blue-tongued skink

"What was the deal, Prior? Say it back to me."

"No, I remember the deal—"

"—Say it."

"But I—"

"—Say it, or I'm taking a hot shower, without you, and using up all the hot water."

Peter sighed, his shoulders falling in resignation. "Every time I come home late from work, because Liz was pushing me around, you get to... you know."

"No, I don't."

Peter pouted at you. It was late, he was tired from work, tired of his fathers bullshit, tired of running around doing errands for Liz. But, he could never be tired of you, even if you were a pain in the ass, no pun intended. He swallowed, working up the courage to say it.

"It's just us. Me and you. You can say it, I know you can."

Peter huffed. "P-peg. Peg me. When I'm late, you get to peg me."

"Aw, that's a good boy, Peter."

Peter blushed, your sarcasm and mock-praise going right to his cock, currently still hidden away in his dark brown work slacks. He swallowed, the audible little gulp piercing the silence between you two. "Be nice," He whispered, folding his arms over his chest.

"Be a good boy, and I'll think about it." You countered, setting your shiny new strap-on on the mattress.

He inhaled sharply. Peter's eyes flickered between your face and the toy, his cheeks burning up. He swallowed again. You knew how to push his buttons, and it just wasn't fair. "Okay," He said, slowly taking his jacket off. "Okay. I'll be good. I promise. I'll be good, baby." He had to be good. He needed to be good. There was nothing more he loved in the world than being good for you, and being told how good he was being.

You smiled, baring your teeth. Taking his jacket, then his shirt off had exposed that pretty neck of his, and you wanted nothing more than to sink your canines into it, and taste his skin under your tongue. "I know, baby. Get all the way undressed for me, okay? Then, get on your hands and knees."

Peter hesitated, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. His eyes were wide, like a dog begging for a treat.

"What is it, baby?" You asked, a note of concern edging into your voice. You'd set this up weeks before, with boundaries and a safe word, but still, you loved Peter, and you'd hate to actually hurt his feelings.

"I want to see you," He whispered. "I - I want to see your face. As you, um. You know." He said, vaguely gesturing to your crotch.

"As I fuck you?" You asked, a faint blush of your own spreading across your cheeks. Jesus fucking Christ, he could be so sweet. "As I slip my cock into your pretty little—"

"—yes!" Peter laughed. He rubbed his cheek, as if that would make his fluster vanish. Indeed, as he took his shirt off, you saw it only spread further down his chest, dusting his lovely tits in a handsome shade of pink. "That. All of that. Is that okay? Please?"

"Well," you said, pursing your lips in thought. "Since you asked so nicely... I suppose that'd be alright."

Peter Prior broke into a giddy grin, like a kid at the candy store. "Thank you, baby. Thank you."

He sat on the bed you two shared, leaning back to tug his pants off. You watched him, a warm fondness seeping into your heart. It couldn't be helped, really. Peter was a sweet idiot, a kind and surprisingly needy man. He was perfect, in his own way. As he sat up again, you caught his lips in an achingly tender kiss, and he melted right into it. His lips were warm and soft against yours, and you somehow found the taste of the burnt coffee lingering on his tongue endearing. You had to pull away from him, though. Kissing him was a dangerously addictive hobby, and you had a job to do. Peter whined as you separated, trying to chase your lips. Needy boy, you thought.

"Nuh uh. Get comfortable." You said as you grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand. He obeyed easily, settling on the pillows and biting his lip. You smiled as you pulled the strap-on on, knowing that you wouldn't have patience to do it later. "How about this, baby? Since it's your first time, you can come as many times as you want - but you cannot touch yourself."

Peter gasped. "I, um - okay. Yeah. I can do that. I think." He said, licking his lips. He ran a hand through his brown hair, mussing it up even more than it already was.

You beamed. "I know you can, baby." You purred as you crawled between his legs. "Can you lift your legs up for me, pretty boy?"

Peter obeyed again, lifting his legs up to his chest, and holding them there for you. "I love you." He whispered, his usually blue eyes black with desire as his pupils dilated. He hadn't been kidding when he said he wanted to see your face - it was an anchor for him, that familiarity, that love that your face held for him.

"I love you, too." You promised. You poured some lube onto your fingers, warming it up for Peter. Everything for Peter. You traced a finger around his tight, pink, puckered hole, and he shuddered.

