave enough to cross the line from harmless, playful flirting into actual flirting, he waits until you’ve turned away, winking at your retreating backs. 

*

“I can’t believe,” Frankie growls out as he plunges his cock into you with an eager snap of his hips, “that you practically invited Benjamin into this bed tonight.”

You moan, fingertips curling into his broad shoulders, the crescent moons left by your nails a temporary tattoo on his skin.

“As if we’ve never had a third before,” you reply, the latter part of the sentence warped by a pleasured sob. Frankie drops to his forearms, hovering over you, slowing his hips to a gentle roll.

“None of those people were my best friend.” 

He snakes his arms under your back, curling large hands over the curve of your shoulder, sinking himself deeper into your center. 

“Our best friend,” you smirk, squeezing around his length, and you’re rewarded with a groan that rumbles deep in his chest. Frankie presses his hips into yours, coming to a stop, his hands moving to cradle your head in his palms. He dips his head, your lips locking in a kiss that borders on too tender for the skilled way he had been taking you apart only a few seconds ago. He breaks the kiss, his eyes shifting from hungry to hesitant, causing you to backtrack immediately.

 “We don’t have to ask him if you don’t want to. I just thought it could be fun. We’ve enjoyed our past threesomes.”

Frankie twitches inside you, dragging a gasp from you both. He huffs, a warm puff of breath breezing across your cheeks. You slide your hand up to brush the sweat-damp curls off his forehead, and his lips find the delicate skin inside your wrist. 

“You know it would be different with him,” he points out, tinged with longing, and you nod because he’s right. In the past, it had always been strangers—well-vetted, experienced ones—looking for just as much fun as you and your husband. Strangers were ideal for a reason. They prevented things from getting too messy.

Benny is the furthest thing from a stranger. 

What a mess you’d make if things went sour. 

Then again, it was a calculated risk you took when you decided to start dating Frankie, and so far, it’s been the best decision you’ve ever made. 

“I think he was joking, anyway,” Frankie confesses, pressing his forehead to yours. The trace of disappointment clouding his tone nearly shatters your heart.

“Baby…” you console, drawing him in for a soft kiss. When you break it, you breathe hope across his kiss-swollen lips. “There’s only one way to find out.” 

Frankie keens at the prospect, his head nodding as he drops it to your shoulder, his hips grinding into yours. The friction sparks electricity up your spine, forcing a cry from your lungs.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he pants, picking up the pace. “Let’s text him in the morning.”

Frankie’s cock brushes that spot inside you, the one that makes you see stars, and you can feel the embers of your orgasm being stoked into a raging wildfire. 

“Fuck,” it comes out garbled, your fingers twisting into Frankie’s curls, finding an anchor before he shatters you. “Okay, yeah. We’re gonna do it,” you pant out, your thought interrupted by Frankie’s hands pulling yours from his hair, entwining your fingers together, and pinning them to the mattress. He shifts his hips just right, his new cadence forcing waves of pleasure to roll up your spine to the tune of ‘just like that, Francisco.’ You moan through the remainder of your previously abandoned sentence with one final semblance of thought. 

“We’re gonna ask Benny to join us in this bed.” 

Neither of you lasts longer than a few breaths after the words leave your lips. 

*

You: benjamin, we’d like to talk to you about something. dinner at our place tomorrow night? 💚

Benny: Oooh my government name  Am I in trouble Or are you knocked up Wait no that cant be true cuz you were drinking last night

You: omg

Benny: hmm vacation maybe I can house sit again but Im sleeping in your bed this time its more comfy

Francisco: BEN, FOCUS. Dinner, our place, tomorrow, 1900 hours. Yes or no?

You: wait a damn minute, how do you know our bed is more comfortable than the guest bed????

Benny: 😎 thats what I do I drink and I know things yes Fish ill come to dinner and bring booze

Francisco: 10-4. See you then. I’m out before any more GoT quotes.

Francisco has notifications silenced

Benny: You know nothing Francisco Wow he muted us whats his deal

You: he’s still salty about the finale. answer my question!!!

Benny: Its been years he needs to get over it And I slept in your bed one night the last time I house sat Tell Fish I want him to know it was me

You: you’re literally the worst. see you and your dumb quotes tomorrow. 

Benny: You two are no fun Guess thats why you need me See you tomorrow 😘 WINTER IS COMING

*

Dinner started awkwardly and was poised to tailspin into utter disaster.

Your husband—a decorated wartime helicopter pilot, notorious among his fellow veterans for his quick-thinking, cool head, nerves of steel, and steady hands—nearly dropped the pork roast as he took it from the oven, simply because Benny texted he was on his way over.

You dressed the salad too early, causing the delicate greens to wilt into a soggy mess; too far gone to save, too many good ingredients to toss away. You tried to shove it into the back of the fridge, telling yourself you’d eat it tomorrow as punishment for your amateur mistake, but Benny had announced his arrival by rescuing it from your hands with a ‘looks good!’, placing it effortlessly onto the kitchen table. 

You and Frankie forgot about the root veggies until the smoke detector doubled as a supper timer. You pulled the half-charred vegetables from the oven with a lump in your throat, avoiding Frankie’s eyes as if your life depended on it.

You were convinced—tonight was a bust. Maybe you could try again next weekend, play it off like you forgot why you even invited Benny over in the first place, and act like you just wanted to spend time with him. 

Which, technically, wasn’t wrong.

Benny, true to form, didn’t appear bothered by all the dinner disasters. He opened your utensil drawer and rummaged around for the corkscrew, finding it with triumph.

“I think a little wine will make everyone feel better,” he announced to the kitchen, working the cork free with ease. “Fish, grab some glasses.”

Frankie paused, your gazes finally meeting, awkward tension filling the room. You could feel Benny’s eyes on you both, taking only three seconds before opening his mouth. 

“Why are you guys being so weird tonight? What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing, er, umm, I–no, we,” Frankie started, tripping over his words, his face so red there was no blaming it on the heat from the oven. Shit. You had no choice. You had to save your husband from a spiral. Pun or no pun, he looked like a literal fish out of water, gaping mouth and all. 

