Khamzat doesn’t put you down when he reaches your front door.

If anything, his grip tightens, one arm securely under your thighs, the other pressed at your back.

“Keys,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, lips brushing your temple. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking slightly from anticipation, or maybe from him, laughing breathlessly as you finally unlock the door.

Khamzat’s dark eyes watch every motion, amused, and impossibly patient as he carries you like you weigh nothing.

The second the door opens, the race begins. You tug him forward with one hand while your free fingers brush his jaw, pulling him into a rough, heated kiss.

His hands slide from your hips to your thighs, gripping and lifting slightly as you press against him. Every step toward your bedroom is punctuated by stolen kisses, whispered murmurs, and teasing touches that make your pulse spike.

“I’m not slowing down,” you murmur against his lips, voice half-laughing, half-husky.

“Good,” he growls softly “Neither am I.”

Finally, the door to your bedroom swings open and you stumble inside together, Khamzat letting you drop just long enough to shut it behind you. Then he’s right there again, lips brushing yours, hands roaming over every inch of you.

He doesn't give you a second to breathe. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends shivers straight to your core.

"He's waiting, isn't he?" Khamzat murmurs, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hoist it high over his hip, exposing you completely.

"Baisangur. Wondering if you made it home safe."

“Text him,” Khamzat murmurs against your neck, thumbs dragging along your hip. “Let Baisangur know you’re home.”

You gasp, your head lolling back as he nips at the sensitive skin of your neck. You manage to fumble your phone out of your pocket, your fingers shaking. You send a quick, breathless text to Baisangur:

Home.

A moment later, the reply buzzes almost instantly:

About time. Put me on FaceTime.

Your breath hitches.

Khamzat’s thumb slides over your jaw, tilting your face up to his. “Answer it” he murmurs, phone buzzing in your palms.

The screen lights up with Baisangur’s grinning face. “Well,” he says casually, lounging back on the couch you’d been at earlier, “you look a lot less innocent than when you left.”

Your stomach coils tight at the words. The understanding between you is electric - no rivalry, no jealousy, just the knowledge that you want both of them, and they know it, and that honesty is intoxicating.

Khamzat lets out a low, guttural chuckle that vibrates through you.

“Tell him,” he murmurs.

The screen glows with Baisangur’s face, that slow, wolfish grin, the way he’s sprawled on his couch like he’s watching the best movie of his life.

“Tell me what?” Baisangur’s voice crackles through the speaker. Deep. Teasing. He already knows.

Khamzat’s teeth graze your collarbone. His beard rasps skin that’s already flushed hot.

“Tell him where my fingers are.” He rasps as he suddenly drives two fingers deep into your soaking pussy, stretching you wide as his thumb settles on your clit, not moving yet, just resting there like a promise he hasn’t decided to keep.

Your breath hitches. The phone trembles in your grip.

“They’re- ah-”

You let out a sharp, loud moan, your back arching against your bedroom door. The sound echoes through the phone, raw and needy.

On the screen, Baisangur smirks. His gaze drops, imagining the friction and the wetness. He doesn't ask, he knows what’s going on. His hand slides down below the frame of the phone, and you hear the rhythmic, wet sound of him gripping his own cock, stroking himself in time with Khamzat’s fingers.

“Look at the screen” Baisangur says. Not a suggestion.

You tilt the phone. Your own face must look wrecked already, lips parted, pupils blown, the flush creeping down your neck. Behind you, the door shudders faintly with each small shift.

"Look at her," Khamzat teases, his voice a growl. He doesn't stop the fingering; instead, he shifts his position, sliding down your body until he is kneeling between your legs. "She’s been a mess since she left the apartment."

Khamzat lifts your skirt, tugging your panties to the side as he buries his face in you, his tongue lashing out to eat your pussy with a ferocity that makes you scream. He sucks your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his fingers continue to pump deep inside you. You are being devoured, and the knowledge that Baisangur is watching every wet, sloppy second of it sends a surge of electricity through your veins.

“There she is,” Baisangur murmurs, amused. “That’s the face she was making earlier.”

“Baisangur - ” you start, but the protest dissolves when Khamzat’s mouth finds your sweet spot once again.

“Keep talking,” Khamzat says quietly against you, like he enjoys how impossible he’s making that.

Your phone wobbles dangerously in your hand. You're caught between the raw, physical sensation of Khamzat’s tongue and the intense, longing gaze of Baisangur.

“She’s needy tonight,” Baisangur comments casually.

Khamzat looks up, his chin glistening with your juices, a triumphant look in his eyes.

Khamzat smirks faintly. “I noticed.”

Your hips buck without permission. Khamzat’s hands clamp down on your thighs, pinning you to the door like you weigh nothing. Like you’re something to be held still and devoured at his leisure.

“Keep the phone steady.” Baisangur’s voice is tighter now. You can hear the rustle of fabric. The subtle change in his breathing.