"Oh, god." He whispered, leaning his head back. The sensation was so much more intense than he had even imagined, and it would be so easy to sink into the feeling, and get lost in it, but he wanted to look at you.

"Mm?" You asked, pretending not to listen. You met his eyes, winked, pursed your lips - then spat on his hole. He let out a choked moan of surprise, his eyes wide. His cock twitched against his stomach, already beyond hard. Your fingers spread the slick mixture of lube and saliva over his skin, teasing his rim around and around, over and over, until he started squirming underneath you.

"Baby, please—"

"Please, what?" You asked, pressing the pad of your finger against his hole. Not enough to push it in, but just enough to tease with some pressure, a promise of what was to come.

Peter whimpered, his cheeks so red that you thought steam might start pouring out of his ears. "Put it - put it in me, already-!" He gasped at his own words, hardly believing himself. He didn't dirty talk very often, in truth, it took quite a lot of desperation on his end for filth to start spilling from his mouth - all that to say, you knew this was going to be fun.

You grinned. "That's all you had to say, baby. Thank you." You purred. Of course, you obliged him. Slowly, you eased a fingertip in.

Peter had told you once - while you were both drunk on the couch, and his face was just as red as it was now - that he had fingered himself before, curious what all the fuss was about. Back then, he said he hadn't understood it. Of course, back then, he was a teenager in a bathroom, without any lube or prep.

Peter gasped, his tight hole clenching around your finger like a vice.

"Relax, baby." You murmured. You pressed kisses to his inner knees and thighs, and that seemed to soothe him. You pumped your finger in and out, slowly, gently coaxing his body to relax. You also added more lube as needed, wanting to make this as pleasurable as possible for him - for entirely selfish reasons on your end. His thighs trembled, and the deep breaths that made his chest flex and warp revealed a small puddle of glistening pre-cum, leaking from his reddened cock.

"I love you." He whispered again, his fingers digging into the soft, pale flesh of his thighs, eyes staring at you with an intensity that threatened to swallow you whole.

"I love you, too." You answered. You bit your lip, then pulled your finger out of him to grab a pillow. "Lift your hips - there you go. Is that better?"

Peter nodded. "Thank you." He whispered, chewing on his bottom lip.

Back to work, then. You resumed your former task of fucking him on your finger, until his soft little mewls, and the way his hole eagerly accepted your finger convinced you that he was ready for a second finger. "You're so tight." You whispered reverently, feeling the resistance around your digits.

"That's - that's what he said—" Peter managed to get out before a moan escaped his throat. "Fuck - fuck, right there—" He squirmed as your fingers brushed over his prostate.

"Hm, here?" You asked, feigning ignorance as your fingers began to bully that spot inside of him that made him convulse and shudder.

He nodded quickly, his lips parted in a silent moan. "Please - please, baby, fuck, it's so much—"

"Too much?" You asked.

Peter shook his head, brown hair falling into his eyes.

You smiled. Your free hand wrapped around Peter's cock, and just the mere warmth of your palm was enough to make him come, shooting his load all over his bare chest, and even up to his angled chin. "Oh, fuck, fuck-!" He cried out, writhing beneath you. His hands curled into the sheets below him as you fingered and stroked him through his climax, reveling in the tight heat of Peters body.

"Good boy, baby…" You whispered, dragging your fingers not occupied by his hole through the mess on his chest. With his jaw slack, and with him panting, you couldn't resist. You pushed your cum-slicked fingers into his mouth, and though his eyes went wide, he didn't complain. He cleaned your fingers off with his tongue, the wet noises from his mouth almost as lewd as the slick noises coming from his hole as you scissored your fingers inside of him. "I can't wait to fuck you." You murmured, looking him up and down, staring at the mess you had made him become. His flushed face, his disheveled hair, his cum-spattered skin and wild eyes.

Peter swallowed, his eyes wide and pleading. He even started to bob his head, which you'd definitely remember for a later date.

"That's right, baby. I'm going to fuck you like you fuck me." You promised, bending down to kiss a drop of cum off of his chin. You pulled your hand out of his mouth, and he groaned. "I hope you can handle all of your dirty talk turned against you, baby."