“Do you wanna sleep with us?” you blurted out, your words slicing through the air in the kitchen, crystal clear and unmistakable but still managing to shock everyone into stillness.

You counted your breaths—or were they Benny’s? You couldn’t quite meet his eyes, your stare landing firmly on the hollow of his throat, golden skin expanding with each inhale—waiting for what felt like an eternity.

Benny broke the heavy silence by carefully setting the wine bottle on the countertop; you swore Frankie flinched from the noise. You would’ve gone to him if your legs hadn’t been filled with lead, keeping you firmly in place before Ben.

“Seriously?” Benny asked, not a drop of humor in his tone. You thought you’d caught a twinkle of hope in his eyes, though. “Are you two trying to wine and dine me right now?”

A round of nervous laughter broke the tense air, and things got easier. 

“Yeah, Ben, I guess we are.” Frankie regained his confidence, stepping next to you with a comforting arm around your shoulders. “We just… I don’t know. Thought we could have some… fun,” he swallowed, forcing himself to meet Benny’s gaze, “See where the night goes.”

“If you want to, that is,” you interjected, hoping you hadn’t overstepped. 

Benny’s easy grin told you everything you needed to know. 

“Hell yeah, I do.”

As quickly as it came, the tension melted away, the mood shifting into something that felt thrilling and comforting all at once.

“But hey,” Benny cleared his throat, drawing your full attention once more. Worry attempted to worm into your heart, washed away by words only Benny would say in such a situation.

“Can we eat first? I’m fucking starving.”

Your laughter lasted well into dinner.

*

The awkwardness before dinner was a blessing in disguise.

By the time the three of you emptied your wine glasses (half the bottle and the dirty dishes from dinner left to worry about later), the mood had shifted into something intoxicatingly giddy.

You led the boys to the bedroom, both of your hands enveloped in theirs, an unbreakable electric current running through your bodies.

There’s one moment of hesitation, a breath held between three bodies, Benny somehow maintaining both your gazes, and then it’s broken when he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing toned muscles and the slight swell of his soft belly.

Before you know it, you’re all down to your underwear, you stepping into Benny’s space and tipping onto your toes to kiss him, Frankie’s heated eyes on you both. 

It’s not the first time you’ve kissed Benny, but it’s been a while. The last time, it had been a drunken night out in some seedy bar ages ago, before you and Frankie had ever thought about dating one another. It had been messy, sloppy, and rushed, a quick pull of intoxicated attraction between your mouths while Frankie slipped off to the bathroom. It had tasted like cheap beer and stung the edges of your alcohol-soaked mind with a niggling feeling of guilt for reasons you couldn’t understand at the time. 

With your lips pressed to Benny’s now, in your bedroom, in front of your husband, the three of you the still best of friends, it’s making a lot more sense.

Maybe this is how it was always meant to be. The three of you, together, like this. 

You choke on hope, not wanting to get ahead of yourself, deepening the kiss with Benny, savoring the groan he weaves onto your tongue. His eyes sparkle like starlight when he pulls away, his cheeks dusted with a stunning rosy hue. 

You turn, stepping toward Frankie, finding his lips with practiced ease, a path you know by heart. Frankie deepens it immediately, chasing the taste of Benny on your lips, his tongue sliding over yours with eager precision. He pulls away, peppering kisses along your jaw, his fingertips curling into your hips, working his mouth across your sensitive skin until it pebbles with goosebumps under his attention. 

“Still want that lesson?” Frankie rasps against your collarbone, and it takes you a moment to realize it’s directed at Benny. 

“Fuck yeah,” Benny breathes out in boyish wonder, his tone twisting affection into your belly.

You fall onto the bed in a heap, twisted limbs tangling between fits of excited giggles, the bedframe creaking only slightly under the added weight of Benny’s body. Frankie’s eyebrow lifts as if he’s taking note of exactly where in the wooden frame the noise came from, adding it to his To-Do list for another day. He tucks the information away, rolling to settle over you wick a wicked grin. 

He kisses you soundly, his tongue sweeping over yours, his skin pressed warm against you. You’re keenly aware of Benny’s curious eyes on you, his heated skin prickling along your right side, threatening to turn you into ash before either of them has made you combust.

When Frankie pulls away, you’re all a little breathless. He smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, years of love and affection between you etched onto his face. Blood rushes into your cheeks with a warm swell, and you return the smile in kind.

You fall more in love with your husband every day, it seems.

“Benjamin, pay attention,” Frankie instructs, his eyes briefly darting over to your new bedfellow. His tone slices through you like butter, slick pooling between your thighs and soaking into your panties. 

Yeah, you definitely love him more each day.

“First,” Frankie starts, dipping his head to scrape his teeth along your collarbone. You gasp, arching your back to encourage his mouth to stay on you, forcing a chuckle from his lips. He continues his instructions, his breath puffing humid over your skin. “She really likes being kissed here,” he plants a soft kiss where your shoulder meets your neck, “and here,” another kiss, further up on the middle of your neck, “and especially here,” the spot just below where your jaw and ear meet, you squirming beneath him as pleasure snaps through your chest.

“You can use your teeth, too; she likes that,” Frankie explains, nipping on your earlobe, a whimper escaping from your kiss-tender lips.

This is so much hotter than you could’ve imagined. You’ve always known Frankie’s taken the time to take stock of what you like in bed, how you like it, and when to deploy those tactics. But to hear him say them out loud, offer them up as instructions or points of interest on a map, is something else entirely. He’s focused, determined, a man whose only mission is to bring you as much pleasure as possible and ensure Benny can do the same by the end of the evening.

“Never too hard, though,” Frankie continues, his breath hot on your collarbones, his teeth sinking in only enough to leave the slightest indent in your skin. Frankie lifts his head, dark gaze meeting Benny’s. “Don’t hurt my wife.”

