#lemom

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“I bet you a week’s worth of orgasms I can make our love come from nipple sucking alone.”

Lucio doesn’t know why he does it, but before he can stop himself a deep snort erupts from his chest and a roll has thrown his eyes off to the side, and he sneers at Julian, “Three weeks says you can’t.”

Julian’s delighted laugh is almost lost to Lucio’s own hurried thoughts, waves of No no no! You absolute moron, three whole weeks?! Why would you even—

Julian’s lips slide against his, tongue tracing the seam of Lucio’s lips and cutting off his partly horrified thoughts. The doctor’s dumbass cocky smirk—one Lucio knows for sure was half-learned from himself—tells Lucio that Julian knows the exact thoughts crossing his debauched mind.

“You’re just a slut for punishment at this point, aren’t you?” Julian murmurs to him. He sighs against Lucio’s lips then catches the bottom one between his teeth, rolling it to earn a delighted little moan.

And as he pulls back and swaggers off toward where you hover at the edge of the room—his eyebrow cocked, hand pushing through his hair, patch pushed up so that he can use both eyes to devour you—Lucio sways on the spot, black spots popping in his vision from the wave of desire that crashes through him.

He tries to rearrange his features into a glare, but he thinks—he thinks all he manages is a flushed pout—

He—

Get it together, stand straight, straight—

I mean, you’re not, but—

“My love! How is our guest treating you this evening?”

How has Jules already made it over there?!

Swallowing the thick lump in his throat—the one that is strangely horny for something that is merely a lump—Lucio slinks over to the columns on the edge of the room, the ones you yourself have been pressed up against by Julian.

The doctor, one arm beside your head, both eyes devouring you, has his knee bent and pressed up into your crotch, the other hand on his lip, and every one of his teeth glinting in the candlelight. Lucio can’t hear a word he is saying, but it’s clear by the crimson flush racing across your cheeks and chest that it is quite possibly Julian’s filthiest and smoothest work to date.

Twenty seconds and already our love is a stuttering mess beneath your wicked gaze and words. I’m not surprised, but couldn’t you at least be a little louder?

As though sensing his thoughts, Julian angles his body just enough to catch Lucio’s eye, the movement revealing Lucio to you. His eyes lock with yours, taking in the part of your lips, the quivering breaths that shake you. Julian—his eyes never leaving Lucio’s—reaches up to push a strand of hair from your face, and is rewarded almost instantly when you swoon and lean into his hand.

That, of all things, is what gets Lucio’s cock twitching, what has him pressing himself closer to the column and barely managing to conceal his shallow thrusts and grinds as he tries to get himself off.

He barely even realises he’s doing it, too obsessed with watching the scene unfold in front of him, caught in the arousal and allure of Julian angling your head so he can tilt his lips against yours, so he can slide a hand under whatever material he can find, making you gasp and part your lips so that he can delve further into your mouth and suckle softly on your tongue.

From the seemingly distant roar of the party, someone calls Lucio’s name, and the slow and delicate waltz between the three of you quickly becomes a near disastrous tango.

Julian yanks you away from the column and walks you back, his stalking strides long and predatory as he moves you further into the shadows and away from prying eyes, but there is nowhere you will be safe from the sounds of your own cries. Lucio follows, darting from column to column, a slip in the shadows, palming himself through the painfully tight material of his dress pants, barely concealing his whines.

When he finds the right shadow and you are unveiled to him again, head thrown back in a half-concealed corner as Julian begins to work your clothes off your upper half, Lucio leans back against another column across the aisle, perfectly in view as he works the buttons of his pants until his achingly hard cock springs free.

Away from the immediate cacophony of the party, he can hear your soft little moans, the sweet coos and amused little laughs as Julian unwraps you with a delicacy Lucio would certainly not have. If he was there, if he had been smart enough to challenge the dare instead of guaranteeing himself three weeks of orgasm denial because of Julian’s talented fucking lips and your overly sensitive fucking nipples, he could have been the one pressed up against you, suckling your neck and bare shoulders, working his way down to those pebbled nipples, causing you to whimper and groan and keen without ever having to touch another part of you.