"Dirty talk?" He asked, his voice wrecked. "Oh - oh, fuck. That - that's not fair—"

You laughed, slowly easing your fingers out of his ass. He groaned, tilting his head towards the ceiling, and arching his back. "After all, what's a better way to make sure you're spending more time at home than to breed you, hm? I gotta make sure it takes…"

"Baby—" He giggled. Then, the head of your strap-on, your cock, nudged against his hole. He gasped. "Fuck, baby…"

"Just breathe, Pete." Slowly, you pressed into his tightness. Peters knuckles turned white around the sheets. You'd be surprised if he didn't tear little holes in the fabric by the end of this. His toes curled, and despite every instinct he had ever learned, he found himself hooking his legs around your waist to draw you closer.

Your hips were pressed flush together when Peter came again. It was a sudden, shocking thing, taking both of you by surprise. He nearly screamed, sobbing out your name as he soiled his chest - and yours - for a second time. You kissed him to guide him through it, while he clung to you for dear life, his fingers digging into your back. "I love you - I love you - I love you." He panted over and over, mouthing needily over your jaw. Your hands found their home in his disheveled brown locks, and you pet him, hoping to soothe.

"Breathe, baby… breathe, my love." You whispered. You pressed soft kisses to his fevered face, tasting his sweat and his fluster on his skin. Peter moaned softly, nuzzling into your cheek. You smiled and leaned up, enough to get a hand on his jaw, and pry his mouth open. "I love you." You spat in his mouth. His legs tightened around your hips as he swallowed.

"I love you, too." He murmured, eyes half-lidded.

"Do you want me to keep going?" You asked, gently scratching a fingernail over his cheek.

Peter nodded quickly, turning his head to kiss your fingertips. "Please… Jesus, please fuck me." He begged.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, pretty boy…" You chuckled. You sat up, and began to slowly rock your hips against his. You wanted to take him, to mount him and fuck him, but - you had both agreed to take it somewhat slow for the first time. Deep down, you both knew there would be a second. The sounds Peter made were sinfully sweet, his chest rising and falling with each high-pitched moan and whimper you coaxed out of him. "Peter Prior, you are so pretty like this," You murmured, holding onto that damn waist of his, that waist that you loved to grab, tease, and bite. "You're taking me so well, baby, look at you."

Peter whimpered as he met your eyes. "I'm doing a good job?"

"Baby, you're doing a wonderful job." You promised, rubbing circles into his hips with your thumbs. "You're the prettiest boy in the world, and you look like you were made to take my cock."

Peter let out a strangled moan. His toned arms were above his head now, hands curled around the bed frame. "Baby—" he whispered. "Feels… feels so good. I feel so… full."

You grinned. You adjusted your angle a little, and that was it. Wet squelching filled the air, thanks to your slightly excessive use of lube, and you hit exactly the spot you needed to, that deep, sensitive part inside of him. Tears welled up in Peters eyes as he came for a third time, his cock twitching weakly against his stomach, shooting out cute little spurts of come. His lips quivered as his body shook underneath you. His hips moved of their own accord like a man possessed, writhing and rocking, seeking more pleasure to ride out his high. He called out your name as tears slipped down his cheeks. "F-fuck—" he whispered, breathing heavily. "I mean - fuck." He laughed breathlessly, as you gently wiped his tears away. "See, now - this - mmh - this isn't a … punishment," He whispered, his voice weak. You rubbed his thighs, and slowly pulled out of him, fearing you might overstimulate the poor boy. "Fuck, ah - it's almost an... incentive." He admitted quietly, tears brimming in his blue eyes again. He never knew how empty he could feel, down there.

"You liked it that much?" You asked, slipping out of the harness as you sensed his need for skin to skin contact.

Peter nodded. "Yeah - yeah, I didn't think I would, but—" he sniffled, and pulled you down on top of him, so he could bury his nose into your neck. His skin was hot and sticky, and ordinarily you might have made a slight complaint, but; he clung to you so tightly, making himself as small as possible. Your heart ached for him.

"That's good, baby. I'm glad you liked it, and I'm proud of you for telling me so." You whispered, wrapping yourself around him, so the two of you were just a messy cluster of limbs. You pressed your nose into his hair, inhaling his familiar, cozy scent; the cheap shampoo he used, the cold that always lingered on his body, and the faintest smell of gun oil.

"You're proud of me?" Peter mumbled, his voice muffled by his soft lips against your skin.