Benny nods wordlessly. Something sparks up your spine at how ‘my wife’ rolled off Frankie’s tongue; it’s not possessive, not in the least, but rather something almost sacred, reverent. With four words, Frankie’s made it clear just how precious you are to him and how honored he is to share you with Benny. 

No other threesome has been quite this heavy with emotion before, but you allow yourself to sink into the feeling, enjoy the sensation of their breaths ghosting over your bare skin, the heat of their bodies pressing into you, their shared desire to ensure your needs are met.

These two might end up being a lethal combination, but oh, what a way to die.

Frankie moves down your front, his hand snaking under your back to undo your bra, flicking the clasp open with two fingers, preening with just a touch of pride when Benny remarks on it. You fling the garment away, hearing it land somewhere on the floor, becoming a problem for the future.

Frankie draws back, sliding his hand around to cup one breast, thumbing at your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. The breath leaves your lungs with a whimper, Frankie knowing precisely how you like to be touched. 

“Her tits are perfect, Ben. Look how this one fits in my hand. It’s the perfect handful,” Frankie rambles, reveling in the small details of your body. “They’re perfect, baby,” he tells you, his gaze adoring.

“Benny, touch me,” you utter, pressing your side into his, encouraging him.

“Yeah, Ben, see for yourself,” Frankie reaches over, grabbing Benny’s wrist and settling it over your other breast. Benny’s hand is impossibly warmer than Frankie’s, his thumb flicking over your nipple in a similar pattern; his fingertips are softer, less calloused than Frankie’s, like silk on silk as he strokes along your petal-soft skin.

Frankie continues his trek down the front of your body, lips peppering kisses along the way, his facial hair rasping pleasantly over your skin. He pauses to scrape his teeth along your hip bones, doling out love bites with a cheeky grin before hooking two thick fingers under the edge of your panties, pulling them free. 

You kick them away, immediately spreading your legs for him, creating the space he needs to settle on his belly between them. 

“Alright, Ben, watch and learn because my mouth is about to be too busy for words.”

Frankie’s grin is depraved as his gaze rolls up the length of your body, his breath hot against your pussy before he utters a casual remark you follow like a command.

“Let’s give him a show, baby.”

With no further preamble, he swipes his tongue through your folds, groaning as your slick coats his tongue. You gasp, back arching up, head smashing into the pillow. Next to you, Benny curses under his breath, his cloth-covered cock twitching at your hip, a wet spot of precum soaking through his boxers and dampening your skin.

Frankie’s tongue swirls around your clit in gentle circles, stoking the fire in your belly with just enough practiced precision to shoot pleasured chills up your spine. He makes a show of it, dragging his mouth over you, loudly moaning into your pussy, kissing your inner thighs, and smearing the slick clinging to his mustache everywhere, shining in the dimmed light. You whimper, attempting to dig your heels into his back, only earning you an amused chuckle as he slides up the bed enough to wedge his shoulders firmly between your thighs, keeping them apart. Benny’s hand moves down, his palm warm on your knee, holding you open so Frankie can have his fill.

“Thanks, man,” Frankie whispers, his voice thick and raw with lust.

“I got you, bud,” Benny replies, his fingertips stroking your skin softly.

It’s an exchange they’ve undoubtedly had before, friendly affectations dished out with ease between them, and yet this time, something about it feels different—feels like more. Pleasure chases thrill all the way up your back, settling at the nape of your neck, warm and tingly.

Frankie dips his tongue into your soaked core, groaning as he laps up the taste of you, your left hand moving to fist into his hair, desperate for some kind of anchor. Benny curls his other arm under you, pillowing your head into the crook of his elbow, his eyes watching your face as Frankie’s mouth takes you apart.

“Kiss me.” Your request is simple but weighty; anticipation sewed into each syllable, the earlier kiss you shared not nearly enough to memorize the taste of Benny’s mouth. 

Benny acquiesces without hesitation, his mouth slanting over yours with a tiny gasp of excitement passed between you. He’s gentler than you expect him to be—your best friend could give a bull in a china shop a run for its money—and you cherish it, melding your lips to his and sipping down the warm puffs of air he breathes into your mouth. You can feel Frankie’s eyes on you. His gaze is almost as warm as his mouth while it works magic over your core, pleasure seizing in your lower belly and thighs, both of these men overwhelming you in the best way possible.

When Frankie’s lips seal over your clit, his tongue flicking across it with determined focus, you know you’re done for.

You moan into Benny’s sweet mouth, breaking the kiss, Benny’s head twisting to watch Frankie with rapt attention. Frankie’s arms wrap around your thighs, drawing even more of your pussy into his mouth as he eagerly works his tongue over you. You roll your hips against Frankie’s jaw, his groan vibrating through you, his fingertips clawing into your thighs.

“Shit,” Benny breathes, his hand sliding from your knee to his cock, squeezing himself over his boxers.

Fuck, even under the cotton, his cock looks just as gorgeous as him, straining against the fabric, the tip leaving a noticeable wet spot in the light blue material.

“Wait,” you gasp out, halting both men in their place. Frankie lifts his head, brow etched with concern, his slick-shiny lips about to ask if you’re okay until you beat him to it.

“Can I touch you?” you ask Benny, your eyes dropping to where his hand hovers over his cock.

“Fuck, yes, babe,” he groans, scrambling to free himself from the fabric. As suspected, his cock is a pretty sight, flushed and leaking at the tip, weighty and warm in your palm as soon as you grasp him. Benny hisses, his cock jumping in your fist, a tiny mewl dancing across his lips when your thumb brushes through the bead of precum on his tip, sliding it down his length to slicken the movement.

Frankie watches you touch Benny with fire behind his eyes, his mouth hung open in quiet wonder, his nostrils flaring with each pump of your fist. You give a slight tug on his messy curls, wiggling your hips in his grasp, drawing his attention.

“Please, make me come?” you whine; it’s pathetic and petulant, but you don’t care, your orgasm simmering in the cradle of your hips, just waiting for Frankie to take you over the edge.

