For some odd reason, you thought a makeout session with your best friends would feel akin to the ebb and flow of a calm shore, a slow and sensually rhythmic back and forth exchange of kisses. Ever since your boyfriend had left town to start anew with some gal, they had been so kind with you in their endeavors to heal your broken heart.

Whatever you asked for, Alastor and Vincent were there, ready and willing.

It was almost as if they were trying to atone for some sin they’d committed, but what? You didn’t know, or at least you didn’t care enough to find out.

Right now, you only knew that you were terribly wrong about your assumption.

Their mouths descended on you, crashing against yours like tidal waves in a tempestuous sea, rushed and passionately intense. Neither of them could agree on who should kiss you first, and oh, were you drowning. There was a lot of pushing and pulling, and with the addition of their hands in their frenzied efforts, you could hardly breathe.

Your best friends were sloppy and uncoordinated, taking your lips for no more than a few seconds before nosing the other aside.

“Move, it’s my turn.”

They flanked either side of your smaller frame on your full-sized bed, shoes off and shirts unbuttoned and hanging open. Alastor’s palm soothingly ran up and down your thigh, all while Vincent’s hand traveled up the concave of your belly from under your blouse, fingertips bumping your brassiere.

“You are so impatient.”

Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you, eyes screwed shut, brows furrowed, not a single clue of whose mouth was locked on yours.

At some point, their lips started to feel the same, even though you knew Alastor’s had more volume than Vincent’s. But when they staunchly refused to spare each other more than 5 seconds with your mouth, again, there was no telling whose lips were gliding so deliciously across yours before being suddenly torn away and replaced.

Arousal and frustration coiled in your belly, your fingers uncurling from the sheets to grasp either side of their faces, moving your head aside in an attempt to put a ceasefire to their little war.

The upwards curve of a sharp nose brushed against yours — Alastor’s — softly exhaling a sigh of relief through your nostrils as you captured his lips.

He gently squeezed your thigh, an appreciative groan seeping into your mouth over the fact that you chose him first. On the other hand, Vincent’s jaw stiffened in your hold, clearly displeased.

You couldn’t blame him. Between him and Alastor, he was the one who spent all of his free time with you. He even dropped by at the restaurant you waited at during his lunch breaks. And though he had wriggled his way into your heart, his presence making your pulse quicken, you kissing Alastor first wasn’t personal or done consciously.

You simply wanted to kiss either one of them without the constant pushing and pulling, but Vincent couldn’t seem to grasp that in his jealous-haze, his lips pressing soft kisses into the side of your face with a disappointed whine.

“Unbelievable,” Alastor tutted as you turned around to give him the attention he so desperately desired after only 15 seconds of your mouth. “You’ve no shame, Whittman.”

You turned your head the other way, the downwards curve of Vincent’s hooked nose bumping yours before his lips greedily accepted yours, no hint of remorse seeping into the kiss over the pathetic nature of his sound.

He was grateful to have your full attention on him, the tip of his tongue laving over your lower lip, begging for entry. Alastor watched in unamusement and mild displeasure as mismatched eyes fluttered open to glower at him, tongue simultaneously plunging into your mouth, your back arching off the mattress in a sinuous curve.

Still, Alastor eventually broke eye contact with Vincent and lowered his head to mouth at your jaw, your neck, arousal shooting down to your core.

With their combined efforts, your frustration was quickly snuffed out, but you found yourself pulling away from Vincent’s lips anyway. Your bedroom was starting to feel hot and suffocating, and the warmth emanating from the two men's bodies wasn’t helping, relinquishing their jaws so you could peel your blouse off your sweat-stricken skin.

You also needed a moment to gasp for air, chest heaving and swollen lips parting as you sat up and flung your blouse across your room, relieved.

An appreciative groan seeped past Vincent’s lips at the sinful sight of your breasts in your brassiere, hooked nose pressing into the side of your neck, kissing the skin there.

“Oh, I missed these pretty things,” Vincent huffed, a hand reaching out to palm at your breast, squeezing and feeling through fabric.

However, it was fleeting and short-lived.

“Quiet, you,” Alastor hissed under his breath. “Don’t ruin the moment with your wretched voice. The sound of it is repulsive and off-putting.”

Vincent would have told him an unsavory thing or two, but then Alastor took advantage of the fact that he was distracted by the mere sight of you in your brassiere, diving in with his mouth.

And suddenly, you were pushed below the surface of the water as quickly as you had broken through it, a mewl vibrating in your chest.

His supple lips captured your own, and though you would have appreciated a few more seconds to catch your breath, you didn’t make a single effort to pull away. Instead, you shut your eyes and melted into the kiss, feeling Vincent’s hand fall from your breast, but only because Alastor proceeded to grab your hips and pull you onto his lap.

Your hands instinctively went to grasp his biceps, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt to anchor yourself, chest pushing into his.

“You fucking cheat!” Vincent sputtered, mismatched eyes narrowing to glare at him.

Alastor didn’t utter a single syllable, but he shot him a sideways glance and smiled against your moving lips, unapologetic and shameless.

Of course, Vincent took that as a challenge, the mattress rudely creaking as he settled himself behind you. His chest pressed up against your back, the downwards curve of his hooked nose grazing the side of your face; but it was the sensation of his long, slender fingers gripping your jaw that had your eyes flying open.