"I'm so proud of you." You affirmed, stroking your fingers through his warm hair again. You felt him smile against your skin, and he completely melted into you.

"I love you. So much," He whispered, his fingers drawing little hearts on your ribs.

"I didn't expect much from you, but really."

His head. Michael Gavey. Your math tutor. You had made a deal with him a few weeks ago, and who knew that the unassuming genius would turn out to be the devil incarnate? Certainly not you. It had been simple; his brain, your fingers.

Not like that. He wanted to learn how to play guitar, and you, with your band that played on the weekends at the local pub, considered yourself to be damn good at it. It had seemed fair, at the time. But now, tears pricked at your eyes, and you felt like a child again, sitting across the table from your father as he explained long division to you again, and your brain refused to comprehend it.

"Asshole." You muttered.

He smirked, and set his pencil down. "Perhaps if you spent more time studying, and less time with your greasy boyfriend, you'd understand."

"And maybe if you got laid once in a while, you wouldn't be such a cunt!" You spat back at him. You stared at each other, glaring fiercely, anger bubbling beneath the surface. He exhaled slowly, through his nose.

"One more try. Then we'll call it a night. Deal?" He asked, trying to reason with you.

He liked seeing you angry. It excited him, thrilled him - but he didn't want to make you too angry, and have you leave him. He knew you had a boyfriend, that imposing cryptid that you kissed on the cheek, and the lips, and—

He coughed, mentally wiping his mind of that image. He knew he was jealous, he had come to terms with it weeks ago, after a quick and hot rub of his crotch made him cum so hard he saw stars, face buried in the pillow you had plopped on your lap. It wasn't fair that Mark, Matthew, whatever his name was, got to hold you, got to touch you, taste you, and Michael only ever got to frustrate you.

He knew he was jealous. But you couldn't know that. It would ruin everything.

"Michael, no matter how many times you explain this thing, it doesn't make sense." You said, utterly frustrated with yourself. Your hands did go up to your hair then, tugging.

Michael pressed his lips together, and patted your shoulder. It was the only part of you that he permitted himself to touch, beside your hands when they brushed, knees when they knocked. "Let me try to show you a different method. A new perspective, if you will." He offered, his voice softer, and a touch sweeter.

You agreed - without much of a choice. Despite your reservations - by the end of the night you understood the problem, and Michael even had you explain how to solve it to him. He'd never say it, but he was proud of you, it was written all over his face.

You gathered your things and tucked them in your old black backpack, the one with the straps that you had to resew every six months. Michael watched you for a moment, then turned and started to rifle through a drawer. As you turned to say your goodbyes, he was there, holding a crunchy bar.

"For you." He said.

You smiled, brighter than the moon on a clear night. "You're sure?"

"Of course."

You took it from his hand, your fingers brushing against each other. Michael opened his mouth to say something, but your phone pinged before he could make a sound.

It was a text from Martin, your boyfriend.

[ just got dinner. Omw. ]

You smiled, and shot a quick text back. "I gotta go, Michael. Thank you so much, for the candy, for everything."

You bade a quick goodbye, and jogged down to the parking lot, where Martin was pulling up.

In his room, Michael seethed with jealousy, now that he was free to show his true face. He paced the room back and forth, so hard that he might wear a hole in the carpet - that's when he noticed you'd left your jacket behind. Black, oversized, with some band logo on the sleeve. Martin's, probably. With a twist of his stomach, he thought, you'd look better in one of his sweaters.

Michael plucked the hoodie up by the collar, holding it away from him like it might bite him. He licked his lips. Slowly, he brought it closer and closer, until his lips brushed over the ratty fabric. He inhaled, deeply.

It smelled like you. Not entirely like you, there were still hints of him. Of Martin. Sweat and oil and other godawful chemicals he liked to play with. Him and his models. Michael sneered, but only for a second. He pressed his face fully into the hoodie, smashing his glasses against the bridge of his nose.

He moaned.

Martin greeted you with a smile as he pushed the passenger door open from his side, the hinges squeaking in protest. You climbed in, and he tapped his cheek. With a laugh you obliged him, and planted a warm kiss to his jaw. The car smelled like dinner, ramen from a local place that held many of your memories together, laughter, fretting over bloodied knuckles, all of it.

"How was it?" He asked. He watched you buckle in, and took off once you were secure.