“Yeah, Fish, I wanna see her fall apart,” Benny goads, groaning when your hand squeezes around the head of his cock, his hips thrusting up into your grip.

Wordlessly, Frankie’s mouth finds you again, his efforts now twofold, focused and determined. He eats at you like a man possessed, tongue swirling and stroking and dipping perfectly through your folds, unwilling to come up for air until he’s wrung all the pleasure from your body.

Heat flares over your skin when his tongue flicks across your clit, causing your thighs to shake. The coil of pleasure tightens in your belly as Frankie’s mouth works in quick, practiced movements. Benny’s hand squeezes around yours, tightening your grip on his cock, Frankie’s ministrations having stolen your focus. 

Everything goes sharp and bright, enhancing your senses alongside your rapidly mounting orgasm. The scent of Benny’s crisp, clean cologne mingling with the pine and spice of Frankie’s; their groans, measured and distinct, bouncing off the bedroom walls. The heat prickling under your skin in every spot they touch you, fire lit from within. Their gazes on you, earthy brown and ocean blue, as your chest heaves with gasping breaths, Frankie’s tongue bringing your orgasm within reach. You can taste it in the air, burning hot and cloyingly sweet, dancing on your tongue with each moan that tumbles from your mouth.

In the end, it’s Benny who pulls you over the edge, his lips smashing to yours, pouring desperation into your mouth. You come with a muffled shout, slick flooding Frankie’s mouth, moans flooding Benny’s, the world falling away. Pleasure washes through you, coating every cell in your body in a flush of honeyed warmth. Your body bows against the mattress, Frankie’s strong arms pinning your hips in place, Benny’s soft words coaxing pleasure to the edges of your body. With each shudder, you gasp one of their names, a slurred blend of blissed incoherence bleeding off your pleasure-drunk tongue.

Frankie’s mouth slows, knowing your limit almost better than he knows his own, drawing each thread of pleasure from your body without pushing you into hyper-sensitive overstimulation. He hums against your soaked pussy, removing his lips with a soft smack, placing kisses along your mound while you gasp for air, forcing oxygen back into your lungs.

“Holy fucking shit,” Benny utters—soft, worshipful—his handsome face awash in awe and arousal. It sparks a delirious giggle in your chest, giddy and girlish, something both boys might poke gentle fun at you on any other occasion, but tonight it just turns their smiles syrupy with affection.

“I told you he was good at it,” you breathe through laughter when you’ve finally caught enough air, sliding your hand from around Benny’s cock to brush a loose lock of golden hair off his forehead.

“Come see how fuckin’ wet she is,” Frankie commands lightly, his voice gravelly with disuse, his eyes locking with Benny’s.

Benny cannot move fast enough. 

He kicks away his boxers, scrambling to join Frankie between your legs. His pleasured groan is one of the most beautiful fucking sounds you’ve ever heard in your life.

“Shit…” Benny’s eyes roam over you, exposed and open to both of them; you’d be self-conscious if you didn’t know them so damn well. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, babe.”

“Isn’t she? Most gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen in my whole damn life,” Frankie agrees, his fingertips stroking your hip.

Benny’s head twists, and the mood in the room shifts, the air hanging thick like summer humidity when his gaze lands on Frankie’s lips, still shiny with your slick. You count your breaths, expanding in your chest with expectation as Frankie notices the weight in Benny’s eyes, lightning before thunder. Your heartbeat hammers in your ears, lips curling into an affectionate grin, only nanoseconds before it happens; Benny’s mouth finds Frankie’s in a kiss laced with so much desperate longing, you can practically taste it yourself.

Benny chases the flavor of you on Frankie’s lips, one hand threading up into Frankie’s messy curls, the other curling over your thigh. Frankie groans; it goes right through you, meeting Benny with an equal amount of frantic vigor, the muscles in his jaw flexing in a way that has you mesmerized by the entire display. They’re beautiful like this, sharing the taste of you on their tongues, finally closing an aching distance between them after years of quiet pining.

Benny pulls away first, his pleasure-hooded eyes roving the planes of Frankie’s face, a tiny, silvery thread of your slick pulled between their plush bottom lips, breaking apart when Frankie’s tongue darts out to taste for any remnants of Benny.

Suddenly, Benny’s eyes are wide with panic. 

“Shit, Fish, sorry, I should’ve asked if that was–”

Frankie quiets him with a gentle palm curling over the blond stubble on Benny’s sharp jaw.

“It’s more than okay, Benjamin.”

His thumb strokes Benny’s cheek, a moment of quiet reprieve as Benny shudders under the soft touches. You watch, enchanted by them, the silent love you’ve all had for each other leaching onto the soft bedding.

Frankie clears his throat, eyes flashing to you, a dusting of pink in his cheeks, and you beam at him.

“Benny’s a better kisser than he lets on,” you remark, holding back a laugh with your lips between your teeth.

“Shuddup,” Benny scolds, pinching your thigh, melting playfulness into the moment. Frankie laughs, dipping his head to kiss your hipbone, allowing his mouth to linger for a beat, before nudging his shoulder into Benny’s.

“Alright, now it’s your turn, Smartmouth. Make my wife come.” 

As it turns out, Benny will follow orders sometimes. What he lacks in precision, he makes up for in enthusiasm, listening carefully to every noise he pulls from you, using them as a guide on how best to please you. He’s a fast learner, your best friend, and what’s more, he’s eager, his tongue sliding through your folds with quiet desperation.

He follows each instruction you give—a little slower, to the left, right fucking there, Benjamin—and takes gentle praise from Frankie, urging him on with sweet words. Frankie’s hand brushes the sweat-damp hair off Benny’s forehead, carding his fingers through the silky blond locks, finer than his own.

You’re close, squirming under Benny’s hot mouth, an orgasm buzzing between your hip bones, ready and willing to be sought. Frankie knows exactly what to say to bring it to fruition. 

“Look at you, baby, being so good for us, sharing your body with us, inviting Benny into our bed. And he’s being so good to you, eating you out like a man starved. Look how much he wants to make you come,” Frankie rasps the filth into your ear loud enough for Benny to hear it, his whimper indicating how affected he is by Frankie’s words. Frankie chuckles, deep and dark, kissing your cheek tenderly.

