#dualericro

Cronus is on his knees behind him, trembling with anticipation, but you know he won't move until you tell him. He's good like that. He listens to you, obeys you, they both do and it's heady, a boost straight to your ego, that you have two beautiful trolls ready and willing to obey your every command.

The fact that they look like you is completely irrelevant to your opinions on the matter. 

You move, slowly, and the little troll in your lap whimpers, rolling his hips against yours. You grin at his eagerness, but keep the pace slow, gentle, despite his pleading for more, harder, faster, please. You have a lot in store for tonight, and it wouldn't do to have him exhausted too quickly. 

"Touch him," you say, and Cronus practically leaps forward, hands tracing Eridan's gill slits, mouth wrapped around the tip of one horn. 

If your descendant hadn't already been incoherent, he definitely is now, muttering under his breath, still so quiet despite the sensations wracking his small frame. 

Eridan is the quietest out of all of you, naturally. Cronus forced himself to be so at first, and you had taken great pleasure in breaking him of that habit, but Eridan is just… not very loud. The closer he gets to completion, the softer his voice gets, until he's breathing out words and pleas inaudibly. It's attractive in its own way, you suppose, though you would like to hear him call out, scream your name, just once.

You allow your head to fall to the crook of his neck, lapping at the frills there, and he trills for you, tilting his head to the side to give you more space to work with. Your hands tighten around his hips when he whines, trying to goad you into moving faster. 

"Patience," you say, and he stills in your hold, permitting you to move him as you wish.

"Good boy."

He sighs and rocks against you again, but keeps the pace you've set, slow and unrelenting. You can tell it's driving him mad, but you aren't about to let up quite yet. 

"Cronus," and that's all that needs to be said. Cronus presses forward, kissing the back of Eridan's neck, mouthing along his shoulders, and his hands drop out of sight. 

Eridan suddenly gasps and pitches forward, scrabbling for purchase along your chest, and you grab his hands in one of yours, pinning his arms to your body. 

"D'you think you can do it, little fish?" you say, licking the delicate edge of one earfin, "What d'you think, can you take both'a us?"

He moans something that might have been an assent, but you're not about to guess. You still your slow pace and arrest his movements with the hand you kept on his hip, and he makes his displeasure known with soft, pleading whines. 

"I need an answer, Eri."

"Please," he chokes out, throat working as he tries to force himself to vocalize enough to be heard, "Please, yes, both of you-"

His breath catches as Cronus does something with his hands, and you feel his finger press into Eridan's nook alongside your bulge, stroking you and stretching him out at the same time. This isn't the first time he's taken both of you, but it's a rare treat, and he needs careful preparation to make sure everything goes smoothly. 

Cronus takes to his job eagerly, pressing little bites and open mouthed kisses to Eridan's shoulders and back as he fits in one finger, then two, then three, slowly and carefully. Eridan's resilient, tougher than most would give him credit for, but you are adamant about taking this slow. The last thing you want is him experiencing any sort of discomfort from this, and you know he won't say a word about it. He’s kept quiet before, your poor little descendent, kept quiet about you or Cronus accidentally hurting him and no chastisement on your part would ever convince him not to suffer through something for the sake of your attentions.

So it’s slow going, careful and cautious, on both your parts, to get him prepped enough to take the both of you. He’s definitely eager for it, despite the slight sting of stretch you know he’s probably feeling; he rocks with you, whining and mouthing sloppily at your shoulders, hands twitching in your grasp and you know he wants to touch so badly but it’s so much fun to keep him still. 

“Please-“ he gasps, almost inaudible, “Please, I’m ready, please, please Cronus, Dualscar-“ and Cronus has three fingers in beside your bulge, and he’s well and truly as stretched as he’s going to get so you nod in assent and Cronus shivers all over, carefully removing his fingers. 

He sidles up to you both, chest pressing against Eridan’s back, and, ever so cautiously, as slow as he can go, he slides in beside you. Eridan goes rigid in your arms, breath coming out in short, desperate little pants, and it takes some coaxing but he eventually relaxes around the additional intrusion, fingers clawing into your chest unconsciously. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask, dropping his wrists to grip his hips, stabilizing him. 

“…Full,” he mumbles, allowing his head to drop back to rest on Cronus’s shoulder, eyes glazed, “’s good, so good, so full…” 

Cronus is trembling with the effort it takes to keep himself still, and you reach out, wrap a hand around the back of his neck and kiss him in reward, for being so good, for listening to you so well. Eridan moans when the movement causes both of you to shift inside him, but it’s a sound full of dazed pleasure, not pain. 