"Well," you said, pulling out Michael's crunchy bar. "I did so well, he gave me a reward."

Martin chuckled dryly. "Wait 'til we get home, I'll give you an even better one." His hand fell from the steering wheel, and onto your knee. His fingers found the holes in your jeans, and he started tracing the skin of your knees with light, teasing strokes.

You shivered. "Don't start, or I'm going to have to start, too."

In response, Martin squeezed your thigh. "I'm a good driver, but I don't know if I'm that good." He mused. "Besides, I couldn't look at you. That's the best part."

After dinner, while you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom, Michael texted you.

[ you left your jacket here. I only just noticed. ]

You swore quietly, and smacked your forehead. "Stupid." You muttered.

[ will you be there tomorrow? I can pick it up in the afternoon. I'm swamped in the morning. ]

You waited for a long moment. Then finally,

[ I'll be here. ]

[ thank you, Michael ❤️ ]

"Everythin' alright?" Martin asked, leaning against the doorframe. "I heard you swearin'."

You nodded. "I left my hoodie at Michael's. He was just letting me know."

"Awful nice of him." Martin mused. "Better than what I'd have done."

"Oh?" You asked, setting your phone down. "What would you have done?"

Martin grinned that evil smile of his, and sauntered closer to you. He was shirtless, post-shower, and just in a pair of gym shorts. You, meanwhile, wore one of his shirts, and a pair of boxers. He leaned down, and flicked the tip of his finger over your chin. "I would have fucked it until it smelled like me." He whispered, so close you could feel his warmth radiating off of his skin. He licked the tip of your nose with his ever-blue tongue. "Every time you wore it, you'd think of me."

His arms snakes around your waist, and brought you flush against his chest. His wet hair tickled your cheeks, like his lizard's tongue did when he had her 'kiss' you goodbye. Martin kissed you then, his fingers pressing into your flesh. You hooked your arms around his neck, and he pushed you against the counter, his desire evident against your stomach.

An hour later, you were both fast asleep, the scent of sex lingering in the air. You were curled against his chest, and his arms were around you, just like they always were - protective and possessive.

The next morning, he drove you to college as usual. You shared a long kiss goodbye, and went about your day. You took notes, studied, did everything a good student should do. Then at about 2, you made your way up to Michael's dorm room. You lifted your hand to knock, but Michael opened it before you could.

"Oh, hello-"

"What are you . . Oh, yes. Hoodie." Michael shook his head, as if to say 'duh'. "Come in."

"I can just grab it and go if you're busy—" you offered. Michael was unusually out of sorts, his hair unkempt, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his eyes staring only at your neck.

"No, no. That's alright." He said. "I was just going to go to a vending machine for a snack." He met your eyes finally, something simmering beneath the surface. "I see Martin's made a snack out of you."

You frowned. "What do you-? Oh, shit—" You pushed past him and took a look at yourself in the mirror; Martin had left his mark on you indeed, four hickeys in the vague shape of an 'M'. "He knows better, damnit." You sighed, rubbing your forehead.

Michael watched you, and tilted his head to the side. "You don't like it?"

"I go to an ivy league college with a blue collar background, I just —"

"You want to make a good impression on people you'll never see again." Michael deadpanned. "You don't want them to think you're a slut."

You rolled your eyes. "I hate when you do that."

"What?"

"Make a good point but deliver it like an asshole."

He grinned, cheekier than you'd ever seen him. "Your hoodies on the edge of the bed - I had to move it to sit." Michael explained.

You nodded gratefully. "Thank you." You said, immediately tugging it on. You sniffed it as you did - and it smelled like Michael. That made sense, it had been in his room all night. He smelled different than Martin, very clean, with hints of cologne and sweetness. It made you smile, a soft fondness crawling into your heart.

Michael let out a quiet sigh of relief. He hadn't, as Martin said, fucked the hoodie. He'd slept with it, his face buried in the fabric, inhaling your scent as much as he could - and he humped the mattress. For a very long time, longer than he'd realized. He only woke up a half hour ago, and tidied everything in a mad dash, and hoped you wouldn't notice anything amiss.

The little 'M' on your neck made his mouth go dry. For a moment, he pretended that you were his, and that 'M' stood for Michael, not Martin. He swallowed.