“Come in his mouth, baby. I know you want to. He’s earned it, been so good for us already. Look how fuckin’ hot he looks with his head between your legs like that.”

You cry out, your orgasm unfurling onto Benny’s tongue, gentler than your previous one but no less welcome as it flows through your body in heated waves of pleasure, soft and sweet, just like Benny’s lips had been on yours.

With a gasp, Benny comes up for air, a proud grin etched onto his face, and you try to ignore how you ache to frame it. 

“Fish, I think it’s time you fucked your wife,” Benny says through that glinting grin, his eyes shimmering with wild excitement. Frankie barks a laugh and nods, moving to kiss you softly, a tender I love you whispered across your lips before he switches places with Benny.

Frankie settles between your thighs, hands moving to the elastic on his boxer briefs, fingers edging under them with little ceremony.

“Wait until you see his cock, Ben,” you breathe, your arm cheating under Benny where he’s propped up next to you, splaying your hand over the middle of his warm back, tacky with a light sheen of sweat. “It’s gorgeous.”

Frankie huffs, rolling his eyes with fondness, stripping away his boxer briefs with practiced grace, somehow making taking his underwear off look elegant. His cock springs free, hard and heavy between his legs, precum glistening at the tip. 

You feel Benny’s breath catch in his chest.

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding. That’s the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen.”

“Told you.”

“Frank, I knew you were packing heat but… holy shit, dude.”

“Isn’t it so pretty, though?” you marvel, drawing circles against Benny’s back with your fingertips. A ruddy flush washes up Frankie’s torso from his navel to his neck, a smile curving one corner of his lips, his hand loosely pumping his length, spreading precum down his shaft. 

“Yeah… yeah, it’s fucking spectacular,” Benny admires, his eyes glued to the motion of Frankie’s hand. His brows shift into impressed curiosity, turning to look at you. “You can take all of him?”

You nod, offering Benny a sly grin. “Years of practice.”

“You’d be shocked by all the places she can take me,” Frankie rumbles, chest puffing with a tiny bit of pride, his cock jumping with thousands of memories of how he’s had you.

“Fuck, you guys are so hot.” Benny’s cock twitches against your hip, precum smearing warm and sticky over your heated skin. You press your palm into his back, drawing him in for another kiss. It’s sweeter this time, tender, something you want to lock away in a memory and cherish forever. 

“Could say the same about you, handsome.”

Benny’s smile reaches his eyes, boyish charm shining through. 

“Baby, please, can I fuck you now?” You hear Frankie’s voice strain against the request, his evergreen patience wearing paper thin with anticipation and held-back desire.

“God, yes.”

Benny curses under his breath again, angling his head as Frankie flexes his hips, mesmerized attention on how Frankie guides the fat head of his cock through your folds, ripping a gasp from your lips. He performs the motion twice more, gathering up your slick, using his hand to coat his cock with it, the smooth slide squelching through the room.

“Ready?” Frankie whispers, using his hands to spread your knees wide. You nod enthusiastically, suspense hammering beneath your sternum, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth.

Frankie presses forward, notching his tip at your entrance; you squeeze around nothing, anticipating the stretch, how you’ll feel it into your hips and thighs, a pleasurable tingle that buzzes into your ears. Frankie pauses, his eyes flitting to your face, and you offer a playful pout, letting a whine fill the room.

“Quit teasin’ her, Fish,” Benny scolds, his hand spreading wide across your soft belly, his lips dotting your hairline with sweet kisses.

Following Benny’s reprimand, Frankie pushes forward, your slick easing the glide of his cock inside your pussy. You groan, your eyes screwed shut, savoring the sensation of him stretching and filling you as he buries himself to the hilt with the exact syrupy slow sink he knows you love.

When Frankie’s hips are nestled within the cradle of your own, Benny breathes out in wonder.

“Oh shit, you took him just like that. Fuck, babe, what’s it feel like? Tell me,” Benny rambles, and you can’t help but laugh, turning your head to bury your face into his neck.

“So good,” you mumble, kissing Benny’s feverish skin. “So full. His cock always fills me to the brim.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet it does. Shit, I bet he feels amazing; I wish I could feel it–” Benny stops short of a full-scale confession, cut off by Frankie’s loud groan.

“Stop,” Frankie grates, “I’ll fuckin’ blow my load right now if you two keep talking about that.” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, attempting to keep his composure. You tuck the image away for later, the idea blooming a little too much hope in your chest.

Frankie tests a few thrusts, a pant spilling from your mouth and landing onto Benny’s chest, your body going pliant between both men.

“Fuck me, Francisco,” you whine, squeezing around his length and drawing a Spanish curse from his lips.

“Okay, okay,” Frankie grunts, widening his knees, bringing both of his hands to your hips, gripping firmly.

Your head snaps back into the pillow with the first full stroke of Frankie’s cock through your center, a choked mewl painting the room. Benny curses, his hand going to his cock—you can feel the movement at your hip, Benny’s knuckles brushing against Frankie’s as he works himself, watching Frankie’s cock plunge in and out of your soaked pussy.

Wet noises fill the room, and your fingertips itch to touch Benny, your hand sliding between your bodies to wrap around his cock, his moan rumbling low in your ear, sending pleasure prickling over your chest.

“Shit, yeah, baby, jerk his cock. Let Benny fuck your fist,” Frankie pants, working his hips into yours, his thrusts deep and measured, the fat head of his cock brushing that spot inside you that’ll have you seeing stars in no time. Frankie grazes the spot again, pleasure curling tightly in your center, already worked up from two orgasms. You lose your grip on Benny’s cock for a moment, his own fist wrapping around yours, showing you just the way he likes to be touched; the thrill of learning his body this way is still so novel you chase it with glee.

“Fuck, god, you’re so beautiful,” Benny breathes, his hips jutting into your fist. “Both of you. I can’t believe my luck—shit,” he breaks off with the cuss, squeezing your hand tighter around his cock.