“Are you ready?”

“Please move,” he whispers in response, turning his head to mouth at Cronus’s frills, hands running across your chest, tracing your scars. His breath hitches when you allow the rigid control you’ve been holding to fade, writhing inside him the slightest amount. Cronus follow your lead, though he’s a bit shakier about it, has a bit less control than you do. You both manage to fall into a careful rhythm, twisting around each other and leaving no spot of Eridan’s nook untouched. 

He opens his mouth, but only the softest of little 'oh's spills out from between his lips, and he shivers and shudders and clings to you tightly, claws digging into your skin. He’s radiant like this, face flushed violet, fins flared to their full width and fluttering with each buck and writhe of your hips, and when you kiss him, he whimpers into your mouth, high and pleading. 

“More, faster, please,” he gasps, arching his spine, chest pressing against yours, and Cronus groans, low and unsteady, patience and control pushed to breaking. He’s been so obedient, so good, that you kiss him again and nod, and he almost keens in relief as he allows himself to move faster. 

You follow swiftly after, of course, bulge twining around Cronus’s and thrashing, less gentle now that you know Eridan’s well prepared for it. Your descendant whimpers, rolling his hips against yours, fingers scrabbling for a handhold, and you catch his chin in one hand and kiss him, hard, nipping at his lips until he parts them for you and nearly fucking his mouth with your tongue. He responds as best he can, but his pan’s near shattered with stimulation in the form of two bulges where barely one should fit, and he’s distracted and careless, nearly slicing your tongue with his teeth on accident. 

You touch his chest, just petting for a bit, reveling in the quiet, breathy sounds he makes, before you push him back against Cronus, leaving you a bit more room to move. He whines, but separates from you, allowing his head to fall back against Cronus’s shoulder again, nuzzling the juncture of the dancestor's neck. Cronus lets out his own pitiful little noises and bucks, bulge twisting against yours fitfully. He’s trying his hardest, the poor thing, but neither of them have much experience and Cronus in particular is ever so sensitive.

You pet his face and he chirrs, licking your palm, eyes falling half shut as he soaks up your attention. Eridan trills in response, reaching a hand up to latch onto one of Cronus’s horns, prompting another almost pained gasp from him. Both of your boys look so pretty, flushed violet and spread out like this, and you almost wish you were a spectator, and not an active participant, so you’d have more brainpower to devote to cataloging their noises and actions and responses. 

Maybe another time. 

Instead, you thrust your hips a bit, sliding more of your bulge into Eridan’s tight nook, and he opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Your little descendant’s gills flutter in response to the stimuli, and Cronus leans down to lap at the sensory frills lining his neck, dragging a soft, ragged keen from his lips. You run your hands down his chest, over his sides, brushing across his gills, and he warbles things in sea tongue, arching into your hands. There’s a pronounced bump in his lower abdomen, and when you press your hands over it, the noises he makes drop sharply in volume and he clings to Cronus, shaking. 

“F-full,” he whimpers, shuddering as you knead at the jut of his stomach gently, careful not to put too much pressure on the area. When you slide into him a bit more, you can feel it under your hands, through the thin skin of his abdomen, and it’s… 

It’s delicious, is what it is. He’s so tiny, wrapped in you and Cronus’s arms, small and underdeveloped in the way that all seadwellers are until they hit their twentieth sweep, and it still surprises you that both of you actually fit inside of him. He looks like you should have split him in half, with the way he’s formed, wasp waisted and almost delicate, but he arches his back and rocks his hips again, biting his lip when you don’t pick up the pace as demanded. 

You trill, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he trembles under your hands as you thrust again, harder, smoothing your palms over the tiny bump in his otherwise almost concave stomach. Cronus lets out a strangled whine when he catches a glimpse of what you're doing, gripping Eridan’s hips perhaps a bit too tight as he bucks, bulge thrashing against your steadily writhing one. You tap his fingers with your free hand, chastising, and he relaxes with a soft murmur of apology, pressing soft kisses along Eridan’s jawline.

You coax him back into a regular rhythm, twisting your bulge around his and guiding him until he gathers enough control to manage it by himself, and Eridan shudders and shakes between you, trying his best to get you to speed up. 

Neither of them are going to last much longer at this rate, so you oblige, smirking as the change of pace draws harsh, almost guttural noises from Cro and pitiful, gasping whines from Eridan, both of them moving with you like their lives will end if they don’t, clinging to each other like lifelines. 