"Are you alright?" You asked. You stepped closer to him, brow furrowed in concern. Michael looked like he might be sick. You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead. "Michael, you're burning up." You whispered.

He let out a strangled noise. "I'm fine." He insisted. He took your hand in his, then looked at it like he didn't quite know what to do with it. "I..." He took a breath, and shook his head. "I think I just need to eat. I was up late, erm, reading."

You frowned, not believing him for a second. "Michael, I—"

The world stopped. He pulled you flush against his chest, and he smashed his lips against yours.

You never saw it coming.

Well - maybe a little. The two of you had some sort of tension, but - you had Martin, and Michael didn't seem the type.

You pushed him away as suddenly as he had tugged you in. "What the fuck, Michael?!" He tasted sweet. Like a crunchy bar.

He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry - I don't know what came over me—" As you watched, tears welled up in his eyes. "I'm so sorry." He whispered, his voice cracking.

"Why did you do that?" You asked, hugging yourself tightly. "You know I'm dating Martin..."

"I know." He said weakly. "I know you are, and, and it kills me."

You stared at each other, tears streaming down each other's faces. You didn't know what to say. You liked Michael, you did - he was kind when he wanted to be, smart, sometimes even funny - and sure, he was cute, but —

"I have to go." You whispered.

"Don't tell him." Michael pleaded. "I'm begging you."

You shook your head. "I have to, Michael."

"He'll kill me." Michael said, his hands starting to shake.

"No, he won't, I promise." You wiped your face with the sleeves of your hoodie. "He's not like that."

"He does that ... car-jitsu!"

"He's got daddy issues, not anger issues." You laughed weakly, and Michael's heart broke a little. "I'll talk to you... sometime. I'm sorry." You said, unsure why you were apologizing.

Michael nodded, and hung his head. "I'm sorry." He whispered again, and you knew he meant it.

You took the bus home, and waited on the couch for Martin to get home from work. You tried to stop the flood of tears, but it was all for nothing. When he came home, you were sobbing softly into a pillow, and he curled around you, immediately comforting you.

When you told him what happened - he didn't have much of a reaction. In fact, he chuckled.

"Martin, it's not funny!" You said, smacking at his chest. "How am I supposed to go back there and face him?"

"Seems pretty simple to me." Martin mused, a shit-eating grin on his face. "An easy solution, if you will."

You frowned, and smacked his chest again. "You're not Gandalf, stop speaking in riddles!"

Martin laughed again, rubbing his chest. "What I'm sayin' is, I don't mind sharin'."

You squinted at him. "But I don't—"

"You do. I've seen the way you talk about him. Even if you don't know it, you're sweet on him, just a little." Martin shrugged, totally nonchalant.

"I am not, he's an asshole, and a know-it-all—"

"First, isn't he quite literally a genius? Sort of his job, innit? Second, you're blushing."

You clapped your hands to your cheeks, and were utterly dismayed to find that he was correct. Your face was flushed, and your skin practically burned underneath your fingertips. "I hate this." You whispered, utterly mortified.

Martin grunted. "Eat dinner with me. Sleep it off. We'll go see him tomorrow. What's his schedule?"

You pressed your fingers into your forehead, gently massaging yourself. "It's Saturday, so - nothing. And knowing him, he'd be holed up in his room anyways. He thought you were going to kill him."

Martin laughed. "Poor guy. I bet I could make him cry."

"Martin!"

"I'm kidding!"

You woke up the next morning groggy and sleepy, but feeling a little better than you had last night. Martin kissed your nose, and you smiled, curling into him, burying your face in his chest. He held you there, running his fingers through your hair. You stayed like that for an hour, just enjoying each other's presence.

"Get dressed." He whispered, patting your hip. You looked up at him with a soft smile, and he squeezed your ass in return.

So you got dressed, in jeans, a t-shirt, and the hoodie from yesterday. You ate breakfast with Martin, pancakes and bacon. Then, you got in the car, and drove to college.

"He lives on the third floor." You said, taking Martin's hand to lead him to Michael's room. Your stomach flip-flopped every step of the way, and once you reached Michael's door, you hesitated. "Martin-"

"Go on." He said. "I'll behave."

"Bullshit." You snorted. But, you knocked.

Michael opened the door - he'd showered and changed clothes, you noted. He looked awfully sorry for himself as he looked at you - then he glanced at Martin, and he gulped. "Hullo." He whispered.