Frankie continues to fuck into you, his precise strokes determined to make you come, each thrust dragging a moan from deep in your chest. Pleasure skates over your skin, sparking like electricity, drawing your belly in tight. You clench around Frankie, causing him to groan, tipping his head back to the ceiling, his strong neck on display. 

“Feels so good when you squeeze me like that,” he rumbles, his thrusts measured, honing in on the exact angle required to make you fall apart. Your legs shake, a tremor quivering in your lower belly, coiled and tight, ready to explode; it’s so close, you taste it on your tongue, sweet and sharp, and then Frankie’s thumb finds your clit, dragging you over the edge.

The coil in your belly unfurls, pleasure exploding from within, sparking lightning behind your eyelids. You cry out for them both, Benny still furiously fucking into your fist, murmuring a mix of filth and praise you can hardly make out past the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. 

On your first deep inhale, orgasm beginning to abate, you hear Frankie curse, forcing your eyes open. You know that tone; he’s close. 

“Where? Where baby, tell me. Tell us.” Frankie’s voice is raw with lust, desperation clinging to the edges, doing everything he can to maintain his final thread of composure.

“On me, coat my pussy, both of you,” you whine, hearing them both swear breathlessly. 

“Jeeeeesuuus,” Benny groans, scrambling to his knees to straddle your thigh, working his cock furiously. Frankie pulls from your center, leaving you achingly empty, but it’s worth the sight before you, both men jerking their slicked cocks in tandem, chasing their releases.

Benny comes first, splashing hot over your mound, each rope matching the soft grunts that escape his lips. One lands across Frankie’s cock, drawing a gasp from him; Benny looks as if he’s about to apologize, but he’s stunned into silence as Frankie’s hand speeds up, Benny’s come providing a slick slide. With a shout, Frankie paints your pussy with his come, landing searing hot over your puffy sex, mixing with Benny’s, like you’re a depraved painting they created together.

You’ll remember this moment for the rest of your fucking life. 

With a chest-deep groan, Frankie squeezes the last drop of come from his tip, letting it drop onto your stomach, seemingly in slow motion.

There’s another moment, like earlier, where you’re all holding your breath, waiting for someone to move, and then it’s broken when Frankie brings his come-soaked fingers to his lips, tasting how he and Benny mingle.

“Fucking hell, Fish, you’re goddamn perverse, dude,” Benny says with wonder, watching Frankie’s every move.

“He’s so filthy; I love it so much,” you confess, fingertips reaching between your legs to slide through Frankie’s happy trail. Frankie merely shrugs, unbothered, worry seeping from his frame the way it always does after sex.

“That was… incredible,” Benny remarks, sounding awestruck. You grin, feeling your cheeks puff up under your eyes, nodding to agree with him.

“Yeah, it was.” You shift, wincing slightly when you feel a drop of come start to slide toward the sheets, your body stiffening up to prevent further mess. Frankie snaps from his reverie, eyes sharp once more.

“You okay?”

You nod, gesturing to yourself.

“Yeah, just a bit of a mess here,” you explain. 

Benny jumps into action.

“I’ve got it,” he calls over his shoulder, halfway to the ensuite, no doubt in search of a few warm washcloths. Frankie smiles warmly at you, the one he gives you when his heart is content, full, and you know without a doubt tonight wasn’t just a good choice; it was the right one. 

Benny returns with two warm washcloths in tow, tossing one to Frankie while using the other to clean himself up. Frankie swipes the warm towel over your skin, taking time to mind every dip and curve of your belly, hips, and thighs. Only after he’s wiped you clean does he take the time to wipe off his hand.

It’s then that you catch sight of Benny in the middle of the room, bent at the waist, collecting up his pants and boxers.

Oh, hell no. You’re not about to let this man leave, thinking this was the only thing you wanted when you know you all want more. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” you accuse, eyes narrowing at Benny, who looks like a deer caught in headlights, his boxers and jeans hanging from his fingertips. 

“Uhh, home?” he tries, his voice squeaks with the question, but his hopeful eyes betray him. 

“Like hell you are,” Frankie asserts, patting the empty space on the bed next to you. It takes Benny’s brain a moment to realize the invitation you’re offering him, but he cottons on after a few beats. Carefully, Benny crawls into the bed beside you, settling in with slight trepidation, as if he cannot believe you’ve invited him to stay. You twist onto your side to face him, feeling Frankie turn to press his front to your back, peppering kisses over your shoulder. You splay your hand over Benny’s heart, feeling it thump beneath your palm, quickened but strong and steady, just like his friendship has always been. 

“You really think we’d kick you out?”

Benny’s eyes bore into yours, disbelief apparent, like he could not possibly have imagined the night would lead him here. 

You suppose you and your husband were in the same boat only a few hours ago, anxiously dreaming that this would be the best-case scenario but preparing for things to go sour. You’re glad it turned out to be the former and not the latter.

Benny shrugs, an honest response, the waters of whatever’s happening between the three of you a little murky even though they feel undaunting.

“It’s not like you’ve never slept in our bed before,” Frankie reasons, and you can hear the smile in his tone. Benny huffs a hearty laugh, his head pressing back into the pillows, sandy hair spilling across sage green cotton, his body melting into the mattress. 

There he is.

“Yeah, at least I’m invited this time, right?” Benny jokes, drawing a round of giggles from all of you.

You’re always invited, you think, biting back the wish to speak the words into existence. You’d hate to sink this ship before it’s even set sail.

“You’re always invited, Ben,” Frankie slurs, pulling the words right from your brain, the draw of sleep softening the edges of his voice. You hear his breath deepen, feel it puff warm across your shoulders, succumbing to the weight of exhaustion once he’s ensured his two favorite people won’t leave his bed tonight. 

Benny’s smile melts your heart, ocean blue eyes meeting yours, splashing affection in their wake. In their depths, there are a million and one unasked questions swirling around; he knows you see them, one eyebrow hooking up toward his sweat-matted hairline. You pat his chest, blooming adoration under your fingertips.