A trail of saliva cascaded down your chin as your kiss with Alastor came to an abrupt end, head maneuvered to the side, lips seized by Vincent’s.

And, just like that, the two of them were back to pushing and pulling you against each other.

The hands on your hips tightened their grip, nails etching crescent moons, the upwards curve of Alastor’s sharp nose pressing into your cheekbone.

He tried to push Vincent out of the way, but then he proceeded to relinquish your jaw to seize your waist with both hands, your body sliding away from Alastor’s lap. The swell of your ass bumped the considerable tent in Vincent’s slacks, your chest vibrating with a gratified moan at the familiar size of him, wetness pooling in between your thighs.

“Fuck you,” Alastor let out a rare curse.

Now it was his turn to shoot him a sideways glance and smile against your lips.

“I’ll pass on that,” Vincent hummed.

With your arms still on his biceps, however, Alastor dived right back in. His hands tugged at your hips, back consequently arching towards him in a sinuous angle, but instead of pulling you away from Vincent as you thought you would be, he tried a different tactic that involved leaning in and pressing his lips into the corner of your mouth.

Your eyes flitted down, chest heaving, wetness no doubt penetrating through your pants.

His lips were touching Vincent’s, too.

You could feel him still against your back, the hands on your waist twitching.

As shocked as he was by the homoeroticness of it, though, Vincent refused to back down. His pride, his ego beat whatever mixed sentiments he held over Alastor being so close to convening with him in a kiss, and oh, did you find yourself drowning once more. Your chest heaved and your nostrils flared, face flushed with heat and arousal.

The sinful sight of their mouths accidentally slotting together had you screwing your eyes shut, but the sound of their glasses clacking in their efforts to push themselves away from your lips drove you wild anyway, your brows furrowing. Partaking in a three-way kiss instead of alternating between the two men was simply overwhelming.

Still, you allowed it to happen for a bit.

Feeling two pairs of lips sloppily glide against your own as they vied for yours was utterly exhilarating.

It was unlike anything you’d ever dreamt of.

However, at some point, you did have to gasp for air again. You could hardly breathe with both of them like this. So, you released Alastor’s biceps to wrap your hands around his and Vincent’s necks, only to thread your lithe fingers into the hair on their napes, tugging their heads back, procuring filthy, debauched whines in the process.

Your eyes fluttered open to see their swollen lips and flushed faces, glasses at the end of their noses, a pang of amusement resonating in your chest.

“My goodness, you two are insufferable,” You managed through shaky breaths. “Can’t a gal just have a simple makeout session with her best friends? I mean, it’s not that hard to take turns.”

Your fingers remained in their hair, keeping them from making any moves.

Vincent whined at that, but Alastor?

Oh, he wasn’t phased, not one bit. His lips curled upward in a grin, flashing his canines to you.

“Forgive me, sha, I tried,” Alastor offered you, rich brown eyes overshadowed by blown pupils. “I really did, but this whiney bastard here wasn’t exactly willing to patiently wait his turn.”

To a certain extent, that was true. Both you and Vincent knew that, but he still grew defensive.

He turned to glare at Alastor.

A deep crease formed in the space between his brows, teeth baring in a snarl.

“This is why they say men are dogs,” You huffed, releasing the hair on their napes, only to shimmy off their laps and drape your legs over the edge of the bed. “Unbelievable, really.”

You snatched your blouse off the ground and pulled it over your head, making your way out of your bedroom, legs wobbling. You were wound up and undoubtedly aroused, but at the same time, you knew there was no point in trying to resume your makeout session. Vincent was too impatient, and Alastor, well, he was too much of a tease.

You should have figured from the first and last time the two of them had their fill of you that they would act somewhat similarly.

“Wait! Where are you off to?” Vincent started, bare feet thumping against the wood flooring of your apartment, catching up to you in your living room.

Long, slender fingers caught your wrist, whirling you around, your chest pressing up against his with a startled gasp. You scrambled to grab his bicep with your other hand, anchoring yourself.

“Christ, Vinny! Nowhere, just the kitchen,” You craned your neck to look up at him, vision filled with a panicked expression. “I’m parched.”

His shoulders slumped and a long exhale of relief seeped past his lips, but there was a glint of disappointment in his stare, making you sigh.

You pulled your wrist from Vincent’s grasp and reached for his jaw, balancing yourself on your tiptoes, urging him to meet you halfways. Of course, he readily complied, an appreciative groan reverberating in his chest as he let go of your wrist to cradle your face in his palms, thin lips eagerly pressing against yours.

A gust of air caressed your side, a snicker resonating throughout the living room. It was Alastor, brushing past the two of you to sit himself on the couch.

“I hope that satisfies you,” You gave him one last peck as you pulled away, feigning inconvenience.

He offered you a dopey smile.

“Not really, but I suppose it’ll do,” Vincent shrugged, making you roll your eyes.

You turned around and made the short trek to your kitchen to quench your thirst. Meanwhile, Vincent adjusted himself in his slacks and went to button his shirt, his feet taking him to the living room.

As he joined the other man on the opposite end of the couch, cushions dipping beneath his weight, he shot him a sideways glance. Alastor didn’t turn to look at him, too busy cleaning the fogged up lens of his glasses with his shirt. But even through the blurred edges of his vision, he saw it, shooting Vincent a wink that had his pale skin flaring up.