“No hands, Jules,” Lucio groans out. “Remember the deal.”

Your eyes lift to lock with his, dark and accusing, as though you somehow hadn’t known exactly who had provoked such a wicked attack, and in response he tilts his head back against the cool marble behind him and begins gently thrusting into his own hand, a lazy movement that almost feels like he has already resigned himself to those three weeks of delectable torture.

“Oh ho ho, I remember the deal,” Julian chuckles. “I shall have our love keening and whimpering and sighing without so much as a single touch to anywhere except right. Here.”

Julian’s teeth nip at the skin around your nipples, and when you try to dig your hands into his hair to push him closer—barely seeming to register his words, to Lucio’s absolute delight—Julian snatches your wrists from the air and pins them to your sides.

And that is where his true work begins.

The flat of Julian’s tongue presses against your pebbled nipple, swirling once, twice, three times, before latching on and beginning to suckle. You cry out, a sound matched by Lucio’s own a moment later as he squeezes and milks his cock, his movements quickly becoming more frenzied, more desperate.

And as Julian switches to your other nipple, worshipping it with the same exquisite torture, Lucio swaps his hands, the cool metal of his glove sliding along his cock, drawing whimpers and moans and your name from somewhere deep within his chest, over and over and over again.

“Maybe we can play our own game, my love?” Julian asks, and it’s clear his words are for you. He traces a circle around your nipple with the tip of his tongue, then pulls back to blow gently. You cry out, a wretched sob that is intermingled with his name, with Lucio’s, with something that isn’t quite a please but is the closest you can manage in your current state.

“Lucio is set to lose three weeks’ worth of orgasms, should you come by my mouth on your nipples alone.” Julian switches to your other nipple, repeating his actions, adding in a scrape of his canines that pulls at your taut flesh. “Perhaps if you can come before he makes a mess all over his own hand, you could be the one to tell him no each time we fuck him in those three weeks?”

The greedy little noises are escaping your throat before Lucio even has a chance to comprehend what Julian has said—and your desperate cries of yes, yes, please, make me come, please— make Lucio stutter, make his chest tight.

“That’s not fair!” Lucio groans, and there’s a needy little whine that is so clearly woven between his words that he doesn’t bother to deny it, even to himself.

Julian gives an amused hum around your nipple before pulling back with a soft pop. “Mmmm, neither is using our poor love’s sensitive nipples and inability to resist my devious little tongue in order to amuse yourself at a dull party you threw.”

And then Julian returns to your pebbled nipples, suckling and moaning and humming his approval into them as he lavishes each one with his tongue, with little nips, flicking them with scrapes of his teeth as he drags them down, up, down—

Lucio growls beneath his breath, but his hand and matching thrusts have already become erratic again, gaze locked with yours as he tries to fuck himself to orgasm before you crash over the edge, as he tries to figure out through your gaze and sounds alone how close you are, how fast he has to move, how well he can distract you with his little whines and purrs of your name—

Your first cry tumbles from your lips, followed by the crack of your head as you throw it back against the marble column, every muscle in your body seizing in the throes of your orgasm.

“Yes, yes my love, that’s it, scream for us—” Julian’s teeth catch on your nipple and pull, and like a fucking puppet you keen and crash a second time, thrashing wildly against the hold he still has on your wrists.

With a guttural groan Lucio spills onto his hand, his stomach, his dishevelled clothes where they are gathered around him from where he so hastily pulled his cock out.

He whispers and groans and sighs your name, curses you, praises you, the knowledge that it will be his last orgasm for so many weeks only seeming to drive him harder, make it longer, a much larger load than normal. It draws twitches and whimpers and whines that last long after he has spilled all of his seed, the Count delighting in his post-orgasm torture almost as much as he is enjoying you watching him in his desperation, the humiliation of humping his own hand like a horny fucking adolescent.

The world goes dark as Lucio closes his eyes, shuddering breaths rolling through his body. He pushes the sweat-matted hair from his face with his clean hand, and when he opens his eyes once more, Julian is hovering above him, canines glinting in devilish delight.