“We’ll talk in the morning. Frankie makes some killer blueberry pancakes,” you whisper the promise, presenting it to Benny like an oath. He nods, swallowing, and you swear you see water collecting on his lashline for a moment.

“Thank you,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You’re not sure what he’s thanking you for—the years of friendship, the sex, the potential for more—but you don’t question it, allowing his gratitude to settle around you like a security blanket. 

“You’re welcome,” you murmur, pillowing your head on his chest, counting his slowed heartbeats. As his breaths even out, you feel yourself sinking into sleep, surrounded by their warmth, your two favorite people on the entire planet. Your chest blooms, warm and tender and hopeful, one final thought crossing your mind before you slip into rest:

You’re always welcome.

*

Steve fists your hair and shoves his rock hard dick as far as it can go into your mouth, hissing your name as you securely wrap your lips and tongue around his weight. Your indecent moans are muffled, bouncing all sorts of ways between their swole bodies. Steve vigorously fucks your slobbering mouth while Bucky sits back and jerks you up and down his thundering cock. They can’t believe how incredible you look handling them both like it’s light work. One hand massages your breast while the other massages Steve’s balls covered in your spit. Nerves completely numb, a sweaty drooling wet mess you’re out of your mind happy…your wildest fantasies are coming true.

“Oooh fuuuck!” whines Steve rubbing a hand over his hot rock hard body, rolling his hips into your open mouth, drooling tongue hanging over chin. “God this was worth the wait baby fuck.” His grip tightens at your scalp, forcing him down your contracting throat. Happily sighing to himself as he drops his head back. “Oh that’s beautiful…” Steve drops his chin to watch you, chuckling at the sound of your aggressive gags, “fuckin music to my ears.”

You gargle a groan around his head stroking your esophagus from Bucky tearing a mean slap from your jiggling ass. Steve rubs a firm hand over the trails of saliva running over your collarbone, soothing his sticky clammy palm over your shuddering chest. Hot tears fall from your lashes as you dart between their simmering blue gazes, their unlatched bearded jaws.

“Such a fuckin cunt tease bud,” mentions Bucky with a struggled breath, his ice cold metal fingertips pinch at your other nipple. “Torturing this poor girl for so long. Now look at her.”

Chuckling at his friend, Steve roughly tears you away to give you a breath, slotting his slippery veiny skin between your swollen lips. “Didn’t think she’d turn into such a stupid slut.” He grumbles taking ahold of his member, slapping his girth at your numb tastebuds with a drunk smile. “Needed me so bad you were just opening your legs for anyone huh…”

You whimper out, “Yes Steve,” as you pathetically stare into his crystal blue eyes, twisting your tongue around the crown of his dick.

Bucky huffs a needy groan as Steve smiles down at you, holding you still by the roots. “Left you unsatisfied huh…” He smirks watching his leaky dickhead leave a trail a precum along the edge of your pouty lips.

Licking after the mess he leaves behind, you stifle back a quivering moan as Bucky fucks harder into you. “Mmmyesss…made me need-needier…”

Softly humming he drops his elated gaze over your curved body riddled with sweat, over Bucky clutching your curves, covered in your wetness. Having the time of y’all’s lives.

“But Bucky’s doing it for you…isn’t he…”

An understatement… “Ugh god yes Bucky fuck…” you mutter under your chaste breaths, clutching your writhing torso because fuck…you feel…, “…fuck don’t stop…”

“So…you don’t want me?” Reaching down for your clit Steve yanks you by the hair. “Don’t need me inside that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Steve swirls two fingers around your swollen clit and you spazz out, slapping a hand down on Bucky’s big chest with a choking gasp, but he snatches you up by the wrist and restrains you with his mechanical hand behind your arched back. You’ve lost all control of yourself. Nerves buzzing head to toe, damn near flooding Bucky slapping you off his beefy thighs, you meekly cry,

“I do I do I swear I do fuck me please…please Steve…”

Hearing you beg for him instead of being the coy mute you are around the house has him dripping.

“Can’t hear you…” He mutters, smirks, around his fingertips resting between his hot pink lips.

You try to catch your breath between the mind numbing waves crashing over your head to groan out, “I want you Steve.” But it’s not good enough. You’re too close to combusting you can’t even think straight. Steve returns his slobbery wet fingertips to your trembling clit which sends you jerking.

“Scream how bad you want me as you cum on Buck.”

Bucky takes his other strong hand and rings your neck, slamming you so full your legs spasm around his flexed thighs. Your eyes cross, lungs stop functioning but your pussy actively clenches around Bucky twitching, sputtering obscenities, fighting back his building load.

“Fuuuuck want you soooo baaaaad!”

Shrilling with rough grunts of breath you uncontrollably shake under Bucky’s hold, stunned by how wet you feel between your cramped thighs. It’s like you can’t stop gushing or shuddering behind the two of them holding onto you. Steve can’t wait another second watching you cum like this on Bucky when you should be acting an ass on him. In this moment he got a little jealous and decided to deny him the satisfaction of busting inside your pussy before him.

While your walls wildly flutter, Steve pulls you off Bucky and pushes you down face first into his lap. Taking you by the back of your head he glares up at Steve biting back a devious grin. Bucky nods up at him like fine, and wraps his hand around his cock to steady for your puckered lips. He rolls his eyes closed to ignore Steve’s daring glint, to lose himself in the way you make out with his inflamed tip. Eager to see how far he can reach into the back of your throat. Your wetness so good on your slithering tongue. Your cum still slips down your swollen slit as Steve kneels behind your ass readily positioned for him. Squealing softly to yourself you drool all over Bucky as Steve enters you from behind with a pleasured moan. Even after a beating by his buddy you’re so tight, so warm, everything’s he’s ever dreamt of. Jerking off almost every single night to the thought of you screaming his name. He couldn’t give that energy to your mom, nah he’d rather wait till he could have you for real. And Steve was willing to wait it out because the wait made him so starved. Callin on Bucky to give him a hand when he had had enough of you throwing his pussy around. What are best friends for.