“C’mon, sugargrub,” you croon, pressing your palm flat against the convexity of his abdomen, pushing just enough to feel the squirming as you thrash your bulge against his inner walls, “C’mon, precious, come for me, let me see your pretty face.”

He lets out a choked sob and his body goes taut, spine aching to almost unnatural angles as he comes silently, eyes wide open, as if shocked. Cronus lets out a sharp bark of pleasure and comes almost immediately afterwards, sinking his teeth into his lip to keep from making any more undignified noises. The sight of both their faces contorted in ecstasy and the feel of Eridan’s nook fluttering around you sets you off right after, and you kiss Cronus as you come, lapping up the blood he’d managed to draw in the process of keeping himself quiet.

  You are, perhaps, a bit too rough with him, but it's hard to control your teeth when you're shaking hard from your own orgasm, high on pleasure and the feeling of being surrounded by them. Your loss of control would be absolutely unacceptable under any other circumstances, and with anyone else, but they have a way of making you lose yourself, and you can't bring yourself to care too much when your loss of control is represented by the gain of their trust and adoration. 

When you part, you’re both panting for air, and Eridan whimpers and butts his head up under your chin, demanding attention. You rub your hand over his stomach and notice that it feels even rounder than it had before, slightly distended, and when you shift inside of him you realize it’s because he’s full to bursting with your material. You’re careful as you stroke over his sides and abdomen, soothing him down from his high, and, when your bulge retracts, he whimpers and arches into your hands as his nook seals shut, keeping him from spilling the extra violet slurry. He's dazed, chirping and unconsciously rocking into the hand you have pressed against his stomach, but he's also an absolute mess and three steps from falling asleep with a gut full of your genetic material, so force yourself to get up and out of bed before you succumb to your own exhaustion.

You lift him into your arms and stand, herding Cronus into the ablution block before you with soft words and little pushes, getting all three of you into the large tub as the water runs hot from the tap. You keep Eridan in your lap as you help Cronus wash off, scrubbing the gel out of his hair as you give him little bit of praise here and there, littering his face with kisses. He chirrs and trills and rubs his cheek up against yours and, when he’s clean, you give him one last kiss and shoo him from the trap. He curls up on the block floor, nestled in a towel or two, and watches you with lidded eyes as you turn your attention to Eridan. 

Your descendent is flushed, panting, with one hand pressed to his swollen stomach and the other between his legs, and he blushes even brighter when he notices your attention fully focused on him, letting out a soft little warble as his fins flutter in embarrassment. He's absolutely gorgeous, sharp angles and bones rounded out by the bump of his stomach, bulge trapped outside his body by your material, yours. He's filled with your fucking slurry and if that isn't the hottest thing you've ever seen, if he ins't the most beautiful fucking thing you've ever seen, then you're blind.  

“Shhh,” you sooth, pushing and prodding until he leans all his weight on you, back pressed against your chest and legs spread wide, “Let me take care of you, precious.”

He nods, hips stuttering, hiding his face and muffling his strangled noises as you press one hand against his abdomen, the other coaxing his slit open. His hands fly up to wrap around your neck and he arches his back, gasping, as you tease him open, pushing against the bulge of his stomach at the same time and helping him expel the slurry he’d trapped inside himself, staining the water around you violet. You kick open the drain and hold him steady as he thrashes in your arms, mewling and bucking his hips, thighs trembling around your legs. You push against his stomach one more time and he comes again, his own slurry spilling out along with the last remainder of yours and Cronus’s, and he collapses against you, purring weakly as you pet his stomach. 

“Good boy,” you murmur, washing him off, rubbing his trembling limbs down and cleaning the mess from you both. When you're finished, you wrap his limp form in a towel and dry him off, pressing kisses to his cheeks and nose, before taking care of yourself.

“Both of you, good boys. My boys.”

Cronus stumbles to his feet and follows you back to the bedroom, curling up on the concupiscent platform and half burying himself in blankets before you settle in, Eridan sheltered between the two of you. You rub your hands soothingly over his spent frame, and he curls into your chest, chirring softly. 

“L-lowe you,” he says, slurring the syllables, tucking his head up under your chin, and you kiss him between the horns and assure him the feeling is mutual. You do the same when Cronus offers a vague, exhausted repeat of the statement, pulling him close enough that you can kiss him, too, right on the spiracle under his eye. 

“Love you both, my boys,” you croon, wrapping them up in your arms, soothing their shaking and overtaxed nerves with soft, gentle touches, “Get some rest, now.”