"Hi..." You said. "Can we come in?"

"I thought you said he wasn't going to kill me."

"He won't." You promised.

Martin rested his chin on the top of your head, and he winked at Michael. Michael shivered, but he let you in.

"What's going on?" He asked, closing the door behind you two. "I'm sorry about yesterday, I don't know what came over me."

"I know. I get it." Martin said. To prove his point, he kissed you, lifting your chin up with two fingers. Michael watched, his lips parted. "Believe me, Michael, I understand..." Martin purred, his arm snaking around your waist. "It'd be awful rude of me not to share."

Michael coughed, choking on his own spit. "If you're fucking with me, this isn't funny."

"We're not." You said. "I promise we're not. Michael... you don't have to. But you can if you want." You held your hand out to him, the black nail polish on your fingernails chipped.

He pressed his lips together, fidgeting in place. "I've never - I don't know what to do." He admitted, guilt flashing across his face.

Martin grinned. "Take her hand. We'll show you."

Michael stared at the pair of you, and after a long moment, he did take your hand, his palm sweaty. You smiled, and pulled him closer, just as close as he had you yesterday. You kissed him, slowly and softly at first. Michael was slow to reciprocate, but soon enough he was whining against your lips.

"Easy, poindexter." Martin chuckled. He slid his hands up your waist and under your shirt, his hands cool against your skin. "How badly do you want to taste her?"

Michael gasped, his pretty cheeks flushing a bright red. "I - that's -"

"It's a simple question." Martin said, his hands sliding up your chest, to cup your tits. You hadn't worn a bra, and your breath hitched in delight.

"I mean - I suppose I would - I don't know what to do." He stammered.

Martin grinned. "I'll teach you. Hey, get on the bed."

You obeyed, laying down on your back. Martin took your hoodie off, and looked over his shoulder at Michael. "Get in between her legs. Have you ever seen a pair of tits in real life?"

Michael shook his head as he climbed onto the bed with you two, his hands shaking. You smiled, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Tell you what, if you can make her come, you can touch them. How's that sound?" Martin asked.

You nodded. "I like the sound of that."

Martin licked his lips, equally eager and nervous. "A-agreed."

"Arms up, babe." Martin said. You obeyed, and your shirt was removed. Michael's eyes went wide when he saw your tits, his mouth gaping wide.

"Watch." Martin instructed. He bent down, and kissed your chest, dragging his tongue over your skin. His lips wrapped around your nipple and you moaned, wrapping your hand in his hair. He suckled there for a moment, his hand teasing your other nipple. He lifted his mouth to speak.

"Take her pants off." He instructed.

Michael obeyed. His fingers fumbled with the snap, but soon enough he was tugging them down your thighs, and pushing them to the floor. He eyed your panties, nearly drooling with want.

"Take those off, too." Martin said.

Michael touched you reverently - he was living a waking wet dream, he wanted to savor this. He slid your panties down your legs, and you bit your lip.

"Put them in your pocket." Martin said, sucking a mark into your chest.

Michael nodded, and stuffed them away with a cheeky grin. "Now what?"

Martin chuckled. "Take your best shot."

Michael bit his lip, and slowly lowered his face to your core. He gave you an experimental lick, humming at your taste. He spread your lips, and licked you again - and he clearly knew his anatomy. He rubbed your clit with his tongue, and you moaned softly, your free hand tangling in his hair, too.

"That's it..." Martin purred. "Good boy. Use your fingers, too."

You were already wet for Michael, he was delighted to find. Slowly, he pressed a finger inside of you, his breath hot on your skin.

"Do this." Martin said, demonstrating a 'come hither' motion with his fingers. Michael watched, and committed it to memory. "You'll know if you're doing a good job."

Michael mimicked the motion, and he found your sweet spot with utter ease. Your hand tightened in his hair, and he groaned against you, his hips rocking against the mattress.

It was all so much, being worshiped so feverishly by the pair of them, Martin practically drooling on your tits, and Michael sucking on your clit like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

Which, it was.

It didn't take much to coax you over the edge, and you cried out, squeezing Michael's head between your thighs, the cold wire of his glasses pressing into your skin.

Michael made a sudden choked noise, and by the stuttering of his hips - he had come too, whining pathetically against you. You moaned, and forced your thighs to relax.