Khamzat’s tongue circles your clit. Focused and relentless. He licks into you like he’s trying to learn the shape of your pleasure, cataloguing every gasp, every jerk of your hips against his grip.

Your thighs are trembling.

The phone slips an inch. You catch it. Baisangur’s eyes are half-lidded, his jaw slack.

Khamzat reaches up and grips your throat lightly, not to hurt, but to claim, forcing a choked, desperate sound from your throat that drives Baisangur over the edge.

You can see Baisangur’s body jerk on the screen, his head tossing back as he cums hard into his hand, his eyes locked on your face. He’s completely wrecked, spent from the sheer intensity of watching you be worshipped.

But he's not the only one peaking. The combination of the physical invasion and the voyeuristic thrill pushes you over the cliff. You feel the orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to drown you.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" you shriek, your grip on the phone tightening.

"I can't... I can't do this over a phone!" you sob, “please, i need you inside me”. With one final, longing look at Baisangur, you swipe the screen, ending the call.

Khamzat lets out a dark, possessive chuckle. He reaches up, grabbing your thighs and hoisting them wide, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist as he stands. The sudden movement makes you gasp, the phone dropping from your grip as you let out a sharp moan.

He drops you onto the mattress. The sheets are cool against your overheated skin, a shock of contrast that makes you gasp.

Before you can recover, he’s on you again, caging you with his body, one knee nudging your thighs apart, his mouth finding the hinge of your jaw.

“Now,” he says, and his accent thickens the word, roughs it up, “no more sharing.”

“You like sharing.”

“I like this more.”

He rears back. Grips the hem of your shirt and strips it over your head. Your bra follows, his fingers working the clasp with practiced efficiency. Then he’s pulling back, kneeling between your spread legs, looking at you.

Just looking.

The scrutiny burns. His gaze drags from your throat to your breasts to the mess he made between your thighs, and his expression is utterly unreadable.

Not hunger. Not desire. Something sharper.

Something proprietary.

“Turn over.”

The command lands low in your belly.

You roll onto your stomach. The sheets bunch under your cheek. Behind you, the sound of his shorts and underwear disappearing. The weight of his palm settling on the small of your back, pressing you into the mattress.

“You think you know what you want.” Not a question.

“I know.”

His hand slides lower. Cups your ass. Squeezes once - possessive, appraising, and then retreats.

“We’ll see.”

The head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

Not pushing in. Just resting there, a blunt pressure that makes your inner muscles clench on nothing.

You try to arch back, to take him deeper, but his hand on your spine holds you still.

“So eager.” He almost sounds disappointed. “Did Baisangur make you greedy?”

“Khamzat.”

“Say my name again.”

“Khamzat please.”

He pushes in. One inch. Two. The stretch is exquisite, too much and not enough, the burn of being filled by someone who knows exactly how to make it ache. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

He stays there, half-sheathed, unmoving. Your thighs are shaking and your breath comes in short, ragged pants that fog the pillowcase. The room is silent except for the wet sound of your body trying to pull him deeper and the distant hum of the city outside the window.

“You’re so tight like this,” he says, conversational, like he’s remarking on the weather. “So perfect. I could stay here all night.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

A sharp exhale - half laugh, half something darker.

And then he moves.

Not gentle. Not slow. He drives into you in one brutal stroke that buries him to the hilt and knocks the air from your lungs. Your cry is muffled by the pillow. His hand fists in your hair, turning your head to the side so he can hear you, so he can drink down every sound you make as he sets a rhythm that borders on punishing.

The bed frame slams against the wall. Your body slides up the mattress with each thrust, and he drags you back by the hips, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks you’ll press on tomorrow like a secret.

“This is what you wanted.” His voice is strained. “Not his fingers. Not his words. This. ”

You can’t answer. You can barely breathe. The pleasure is a white-hot thing, building in increments, and when his hand snakes between your body and the mattress to find your clit, you sob.

“Cum.” He bites the word against your shoulder.

“Cum on my cock. Now.”

Your body obeys before your mind catches up. The orgasm rips through you, and this time you scream, uninhibited, keening, the sound bouncing off the walls as he fucks you through it, his rhythm finally fracturing into something desperate.

He pulls out at the last second. Heat stripes across your lower back in pulses. His groan is guttural, almost pained, and then his forehead drops to your spine and his breath gusts across your skin in uneven bursts.

Neither of you moves.

The silence stretches. Thickens.

Then Khamzat’s weight lifts, and his footsteps pad toward the bathroom. You hear water running and when he returns, a warm cloth swipes gently across your back, his touch utterly at odds with the man who just had you face-down and keening.

He tosses the cloth aside.

The room is quiet except for your uneven breathing and the low hum of the city outside your window.

Khamzat lies beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes for a moment before it drops immediately in search of you again, instinctive, like he can’t help it.