“Awww shit baby girl…” Steve drops his head back with a breathless whisper as he fills you up, digging his fat fingertips into your enflamed muscle. “It’s too fuckin good.”

You feel him so deep, so heavy in the pit of your stomach you go limp. Completely stupid. Finally…you huff a broken whimper over Bucky fat and thundering between your worn out jaw. Steve takes one smooth stroke and your eyelids slam shut with a high pitch shout. A slow sizzle of a tingle falls down your spine.

“Oh fuck Steve.”

You couldn’t hold it anymore, freeing your mewling lips of Bucky so you could let Steve know how appreciative you are. Give in. Rest your head on Bucky’s shaky hairy legs as you fist your cum laced drool up and down his raging stiff shaft. A little broken mess on his lap you two meet eyes and whine together. Steve dips your lower back with his big hands, licking his monstrous snarl as he rocks his hips.

“Fuck this pussy daddy.” You faintly sob at Buck’s red snug skin and it sends them both into hysterics. “Take me Steve I’m yours.”

Steve could cry. Hearing those words triggered a man he’d been suppressing for too long. Take you? Hell, he’s going to fuckin run you by the time he’s through with you. Hell maybe he’ll even toss his bud a bone when he’s around since you both seemed to be so attached already. Besides he’ll need someone to take care of you with he’s too preoccupied playing husband.

“Mmm I already know baby. But tonight I had to make it official.” He slaps your ass with a proud smile, almost laughing at the image of his redden print beside his best friends. “Happy?”

“So happy daddy.” Never breaking Bucky’s sight you go back to muzzle your noisy mouth with his hefty member.

“Bucky?” Steve smiles with a grunt, raising an inquisitive brow over at his friend sinking into the cushions. “How about you?”

If only he could speak under your suctioned lips swiftly gliding up and down his rigid length. Like you’re trying to inhale his load into your lungs or something. The graphic friction of him fuckin your gagging throat. All he can do is anxiously nod, focus on the voluminous climax that’s about to take over his strained muscles. As you go to work on Buck, Steve goes to work on you. Laying into you, teases your clit to see you tremble in pleasure. So gushy wet all he can do is merrily smile at how amazing you sound around him penetrating your little cunt. Obsessed with your little shouts and moans when he hits your spot just right.

“Fffffuuuuck I’M—I’M—uuuuggggghhhh…”

You don’t let a drop of his bittersweet cum leave your exhausted mouth as he unleashes, hanging onto the back of your head with fixed fists shooting everything he’s got into you. Gasping for air with thunderous groans, still pushing his dick down your throat. And you loved taking him so much you’re creaming Steve who viciously pumps through the whole epic moment. Once he feels empty, Bucky pulls your head up to see you swallow all of him with a grateful grin.

“Let me see.” He asks of you with a tinder touch across your damp cheek, inspecting your tongue for any trace of his seed. “Such a good fuckin girl.”

Bucky takes you by the jaw and sinks his tongue over yours with a hungry moan. Needs a taste of the three of you off your precious mouth. Between your humming lips, he recovers from his world being rocked, kissing and nipping at you whimpering from Steve’s brutal humps. Whispering sweet nothings while your daddy growls nasty shit at your clammy back.

“So perfect hun…love your beautiful mouth…”

“Fuckin coat my dick in your cum baby…”

“Like making me feel good?”

“Pussy loves daddy’s dick so much baby. Love this precious little pussy back.”

“Aww fuck! Fuck!” A surprised gasp breaks up all your wailing; Steve suddenly rips you away from Bucky’s sweet curvy lips by your feeble arms, pinning you to his sweaty hairy chest, popping his hips. Whole body squirming in his strong arms all you can do is fight for air and watch Bucky’s sultry cloudy stare fall between your weak knees. “Bucky nooo oh my god!”

You feel as if you jumped up in Steve’s restraint, away from Bucky’s wiggling tongue but you can’t get away from his tiny licks around your fat clit, his puckered lips tugging at your bundle of nerves as his partner in crime picks up his pace.

“Fuck don’t stop Bucky.” Steve sighs when he feels his sneaky tongue on his dripping wet dick. Between your velvety channel closing in all around him throbbing and Bucky’s curious licks, he’s going to lose it. So are you the more he sloppily sucks your sweetness up as he takes of taste Steve. Who’s buckling inch by inch around you losing your shit, weakly begging for Bucky, “dont fuckin stop Bucky,” against the shell of your ear. Hunched over and stuttering. Holding on to you hanging on to him for dear life…until…one…of you…snaps…

Or the both of you. Which works for Bucky, triumphant as you both shoot your loads together over his curly lips.

“OH MY FUCKIN GOD!”

Steve’s giant hand takes you by the neck so you two can powerfully cum and moan into each other, exchanging the same tired breathing pattern as he passionately kisses you until neither of you can take it anymore. The moment he lets you go, you collapse on top of Bucky still at home between you and Steve’s legs. He’d never been face to face to someone reaching orgasm like that it was probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Now he’s got an eagle eye shot of your swollen slit still pouring Steve’s cum out on his heaving chest. And it’s the second hottest thing he’d ever seen. Licking his grinning lips he glances up at Steve soothing his damp hair back out of his face, tuckered out but smiling down at Bucky.

“Fuck.” Steve chuckles with a winded breath, reaching an unsteady hand down to his bearded chin. “That was…”

But he doesn’t know how to describe what the fuck just happened, shaking his head with a playful shrug as he thumbs some of his cum off Bucky soothing a hand over your slumped spine. Steve sucks him off his thumb with a wink. Bucky just huffs a snicker up at his friend. He’s happy he finally got what he wanted, and that he got to have a hand in destroying you. But this is only the beginning…you’d become an object of their desire and they were going to use you any chance they can get.

“Insane.” Bucky huffs another little chuckle, answering what Steve couldn’t. Because there was no other word to describe this night.