“Say a prayer for our poor Count, my love,” he calls softly to you. He carefully pries Lucio’s hand from around his own cock. Julian steps to the side to allow you to see him as he continues to work said cock—now flaccid, limp, spent—with his own hand.

Lucio groans and cries and curses, moans for Julian to stop, paws at the column behind him to try and find purchase as he begins to thrust and grind into Julian’s touch. Just one more, one more, that’s all he needs, please please please—

And it’s over so quickly. Just as his cock begins to stir and twitch back to life, Julian pulls his hand away and beckons you over. Lucio—eyes hazed, jaw tight—watches as you stumble forward, nipples and chest glistening with Julian’s saliva, littered with bite marks and purple-haze bruises from his teeth.

“Would you like to begin his three weeks of torture now by cleaning him off?” Julian questions you. “He has made such a mess of himself.”

You nod eagerly and drop to your knees, and it is everything Lucio has not to curse you out as you—hot little tongue, wicked glint to your eyes—descend on his stomach and cock and thighs, licking and cleaning the come from his skin as Julian leans over him, one hand above Lucio’s head, the other playing idly with the exposed skin of Lucio’s chest.

Because it was his fault, really.

Nevermind that Julian was clearly baiting him from the start.

Nevermind that the doctor’s suave, cocky, dumbass energy had been next-level for the past two days and clearly looking for an outlet and a poor sole to torture.

Nevermind that the moment the words only and nipples and orgasm had left Julian’s lips, Lucio should have known exactly where it would end.

Well…okay, he had known, and whatever cocky dumbass energy Julian held for making wagers and making you scream, Lucio matched in his need for attention and…well, you. In any way, in any shape, in any form, even if that meant watching you suck him off and fuck him and torture him for three weeks without any chance of relief.

Because as much as Julian had manipulated him into making the wager and upping it almost instantly, Lucio had most certainly known what he was doing when he had started fucking his own hand and Julian had suggested it be you who denied him for three whole weeks.

Ripped from his thoughts, Lucio lets out a sharp, keening cry as his abdominal muscles begin to flex and contract. “Ah—AH—”

“Stop now,” Julian commands.

No no no no no—

“Nooo no no no no no no—”

You release Lucio’s cock with a soft pop, and the Count’s jaw locks tight from the effort of not throwing the first of what is sure to be many tantrums to come. He watches as you smile so innocently up at him, following Julian’s silent instructions of gently working his stiff cock back into his pants, then buttoning those pants, and then fixing everything else—the ruffled shirt, the skewed sash of medals, even the locks of hair that had fallen out of place.

“There,” you murmur, before placing a soft kiss to Lucio’s nose. “Much more presentable. Now we’re ready to re-join the party.”

Julian lets out a delighted little moan, his body rolling as he eyes you over, seemingly having forgotten Lucio already as he steps up to you with an easy swagger. “Mmmm, as much as I enjoy that glorious chest of yours, perhaps you should also make yourself presentable?”

To your credit, you only flush a little, and Lucio is left dissatisfied once more, not even able to watch the lovely haze of red as it spreads across your cheeks and chest.

“Ready, Lyusya?” Julian asks.

Lucio rolls his eyes at the name but says nothing, pushing himself away from the column. Julian pulls him in for a slow kiss, one where his tongue sweeps into Lucio’s mouth, where his teeth catch that kiss-swollen bottom lip, pulling tight before stepping away.

“I don’t think we’ve ever tried three weeks of denial before,” Julian comments, almost conversationally as the three of you move back toward the party. “Perhaps we’ll require a chastity cage this time?”

You hum and bounce in delight at the thought, and it’s only this that stops Lucio’s displeased look from becoming a complete sneer and a borderline storm-off.

It won’t be pleasant, with or without the cage, but perhaps…if that is the noise you make for him each time he is denied, and if this is the warmth in his chest he experiences every time Julian’s eyes rake him over like a delicious fucking meal he would devour on repeat for eternity…

Perhaps he can accept the unpleasantness, and the unequivocal and chaotic love it brings him.

**