Your skirt is still pushed up around your thighs, panties twisted slightly from where he’d left them in place, and the sight makes a faint smirk tug at his lips as he turns onto his side.

“You kept these on the whole time?” he murmurs, voice roughened by exhaustion and satisfaction alike.

You let out a soft laugh, too tired to sound defensive. “You seemed busy.”

His hand slides lazily over your thigh, fingertips brushing the edge of your skirt back down just slightly before tugging you closer across the sheets.

“Come here,” he mutters, like you were ever planning on moving away

You go willingly, melting into the warmth of his chest.

The muscles in his arm flex around your waist as he settles you against him properly. Your cheek presses against his bare chest, heartbeat slow and steady beneath your ear now. Completely different from earlier.

One of his hands drifts up your spine, slow and absentminded, scratching lightly through your hair.

“You okay?” he asks quietly after a moment.

The softness of it catches you off guard more than anything else tonight.

You tilt your head just enough to look up at him. “More than okay.”

A small smile appears at the corner of his mouth, subtle, real.

“Good.”

Silence settles comfortably between you.

Not awkward. Never awkward.

His thumb traces idle patterns against your hip beneath the fabric of your skirt while your legs remain tangled with his under the blankets. The air still smells like him, like heat and skin and the aftermath of too much tension finally snapping.

Eventually, you push yourself upright with a quiet groan, smoothing your skirt down your thighs.

Khamzat immediately looks up. “Where are you going?”

“To change,” you murmur, voice still sleepy.

His eyes drag slowly over you as you climb out of bed, legs slightly shaky as you move toward your dresser. He props himself up on one elbow, shamelessly watching.

“You say that like I’m supposed to stop looking.”

You laugh softly under your breath, pulling open the drawer without really thinking. Your fingers curl around the first thing you find, a thin satin nighty, soft and short, the material barely there beneath the warm bedroom lighting.

You don’t think about it until you slip your skirt and panties off and pull it over your head.

The room goes quiet behind you.

Too quiet.

You turn slightly and immediately catch the look on Khamzat’s face.

Dark. Focused. Fully awake again.

The satin clings to your body in all the ‘wrong’ ways, the thin straps barely holding against your shoulders, the hem brushing high against your thighs when you move.

Khamzat leans back slowly against the headboard, eyes dragging over you without an ounce of shame.

“…You picked that on purpose zaychik?” he asks finally, voice lower now.

Your brows lift innocently. “Picked what?”

“That.”

Heat curls in your stomach at the way he says it.

You glance down at yourself like you’ve only just realised. “Oh.”

He laughs softly once, completely unconvinced.

“You’re dangerous after midnight,” he mutters.

You climb back onto the bed anyway, pretending not to notice the way his hand immediately settles high on your thigh beneath the satin.

“Thought you were tired,” you tease quietly.

“I was.”

His thumb slowly traces against your skin.

“Then you got changed.”

A smile tugs at your lips as you settle against him again, his arm wrapping around your waist automatically, pulling you flush to his chest like before.

Your phone buzzes somewhere on the floor.

Neither of you move at first.

Then Khamzat exhales a quiet laugh.

“Him,” he says.

Obviously.

You reach for the phone lazily, but Khamzat gets there first, grabbing it off the floor before glancing at the screen.

A smirk immediately spreads across his face.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

He angles the screen toward you.

Baisangur:

You left before I got my turn properly.

Your breath catches slightly at the message.

Khamzat’s arm tightens around your waist as he watches your reaction carefully, amused more than anything.

His fingers slide slowly along your waist beneath the satin, grounding you there against him.

“You know we’re fine with it, right?” he asks quietly after a moment.

You tilt your head up slightly. “With what?”

“With you wanting both of us.”

The honesty in his tone makes your stomach flip harder than any teasing had earlier.

There’s no edge to it. No pressure.

Just certainty.

Khamzat brushes his knuckles along your jaw before continuing, voice low and warm.

“Baisangur wants you.” His eyes stay locked on yours. “I want you.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And you stopped trying to hide that you want us too.”

You smile faintly against his skin. “I wasn’t doing a very good job then.”

“No,” he says with a quiet laugh. “You really weren’t.”

Your fingers drift lazily over his chest while silence settles again - softer this time, heavier with comfort than tension.

“You don’t have to choose,” Khamzat murmurs eventually, pressing a slow kiss to the top of your head. “Nobody’s asking you to.”

Something in your chest loosens at the words.

The simplicity of them.

The acceptance.

Your phone buzzes again, ignored this time completely as Khamzat pulls you even closer against him, the satin of your nighty cool beneath his warm hands.

For a while neither of you say anything.

You just lie there tangled together in your bed, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against your thigh while the city glows faintly beyond your windows.

The tension from earlier has melted into something quieter now.

Something warm.

Something dangerously comfortable.