Michael sat up from your aching core, his mouth and chin covered in your slick. His glasses were fogged up, and he gave you a cheeky smile. Martin lifted his head from your tits, and kissed him. Michael choked, and shoved him away. Then their lips came smashing back together, Martin hungry for your taste on Michael's lips. You gasped softly, watching Martin's blue tongue disappear into Michael's mouth. Martin took Michael's hand and guided it inside of you. They each had two fingers in your wetness, and they found your sweet spot together.

You squirmed and moaned as Martin uses his free hand to tug on Michael's sandy locks, wrenching his head back. Michael groaned, and as Martin gave him a 'M' mark, his teeth sinking into the genius' skin, you came hard, squirting on their fingers. Your hands twisted in the sheets, so hard they might rip. Your back arched as you cried out their names, your vision going white.

As you came to, panting softly, the boys settled in by your sides. Michael's hand squeezed your tit, and he smiled, nosing into your neck.

"Do you think you're up to fuck her? Martin asked, his voice taunting.

Michael gulped.

They smelled like him, and in moments when you thought no one was looking, you would duck your head, and tuck your nose into the collar. He was so supportive of you, and so achingly sweet, it was hard not to miss him every second if every day.

You were both busy now, that was the only downside to this time of year. You were in a good college, studying hard, and he was working. He hadn't told you yet, but you had overheard a phone call he had made to a friend, talking about how he was saving up to buy a slightly bigger place so that you two could live together after you graduated next year.

He was so thoughtful, you mused, as a dreamy smile splayed upon your lips, like a child thinking about their favorite candy bar.

"Hey, space cadet." One of your friends teased, waving her hand in front of your face. "Your phone just went off."

You blinked, your cheeks heating up. "Thanks, Sam." You pulled your phone out, your boyfriend's pet lizard as your screensaver. It was a text from him, and you grinned, brighter than the sun.

M: almost there love <3

"So?" Sam asked, leaning forward on the table the four of you were sitting at; a lovely outdoor cafe, on college grounds. It looked like something off of Pinterest, honestly. "Who is it?"

"My boyfriend, he's picking me up for a date tonight."

"Come on, you have to give us more than that!" Jackie protested to your right. Evelyn nodded in agreement to your left, and they all leaned in conspiratorially.

"Is he a student?" Sam asked.

"Is he tall?" Jackie asked.

"Is he handsome?" Evelyn asked.

You laughed, and covered your face with your hands in an effort to hide your fluster, your skin blisteringly hot under your fingertips. "He's not a student, um, he's fairly tall, and he's... beautiful. Yes, handsome, does all of the manly things you'd expect, opening doors, fixing things, reaching stuff on the high shelves, but - he's so sweet." You said, peeking out from between your fingers. “He's an utter dream.”

"Aww." Jackie said. "He sounds so nice. What does he do?”

“Well,” you said. “He works at a music store, and he has a few hobbies, and he does a recreational sport, for money.”

“Oh, interesting!” Jackie said, genuine invested in this. “I've got to meet him—”

A car pulled up alongside the curb, and a handsome man stepped out; tan, blonde, the star quarterback that was bringing a lot of attention to the college; Tommy.

Sam gasped as the man walked over to them. "Him?"

"The whole school knows he's got a crush on her." Evelyn said, raising an eyebrow. "It's so obvious."

It was, painfully so. He always tried to talk to you, chat you up - but it always came off more like a puppy begging for attention than anything else.

Tommy walked right by you with a wink and a wave, but you shook your head, and pointed. Martin had pulled in alongside him. His resting gloomy face lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw you, and he jogged over. You stood up so fast that you nearly knocked your chair over.

"Did you lose a bet, or something?" Evelyn sneered as she pulled her phone out.

"Don't be such a cunt." Jackie said, flicking cookie crumbs at her.

You didn't care. Martin met you halfway, and picked you up by your waist. He spun you around once, and you kissed him, aching for the warmth of his lips against yours.

"Hullo." He whispered, his hands cupping your flushed cheeks. "You taste like cinnamon."

You smiled. "Apple cider donuts. I was going to get some to go." You whispered, happily ignoring the chatter from your friends behind you.

"Good idea. Are you ready to go?" He asked, his voice soft. He brushed his nose against yours, his wild black hair tickling your cheeks.